The younger brother, or, the sufferings of Saint Andre

by Genlis, Stéphanie Félicité

The

Younger Brother

OR, THE

SUFFERINGS

OF

SAINT ANDRE.

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BY MADAME GENLIS.

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Stirling, Printed by C. Randall.

THE

YOUNGER BROTHER,

OR, THE SUFFERINGS OF

SAINT ANDRE.

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THE father of St. Andre was called Monsieur de Vilmore. He was a man of mean extraction; but in a few years had amassed a prodigious fortune. He had several children of whom our good St. Andre was the youngest. M. de Vilmore aspired to the honour of marrying his daughters into some noble families in order to give distinction to his own by the splendour of his alliance, and being desirous, moreover, to leave his eldest son in the possession of a vast estate. and of exalted rank, he scrupled not to sacrifice the young St. Andre to these ambitious news. He sent this proscribed son to a distant and mean boarding school, where his education was quite neglected; but having naturally a fine genius, and excellent understanding, the youth, soon surpassed the expectations of his masters. When he arrived at his sixteenth year, he was informed that the church was the only choice he had to make. A lively imagination, powerful passions, and his knowledge of the affluent circumstances of his family, all inspired him with an insurmountable aversion for that profession. Desirous of diverting his father from a resolution which was so fatal to his peace he requested leave to return home that he might open his mind to him. M de Vilmore, as he had no suspicion of these views, had no objections to grant him this favor, and consequently after a kind of exile, ever since he was five years old, he revisited his father and his family for the first time at the age of sixteen. He arrived at his fathers house on the very day when ⟨one⟩ of his sisters was married to the Marquis de C*****. In the scenes of opulence and grandeur which he now beheld, he saw his brothers and sisters; treat him as a stranger, and even his father behave to him with indifference and contempt. From such a welcome, he soon divined what misfortunes were to await him. He persisted, however, in communicating his sentiments to his father, to whom he addressed himself with equal firmness and respect "I do not ask, Sir, said he, for affluence; a moderate competency will content me, but do not deprive me of my liberty, nor compel me to enter into a state to which I have an invincible aversion." M de Vilmore enraged at this unexpected opposition loaded the generous youth, with the most severe reproaches.

"Your obstinacy, said he, will ruin. you. But my kindness induces me to give you yet some time for reflection, I send you to one or your aunts in Flanders, where you shall remain six months and if at the expiration of that time, if you do not submit to my pleasure, I shall employ the most forcible means to make you sensible of your duty."

The unfortunate St Andre set out for Lisle. overwhelmed with the deepest affliction, but unshaken in his resolution. A captivating person, an amiable character and a certain sweetness, and dignity in his manners, attracted universal notice in an exile, the severity of which was softened by the pleasures of society. Of an easy temper and perfectly inexperienced, he knew not how to resist the solicitations of a variety of new friends by whom his company was perpetually courted. The regiment ——— was then at Lisle; the officers played very high, and knowing the vast riches of M de Vilmore they frequently engaged him as one of their dangerous parties. He began, as is most commonly the case by winning, and he ended, which is still more inevitable, by losing. The hope of recovering his money plunged him in to deeper play, till at last his honour was engaged for 24,000 francs. ⟨In⟩ this extremity he wrote to his father and confessed his folly in the most pathetic terms. He received no answer but was arrested and confined in the castle of Saumur. To this punishment he submitted with a resignation which no one could have expected from a temper that was naturally violent. Knowing that all his debts were paid, he felt sentiments of gratitude that enabled him to endure ⟨patiently⟩ a treatment which he had no reason to imagine would be of long duration. But he had yet no idea of the inexorable cruelty of his father. Contrary to his expectations, he was detained a prisoner two years. At length the doors of his prison were opened and he heard this sentence announced: "You must either give your word of honour to enter into holy orders, or go out a cadet to the East-Indies." "I do not hesitate a moment. answered St, Andre; I shall rejoice to leave a country which is now a foreign one to me, since it no longer contains either a father, a relation, or a friend." This answer determined his fate: he was sent to Brest, where he embarked two days later.

