The Banished Man/Volume 2/Chapter 11
We owe it to the bounty of Providence, that the completed depravity of the heart is sometimes strangely united with the confusion of the mind, which counteracts the most favourite principles, and makes the same man, treacherous without art, and a hypocrite without deceiving.
JUNIUS.
THE first measure Du Bosse directed, among those to which D'Alonville agreed to submit, was, that he should change his appearance as much as possible. He obeyed, as far as it could be done without taking much trouble though he had no apprehensions of being known; for it was now two years since he was last at Paris: he had then lived at an academy—and his figure and face were since that period greatly altered. He now, therefore, assumed, the name of Vermagnac—called himself a Languedocian—and appeared as a gentleman, whose father, a counsellor, had sent him to study the law—He said he was a minor, which his appearance confirmed—and his forbearing to take any active part in the politics of the day, was accounted for by his extreme youth.
The only person he feared to meet was Heurthofen. He knew not how Du Bosse had accounted for his disappearance to his worthy co-adjutor, but he easily perceived that his brother was desirous that no enquiry might be made about him by citizen Rouill.
To other of his friends, however, Du Bosse contrived to have him introduced without appearing particularly interested about him. They met now and then at third places as common acquaintance; and Du Bosse visited him secretly, for a few moments at a time, in hopes of finding that the emancipating sentiments which he heard, and the truly patriotic conversations to which he was thus introduced, would gradually effectuate a change in his opinions; but D'Alonville not only appeared more steadily confirmed in his original principles, but became impatient of the people with whom he was thus compelled to associate; and protesting to his brother, that the more he saw of his democratic partisans, the more he detested them, he entreated him to allow him to depart, poor as he had found him; for the character he was acting became so uneasy to him that he could endure it no longer.
Du Bosse, however, appeared to have some latent purpose which D'Alonville could not discover:—he was often defected, and uneasy; and under the rhodomontading airs of a furious defender of liberty, his brother fancied that there lurked secret disappointment, and secret dread.
Among other persons to whom Du Bosse procured him an introduction, was a lady to whose parties Madame Du Bosse had been admitted as a very high favour, in consideration of her having resigned, with peculiar greatness of soul, the title, of Viscountess—of being and Enrage of the very first proof—and of being also, a very pretty woman—recommendations, which more than supplied, in the opinion of Madame du Guenir, the want of an elevated, or cultivated understanding.—Wit, indeed, was not a quality this lady seemed to desire in her female friends, nor had she any predilection for beauty; but as she has purposes to answer, which made large assemblies of men necessary, she knew no means of attracting them so certain, as to collect about her a few pretty women. She herself had ceased to have any pretensions of that sort. She had passed one epocha in the life of a French woman; but instead of re-peopleing her empire "with the slaves of infidelity," the times had occasioned her slaves to be the new votaries of the goddess of liberty.
Her family consisted of an husband, whom she saw as a common acquaintance—and three or four young women, one of whom she called a pupil, a second a niece, a third an orphan, whom she had taken out of generosity. These, under pretence of being eminently qualified to form the minds of youth, she had brought up
"To sing, to dance,: "To dress, to troll the tongue, and roll the eye*";
and it was their attractions, rather than on the eloquence of the old government, that Du Bosse depended for the conversion of his brother. He knew not that the heart of D'Alonville was already tenderly attached to a young woman, whom with as much beauty as the loveliest of these, possessed a mind unsullied with false and pernicious principles; and whose softness of heart would have deterred her from adopting the fierce and unrelenting tone of republicanism, if the simplicity of her manners had allowed her to interest herself about matters so unfit for her age.
To hear from a beautiful mouth a defence of the horrors that had stained, with eternal disgrace, the annals of France as a nations: to hear the dead spoken of with unfeeling ridicule, as having merited their fate: to hear a lovely girl encouraging sanguinary projects, and a daring defiance of every law of humanity, was to D'Alonville so extremely disgusting, that youth and beauty would have lost all their attractions, even if his affections had not been all engrossed by Angelina. As to the elder of these ladies, D'Alonville could not listen to her without a sensation bordering on horror, the inconsistencies of her character. Bigotry, real or assumed, was, in her, associated with the closest connections among men who disclaimed the very appearance of religion. Her past life had been very far from irreproachable, yet she now affected the proudest intolerance in regard to the weaknesses of others; while her present rigid theory recalled perpetually, and very little to her advantage, the laxity of her former practice.
