Chapter 13

[1]Seele curé de Boulogne, p. 59 of vol. ii. ofBric-à-Brac.

Story of Bougainville and his friend the curé of Boulogne

On 14 November of the year 1766, an open carriage, drawn by post-horses, containing three naval officers, one seated on the front seat and the other two on the back one,—which signified a decided difference in their rank,—was driving along theBois de Boulogne, coming from thebarrière de l'Étoile>and going towards theAvenue de Saint-Cloud.By theChâteau de la Muetteit passed a priest who was walking slowly along in one of the side-walks reading his breviary.

"Hi! postillion!" shouted the officer sitting at the back of the carriage; "stop a moment, please."

The postillion stopped. This request, given in a loud voice, and the noise the postillion made pulling up his horses, naturally led to the priest raising his head and fixing his eyes on the carriage and its three occupants.

"Pardieu! I am not mistaken," said the officer sitting behind; "it is really you, my dear Rémy!"

The priest gazed in astonishment. However, his face gradually cleared as light dawned on him, and his lips turned from amazement to smiles.

"Ah!" he said at length, "it is you!"

"Whyyou(vous)?"

"It is thou (toi) then, Antoine."

"Yes, it is I, Antoine de Bougainville."

"Mon Dieu! What have you been doing with yourself during the twenty-five years since we parted?"

"What have I been doing with myself, dear friend?" repeatedBougainville. "Come and sit down by me a few minutes and I will tell you."

"But ..." The priest looked round him uneasily, as though he were afraid to go far away from his home, Bougainville understood his fear.

"Do not be anxious; we will go at a walking pace," he replied.

A valet got down from the seat behind and lowered the step.

"It is a quarter past eleven," said the priest, "and Marianne expects me for dinner at twelve."

"In the first place—where do you live? But sit down, though!"

He lightly drew the priest by his gown, and the priest sat down.

"Where do I live?" asked the latter.

"Yes."

"At Boulogne.... I am curé of Boulogne, friend."

"Ah! ah! I offer you my congratulations; you always had the vocation."

"So, you see, I entered Orders."

"Are you satisfied?"

"Enchanted, my friend! The curé of Boulogne is not one of the best: it only has an income of eight hundred livres; but my tastes are modest, and there still remain four hundred livres over to give away to the poor."

"Good Rémy!... You can go at a slow trot, so that we lose as little time as possible."

The postillion set the horses to the required pace, which, moderate though it was, none the less brought a cloud of distress on the curé's countenance.

"Set your mind at rest," said Bougainville, "seeing we are going in the direction of Boulogne."

"Friend," the Abbé Rémy said, laughing, "I have been curé of Boulogne for twenty years; Marianne has been fifteen years with me, and never, except when detained by the side of a dying parishioner, have I been five minutes later than twelve; punctually at twelve the soup is on the table, and ... you understand?"

"Yes; don't be afraid, I do not want to upset Marianne.... You shall be home exactly by twelve."

"Now my mind is easy.... But talk about yourself a little: are you not wearing the uniform of the Navy?"

"Yes; I am captain of a ship."

"How comes that about? I thought you were a barrister—Really?—when you left college did you not begin to study law?"

"What is to be done, my dear Rémy? You, God's anointed, ought to know better than anyone the proverb:

"'Man proposes and God disposes.' It is true I was entered as a barrister in 1752 at the High Judicial Court of Paris."

"Ah! I knew it!" said the good priest, withdrawing the finger from his breviary, which marked the place where he had left off reading. "So you did become a barrister?"

"Yes; but at the same time that I was called to the Bar," continued Bougainville, "I enlisted in the Musketeers."

"Oh, indeed! You always had a taste for arms and a special talent for mathematics."

"You remember that?"

"Why, of course! Was I not your best friend at College?" "Ah, that is very true!"

"Is it you or your brother Louis who belongs to the Academy?"

Bougainville smiled.

"It is my brother," he said; "or rather, it was, for you must know that I had the misfortune to lose him three years ago."

"Ah! poor Louis.... But what can you expect. We are all mortal, and it is well to look upon this life as a voyage which leads us to port.... Pardon, friend, it seems to me we are passing Boulogne."

Bougainville looked at his watch.

"Bah!" said he, "what does it matter! It is only half-past eleven, and consequently you have still a good twenty minutes before you.—Faster, postillion!"

"Why faster?"

"Because you are in a hurry, my friend."

"Bougainville!..."

"What! does not the wish to know what I have been doing outweigh your fear of upsetting Marianne by being five minutes late?... That is a queer sort of friendship, to be sure!"

"You are right, upon my word; five minutes more or less.... Tell me about yourself, my dear Antoine. Besides, when I tell Marianne that it was for you and through you I am late, she will stop scolding."

"Marianne knows me, then?"

"Knows you? Of course she does! I have spoken to her of you a score of times.... But be quick and finish telling me how it is that, having been called to the Bar, and after enlisting in the Musketeers, I find you a naval officer."

"It is very simple, and I can explain it all to you in a word. In 1753 I became assistant-major in the provincial battalion of Picardie; the following year I was appointed aide-de-camp to Chevert, whom I left to become Secretary to the Embassy in London, and to be made a member of the Royal Society; in 1756 I went as captain of dragoons with the Marquis of Montcalm, charged with the defence of Canada..

"Capital! capital!" interrupted the Abbé Rémy. "I can see you doing it! Go on, my friend, I am listening."

The abbé, completely fascinated by Bougainville's narrative, had not noticed that the horses had quietly passed from a slow to a quick trot. Bougainville continued his story.

"When in Canada, I was pretty much master of my future; I had but to conduct myself well to attain to anything. I was put in charge of several expeditions by the Marquis de Montcalm, which I brought to a successful issue. Thus, for instance, after a march of sixty leagues through forests which were believed to be impenetrable, sometimes over tracks of country covered with snow, sometimes on the ice of the river Richelieu, I advanced as far as the end of the lake of Saint-Sacrement, where I burned an English flotilla under the very fort which protected it."

"What!" said the abbé, "was it you who did that? Why, I read the account of that event; but I did not know you were the hero...."

"Did you not recognise my name?"

"I knew the name but not the man.... How could you expect I should recognise in a member of the Basoche, whom I left studying law, and aspiring to become a barrister, a dashing fellow who burns fleets in the far-away depths of Canada?... You can surely see that it was impossible!"

At this moment the carriage stopped before a posting-house.

"Oh!" said the Abbé Rémy, "where are we, Antoine?"

"We are at Sèvres, my friend."

"At Sèvres! What time is it?"

Bougainville looked at his watch.

"It is ten minutes to twelve."

"Oh! Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the abbé, "but I shall never be at Boulogne by noon."

"That is more than probable."

"A league to go!"

"A league and a half."

"If only I could find a posting-carriage...."

He rose to his feet in the carriage and cast a look round him as far as his sight could reach, but there was no sign of even the smallest sort of vehicle.