A fine constitution, however, enabled him to support the most severe fatigues: while fortitude and bravery rendered him superior to misfortune. He distinguished himself greatly; he rose to preferment and soon emerged from poverty and obscurity These early successes were productive of others more advantageous still. Having acquired reputation and friends, he was affiliated in several enterprises, which in a country, at that time so fertile in resources, in less than five years secured him a happy & independent situation. Content with a moderate fortune, in the acquisition of which, he had not one; deviated from virtue, and having risen to an honorable post in the service of the company, he now began to turn his thoughts towards his native country. Still young, his heart was now insensible to the desire which vanity inspired of displaying before his family the rapid produce of his services, with a resolution, however, of returning to the East Indies, although not as the slave of necessity, but as ardently aspiring still to superior honours His father, informed of his good success; had condescended for two years past ⟨to⟩ acknowledge him as his son. He even wrote to him, and appeared to have got the better at last, of all his former prejudices. St Andre embarked with his whole fortune in paper. A truce concluded between the two rival companies for a year seemed to promise that security in his voyage, which could not permit him to defer it. This imprudence was the source of all his subsequent misfortunes. He was ⟨scarcely⟩ at sea when the truce was broken, his ship was attacked by the English and he was conveyed a prisoner to Falmouth, a port town on the southern coast of England He lost at once, his liberty and fortune, and all his flattering prospects instantly vanished. He wrote to his father, but to augment his calamity, the only answer he received, was full of the most bitter reproaches.

At the expiration of six months, he was released from confinement. He embarked at Falmouth, and soon beheld his native shore, but with emotions far different from those, he had fondly hoped to experience; and he arrived at Brest, nearly in the same situation in which he had left it, six years before. Without money, without the common necessities of life, and without resources, he recollected a surgeon, named Bertrand, at whose house he had formerly lodged, and from whom he had received many proofs of friendship. He soon found this worthy man, who offered him his power. St. Andre did not blush to be indebted to the kind offices of friendship. He wrote to his father; and having never received his portion, which in happier times he had even forgotten, he now found himself obliged to demand it. M. de Vilmore answered, that he would give him no money, but on condition that he would immediately embark again for the East Indies, in a ship that was just ready to sail. This unexampled severity now entirely alienated a heart which had long before been sufficiently exasperated. In the anguish of resentment and despair, his fortitude forsook him. He fell dangerously ill, and was soon reduced to the last extremity. Bertrand left him neither night nor day; but was lavish in all the attentions of tenderness which the most generous friendship could inspire. This good man had a daughter about eighteen, who, imagining that she only obeyed the dictates of virtuous compassion, was constantly at the bedside of the unfortunate St. Andre, and joined with her father in the employment of a nurse. Bertrand related to her the adventures of his unhappy patient, with his great prosperity in the East Indies; he extolled his courage, perseverance and good conduct or which there were many witnesses then at Brest: and they both bewailed a fate that was so calamitous and unmerited. One night, when St. Andre was given over, Blanche, seated sorrowfully on the bed side, was observing with deep attention and compassion, the unhappy object of so much care and anxiety. The paleness of death overspread his features; but the traces of youth were still visible, and rendered them more afflicting. His closed eyes seemed closed forever: one of his hands extended on the bed. Blanche, with an irresistible impulse, dropped one of her hands on his, and finding ⟨it⟩ cold and lifeless, she thought him dead. "O Heavens! she exclaimed, it is all over! Unfortunate young man!" Terror, compassion, a softer motion still, now deprived her of all utterance, and she sunk down on the bed without sense or motion. At this instant St. Andre opened his eyes, and the first object that struck him was Blanche near him in a swoon—it was youth and beauty surrounded by the shades of death. He utters a piercing story, assistance arrives; and Blanche is recovering. This affecting scene is explained, and St Andre revives, only to feel all the emotions of the most passionate gratitude. Thus, in the midst of painful horrors, and on the borders of the grave, did love unite forever, two unfortunate hearts.

