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 LIBRARY 
 
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THE 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 OF 
 
 A N E X I L E, 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, 
 
 BRITISH AND FOREIGN PUBLIC LIBRARY, 
 CONDUIT-STREET, HANOVER-SQUARE. 
 
 1825. '^ 
 

 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 During my residence at Marseilles in the 
 autumn of 1822, I used often to ramble out 
 into the villages which surround that singular 
 city. Its immediate neighbourhood presents 
 few interesting spots, the suburbs being in- 
 tersected in every direction by stone walls, 
 which enclose the bastides, or country-houses 
 of the merchants, and which often prevent one 
 from gaining some point, apparently near, that 
 is thus, perhaps, trebled in its distance. The 
 city itself, after one has resided there a short 
 time, becomes monotonous and wearisome to the 
 traveller who possesses no acquaintances with- 
 in it. Its climate, however, is delicious, bright 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 766 
 
2 ' INTRODUCTION. 
 
 skies of eternal blue and a light breeze generally 
 prevailing during the Autumn and Winter for 
 days and weeks together. But these are best 
 enjoyed beyond the city walls, and consequently 
 I used to spend much of my time in wandering 
 over the country, which consists chiefly of 
 mountains, with the exception of the plain on 
 which Marseilles is situated, and which spreads 
 to some distance along the coast. Numerous 
 villages are scattered up and down it, and ex- 
 tend up the mountains, which command a no- 
 ble view of the sea and surrounding country. 
 I had prolonged my walk one day as far as 
 the small hamlet of St. Joseph, where the ex- 
 director Barras, one of the exeunt omnes of the 
 French revolutionary tragedy, had a chateau : 
 this still exists, but belongs to another pro- 
 prietor. A terrace runs along its front, above 
 a garden filled with flowers ; and I won- 
 dered how any one, possessed of such a 
 place, could have quitted it for the wars and 
 
INTRODUCTION. S 
 
 tempests of political life. A vineyard lay close 
 to the chateau, and, tempted by some mellow 
 grapes which hung clustering among the dark 
 red vine leaves, I entered, and advanced to- 
 wards the vigne7-0)iSy who were engaged in « 
 plucking the fruit. The person who seemed to 
 superintend the others, immediately came up to 
 me, saluted me with much civility, and desired 
 me to help myself unsparingly. He seemed a 
 hearty honest fellow, and with his vignerons 
 presently struck up a song in praise of the 
 joys of Autumn, the burthen of which ran 
 thus : 
 
 " Vive la saison de I'Automne, 
 Ami c'est le soir d'un beau jour. 
 Que Bacchus, Amour, et Pomone, 
 Viennent embellir tour-a-tour." 
 
 I sat down at the foot of a peach-tree, many 
 of which were planted among the vines, and 
 contemplated the prospect before me. Beneath 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 me lay a dark wood of pines, mixing their black 
 tops with the fresh verdure of the laurel and 
 wild shrubs which clothed a cluster of broken 
 rocks. To my right lay the rich vineyards, 
 bending along the feet of the brown and arid 
 mountains which reared themselves from the 
 plain, and terminated in vast rugged peaks. 
 From among the rocks and pines which were 
 beneath me, rose up one crag loftier than the 
 rest, upon which was a hermitage cut out of the 
 solid stone. To my left lay the city, look- 
 ing like a huge quarry, without a spire or turret 
 to reheve the white mass of building. The plani, 
 glittering with its innumerable bast'ides, ex- 
 tended, as I have already mentioned, to some dis- 
 tance, and was then terminated by the same sullen 
 looking mountains that rose to the right : while 
 in front, and stretching far away in blue and 
 sparkling pride, lay that bright sea which bathes 
 so many sacred lands. I sank into a delicious 
 state of dreaming and forgetfulness of all around 
 