"Never mind," he said, "I will walk."

"You shall not walk!" said Bougainville.

"What! you will not let me walk?"

"No, it shall not be said that you caught pleurisy because you took a drive with a friend."

"I will go quietly."

"Oh, I know you! You would be afraid of being scolded by Mademoiselle Marianne, you would hurry your pace, arrive in a state of perspiration, drink cold water and give yourself inflammation of the lungs.... Some idiot of a doctor would purge you instead of bleeding, or bleed you instead of purging; and, three days later, Good-bye, there would be the end to the Abbé Rémy!"

"All the same I must return to Boulogne.... Hi! postillion! postillion! Stop!..."

The carriage, with its fresh horses, set off at a quick trot.

"Listen," says Bougainville, "this is the best thing to do."

"The best thing to do, my good friend, my dear Antoine, is to stop the horses, so that I can get down and make my way back to Boulogne."

"No," says Bougainville; "the best thing to be done is for you to come with me as far as Versailles."

"As far as Versailles?..."

"Yes; as you have missed Mademoiselle Marianne's dinner you must dine with me at Versailles. Whilst I am receiving final commands from His Majesty, one of these gentlemen will undertake to find a travelling carriage to convey you back to Boulogne."

"Of course that would be a great pleasure, my friend, but...."

"But what?"

The Abbé Rémy felt about in his waistcoat pockets, plunging both hands in up to his armpits.

"But," he Continued, "Marianne has not put any money in my pockets."

"Never mind about that, my dear Rémy! At Versailles I will ask the king for a hundred crowns for the poor of Boulogne; the king will grant them me, and I will give them to you. You can borrow a few crowns from them until you return in the travelling carriage to Boulogne, and the thing is settled."

"What! You think the king would give you a hundred crowns for my poor?"

"I am sure of it."

"On your word of honour?"

"On my faith as a gentleman!"

"My friend, that decides me then."

"Thanks! You would not come for my sake, but you will for your poor. It seems to be better worth being one of your poor parishioners than your friend!"

"I do not say so, my dear Antoine; but you know a curé who deserts his post must have a good excuse."

"An excuse?... Oh! if you slept away, I do not say...."

"What! if I slept away!" exclaims the Abbé Rémy, terrified. "Do you mean, then, to make me stop away the night?... Postillion! hi! postillion!"

"No, do not be afraid.... At the rate we are going we shall reach Versailles in an hour; we shall dine by two, and you can leave at three."

"Why at three, and not at two?"

"Because I must have time to see the king and ask him for the hundred crowns."

"Ah! that is true."

"Three hours for you to return by carriage from Versailles to Boulogne; you will be home at six o'clock."

"What will Marianne say?"

"Bah! when she sees you return with a hundred crowns direct from the king, Marianne will be happy and proud of your influence,"

"Upon my faith you are right.... You must tell me all the king says to you; this adventure will give her enough to talk of to her neighbours for a week to come."

"So it is settled, we are to dine at Versailles?"

"Agreed as to Versailles! But now tell me the end of your story."

"Ah! true.... We had got to my expedition on the Saint-Sacrement. It earned me the rank of quarter-master of one of the Army Corps, and the commission to go to Versailles to explain the precarious situation of the Governor of Canada, to ask for reinforcements for him. I stayed two years and a half in France without obtaining anything that I asked. True, I got what I did not ask for, that is to say, the Cross of Saint-Louis and the rank of colonel in the staff of the regiment of Rovergne. I arrived in Canada just in time to receive from the Marquis of Montcalm the command of the Grenadiers and Volunteers, at the famous retreat from Quebec, which I was ordered to effect. When Montcalm arrived beneath the walls of the town, he thought he might risk a battle. The twogenerals were killed: Montcalm in our ranks; Wolfe in those of the English. Montcalm dead, our army defeated, there were no means of defending Canada. I returned to France, and went through the campaign of 1761 in England, as aide-de-camp to M. de Choiseul-Stainville."

"Then it was you to whom the king made the present of two guns?" interrupted the curé de Boulogne.

"Who told you that?"

"I read about it, my friend, in theGazette de la Cour....How could I have dreamt this Bougainville was my friend Antoine?"

"What did you think of the present?"

"Bah! I thought it well deserved ... but, all the same, I thought the king ought to have given this M. Bougainville, whom I was far from suspecting to be you, something more easily carried about than two cannons; for, of course, though a great honour, one cannot carry them about wherever one goes."

"There is truth in what you say," Bougainville resumed, laughing; "but, as at the same time the king made me captain of a ship, and entrusted me with the founding of a settlement for myself and the inhabitants of St. Malo, in the isles of Malouines, I thought my two cannon might be of use there."

"Ah! quite right," said the Abbé Rémy; "but, excuse my ignorance of geography, my dear Antoine, where are the Malouines Isles?"

"I beg your pardon, my friend," said Bougainville, "I should have called them the Falkland Isles, for it was I who gave them their name of Malouines Isles in honour of the town of St. Malo."

"Very good!" said the Abbé Rémy, smiling; "I recognise them under that name! The Falkland Isles belong to the archipelago of the Atlantic Ocean; I know where they are, near the southern extremity of South America, to the east of Magellan Straits."

"Upon my word," said Bougainville, "Strong, who christened them, could not have determined their bearingmore accurately himself. You study geography, then, in your curé of Boulogne?"

"Oh, my friend, when I was young I always longed to be a missionary to the Indies.... I was born with the love of travel, and I would have given anything to go round the world ... in those days, but not now."

"Yes, I understand," says Bougainville, exchanging a glance with his two companions, "to-day it would put you out of your regular habits.... So you have travelled?"

"My friend, I have never been further than Versailles."

"Then you have not been to the sea."

"No."

"You have never seen a ship?"

"I have seen sails at Auxerre."

"That is something, but it can only give you a very imperfect idea of a frigate of sixty guns."

"I should think so," added the Abbé Rémy innocently. "So you say you went to the Malouines Isles, where the Government had authorised you to found a settlement. I have no doubt that you did so?"

"Unluckily the Spaniards, after the peace of Paris, laid claim to these islands; their claim was considered just by the Court of France, which gave them up on condition they indemnified me for the money I had laid out."

"But did they do so?"

"Yes, my dear friend, they gave me a million francs!"

"A million francs?Peste!what a pretty sum."

It will be observed that the good abbé nearly swore.

"Now," continued he, "where are you going?..."

"I am going to Havre."

"What to do? Forgive me, friend, perhaps I am inquisitive."

"Inquisitive? Oh, certainly not!... I am going to Havre to see a frigate of which the king has made me captain."

"What is its name?..."

"La Boudeuse."

"Is it a very fine ship?"

"Superb!"

The Abbé Rémy heaved a sigh. It was evident the poor priest thought what pleasure it would have given him in times past, when he had been free, to have seen the sea and to go over a frigate.

