CHAPTER XLIII. A FOREST RIDE
While I was dressing, a note was handed to me from the cure, apologisingfor his departure without seeing me, and begging, as a great favour,that I would not leave the chateau till his return. He said that thecount's spirits had benefited greatly by our agreeable converse,and that he requested me to be his guest for some time to come. Thepostscript added a suggestion that I should write down some ofthe particulars of my visit to Ettenheim, but particularly of thatconversation alluding to the meditated assassination of Bonaparte.
There were many points in the arrangement which I did not like. Tobegin, I had no fancy whatever for the condition of a dependant, andsuch my poverty would at once stamp me. Secondly, I was averse to thisfrequent intercourse with men of the Royalist party, whose restlesscharacter and unceasing schemes were opposed to all the principles ofthose I had served under; and finally, I was growing impatient under thelistless vacuity of a life that gave no occupation, nor opened any viewfor the future. I sat down to breakfast in a mood very little in unisonwith the material enjoyments around me. The meal was all that couldtempt appetite; and the view from the open window displayed a beautifulflower-garden, imperceptibly fading away into a maze of ornamentalplanting, which was backed again by a deep forest, the well-known woodof Belleville. Still I ate on sullenly, scarce noticing any of theobjects around me. I will see the count, and take leave of him, thoughtI suddenly; I cannot be his guest without sacrificing feeling in a dozenways.
'At what hour does monsieur rise?' asked I of the obsequious valet whowaited behind my chair.
'Usually at three or four in the afternoon, sir; but to-day he hasdesired me to make his excuses to you. There will be a consultation ofdoctors here; and the likelihood is, that he may not leave his chamber.'
'Will you convey my respectful compliments, then, to him, and my regretsthat I had not seen him before leaving the chateau?'
'The count charged me, sir, to entreat your remaining here till he hadseen you. He said you had done him infinite service already; and indeedit is long since he has passed a night in such tranquillity.'
There are few slight circumstances which impress a stranger morefavourably than any semblance of devotion on the part of a servantto his master. The friendship of those above one in life is easier toacquire than the attachment of those beneath. Love is a plant whosetendrils strive ever upwards. I could not help feeling struck atthe man's manner as he spoke these few words; and insensibly my mindreverted to the master who had inspired such sentiments.
'My master gave orders, sir,' continued he, 'that we should doeverything possible to contribute to your wishes; that the carriage,or, if you prefer them, saddle-horses, should be ready at any hour youordered. The wood has a variety of beautiful excursions; there is alake, too, about two leagues away; and the ruins of Monterraye are alsoworth seeing.'
'If I had not engagements in Paris,' muttered I, while I affected tomumble over the conclusion of the sentence to myself.
'Monsieur has seldom done a greater kindness than this will be,' addedhe respectfully; 'but if monsieur's business could be deferred for a dayor two, without inconvenience-----'
'Perhaps that might be managed,' said I, starting up, and walking to thewindow, when, for the first time, the glorious prospect revealed itselfbefore me. How delicious, after all, would be a few hours of such aretreat!--a morning loitered away in that beautiful garden, and thena long ramble through the dark wood till sunset. Oh, if Laura were buthere! if she could be my companion along those leafy alleys! If notwith, I can at least think of her, thought I--seek out spots shewould love to linger in, and points of view she would enjoy with alla painter's zest. And this poor count, with all his riches, could notderive in a whole lifetime the enjoyment that a few brief hourswould yield to us! So is it almost ever in this world: to one man theappliances, to another the faculties for enjoyment.
'I am so glad monsieur has consented,' said the valet joyously.
'Did I say so? I don't know that I said anything.'
'The count will be so gratified,' added he, and hurried away to conveythe tidings.
Well, be it so. Heaven knows my business in Paris will scarcely sufferby my absence, my chief occupation there being to cheat away the hourstill meal-time. It is an occupation I can easily resume a few dayshence. I took a book, and strolled out into the garden; but I could notread. There is a gush of pleasure felt at times from the most familiarobjects, which the most complicated machinery of enjoyment often failsto equal; and now the odour of moss-roses and geraniums, the richperfume of orange-flowers, the plash of fountains and the hum of thesummer insects, steeped my mind in delight; and I lay there in a dreamof bliss that was like enchantment. I suppose I must have fallen asleep,for my thoughts took every form of wildness and incoherency. Ireland;the campaign; the Bay of Genoa; the rugged height of Kuff-stein,all passed before my mind, peopled with images foreign to all theirincidents. It was late in the afternoon that I aroused myself, andremembered where I was. The shadows of the dark forest were stretchingover the plain, and I determined on a ride beneath their mellow shade.As if in anticipation of my wishes, the horses were already saddled, anda groom stood awaiting my orders. Oh, what a glorious thing it is to berich! thought I, as I mounted; from what an eminence does the wealthyman view life! No petty cares nor calculations mar the conceptions ofhis fancy. His will, like his imagination, wanders free and unfettered.And so thinking, I dashed spurs into my horse, and plunged into thedense wood. Perhaps I was better mounted than the groom, or perhaps theman was scarcely accustomed to such impetuosity. Whatever the reason, Iwas soon out of sight of him. The trackless grass of the alley, and itsnoiseless turf, made pursuit difficult in a spot where the paths crossedand recrossed in a hundred different directions; and so I rode on formiles and miles without seeing more of my follower.