INTRODUCTION. O 
 
 me, and remained looking upon those waves which 
 recall so many interesting and impressive events 
 to the mind. While buried in the pleasing 
 visions which my imagination had been suggest- 
 ing to me, it seemed as if solemn and sweet 
 harmony was gradually stealing around me ; the 
 sounds increased, and appeared to be no fanciful 
 dream, for they were evidently approaching. I 
 had sat so long, that the day was nearly spent. 
 The sun had sunk behind the islands which lie 
 at some distance from the harbour, and which 
 rose up from the still blue sea in dark relief 
 against the glowing sky. The breeze, which had 
 played over my head among the leaves of the 
 peach-tree, had subsided ; the air was filled with 
 mountain perfume, and the tinkhng bells of 
 the goats, which were returning from pasture, 
 mingled their ringing with the advancing 
 voices. The persons from whom they pro- 
 ceeded emerged from the wood, and wound 
 round the foot of the eminence upon which 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1 had been sitting. They composed a funeral 
 procession, and T joined them. First came one 
 of the Grey Penitents, carrying a rough cross 
 of dark wood ; a priest followed, preceding the 
 body, which was wrapped in a white sheet, witli 
 the pale face uncovered, and reposing on an 
 open bier*, supported by four of the same 
 order of Penitents, who were clothed from head 
 to foot in a long grey robe: their faces were 
 completely concealed by it, there being only 
 sufficient apertures left for seeing and breathing. 
 The procession was closed by a number of 
 male and female peasants, each carrying a 
 small wax-taper in one hand, and a prayer- 
 book in the other. As we advanced towards 
 the church, the priest at intervals murmured 
 a prayer; when he ceased, the followers 
 chanted the de profundis, or hymn for the 
 
 * In the Southern countries of Europe, it is the custom 
 to bury the dead without coffin, and with the features 
 unconcealed, in Spain, the corpse is generally dressed 
 as a Franciscan friar. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 dead ; while the pauses were filled up by the 
 distant whispering of the sea and the toll of 
 the passing-bell. We soon reached the ceme- 
 tery : the grave was at the furthest end, look- 
 ing towards the north-west, shaded by a fig- 
 tree, and surrounded by tufts of wild thyme 
 and rosemary. The body was taken from the 
 bier and lowered into the earth, while the 
 assistants and myself knelt around, and once 
 more chanted the farewell hymn. The sight 
 of the corpse was affecting, nay, appalling. 
 One might almost have imagined that some 
 sleeper had been cautiously taken fi'om his 
 pillow, and treacherously hurried into a living 
 grave. As we rose up to depart, the sexton 
 began to perform his office; the dark mould 
 gradually mingled itself with the winding- 
 sheet, while the clasped white fingers and tran- 
 quil features appeared here and there through 
 the fast-increasing heap. Thus it is that we are 
 indeed but dust ; thus do we return to that from 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 which we are made: in a few weeks those 
 eyes that had beamed and wept — those lips that 
 had charmed in health and life, and prayed in 
 sickness and agony, would be all black and 
 crumbling as the earth which covered them. 
 As we returned, I observed my friend, the 
 vigneron, among the peasants who had assisted 
 at the funeral. He was evidently distressed, 
 and leading a little boy by the hand, Avho wept 
 bitterly. Having recognized me, however, he 
 came up to me, and said, " Ah ! Sir, this has been 
 a sorrowful sight for you, and for us all, — for we 
 all loved him. I did not tell you about this 
 in the morning, for I did not wish to make you 
 sad, and to send you back to the gay city 
 with mournful thoughts. But since you have 
 seen it, you will be sorry to hear that we 
 have just buried a young countryman of yours." 
 " And had he no friend or relation," said I, "to 
 attend his remains to the grave.?" "None, Sir, 
 none, but we poor villagers, and we were all his 
 