St Andre who soon began to be sensible of his gradual recovery yielded to the dangerous impression of a passion that for the first time he now experienced. He soon obtained the confession on which his happiness depended Blanche had betrayed herself, even before she was beloved: and now, happy and tranquil, confirmed by transport of joy, what her despair had already declared. Bertrand himself, impelled by pity, tenderness, and perhaps ambition, consented after a feint resistance, to the united entreaties of St Andre and his daughter. He approved of the idea of a secret union; and St Andre, six months after his illness being then twenty-five married Blanche and attained the height of his wishes. Neither desiring, nor expecting ⟨any⟩ assistance from his father, he resolved to conceal his marriage, and to take the first favorable opportunity of returning to the East Indies, accompanied by his wife and her father. He took ⟨the⟩ necessary measures and, by the assistance of his reputation and his friends, soon saw the possibility of being employed in an advantageous situation, in the mean time Blanche became pregnant. This induced him to urge his solicitations with more carefulness, in the hope of being able to set sail, and to arrive in India before his wife could be delivered. Bet unexpected delays occurring, he perceived at last, that it would be impossible to avoid the fatal discovery, that must render his secret public. Indeed, it began now to be no longer a mystery in the town. He therefore took the resolution to communicate it himself to his father, which he did in the following letter:—

"Sir,

"Can you recollect the name & existence of an unfortunate man,who has been so long forgotten? I ought to suppose, that you have for ever renounced that right over my destiny which nature gave you. I know what were my early errors. If my youth could not then render them excusable in your eyes, I have sometimes flattered myself since, that an exile of six years, spent in useful and (I may presume to add) glorious, may have induced you to forget them. Nevertheless, cruelly forsaken in my last misfortunes, I have found in a stranger only, the compassion assistance, and tenderness of a father Without renouncing him who has rejected me. I have thought myself at liberty to adopt him whose virtue and beneficence render him worthy of such a sacred title. The father I have chosen is in obscure and needy circumstances; he is neither distinguished by family nor fortune, but he is virtuous and sensible. By accepting his favour by entering into his family, and marrying his daughter, I am become his son; and the happiness he has conferred on me, far exceeds, as a compensation, all the misery I have endured. I have a due respect for the distinctions established in society; and had I been of a rank that such an alliance would have dishonored, I should have had the resolution to sacrifice my passion, and without it the whole happiness of my life, to the honour of my family. But, I thank God, no such obstacle existed. My wife's birth is equal to my own: and her fortune is not inferior to mine. ⟨Her⟩ father, indeed, is poor, and mine ⟨is⟩ rich, which constitutes all the difference between us. No reason, therefore, would or ought to have diverted me from this step. Bound by a tie which love and honour render equally dear and sacred, I entreat you to believe that ambition, authority, and even the ⟨laws⟩ themselves would be armed in vain to dissolve it. I am going to the East Indies to begin a new career. I conjure you not to trouble my destiny, ⟨by⟩ clamours which cannot change it. ⟨I⟩ desire only peace, and that I may totally forget a country which I abandon perhaps for ever. This is the only favour I can presume to implore: I hope to expect it from your justice."

