.” In this disposition of mind, the soothing friendship, or the calm reasoning, of the Abb — , equally lost their effect, and his attachment for the unfortunate de Touranges was often put to the severest proof. It was in vain he represented to his distracted friend, that the paroxysms of passion to which he thus yielded, might encrease, but could not alleviate his calamities; and that a plan regularly pursued, would be infinitely more conducive to the object so near his heart. But after being embroiled in two or three quarrels, and exposing himself to the disagreeable probability of receiving an order to quit Berlin, he took the sudden resolution of returning to Vienna, and throwing himself into some of those corps of French which yet remained on the frontiers. He found that the Abbé de St. Remi had received an invitation from his niece Madame Lewinstirn, to make her residence his home, and that nothing but his reluctance to quit him, prevented his accepting such an offer. A young woman, in the absence of her husband, could not prevail upon the Abbé to leave him, after long arguments upon the subject, he resolved at least to put an end to his friends difficulties on his account; and having appeared for a day or two more calm, and to be debating on what he should do, he suddenly departed in the night with his servant putting into a packet directed to St. Remi, more than half the money he had left, together with a long letter, in which he declared to him, that any pursuit of him would be in vain, but that he would write where ever he might be. The excellent heart of St. Remi was extremely affected, both by his friend’s departure, and the reasons he gave for it; but he had only to acquiesce, knowing the disposition of the Marquis too well to have attempted to pursue him, had the means been in his power. — D’Alonville and Ellesmere did whatever was possible to console this respectable man, who was not insensible of their attention. In a few days after the departure of de Touranges, Madame Lewenstirn came to Berlin on purpose to carry her uncle with her to her retirement. He was then compelled to bid adieu to his two young friends. To D’Alonville he gave much excellent advice for his future conduct, and found him more willing to receive it, than the impetuous and irretable irritable de Touranges. He made D’Alonville promise to write to him; and parted him with concern truly paternal. When he was gone, Ellesmere and D’Alonville, who had no longer any motive to stay at Berlin, prepared to depart also. The latter had again the whole world before him, without any particular motive to determine him to any part of it; unless it were those which had for some time made him wish to hazard a return to France. His English friend, Ellesmere, was the only person who now seemed interested for his fate: — with him he canvassed every project for the future as it arose in his mind; and every conversation ended with Ellesmere’s persuading him to go with him to England. “If you afterwards determine to go to France,” said he, “though to me it appears the wildest and most impractical scheme imaginable — from whence can you go with so much convenience as from England? though I have not, my friend, an house to offer you, being only a younger brother, and not knowing what is to be my own destiny, yet it may be in my power to be of some use to you; and if events should turn out more favourable than they at present promise, you may not be sorry to pass a few weeks in England on you way back to your own country.” D’Alonville shook his head sorrowfully. “Ah, my dear Sir,” replied he, “you should not hold out to me visions so flattering, and so little likely to be realized. Once indeed I thought to have visited England as a traveller, for pleasure and instruction. Now, as what am I to appear there? — As one of those unhappy strangers, whose numbers, notwithstanding the generosity of your country, are already a subject of complaint.” Recollections of those happy days, when every object wore for him aspects so different, now crowded on his mind; but Ellesmere, whose friendship for him was equally warm and sincere, would not leave him to these melancholy reflections, but appeared so sincerely desirous of their remaining together, and offered so many reasons why he should go to England, that D’Alonville at length determined upon it. After staying about ten days at Berlin, they quitted it, and took their road to Hamburgh, where they intended to embark for England. On their way the conversation frequently turned on the Polish friends, of whom Ellesmere as frequently expressed the utmost solicitude to hear — absence, and the little probability there was that he should ever see her again, had not diminished the tender admiration that he felt for Alexina; and when he indulged himself be talking of her in a rapturous style, D’Alonville frequently rallied him on the figure he would make among his country women, should it be known of him, that he had left his heart with a Polonese, whom he met wandering in a German forest. Ellesmere, in his turn, accused his friend of insensibility; “or rather,” said he, “you deny the existence of those charms in Alexina, which surely no man can deny, because you have in your memory all resemble. — Ah Chevalier! you are not I believe exempt from that taste in gallantry that has been imputed to your country. This charming Madame D’Alberg — this Adriana of whom I have heard you speak — Confess my friend, that for this imperial beauty, you feel that preference which you wonder at my feeling for the lovely pilgrim.’
