The "Mémoires d'Outre-Tombe," which was partly published
before Chateaubriand's death, represents a work spread over a
great part of Chateaubriand's life, and reveals as no other of
his books the innermost personality of the man.
(Chateaubriand, biography: see FICTION.)
_I.--Youth and Its Follies_
Four years ago, on my return from the Holy Land, I purchased a little
country house, situated near the hamlet of Aulnay, in the vicinity of
Sceaux and Chatenay. The house is in a valley, encircled by thickly
wooded hills. The ground attached to this habitation is a sort of wild
orchard. These narrow confines seem to me to be fitting boundaries of my
long-protracted hopes. I have selected the trees, as far as I was able,
from the various climes I have visited. They remind me of my wanderings.
Knight-errant as I am, I have the sedentary tastes of a monk. It was
here I wrote the "Martyrs," the "Abencerrages," the "Itinéraire," and
"Moise." To what shall I devote myself in the evenings of the present
autumn? This day, October 4, being the anniversary of my entrance into
Jerusalem, tempts me to commence the history of my life.
I am of noble descent, and I have profited by the accident of my birth,
inasmuch as I have retained that firm love of liberty which
characterises the members of an aristocracy whose last hour has sounded.
Aristocracy has three successive ages--the age of superiority, the age
of privilege, and the age of vanity. Having emerged from the first age,
ft degenerates in the second age, and perishes in the third.
When I was a young man, and learned the meaning of love, I was a mystery
to myself. All my days were _adieux_. I could not see a woman without
being troubled. I blushed if one spoke to me. My timidity, already
excessive towards everyone, became so great with a woman that I would
have preferred any torment whatsoever to that of remaining alone with
one. She was no sooner gone than I would have recalled her with all my
heart. Had anyone delivered to me the most beautiful slaves of the
seraglio, I should not have known what to say to them. Accident
enlightened me.
Had I done as other men do, I should sooner have learned the pleasures
and pains of passion, the germ of which I carried in myself; but
everything in me assumed an extraordinary character. The warmth of
imagination, my bashfulness and solitude, caused me to turn back upon
myself. For want of a real object, by the power of my vague desires, I
evoked a phantom which never quitted me more. I know not whether the
history of the human heart furnishes another example of this kind.
I pictured then to myself an ideal beauty, moulded from the various
charms of all the women I had seen. I gave her the eyes of one young
village girl, and the rosy freshness of another. This invisible
enchantress constantly attended me; I communed with her as with a real
being. She varied at the will of my wandering fancy. Now she was Diana
clothed in azure, now Aphrodite unveiled, now Thalia with her laughing
mask, now Hebe bearing the cup of eternal youth.
A young queen approaches, brilliant with diamonds and flowers--this was
always my sylph. She seeks me at midnight, amidst orange groves, in the
corridors of a palace washed by the waves, on the balmy shore of Naples
or Messina; the light sound of her footsteps on the mosaic floor mingles
with the scarcely heard murmur of the waves.
Awaking from these my dreams, and finding myself a poor little obscure
Breton, who would attract the eyes of no one, despair seized upon me. I
no longer dared to raise my eyes to the brilliant phantom which I had
attached to my every step. This delirium lasted for two whole years. I
spoke little; my taste for solitude redoubled. I showed all the symptoms
of a violent passion. I was absent, sad, ardent, savage. My days passed
on in wild, extravagant, mad fashion, which nevertheless had a peculiar
charm.
I have now reached a period at which I require some strength of mind to
confess my weakness. I had a gun, the worn-out trigger of which often
went off unexpectedly. I loaded this gun with three balls, and went to a
spot at a considerable distance from the great Mall. I cocked the gun,
put the end of the barrel into my mouth, and struck the butt-end against
the ground. I repeated the attempt several times, but unsuccessfully.
The appearance of a gamekeeper interrupted me in my design. I was a
fatalist, though without my own intention or knowledge. Supposing that
my hour was not yet come, I deferred the execution of my project to
another day.
Any whose minds are troubled by these delineations should remember that
they are listening to the voice of one who has passed from this world.
Reader, whom I shall never know, of me there is nothing--nothing but
what I am in the hands of the living God.
A few weeks later I was sent for one morning. My father was waiting for
me in his cabinet.
"Sir," said he, "you must renounce your follies. Your brother has
obtained for you a commission as ensign in the regiment of Navarre. You
must presently set out for Rennes, and thence to Cambray. Here are a
hundred louis-d'or; take care of them. I am old and ill--I have no long
time to live. Behave like a good man, and never dishonour your name."
He embraced me. I felt the hard and wrinkled face pressed with emotion
against mine. This was my father's last embrace.
The mail courier brought me to my garrison. Having joined the regiment
in the garb of a citizen, twenty-four hours afterwards I assumed that of
a soldier; it appeared as if I had worn it always. I was not fifteen
days in the regiment before I became an officer. I learned with facility
both the exercise and the theory of arms. I passed through the offices
of corporal and sergeant with the approbation of my instructors. My
rooms became the rendezvous of the old captains, as well as of the young
lieutenants.
