I had just arrived at Marseilles with the diligence, in which three
young men, apparently merchants or commercial travellers, were the
companions of my journey. They came from Paris, and were enthusiastic
about the events which had lately happened there, and in which they
boasted of having taken part. I was, for my part, quiet and reserved;
for I thought it much better, at a time of such political excitement
in the south of France, where party passions always rise so high,
to do nothing that would attract attention; and my three
fellow-travellers no doubt looked on me as a plain, common-place
seaman, who had been to the luxurious metropolis for his pleasure or
on business. My presence, it seemed, did not incommode them, for they
talked on as if I had not been there. Two of them were gay, merry, but
rather coarse boon-companions; the third, an elegant youth, blooming
and tall, with luxuriant black curling hair, and dark soft eyes. In
the hotel where we dined, and where I sat a little distance off,
smoking my cigar, the conversation turned on various love-adventures,
and the young man, whom they called Alfred, shewed his comrades a
packet of delicately perfumed letters, and a superb lock of beautiful
fair hair.
He told them, that in the days of July he had been slightly wounded,
and that his only fear, while he lay on the ground, was that if he
died, some mischance might prevent Clotilde from weeping over his
grave. 'But now all is well,' he continued. 'I am going to fetch a
nice little sum from my uncle at Marseilles, who is just at this
moment in good-humour, on account of the discomfiture of the Jesuits
and the Bourbons. In my character of one of the heroes of July, he
will forgive me all my present and past follies: I shall pass an
examination at Paris, and then settle down in quiet, and live happily
with my Clotilde.' Thus they talked together; and by and by we parted
in the court-yard of the coach-office.
Close by was a brilliantly illumined coffee-house. I entered, and
seated myself at a little table, in a distant corner of the room. Two
persons only were still in the saloon, in an opposite corner, and
before them stood two glasses of brandy. One was an elderly, stately,
and portly gentleman, with dark-red face, and dressed in a quiet
coloured suit; it was easy to perceive that he was a clergyman. But
the appearance of the other was very striking. He could not be far
from sixty years of age, was tall and thin, and his gray, indeed
almost white hair, which, however, rose from his head in luxurious
fulness, gave to his pale countenance a peculiar expression that made
one feel uncomfortable. The brawny neck was almost bare; a simple,
carelessly-knotted black kerchief alone encircled it; thick,
silver-gray whiskers met together at his chin; a blue frock-coat,
pantaloons of the same colour, silk stockings, shoes with thick soles,
and a dazzlingly-white waistcoat and linen, completed his equipment. A
thick stick leant in one corner, and his broad-brimmed hat hung
against the wall. There was a certain convulsive twitching of the thin
lips of this person, which was very remarkable; and there seemed, when
he looked fixedly, to be a smouldering fire in his large, glassy,
grayish-blue eyes. He was, it was evident, a seaman like myself--a
strong oak that fate had shaped into a mast, over which many a storm
had blustered, but which had been too tough to be shivered, and still
defied the tempest and the lightning. There lay a gloomy resignation
as well as a wild fanaticism in those features. The large bony hand,
with its immense fingers, was spread out or clenched, according to the
turn which the conversation with the clergyman took. Suddenly he
stepped up to me. I was reading a royalist newspaper. He lighted his
cigar.
'You are right, sir; you are quite right not to read those infamous
Jacobin journals.' I looked up, and gave no answer. He continued: 'A
sailor?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And have seen service?'
'Yes.'
'You are still in active service?'
'No.' And then, to my great satisfaction, for my patience was
well-nigh exhausted, the examination was brought to a conclusion.
Just then, an evil destiny led my three young fellow-travellers into
the room. They soon seated themselves at a table, and drank some
glasses of champagne to Clotilde's health. All went on well; but when
they began to sing the _Marseillaise_ and the _Parisienne_, the face
of the gray man began to twitch, and it was evident a storm was
brewing. Calling to the waiter, he said with a loud voice: 'Tell those
blackguards yonder not to annoy me with their low songs!'
The young men sprang up in a fury, and asked if it was to them he
alluded.
'Whom else should I mean?' said the gray man with a contemptuous
sneer.
'But we may drink and sing if we like, and to whom we like,' said the
young man. '_Vive la République et vive Clotilde!_'
'One as blackguardly as the other!' cried the gray-beard tauntingly;
and a wine-glass, that flew at his head from the hand of the
dark-haired youth, was the immediate rejoinder. Slowly wiping his
forehead, which bled and dripped with the spilled wine, the old man
said quite quietly: 'To-morrow, at the Cap Verd!' and seated himself
again with the most perfect composure.
The young man expressed his determination to take the matter on
himself; that he alone would settle the quarrel, and promised to
appear on the morrow at the appointed time. They then all departed
noisily. The old man rose quietly, and turning to me, said: 'Sir, you
have been witness to the insult; be witness also to the satisfaction.
