BEFORE THE MARRIAGE.
The wedding guests were assembled. Madame Bugeaud had just put the
veil upon the head of her daughter Margaret, and impressed upon her
forehead the last kiss of motherly love. It was the hour when a
mother holds her daughter as a child in her arms for the last time,
bids adieu to the pleasant pictures of the past, and sends her child
from her parents' house to go out into the world and seek a new
home. Painful always is such an hour to a mother's heart, for the
future is uncertain; no one knows any thing about the new
vicissitudes that may arise.
And painful, too, to the wife of Councillor Bugeaud was this parting
from her dearly-loved daughter, but she suppressed her deep emotion,
restrained the tears in her heart, that not one should fall upon the
bridal wreath of her loved daughter. Tears dropped upon the bridal
wreath are the heralds of coming misfortune, the seal of pain which
destiny stamps upon the brow of the doomed one.
And the tender mother would so gladly have taken away from her loved
Margaret every pain and every misfortune! The times were
threatening, and the horizon of the present was so full of stormy
signs that it was necessary to look into the future with hope.
"Go, my daughter," said Madame Bugeaud, with a smile, regarding
which only God knew how much it cost the mother's heart--" go out
into your new world, be happy, and may you never regret the moment
when yon left the threshold of your father's house to enter a new
home!"
"My dear mother," cried Margaret, with beaming eyes, "the house to
which I am going is the house of him I love, and my new home is his
heart, which is noble, great, and good, and in which all the
treasures in the earth for me rest."
"God grant, my daughter, that you may after many years be able to
repeat those words!"
"I shall repeat them, mother, for in my heart is a joyful trust. I
can never be unhappy, for Toulan loves me. But, hark! I hear him
coming; it is his step, and listen! he is calling me!"
And the young girl, with reddening cheeks, directed her glowing eyes
to the door, which just then opened, where appeared her lover, in a
simple, dark, holiday-suit, with a friendly, grave countenance, his
tender, beaming eyes turned toward his affianced.
He hastened to her, and kissed the little trembling hand which was
extended to him.
"All the wedding guests are ready, my love. The carriages are
waiting, and as soon as we enter the church the clergyman will
advance to the altar to perform the ceremony."
"Then let us go, Louis," said Margaret, nodding to him, and arm-in-
arm they went to the door.
But Toulan held back. "Not yet, my dear one. Before we go to the
church, I want to have a few words with you."
"That is to say, my dear sir, that you would like to have me
withdraw," said the mother, with a smile. "Do not apologize, my son,
that is only natural, and I dare not be jealous. My daughter belongs
to you, and I have no longer the right to press into your secrets.
So I will withdraw, and only God may hear what the lover has to say
to his affianced before the wedding."
She nodded in friendly fashion to the couple, and left the room.
"We are now alone, my Margaret," said Toulan, putting his arm around
the neck of the fair young maiden, and drawing her to himself. "Only
God is to hear what I have to say to you."
"I hope, Louis," whispered the young girl, trembling, "I hope it is
not bad news that you want to tell me. Your face is so grave, your
whole look so solemn. You love me still, Louis?"
"Yes, Margaret, I do love you," answered he, softly; "but yet,
before you speak the word which binds you to me forever, I must open
my whole heart to you, and you must know all I feel, in order that,
if there is a future to prove us, we may meet it with fixed gaze and
joyful spirit."
"My God! what have I to hear?" whispered the young girl, pressing
her hand to her heart, that began to beat with unwonted violence.
"You will have to hear, my Margaret, that I love you, and yet that
the image of another woman is cherished in my heart."
"Who is this other woman?" cried Margaret.
"Margaret, it is Queen Marie Antoinette."
The girl breathed freely, and laughed. "Ah! how you frightened me,
Louis. I was afraid you were going to name a rival, and now you
mention her whom I, too, love and honor, to whom I pay my whole
tribute of admiration, and who, although you ought to live there
alone, has a place in my heart. I shall never be jealous of the
queen. I love her just as devotedly as you do."
A light, sympathetic smile played upon the lips of Toulan. "No,
Margaret," said he, gravely, "you do not love her as I do, and you
cannot, for your duty to her is not like mine. Listen, my darling,
and I will tell you a little story--a story which is so sacred to me
that it has never passed over my lips, although, according to the
ways of human thinking, there is nothing so very strange about it.
