_Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_
_Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude,_
_Fauxbourg St. Germain_
My emotions, Oliver, are too strong to permit me to narrate common
occurrences. I can only tell thee our journey is ended, that we arrived
yesterday, and that we are now at Paris. My feelings are more
tumultuous than they ought to be, and seek relief in the mild and
listening patience of friendship.
First however I must relate a singular adventure, which happened
yesterday evening.
After I had seen our baggage properly disposed of, curiosity led me,
though night was approaching, to walk out and take a view of the famous
façade of the Louvre. From thence I strayed, through the gardens of the
Thuilleries, to the Place de Louis XV; being delighted with the
beauties around me, but which I have not now time to describe. A little
farther are the Champs Elysées, where trees planted in quincunx afford
a tolerably agreeable retreat to the Parisians.
It was now twilight. The idlers had retired; for I suppose, from what
followed, that it is not very safe to walk after dark, in these
environs. Ignorant of this, and not apprehensive of any danger, I had
strayed to a considerable distance among the trees, against one of
which I stood leaning, and contemplating the banks of the Seine, the
Palais Bourbon, and other surrounding objects. All was silent, except
the distant hum of the city, and the rattling of carriages, which
could but just be heard.
Amid this calm, I was suddenly alarmed by voices in anger, and
approaching. They spoke in French, and presently became more distinct
and loud.
Draw, sir, said one.
_Mort de ma vie_, come along, answered the other.
Draw, sir, I say; replied the first. I neither know who you are nor
what your intentions may be. I will go no further. Draw!
_Sacristi_, answered his antagonist, we shall be interrupted: the guard
will be upon us in a moment.
The first however was resolute, and in an imperious voice again bade
him draw. Their swords were instantly out, and they began to assault
each other. Thou mayst imagine, Oliver, I would not cowardly stand and
be a spectator of murder. They were not twenty paces from me. I flew;
when, to my great surprise, one of them called, in English, Keep off,
sir! Who are you? Keep off! And, his enemy having dropt his guard, he
presented his point to me.
It was no time to hesitate. I rushed resolutely between them; holding
up my open hands above my head, to shew the Englishman, who seemed
apprehensive of a conspiracy, he had nothing to fear from me. His anger
almost overcame him: he held up his sword, as if to strike with it, and
with great haughtiness and passion again bade me begone. Have patience,
sir, answered I. Men shall not assassinate each other, if I can prevent
it.
Let us retire, said the Frenchman: I knew we should be interrupted.
You shall not fight. I will follow you, added I, I will call for help.
You are a damned impertinent fellow, said the Englishman.
Be it so; but you shall not fight, was my answer.
The combatants, finding me so determined, put up their swords, and
mutually exchanged their address; after which they separated. So that
it is probable, Oliver, my interference has done no good. But that I
must leave to chance. I could not act otherwise.
This incident, so immediately after my arrival, in a place so strange
to me, and coming so suddenly, made too great an impression upon me not
to tell it thee. Though I have another topic much nearer my heart; the
true state of which has been shewn me, by an event of which I will now
inform thee.
We are lodged here in the first floor, consisting of many chambers,
each of which is a thoroughfare to the most distant. It is not ten
minutes since I was seated, and preparing to write to thee, when Anna
came to pass through the room where I was, and retire to her own
apartment. She was fatigued, I imagine, by the journey; though I
frequently fear the ardour of her mind will injure her constitution.
She walked with some difficulty, was evidently giddy, and staggered. I
was alarmed, and was rising, when she called to me faintly,--'Help me,
Frank!'
I sprung and caught her as she was falling. I received her in my arms!
And my agitation was so violent, that it was with difficulty I could
preserve strength enough to support her, and seat her in the chair I
had quitted.
The house to me was a kind of wilderness. I knew not where to run, yet
run I did for water. I called Laura, with a latent wish that nobody
might help her but myself; and, as it happened, nobody heard. I
returned; she recovered, thanked me, with her usual heavenly kindness,
and I conducted her to her apartment, she leaning on my arm.
Oh! Oliver, is it wrong to feel what I feel, at the remembrance? If it
be, reprove me sternly; teach me my duty, and I will thank thee. Surely
there is something supernatural hovers over her! At least she resembles
no other mortal! Then her kindness to me, her looks, her smiles, her
actions, are all intentional benignancy. She is now but three chambers
distant from me; enjoying as I hope refreshing slumbers. Angels guard
her, and inspire her dreams. No matter for the nonsense of my words,
Oliver; thou knowest my meaning. She desired me to bid Laura not
disturb her; and here I sit, watchful of my precious charge. Grateful,
heart-soothing office!