Here is my address: I shall expect you at five o'clock. Good-night,
Monsieur l'Abbé! To-morrow, there will be one Jacobin less, and one
lost soul the more. Good-night!' and taking his hat and stick, he
departed. His companion the abbé followed soon after.
I now learned the history of this singular man. He was descended from
a good family of Marseilles. Destined for the navy while still young,
he was sent on board ship before the Revolution, and while yet of
tender years. Later, he was taken prisoner; and after many strange
adventures, returned in 1793 to France: was about to marry, but having
been mixed up with the disturbances of Toulon, managed to escape by a
miracle to England; and learned before long that his father, mother,
one brother, a sister of sixteen years of age, and his betrothed, had
all been led to the guillotine to the tune of the _Marseillaise_.
Thirst for revenge, revenge on the detested Jacobins, was now his sole
aim. For a long time he roved about in the Indian seas, sometimes as a
privateer, at others as a slave-dealer; and was said to have caused
the tricoloured flag much damage, while he acquired a considerable
fortune for himself. With the return of the Bourbons, he came back to
France, and settled at Marseilles. He lived, however, very retired,
and employed his large fortune solely for the poor, for distressed
seamen, and for the clergy. Alms and masses were his only objects of
expense. It may easily be believed, that he acquired no small degree
of popularity among the lower classes and the clergy. But, strangely
enough, when not at church, he spent his time with the most celebrated
fencing-masters, and had acquired in the use of the pistol and the
sword a dexterity that was hardly to be paralleled. In the year 1815,
when the royalist reaction broke out in La Vendée, he roved about for
a long time at the head of a band of followers. When at last this
opportunity of cooling his rage was taken from him by the return of
order, he looked out for some victim who was known to him by his
revolutionary principles, and sought to provoke him to combat. The
younger, the richer, the happier the chosen victim was, the more
desirable did he seem. The landlord told me he himself knew of seven
young persons who had fallen before his redoubted sword.
The next morning at five o'clock, I was at the house of this singular
character. He lived on the ground-floor, in a small simple room,
where, excepting a large crucifix, and a picture covered with black
crape, with the date, 1794, under it, the only ornaments were some
nautical instruments, a trombone, and a human skull. The picture was
the portrait of his guillotined bride; it remained always veiled,
excepting only when he had slaked his revenge with blood; then he
uncovered it for eight days, and indulged himself in the sight. The
skull was that of his mother. His bed consisted of the usual hammock
slung from the ceiling. When I entered, he was at his devotions, and a
little negro brought me meanwhile a cup of chocolate and a cigar. When
he had risen from his knees, he saluted me in a friendly manner, as if
we were merely going for a morning walk together; afterwards he opened
a closet, took out of it a case with a pair of English pistols, and a
couple of excellent swords, which I put under my arm; and thus
provided, we proceeded along the quay towards the port. The boatmen
seemed all to know him. 'Peter, your boat!' He seated himself in the
stern.
'You will have the goodness to row,' he said; 'I will take the tiller,
so that my hand may not become unsteady.'
I took off my coat, rowed away briskly, and as the wind was
favourable, we hoisted a sail, and soon reached Cap Verd. We could
remark from afar our three young men, who were sitting at breakfast in
a garden not far from the shore. This was the garden of a
_restaurateur_, and was the favourite resort of the inhabitants of
Marseilles. Here you find excellent fish; and also, in high
perfection, the famous _bollenbresse_, a national dish in Provence, as
celebrated as the _olla podrida_ of Spain. How many a love-meeting has
occurred in this place! But this time it was not Love that brought the
parties together, but Hate, his stepbrother; and in Provence the one
is as ardent, quick, and impatient as the other.
My business was soon accomplished. It consisted in asking the young
men what weapons they chose, and with which of them the duel was to be
fought. The dark-haired youth--his name was M---- L---- insisted that
he alone should settle the business, and his friends were obliged to
give their word not to interfere.
'You are too stout,' he said to the one, pointing to his portly
figure; 'and you'--to the other--'are going to be married; besides, I
am a first-rate hand with the sword. However, I will not take
advantage of my youth and strength, but will choose the pistol, unless
the gentleman yonder prefers the sword.'
A movement of convulsive joy animated the face of my old captain: 'The
sword is the weapon of the French gentleman,' he said; 'I shall be
happy to die with it in my hand.'
'Be it so. But your age?'
'Never mind; make haste, and _en garde_.'
It was a strange sight: the handsome young man on one side,
overbearing confidence in his look, with his youthful form, full of
grace and suppleness; and opposite him that long figure, half
naked--for his blue shirt was furled up from his sinewy arm, and his
broad, scarred breast was entirely bare. In the old man, every sinew
was like iron wire: his whole weight resting on his left hip, the long
arm--on which, in sailor fashion, a red cross, three lilies, and other
marks, were tattooed--held out before him, and the cunning, murderous
gaze rivetted on his adversary.