This sigh led to a fresh interchange of looks and smiles between Bougainville and the two officers. Both smiles and glances passed unnoticed by the worthy Abbé Rémy, who had fallen into so profound a reverie that he did not return to himself until the carriage stopped before a large hotel.

"Ah I so we have arrived," he says. "I am very hungry!"

"Very well. We will not wait as the dinner was ordered beforehand."

"What a delightful life a sea captain's must be!" says the abbé. "He gets millions from the Spaniards; he travels post in a good carriage; and, when he arrives, he finds a dinner all ready for him! Poor Marianne! she has dined without me!"

"Bah!" says Bougainville, "once does not mean always. ... We will dine without her, and I hope her absence will not take away your appetite."

"Oh, don't be anxious ... I am really very hungry."

"Well then, to table! to table!"

"To table!" merrily repeated the Abbé Rémy.

It was a good dinner; Bougainville was a gourmet; he drank no other wine than champagne; the fashion of icing it had just been invented.

All priests, whether they be curés of a small town or hamlet, or officiating priests of a chapel without a congregation, are inclined to be a little greedy; the Abbé Remy, modest though he was, had the sensual side with which nature has endowed the palate of the ecclesiastic. At first he would not drink more than a few drops of wine in his water; then he mixed wine and water in equal parts; then, finally, he decided to drink his wine pure. When Bougainville saw he had arrived at this point, he rose, and announced that it was time for him to present himself before the king, to whom he was going to address the request relative to the poor of Boulogne. In the meantime the two officers were to keep the Abbé Remycompany. As Bougainville had said, he was absent an hour. In spite of the efforts of the officers the worthy priest's hopes see-sawed up and down in a way which did credit to his kindliness of heart.

"Well!" he said, when he caught sight of Bougainville, "what about my poor people?"

"It is not three hundred livres that the king has given me for them," said Bougainville, drawing a roll from his pocket, "but fifty louis!"

"What! Fifty louis?" exclaimed the Abbé Rémy, quite overcome by this regal bounty; "twelve hundred livres!"

"Twelve hundred livres."

"Impossible!"

"Here they are."

The Abbé Rémy held out his hand.

"But the king has given them to me on one condition."

"What?"

"That you drink to his health."

"Oh, if that is all!"

He held out his glass, into which Bougainville tipped the neck of the bottle.

"Stop! stop!" said the abbé.

"Come, now!" Bougainville insisted, "half a glass? Well! the king would not be pleased to see only half a glass drunk to his health."

"Really," the Abbé Rémy said jovially, "twelve hundred livres deserve a whole glass. Fill it quite full, Antoine; and here's to the king's health!"

"To the king!" repeated Bougainville.

"Ah!" said the Abbé Rémy, putting his glass on the table, "that is what one might call a real orgy!... True, it is the first I have taken part in, and I shall not have the opportunity of a second for a very long time."

"I tell you what it is...." said Bougainville, resting his elbows on the table.

"Well?" replied the Abbé Rémy, whose eyes were shining like carbuncles.

"Something you ought to do."

"What is it?"

"You tell me you have never seen the sea."

"Never."

"Well! you ought to come to Havre with me."

"I ... come to Havre with you?... But you are not dreaming of such a thing as that, Antoine?"

"On the contrary, it is just what I am doing. Have a glass of champagne?"

"Thanks, I have already drunk too much!"

"Ah! to the health of your poor people ... that is a toast you cannot resist."

"Yes, but only a drop."

"A drop! When you drank the glass full to the king? Ah! that is not scriptural, my dear Remy. Our Saviour said: 'The first shall be last ...' A full glass for the poor of Boulogne or none at all."

"Here goes, then, for a full glass; but it is the last."

The abbé, good Catholic as he was, emptied his toast to the poor as gaily as that to the king.

"There!" said Bougainville. "Now it is agreed we set off for Havre."

"Antoine, you must be mad!"

"You shall see the sea, my friend ... and such a sea! Not a lake like the poor Mediterranean; but the ocean, which rolls round the world!"

"Do not tempt me, you wretched fellow!"

"The ocean, which you yourself admit it has been the desire of your life to see!"

"Vade retro, Satanas!"

"It is only a matter of a week."

"But do you not know, then, that if I absent myself for a week without leave I shall lose my curé?"

"I have foreseen that, and as monseigneur, the Bishop of Versailles, was with the king, I made him sign you a permit, telling him you were coming with me."

"You told him that?"

"Yes."

"And he signed me a permit?"

"Here it is."

"Dear me, it is indeed his signature! Good! I would swear to it!"

"My friend, you are a sailor at heart."

"Give me my fifty louis and let me go."

"Here they are, but you shall not go."

"Why not?"

"Because I am authorised by the king to hand you fifty more at Havre, and you will not be so mean a Christian as to deprive your poor people—your children, the flock over which the Saviour has given you charge—of fifty beautiful golden louis!"

"Very well!" cried the Abbé Rémy, "then I will go to Havre! But it is only for their sakes I consent."

Then, stopping suddenly—

"No," he said violently, "it is impossible!"

"Why impossible?"

"Marianne!..."

"You shall write to her to relieve her anxiety."

"What shall I tell her, my friend?"

"Tell her that you have met the Bishop of Versailles, and that he has given you leave to go to Havre."

"That would be lying!"

"To lie for a good motive is not a sin, but a virtue."

"She will not believe me."

"You can show her the permit signed by the bishop."

"Stay, that is true.... Ah! you barristers, you soldiers and sailors, you do not stick at anything."

"See, you want pen and ink and paper?"

The Abbé Rémy reflected for a minute, and no doubt he said to himself that a written lie was a bigger sin than a spoken one, for suddenly he said—

"No, I would rather tell her on my return.... But she will think me dead."

"She will be all the more pleased when she sees you back alive!"

"Then, my friend, do not leave me time to reflect, but carry me off now!"

"Nothing easier."

So, turning to the two officers—

"The horses are in, are they not?"

"Yes, captain."

"Well then, let us go!"

"En voiture!" repeated the Abbé Rémy in the tones of a man who flings himself head-first into some unknown peril.

"En voiture!" repeated the two officers gaily.

They got into the carriage, travelled very fast all night, and by five next morning they were at Havre. Bougainville himself chose the room to be occupied by his friend, who, tired with the journey, and still a little heavy from the previous day's dinner, slept and did not wake till noon. Just as he was waking, Bougainville came into his room and opened the windows. The abbé uttered a cry of surprise and admiration: the windows looked out on the sea. A quarter of a league awayla Boudeusewas riding gracefully in the roadstead, moored with two anchors down.

"Oh!" asked the Abbé Rémy, "what is that magnificent vessel?"

"My friend," said Bougainville, "that isla Boudeuse, where we are expected to dinner."

"What! Do you mean me to go on board?"