“No, upon my honor,” answered D’Alonville very gravely, “I never was so ungrateful, or so much of coxcomb, as to think of Madame D’Alberg otherwise than as a sister, to whom I owe the greatest obligations — nor do I recollect calling her by the familiar name of Adriana, unless when I have been repeating to you, conversations between her mother and her, or her mother and me; and I assure you, my dear Ellesmere, you might as well suspect me of a penchant for the respectable Baroness de Rosenheim, as for her daughter.”
“But this Theresa, to whom I saw you writing the other day?”
“Theresa is the confidential servant of Madame D’Alberg. It is by her means only, that my friends can hear of me. Their generous solicitude for my safety, induced them to propose my writing, by directing my letters to her. I have obeyed them but only once since I bade them adieu. I do not mean often to avail myself even of this permission, left it should be attended with inconvenience to them.” D’Alonville, however, never renewed the mention of his German friends without a sigh; and Ellesmere, though he forebore to repeat his suspicions of his being attached to Madame D’Alberg, when he saw those suspicions really gave him pain, could not help continuing to believe, that his young friend had given to the German Count more cause of uneasiness than he was willing to allow.
Ellesmere sometimes talked of the persons to whom he hoped to have an opportunity of introducing him in England. “We will go down together to the old hall in Staffordshire,” said he; “for my father and mother are worthy kind of folks enough, and are always glad to see me, and any friend I bring with me for a month or so. As to my sisters, they are good girls — not very handsome; and they had been educated, except the eldest, almost entirely in the country; so that they are not of the haut ton. You, who have lived, I suppose, among women of the first style in France, will be in no danger of falling in love with them, even though you are not by your predeliction in favor of some other, secured from the attractions of my fair country women.”
I might be in imminent danger,” answered D’Alonville, if that were all my security, and especially as I have heard so much of the beauty of English ladies; but alas! my friend, the unfortunate exiles who now seek an asylum in your country, are not likely to engage in gallantries; or whatever others may be, I believe I dare venture to assure you, that I shall never so far violate the laws of hospitality in the house of my friend’s father, should I be admitted there. Every woman will have my respect; but none, whatever may be their charms, will, I trust, occasion me to forget what I owe to the confidence and hospitality that admits me.” “You take the matter too seriously,” replied Ellesmere. “If the girls were handsome, I don’t know why you should not like them as well as another; or why you should not say so; but perhaps you are determined, my friend, to shew an uncontrovertible instance of what has been often asserted within these two years, that the French and the English nations have changed characters — you, a volatile French
man, seem at one-and-twenty to be a stoic; I, phlegmatic Englishman two years older, am falling desperately in love every step I take, with some nymph or other.”
“The change, if it be one, “answered D’Alonville, “is easily accounted for; at least as far as relates to us, as individuals; you may freely indulge the fallies of your imagination, for you are secure of being received, after all you egarements, by family who love you, in a country where security and prosperity await you; but I must be indeed more naturally volatile, than the most volatile of my countrymen ever were even in the proudest days of France, if the reverse of fortune which I have experienced, did not check my levity. I had a father, a brother, fortune, friends, and prospects of a still more brilliant destiny. I now blush to be called a Frenchman; and if ever I enter that country again; what shall I be destined to behold!
“Dans des fleuves de sang, tant d’innocent planges
“Le fer de tous cotés dévastant cet empire
“Tous ces champs de carnage.”