Come, my dear, sit down with me a little while, and listen to me."
He led the maiden to the little divan, and took a place with her
upon it. Her hand lay within his, and with a joyful and tender look
she gazed into the bold, noble, and good face of the man to whom she
was ready to devote her whole life.
"Speak now, Louis, I will listen!"
"I want to tell you of my father, Margaret," said the young man,
with a gentle voice--" of my father, who thirsted and hungered for
me, in his efforts to feed, clothe, and educate me. He had been an
officer in the army, had distinguished himself in many a battle, was
decorated, on account of his bravery, with the Order of St. Louis,
and discharged as an invalid. That was a sad misfortune for my
father, for he was poor, and his officer's pay was his only fortune.
But no--he had a nobler, a fairer fortune--he had a wife whom he
passionately loved, a little boy whom he adored. And now the means
of existence were taken away from this loved wife, this dear boy,
and from him whose service had been the offering of his life for his
king and country, the storming of fortifications, the defying of the
bayonets of enemies; and who in this service had been so severely
wounded, that his life was saved only by the amputation of his right
arm. Had it not been just this right arm, he would have been able to
do something for himself, and to have found some employment in the
government service. But now he was robbed of all hope of employment;
now he saw for himself and his family only destruction, starvation!
But he could not believe it possible; he held it to be impossible
that the king should allow his bold soldier, his knight of the Order
of St. Louis, to die of hunger, after becoming a cripple in his
service. He resolved to go to Paris, to declare his need to the
king, and to implore the royal bounty. This journey was the last
hope of the family, and my father was just entering on it when my
mother sickened and died. She was the prop, the right arm of my
father; she was the nurse, the teacher of his poor boy; now he had
no hope more, except in the favor of the king and in death. The last
valuables were sold, and father and son journeyed to Paris: an
invalid whose bravery had cost him an arm, and whose tears over a
lost wife had nearly cost him his eyesight, and a lad of twelve
years, acquainted only with pain and want from his birth, and in
whose heart, notwithstanding, there was an inextinguishable germ of
hope, spirit, and joy. We went on foot, and when my shoes were torn
with the long march, my feet swollen and bloody, my father told me
to climb upon his back and let him carry me. I would not allow it,
Suppressed my pain, and went on till I dropped in a swoon."
"Oh!" cried Margaret, with tears in her eyes, "how much you have
suffered; and I am learning it now for the first time, and you never
told me this sad history."
"I forgot every thing sad when I began to love you, Margaret, and I
did not want to trouble you with my stories. Why should we darken
the clear sky of the present with the clouds of the past? the future
will unquestionably bring its own clouds. I tell you all this now,
in order that you may understand my feelings. Now hear me further,
Margaret! At last, after long-continued efforts, we reached
Versailles, and it seemed to us as if all suffering and want were
taken away from us when we found ourselves in a dark, poor inn, and
lay down on the hard beds. On the next, my father put on his
uniform, decorated his breast with the order of St. Louis, and, as
the pain in his eyes prevented his going alone, I had to accompany
him. We repaired to the palace and entered the great gallery which
the court daily traversed on returning from mass in the royal
apartments. My father, holding in his hand the petition which I had
written to his dictation, took his place near the door through which
the royal couple must pass. I stood near him and looked with curious
eyes at the brilliant throng which filled the great hall, and at the
richly-dressed gentlemen who were present and held petitions in
their hands, in spite of their cheerful looks and their fine
clothes. And these gentlemen crowded in front of my father, shoved
him to the wall, hid him from the eye of the king, who passed
through the hall at the side of the queen, and with a pleasant face
received all the petitions which were handed to him. Sadly we turned
home, but on the following day we repaired to the gallery again, and
I had the courage to crowd back some of the elegantly-dressed men
who wanted to press before my father, and to secure for him a place
in the front row. I was rewarded for my boldness. The king came, and
with a gracious smile took the petition from the hand of my father,
and laid it in the silver basket which the almoner near him
carried."