While the introduction to these people operated on the opinions of D'Alonville so very differently from what his brother had intended, he was himself engaged in studying, as far as he could do it with safety, the real sentiments of the people. In this enquiry he was sometimes repulsed by caution, and sometimes baffled by fear: but he was convinced, that there were a very great number of persons, even in Paris, who were only restrained by terror from openly declaring themselves; and that the revolutionary energies were by no means at the height which the leaders of faction described them to be. He saw the once-flourishing tradesman of Paris sitting in his almost deserted shop, looking pensively on bales of goods which had lain unfolded, and unasked for, for more than two years: he saw the class of manufacturers without employment; and, while they joined the fired multitude, execrating the cause that their necessities had compelled them to engage in.—Loosed at once from the checks that were before, perhaps, too heavily imposed, unrestrained vice and brutal ferocity were become the character of the still lower ranks, who were driven by the one to the other, and thus they became tremendous instruments of destruction in the hands of the unprincipled leaders, who asserted, that they founded their power on the voice of the people. But the effrontery of this assertion was every day more visible to D'Alonville. How could that government be established on the voice of the people, which the people were every where rising to oppose? How could men call themselves the representative of their country, who could retain their power only by dying the scaffolds with blood*?—If the refuse of every province, collected from gallies and goals, were to be called so, then, and then alone, could it be said that the convention was supported by a majority of the people of France.
His heart sickening at all he saw and heard, D'Alonville determined to remain where he was no longer; but whatever might be the hazard, to attempt returning to Flanders—he had however passed his word to his brother, not to go without informing him; and though he thought himself very little obliged to Du Bosse, for a respite from persecution, which he long seen he owed to some views of his own; yet his word being given, he held it sacred. During the few conversations he had with Du Bosse alone, he insisted, in the most earnest terms, on his dismission.—But instead of obtaining any positive promise, he found still greater symptoms of mystery, and, he thought, of uneasiness, in the answers he received. At length, after he had been above six weeks at Paris, Du Bosse entered his room one morning at an hour when he did not expect him. His countenance expressed very plainly the agitation of his mind; yet he seemed ashamed or afraid to speak—but the emotions he felt were too violent to be long concealed; and after a long speech, which was something between an introduction to the rest of his discourse, and a vindication of his conduct, he owned, that a party formed against the true interests of his country were but too likely to prevail, and drive him, and several other true patriots, from their posts. He added, that having for some time foreseen the storm, he and his friends had been endeavouring to strengthen their interest, and to prepare for the shock; but doubting their being able to make an effectual stand against the infamous projects of these enemies of France, he had determined to secure his portable effects, by sending them to England. It was in fact owing to his having foreseen this necessity, that he had brought D'Alonville to Paris, as being the only person in whom he could on such an occasion confide.—This indeed he did not say; but D'Alonville perfectly understood it, and the motives of Du Bosse's conduct were now completely explained.
After a moment's consideration, he asked his brother how it would be possible for him to execute such a plan?—"Leave that to me," cried Du Bosse eagerly, as if he had been afraid of a refusal, "and be assured that if you have resolution to execute the scheme it cannot fail." "If I have resolution," replied D'Alonville contemptuously,—"Do you doubt my resolution? but do not deceive yourself—I will not appear in any character that shall brand me, in case of detection, with the name of republican. I will not die, as if I lived a regicide.—My friends in England shall never have reason to believe, that in returning to France, I became an apostate.—"Make yourself easy as to that," said Du Bosse visibly chagrined, nothing will be asked of you but to go as immediately as possible to the northern army, charged with letters and credentials, with which I shall furnish you; and when you are there, making the best of your former intelligence with the English to escape to them, and secure the effects with which you will be entrusted, in the English funds, as soon as you can turn them into money.
Variety of contending sentiments occupied the mind of D'Alonville—who felt himself at once flattered and disgraced.—That Du Bosse should desire thus to entrust him, proved the reliance he had on those principles, on that sense of honour which they had equally learned to venerate in their early youth; honour to which the elder brother thus paid involuntary homage, even while in his own conduct he had practically disclaimed it.—But if this was a reflection gratifying to the generous sentiments of D'Alonville, those very sentiments made him feel a degree of repugnance in being thus employed. And he would have preferred being asked to throw himself openly and at once into the most imminent danger, than to have appeared, however securely, for one moment in the character of a deserter.