And now, Oliver, what am I to think? My fears would tie my tongue; but,
either I am deluded or hope brightens upon me, and I want the
self-denying resolution of silence. Yes, Oliver, I must repeat, there
is such sweetness in her countenance, when she speaks to me, such a
smile, so inviting, so affirmative, that I am incessantly flattering
myself it cannot but have a meaning. I have several times lately heard
her sigh; and once so emphatically that I think it impossible I should
be deceived. I and Sir Arthur were conversing. I was endeavouring to
shew the pernicious tendency of the prejudices of mankind, and
inadvertently touched upon the absurdity of supposing there could be
any superiority, of man over man, except that which genius and virtue
gave. Sir Arthur did not approve the doctrine, and was pettish. I
perhaps was warmed, by a latent sense of my own situation, and
exclaimed--'Oh! How many noble hearts are groaning, at this instant,
under the oppression of these prejudices! Hearts that groan, not
because they suffer, but because they are denied the power effectually
to aid their very oppressors, who exert the despotism of numbers, to
enforce claims which they themselves feel to be unjust, but which they
think it dishonourable to relinquish!'--It was then the sigh burst
forth of which I told thee. I turned and found her eyes fixed upon me.
She blushed and looked down, and then again bent them toward me. I was
heated and daring. We exchanged looks, and said--! Volumes could not
repeat how much!--But surely neither of us said any thing to the
other's disadvantage.
Oh! The bliss to perceive myself understood and not reproved! To meet
such emanations of mind! Ecstasy is a poor word! Once more she seemed
to repeat--_She would love me if I would let her._
Tell me, then--Have I not reason on my side? And, if I have, will she
not listen? May she not be won? Shall I doubt of victory, fighting
under the banners of truth? Alas!--Well well--
My own sensations, Oliver, are so acute, and I am so fearful lest they
should lead me astray, that I could not forbear this detail--Let us
change the theme.
Well, here we are, in France; and, wonderful to tell, France is not
England!
I imagine it is impossible to travel through a foreign country, without
falling into certain reveries; and that each man will fashion his
dreams in part from accident, and in part according to the manner in
which he has been accustomed to ruminate. Thy most excellent father,
Oliver, early turned my mind to the consideration of forms of
government, and their effects upon the manners and morals of men. The
subject, in his estimation, is the most noble that comes under our
cognizance; and the more I think myself capable of examining, and the
more I actually do examine, the more I am a convert to his opinion. How
often has it been said of France, by various English philosophers, and
by many of its own sages, What a happy country would this be, were it
well governed! But, with equal truth, the same may be said of every
country under heaven; England itself, Oliver, in spite of our
partialities, not excepted.
How false, how futile, how absurd is the remark that a despotic
government, under a perfect monarch, would be the state of highest
felicity! First an impossible thing is asked; and next impossible
consequences deduced. One tyrant generates a nation of tyrants. His own
mistakes communicate themselves east, west, north, and south; and what
appeared to be but a spark becomes a conflagration.
How inconsistent are the demands and complaints of ignorance! It wishes
to tyrannize, yet exclaims against tyranny! It grasps at wealth, and
pants after power; yet clamours aloud, against the powerful and the
wealthy! It hourly starts out into all the insolence of pride; yet
hates and endeavours to spurn at the proud!
Among the many who have a vague kind of suspicion that things might be
better, are mingled a few, who seem very desirous they should remain as
they are. These are the rich; who, having by extortion and rapine
plundered the defenceless, and heaped up choice of viands and the fat
of the land, some sufficient to feed ten, some twenty, some a hundred,
some a thousand, and others whole armies, and being themselves each
only able to eat for one, say to the hungry, who have no food--'Come!
Dance for my sport, and I will give you bread. Lick the dust off my
shoes, and you shall be indulged with a morsel of meat. Flatter me, and
you shall wear my livery. Labour for me, and I will return you a tenth
of your gain. Shed your blood in my behalf, and, while you are young
and robust, I will allow you just as much as will keep life and soul
together; when you are old, and worn out, you may rob, hang, rot, or
starve.'
Would not any one imagine, Oliver, that this were poetry? Alas! It is
mere, literal, matter of fact.
Yet let us not complain. Men begin to reason, and to think aloud; and
these things cannot always endure.
I intended to have made some observations on the people, the aspect of
the country, and other trifles; I scarcely now know what: but I have
wandered into a subject so vast, so interesting, so sublime, that all
petty individual remarks sink before it. Nor will I for the present
blur the majesty of the picture, by ill-placed, mean, and discordant
objects. Therefore, farewell.