"Thank God," cried Margaret, with a sigh of relief, "thank God, you
were saved!"
"That we said too, Margaret, and that restored my father's hope and
made him again happy and well. We went the next day to the gallery.
The king appeared, the grand almoner announced the names of those
who were to receive answers to their petitions--the name of my
father was not among them! But we comforted ourselves with the
thought, it was not possible to receive answers so quickly, and on
the next day we went to the gallery again, and so on for fourteen
successive days, but all in vain; the name of my father was never
called. Still we went every day to the gallery and took our old
place there, only the countenance of my father was daily growing
paler, his step weaker, and his poor boy more trustless and weak. We
had no longer the means of stilling our hunger, we had consumed
every thing, and my father's cross of St. Louis was our last
possession. But that we dared not part with, for it was our passport
to the palace, it opened to us the doors of the great gallery, and
there was still one last hope. 'We go to-morrow for the last time,'
said my father to me on the fifteenth day. 'If it should be in vain
on the morrow, then I shall sell my cross, that you, Louis, may not
need to be hungry any more, and then may God have mercy upon us!' So
we went the next day to the gallery again. My father was to-day
paler than before, but he held his head erect; he fixed his eye,
full of an expression of defiance and scorn, upon the talkative,
laughing gentlemen around him, who strutted in their rich clothes,
and overlooked the poor chevalier who stood near them, despised and
alone. In my poor boy's heart there was a fearful rage against these
proud, supercilious men, who thought themselves so grand because
they wore better clothes, and because they had distinguished
acquaintances and relations, and yet were no more than my father--no
more than suppliants and petitioners; tears of anger and of grief
filled my eyes, and the depth of our poverty exasperated my soul
against the injustice of fate. All at once the whispering and
talking ceased,--the king and the queen had entered the gallery. The
king advanced to the middle of the hall, the grand almoner called
the names, and the favored ones approached the king, to receive from
him the fulfilment of their wishes, or at least keep their hope
alive. Near him stood the young queen, and while she was converging
with some gentlemen of the court, her beautiful eyes glanced over to
us, and lingered upon the noble but sad form of my father. I had
noticed that on previous days, and every time it seemed to me as if
a ray from the sun had warmed my poor trembling heart--as if new
blossoms of hope were putting forth in my soul. To-day this
sensation, when the queen looked at us, was more intense than
before. My father looked at the king and whispered softly, 'I see
him to-day for the last time!' But I saw only the queen, and while I
pressed the cold, moist hand of my father to my lips, I whispered,
'Courage, dear father, courage! The queen has seen us.' She stopped
short in her conversation with the gentleman and advanced through
the hall with a quick, light step directly to us; her large gray-
blue eyes beamed with kindness, a heavenly smile played around her
rosy lips, her cheeks were flushed with feeling; she was simply
dressed, and yet there floated around her an atmosphere of grace and
nobleness. 'My dear chevalier,' said she, and her voice rang like
the sweetest music, 'my dear chevalier, have you given a petition to
the king?' 'Yes, madame,' answered my father trembling, 'fourteen
days ago I presented a petition to the king.' 'And have you received
no answer yet?' she asked quickly. 'I see you every day here with
the lad there, and conclude you are still hoping for an answer.' 'So
it is, madame,' answered my father, 'I expect an answer, that is I
expect a decision involving my life or death.' 'Poor man!' said the
queen, with a tone of deep sympathy. 'Fourteen days of such waiting
must be dreadful! I pity you sincerely. Have you no one to present
your claims?' 'Madame,' answered my father, 'I have no one else to
present my claims than this empty sleeve which lacks a right arm--no
other protection than the justice of my cause.' 'Poor man!' sighed
the queen, 'you must know the world very little if you believe that
this is enough. But, if you allow me, I will undertake your
protection, and be your intercessor with the king. Tell me your name
and address.' My father gave them, the queen listened attentively
and smiled in friendly fashion. 'Be here to-morrow at this hour--I
myself will bring you the king's answer.' We left the palace with
new courage, with new hope. We felt no longer that we were tired and
hungry, and heeded not the complaints of our host, who declared that
he had no more patience, and that he would no longer give us credit