This objection struck him so forcibly, that notwithstanding his brother's earnest entreaties not to lose a moment, he absolutely refused to undertake the commission, till he had given the proposal some hours consideration.
He then retired to his own lodgings, and ran over in his mind the substance of the conversation that had passed. He had understood from his brother, that the property he was to be entrusted with was principally in jewels—which had belonged to his mother, a rich heiress.—About these he had no scruple, because to save them from the plunderers who had not respected even the private property of the unfortunate royal family, and to secure them to his brother's use in case of necessity, seemed an act that the most rigid honor would justify. But part of them perhaps belonged to Madame Du Bosse? She was apparently a decided republican, and however mistaken might be her principles, D'Alonville though he had no right to take from her even the ornaments she affected to hold in contempt.—This then was his first objection, which he immediately communicated to his brother; who answered by protesting to him that no part of what he intended to send away, were originally the property of his wife—but that whatever had the appearance of modern purchases were still what had belonged to the late Viscountess de Fayolles, who, having an uncle governor of Pondicherry, whose heiress she was, had inherited more of this portable species of riches than of any other, some of which citizen Du Bosse had caused to be modernized for his wife, before these distinctions were become, by the new order of things, marks of incivism, and inimical to equality—Du Bosse convinced his brother of the truth of this, by showing him jewels under another form, which he well remembered to have belonged to his family.—Being then satisfied, on this and some other doubts he had entertained, D'Alonville determined to accept the commission; though thoroughly aware of the danger that attended it.
D'Alonville had no adieus to make—the restless vigilance of his brother was so successfully exerted, that on the next evening after this conference he saw himself travelling towards Flanders by the way of St. Quintin and Cambray, in the character of a messenger, entrusted with dispatches of importance, and, as such, he arrived, without any remarkable accident, at Valenciennes. The first object of D'Alonville was, to quit as soon as he could a place where he found himself wretched, and where indeed no reason could be given for his stay after the governor, to whom the letters he had brought were addressed, had answered them.—As over the pallisadoes that formed the extreme boundary of the fortification, he looked at the tents of the English advanced guard, he reflected that there he might hear of Ellesmere, his generous, disinterested friend—perhaps even find him there—and have the delight of talking to Angelina; possibly of hearing of her—while his thoughts, as they took this turn, went still farther, and he ran over all the possibilities that might have occurred in England since he left it. Absence; the many chances there were against his return: the universal and indiscriminate abhorrence which some late events in France had conspired to raise in the breasts of the English against the whole body of the natives of that country; the uncertainty of his circumstances, if he ever revisited Great Britain, all contributed to the dread he felt, that Angelina would be lost to him for ever.—Though she had rejected Melton, would she be able to resist the importunities of her relations should he renew his addresses? Could her timid spirit, her soft temper, contend against the threats of her family, when only her mother supported her in her refusal? Such were the fears with which D'Alonville was tormented, while he was more immediately occupied by the difficulties he thought he should find, in quitting a place where he dreaded nothing so much among the various modes of death (with which he would here have been familiarized had he not before seen them), nothing he so much dreaded, as being taken prisoner by the English and Austrians, and considered by the former as a republican and regicide.
A man who, with moderate abilities, applies his whole force to carry any favourite point, seldom fails of success.—D'Alonville, whose conduct, though he affected no revolutionary ardour, gave no rise to suspicions that he was not a friend to that cause—was allowed to go out of the town as a volunteer on a sortie, four days after his arrival. The party was driven with considerable loss, and D'Alonville became a prisoner to an English serjeant of infantry, to whom he gave up his arms, and desired to be conducted immediatley to the commanding officer of the piquet. By a singular instance of good fortune, this gentleman, though not in the same regiment with Ellesmere, was his intimate acquaintance—D'Alonville therefore had no sooner named him as his friend, as a man who knew him perfectly, and to whom he could account for his being taken as a prisoner from Valenciennes, than Captain W. offered to send for Ellesmere, to which D'Alonville instantly assented, and in about half an hour he arrived. It would be difficult to do justice to the scene that now passed between the two friends.—D'Alonville gave Ellesmere and Captain W. a slight sketch of his adventures since he parted with the former in London.—The affection that Ellesmere had always professed for him, was unchanged; it even appeared to be encreased by all that he had since suffered. It was not however in his power to take him to his own tent, for he could still be returned only as a prisoner; but on a proper representation of his real situation to the colonel of the regiment by whom he was made prisoner, he was sent to join the corps of loyal emigrants, where he was immediately acknowledged by many of his former friends.