The same year in which I went through my first training in arms at
Cambray brought news of the death of Frederic II. I am now ambassador to
the nephew of this great king, and write this part of my memoirs in
Berlin. This piece of important public news was succeeded by another,
mournful to me. It was announced to me that my father had been carried
off by an attack of apoplexy.
I lamented M. de Chateaubriand. I remembered neither his severity nor
his weakness. If my father's affection for me partook of the severity of
his character, in reality it was not the less deep. My brother announced
to me that I had already obtained the rank of captain of cavalry, a rank
entitling me to honour and courtesy.
A few days later I set out to be presented at the first court in Europe.
I remember my emotion when I saw the king at Versailles. When the king's
levée was announced, the persons not presented withdrew. I felt an
emotion of vanity; I was not proud of remaining, but I should have felt
humiliated at having to retire. The royal bed-chamber door opened; I saw
the king, according to custom, finishing his toilet. He advanced, on his
way to the chapel, to hear mass. I bowed, Marshal de Duras announcing my
name--"Sire, le Chevalier de Chateaubriand."
The king graciously returned my salutation, and seemed to wish to
address me; but, more embarrassed than I, finding nothing to say to me,
he passed on. This sovereign was Louis XVI., only six years before he
was brought to the scaffold.
_II.--In the Years of Revolution_
My political education was begun by my residence, at different times, in
Brittany in the years 1787 and 1788. The states of this province
furnished the model of the States-General; and the particular troubles
which broke out in the provinces of Brittany and Dauphiny were the
forerunners of those of the nation at large.
The change which had been developing for two hundred years was then
reaching its limits. France was rapidly tending to a representative
system by means of a contest of the magistracy with the royal power.
The year 1789, famous in the history of France, found me still on the
plains of my native Brittany. I could not leave the province till late
in the year, and did not reach Paris till after the pillage of the
Maison Reveillon, the opening of the States-General, the constitution of
the Tièrs-État in the National Assembly, the oath of the Jeu-de-Paume,
the royal council of the 23rd of June, and the junction of the clergy
and nobility in the Tièrs-État. The court, now yielding, now attempting
to resist, allowed itself to be browbeaten by Mirabeau.
The counter-blow to that struck at Versailles was felt at Paris. On July
14 the Bastille was taken. I was present as a spectator at this event.
If the gates had been kept shut the fortress would never have been
taken. De Launay, dragged from his dungeon, was murdered on the steps of
the Hôtel de Ville. Flesselles, the _prevôt des marchands_, was shot
through the head. Such were the sights delighted in by heartless saintly
hypocrites. In the midst of these murders the people abandoned
themselves to orgies similar to those carried on in Rome during the
troubles under Otto and Vitellius. The monarchy was demolished as
rapidly as the Bastille in the sitting of the National Assembly on the
evening of August 4.
My regiment, quartered at Rouen, preserved its discipline for some time.
But at length insurrection broke out among the soldiers in Navarre. The
Marquis de Mortemar emigrated; the officers followed him. I had neither
adopted nor rejected the new opinions; I neither wished to emigrate nor
to continue my military career. I therefore retired, and I decided to go
to America.
I sailed for that land, and my heart beat when we sighted the American
coast, faintly traced by the tops of some maple-trees emerging, as it
were, from the sea. A pilot came on board and we sailed into the
Chesapeake and soon set foot on American soil.
At that time I had a great admiration for republics, though I did not
believe them possible in our era of the world. My idea of liberty
pictured her such as she was among the ancients, daughter of the manners
of an infant society. I knew her not as the daughter of enlightenment
and the civilisation of centuries; as the liberty whose reality the
representative republic has proved--God grant it may be durable! We are
no longer obliged to work in our own little fields, to curse arts and
sciences, if we would be free.
I met General Washington. He was tall, calm, and cold rather than noble
in mien; the engravings of him are good. We sat down, and I explained to
him as well as I could the motive of my journey. He answered me in
English and French monosyllables, and listened to me with a sort of
astonishment. I perceived this, and said to him with some warmth: "But
is it less difficult to discover the north-west passage than to create a
nation as you have done?"
"Well, well, young man!" cried he, holding out his hand to me. He
invited me to dine with him on the following day, and we parted. I took
care not to fail in my appointment. The conversation turned on the
French Revolution, and the general showed us a key of the Bastille. Such
was my meeting with the citizen soldier--the liberator of a world.
_III.--Paris in the Reign of Terror_
In 1792, when I returned to Paris, it no longer exhibited the same
appearance as in 1789 and 1790. It was no longer the new-born
Revolution, but a people intoxicated, rushing on to fulfil its destiny
across abysses and by devious ways. The appearance of the people was no
longer curious and eager, but threatening.
