CHAPTER IX.
ARMAND MARRAST.
The journalist who now occupied the editorial chair was seemingly aboutthirty-five years of age, and one whom the ladies would call "afine-looking man." His stature was about the average, his shouldersbroad and his form thick-set. His face was long and thin, his foreheadfull and capacious, though not high, and was furrowed by thought. Hisbeard, which, like his hair, was black, encircled his chin, and amoustache was suffered to adorn his lip. His dress was black and a plainstock, without a collar, surrounded his throat. His eyes were large,black, and piercing, and the expression of his countenance wascontemplative and sad.
Such is a hasty limning of the personal outlines of the first journalistin Paris, the chief editor of the chief organ of the democracy inEurope, Armand Marrast, of "Le National."
An air of depression, exhaustion and regret was upon his face as he satbeside the table, with a pen in his hand and paper before him, in athoughtful mood, as if planning a leader for his journal, of which but asingle line was written. Whatever were his reflections, they wereevidently far from pleasant; but the single line traced at the head ofthe paper indicated the source of his uneasiness. It read:
"Again the House of Orleans triumphs!"
Throwing down his pen, he folded his arms, and began hastily pacing thechamber.
"Again the House of Orleans triumphs!" he bitterly exclaimed. "Aye,again and again! It is thus forever, and thus forever seems likely tocontinue. Every measure, however imperative, of the opposition,ignominiously fails--every measure of the Government, however infamous,succeeds. And so it has been for twelve years. Ah! what a barren sceptredid the Three Days of '30 place in the hands of the French people! Thedespotism of a Citizen King has been as deadly as that of theRestoration, and more insulting. For twelve years his acts have been buta continuous series of infringements upon the rights, and insults to theopinions, of the men of July. The Republican party is trampled on.Freedom of the press, electoral reform, rights of labor, restriction ofthe Royal prerogative, reduction of the civil list, all these measuresare effectually crushed. The press is fettered, and its conductors areincarcerated. Out of a population of thirty-three millions, but twohundred thousand are electors. Out of four hundred and sixty deputies,one-third hold places under the Government, the aggregate of whosesalaries would sustain thousands of starving families at their verydoors. Paris, despite every struggle of freedom, is, at this hour, aBastille. The line of fortification is complete. Wherever the eye turnsbattlements frown, ordnance protrudes, bayonets bristle. Corruptionstalks unblushingly abroad in the highest places, and the frauds ofGisquet all Paris knows are but those of an individual. The civil list,instead of being reduced, is every year enlarged. A Citizen Kingreceives forty times the appropriation received by the First Consul,while his whole family are quartered on the State. The dotation to theDuke of Orleans, on his marriage, would have saved from starvationhundreds of thousands whose claim for charity far exceeded his. ThankGod, his own personal unpopularity defeated the dotation designed forthe Duke of Nemours. But the appanages were granted because the King'slife was attempted by an assassin. A Citizen King, indeed! This mancares only for his own. He would be allied to every dynasty in Europe.His policy is unmixed selfishness. His love for the people who made himtheir monarch is swallowed up in love for himself. Millions have beenwrung from the sweat of toil to accomplish a worse than uselessconquest, thousands of Frenchmen have been sacrificed on the burningsands of Africa, and all for what?--that a throne might be won for aboy--a boy without ability, or experience, and now the Duke of Aumale isGovernor-General of Algeria, while hundreds of brave men are forgotten."
As these last words, which indicated the cause of the present agitation,were uttered by the excited journalist a door at the further end of theapartment softly opened, and a young man of very low stature and boyishin aspect entered. He seemed, at a first glance, hardly to have attainedhis majority, though actually he was ten years older. His face wasround, yet pale, his lips full, his brow commanding, his eye large, darkand thoughtful, and His characteristic expression mild and benevolent.He wore a dark frock coat, buttoned to the chin, and a plain blackcravat was tied around his neck.
The journalist was so deeply absorbed in his meditations that for somemoments he seemed unaware that he was no longer alone, and he might haveremained yet longer in that ignorance had not the guest approached andexclaimed:
"Algeria!"
The journalist raised his head and hastily turned.
"Ah! Louis, is it you?" he said, cordially extending his hand; "I'm gladyou've come. But why did I not hear you?"
"For two reasons, my dear Armand," said the visitor, seating himself inan editorial chair: "one, that I came in by the private entrance, andthe other, that you were too zealously engaged in cursing the recentappointment of the King to hear anything short of a salvo of artillery."
"Ah! that cursed appointment! What next I wonder? Thank God, the old manhas no more sons to make governors, although he'll never be satisfiedtill each one of them has a crown on his head, by his own right or theright of a wife."
