CHAPTER IX. THE FRENCHMAN'S STORY
While my life slipped thus pleasantly along, the hopes of the insurgentparty fell daily and hourly lower; disunion and distrust pervaded alltheir councils, jealousies and suspicions grew up among their leaders.Many of those whose credit stood highest in their party became informersto the Government, whose persevering activity increased with everyemergency; and finally, they who would have adventured everythingbut some few months before, grew lukewarm and indifferent. A doggedcarelessness seemed to have succeeded to their outbreak of enthusiasm,and they looked on at the execution of their companions and the wreck oftheir party with a stupid and stolid indifference.
For some time previous the delegates met at rare and irregularintervals, and finally ceased to assemble altogether. The bolder portionof the body, disgusted with the weak and temporizing views of theothers, withdrew first: and the less determined formed themselves intoa new Society, whose object was merely to get up petitions and addressesunfavorable to the great project of the Government,--a Legislative Unionwith England.
From the turn events had taken, my companion, as it may be supposed,took no interest in their proceedings. Affecting to think that all wasnot lost,--while in his heart he felt bitterly the disappointment ofhis hopes,--a settled melancholy, unrelieved even by those flashes ofbuoyancy which a Frenchman rarely loses in any misfortune, now grew uponhim. His cheek grew paler, and his frame seemed wasting away, while hisimpaired strength and tottering step betrayed that something more thansorrow was at work within him. Still he persevered in our course ofstudy, and notwithstanding all my efforts to induce him to relax inhis labors, his desire to teach me grew with every day. For some timea short, hacking cough, with pain in his chest, had seized on him, andalthough it yielded to slight remedies, it returned again and again.Our night walks were therefore obliged to be discontinued, and theconfinement to the house preyed upon his spirits and shook his nerves.Boy as I was, I could not look upon his altered face and attenuatedfigure without a thrilling fear at my heart lest he might be seriouslyill. He perceived my anxiety quickly, and endeavored, with many acheering speech, to assure me that these were attacks to which he hadbeen long accustomed, and which never were either lasting or dangerous;but the very hollow accents in which he spoke robbed these words of alltheir comfort to me.
The winter, which had been unusually long and severe, at length passedaway, and the spring, milder and more genial than is customary in ourclimate, succeeded; the sunlight came slanting down through the narrowcourt, and fell in one rich yellow patch upon the floor. Charlesstarted; his dark eyes, hollow and sunk, glowed with unwontedbrightness, and his haggard and hollow cheek suddenly flushed with acrimson glow.
"Mon cher," said he, in a voice tremulous with emotion, "I think if Iwere to leave this I might recover."
The very possibility of his death, until that moment, had never evencrossed my mind, and in the misery of the thought I burst into tears.From that hour the impression never left my mind; and every accent ofhis low, soft voice, every glance of his mild, dark eye, sank intomy heart, as though I heard and saw them for the last time. There wasnothing to fear now, so far as political causes were concerned, in ourremoving from our present abode; and it was arranged between us that weshould leave town, and take up our residence in the county of Wicklow.There was a small cottage at the opening of Glenmalure which mycompanion constantly spoke of; he had passed two nights there already,and left it with many a resolve to return and enjoy the delightfulscenery of the neighborhood.
The month of April was drawing to a close, when one morning soon aftersunrise we left Dublin. A heavy mist, such as often in northern climatesushers in a day of unusual brightness, shrouded every object from ourview for several miles of the way. Charles scarcely spoke; the increasedexertion seemed to have fatigued and exhausted him, and he lay back inthe carriage, his handkerchief pressed to his mouth, and his eyes halfclosed.