"Surely! You would not come all the way to Havre and return without having seen over a ship! Why, my dear friend, it is just as though you went to Rome without seeing the pope."

"True enough," said the Abbé Remy; "but when shall we return?"

"When you like.... after dinner—it is for you to decide.... You shall give your orders and be captain on my vessel."

"Very good! Let us go soon rather than late.... We have taken fourteen hours to come, but I shall take quite five or six days to return."

"What does it matter, as you have leave for a week?"

"I know that quite well, but, you see, there is Marianne...."

"You are picturing to yourself the cries of joy she will utter when she sees you again?"

"Do you think they will be cries of joy?"

"Zounds! I hope so indeed!"

"I, too, hope so," said the Abbé in tones expressive of more doubt than hope.

Then, like a man who has flung his cap over the windmill—"Come, come," he said, "to the frigate!"

Bougainville appeared to be waited on by genii, who also did the bidding of the Abbé Rémy, and to such good purpose that, when the latter exclaimed "To Havre!" he found the carriage all ready; and in the same way, when he exclaimed, "To the frigate!" he found the captain's gig in waiting. He got into the boat and sat down by Bougainville, who took the helm. A dozen sailors waited with raised oars.

Bougainville made a sign; the twelve oars fell and hit the water with so regular a movement that they seemed to strike it as one man. The gig flew over the sea like those long-legged water-spiders which glide over water. In less than ten minutes they were alongside. It hardly need he said that the maritime wonder called a frigate roused the enthusiasm of the good Abbé Rémy to the highest pitch; he asked Bougainville the name of each mast, of each yard and of each rope. No sails were set, but they were hanging in brails. In the middle of the naming of the different parts of the ship, a messenger came to tell the captain that dinner was served. The abbé and he went down into the captain's cabin. This cabin might have vied with any drawing-room belonging to one of the richest châteaux round Paris in comfort and elegance. The abbé's surprise increased more and more. Fortunately, although it was 15 November, the sea was all ablaze; it was one of those beautiful autumn days, which seem like a farewell sent to the earth by the summer sun before its disappearance for six months.

The Abbé Rémy was not in the least seasick, upon which fact the superior officers admitted to the captain's table, and the captain himself, offered their congratulations. However, towards the middle of dinner it seemed to him as though the motionof the frigate was increasing; Bougainville replied that it was the ebb tide, and delivered a learned lecture on tides. The Abbé Rémy listened to his friend's scientific dissertation with the greatest animation and attention; and, as he was not unacquainted with physical science, he made observations in his turn which seemed to call forth the delighted admiration of the officers.

The dinner was protracted longer than the diners themselves realised; nothing is so deceptive as to the passing of time as interesting conversation, enlivened with good wine. Then came coffee, that sweet nectar for which the abbé confessed a weakness. Captain Bougainville's coffee was such a cunning and happy mixture of Mocha and Martinique, that, when he was imbibing it, in small sips, the abbé declared he had never tasted its equal. Then, after the coffee, came liqueurs, those famous liqueurs de Madame Anfoux which were the delight of the gourmets of the latter part of the last century. Finally, when the liqueurs had been enjoyed, and the Abbé Rémy proposed to go back to the deck, Bougainville raised no opposition to this desire; but he was obliged to give his arm to his friend up the companion, the abbé naïvely attributing his instability of balance to the champagne, Mocha coffee and liqueurs de Madame Anfoux which he had drunk.

The frigate was on the larboard tack, with her head to the north-east, and the wind blowing free; all sail was set, including lower and top-gallant studding sails. Only the stay-sails were stowed. They must have been going at eleven knots an hour!

The good abbé's first feeling was that of whole-hearted admiration for this masterpiece of naval architecture in full sail. Then he noticed that the frigate was moving. Next he looked around him,—and, finally, he uttered a cry of terror. The land of France looked no more than a cloud upon the horizon.... He regarded Bougainville with an expression in which was concentrated all the reproaches of a betrayed confidence.

"My dear fellow," said Bougainville, "it gave me so much pleasure to see you, my oldest and dearest comrade,that I resolved we would remain together as long as possible. ... I wanted a chaplain on board my frigate; I asked His Majesty to let you fill this post, and he graciously granted it, together with a stipend of a thousand crowns.... Here is your commission."

The Abbé Rémy flung a frightened glance at his appointment.

"But," he said, "where are we going?"

"Round the world, my dear man!"

"How long does it take to go round the world?"

"Oh, from three to three years and a half, more or less.... But reckon three and a half years rather than three."

The abbé fell back, overcome, against the raised stand of the officers' watch.

"Oh!" he murmured, "I shall never dare to appear before Marianne again!..."

"I promise to take you to the presbytery and to make your peace with her," said Bougainville.

On 15 May 1770, the frigateBoudeusere-entered the port of Saint-Malo. It was exactly three years and a half since she had left Havre; Bougainville was not a day out in his calculation. In that time she had been all round the world.

Heaven alone knows what passed at the first interview which took place between the Abbé Rémy and Marianne.

Breakfast on deck—Saint-Nazaire—A thing husbands never think of—Noirmontiers—Belle-Ile—I leave the two Paulines—The rope-ladder—The ship's boat—A total immersion—The inn at Saint-Nazaire—I throw money through the window—A batch of clothes—Return to Paris

While these manœuvres were being put into execution, I rejoined our young married couple.

"Well, monsieur," said the bride to me, "the moment has come for you to return to land and to leave us."

"Not yet, madame," I said.

She fixed her gaze on me.

"Not yet?" she repeated.

"No, madame; I have obtained permission from the captain not to leave you till the very last minute.... I am to lunch with you, and we shall still have several long hours to spend talking of France."

"Thank you, monsieur," the husband replied.

But now everybody who had come on board, either for business matters or for affairs of the heart, bade their adieux, got down into the boats, and went away from the ship. The anchor was drawn out of the water and catted, andla Paulinebegan to obey the motion of the outgoing tide and the breeze. Slight as the movement was, it was enough to bring on a fresh paroxysm of grief in the case of the bride. I went back to the captain.

"Captain," I said, "I believe you would give very great pleasure to your passengers—to two, at least, among them—if you ordered lunch to be served on deck."

"Why so?"

"Because over there is a young wife who desires to take in every bit of France she can before she leaves it, which she cannot do if she is on the between-decks."

"It would be easy enough," said the captain, "for I only have five passengers at my table."

"Then you agree?"

"I agree."

We were now off Saint-Nazaire, which rises sadly out of sand and heather, with not even a tree to rest the eye. But the young woman's gaze hugged the bare landscape with as much eagerness as though she were looking upon some Swiss meadow or Scotch loch.

"Madame," I said to her, "I have come from the captain to tell you luncheon is ready."

"Oh! I cannot eat anything," she replied.

"Allow me, madame, to tell you that I am certain of the contrary."

She shook her head.

"Seeing," I continued, "that we are not going to have luncheon between-decks but here on deck."