Such,” continued D’Alonville, are the spectacles which continually haunt my imagination — and I own to you, embitter my existence so entirely, that it is hardly worth having.” Their journey passed without any remarkable occurrence. They reached Hamburgh on the last day of December, and embarking on board a merchant ship which lay ready to sail, arrived in the usual course of time, and without any remarkable occurrence in the Thames — where, quitting the vessel, they took a post-chaise, which in a few hours set them down at an hotel in London.
CHAPTER XVI.
Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Abhor each other: Mountains interpos’d
Make enemies of nations, who had else,
Like kindred drops, been mingled into one.
COWPER.
THE avenues that lead from the banks of the river to the immense capital of the British empire, are ill calculated to impress a stranger with the idea that he is entering the first city in the world. It was almost night-fall when D’Alonville passed through the city; and at such a season of the year, and such a time of the evening, every object appeared to him as dark and dreary as his own destiny. Though accompanied by Ellesmere, he had, on his landing experienced some of that behaviour by which the lower class of people in England disgrace themselves in their conduct towards foreigners — and while the mob had abused both D’Alonville and Ellesmere as Frenchmen on their going on shore, the authorized enqueries of the Custom-house, evidently indicated unusual suspicion and mistrust. It was at the period when every foreigner was suspected of being a Jacobin, and when there were undoubtedly many agents of that society sent round Europe, at once to inform their club of the disposition of other countries, and to blow up every spark of spirit, resembling that which had occasioned in their own so dreadful a conflagration. To the antipathy which the inferior class of the English have been taught to entertain against every other nation, but particularly against the French, together with the numbers that had lately taken shelter in England, was now added doubts, left every foreigner was an incendiary; and the assurances of Ellesmere, on behalf of his friend, were hardly sufficient to secure him from molestation. To a stranger, so imperfectly acquainted with the language, as to be unable to follow their rapid dialogue, the loud tones, and rough language used on such occasions, seems doubly harsh and menacing; the specimen of national hospitality with which D’Alonville was greeted on his first touching English ground, was not very flattering, no much calculated to raise his depressed spirits.
The unceasing attention, however, of his friend, who would not go to his usual lodgings, but remained at the hotel with him, and the cheerfulness and neatness of every thing around him, a good supper, and an excellent bed, reanimated in some degree the weary wanderer; and the next morning, while Ellesmere wrote to his friends in Staffordshire, D’Alonville found himself disposed to give to the Abbé de St. Remi, a much more favorable description of England and Englishmen, than he had been inclined to do the evening before.
It was at this period, that the cruel mockery of trying the injured and insulted King of France was carrying on at Paris; and though nobody then imagined that the Convention would have been so impolitic as to have committed an action which, without answering any possible purpose, made enemies of every considerable power of Europe; yet, while the master to whom his father’s life had been dedicated, to whom he had himself sworn allegiance, was suffering the ignominy of being arraigned as a criminal, and while public expectation fearfully waited the event. D’Alonville did not think it consistent for one of his nation, and in his situation, to appear in public places; he declined therefore the pressing instances of Ellesmere, who was eager to shew him whatever was most worth seeing in London, and when his friend at his earnest entreaty left him of an evening to join his acquaintance, he remained at the hotel, where he had but too much time to meditate on his situation.
Every day indeed in which he passed through the streets of London, gave him occasion for “meditation even to madness.” He saw numbers of his country men thrown from every comfort of life, on the bounty of a nation, which, by an effort of generosity, conquered, or at least concealed, their ancient enmity, to send them assistance. Yet while the English with one hand rescued, with the other they seemed disposed to draw the sword against a whole people, of which the mass appeared to be sullied with crimes unknown before in the history of mankind. To the common people of England, who have little means of distinguishing, all foreigners were formerly considered as Frenchmen. They now heard of the atrocities committed by the French as a nation, and having still less the power of discrimination, involved every one of that nation in universal condemnation; adding to their long rooted national hatred, the detestation raised by these horrors, of which every day brought some new detail. This made London an abode extremely uneasy to D’Alonville. He knew that of the English nation, it now might be said, in respect to its conduct towards his countrymen, as was side of one of its most illustrious literary characters, of whose tenderness of heart and harshness of manners so much has been related
— “If all he says is rough, all he does is gentle.”And that while he was hissed and insulted in the streets of London, there was hardly an opulent, or even easily-circumstanced family in the houses that formed those streets, but what had contributed to relieve the necessities of the French, who had been thrown destitute on their shore; yet was there so much pain in every reflection dejection every hour encreased; nor could he sometimes help asking himself, as he sat alone of an evening. What he had to do in England? What he had to do in London?