for the miserable chamber which we had. His scolding and threatening
troubled us that day no more. We begged him to have patience with us
till to-morrow. We told him our hopes for the future, and we
rejoiced in our own cheerful expectations. At length the next day
arrived, the hour of the audience came, and we repaired to the great
gallery. My heart beat so violently that I could feel it upon my
lips, and my father's face was lighted up with a glow of hope; his
eye had its old fire, his whole being was filled with new life, his
carriage erect as in our happy days. At last the doors opened and
the royal couple entered. 'Pray for me, my son,' my father
whispered--'pray for me that my hopes be not disappointed, else I
shall fall dead to the earth.' But I could not pray, I could not
think. I could only gaze at the beautiful young queen, who seemed to
my eyes as if beaming in a golden cloud surrounded by all the stars
of heaven. The eyes of the queen darted inquiringly through the
hall; at last she caught mine and smiled. Oh that smile! it shot
like a ray of sunlight through my soul, it filled my whole being
with rapture. I sank upon my knee, folded my hands, and now I could
think, could pray: 'A blessing upon the queen! she comes to save my
dear father's life, for she frees us from our sufferings.' The queen
approached, so beautiful, so lovely, with such a beaming eye. She
held a sealed paper in her hand and gave it to my father with a
gentle inclination of her head. 'Here, sir,' she said, 'the king is
happy to be able to reward, in the name of France, one of his best
officers. The king grants you a yearly pension of three hundred
louis-d'or, and I wish for you and your son that you may live yet
many years to enjoy happiness and health. Go at once with this paper
to the treasury, and you will receive the first quarterly payment.'
Then, when she saw that my father was almost swooning, she summoned
with a loud voice some gentlemen of the court, and commanded them to
take care of my father; to take him out into the fresh air, and to
arrange that he be sent home in a carriage. Now all these fine
gentlemen were busy in helping us. Every one vied with the others in
being friendly to us; and the poor neglected invalid who had been
crowded to the wall, the overlooked officer Toulan, was now an
object of universal care and attention. We rode home to our inn in a
royal carriage, and the host did not grumble any longer; he was
anxious to procure us food, and very active in caring for all our
needs. The queen had saved us from misfortune, the queen had made us
happy and well to do."
"A blessing upon the dear head of our queen!" cried Margaret,
raising her folded hands to heaven. "Now I shall doubly love her,
for she is the benefactor of him I love. Oh, why have you waited
until now before telling me this beautiful, touching story? Why have
I not enjoyed it before? But I thank you from my heart for the good
which it has done me."
"My dear one," answered Toulan, gravely, "there are experiences in
the human soul that one may reveal only in the most momentous epochs
of life--just as in the Jewish temple the Holy of Holies was
revealed only on the chief feast-days. Such a time, my dear one, is
to-day, and I withdraw all veils from my heart, and let you see and
know what, besides you, only God sees and knows. Since that day when
I returned with my father from the palace, and when the queen had
made us happy again--since that day my whole soul has belonged to
the queen. I thanked her for all, for the contentment of my father,
for every cheerful hour which we spent together; and all the
knowledge I have gained, all the studies I have attempted, I owe to
the beautiful, noble Marie Antoinette. We went to our home, and I
entered the high-school in order to fit myself to be a merchant, a
bookseller. My father had enjoined upon me riot to choose a
soldier's lot. The sad experience of his invalid life hung over him
like a dark cloud, and he did not wish that I should ever enter into
the same. 'Be an independent, free man,' said he to me. 'Learn to
depend on your own strength and your own will alone. Use the powers
of your mind, become a soldier of labor, and so serve your country.
I know, indeed, that if the hour of danger ever comes, you will be a
true, bold soldier for your queen, and fight for her till your last
breath.' I had to promise him on his death-bed that I would so do.
Even then he saw the dark and dangerous days approach, which have
now broken upon the realm--even then he heard the muttering of the
tempest which now so inevitably is approaching; and often when I
went home to his silent chamber I found him reading, with tears in
his eyes, the pamphlets and journals which had come from Paris to us
at Rouen, and which seemed to us like the storm-birds announcing the
tempest. 'The queen is so good, so innocent,' he would sigh, 'and
they make her goodness a crime and her innocence they make guilt!