"And what care we whom the boys marry, so long as marriage takes themout of France? Montpensier can find favor in the eyes of the SpanishInfanta, Christina's sister, and thus balk England; be it so, yes, be itso, especially since it can't be helped or prevented."
"But this affair of Algeria, Louis--"
"Is a very different affair you would say. No doubt, no doubt. As toAlgeria, I have always viewed it as a very costly bauble for France, 'anopera-box' as the Duke of Broglie once said, 'rather too expensive forFrance.'"
"But then it has been a splendid arena for French valor. It has giventhe rough old Bugeaud a Marshal's baton, and has made the gallantLamoriciere, his sworn foe, a general officer, thanks to his ownintrepid conduct and the court influence of his brother-in-law, Thiers."
"In the late dispatch appear the names of some new candidates foradvancement, I perceive."
"You allude to Morrel and Joliette among others, I suppose. Morrel hasreceived a regiment, and Joliette is Chef d'Escadron of Spahis. Luckilyfor aspirants, and thanks to disease and slaughter, there is no lack ofvacancies."
"The name of Morrel I have seen before in the 'Moniteur,' butJoliette--who is he?"
"A sort of protege of Bugeaud, 'tis said. He is reported to haveenlisted at Marseilles, and in three years has risen to his presentposition from the ranks. He is of a good family, rumor says, but,suddenly reduced by some calamity, he became a soldier."
"He must be a brave fellow, Armand! As I said before, Algeria has been afine field for the development of military genius. My chief objectionsto French conquests are these--they have drained millions from Francewhich should have been devoted to the cause of labor, and have tended todazzle the masses with the glory of the achievements of French valorabroad; thus while thousands of the young and enterprising have beenlured away to fill up the ranks, and to seek fame and fortune, the mindsof those remaining have been withdrawn from their own wrongs, oppressionand suffering, and from efficiently concerting to sustain the measuresof their friends for their relief. There is not a race in Christendomso fond of military glory and achievement as the French. Dazzled bythis, the people, the masses--"
"The people, the masses!" impatiently interrupted the journalist. "Youknow me, Louis; for years you have known me well, for years have wedevoted every energy of heart and soul to the cause of the people, andfor years, ever since we came to man's estate, have we been equalsufferers in the same cause--"
"Sufferers in the cause of the people of France, in the cause of man, weboth, doubtless, have been, but not equal sufferers. What have been mysacrifices or sufferings, my dear Armand, compared to yours? In thatdark hour when Armand Carrel fell--fell by an ignoble bullet in anignoble cause--fell in bitterness and without a hope for liberty in hisbeloved France--I felt impelled to come forward and exert myself for thewelfare of my race, and endeavor to aid others in filling the gapcreate
d by his loss. To France, to my country, did I then, though but aboy, devote myself--France, my country!--for such I feel her to be,though I was born in Spain and my mother was a Corsican. Since that hourmy pen has been dedicated to the cause of the people, the dethronementof the Bourgeoisie and the organization of labor. As to sacrifice orsuffering, I have sacrificed only my time and toil at the worst. I havenot been deemed worthy of suffering even a fine for a newspaper libel,and my paper has never been thought worth suppression!"
"And what have I accomplished, Louis?" asked Marrast, gloomily. "My lifeseems almost a blank."
"With Armand Carrel, you have for fifteen years been the champion ofRepublicanism in France, and with you, as leaders, has all beenaccomplished that now exists. When Carrel died, on you fell his mantle.As editor of 'La Tribune,' your boldness and charging Casimir Perier andMarshal Soult with connivance in Gisquet's scandalous frauds broughtupon you fine and imprisonment. Your boldness and patriotism during theinsurrection of the 5th and 6th of June, 1832, once more caused yourpaper to be stopped and your presses to be sealed. In April, '34, yourpress was again stopped, and you, with Godefroi Cavaignac, were throwninto Sainte Pelagie, whence you so gallantly escaped, though to becomean exile in England. Again, in '35, you were sentenced totransportation. So much for sufferings; as to sacrifices--why, you havebeen utterly ruined by fines!"
"Well, Louis, well," was the sad answer, "granting all this, mysacrifices and sufferings are only the more bitter from the fact ofhaving been utterly in vain, entirely useless. You, Louis, have beenwiser than I. Your journal is well named 'Bon Sens.'"
"Possibly wiser," was the reply, "and possibly less bold. But does notdiscretion sometimes win what boldness would sacrifice? In rashlystruggling for all we sometimes lose all. Prudence and perseverance, mydear Armand, are invaluable."