The king's flight on June 21, 1791, gave an immense impulse to the
Revolution. Having been brought back to Paris on June 25, he was
dethroned for the first time, in consequence of the declaration of the
National Assembly that all its decrees should have the force of law,
without the king's concurrence or assent. I visited several of the
"Clubs."
The scenes at the Cordeliers, at which I was three or four times
present, were ruled and presided over by Danton--a Hun, with the nature
of a Goth.
Faithful to my instincts, I had returned from America to offer my sword
to Louis XVI., not to involve myself in party intrigues. I therefore
decided to "emigrate." Brussels was the headquarters of the most
distinguished _émigrés_. There I found my trifling baggage, which had
arrived before me. The coxcomb _émigrés_ were hateful to me. I was eager
to see those like myself, with 600 livres income.
My brother remained at Brussels as an aide-de-camp to the Baron de
Montboissier. I set out alone for Coblentz, went up the Rhine to that
city, but the royal army was not there. Passing on, I fell in with the
Prussian army between Coblentz and Treves. My white uniform caught the
king's eye. He sent for me; he and the Duke of Brunswick took off their
hats, and in my person saluted the old French army.
_IV.--The Army of Princes_
I was almost refused admission into the army of princes, for there were
already too many gallant men ready to fight. But I said I had just come
from America to have the honour of serving with old comrades. The matter
was arranged, the ranks were opened to receive me, and the only
remaining difficulty was where to choose. I entered the 7th company of
the Bretons. We had tents, but were in want of everything else.
Our little army marched for Thionville. We went five or six leagues a
day. The weather was desperate. We began the siege of Thionville, and in
a few days were reinforced by Austrian cannon and cannoneers. The
besieged made an attack on us, and in this action we had several wounded
and some killed. We relinquished the siege of Thionville and set out for
Verdun, which had surrendered to the allies. The passage of Frederic
William was attested on all sides by garlands and flowers. In the midst
of these trophies of peace I observed the Prussian eagle displayed on
the fortifications of Verdun. It was not to remain long; as for the
flowers, they were destined to fade, like the innocent creatures who had
gathered them. One of the most atrocious murders of the reign of terror
was that of the young girls of Verdun.
"Fourteen young girls of Verdun, of rare beauty, and almost like young
virgins dressed for a public fête, were," says Riouffe, "led in a body
to the scaffold. I never saw among us any despair like that which this
infamous act excited."
I had been wounded during the siege of Thionville, and was suffering
badly. While I was asleep, a splinter from a shell struck me on the
right thigh. Roused by the stroke, but not being sensible of the pain, I
only saw that I was wounded by the appearance of the blood. I bound up
my thigh with my handkerchief. At four in the morning we thought the
town had surrendered, but the gates were not opened, and we were obliged
to think of a retreat. We returned to our positions after a harassing
march of three days. While these drops of blood were shed under the
walls of Thionville, torrents were flowing in the prisons of Paris; my
wife and sisters were in greater danger than myself.
At Verdun, fever after my wound undermined my strength, and smallpox
attacked me. Yet I began a journey on foot of two hundred leagues, with
only eighteen livres in my pocket. All for the glory of the monarchy! I
intended to try to reach Ostend, there to embark for Jersey, and thence
to join the royalists in Brittany. Breaking down on the road, I lay
insensible for two hours, swooning away with a feeling of religion. The
last noise I heard was the whistling of a bullfinch. Some drivers of the
Prince de Ligne's waggons saw me, and in pity lifted me up and carried
me to Namur. Others of the prince's people carried me to Brussels. Here
I found my brother, who brought a surgeon and a doctor to attend to me.
He told me of the events of August 10, of the massacres of September,
and other political news of which I had not heard. He approved of my
intention to go to Jersey, and lent me twenty-five louis-d'or. We were
looking on each other for the last time.
After reaching Jersey, I was four months dangerously ill in my uncle's
house, where I was tenderly nursed. Recovering, I went in 1793 to
England, landing as a poor émigré where now, in 1822, I write these
memoirs, and enjoy the dignity of ambassador.
_V.--Letters from the Dead_
Several of my family fell victims to the Revolution. I learned in July,
1783, that my mother, after having been thrown, at the age of
seventy-two, into a dungeon, where she witnessed the death of some of
her children, expired at length on a pallet, to which her misfortunes
had consigned her. The thoughts of my errors greatly embittered her last
days, and on her death-bed she charged one of my sisters to reclaim me
to the religion in which I had been educated. My sister Julie
communicated my mother's last wish to me. When this letter reached me in
my exile, my sister herself was no more; she, too, had sunk beneath the
effects of her imprisonment. These two voices, coming as it were from
the grave--the dead interpreting the dead--had a powerful effect on me.
I became a Christian. I did not, indeed, yield to any great supernatural
light; my conviction came from my heart; I wept, I believed.
* * * * *