We had passed the little town of Bray, and entered upon that long roadwhich traverses the valley between the two Sugar Loaves, when suddenlythe sun burst forth; the lazy mists rolled heavily up the valley andalong the mountainsides, disclosing as they went patches of fertilerichness or dark masses of frowning rock. Above this, again, the purpleheath appeared glowing like a gorgeous amethyst, as the red sunlightplayed upon it, or sparkled on the shining granite that rose throughthe luxuriant herbage. Gradually the ravine grew narrower; the mountainseemed like one vast chain, severed by some great convulsion,--theirrugged sides appeared to mark the very junction; trunks of aged andmighty trees hung threateningly above the pass; and a hollow echoingsound arose as the horses trod along the causeway. It was a spot of wildand gloomy grandeur, and as I gazed on it intently, suddenly I felta hand upon my shoulder. I turned round: it was Charles's, his eyesriveted on the scene, his lips parted with eagerness. He spoke atlength; but at first his voice was hoarse and low, by degrees it grewfuller and richer, and at last rolled on in all its wonted strength androundness.
"See there,--look!" cried he, as his thin, attenuated figure pointedto the pass. "What a ravine to defend! The column, with two pieces ofartillery in the road; the cavalry to form behind, where you see thatopen space, and advance between the open files of the infantry; thetirailleurs scattered along that ridge where the furze is thickest, ordown there among those masses of rock. Sacristi! what a volume of firethey 'd pour down! See how the blue smoke and the ring of the musketwould mark them out as they dotted the mountain-side, and yet wereunapproachable to the enemy! And think then of the rolling thunderof the eighteen-pounders shaking these old mountains, and the long,clattering crash of the platoon following after, and the dark shakostowering above the smoke! And then the loud 'Viva!'--I think I hear it."
His cheek became purple as he spoke, his veins swollen and distended;his voice, though loud, lost nothing of its musical cadence; and hiswhole look betokened excitement, almost bordering on madness. Suddenlyhis chest heaved, a tremendous fit of coughing seized him, and he fellforward upon my shoulder. I lifted him up; and what was my horror toperceive that all his vest and cravat were bathed in florid blood, whichissued from his mouth! He had burst a blood-vessel in his wild transportof enthusiasm, and now lay pale, cold, and senseless in my arms.
It was a long time before we could proceed with our journey, foralthough fortunately the bleeding did not continue, fainting followedfainting for hours after. At length we were enabled to set out again,but only at a walking pace. For the remainder of the day his head restedon my shoulder, and his cold hand in mine, as we slowly traversedthe long, weary miles towards Glenmalure. The night was falling aswe arrived at our journey's end. Here, however, every kindness andattention awaited us; and I soon had the happiness of seeing my poorfriend in his bed, and sleeping with all the ease and tranquillity of achild.
From that hour every other thought was merged in my fears for him.I watched with an agonizing intensity every change of his malady; Iscanned with an aching heart every symptom day by day. How many timeshas the false bloom of hectic shed happiness over me! How often inmy secret walks have I offered up my prayer of thankfulness, as thedeceitful glow of fever colored his wan cheek, and lent a more thannatural brilliancy to his sunk and filmy eye! The world to me was allnothing, save as it influenced him. Every cloud that moved above, eachbreeze that rustled, I thought of for him; and when I slept, his imagewas still before me, and his voice seemed to call me oftentimes in thesilence of the night, and when I awoke and saw him sleeping, I knew notwhich was the reality.
His debility increased rapidly; and although the mild air of summer andthe shelter of the deep valley seemed to have relieved his cough, hisweakness grew daily more and more. His character, too, seemed to haveundergone a change as great and as striking as that in his health. Thehigh and chivalrous ambition, the soldierlike heroism, the ardent spiritof patriotism that at first marked him, had given way to a low andtender melancholy,--an almost womanish tenderness,--that made himlove to have the little children of the
cabin near him, to hear theirinnocent prattle and watch their infant gambols. He talked, too, ofhome; of the old chateau in Provence, where he was born, and describedto me its antiquated terraces and quaint, old-fashioned alleys, where asa boy he wandered with his sister.
"Pauvre Marie!" said he, as a deep blush covered his pale cheek, "howhave I deserted you!" The thought seemed full of anguish for him, andfor the remainder of the day he scarcely spoke.
