once more had the great moral of the poet's strain impressed on their mind. "O wedding guest! this soul hath him So lonely 'twas, that God himself O sweeter than the marriage feast To walk together to the kirk To walk together to the kirk, While each to his great Father bends Farewell, farewell! but this still He prayeth best, who loveth best THE LESSON OF THE BARRICADES. A TALE OF 1848. I MAY at once begin by requesting the reader, whatever he may think of my conduct in the events I am about to describe, to defer his judg ment upon me to the end. Youth has many follies, and, if leniency be shown to it when in pursuit of pleasure, no one ought to be too harsh upon it when principles, not effeminate joys, are its sole object. Debauchery and all its concomitants I have never been addicted to, but I have learnt that there is a moral as well as a physical state of drunkenness. The mind which drinks in greedily the teaching of enthusiasts, which allows not a thought to rest upon ought but its pet theory, will sooner or later contemplate every other pursuit with a bias; and, in proportion to its fanaticism for its own creed, will despise all others and deny their claim to any goodness. More especially does this apply to political dreamers. No pursuit will sooner warp and disfigure the intellect than the all-absorbing never-flagging endeavour to upset the existing state of things, in order to substitute in its stead some Utopian schemes, the fancies of a diseased brain. A disregard of the means to be employed, of truth, sincerity, nay-of human life, is certain to follow; for the end must be attained, whatever crimes be committed. And though at first the neophyte recoils from such a maxim, yet, once he has begun to taste the fatal draught of Republicanism, he goes on and on, till, drunk with fanaticism, he sacrifices "Liberty" by rendering her odious through his excesses. I am one of many Englishmen who at one time had rather a sharp attack of this mental disease, and I purpose showing how my cure was effected. Born of English parents at Paris, I was brought up in that capital, my family mixing a good deal in French society--not in the Faubourg St. Germain, no; the old nobility who resided there were still praying for the return of the Bourbons, and engaging in absurd plots for the dethronement of Louis Phillipe and the restoration of Henri V. Our acquaintance lay chiefly amongst the "Parvenus," as the aristocratic Faubourg chose to call them, men who had been made by the stormy circumstances of revolution, and many of whom had raised themselves from low birth to station and wealth. At thirteen years of age I entered the College Henri Quatre, and there it was I imbibed those principles which led to the train of events I am about to narrate. About the same time Eugene Lautour, a youth somewhat older than I, also put on the uniform and képi which characterises a French public school. A slight incident began our friendship. Eugene was one day being thrashed by a bully, when I interfered; thanks to my father, who, though a long resident abroad, had not forgotten his home education, I had had some practice in the use of the gloves. Very few minutes sufficed to rescue Eugene, and thenceforth we were sworn friends. One Sunday we both received leave to go and dine at my father's house, which was situated in one of the avenues to the right of the Champs Elysées, and on our walk from the dull city we saw a troop of horsemen escorting an open carriage, in which sat an elderly gentleman with white whiskers and a full fat face. Every now and then he took off his hat to the crowd who saluted him, and this movement disclosed the peculiar way in which he wore his hair. It was a good deal brushed up towards the crown, and since then I have often thought how truthful Punch's caricatures were in giving King Louis Philippe's head the shape of a pear. I stood still and imitated the majority by taking off my cap, but Eugene never touched his, but clenched his fists, and muttered through his closed teeth the one word "Brigand." When the cortège had passed, I asked what was the meaning of his strange behaviour. "Ah," said he, "You English are all the same. A man sticks a crown on his head, and you all fall down and worship him. You let him do what he likes with you. But with us-with us it is far different. Yes, '95 saw it, and before 1850 comes, this century will see we are not degenerate. Ces monstres! My grandfather was murdered by Louis XV: my father was murdered by Charles X, and I will avenge them. Pardon me, Henri, but you cannot understand my feelings. Since I have been able to receive an impression the hatred of these tyrants has been implanted in my breast, and something within me whispers that I am born to make them pay for their long career of iniquity." I was certainly astounded. Such sentiments proceeding from a boy of fourteen, who had never before spoken on any loftier subject than marbles or peg-tops I could not comprehend, and my puzzled look made Eugene laugh outright. "Mon pauvre ami," said he, "I see you fancy we are about the same age. So we are in point of years-but in mind, I am twenty years your senior. However you shall know in good time as much as I do; we want you English to help us and yourselves at the same time." Just then we reached the Avenue Chateaubriand, and the conversation ceased. On our return Eugene gave me the full particulars of his ancestor's misfortunes. His grandfather had a daughter, a lovely girl of sixteen. One unlucky evening, while in the park at Versailles watching the play of the fountains, she had the misfortune to attract the attention of the dissolute monarch then on the throne, Louis XV. The next week she disappeared. About a month afterwards she returned to her father's house, only to die; but not before she had told the story of her forcible abduction to that den of iniquity, the Parc aux Cerfs, and of the indignities she had there suffered. Over her corpse her father swore a bitter revenge, but he was not fated to carry it out. One of his servants was a spy on his movements, and the next morning a lettre de cachet sent him to the Bastille whence he never emerged. His son took refuge in England, but returned at the outbreak of the revolution, and though he had been one of its most ardent supporters, yet managed to steer a clear course during the reigns of Napoleon and Louis XVIII. Under Charles X. he allowed himself to be drawn into a conspiracy. Detection followed, and he forfeited his life on the scaffold, leaving behind him a widow and three children, Eugene being at the time a child in arms. The boy was brought up by an uncle who had escaped his brother's fate, though sharing his opinions, and lost no opportunity of instilling into his nephew's mind the most bitter hatred of monarchy, No wonder then that my friend was so precocious in his ideas, or that he too, on every occasion when we were alone together expatiated on the tyranny and rapacity of kings and nobles, and gradually revealed the