“Here then your commission ends, in regard to me,” said D’Alonville, “but pray tell me in whose custody I am now to remain, and to what end?” “We have no orders,” replied one of the national guards, “to give you any answer; but we advise you to have patience.”
“I am still to be guarded, however?” interrupted D’Alonville, casting a look towards the window.
“Certainly” replied the man.
“But I am to be allowed light, I hope?”
“As to that,” answered the soldier, “we have no orders; but I believe you will not long need it.”
“Surely,” cried D’Alonville, impatiently, “you will not refuse to tell me?”
The man, without giving him any further attention, left the room with his companion. — The woman who had stood at the door with the candle, shut it after her, and withdrew with the light. The door was barred without, and D’Alonville remained a moment with his eyes fixed upon it, though he could no longer distinguish it; he listened to the footsteps of the men who had guarded him, as they became fainter on the stairs, and though they were his gaolers, and had the rude and brutish manners of the lowest of the people, he felt a sort of regret at their departure; so dreary seemed the darkness and silence in which he was now left.
This situation, though desolate, was however less so than his dungeon at Rennes — yet he felt infinitely more uneasy in it. There he was prepared for the worst that could happen, being persuaded that a few hours would put an end to his suspense with his life; but now he felt all the horrors that obscurity adds to circumstances indistinctly imagined, and of which, all he knew for certain, was, that they were circumstances of dread. Imprisonment, long, lingering imprisonment, would probably, he imagined, end in a public execution, attended with all the disgrace with which malice and revenge could contrive to embitter death; he had now hardly any doubt, but that he owed this prolonged existence to Heurthofen; and his heart swelled with indignation when he reflected on this apostate German priest, who had acquired, by the most infamous means, the power of oppressing him; at the same time, when he thought of his brother, sensations more poignantly painful assailed him. In Du Bosse’s thus abandoning to the mean malice of such a colleague in iniquity, his only brother, the son of the same parents, the youth he had seen grow up with him, there was such a total dereliction of all those feelings that distinguish the man from the brute; such a failure of humanity, of every sentiment which nature implants in a good heart, or education impresses on one not naturally insensible, that D’Alonville could not bear to think upon it, yet he could think of nothing else; and his actual situation, upon the whole, hurt him less than the reflection, that it was his brother who had plunged him into it. Through the high and only half-glazed window, which was fifteen or sixteen feet above the ground, the rays of an early moon glimmered faintly, rather making “darkness visible,” than affording light; yet it served him to mark the wretchedness of the place where he was confined, and from which he felt himself tempted to escape; though he believed that it was most probable such an attempt would fail; or that if he succeeded in getting out of the house where he was now a prisoner, it would only be hastening his fate, in case, as was most probable, he should be overtaken and brought back. To hasten his fate, however, was now become his wish, and, with the calm resolution of despair, he determined to attempt forcing the door, which he believed, though it was barred, he could do without much difficulty: but when he was on the point of applying his strength to this purpose he hesitated — perhaps there might be a centinel set without to guard the door;— “well, and if there be! he has his musket charged, and by his means I shall escape from the insults of Heurthofen, from the bitter reflection that it is my brother who has exposed me to those insults; from the sad images that now perpetually haunt me, and the cruel reality of seeing my country deluged with her best blood.” While he thus argued with himself, he thought that amidst the silence of the night, he heard some flight noise without the door, as of a person that breathed hard, and with difficulty; — he listened more attentively; — the door was slowly unbarred; the lock moved, and a man dressed in a dark surtout, the cape of which came high round his head, and a large hat flapped over his eyes, entered with a lanthorn in his hand. D’Alonville stepped back a few paces; the figure followed him, and taking off his hat discovered the man who was once his brother!
The paleness and agitation of guilt and shame were visible on his countenance; his lips trembled, and his features were slightly confused, as waving his hand for D’Alonville to sit down on the bed, (the only seat there was); he turned towards the door, which he fastened within, and then again motioning for D’Alonville to be seated, who did not however obey him, he said in a low and tremulous voice, “you are surprised to see me here!”
“There was nothing I less expected,” answered D’Alonville; “could you believe, then,” whispered Du Bosse, “could you believe, D’Alonville, I could condemn you to death?”
Most readily,” replied his brother — for after what you have done — Good God! is there any atrocity of which I am not well justified in believing you capable?”
“After what I have done,” repeated Du Bosse— “what have I done that is not well justified by circumstances; by that first of all-active principles in a great, a generous mind, the sacred love of immortal liberty!”
“Leave that disgraceful cant, Sir, to such men as your German colleague, Heurthofen, the apostate priest” said D’Alonville, angrily turning from him; “it only increases my abhorrence and my contempt.”