Forest riding is particularly seductive; you are insensibly led on tosee where this alley will open, or how that path will terminate. Someof the spirit of discovery seems to seal its attractions to the wildand devious track, untrodden as it looks; and you feel all the charmof adventure as you advance. The silence, too, is most striking;the noiseless footfall of the horse, and the unbroken stillness, addindescribable charm to the scene, and the least imaginative cannot failto weave fancies and fictions as he goes.
Near as it was to a great city, not a single rider crossed my path; noteven a peasant did I meet. A stray bundle of faggots, bound and readyto be carried away, showed that the axe of the woodman had been heardwithin the solitude; but not another trace told that human footstep hadever pressed the sward.
Although still a couple of hours from sunset, the shade of the wood wasdense enough to make the path appear uncertain, and I was obligedto ride more cautiously than before. I had thought that by steadilypursuing one straight track, I should at last gain the open country, andeasily find some road that would reconduct me to the chateau; but now Isaw no signs of this. 'The alley' was, to all appearance, exactly as Ifound it--miles before. A long aisle of beech-trees stretched away infront and behind me; a short, grassy turf was beneath my feet, and notan object to tell me how far I had come, or whither I was tending. Ifnow and then another road crossed the path, it was in all respects likethis one. This was puzzling; and to add to my difficulty, I suddenlyremembered that I had never thought of learning the name of the chateau,and well knew that to ask for it as the residence of the Count deMaurepas would be a perfect absurdity. There was something so ludicrousin the situation, that I could not refrain from laughing at first; buta moment's reconsideration made me regard the incident more gravely. Inwhat a position should I stand, if unable to discover the chateau! Thecure might have left Paris before I could reach it; all clue to thecount might thus be lost; and although these were but improbablecircumstances, they came now very forcibly before me, and gave meserious uneasiness.
'I have been so often in false positions in life, so frequentlyimplicated where no real blame could attach to me, that I shall not b
ein the least surprised if I be arrested as a horse-stealer!' The nightnow began to fall rapidly, so that I was obliged to proceed at a slowpace; and at length, as the wood seemed to thicken, I was forced to getoff, and walk beside my horse. I have often found myself in situationsof real peril, with far less anxiety than I now felt. My position seemedat the time inexplicable and absurd. I suppose, thought I, that no manwas ever lost in the wood of Belleville; he must find his way out of itsooner or later; and then there can be no great difficulty in returningto Paris. This was about the extent of the comfort I could affordmyself; for, once back in the capital, I could not speculate on a singlestep further.
I was at last so weary with the slow and cautious progression I wascondemned to, that I half determined to picket my horse to a tree, andlie down to sleep till daylight. While I sought out a convenient spotfor my bivouac, a bright twinkling light, like a small star, caught myeye. Twice it appeared, and vanished again, so that I was well assuredof its being real, and no phantom of my now over-excited brain. Itappeared to proceed from the very densest part of the wood, and whither,so far as I could see, no path conducted. As I listened to catch anysounds, I again caught sight of the faint star, which now seemed ata short distance from the road where I stood. Fastening my horse to abranch, I advanced directly through the brushwood for about a hundredyards, when I came to a small open space, in which stood one of thosemodest cottages, of rough timber, wherein, at certain seasons, thegamekeepers take refuge. A low, square, log-hut, with a single doorand an unglazed window, comprised the whole edifice, being one of thehumblest, even of its humble kind, I had ever seen. Stealing cautiouslyto the window, I peeped in. On a stone, in the middle of the earthernfloor, a small iron lamp stood, which threw a faint and fickle lightaround. There was no furniture of any kind--nothing that bespoke theplace as inhabited; and it was only as I continued to gaze that Idetected the figure of a man, who seemed to be sleeping on a heap ofdried leaves in one corner of the hovel. I own that, with all my anxietyto find a guide, I began to feel some scruples about obtruding onthe sleeper's privacy. He was evidently no _garde-chasse_, who are awell-to-do sort of folk, being usually retired _sous-officiers_ ofthe army. He might be a poacher, a robber, or perhaps a dash of bothtogether--a trade I had often heard of as being resorted to by the mostreckless and abandoned of the population of Paris, when their crimes andtheir haunts became too well known in the capital.