INTRODUCTION. U 
 
 friends, for he was ours, and may God rest 
 ills soul ! He came here last autumn, ill and 
 melancholy ; — he lived in a small house just 
 above the olive-wood to your right, and there 
 he died, Ave Maria ! beloved and regretted 
 by the whole village. After he had been here a 
 little while, he seemed to recover gradually from 
 his sorrow ; went often into the city, and some- 
 times brought back a friend with him, but at 
 times he was still very unhappy. He had taken 
 my little boy here under his care, and was teach- 
 ing him to write and speak English ; but the 
 child used to say, that he had often seen him 
 praying, as if in great pain. But after a letter, 
 which, as his servant told me since, he received 
 from his country, he never went into the city 
 again, and seemed to be quite indifferent to 
 every thing. From that time, Sir, he gradually 
 wasted, but always spoke kindly to all around 
 him, and made many a heart happy by his 
 assistance and advice. He used to wander out 
 B 5 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to a rock just below the hermitage you might 
 have seen yonder, and sit there for hours 
 looking over the sea; and one night his ser- 
 vant became alarmed at his not returning, 
 and went to seek him. He found him seated 
 at the foot of a fig-tree, resting against its 
 trunk. The servant remonstrated with him 
 on his exposing himself so to the night air. 
 His master answered not ; alas ! Sir, he could 
 not, — he was dead! His prayer-book was 
 firmly clasped in his hands ; by his side 
 was a roll of papers ; and his face was as 
 smiling and tranquil as it used to be when he 
 visited our cottages. In his will, which was 
 found in his chamber, he bequeathed the mo- 
 ney he had, among us peasants, and earnestly 
 begged that his prayer-book might be buried 
 as it was found — in his hands. I looked into 
 the book. Sir, and in the blank leaf was 
 the portrait of a young lady, with the mild- 
 est and loveliest of faces ; and I thought that 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 if the poor gentleman had lost the beautiful 
 lady by death or disappointment, no wonder he 
 was so sad. His Avishes were all fulfilled ; and 
 the roll of papers is in my possession." I felt an 
 inclination, at the moment, to ask him for them ; 
 but reflecting that, our acquaintance being but 
 short, he might be unwilling to give them up, 
 I resolved upon repeating my visit to St. Jo- 
 seph ; and hoped, after a short time, to obtain 
 them. I then retraced my steps to the city, 
 musing upon the melancholy fate of my coun- 
 tryman. Before I left Marseilles, I went out 
 again several times to St. Joseph, and visited 
 the young man's grave ; it was kept in neat 
 order, and covered with fresh vine-leaves and 
 flowers. This was my friend the vigneron's 
 doing; and I then saw his little boy come to 
 throw fresh flowers upon the grave. I carried 
 with me various things from the city that might 
 make me welcome at the vignerorCs cottage, and 
 became soon upon intimate terms with the family. 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 One day the conversation happened to turn 
 upon the melancholy event to which I had been 
 witness, and 1 took occasion to express a desire 
 to see the papers. The vigneron immediately 
 went up stairs, brought down a considerable 
 bundle, apparently in great confusion, and pre- 
 sented them to me, saying, "You are his coun- 
 tryman. Sir, and can make more use of them 
 than I can. I could not bear to destroy them, 
 and yet the sight of them makes me sad. Take 
 them, and if the poor gentleman has been telling 
 his life in them, I dare say they will be worth 
 your while to read." I received the papers, and, 
 being anxious to examine them, soon returned 
 home. They were written in a very illegible hand, 
 much mutilated and blotted. I succeeded, how- 
 ever, with great difficulty, in putting them into 
 some kind of order, and for convenience sake 
 divided the successive portions into chapters : 
 the examination of them having induced me to 
 think that they would interest others as well as 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 myself. I quitted Marseilles, taking a kind 
 leave of my friend the vigneroti, and re- 
 mained upon the Continent till very lately. 
 
 I now, therefore, submit these papers to the 
 public; and making use of the old adage, de 
 mortuis nil nisi bonum, I shall beg them to 
 understand the proverb in a sense that will be 
 felt by many persons, — that the dead leave 
 nothing but what is good. 
 