"You asked the captain to do that!" she exclaimed, with as much fervour as though I had realised a desire which she had not even dared to let herself dwell upon.

"Why, yes, I did!" I answered, laughing.

"Oh!" she said, turning to her husband, "how good monsieur is, dear!"

"Upon my word," he said, "you should be most grateful to him; I had not even thought of such a thing."

How is it that even the most devotedly loving husbands, even those just married, never think of things that strangers do? I leave this reflection to the wisdom of any psychologists who may chance to peruse this book.

The table was set on deck; the young woman ate little, but she did not lose sight for an instant of the two banks of the Loire, which were now growing wider and wider apart. As we approached the sea the colour of the water changed from yellow to greenish; then waves began to foam on itssurface. When we had doubled Saint-Nazaire, we found ourselves in the angle of a kind of gigantic V, which, at its widest end, displayed to our gaze the limitless horizon of the sea. This was the first time the young woman had seen the sea she was to cross; it was evident that the vision caused her profound terror. The sea was rough without being actually stormy; but it was not its roughness that impressed the melancholy voyager, nor was it the white-crested waves which made her turn pale—it was the idea of its infinity, the feeling of immensity of space that the sight of the ocean always gives. About two o'clock in the afternoon we reached the open sea. Then, on our left lay the isle of Noirmontiers (nigrum monasteriuni), which derives its name from a Benedictine monastery, founded there in the seventh century by Saint Philibert, and destroyed in the ninth century by those Normans whose appearance saddened the last years of Charlemagne; on the right lay Belle-Ile, the isle of Fouquet, which was to give its name later to the heroine of one of my comedies; and, later again, was to become the scene of action of my triple epicThe Musketeers, and to provide a tomb worthy of my poor friend Porthos. At the time of which I am writing, these various names struck my ears indifferently; but they stayed in my memory none the less, and were to reappear one day decked in all the framework of the dream-fancies of my imagination; floating isles of Delos, which will stop in more or less advanced positions in the realms of the future. In front of us stretched the sea, with its indented crests, merging towards the horizon in a sky dark with clouds, in which the sun was beginning to enshroud itself. We were nearly three leagues from harbour, off the reef called les Pitiers; the bad channels were passed, the wind was south-south-west, and freshening. The pilot announced that his task was done, that he handed over the command to the captain, and that he should return to land. I must say I looked at the means of descent from the ship to the skiff with some disquietude. It was nothing more than a rope-ladder fixed to the round sides of the ship. And, moreover, the ship was making itsseven knots an hour. For a moment I wished I need not get off before reaching Guadeloupe. Fortunately, the captain understood what was going on in my mind, and came to the conclusion that a short delay of ten minutes was of no account in a voyage of six weeks.

"Come," he said to me, "go and pay your adieux whilst I lay to the ship."

Then he shouted—

"Down with the helm!"

Instantly the sails quivered: they were doing for me the same as is done when a man falls overboard.

"Clew up the mainsail," continued the captain, "and haul in the sails to the mainmast!"

The ship stopped, or very nearly so. The pilot was already in his boat.

I went up to the poor exile; tears were silently streaming down her cheeks.

"You will be sure and fulfil my commission, will you not, monsieur?" she said in a broken voice.

I bowed my acquiescence.

"You will embrace my mother for me?"

"I promise you I will do so, madame."

"But," said the husband, "if you want monsieur to kiss your mother for you, you ought first to give him the kiss."

"Oh yes, certainly!" exclaimed the young wife effusively; "with all my heart." And she flung her arms round my neck. Here was an unusual situation! That woman and I had never seen one another till the night before, and in the morning we were still strangers to one another; at starting we were merely acquaintances; by luncheon we had developed into friends; parting made us seem like brother and sister. Oh! mysteries of the heart, misunderstood by the crowd at large, but which turn those to whom God has revealed His secrets into beings destined for suffering. I had greater difficulty in leaving these friends of a day than it would have given me pleasure to see friends of twenty years' standing.

"You will not forget my name, will you, monsieur?" the young wife said.

"Try and read the next books that I shall write, madame, and I promise you you shall find that name in one of my very first novels."

There was also, perhaps, underlying the attraction for the ship, my anxiety at the prospect of the more or less perilous descent to which I was about to subject myself. Luckily, I had plenty of spectators to witness my gymnastic manœuvres, and you know how the feeling of being looked at redoubles one's courage. So I went bravely forward towards the ship's side; I caught hold of the main shrouds as well as the ladder, which the pilot, afraid, perhaps, of my falling into the sea before I had paid him his crown, had, to make my descent easier, held taut with one hand, while with his other, by help of a rope fastened through a port-hole, he kept the skiff within reach of the ship. I had not descended two rungs of the ladder before the wind blew my hat off. I did not even try to catch it, for I more than needed both hands to clutch fast hold of the ladder. At last, to my great satisfaction, and without displaying too much clumsiness, I reached the bottom of the skiff. That was one of the happiest moments of my life. I was scarcely seated on one of the seats in the boat before the pilot let go both ladder and rope, and we were thirty feet away fromla Pauline.I could soon hear the captain's voice shouting—

"Let go the main-sails!"

And instantly the sails stopped quivering and the ship resumed her course. Our two young people stood astern, he waving his hat and she her handkerchief. Meanwhile, the pilot was trimming a little sail; I noticed that it was set by the skiff suddenly heeling over, so if I had not held on to the opposite side of the boat I should have been spilled right into the sea. The joke soon began to appear rather less funny to me—all the more so since the pilot, who could hardly speak any French, and who was chary of using what words he did know of our language, kept staring at the horizon with afixedness that troubled me. The fact was that the nearer we approached the coast the rougher grew the sea. Night, too, was rapidly coming on. I could still see the three-master, because its pyramids of sails stood out against the purple horizon of the setting sun; but it was evident that they could no longer see us, or that, if they did see us, we must have looked like a gull hidden among the waves. Those who have ever found themselves in a frail boat over a watery abyss, with a moving wall to right and left, immensity of sea before and behind and a stormy sky over their heads, alone know what the wind has told them, as it drives through their hair soaked with foam. In half an hour's time the pilot was compelled to lower his sail. He took to the oars, but they did not grip the waves properly. Here and there we saw high white waves fling their broken crests up into the air, which the wind carried to us in fine, ice-cold rain. These were the places where the waves broke against the rocks. Luckily the flow was carrying us landwards; but at the same time that the flowing tide served us, the wind blew us past the mouth of the Loire and drove us along the coast of Croisic. I myself had no notion where we were. Night came on faster and faster, and the circle of darkness contracted more and more, until we only had about twenty paces of horizon.