I peered eagerly through the chamber to see if he were armed; but not aweapon of any kind was to be seen. I next sought to discover if he werequite alone; and although one side of the hovel was hidden from my view,I was well assured that he had no comrade. Come, said I to myself, manto man, if it should come to a struggle, is fair enough; and the chancesare I shall be able to defend myself.
His sleep was sound and heavy, like that after fatigue; so that Ithought it would be easy for me to enter the hovel, and secure his arms,if he had such, before he should awake. I may seem to my reader, allthis time, to have been inspired with an undue amount of caution andprudence, considering how evenly we were matched; but I would remindhim that it was a period when the most dreadful crimes were of dailyoccurrence. Not a night went over without some terrible assassination;and a number of escaped galley-slaves were known to be at large in thesuburbs and outskirts of the capital. These men, under the slightestprovocation, never hesitated at murder; for their lives were alreadyforfeited, and they scrupled at nothing which offered a chance ofescape. To add to the terror their atrocities excited, there was arumour current at the time that the Government itself made use of thesewretches for its own secret acts of vengeance; and many implicitlybelieved that the dark assassinations of the Temple had no other agency.I do not mean to say that these fears were well founded, or that Imyself partook of them; but such were the reports commonly circulated,and the impunity of crime certainly favoured the impression. I knownot if this will serve as an apology for the circumspection of myproceeding, as, cautiously pushing the door, inch by inch, I at lengththrew it wide open. Not the slightest sound escaped as I did so; and yetcertainly before my hand quitted the latch, the sleeper had sprung tohis knees, and with his dark eyes glaring wildly at me, crouched like abeast about to rush upon an enemy.
His attitude and his whole appearance at that moment are yet before me.Long black hair fell in heavy masses at either side of his head; hisface was pale, haggard, and hunger-stricken; a deep, drooping moustachedescended from below his chin, and almost touched his collar-bones,which were starting from beneath the skin; a ragged cloak, that coveredhim as he lay, had fallen off, and showed that a worn shirt and apair of coarse linen trousers were all his clothing. Such a picture ofprivation and misery I never looked upon before nor since.
'_Qui va la?_' cried he sternly, and with the voice of one not unusedto command; and although the summons showed his soldier-training, hiscondition of wretchedness suggested deep misgivings.
'Qui _va la?_' shouted he again, louder and more determinedly.
'A friend--perhaps a comrade,' said I boldly.
'Advance, comrade, and give the countersign,' replied he rapidly,and like one repeating a phrase of routine; and then, as if suddenlyremembering himself, he added, with a low sigh, 'There is none!' Hisarms dropped heavily as he spoke, and he fell back against the wall,with his head drooping on his chest.
There was something so unutterably forlorn in his look, as he sat thus,that all apprehension of personal danger from him left me at the moment,and advancing frankly, I told him how I had lost my way in the wood, andby a mere accident chanced to descry his light as I wandered along inthe gloom.
I do not know if he understood me at first, for he gazed half vacantlyat my face while I was speaking, and often stealthily peered around tosee if others were coming, so that I had to repeat more than once thatI was perfectly alone. That the poor fellow was insane seemed buttoo probable; the restless activity of his wild eye, the suspiciouswatchfulness of his glances, all looked like madness, and I thoughtthat he had probably made his escape from some military hospital, andconcealed himself within the recesses of the forest. But even thesesigns of overwrought excitement began to subside soon; and as though themomentary effort at vigilance had been too much for his strength, he nowdrew his cloak about him, and lay down once more.
I handed him my brandy flask, which still contained a little, and heraised it to his lips with a slight nod of recognition. Invigorated bythe stimulant, he supped again and again, but always cautiously, andwith prudent reserve.
'You have been a soldier?' said I, taking my seat at his side.
'I am a soldier,' said he, with a strong emphasis on the verb.
'I too have served,' said I; 'although, probably, neither as long nor ascreditably as you have.'
He looked at me fixedly for a second or two, and then dropped his eyeswithout a reply.
'You were probably with the army of the Meuse?' said I, hazarding theguess, from remembering how many of that army had been invalided by theterrible attacks of ague contracted in North Holland.
'I served on the Rhine,' said he briefly; 'but I made the campaign ofJemappes, too. I served the king also--King Louis,' cried he sternly.'Is that avowal candid enough, or do you want more?'
Another Royalist, thought I, with a sigh. Whichever way I turn they meetme--the very ground seems to give them up.
'And could you find no better trade than that of a _mouchard?_ 'asked hesneeringly.
'I am not a _mouchard_--I never was one. I am a soldier like yourself;and, mayhap, if all were to be told, scarcely a more fortunate one.'