''Twill be but a mere scratch,' said one of the three friends to me. I
made no reply, but was convinced beforehand that my captain, who was
an old practitioner, would treat the matter more seriously. Young
L----, whose perfumed coat was lying near, appeared to me to be
already given over to corruption. He began the attack, advancing
quickly. This confirmed me in my opinion; for although he might be a
practised fencer in the schools, this was proof that he could not
frequently have been engaged in serious combat, or he would not have
rushed forwards so incautiously against an adversary whom he did not
as yet know. His opponent profited by his ardour, and retired step by
step, and at first only with an occasional ward and half thrust. Young
L----, getting hotter and hotter, grew flurried; while every ward of
his adversary proclaimed, by its force and exactness, the master of
the art of fence. At length the young man made a lunge; the captain
parried it with a powerful movement, and, before L---- could recover
his position, made a thrust in return, his whole body falling forward
as he did so, exactly like a picture at the Académie des Armes--'the
hand elevated, the leg stretched out'--and his sword went through his
antagonist, for nearly half its length, just under the shoulder. The
captain made an almost imperceptible turn with his hand, and in an
instant was again _en garde_. L---- felt himself wounded; he let his
sword fall, while with his other hand he pressed his side; his eyes
grew dim, and he sank into the arms of his friends. The captain wiped
his sword carefully, gave it to me, and dressed himself with the most
perfect composure. 'I have the honour to wish you good-morning,
gentlemen: had you not sung yesterday, you would not have had to weep
to-day;' and thus saying, he went towards his boat. ''Tis the
seventeenth!' he murmured; 'but this was easy work--a mere greenhorn
from the fencing-schools of Paris. 'Twas a very different thing when I
had to do with the old Bonapartist officers, those brigands of the
Loire.' But it is quite impossible to translate into another language
the fierce energy of this speech. Arrived at the port, he threw the
boatman a few pieces of silver, saying: 'Here, Peter; here's something
for you.'
'Another requiem and a mass for a departed soul, at the church of St
Géneviève--is it not so, captain? But that is a matter of course.' And
soon after we reached the dwelling of the captain.
The little negro brought us a cold pasty, oysters, and two bottles of
_vin d'Artois_. 'Such a walk betimes gives an appetite,' said the
captain gaily. 'How strangely things fall out!' he continued in a
serious tone. 'I have long wished to draw the crape veil from before
that picture, for you must know I only deem myself worthy to do so
when I have sent some Jacobin or Bonapartist into the other world, to
crave pardon from that murdered angel; and so I went yesterday to the
coffee-house with my old friend the abbé, whom I knew ever since he
was field-preacher to the Chouans, in the hope of finding a victim for
the sacrifice among the readers of the liberal journals. The
confounded waiters, however, betray my intention; and when I am there,
nobody will ask for a radical paper. When you appeared, my worthy
friend, I at first thought I had found the right man, and I was
impatient--for I had been waiting for more than three hours for a
reader of the _National_ or of _Figaro_. How glad I am that I at once
discovered you to be no friend of such infamous papers! How grieved
should I be, if I had had to do with you instead of with that young
fellow!' For my part, I was in no mood even for self-felicitations. At
that time, I was a reckless young fellow, going through the
conventionalisms of society without a thought; but the event of the
morning had made even me reflect.
'Do you think he will die, captain?' I asked: 'is the wound mortal?'
'For certain!' he replied with a slight smile. 'I have a knack--of
course for Jacobins and Bonapartists only--when I thrust _en quarte_,
to draw out the sword by an imperceptible movement of the hand, _en
tierce_, or _vice versâ_, according to circumstances; and thus the
blade turns in the wound--_and that kills_; for the lung is injured,
and mortification is sure to follow.'
On returning to my hotel, where L---- also was staying, I met the
physician, who had just visited him. He gave up all hope. The captain
spoke truly, for the slight movement of the hand and the turn of the
blade had accomplished their aim, and the lung was injured beyond the
power of cure. The next morning early L---- died. I went to the
captain, who was returning home with the abbé. 'The abbé has just been
to read a mass for him,' he said; 'it is a benefit which, on such
occasions, I am willing he should enjoy--more, however, from
friendship for him, than out of pity for the accursed soul of a
Jacobin, which in my eyes is worth less than a dog's! But walk in,
sir.'
The picture, a wonderfully lovely maidenly face, with rich curls
falling around it, and in the costume of the last ten years of the
preceding century, was now unveiled. A good breakfast, like that of
yesterday, stood on the table. With a moistened eye, and turning to
the portrait, he said: 'Thérèse, to thy memory!' and emptied his glass
at a draught. Surprised and moved, I quitted the strange man. On the
stairs of the hotel I met the coffin, which was just being carried up
for L----; and I thought to myself: 'Poor Clotilde! you will not be
able to weep over his grave.'