I made up my mind to hold on tight to the bottom of the boat, and to trouble about nothing else except preventing myself being pitched into the sea; but, seated at the bottom as I was, I was half soaked in the water we had shipped when we were sailing. Two hours went by in this fashion, and I must say they seemed the longest hours I ever lived. Once, when I rose to look about me, I saw the pilot make a quick movement, and next instant the barque bounded up as though it were gone crazy; we passed under a sort of cataract which came from the dark crest of a rock. I thought all was over that time; the water ran down the collar of my shirt and streamed right through to my gaiters. I shut my eyes and waited; at the end of five minutes, as I still felt I was in the boat, I opened them again. We were neither better norworse off than before, and nothing had changed except that we could now hear the noise of the surf against the shore; we were evidently not farther off than the length of a couple of cables. The pilot held on to the helm and, driven by the flowing tide, left all the work to the sea; his sole task (and no easy one it seemed to me) being to steer us through the rocks. Suddenly he got up and shouted to me—

"Hold on tight!"

The advice was more than useless; I was holding on to the seat tightly enough to have left my finger-prints on it. I felt a violent shock, as if the bottom of the boat had raked a bed of shingle. The pilot passed rapidly across me and jumped into the sea. I did not in the least understand this evolution, but, on getting up, I caught sight of him standing up to his chest in the water, dragging the boat towards him by a rope. Fifteen paces from us was the cliff. I had a great mind to jump down beside my man, but he realised my intention and sang out—

"No, no; stay still!... We are just in."

Indeed, the first wave pushed the boat so near to the strand that it ran aground.

"Now," said the pilot, coming towards me, "get on to my back."

"What for?"

"To prevent your getting wet."

The precaution was good, but came a little too late in the day seeing I was already soaked through like a sponge.

"Thanks for your thoughtfulness," I said, "but you need not take the trouble." And I leapt into the sea.

At that moment came a wave which went right over my head.

"Capital!" I said, "now my bath is complete!... Oh! what a confounded idiot I am to take such trips as this when there is no occasion to do so at all! Oh!..."

The last exclamation was wrung from me by the satisfaction I felt at being once more onterra firma.

We had landed in the little creek that lies between Saint-Nazaireand le Croisic, a league and a half nearly from either of these two towns. So I had my choice. But le Croisic was a league and a half out of my way, while Saint-Nazaire, on the other hand, was just so much nearer. There was no need for hesitation, and I decided immediately upon Saint-Nazaire. As to the pilot, he remained with his skiff. The wind was whistling as harshly as upon the Elsinore stage just when the ghost of the King of Denmark is to appear. I had only one way of warming myself, which was to keep moving as hard as I could. I held out five francs to the pilot, instead of three as I had promised him, and with bare head, my hands tucked into my pockets, with not a rag on me dry, soaked with that delightful sea-water which never does dry, I set off at a quick trot to follow the coast-line. I reached Saint-Nazaire an hour later, and knocked at the door of the only inn of the place, which made all kinds of difficulties in the way of opening its doors and receiving, at eleven o'clock at night, a man without a hat. The dialogue that took place with a view to my gaining an entrance being prolonged endlessly, and not promising to end to my satisfaction, I conceived the idea of throwing a five-franc piece through the window on the first storey, out of which the landlord was leaning to talk to me. The host would then be certain of payment for my bed. The coin rang on the wooden floor of the room, and the innkeeper picked it up, lit a lamp, and, making sure that my money was good metal, decided to let me in. Ten minutes later I stood quite naked in front of an immense fire of heather, which roasted me without warming me thoroughly; but I was so delighted to feel the earth under my feet that I forgot all about the extreme cold I had suffered, and paid no attention to the other extreme of heat. The host had now grown as amiable as at first he had been crusty. He offered me a shirt of his own, which I accepted; warmed my bed himself, and carried my clothes away to be baked in the oven. He had been baking bread and flat cakes that day, and the oven was still warm. My cast-off garments were put in it on an iron oven-plate, and, thanks to this idea, I found my clothes were as dry next dayas tinder. At eleven o'clock I was back at Paimbœuf, by night I was at Nantes, and the next day I reached Tours, where I duly delivered to Madame M—— her daughter's messages.

The same day, I found a disengaged place in the mail coach and engaged it. I was sick of the Carlist language that I had heard for six weeks and wanted to see my July sunshine once more and my revolutionary Paris and my buildings all riddled with shot. When I arrived, it was pouring in torrents; M. Guizot had become Prime Minister and they were scraping the front of the Institut!

Confidential letter from Louis-Philippe to the Emperor Nicholas—The Czar's reply—What France could do after the Revolution of July—Louis-Philippe and Ferdinand VII.—The Spanish refugees—Reaction in the Home department—Scraping of the public monuments—Protest

The last sentence in my previous chapter virtually shows how far the reaction in Paris had progressed at the moment I returned there after my absence of six weeks or two months.

The conversation between the lieutenant-general and the Republicans on the night of 3 July will be recollected, and how Louis-Philippe had then revealed his system ofjuste milieu, a system which had been so repugnant to our young men that Cavaignac had exclaimed—

"Oh! if that is how things are going to be, Monsieur, we need have no anxiety, for you will not hold out for four years!"

Cavaignac was not mistaken in his prophecy, although he was wrong as to the date—merely a chronological error, after all. Moreover, a letter, made public by the very man to whom it had been addressed, a prince, whose aristocratic and hereditary pride took pleasure in humbling a king sprung from a Revolution, had published, far more clearly than the light words of a conversation, the programme of the new reign. Copies of this letter actually sent from St. Petersburg were in circulation: it was from the King of France toMonsieur,his brother, the Emperor of All the Russias. M. Athalin had brought it by special courier; but it was to be delivered separately from the official letter which announced the lieutenant-general's accession to the throne: this was the letter intended only to be read by the Emperor of Russia, but was naturally the only one of the two that was read by the whole world.

It seemed inexplicable to men who for the last fifteen years had followed the policy adopted by the Duc d'Orléans towards the Elder Branch; to those who were acquainted with his conduct towards Charles X. and the young Duke of Bordeaux, during the days which preceded his nomination to the lieutenant-generalship, and those which followed; also to those who knew the part the Palais-Royal had played in that greatmise-en-scèneof the expedition to Rambouillet, which had ended not exactly in the flight (Charles X. maintained his dignity safe and sound as far as Cherbourg), but in the departure, of the Royal Family. The staunchest of King Louis-Philippe's friends denied that the letter was written by him; they said it was apocryphal altogether.

As I ought to explain the charges I have brought against the Government of King Louis-Philippe, in my capacity both as an ordinary citizen and also as a man of letters, for the benefit of friends past and present, who were surprised at it, I may perhaps be permitted to continue to enumerate my reasons for my political repugnance, which led to my sending in my resignation to the king at a time when my interest—if self-interest had been allowed to triumph over my conscientious scruples—should have rather incited me to make up to the princely fortunes when they advanced to the estate of kingship.