With whom he continued as a volunteer, and thus found himself once more at liberty; possessed on behalf of his brother of considerable property, which he intended to take the first opportunity of sending by some safe conveyance to England; and rescued from the evil he the most dreaded, that of passing, amid an indiscriminate multitude, as one of the perpetrators of the miseries that desolated France. Such a situation after all he had undergone, and all he had apprehended, would have been comparative happiness, if he could have felt any sensation that resembled happiness, while his country groaned under accumulated evils; and while he believed Angelina was suffering under the inconveniences of indigence, and the mortifications that follow it; for such appeared too probably to be the case from the letters which, the first moment they were alone together, Ellesmere had shown him from Mrs. Denzil.—As he read these letters, the tenderness he had ever felt for Angelina returned with redoubled force. The strange scenes he passed through since he parted with her, had so entirely occupied his mind, and he had almost every hour seen death so near him, that, though the lively affection he felt for Angelina, had never been diminished, it had assumed more of the languor of despairing recollection, than the sanguine eagerness of hope—but he now learned that Angelina still remembered him with tenderness; that her mother's favourable sentiments were unchanged; while the conversation he now had with his friend relative to her and her family, and the probability of seeing her once again revived, and even encreased his passion.
But if the want of employment, by relaxing the minds, encourages the softer and weaker passions, that of which D'Alonville was sensible, received from thence no addition; for during the tedious siege of Valenciennes he was not a moment unoccupied, and was forward in every part of the business of a soldier, in which any of the French were employed.
Some days before the surrender of the place, he went one evening to pass a few moments of relaxation in the tent of his friend Ellesmere, who had told him in the morning that he should not be on duty; but on reaching it, he found Ellesmere gone with some other officers to examine two deserters who had just escaped from the town.—He followed to the spot where they were, and heard the men relate their reasons for deserting. One of them was a soldier belonging to one of the old regiments, who declared that at the beginning of the revolution he had gone over, with many of his comrades, to the soi-disant patriots, believing that it was for the good of his country; but that he had since the death of the king, and the cruelty and madness of the leading men in the convention, repented daily of the part he had taken, and desired nothing so much as to have an opportunity of quitting the defence of a cause that had fallen into the management of such men. He then gave a very clear and circumstantial detail of the last accounts Ferrand had received from Paris; and among other instances of the confusion and ferocity of the present government. He produced a list of persons, members of the convention, who had lately been executed. The second name in this list was that of Du Bosse, of whose former life a circumstantial detail was given, and he was expressly said to have suffered for the unpardonable crime of having received his brother, an emigrant; of having taken him out of the hands of justice: and entrusted him with valuable effects, with which he had sent him over to the enemy.
The next paragraph in the French newspaper which the deserter produced, gave a circumstantial detail of the execution; and added, that the beautiful wife of citizen Du Bosse, by whom he had no children, had been divorced from him some time before his death; had reclaimed her property, which had been granted her; and that she had since married the patriotic citizen Rouill, who had greatly contributed, by his Roman virtue, to the detection of this conspiracy against the republic, one and indivisible.
No doubt of these facts mingled itself with the various emotions which agitated D'Alonville on reading this account of them. He felt that Du Bosse was still his brother; and though the recollection, that by his cruel indifference to the happiness of his father, by boundless ambition, and hypocritical pretensions to a disinterested love of his country, he had deserved the fate that had overtaken him, alleviated the concern of D'Alonville; his humanity and his natural affection forbade him even to appear indifferent at the recital. Ellesmere alone knew to what cause the emotion, which he could not conceal, was to be imputed; and left it should by others be ascribed to very different reasons, he gave D'Alonville an immediate opportunity of retiring, by giving him a message to a brother officer—D'Alonville understood him, and withdrew.
When he had executed the commission Ellesmere had given him, and was at liberty to reflect on what had heard, these mixed emotions of concern and surprise, were almost lost in a stronger sentiment, that of rage and indignation against Heurthofen, whose treachery in this last instance exceeded all the infamy of which D'Alonville had believed him capable. The earnest wish for an hour of general retribution against the monsters whose conduct disgraced human kind, was felt with redoubled force, when he added to it the hope of individual vengenace, and imagined the possibility of punishing with his own hand this apostate villain.