fact that wide-spread discontent prevailed through France, and that a conspiracy was being slowly organized once more to give her a Republican form of Government. This secret, however, was not told at once. I spent several Sundays at his uncle's house, and the old gentleman won my heart by praising our national character in no measured strain. When he felt that my confidence was gained, he began to talk of the state of parties in England, of which I knew literally nothing. The picture he drew was anything but a pleasant one. A tyrannous sovereign, a powerful and united aristocracy, a luxurious and corrupted clergy, and the mass of the people oppressed by all three, toiling day and night for their masters, and studiously kept back from all knowledge and chance of wealth. Such he informed me was the state of England. At first I could scarcely credit his statements, but as I got further advanced he showed me letters from his English correspondents all breathing the same spirit, telling of bread riots, of famine, destitution, of inhuman treatment in coal mines and factories, of incendiarism in the farming districts, and of oppression and cruelty in the army and navy. I could not disbelieve these assertions. I could not then understand how the privations of the noble English people had been taken advantage of by these very men to involve the country into trouble, how each slight incident had been laid hold of, coloured and distorted in order to goad uneducated wretches into madness. Thank heaven, but few such exist in our day; and when they have dared to lift their voices to promulgate injurious falsehoods, the good sense of the suffering workmen has allowed their noisy interference to pass by without notice. The people have learned that the would-be demagogues who lay every national calamity, every dispensation of Providence, at the door of the high-born and wealthy, are themselves actuated by the basest of motives, the desire to turn the sufferings of thousands to their own private good. Yes, the people of Lancashire have shown an example to the world in patience and long suffering. The natural course for me to have followed was of course to speak to my father; but during the first part of the intercourse Eugene had begged me not to mention the subject to my family, and before I had acquired anything like a clear view into the subject, my family had started for Italy. I wrote to my father and asked him his opinion on the present state of England, expatiating on the hardships of the working classes, and received an answer which wounded me more than any rebuke could have done. He pooh-poohed the whole affair; bade me stick to Homer and Virgil-wondered who could possibly have put such nonsense into my head, and ended by telling me that I was still but a child, and unable to understand the machinery by which states were governed, and that, if he heard any more such balderdash from me, he would take me away from Paris, and send me to an English school. This threat weighed heavily with me. For a long time I had associated with hardly any but Frenchmen and I had become essentially French in taste and habits: yet, strange to say, among my companions I had acquired the name of "Le fier Anglais," so eager was I to resent any allusion to my nation, and so proud was I of being the only Englishman in the school. Above all I was influenced by the dread of parting VOL. I.-No. 10. 20 with Eugene, and so I wrote to my father that I would no more think of such matters, but obey his injunctions. The return post brought me, I remember, a bank note for 100 francs (£1), a huge sum to possess in a French school, and my father's forgiveness coupled with some sound advice. I think I may here venture on a description of the life we led in the College Henri Quatre, so different from that of an Eton or Harrow boy. We were in round numbers 250 boys all living together in the same house, which had a dingy, dirty front looking on the street of the same name as the school. The pupils were divided into dormitories, 20 in each, under the superintendence of a preéfet, a head boy answering to a "monitor" at home. We rose at six in summer, seven in winter, washed in turn in a yard surrounded by a large wooden trough, then had a cup of milk and water, and some bread. Studies till ten, then breakfasted on coffee and bread and butter. At two we dined on soup (such soup!) and meat, except on Fridays and special fast days, when salt fish was served up instead of beef or mutton. From half-past two to four we were allowed récréation, that is, we walked about in the playground, practised gymnastics, trundled hoops, or played at marbles, and occasionally were marched out two and two under an assistant master: but as for games there was none; there was no cricket, no rounders, and no football. Certainly we had an inflated bladder which now and then received an odd kick, but any one attempting to get up શ Phinning ring" or a "bully" would have got 48 hours black hole. The chief amusement of the grown-up boys was talk-talk; and, though I soon got used to it, I at first wondered much at the precociousness of these lads, who at fifteen or seventeen spoke of women in a way that would make an Oxford man blush. At five we had bread and milk, and at eight what was called supper, a square inch of meat with dry bread and water; by nine we were all in bed. Saturday was a half-holiday, and those boys who had friends or relations in Paris were allowed to visit them two Sundays in each month. The punishments differed widely from those in vogue among us; they were,-solitary confinement to one's room, bread and water at all meals, stoppage of play hours, and the black hole. The latter is bad enough when inflicted on a full grown man, and Charles Reade has well shewn its effects in his "Never too late to Mend;" but, when the sufferer is a child, its punishment becomes simply atrocious. A boy's mind is so easily affected, any tale of horror it may have heard sinks so deeply into it, that it is no wonder, if when left to itself in palpable darkness for two whole days its imagination conjures up visions too dreadful to be borne. I have seen boys come out of the blackhole perfectly livid, their eyes almost starting out of their head, and their whole body shaking as if in a fit of ague. Notwithstanding the monotonousness of our life, Eugene and I had struck up such a friendship that I could not bear the idea of parting from him; so, as I have said, I promised no more to vex my father by useless questions. Time passed on. The discipline of the school seemed to agree with me, and by the time I had attained my sixteenth birthday my appearance and strength were beyond my years. I still frequented the house of M. François Lautour (Eugene's uncle,) and, one Sunday evening, fired by the tales of oppression I had that day heard, and moved beyond measure by the wrongs of my countrymen, I exclaimed. "Oh, that I were but a man, that I might strike one blow for liberty!" M. Lautour took me at my word. |