This letter excited the most terrible emotions in the breast of M. de Vilmore. His vanity was too deeply hurt not to the raise the utmost fury of indignation. The comparison between his family and that of Bertrand, appeared to him the height of insult. He instantly procured two letters de catchet. St. Andre was torn from the arms of his distressed wife: he was hurried, loaded with irons, into a dungeon: and Blanche, notwithstanding her youth and condition, met with a similar fate. In her prison, this unhappy woman brought into the world the unfortunate fruit of her love for St Andre. They would have robbed her of her infant; but her resistance, her lamentations, and her tears, were powerful enough to melt the savage bosoms that now for the first time were sensible to pity. They permitted her child to remain, and that she might preserve his life, she was careful of her own. In the mean time, St Andre driven to desperation, raving, and furious, invoked vengeance, and demanded Blanche or death. Three months were passed in this dreadful situation. At length he was informed that a person was arrived with a message to him from his father. "My father!" he exclaimed: "I have no father!" At this instant he beheld ⟨a⟩ person whom he knew to be a steward of M. de Vilmore. "Ah!" cried St Andre, "has the barbarian, who sent you, at last heard my prayers? Are you the messenger of death? That is the only favor I can expect from him." "Compose yourself, Sir," answered the steward: "compose yourself. I am come to announce to you that good fortune to which you could have no reason to aspire. While you were accusing fortune, she was active in your favour. Your brother is dead, and you are become, the natural heir of a father, who is still disposed to pardon you, and to receive you with open arms" "What!" interrupted St Andre. "is my brother dead! heaven is just: it has torn from my persecutor the object which his pride rendered so dear to him; and I, the victim of his cruel ambition, have not in vain called for vengeance." "Hear me" resumed the steward: "instead of invective, endeavor rather, by penitence to merit this returning goodness. M de Vilmore, has been the creator of his own fortune, and he can dispose of it as he pleases. He has two daughters whom he can enrich at your expence. But having no grandchild of his name, and pitying your errors & misfortunes, he invites you to that succession from which death has just snatched your brother. But you must imagine what an absolute submission is required to purchase this paternal bounty." "Speak Sir" coldly replied St, Andre, "A father who would at length acknowledge me, who calls for my hand to wipe away his tears, is certainly incapable of requiring any disgraceful conditions. Speak therefore; I listen to you without fearing such" "You must then," replied the steward, forever renounce a degrading as well as illegal marriage. A decent situation in life shall compensate Blanche for the distressing consequences of your mutual imprudence. Your consent alone in wanting to dissolve this shameful connection: every other step is already taken: in a word it is on these terms only that you can aspire" "Enough," interrupted St Andre, "I foresaw this detestable proposal from the beginning. I have had the patience to hear you and now in your turn observe my answer "I may be persecuted and oppressed; my wife and child may be torn from me; and I may be deprived of life itself: all these cruelties may be inflicted by tyranny armed with power but honour is a jewel they can never tear from me: I will ever preserve pure and unspotted: and shall be happy to suffer all for the dear object of my esteem and love This is my eternal and irrevocable resolution. Neither violence nor tortures nor the dreadful apparatus of death; nothing in the universe shall ever compel me to change it." The steward would have replied; but St Andre refused to hear another word, he retired with the shame and regret of having in vain endeavored to seduce an incorruptible man. Blanche in her prison experiences a persecution still more odious and unjust. They importune her to renounce her rights, and her title of wife to St Andre They propose on these terms an advantageous settlement for herself and child. Entreaties and menaces are employed by turns. Her invariable answer was that she expected from her husband the example she ought to imitate She hoped for an example that would evince his courage and fidelity; and she added that in every thing, she was determined her conduct should be conformable to his. M. de Vilmore despairing to vanquish such inflexible resistance abandoned himself to all the outrages which pride an resentment could excite in the most cruel and obdurate mind. From the weeping mother's arms they tore that dear child, the only support, the only consolation of her life. The unhappy pair were loaded with heavier chains. Their imprisonment was rendered more cruel and more dreadful still; and to heighten this barbarity, they were informed that such was the treatment they were ever to expect. Four years elapsed in this horrible situation. St Andre however supported by love made ⟨it⟩ his duty to live and suffer for the dear objects that were torn from him. ⟨By⟩ indefatigable pains and perseverance he at last succeeded in some measure in influencing one of his gaolers; who although he could not be prevailed upon to connive at his escape procured him the consolation of pens, ink, and paper. He then drew up a ⟨memorial,⟩ in which he wrote a very circumstantial history of his life. This he concluded by declaring that he demanded no other favor than his liberty, his wife and child; and that he had no pretensions whatever to his father's fortune, nor even to his own legal portion. This memorial was inscribed with the words:—To my Country