Alas! these questions served only to introduce another— “What had he to do any where?” Nothing, in truth, but to return to the Continent, and enter again into the army, or to endeavour to get into France, disguised and unknown; there to join those, who, revolted by the infamous measures that had lately been taken, were secretly endeavouring to re-establish their dethroned monarch.
This last part appeared to D’Alonville the most desirable: he wrote, therefore, to the Marquis de Magnevilliers, (for the communication between the two countries was yet open) couching his letter in such terms as he thought least likely to be understood, should it be intercepted; directed under a feigned name; and giving him, with the same precautions, an address where he might be heard of in London; and determining to wait no longer in England than till he could obtain an answer, which might serve as a guide to his future conduct, he readily accepted the continual invitation of Ellesmere, (which was warmly repeated in letters his friend received from Sir Maynard and Lady Ellesmere;) and agreed to go with him to the family seat in Staffordshire.
D’Alonville had been introduced during his short stay in London, to Mr. Ellesmere, the elder brother of his friend, and his wife, Lady Sophia. But though they were well bred, and spoke French like people of education, D’Alonville was never tempted to renew the visit, though he received a civil common place invitation. Mr. Ellesmere seemed emmersed in politics, and gave very little attention to what
ever passed that had nothing to do with his pursuits. His wife was a fine lady, and rather a prettyish woman: she passed her mornings in going form shop to shop, occupied in the study of uniting two objects which do not easily assimilate — shew and economy. — It was necessary for Lady Sophia to be well dressed, to have every thing in the most fashionable style, and even to be quoted as a model of elegance for the imitation of others; but as the finances of her husband, (though the whole family were sacrificed to the splendor of his establishment,) were by no means equal to the disbursement necessary to this end, if it were to be obtained only of the most expensive devisers of fashion, Lady Sophia condescended to encounter, several times in the week, the thick atmosphere of the City, or Holborn-hill, and the materials thus purchased, were, by her own ingenuity, aided by that of a female cousin and her own maid, so well arranged, that for appearance, she was allowed to rank high in the list of fashion. But as from his pursuits, her husband had acquired a set of ideas peculiar to the persons he lived among, Lady Sophia had her head filled with the names of warehouses and millenary rooms, cheap hosiers, and places where contraband dealers secretly disposed of the articles of their illicit commerce. Such speculations were so constantly in her mind, that she had hardly time to qualify herself for the small talk of the day; but this was usually supplied for her by the female cousin, who possessed every talent and every accomplishment; who was the model of fashion and the oracle of wit, understood all sciences and all languages, and lived only among people of the very first world, and foreigners of distinction. D’Alonville did not happen to meet this combination of all that was admirable and attractive; but heard from Lady Sophia, how concerned she was, that Miss Milsington was engaged that evening to dine with her aunt, the Duchess of — , to meet the Duke of — , and a long list of ambassadors and plenipos. D’Alonville cared very little for the disappointment, nor did he recollect the name, when talking with his friend Ellesmere, as they travelled together towards Stafford, of the days they had passed in London, and the people they had seen. Ellesmere exclaimed against the generality of the women. “What moppets they are,” said he. “Is there one among the dressed dolls we met the other day at dinner at my brother’s, or those who formed the circle in the evening, that a man who has five ideas, can never think of a second time? Can any human being be less rational than my sister-in-law, Lady Sophia? And yet these women are what are called accomplished.”
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 172