'Dismissed the service--and for what?' asked he bluntly.
'If not broke, at least not employed,' said I bitterly.
'A Royalist?'
'Not the least of one, but suspected.'
'Just so. Your letters--your private papers ransacked, and brought inevidence against you. Your conversations with your intimates noted downand attested--every word you dropped in a moment of disappointment oranger; every chan
ce phrase you uttered when provoked--all quoted; wasn'tthat it?'
As he spoke this, with a rapid and almost impetuous utterance, I, forthe first time, noticed that both the expressions and the accent impliedbreeding and education. Not all his vehemence could hide the evidencesof former cultivation.
'How comes it,' asked I eagerly, 'that such a man as you are is to befound thus? You certainly did not always serve in the ranks?'
'I had my grade,' was his short, dry reply.
'You were a quartermaster--perhaps a sous-lieutenant?' said I, hoping bythe flattery of the surmise to lead him to talk further.
'I was the colonel of a dragoon regiment,' said he sternly-- 'and thatneither the least brave nor the least distinguished in the French army.'
Ah! thought I, my good fellow, you have shot your bolt too high thistime; and in a careless, easy way, I asked, 'What might have been thenumber of your corps?'
'How can it concern you?' said he, with a savage vehemence. 'You saythat you are not a spy. To what end these questions? As it is, youhave made this hovel, which has been my shelter for some weeks back, nolonger of any service to me. I will not be tracked. I will not sufferespionage, by Heaven!' cried he, as he dashed his clenched fist againstthe ground beside him. His eyes, as he spoke, glared with all thewildness of insanity, and great drops of sweat hung upon his dampforehead.
'Is it too much,' continued he, with all the vehemence of passion, 'isit too much that I was master here? Are these walls too luxurious?Is there the sign of foreign gold in this tasteful furniture and thesplendour of these hangings? Or is this'--and he stretched out his leanand naked arms as he spoke--'is this the garb--is this the garb of a manwho can draw at will on the coffers of royalty? Ay!' cried he, with awild laugh, 'if this is the price of my treachery, the treason mightwell be pardoned.'
I did all I could to assuage the violence of his manner. I talked tohim calmly and soberly of myself and of him, repeating over and over theassurance that I had neither the will nor the way to injure him. 'Youmay be poor,' said I, 'and yet scarcely poorer than I am--friendless,and have as many to care for you as I have. Believe me, comrade, savein the matter of a few years the less on one side, and some services themore on the other, there is little to chose between us.'
These few words, wrung from me in sorrowful sincerity, seemed to do morethan all I had said previously, and he moved the lamp a little toone side that he might have a better view of me as I sat; and thus weremained for several minutes staring steadfastly at each other, withouta word spoken on either side. It was in vain that I sought in that face,livid and shrunk by famine--in that straggling matted hair, and thatfigure enveloped in rags, for any traces of former condition. Whatevermight once have been his place in society, now he seemed the very lowestof that miserable tribe whose lives are at once the miracle and shame ofour century.
'Except that my senses are always playing me false,' said he, as hepassed his hand across his eyes, 'I could say that I have seen your facebefore. What was your corps?'
'The Ninth Hussars, "the Tapageurs," as they called them.'
'When did you join--and where?' said he, with an eagerness thatsurprised me.
'At Nancy,' said I calmly.
'You were there with the advanced guard of Moreau's corps,' said hehastily; 'you followed the regiment to the Moselle.'
'How do you know all this?' asked I, in amazement.
'Now for your name; tell me your name,' cried he, grasping my hand inboth of his--'and I charge you by all you care for here or hereafter,no deception with me. It is not a head that has been tried like mine canbear a cheat.'
'I have no object in deceiving you; nor am I ashamed to say who I am,'replied I, 'My name is Tiernay--Maurice Tiernay.'
The word was but out when the poor fellow threw himself forward, andgrasping my hands, fell upon and kissed them.
'So, then, cried he passionately, 'I am not friendless--I am not utterlydeserted in life--you are yet left to me, my dear boy!'
This burst of feeling convinced me that he was deranged; and I wasspeculating in my mind how best to make my escape from him, when hepushed back the long and tangled hair from his face, and staring wildlyat me, said, 'You know me now--don't you? Oh, look again, Maurice, anddo not let me think that I am forgotten by all the world.
'Good heavens!' cried I, 'it is Colonel Mahon!'