The man whom St Andre had gained, caused this memorial to be secretly printed; and many copies of it were soon dispersed. A counsellor celebrated for great talents and public virtue, was deeply affected by the perusal of his history; and he was nobly ambitious of the glory of supporting such a singular and interesting cause. In spite of the influence and opposition of M. de Vilmore, he soon made the courts of law resound with the cries of the unfortunate St Andre. He enquired after the fate of Bertrand and he found that grief had put a period to his days, about six months before. Those who detained the young son of St Andre, were compelled to deliver him into his hands; and he obtained an order for the immediate enlargement of the unhappy pair. He then repaired to the prison where Blanche was confined; she was quite ignorant of the measures he had taken and in the agonies of despair, she expected from death alone the period of all her woes. The generous counsellor led by humanity, entered this dreary abode, where youth, beauty, and virtue in distress, presented a most affecting picture. He held St Andre's child in his arms; and, by the gloomy light of a lamp, he ⟨found⟩ Blanche lying upon the straw in a ⟨horrid⟩ dungeon; her hair dishevelled; ⟨with⟩ no other covering than rags: her ⟨face⟩ drowned in tears; and her hands ⟨loaded⟩ with chains, lifted up to ⟨heaven.⟩ He stopped; and with a pity ⟨mingled⟩ with admiration, contemplates ⟨her⟩ youth, beauty, and the horrors ⟨that⟩ surround her. Blanche imagining ⟨him⟩ to be the gaoler, lifts up her ⟨languid⟩ head, and with a faint and dying ⟨voice⟩ demands what was intended "I ⟨am⟩ come," cries the counsellor, "to ⟨pay⟩ my homage to suffering virtue, and ⟨to⟩ terminate its sorrows." He then prostrates himself at her feet, and ⟨presents⟩ her child to her. Blanche recollecting him, exclaims, "Ah! if he be restored to me, life is yet supportable!" ⟨She⟩ would embrace this dear child, but the effort is too much. The excess of ⟨joy,⟩ the transports of her soul, with the weakness to which she is reduced, ⟨exhaust⟩ her little remaining strength, ⟨and⟩ she faints in the arms of her ⟨deliverer⟩. Who can express the emotions of surprise and ecstacy in this virtuous and feeling heart, when, on recovering her senses, she is informed that she is ⟨now⟩ going to see her husband; that liberty is restored to both; and that the beneficence of an utter stranger would reunite them for ever! "Come," said the counsellor, "leave this dreadful place, that has too long witnessed the lamentations of innocence Come that I may restore to the arms of a father and a husband, two objects so dear to his heart. But," continued he, "you cannot depart in this unworthy dress. I have foreseen every thing: in this bundle you will find whatever is necessary. Dress yourself while I go to the gaoler, to shew him my order, and, in a quarter of an hour, I will return to you."

The counsellor returns; not less delighted, nor less affected than Blanche. He presents to her a trembling hand; he assists her in carrying her son; and he takes her with transport from the abode of bitterness and woe. A coach in waiting soon conveys them to the prison of St: Andre. They are admitted. Blanche, fondly clasping her son, runs to throw herself in the arms of her husband. At this moment they experience whatever love and joy can inspire, in two fond hearts, exalted suddenly from the depth of despair to the summit of felicity. The counseller stood opposite to them contemplating with rapture this delightful scene. "Ah!" thought he, "This is my work" and doubtless he was not the least happy of the three.

It is in this retreat, that the remainder of a life, hitherto so turbulent, now steals away in delightful repose, with all the sweets of serenity and peace. Content with his humble fortune, he forgets, in the embraces of his wife and children, that splendid situation, to which his birth entitled him.

FINIS.