Diary And Notes Of Horace Templeton, Esq. Volume I Part 5

It is little to be wondered at if these children imbibed from the very cradle a horror of that system and of those men which had left them fatherless and almost friendless, dest.i.tute of rank, station, and fortune, and a proportionate attachment to those who, if they had been suffered to reign, would have preserved them in the enjoyment of all their time-honoured privileges and possessions.

If the members of the executive government were then remembered among the catalogue of persons accursed and to be hated, the names of the royal family were repeated among those saintly personages to whom honour and praise were rendered. The venerable Pere Duclos, to whom their education was confided, certainly neglected no available means of instilling these two opposite principles of belief; and if Alfred de Vitry and Blanche were not impressed with this truth, it could not be laid to the charge of this single-hearted teacher; every trait and feature that could deform and disgrace humanity being attributed to one, and all the graces and enn.o.bling virtues of the race a.s.sociated with the name of the other. The more striking and impressive to make the lesson, the Pere was accustomed to read a comment on the various events then occurring at Paris, and on the campaigns of the Republican army in Italy; dwelling, with pardonable condemnation, on the insults offered to the Church and all who adhered to its holy cause.

These appeals were made with peculiar force to Alfred, who was destined for an ecclesiastic, that being the only career which the old Count and his chaplain could satisfy themselves as offering any hope of safety; and now that the family possessions were all confiscated, and a mere remnant of the estate remaining, there was no use in hoping to perpetuate a name which must sink into poverty and obscurity. Blanche was also to become a member of a religious order in Italy, if, happily, even in that sacred land, the privileges of the Church were destined to escape.

The good Pere, whose intentions were unalloyed by one thought unworthy of an angel, made the mistake that great zeal not unfrequently commits--he proved too much; he painted the Revolutionary party in colours so terrible, that no possible reality could sustain the truth of the portraiture. It is true, the early days of the Revolution warranted all he did or could say; but the party had changed greatly since that, or, rather, a new and a very differently minded cla.s.s had succeeded.

Marat, Danton, and Robespierre had no resemblance with Sieyes, Carnot, and Buonaparte. The simple-minded priest, however, recognised no distinction: he thought that, as the stream issued from a tainted source, the current could never become purer by flowing; and he delighted, with all the enthusiasm of a _devote_, to exaggerate the evil traits of those whose exploits of heroism might have dazzled and fascinated unthinking understandings.

Alfred was about sixteen, when one evening, nigh sunset, a peasant approached the Chateau in eager haste to say that a party of soldiers were coming up the little road which led towards the house, instead of turning off, as they usually did, to the village of Puy de Dome, half a league further down the valley.

Pere Duclos, who a.s.sumed absolute authority over the household since the old Count had fallen into a state of childlike dotage, hastened to provide himself with the writ of exemption from billet the Directory had conferred on the chateau--an _amende_ for the terrible misfortunes of the ruined family--and advanced to meet the party, the leading files of which were already in sight.

Nothing could less have suggested the lawless depredators of the Republic than the little column that now drew near. Four cha.s.seurs-a-pied led the van, their clothes ragged and torn, their shoes actually in ribbons; one had his arm in a sling, and another carried his shako on his back, as his head was bound up in a handkerchief, whose blood-stained folds shewed the marks of a severe sabre-cut. Behind them came a litter, or, rather, a cart with a canva.s.s awning, in which lay the wounded body of their officer; the rear consisting of about fourteen others, under the command of a sergeant.

They halted and formed as the old Pere approached them, and the sergeant, stepping to the front, carried his hand to his cap in military salute; and then, without waiting for the priest to speak, he began a very civil, almost an humble, apology, for the liberty of their intrusion.

"We are," said he, "an invalid party, _en route_ for Paris, with an officer who was severely wounded at the bridge of Lodi." And here he lowered his voice to a whisper: "The poor lieutenant's case being hopeless, and his constant wish--his prayer,--being to see his mother before he dies, we are pushing on for her Chateau, which is near St.

Jean de Luc, I hear."

Perhaps the mention of the word Chateau--the claim of one whose rank was even thus vaguely hinted at--had nearly an equal influence on the Pere with the duties of humanity. Certain is it he laid less stress than he might have done on the writ of exemption, and blandly said that the out-offices of the Chateau should be at their disposal for the night; apologising if late events had not left its inhabitants in better circ.u.mstances to succour the unfortunate.

"We ask very little, Pere," said the sergeant, respectfully--"some straw to sleep on, some rye-bread and a little water for supper; and to-morrow, ere sunrise, you shall see the last of us."

The humility of the request, rendered even more humble by the manner in which it was conveyed, did not fail to strike the Pere Duclos, who began to wonder what reverses had overtaken the "Blues" (the name the Republicans were called), that they were become thus civil and respectful; nor could he be brought to believe the account the sergeant gave of a glorious victory at the Ada, nor credit a syllable of the bulletin which, in letters half-a-foot long, proclaimed the splendid achievement.