'Ay, "Le Beau Mahon,"' said he, with a burst of wild laughter; 'Le BeauMahon, as they used to call me long ago. Is this a reverse of fortune, Iask you?' and he held out the ragged remnants of his miserable clothes.'I have not worn shoes for nigh a month. I have tasted food but once inthe last thirty hours! I, that have led French soldiers to the chargefull fifty times, up to the very batteries of the enemy, am reduced tohide and skulk from place to place like a felon, trembling at the clankof a gendarme's boot, as never the thunder of an enemy's squadron mademe. Think of the persecution that has brought me to this, and made me abeggar and a coward together!'
A gush of tears burst from him at these words, and he sobbed for severalminutes like a child.
Whatever might have been the original source of his misfortunes, I hadvery little doubt that now his mind had been shaken by their influence,and that calamity had deranged him. The flighty uncertainty of hismanner, the incoherent rapidity with which he passed from one topic toanother, increased with his excitement, and he passed alternatelyfrom the wildest expressions of delight at our meeting, to the mostheart-rending descriptions of his own sufferings. By great patienceand some ingenuity, I learned that he had taken refuge in the wood ofBelleville, where the kindness of an old soldier of his own brigade--nowa _garde-chasse_--had saved him from starvation. Jacques Gaillon wascontinually alluded to in his narrative. It was Jacques sheltered himwhen he came first to Belleville. Jacques had afforded him a refugein the different huts of the forest, supplying him with food--actsnot alone of benevolence, but of daring courage, as Mahon continuallyasserted. If it were but known, 'they 'd give him a _peloton_ and eightpaces.' The theme of Jacques' heroism was so engrossing, that he couldnot turn from it; every little incident of his kindness, every stratagemof his inventive good-nature, he dwelt upon with eager delight, andseemed half to forget his own sorrows in recounting the services of hisbenefactor. I saw that it would be fruitless to ask for any account ofhis past calamity, or by what series of mischances he had fallen so low.I saw--I will own with some chagrin--that, with the mere selfishness ofmisfortune, he could not speak of anything save what bore upon his owndaily life, and totally forgot me and all about me.
The most relentless persecution seemed to follow him from place toplace. Wherever he went, fresh spies started on his track, and thehistory of his escapes was unending. The very faggot-cutters of theforest were in league against him, and the high price offered for hiscapture had drawn many into the pursuit. It was curious to mark thedegree of self-importance all these recitals imparted, and how the poorfellow, starving and almost naked as he was, rose into all the imagineddignity of martyrdom, as he told of his sorrows. If he ever asked aquestion about Paris, it was to know what people said of himself and ofhis fortunes. He was thoroughly convinced that Bonaparte's thoughts werefar more occupied about him than on that empire now so nearly in hisgrasp, and he continued to repeat with a proud delight, 'He has caughtthem all but me! I am the only one who has escaped him!' These few wordssuggested to me the impression that Mahon had been engaged in some plotor conspiracy, but of what nature, how composed, or how discovered, itwas impossible to arrive at.
'There!' said he, at last, 'there is the dawn breaking! I must be off. Imust now make for the thickest part of the wood till nightfall There arehiding-places there known to none save myself. The bloodhounds cannottrack me where I go.'
His impatience became now extreme. Every instant seemed full of perilto him now--every rustling leaf and every waving branch a warning. I wasunable to satisfy myself how far this might be well-founded terror, or avague and causeless fear. At one moment I inclined to this--at ano
ther,to the opposite impression. Assuredly nothing could be more completethan the precautions he took against discovery. His lamp was concealedin the hollow of a tree; the leaves that formed his bed he scattered andstrewed carelessly on every side; he erased even the foot-tracks on theclay, and then gathering up his tattered cloak, prepared to set out.
'When are we to meet again, and where?' said I, grasping his hand.
He stopped suddenly, and passed his hand over his brow, as ifreflecting. 'You must see Caillon; Jacques will tell you all,' said hesolemnly. 'Good-bye. Do not follow me. I will not be tracked'; and witha proud gesture of his hand he motioned me back.
Poor fellow! I saw that any attempt to reason with him would be in vainat such a moment; and determining to seek out the _garde-chasse_, Iturned away slowly and sorrowfully.
'What have been my vicissitudes of fortune compared to his?' thought I.'The proud colonel of a cavalry regiment, a beggar and an outcast!'The great puzzle to me was, whether insanity had been the cause or theconsequence of his misfortunes. Caillon will, perhaps, be able to tellme his story, said I to myself; and thus ruminating, I returned to whereI had picketed my horse three hours before. My old dragoon experienceshad taught me how to 'hobble' a horse, as it is called, by passing thebridle beneath the counter before tying it, and so I found him just as Ileft him.
The sun was now up, and I could see that a wide track led off throughthe forest straight before me. I accordingly mounted, and struck into asharp canter. About an hour's riding brought me to a small clearing, inthe midst of which stood a neat and picturesque cottage, over the doorof which was painted the words 'Station de Chasse--No. 4.' In a littlegarden in front, a man was working in his shirt sleeves, but hismilitary trousers at once proclaimed him the _garde_. He stopped as Icame up, and eyed me sharply.