I have mentioned the impression made on me by the letter from the Duc d'Orléans to King Charles X., that had been carried by M. de Mortemart; I have told how the handshaking, the singings of theMarseillaiseand the forehead bathed in perspiration, had driven me out of the Palais-Royal at the very moment when the young Duc de Chartres wasmaking his entry into it; I have also described the shame that had glued me motionless before the placard wherein the Duc d'Orléans laid claim to being a Valois, ignoring the most elementary historical facts, and, renouncing Saint-Louis for an ancestor, claimed François I. as head of his House—of all our kings the most debauched, impolitic and faithless to his word. Furthermore, the three sons of the king, the Duc d'Orléans, the Duc d'Aumale and the Duc de Montpensier, well knew that my defection was honourable and disinterested, that I never boasted, by calling them my friends, although they more than once did me the honour to call themselves mine. It will be seen when I shall have occasion to speak of them (and it will happen frequently in the course of these Memoirs) how faithful I am to them in their misfortunes, and that the memories which flow from my heart and pen, as we follow the exiles in their retirement, are reverently given.

But to return to the king's letter to the Emperor Nicholas. It may sound absurd to say it, but it was a real grief to me, just as the czar's reply caused me feelings of shame. I think that if a country is to be truly great and generous and strong, each individual citizen belonging to it ought to be in a measure a nerve in the general organisation, and feel individually any impulses given to it as a nation, or to its glory or honour.

Here is the letter. Long though it be, we will follow it with the reply, our only commentary being to italicise certain passages.

"MONSIEUR MON FRÈRE,—I have to announce to your Majesty my accession to the throne, by a letter that General Athalin will present you, in my name; but I wish to speak to you with complete confidence in regard to the sequel to thecatastrophe that I would so gladly have averted."For some long time past I have had to deplore that King Charles X. and his Government did not follow a policy better calculated to fulfil the expectations and the wishes of the nation; I could not in the least foresee the momentous issues that have come to pass, and I even thought that, but for want of being able to obtain a frank and loyal spirit in the tone of the Charter and of our institutions, it wouldonly have needed a little more prudence and moderation to enable the Government to have gone on as it was for a long time to come; but, since 8 August 1829, the composition of the new Ministry had alarmed me greatly. I could see how far its attitude was disliked and suspected by the nation, and I shared in the general feelings of disquiet as to what measures we might expect from it. Nevertheless, fidelity to law and love of order have made such progress in France, that resistance to the Government would certainly not have expressed itself in such extreme forms, had not the Government itself, in its madness, given the fatal signal by its audacious violation of the Charter, andby its abolition of all the guarantees of our national liberty, in defence of which there is scarcely one single Frenchman who would not be willing to shed his blood. No excesses have followed that terrible struggle."But it was difficult to prevent some shaking in our social condition, and that very exaltation of spirit which deterred the people from excessive disorder carried them at the same time towards experiments in political theories which might have precipitated France and, perhaps, even Europe into terrible calamities; it was under this state of things, sire, that all eyes turned on me:the very vanquished party itself felt me to be necessary to its salvation; I was the more necessary, probably, in order to prevent the conquerors from taking immoderate advantage of their victory; I have, therefore, accepted this noble and painful task, and I have waived aside all personal considerations which arose, urging me to refuse the crown, because I felt that the least hesitation on my part might compromise the future of France and the peace of all our neighbours. The title of Lieutenant-General, which left everything unsettled, excited dangerous mistrust, and it was imperative to hasten to get rid of the provisional state, as much to inspire necessary confidence as to save the Charter. It was essential to preserve this, the importance of which our august brother the late Emperor realised thoroughly; and it would have been sorely compromised if people's minds had not been promptly satisfied and reassured."It will not escape your Majesty's perspicacity and great wisdom, that, in order to attain this salutary end, it is most desirable that affairs in Paris should be seen in their true light, and that Europe, doing justice to the motives that haveguided my actions, should uphold my Government with that confidence to which it has the right to look forward. May your Majesty not lose sight of the fact that, so long as King Charles X. reigned over France,I was one of the most submissiveand faithful of his subjects, and that it was only when I saw the action of the laws paralysed, and the exercise of royal authority totally annihilated, that I felt it my duty to defer to the national vote by accepting the crown which was offered me. It is to you, sire, that France is looking: she loves to think of Russia as her most natural and powerful ally; the guarantee of such an alliance lies in the noble character and the many qualifications for which your Imperial Majesty is noted."I beg you to accept the assurance of my great esteem and of the unalterable friendship with which I remain your Imperial Majesty's affectionate brother, LOUIS-PHILIPPE"

"For some long time past I have had to deplore that King Charles X. and his Government did not follow a policy better calculated to fulfil the expectations and the wishes of the nation; I could not in the least foresee the momentous issues that have come to pass, and I even thought that, but for want of being able to obtain a frank and loyal spirit in the tone of the Charter and of our institutions, it wouldonly have needed a little more prudence and moderation to enable the Government to have gone on as it was for a long time to come; but, since 8 August 1829, the composition of the new Ministry had alarmed me greatly. I could see how far its attitude was disliked and suspected by the nation, and I shared in the general feelings of disquiet as to what measures we might expect from it. Nevertheless, fidelity to law and love of order have made such progress in France, that resistance to the Government would certainly not have expressed itself in such extreme forms, had not the Government itself, in its madness, given the fatal signal by its audacious violation of the Charter, andby its abolition of all the guarantees of our national liberty, in defence of which there is scarcely one single Frenchman who would not be willing to shed his blood. No excesses have followed that terrible struggle.

"But it was difficult to prevent some shaking in our social condition, and that very exaltation of spirit which deterred the people from excessive disorder carried them at the same time towards experiments in political theories which might have precipitated France and, perhaps, even Europe into terrible calamities; it was under this state of things, sire, that all eyes turned on me:the very vanquished party itself felt me to be necessary to its salvation; I was the more necessary, probably, in order to prevent the conquerors from taking immoderate advantage of their victory; I have, therefore, accepted this noble and painful task, and I have waived aside all personal considerations which arose, urging me to refuse the crown, because I felt that the least hesitation on my part might compromise the future of France and the peace of all our neighbours. The title of Lieutenant-General, which left everything unsettled, excited dangerous mistrust, and it was imperative to hasten to get rid of the provisional state, as much to inspire necessary confidence as to save the Charter. It was essential to preserve this, the importance of which our august brother the late Emperor realised thoroughly; and it would have been sorely compromised if people's minds had not been promptly satisfied and reassured.

"It will not escape your Majesty's perspicacity and great wisdom, that, in order to attain this salutary end, it is most desirable that affairs in Paris should be seen in their true light, and that Europe, doing justice to the motives that haveguided my actions, should uphold my Government with that confidence to which it has the right to look forward. May your Majesty not lose sight of the fact that, so long as King Charles X. reigned over France,I was one of the most submissiveand faithful of his subjects, and that it was only when I saw the action of the laws paralysed, and the exercise of royal authority totally annihilated, that I felt it my duty to defer to the national vote by accepting the crown which was offered me. It is to you, sire, that France is looking: she loves to think of Russia as her most natural and powerful ally; the guarantee of such an alliance lies in the noble character and the many qualifications for which your Imperial Majesty is noted.