A little pavilion in the garden was devoted to the reception of the wounded lieutenant, and the soldiers bivouacked in the farm-buildings, and some even in the open air, for it was the vintage-time, and the weather delightful. There was nothing of outrage or disturbance committed by the men; not even any unusual noise disturbed the peaceful quiet of the old Chateau; and, except that a lamp burned all night in the garden-pavilion, nothing denoted the presence of strangers.

Before day broke the men were mustered in the court of the Chateau; and the sergeant, having seen that his party were all regularly equipped for the march, demanded to speak a few words to the Pere Duclos. The Pere, who was from his window watching these signs of approaching departure with some anxiety, hastily descended on hearing the request.

"We are about to march, reverend father," said the sergeant, saluting, "all of us, save one--our poor lieutenant; his next billet will be for another, and, we hope, a better place."

"Is he dead?" asked the Pere, eagerly.

"Not yet, father; but the event cannot now be far off. He raved all through the night, and this morning the fever has left him, but without strength, and evidently going fast. To take him along with us would be inhuman, were it even possible--to delay would be against my orders; so that nothing else is to be done than leave him among those who would be kind to his last hours, and minister to the wants of a death-bed."

The Pere, albeit very far from gratified by his charge, promised to do all in his power; and the sergeant, having commanded a "present arms" to the Chateau, wheeled right-about and departed.

For some days the prediction of the sergeant seemed to threaten its accomplishment at every hour. The sick man, reduced to the very lowest stage of debility, appeared at moments as if struggling for a last breath; but by degrees these paroxysms grew less frequent and less violent: he slept, too, at intervals, and awoke seemingly refreshed; and thus between the benefits derived from tranquillity and rest, a mild and genial air, and his own youth, his recovery became at length a.s.sured, accompanied, however, by a degree of feebleness that made the least effort impossible, and even the utterance of a few words a matter of great pain and difficulty.

If, during the most sad and distressing periods of the sick bed, the Pere indirectly endeavoured to inspire Alfred's mind with a horror of a soldier's life--depicting, by the force of the terrible example before him, the wretchedness of one who fell a victim to its ambition--so did he take especial care, as convalescence began to dawn, to forbid the youth from ever approaching the pavilion, or holding any intercourse with its occupant. That part of the garden was strictly interdicted to him, and the very mention of the lieutenant at last forbidden, or only alluded to when invoking a Christian blessing upon enemies.

In this way matters continued till the end of autumn, when the Pere, who had long been anxiously awaiting the hour when the sick man should take his leave, had one morning set off for the town to make arrangements for his departure, and order post-horses to be ready on the following day.

It was a calm and mellow day of autumn, and Alfred, who had at first determined to set out on a fishing excursion, without any reason, changed his mind, and sauntered into the garden. Loitering listlessly for some time, from walk to walk, he was at length returning to the Chateau, when he beheld, seated under the shade of a walnut-tree, a young man, whose pale and languid look at once bespoke the invalid, even had not the fact been proclaimed by his dress, the uniform of a _Lander rouge_.

Mindful of the Father's precept, and fully impressed with an obedience never violated, the youth was turning hastily away, when the wounded man slowly arose from his seat, and removing his cap, made a salute of deep and most respectful meaning.

Alfred returned it, and stood irresolute. The eyes of the sick man, full of an expression of mild and thankful beaming, were on him. What should he do? to retire without speaking would be a rudeness, even a cruelty: beside, what possible harm could there be in a few words of friendly greeting with one so long their guest? Ere he could resolve the point, the wounded officer was slowly advancing towards him, still uncovered, and in an att.i.tude betokening a most respectful grat.i.tude.

"I pray you will permit me, Mons. le Comte," said he, "to express my heartfelt thanks for the hospitality and kindness of your treatment.

I feared that I should leave this without the occasion of saying how grateful I feel for the remnant of life your care has been the means of preserving."

Alfred tried to answer: but a dread of his disobedience and its consequences, and a strange sense of admiration for the stranger, whose manner and appearance had deeply impressed him, made him silent.

"I see," said the lieutenant smiling, "that you are indisposed to receive an acknowledgment for what you set such small store by--a kindness to a mere 'soldier of the Republic;' but when you wear a sword yourself, Mons. le Comte, as you will doubtless one of these days----"

"No," said Alfred, hastily interrupting him, "never! I shall never wear one."

"How, never! What can you mean?"

"That I shall never be a soldier," said Alfred. "I am to be a priest."

"A priest! You, Mons. le Comte de Vitry, of the best blood of Auvergne--you, a monk!"

"I did not say a monk," said Alfred, proudly; "there are other ranks among churchmen. I have heard tell of Prince-bishops and Cardinals."

"And if one were to begin life at the age they usually take leave of it, such a career might not be held so cheaply; but for a young man of good birth and blood, with a heart to feel proudly, and a hand to wield a weapon--no, no, this were a shame not to be thought of."