'Is this the road to Belleville?' said I.
'You can go this way, but it takes you two miles of a round,' repliedhe, coming closer, and scanning me keenly.
'You can tell me, perhaps, where Jacques Caillon, _garde-chaase_, is tobe found?'
'I am Jacques Caillon, sir,' was the answer, as he saluted in soldierfashion, while a look of anxiety stole over his face.
'I have something to speak to you about,' said I, dismounting, andgiving him the bridle of my horse. 'Throw him some corn, if you havegot it, and then let us talk together'; and with this I walked into thegarden, and seated myself on a bench.
If Jacques be an old soldier, thought I, the only way is to come theofficer over him; discipline and obedience are never forgotten, andwhatever chances I may have of his confidence will depend on how much Iseem his superior. It appeared as if this conjecture was well founded,for as Jacques came back, his manner betrayed every sign of respect anddeference. There was an expression of almost fear in his face as, withhis hand to his cap, he asked 'What were my orders?'
The very deference of his air was disconcerting, and so, assuming a lookof easy cordiality, I said--
'First, I will ask you to give me something to eat; and secondly, togive me your company for half an hour.'
Jacques promised both, and learning that I preferred my breakfast inthe open air, proceeded to arrange the table under a blossomingchestnut-tree.
'Are you quite alone here?' asked I, as he passed back and forward.
'Quite alone, sir; and except a stray faggot-cutter or a chancetraveller who may have lost his way, I never see a human face fromyear's end to year's end. It's a lonely thing for an old soldier, too,'said he, with a sigh.
'I know more than one who would envy you, Jacques,' said I; and thewords made him almost start as I spoke them. The coffee was now ready,and I proceeded to make my breakfast with all the appetite of a longfast.
There was indeed but little to inspire awe, or even deference, in mypersonal appearance--a threadbare undress frock and a worn-out oldforaging-cap were all the marks of my soldierlike estate; and yet,from Jacques's manner, one might have guessed me to be a general at theleast. He attended me with the stiff propriety of the parade, and when,at last, induced to take a seat, he did so full two yards off from thetable, and arose almost every time he was spoken to. Now it was quiteclear that the honest soldier did not know me either as the hero ofKehl, of Ireland, or of Genoa. Great achievements as they were, theywere wonderfully little noised about the world, and a man might frequentmixed companies every day of the week, and never hear of one of them.So far, then, was certain---it could not be my fame had imposed onhim; and, as I have already hinted, it could scarcely be my generalappearance. Who knows, thought I, but I owe all this obsequiousdeference to my horse? If Jacques be an old cavalry-man, he will haveremarked that the beast is of great value, and doubtless argue to theworth of the rider from the merits of his 'mount.' If this explanationwas not the most flattering, it was, at all events, the best I could hiton; and with a natural reference to what was passing in my own mind, Iasked him if he had looked to my horse.
'Oh yes, sir,' said he, reddening suddenly, 'I have taken off thesaddle, and thrown him his corn.'
What the deuce does his confusion mean? thought I; the fellow looks asif he had half a mind to run away, merely because I asked him a simplequestion.
'I 've had a sharp ride,' said I, rather by way of saying something,'and I shouldn't wonder if he was a little fatigued.'
'Scarcely so, sir,' said he, with a faint smile; 'he's old, now, butit's not a little will tire him.'
'You know him, then?' said I quickly.
'Ay, sir, and have known him for eighteen years. He was in the secondsquadron of our regiment; the major rode him two entire campaigns!'
The reader may guess that his history was interesting to me, fromperceiving the impression the reminiscence made on the relator, and Iinquired what became of him after that.
'He was wounded by a shot at Neuwied, and sold into the train, wherethey couldn't manage him; and after three years, when horses grewscarce, he came back into the cavalry. A serjeant-major of lancers waskilled on him at "Zwei Bruecken." That was the fourth rider he broughtmishap to, not to say a farrier whom he dashed to pieces in his stable.'
Ah, Jack, thought I, I have it; it is a piece of old-soldiersuperstition about this mischievous horse has inspired all the man'srespect and reverence; and, if a little disappointed in the mystery, Iwas so far pleased at having discovered the clue.
'But I have found him quiet enough,' said I; 'I never backed him tillyesterday, and he has carried me well and peaceably.'
'Ah, that he will now, I warrant him; since the day a shell burst underhim at Waitzen he never showed any vice. The wound nearly left the ribsbare, and he was for months and months invalided; after that he was soldout of the cavalry, I don't know where or to whom. The next I saw of himwas in his present service.'
'Then you are acquainted with the present owner?' asked I eagerly.