“And is it thus, weak and unhappy boy,” cried Du Bosse, forgetting his precaution, and rising into anger, “is it thus you thank me for risking my own safety to preserve you from the death you have doubly deserved? — First, for bearing arms against your country; then for returning, proscribed and condemned as you were, to light up within her bosom the flames of civil war — I am afraid I shall repent the weakness I have shewn in making thus a vain attempt to rescue from ignominious death an obstinate and ignorant young man, merely because he was connected with me by the ties of blood.” “And why did you make it, Monsieur Du Bosse?” cried D’Alonville, still more indignantly, “to a patriot burning with the sacred love of immortal liberty; — what are the ties of blood? — what are all the charities between man and man? Is it not part of your creed, that the holy flame of freedom bursts all these asunder, even as flax is dissevered by the fire? — Shall he who drove his father, (and such a father too) to despair and death — shall he affect compunction for the fate of a brother?” Notwithstanding the affected stoicism which Du Bosse had been so long practicing; notwithstanding his ambition and his pride; the charge which was, he knew, but too well founded, of having driven his father to die in despair, visibly shook him. He attempted in vain to deny the charge, or to appeal in his vindication to that love of his country which he declared had alone actuated his conduct. He talked of tyrants — Taruias, and despotism; of Roman virtues — of Brutus and Cato; and had bewildered himself in this new fort of gasconading; though he seemed to have learned the sentences by heart — when D’Alonville, rendered impatient by such an harangue, suddenly asked him to what all this tended; and what he meant to propose? “I am in your power, citizen Du Bosse,” said he;— “and the only favour I ask of you, is, to put an end to the suspense in which, for I know not what reason, it seems to be your pleasure to keep me. If I am to die, call forth your executioner — you shall see that the blood from which I am descended, does not belie itself; and that while one of the sons of the Viscount de Fayolles disgraces him in his life; the other shall, by his death, do honour to the name he bears.”
“And you do not then fear to die, Sir?” cried Du Bosse;—” Why should I?” answered D’Alonville, with increased spirit,— “have you not taken from life all that could render it desirable? my father — (I loved my father,) my fortune, my home, my hopes? Can I fear dying, as my king has died? when, if my life were to be prolonged, it could only subject me to the humili
ating condition of living a passive spectator of the disgrace and ruin of my country — perhaps of being again driven from it by the persecution of fellows with whom you, citizen Du Bosse, would not a few, a very few years since, have held the slightest intercourse; though you now call them your brethren; — your fellow labourers in this glorious cause, which has depopulated Your native land, and made the very name of its inhabitants a name of reproach.” This conversation continued some time with encreasing asperity on the part of the younger brother; who having nothing to hope, disdained to fear any evil which could now be inflicted upon him — while the elder, formerly of so haughty a spirit as to throw off indignantly the parental authority, was for some reason that D’Alonville could not immediately penetrate, become suddenly so placid as to hear without resentment the severest reproaches. To paternal affection this alteration could not be imputed; for Du Bosse, who was nine years older than D’Alonville, had never shewn any great attachment to him; but had treated him as a spoiled child, the favourite of his father, with something of jealousy mingled with contempt. The new system, he had adopted was not likely to have encreased his tenderness for his family; for, to immolate at the shrine of liberty and equality the feelings of the heart, was its leading principle — D’Alonville therefore was surprised to observe, that his keenest invectives were not only calmly endured, but that the patience which he lost, his brother seemed to acquire. — At length, after much circumlocution, and a great deal of what citizen Du Bosse thought artful management, D’Alonville discovered what was his brother’s plan, though his motives for adopting that plan were not yet developed. It was Du Bosse’s purpose to bring him over to the republican party; to conceal the part he had hitherto taken, and to introduce him on the political stage as a man, who, from his extreme youth, had not yet come forward, but now, actuated by sentiments and zeal like his own, was ready to shed the last drop of his blood in the cause of his country, (with a long et cetera of phrases so abused on these occasions). The greatest objection to the execution of this scheme, (for Du Bosse never doubted the concurrence of D’Alonville) was the knowledge which Heurthofen, or rather Citizen Rouillé, had of the truth. — Du Bosse, however, who thought he understood this worthy colleague, and that there were means of securing not only his secrecy but his assistance, had in his own imagination conquered this impediment; he had therefore arranged his operations, and contrived to send D’Alonville off, under pretence of his being examined more fully at Paris; ordering him first to be compelled to see the execution of eleven persons embarked in the same cause, a fight which, he thought, would act as a very powerful argument in engaging him to abandon it; especially when security, fortune, and power, united to invite him to the other side.