Some days after his first mention of his sister, we were sittingtogether in front of the cabin, enjoying the shade of a largechestnut-tree, which already had put forth its early leaves, andtempered if it did not exclude the rays of the sun.
"You heard me speak of my sister," said he, in a low and broken voice."She is all that I have on earth near to me. We were brought up togetheras children; learned the same plays, had the same masters, spent not onehour in the long day asunder, and at night we pressed each other's handsas we sunk to sleep. She was to me all that I ever dreamed of girlishloveliness, of woman's happiest nature; and I was her ideal of boyishdaring, of youthful boldness, and manly enterprise. We loved eachother,--like those who felt they had no need of other affection, savesuch as sprang from our cradles, and tracked us on through life. Herswas a heart that seemed made for all that human nature can taste ofhappiness; her eye, her lip, her blooming cheek knew no other expressionthan a smile; her very step was buoyancy; her laugh rang through yourheart as joy-bells fill the air; and yet,--and yet! I brought that heartto sorrow, and that cheek I made pale, and hollow, and sunken as you seemy own. My cursed ambition, that rested not content with my own path inlife, threw its baleful shadow across hers. The story is a short one,and I may tell it to you.
"When I left Provence to join the army of the South, I was obliged toleave Marie under the care of an old and distant relative, who residedsome two leagues from us on the Loire. The chevalier was a widower, withone son about my own age, of whom I knew nothing save that he had neverleft his father's house; had been educated completely at home; and hadobtained the reputation of being a sombre, retired bookworm, who avoidedthe world, and preferred the lonely solitude of a provincial chateau tothe gay dissipations of Paris.
"My only fear in intrusting my poor sister in such hands was the direstupidity of the _sejour_; but as I bid her goodby, I said, laughingly,'Prenez garde, Marie, don't fall in love with Claude de Lauzan.'
"'Poor Claude!' said she, bursting into a fit of laughter; 'what a sadaffair that would be for him!' So saying, we parted.
"I made the campaign of Italy, where, as I have perhaps too often toldyou, I had some opportunities of distinguishing myself, and was promotedto a squadron on the field of Arcole. Great as my boyish exultationwas at my success, I believe its highest pleasure arose from theanticipation of Marie's delight when she received my letter withthe news. I wrote to her nearly every week, and heard from her asfrequently. At the time I did not mark, as I have since done, thealtered tone of her letters to me: how, gradually, the high ambitiousdaring that animated her early answers became tamed down into halfregretful fears of a soldier's career; her sorrows for those whoseconquered countries were laid waste by fire and sword; her impliedcensure of a war whose injustice she more than hinted at; and, lastly,her avowed preference for those peaceful paths in life that were devotedto the happiness of one's fellows, and the worship of Him who deservedall our affection. I did not mark, I say, this change,--the bustle ofthe camp, the din of arms, the crash of mounted squadrons, are poor aidsto reflection, and I thought of Marie but as I left her.
"It was after a few months of absence I returned to Provence,--the_croix d'honneur_ on my bosom, the sabre I won at Lodi by my side. Irushed into the room bursting with impatience to clasp my sister in myarms, and burning to tell her all my deeds and all my dangers. She metme with her old affection; but how altered in its form! Her gay andgirlish lightness, the very soul of buoyant pleasure, was gone; and inits place a mild, sad smile played upon her lip, and a deep, thoughtfullook was in her dark brown eye. She looked not less beautiful,--no, farfrom it; her loveliness was increased tenfold. But the disappointmentsmote heavily on my heart. I looked about me like one seeking forsome explanation; and there stood Claude--pale, still, andmotionless--before me: the very look she wore reflected in his calmfeatures; her very smile was on his lips. In an instant the whole truthflashed across me: she loved him.