'As every Frenchman is!' was the curt rejoinder.
'_Parbleu!_ it will seem a droll confession, then, when I tell you thatI myself do not even know his name.'
The look of contempt these words brought to my companion's face couldnot, it seemed, be either repressed or concealed, and although myconscience acquitted me of deserving such a glance, I own that I feltinsulted by it.
'You are pleased to disbelieve me, Master Caillon,' said I sternly,'which makes me suppose that you are neither so old nor so good asoldier as I fancied; at least in the corps I had the honour to servewith, the word of an officer was respected like an "order of the day."'
He stood erect, as if on parade, under this rebuke, but made no answer.
'Had you simply expressed surprise at what I said, I would have givenyou the explanation frankly and freely; as it is, I shall content myselfwith repeating what I said--I do not even know his name.'
The same imperturbable look and the same silence met me as before.
'Now, sir, I ask you how this gentleman is called, whom I, alone of allFrance, am ignorant of?'
'Monsieur Fouche,' said he calmly.
&nbs
p; 'What! Fouche, the Minister of Police?'
This time, at least, my agitated looks seemed to move him, for hereplied quietly--
'The same, sir. The horse has the brand of the "Ministere" on hishaunch.'
'And where is the Ministere?' cried I eagerly.
'In the Rue des Victoires, monsieur.'
'But he lives in the country, in a chateau near this very forest.'
'Where does he not live, monsieur? At Versailles, at St. Germain, in theLuxembourg, in the Marais, at Neuilly, the Batignolles. I have carrieddespatches to him in every quarter of Paris. Ah, monsieur, what secretare you in possession of, that it was worth while to lay so subtle atrap to catch you?'
This question, put in all the frank abruptness of a sudden thought,immediately revealed everything before me.
'Is it not as I have said?' resumed he, still looking at my agitatedface; 'is it not as I have said---monsieur is in the web of the_mouchards?_'
'Good heavens! is such baseness possible?' was all that I could utter.
'I'll wager a piece of five francs I can read the mystery,' saidJacques. 'You served on Moreau's staff, or with Pichegru in Holland;you either have some of the general's letters, or you can be supposed tohave them, at all events; you remember many private conversations heldwith him on politics; you can charge your memory with a number of strongfacts; and you can, if needed, draw up a memoir of all your intercourse.I know the system well, for I was a _mouchard_ myself.'
'You a police spy, Jacques?'
'Ay, sir; I was appointed without knowing what services were expectedfrom me, or the duties of my station. Two months' trial, however, showedthat I was "incapable," and proved that a smart, _sous-offieier_ is notnecessarily a scoundrel. They dismissed me as impracticable, and made me_garde-chasse_; and they were right, too. Whether I was dressed up ina snuff-brown suit, like a bourgeois of the Rue St. Denis; whether theyattired me as a farmer from the provinces, a retired _maitre de poste_,an old officer, or the _conducteur_ of a diligence, I was always JacquesGaillon. Through everything--wigs and beards, lace or rags, jackboots orsabots, it was all alike; and while others could pass weeks in the PaysLatin as students, country doctors, or _notaires de village_, I wascertain to be detected by every brat that walked the streets.'
'What a system! And so these fellows assume every disguise?' asked I, mymind full of my late rencontre.
'That they do, monsieur. There is one fellow, a Provencal by birth, hasplayed more characters than ever did Brunet himself. I have known him asa _laquais de place_, a cook to an English nobleman, a letter-carrier,a flower-girl, a cornet-a-piston in the opera, and a cure from theArdeche.'
'A cure from the Ardeche!' exclaimed I. 'Then I am a ruined man.'
'What! has monsieur fallen in with Paul?' cried he, laughing. 'Washe begging for a small contribution to repair the roof of his littlechapel, or was it a fire that had devastated his poor village? Did thealtar want a new covering, or the cure a vestment? Was it a canopy forthe Fete of the Virgin, or a few sous towards the "Orphelines de St.Jude?"'
'None of these,' said I, half angrily, for the theme was no jesting oneto me. 'It was a poor girl that had been carried away.'
'Lisette, the miller's daughter, or the schoolmaster's niece?' broke hein, laughing. 'He must have known you were new to Paris, monsieur, thathe took so little trouble about a deception. And you met him at the"Charrette Rouge" in the Marais?'
'No; at a little ordinary in the Quai Voltaire.'
'Better again. Why, half the company there are _mouchards_. It is one oftheir rallying-points, where they exchange tokens and information. Thelabourers, the beggars, the fishermen of the Seine, the hawkers of oldbooks, the vendors of gilt ornaments, are all spies; the most miserablecreature that implored charity behind your chair as you sat at dinnerhas, perhaps, his ten francs a day on the roll of the Prefecture! Ah,monsieur! if I had not been a poor pupil of that school, I 'd haveat once seen that you were a victim, and not a follower; but I soondetected my error--my education taught me at least so much!'