Heurthofen affected to believe the reasons his colleague gave him for sending the young man to Paris — spoke of his concern for the painful struggle between his public duty and private affections, that Du Bosse must undergo, and said that though he had divested himself of every sentiment that might for a moment interfere with his rigid adherence to the good of the Republic, yet, that from all men, such sudden stoicism, such Roman fortitude, could not be expected; and that nothing but time, and a perfect conviction of the splendour of the glorious cause they had engaged in — a cause so sublime, so elevated, so immortal, could be supposed to exalt the human mind, to the true point of revolutionary enthusiasm, and teach it to shake off all inferior affectations, all human weaknesses, “As dew drops from the lion’s mane.”
Du Bosse, satisfied with these speeches, breathing moderation and tolerance towards mortals, not yet elevated enough to attain the seventh heaven of republicanism, ventured to trust to some suture time the entire reconciliation of Heurthofen to his fraternal tenderness, with his political orthodoxy; and the result was, the departure of D’Alonville from Rennes, in the way we have already seen, and which Du Bosse, in his profound sagacity, had managed in such a manner as was, he believed, most likely to baffle any enquiry, should it ever be made, as to the preceding adventures of his brother; but the plan thus contrived, and so perfect in the opinion of the contriver, was unluckily overthrown; for D’Alonville, the moment he comprehended it, declared in the most positive terms that nothing should induce him for a moment to pass for a republican, one of those wretches he detested; and that were the guillotine on one side of him, and the Presidency of the Convention offered to him on the other, he would not hesitate an instant in his choice. It was equally in vain that Du Bosse exerted his eloquence or his authority. — D’Alonville had arguments ready in his turn, and asserted the freedom of opinion with a boldness which Du Bosse could not controvert without contradicting his favourite axioms. — It was true that the life of D’Alonville was in his power, but to take it was not what he intended. After a dialogue of many hours, at the end of which D’Alonville remained steady in his determination, they parted; the original scheme of Du Bosse was baffled; but he modified, and would not wholly relinquish it; and for very good reasons, which did not immediately appear, he determined neither to give D’Alonville up to punishment nor to lose sight of him.
Early the next morning he renewed the attack, but with as little success. This was one of those classes of which there are so many in the world, where one party glories in persevering in a good cause, while the adverse party declaims against obstinacy in a bad one.
D’Alonville, however, was immovable; and with his total refusal to have any connection with the men under whatever appellation, whether Girodists or Mountaineers, Moderés or Enragés, who called themselves legislators of France, he mingled sarcasms so cutting, and comparisons so degrading, that unless Du Bosse had been actuated by something more powerful than brotherly affection was in his breast, he would hardly have endured this severity from a young man on whom he was bestowing security, and wished to have bestowed power and prosperity. — But from whatever motive it was, he restrained his resentment, and with wonderful forbearance at length came to what he called a compromise. It was agreed then that under pretence of D’Alonville being a person who was to be interrogated before the committee of Public Safety, Du Bosse should conduct him towards Paris in a chaise; that when within a few miles of the capital he should be dismissed, furnished with a certificate of civism by Du Bosse, and enter Paris, where he was very little known, as a person employed as a messenger, or in some other inferior department; he was then to go to an house his brother named him, where he reception, and the character he was to appear in, were to be secured by Du Bosse, who was to arrive there before him.
The elder brother believed he should there find means to shake the resolution of the now inflexible royalist. D’Alonville on the other hand though himself proof against either temptation or terror: he was certainly not sorry to be delivered from the apprehension of immediate death, however prepared to meet it, and he was very glad of an opportunity of visiting Paris in security, for it was there only that he could judge of the real situation of his country. — These considerations induced him to agree to Du Bosse’s last proposal making no other stipulation, than he should not be represented as a republican, however humble the people might be with whom he should be placed.
In consequence of this arrangement, Du Bosse, who had affected an air of profound mystery at the inn, now told the people that the prisoner they had in their house, was a person who had confessed secrets of the utmost importance to the Republic, that he had still more to reveal, and that, therefore, he (the commissioner) should take him to Paris in his chaise lest he should escape, and never lose sight of him until he was delivered to the Committee. In half an hour after this affected confidence Du Bosse, armed with pistols and sabres, was most formidably seated in the carriage that had brought him. — They proceeded rapidly towards Paris, from whence they were about five leagues distant, when Du Bosse sending off first one servant and then another, on different pretences, was left alone with D’Alonville, who, when he next changed horses, he dismissed, furnished with the certificate he had promised him, and sufficient money
to take him post to Paris by another road. D’Alonville had now an opportunity of escaping; but as his politics and his honour both forbade his attempting it, he pursued the directions his brother had given him, and arrived about nightfall at the house of a watchmaker on the Quai de Voltaire, as it was now called, where he found he was expected, as a person employed by Citizen Du Bosse, and where he retired to an upper room that had been made ready for him, extremely fatigued, and not a little surprised at finding himself at large, and in present safety, in a place where he imaged he should have arrived only to give up his life on a scaffold.
CHAPTER XI.
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 wi hout 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.
Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works Page 190