"There are thoughts which rend us, as lightning does the rock, openingnew surfaces that lay hid since the Creation, and tearing our fast-knitsympathies asunder like the rent granite: mine was such. From that hourI hated him; the very virtues that had, under happier circumstances,made us like brothers, but added fuel to the flame. My rival, he hadrobbed me of my sister;--he had left me without that one great prizeI owned on earth; and all that I had dared and won seemed poor, andbarren, and worthless, since she no longer valued it.
"That very night I wrote a letter to the First Consul. I knew the ardentdesire he possessed to attach to Josephine's suite such members of theold aristocracy as could be induced to join it. He had more thanonce hinted to me that the fame of my sister's beauty had reachedthe Tuileries; that with such pretensions as hers, the seclusion of achateau in Provence was ill suited to her. I stated at once my wishthat she might be received as one of the Ladies of the Court, avowingmy intention to afford her any sum that might be deemed suitable tomaintain her in so exalted a sphere. This, you are not aware, is themode by which the members of a family express to the consul that theysurrender all right and guardianship in the individual given, tenderingto him full power to dispose of her in marriage, exactly as though hewere her own father.
"Before day broke my letter was on its way to Paris; in less than a weekcame the answer, accepting my proposal in the most flattering terms,and commanding me to repair to the Tuileries with my sister, and takecommand of a regiment d' elite then preparing for service.
"I may not dwell on the scene that followed; the very memory of it istoo much for my weak and failing spirits. Claude flung himself at myfeet, and confessed his love. He declared his willingness to submit toany or everything I should dictate: he would join the army; he wouldvolunteer for Egypt. Poor fellow! his trembling accents and bloodlesslip comported ill with the heroism of his words. Only promise that inthe end Marie should be his, and there was no danger he would not dare,no course in life, however unsuited to him, he would not follow at mybidding. I know not whether my heart could have withstood such an appealas this, had I been free to act; but now the die was cast. I handedhim the First Consul's letter. He opened it with a hand trembling likepalsy, and read it over; he leaned his head against the chimney when hefinished, and gave me back the letter without a word. I could not bearto look on him, and left the room.
"When I returned he was gone. We left the chateau the same evening forParis. Marie scarcely spoke one word during the journey; a fatuous,stupid indifference to everything and every one had seized her, and sheseemed perfectly careless whither we went. This gradually yielded to asettled melancholy, which never left her. On our arrival in Paris, I didnot dare to present myself with her at the Tuileries; so, feigningher ill health as an excuse, I remained some weeks at Versailles, toendeavor by affection and care to overcome this sad feature of hermalady. It was about six weeks after this that I read in the 'Journaldes Debats' an announcement that, Claude de Lauzan had accepted holyorders, and was appointed _cure_ of La Fleche, in Brittany.' At firstthe news came on me like a thunder-clap; but after a while's reflectionI began to believe it was perhaps the very best thing could havehappened. And under this view of the matter I left the paper in Marie'sway.
"I was right. She did not appear the next morning at breakfast, nor theentire day after. The following day the same; but in the evening camea few lines written with a pencil, saying she wished to see me. Iwent;--but I cannot tell you. My very heart is bursting as I think ofher, as she sat up in her bed; her long, dark hair falling in heavymasses over her shoulders, and her darker eyes flashing with abrightness that seem
ed like wandering intellect. She fell upon my neckand cried; her tears ran down my cheek, and her sobs shook me. I knownot what I said: but I remember that she agreed to everything I hadarranged for her; she even smiled a sickly smile as I spoke of what anornament she would be to the belle cour,--and we parted.
"That was the last good-night I ever wished her. The next day she wasreceived at Court, and I was ordered to Normandy; thence I was sent toBoulogne, and soon after to Ireland."
"But you have written to her,--you have heard from her?"
"Alas! no. I have written again and again; but either she has neverreceived my letters, or she will not answer them."
The tone of sorrow he concluded in left no room for any effort atconsolation, and we were silent; at last he took my hand in his, and ashis feverish fingers pressed it, he said,--"'T is a sad thing when wework the misery of those for whose happiness we would have shed ourheart's blood."
Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I Page 10