I had no relish for the self-gratulation of honest Jacques, uttered, asit was, at my own expense. Indeed I had no thought for anything but theentanglement into which I had so stupidly involved myself; and I couldnot endure the recollection of my foolish credulity, now that all thepaltry machinery of the deceit was brought before me. All my regard,dashed as it was with pity for the poor cure; all my compassionateinterest for the dear Lisette; all my benevolent solicitude for the sickcount, who was neither more nor less than Monsieur Fouche himself, wereanything but pleasant reminiscences now, and I cursed my own stupiditywith an honest sincerity that greatly amused my companion.
'And is France come to this?' cried I passionately, and trying toconsole myself by inveighing against the Government.
'Even so, sir,' said Jacques. 'I heard Monsieur de Talleyrand say asmuch the other day, as I waited behind his chair. It is only _dans lesbonnes maisons_, said he, "that servants ever listen at the doors."Depend upon it, then, that a secret police is a strong symptom that weare returning to a monarchy.'
It was plain that even in his short career in the police service,Caillon had acquired certain shrewd habits of thought, and some powerof judgment, and so I freely communicated to him the whole of my lateadventure, from the moment of my leaving the Temple to the time of mysetting out for the chateau.
'You have told me everything but one, monsieur,' said he, as I finished.'How came you ever to have heard the name of so humble a person asJacques Caillon, for you remember you asked for me as you rode up?'
'I was just coming to that point, Jacques; and, as you will see, it wasnot an omission in my narrative, only that I had not reached so far.'
I then proceeded to recount my night in the forest, and my singularmeeting with poor Mahon, which he listened to with great attention andsome anxiety.
'The poor colonel!' said he, breaking in, 'I suppose he is a hopelesscase; his mind can never come right again.'
'But if the persecution were to cease; if he were at liberty to appearonce more in the world----'
'What if there was no persecution, sir?' broke in Jacques. 'What if thewhole were a mere dream or fancy? He is neither tracked nor followed. Itis not such harmless game the bloodhounds of the Rue des Victoires scentout.'
'Was it, then, some mere delusion drove him from the service?' said I,surprised.
'I never said so much as that,' replied Jacques. 'Colonel Mahon has foulinjury to complain of, but his present sufferings are the inflictions ofhis own terror. He fancies that the whole power of France is at war withhim; that every engine of the Government is directed against him; witha restless fear he flies from village to village, fancying pursuiteverywhere. Even kindness now he is distrustful of; and the chances are,that he will quit the forest this very day, merely because he met youthere.'
From being of all men the most open-hearted and frank, he had become themost suspicious; he trusted nothing nor any one; and if for a momenta burst of his old generous nature would return, it was sure to befollowed by some excess of distrust that made him miserable almostto despair. Jacques was obliged to fall in with this humour, and onlyassist him by stealth and by stratagem; he was even compelled to chimein with all his notions about pursuit and danger, to suggest frequentchange of place, and endless precautions against discovery.
'Were I for once to treat him frankly, and ask him to share my home withme,' said Jacques, 'I should never see him more.'
'What could have poisoned so noble a nature?' cried I. 'When I saw himlast he was the very type of generous confidence.'
'Where was that, and when?' asked Jacques.
'It was at Nancy, on the march for the Rhine.'
'His calamities had not fallen on him then. He was a proud man in thosedays, but it was a pride that well became him. He was the colonel of agreat regiment, and for bravery had a reputation second to none.'
'He was married, I think?'
'No, sir; he was never married.'
&
nbsp; As Jacques said this, he arose, and moved slowly away, as though hewould not be questioned further. His mind, too, seemed full of its owncrowding memories, for he looked completely absorbed in thought, andnever noticed my presence for a considerable time. At last he appearedto have decided some doubtful issue within himself, and said--
'Come, sir, let us stroll into the shade of the wood, and I'll tell youin a few words the cause of the poor colonel's ruin--for ruin it is.Even were all the injustice to be revoked to-morrow, the wreck of hisheart could never be repaired.'
We walked along, side by side, for some time, before Jacques spokeagain, when he gave me, in brief and simple words, the followingsorrowful story. It was such a type of the age, so pregnant with theterrible lessons of the time, that although not without some misgivings,I repeat it here as it was told to myself, premising that howeverscant may be the reader's faith in many of the incidents of my ownnarrative--and I neither beg for his trust in me, nor seek to entrapit--I implore him to believe that what I am now about to tell was aplain matter of fact, and, save in the change of one name, not a singlecircumstance is owing to imagination.