She is like a lamb, surrounded by tigers, that plays thoughtlessly
with the flowers, and does not know the poison that lurks beneath
them. Swear to me, Louis, that you will seek, if God gives you the
power, to free the lamb from the bloodthirsty tigers. Swear to me
that your whole life shall be devoted to her service.' And I did
swear it, Margaret, not merely to my dear father, but to myself as
well. Every day I have repeated, 'To Queen Marie Antoinette belongs
my life, for every thing that makes life valuable I owe to her.'
"When my father died, I left Rouen and removed to Paris, there to
pursue my business as a bookseller. My suspicions told me that the
time would soon come when the friends of the queen must rally around
her, and must perhaps put a mask over their faces, in order to
sustain themselves until the days of real danger. That time has now
come, Margaret; the queen is in danger! The tigers have surrounded
the lamb, and it cannot escape. Enemies everywhere, wherever you
look!--enemies even in the palace itself. The Count de Provence, her
own brother-in-law, has for years persecuted her with his epigrams,
because he cannot forgive it in her that the king pays more
attention to her counsels than he does to those of his brother, who
hates the Austrian. The Count d'Artois, formerly the only friend of
Marie Antoinette in the royal family, deserted her when the queen
took ground against the view of the king's brothers in favor of the
double representation of the Third Estate, and persuaded her husband
to comply with the wishes of the nation and call together the
States-General. He has gone over to the camp of her enemies, and
rages against the queen, because she is inclined to favor the wishes
of the people. And yet this very people is turned against her, does
not believe in the love, but only in the hate of the queen, and all
parties are agreed in keeping the people in this faith. The Duke
d'Orleans revenges himself upon the innocent and pure queen for the
scorn which she displays to this infamous prince. The aunts of the
queen revenge themselves for the obscure position to which fate has
consigned them, they having to play the second part at the brilliant
court of Versailles, and be thrown into the shade by Marie
Antoinette. The whole court--all these jealous, envious ladies--
revenge themselves for the favor which the queen has shown to the
Polignacs. They have undermined her good name; they have fought
against her with the poisoned arrows of denunciation, calumny,
pamphlets, and libels. Every thing bad that has happened has been
ascribed to her. She has been held responsible for every evil that
has happened to the nation.
The queen is accountable for the financial troubles that have broken
over us, and since the ministry have declared the state bankrupt,
Parisians call the queen Madame Deficit. Curses follow her when she
drives out, and even when she enters the theatre. Even in her own
gardens of St. Cloud and Trianon men dare to insult the queen as she
passes by. In all the clubs of Paris they thunder at the queen, and
call her the destruction of Prance. The downfall of Marie Antoinette
is resolved upon by her enemies, and the time has come when her
friends must be active for her. The time has come for me to pay the
vow which I made to my dying father and to myself. God has blessed
my efforts and crowned my industry and activity with success. I have
reached an independent position. The confidence of my fellow-
citizens has made me a councillor. I have accepted the position, not
out of vanity or ambition, but because it will give me opportunity
to serve the queen. I wear a mask before my face. I belong to the
democrats and agitators. I appear to the world as an enemy of the
queen, in order to be able to do her some secret service as a
friend; for I say to you, and repeat it before God, to the queen
belong my whole life, my whole being, and thought. I love you,
Margaret! Every thing which can make my life happy will come from
you, and yet I shall be ready every hour to leave you--to see my
happiness go to ruin without a complaint, without a sigh, if I can
be of service to the queen. You my heart loves; her my soul adores.
Wherever I shall be, Margaret, if the call of the queen comes to me,
I shall follow it, even if I know that death lurks at the door
behind which the queen awaits me. We stand before a dark and
tempestuous time, and our country is to be torn with fearful strife.