Stung alike by the severity of the sarcasm, and animated by the old spirit of the Pere's teaching, Alfred hastily answered:--

"And if men of rank and station no longer carry arms as their forefathers did, with whom lies the blame? Why do they now bend to adopt a path that in former days was only trodden by the weak-hearted and the timid? Because they would not draw the sword in a cause they abhor, and for a faction they despised; neither would they shed their blood to a.s.sure the triumph of a rabble."

"Nor would I," interposed the lieutenant, while a slight flush coloured his cheek. "The cause in which I perilled life was that of France, my country. You may safely trust, that the nation capable of such conquests will neither be disgraced by bad rulers, nor dishonoured by cowardly ones."

"I have no faith in Republicans," said Alfred, scornfully.

"Because they were not born to a t.i.tle, perhaps! But do you know how many of those who now carry victory into foreign lands belong to this same cla.s.s that includes all your sympathy?--prouder, far prouder, that they sustain the honour of France against her enemies than that they carry the blazon of a marquis or the coronet of a duke on their escutcheon? You look incredulous! Nay, I speak no more than what I well know: for instance, the humble lieutenant who now addresses you can claim rank as high and ancient as your own. You have heard of the Liancourts?"

"Le Duc de Liancourt?"

"Yes; I am, or rather I was, the Duc de Liancourt," said the lieutenant, with an almost imperceptible struggle: "my present rank is Sous-Lieutenant of the Third Lancers. Now listen to me calmly for a few moments, and I hope to shew you, that in a country where a dreadful social earthquake has uprooted every foundation of rank, and strewed the ground with the ruins of every thing like prescription, it is n.o.bler and better to shew that n.o.bility could enter the lists, unaided by its prestige, and win the palm, among those who vainly boasted themselves better and braver. This we have done, not by a.s.suming the monk's cowl and the friar's cord, but by carrying the knapsack and the musket; not by shirking the struggle, but by confronting it. Where is the taunt now against the n.o.bility of France? whose names figure oftenest in the lists of killed and wounded? whose lot is it most frequently to mount first to the a.s.sault or the breach? No, no, take to the alb and the surplice if your vocation prompt it, but do not a.s.sume to say that no other road is open to a Frenchman because his heart is warmed by n.o.ble blood."

If Alfred was at first shocked by hearing a.s.sertions so opposed to all the precepts of his venerated tutor, he was soon ashamed of offering opposition to one so far more capable than himself of forming a just judgment on the question, while he felt, inwardly, the inequality of the cause for which he would do battle against--that glorious and triumphant one of which the young officer a.s.sumed the championship.

Besides, De Liancourt's history was his own; he had been bred up with convictions precisely like his, and might, had he followed out the path intended for him, been a priest at the very hour that he led a charge at Lodi.

"I was saved by an accident," said he. "In the march of Berthault's division through Chalons, a little drummer-boy fell off a waggon when asleep, and was wounded by a wheel pa.s.sing over him: they brought him to our chateau, where we nursed and tended him till he grew well. The Cure, wishing to s.n.a.t.c.h him as a brand saved from the burning, adopted him, and made him an acolyte; and so he remained till one Sunday morning, when the 'Cha.s.seurs gris' marched through the town during ma.s.s. Pierre stole out to see the soldiers; he heard a march he had often listened to before; he saw the little drummers stepping out gaily in front; worse, too, _they_ saw him, and one called out to his comrades, 'Regarde donc le Pretre; ce pet.i.t drole la--c'est un Pretre.'

"'Du tout,' cried he; tearing off his white robe, and throwing it behind him, 'Je suis tambour comme toi,' and s.n.a.t.c.hing the drum, he beat his 'Ran tap-plan' so vigorously and so well, that the drum-major patted him on the head and cheek, and away marched Pierre at the head of the troop, leaving Chalons, and Cure, and all behind him, without a thought or a pang.

"I saw it all from the window of the church; and suddenly, as my eyes turned from the grand spectacle of the moving column, with its banners flying and bayonets glistening, to the dim, half-lighted aisles of the old church, with smoky tapers burning faintly, amid which an old decrepid priest was moving slowly, a voice within me cried,--'Better a _tambour_, than this!' I stole out, and reached the street just as the last files were pa.s.sing: I mingled with the crowd that followed, my heart beating time to the quick march. I tracked them out of the town, further and further, till we reached the wide open country.

"'Will you not come back, Pierre?' said I, pulling him by the sleeve, as, at last, I reached the leading files, where the little fellow marched, proud as the tambour-major.

"'_I_ go back, and the regiment marching against the enemy!' exclaimed he, indignantly; and a roar of laughter and applause from the soldiers greeted his words.

"'Nor I either!' cried I. And thus I became a soldier, never to regret the day I belted on the knapsack. But here comes the Pere Duclos: I hope he may not be displeased at your having kept me company. I know well he loves not such companionship for his pupil--perhaps he has reason."

Alfred did not wait for the priest's arrival, but darted from the spot and hastened to his room, where, bolting the door, he threw himself upon his bed and wept bitterly. Who knows if these tears decided not all his path in life?