"I beg you to accept the assurance of my great esteem and of the unalterable friendship with which I remain your Imperial Majesty's affectionate brother, LOUIS-PHILIPPE"

A letter so full of tender protestations, so humble and obsequious as this, deserved, indeed, a polite reply.

Here is that sent by His Majesty of All the Russias:—

"I have received from the hands of General Athalin the letter of which he was the bearer. Events, ever to be deplored, have placed your Majesty in a position of cruel alternative; and you have adopted a determination which seemed to you the only means left of saving France from the greatest calamities. I will not pronounce judgment upon the considerations that have directed your Majesty; but I will pray to Providence to bless your intentions and the efforts you are about to make for the welfare of the French people. In concert with my Allies I accept with pleasure your Majesty's expressed desire that peace and friendship should be maintained between you and all the European states;so long as these relations are based upon existing treaties, and with a firm resolution to respect the rights and obligations and the conditions of territorial possession which those treaties have ratified, Europe will find in them a guarantee of peace very necessary to the tranquillity of France herself. Called upon in conjunction with my Allies to cultivate these conservative relations with France under her present Government, I, on my part, will give them all the careful consideration they demand,and am pleased to offer your Majesty the assuranceof my good disposition, in return for the sentiments you have expressed towards me."I beg you at the same time to accept the expression of my kind feelings towards you.NICHOLAS"

"I beg you at the same time to accept the expression of my kind feelings towards you.

NICHOLAS"

That was all Louis-Philippe got in return for his fraternal outpourings! Nicholas might just tolerate his position if he respected the treaties of 1815, and he offered him hisdispositionsin exchange for the sentiments he had put forth in his letter. Now here was exactly where his new situation proved embarrassing. We have spoken of the July Revolution as being the last flash of Waterloo; and, indeed, as soon as the Revolution was an accomplished fact, every generous-hearted mind in France turned its thoughts towards Belgium and Italy and Poland. Belgium, in those days, was still, it will be remembered, a part of Holland, as annexed territory. Italy was then, as it is still, groaning under the tyranny of Austria. Poland was divided up between Prussia, Russia and Austria, and had not even the consolation left it of gathering its scattered members together in the same shroud.

Now, kind-hearted people were asking for a remodelling of Europe: they wanted to give to the flocks which are called nations pastors chosen by themselves; they refused to recognise those butchers, with whom the heartless diplomatists, who sat at the green-covered table at the Vienna Congress, had divided a hundred million bodies and souls, almost at haphazard. But this was just what Louis-Philippe did not want. He represented the bourgeoisie, which was made up of lawyers, men of business, bankers, money-brokers and financiers; and the bourgeoisie has its own god all to itself, which has no sympathies in common with the god worshipped by great minds and noble hearts.

The situation was so lofty that the blinking eyes of that bourgeoisie lowered, utterly dazzled, before they could raise themselves to such a height. For, indeed, after the Revolution of 1830 France could fling at kings the defiance of an unbounded ambition; it could not only act on its own individual strength, but also, by allying other peoples withit, it could increase its power and neutralise that of kings. What was necessary for this? It is enough to look at the general condition of the European monarchies; at Russia, with its vulture of the Caucasus and its gangrene in Constantinople; to Austria, with its twofold cancer of Italy and Hungary; to Holland, with its hostile Belgium; to England, with its unsubdued Scotland and its starving Ireland, to see that if we did but raise our voices a little louder we should not merely be masters at home, but could extend our supremacy over the whole of Europe. At one time, it seemed as though France was going to adopt this wide and splendid policy towards Spain. It is true, though, that the motive which moved Louis-Philippe in his action with regard to Spain was an entirely personal feeling. As stupid, almost as despicable as his grandfather, Ferdinand of Naples, who would not recognise the French Republic in his day, Ferdinand of Spain did not wish to recognise the Revolution of July, or, at any rate, he wished to ignore the prince who had just inherited the throne after that Revolution, in almost as mysterious a fashion as he himself had succeeded the last of the Condés. So, on the first impulse of anger, King Louis-Philippe received a deputation of three of the members of the Spanish Committee, MM. Loëve-Weimars, Marchais and Dupont, introduced by M. Odilon Barrot; he treated his brother Ferdinand in scurvy fashion and all but offered a rope with which he hoped to see him hanged.[1]He went even farther, and placed a hundred thousand francs at the disposal of La Fayette to support the enterprises of the Spanish Revolutionists. From this side, at all events, they believed themselves safe from political reaction. M. Girod (of l'Ain), Prefect of Police, openly distributed passports to the Spanish refugees who were on their way to the Pyrenees; theimpérialesof every public conveyance were reserved for these exiles, who returned to their homes in the face of allthe world; and, all along the road, besides these specially privileged travellers, bands of fifty, a hundred and a hundred and fifty men were to be met with, with beating drums and flying banners, marching towards Bidassoa. Finally, M. Guizot (a native of Ghent), in other words a Reactionary, declared quite openly that "when, in 1823, France won back Spain to its Absolutist ideas, she committed a political crime; she therefore owes Spain reparation. Such reparation should be given, signal and complete!" M. Guizot said these words to M. Louis Viardot and asked him to publish them broadcast.

It will be seen that we do not grope in the dark—that we are not making accusations recklessly: we quote not only the words that were said, not only the men who said them, but also the men to whom they were said.

Thereupon all those victims of Ferdinand VII., such as Mendizabal, Isturitz, Calatrava, the Duke of Rivas, Martinez de la Rosa, the Count of Toreno, General Mina, Colonel Moreno, Colonel Valdès, General Torrijos, General Chapalangara, General Lopès Baños and General Butron all raised their hands to Heaven and criedHosannah!

Arms were sent so publicly by MM. Guizot and de Montalivet, that the Spanish Ambassador, M. d'Ofalia, took note of the fact diplomatically.

Now, we have remarked that Ferdinand VII. of Spain was as stupid and almost as cowardly as his grandfather Ferdinand IV. of Naples; we should really have said that he was more cowardly, for at the mere sound of arms in France, at the mere cries of liberty which were echoed in the South, at the mere roll of drums approaching the frontier, he made theamende honorableand received Louis-Philippe with every expression of regret at having held back so long. And, although the new king had, as we have said, almost offered the rope wherewith to hang him, he really preferred the sinner's repentance to his death. Without saying anything to them, he withdrew the hand he had held out to the Spanish refugees and, left to themselves, or, rather, delivered over to the vengeance of Ferdinand, they were killed, someon the battlefield, and others, sad and painful and shameful as it is to tell, were chased as far as the frontier and taken and shot down on French territory!

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