All passions are unfettered, all want to fight for freedom, and
against the chains with which the royal government has held them
bound. An abyss has opened between the crown and the nation, and the
States-General and the Third Estate will not close it, but only
widen it. I tell you, Margaret, dark days are approaching; I see
them coming, and I cannot, for your sake, withdraw from them, for I
am the soldier of the queen. I must keep guard before her door, and,
if I cannot save her, I must die in her service. Know this,
Margaret, but know, too, that I love you. Let me repeat, that from
you alone all fortune and happiness can come to me, and then do you
decide. Will you, after all that I have told you, still accept my
hand, which I offer you in tenderest affection? Will you be my wife,
knowing that my life belongs not to you alone, but still more to
another? Will you share with me the dangers of a stormy time, of an
inevitable future with me, and devote yourself with, me to the
service of the queen? Examine yourself, Margaret, before you answer.
Do not forget your great and noble heart; consider that it is a vast
sacrifice to devote your life to a man who is prepared every hour to
give his life for another woman--to leave the one he loves, and to
go to his death in defence of his queen. Prove your heart; and, if
you find that the sacrifice is too great, turn your face away from
me, and I will quickly go my way--will not complain, will think that
it happens rightly, will love you my whole life long, and thank you
for the pleasant hours which your love has granted to me."
He had dropped from the divan upon his knee, and looked up to her
with supplicating and anxious eyes. But Margaret did not turn her
face away from him. A heavenly smile played over her features, her
eye beamed with love and emotion. And as her glance sank deep into
the heart of her lover, he caught the look as if it had been a ray
of sunlight. She laid her arms upon his shoulders, and pressing his
head to her bosom, she bowed over him and kissed his black, curly
hair.
"Ah! I love you, Louis," she whispered. "I am ready to devote my
life to you, to share your dangers with you, and in all contests to
stand by your side. Soldier of the queen, in me you shall always
have a comrade. With you I will fight for her, with you die for her,
if it must be. We will have a common love for her, we will serve her
in common, and with fidelity and love thank her for the good which
she has done to you and your father."
"Blessings upon you, Margaret!" cried Toulan, as breaking into tears
he rested his head upon the knee of his affianced. "Blessings on
you, angel of my love and happiness!" Then he sprang up, and,
drawing the young girl within his arms, he impressed a glowing kiss
upon her lips.
"That is my betrothal kiss, Margaret; now you are mine; in this hour
our souls are united in never-ending love and faithfulness. Nothing
can separate us after this, for we journey hand in hand upon the
same road; we have the same great and hallowed goal! Now come, my
love, let us take our place before the altar of God, and testify
with an oath to the love which we cherish toward our queen!"
He offered her his arm, and, both smiling, both with beaming faces,
left the room, and joined the wedding guests who had long been
waiting for them with growing impatience. They entered the carriages
and drove to the church. With joyful faces the bridal pair pledged
their mutual fidelity before the altar, and their hands pressed one
another, and their eyes met with a secret understanding of all that
was meant at that wedding. They both knew that at that moment they
were pledging their fidelity to the queen, and that, while seeming
to give themselves away to each other, they were really giving
themselves to their sovereign.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, they left the church of St. Louis
to repair to the wedding dinner, which Councillor Bugeaud had
ordered to be prepared in one of the most brilliant restaurants of
Versailles.
"Will you not tell me now, my dear son," he said to Toulan--"will
you not tell me now why you wish so strongly to celebrate the
wedding in Versailles, and not in Paris, and why in the church of
St. Louis?"
"I will tell you, father," answered Toulan, pressing the arm of his
bride closer to his heart. "I wanted here, where the country erects
its altar, where in a few days the nation will meet face to face
these poor earthly majesties; here, where in a few days the States-
General will convene, to defend the right of the people against the
prerogative of the sovereign, here alone to give to my life its new
consecration. Versailles will from this time be doubly dear to me. I
shall owe to it my life's happiness as a man, my freedom as a
citizen. They have done me the honor in Rouen to elect me to a place
in the Third Estate, and as, in a few days, the Assembly of the
Nation will meet here in Versailles, I wanted my whole future
happiness to be connected with the place. And I wanted to be married
in St. Louis's church, because I love the good King Louis. He is the
true and sincere friend of the nation, and he would like to make his
people happy, if the queen, the Austrian, would allow it."
"Yes, indeed," sighed the councillor, who, in spite of his relation
to Madame de Campan, belonged to the opponents of the queen--" yes,
indeed, if the Austrian woman allowed it. But she is not willing
that France should be happy. Woe to the queen; all our misery comes
from her!