JOURNAL. 
 
 " It is night : I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms : 
 the wind is heard in the mountain, the torrent pours 
 down the rock ; no hut receives me from the rain, — for- 
 lorn on the hill of winds." — Ossian. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Oct. 27, 1821. 
 Again am T returned to these well-known 
 scenes, but, alas ! they are not the same to me 
 that they once were : then I had hope and 
 health, and now both are nearly passed away. 
 Why am I come here? and what can change of 
 place do for me ? And yet these soft breezes and 
 green olive woods breathe more peace to my 
 
16 JOURNAL 
 
 wounded spirit, than the choking fogs and 
 frosts of England. 
 
 England ! thou art my country, but thou 
 hast nought for me but green fields and trees 
 and strange faces. Thy waters may sparkle, 
 but not for me ; thy bright shores may wel- 
 come back the traveller, but not me, — for I 
 have no home. I cannot look along a path 
 and say, That leads to my fire-side, and there 
 dwell those that love me dearly. Alas ! no. 
 The bark that bore me away, carried with 
 it no prayer for my final return, and the 
 winds that whistled amongst its sails made 
 no heart quail at the thought of my peril. I 
 am alone, an outcast, an exile; and should 
 I talk of hope and joy, which cannot be for 
 him that has none to share them ! 
 
 Oct. 28th.— I walked into the city to- 
 day. The tumult and activity which reign 
 there, have only increased my depression. I 
 arrived just as they were launching a frigate. 
 
OF AK EXILE. 17 
 
 The launch was a noble sight; but the harbour 
 is so unfit for vessels of this large description 
 that they were unable to stop her when in the 
 water, and she rushed across with headlong 
 rapidity, upsetting whatever was in her way; 
 making the surrounding vessels rock as in a 
 tempest. One man, a waterman, lost his life 
 amidst the waving of hundreds of flags — the 
 shouting of thousands of voices : — his cry, too, 
 rose up, but it was short, and soon past. Thus 
 it is, while the multitude are rejoicing and 
 happy, there are some who are pining un- 
 marked in misery and anguish. 
 
 The yellow fever is at Barcelona. Appre- 
 hensions are entertained of its communicating 
 itself to this place. Several vessels at the Islands 
 are infected, and the fever is in the Lazaretto. 
 God forbid and avert such a calamity from this 
 city ! it has already suiFered enough from a like 
 visitation. The precautions are increasing on 
 every side, and all communication forbidden 
 
18 JOUKNAL 
 
 with the coast of Spain under pain of death. 
 But the infection may be introduced by smug- 
 glers, — horrible idea ! 
 
 As I was returning home, I overtook a peasant 
 driving some mules laden with chesnuts, which 
 he had been buying at the market. The pea- 
 sants make great use of this fruit in winter, 
 roasting it, and eating it as bread. As we as- 
 cended the long road called the Vista, an interest- 
 ing scene presented itself. A vast heap of dark 
 clouds were piled up over the sea, and the sun was 
 just setting behind them ; — as it rested for an in- 
 stant upon their edge, one might have compared 
 it to an immense flaming beacon kindled upon 
 the gloomy Pyrenees, (in the direction of which 
 the sun was sinking,) and warning the homeward- 
 bound vessel from the pestilential shore. The road 
 was crowded with peasants, and their mules were 
 straggling along in strange confusion. The 
 man whom I have just mentioned, and who was 
 at some distance behind the rest, wished me a 
 good night, and I entered into conversation with 
 
OF AN EXILE. 19 
 
 him. I found his language singularly good, 
 and I almost imagined myself conversing with 
 one of the jongleurs^ or inferior poets of Pro- 
 vence. We talked of the beauty of the even- 
 ing and the richness of the view ; " Look," said 
 he to me, pointing to the dark wood of pines, 
 which extended to the rocks near us, and which, 
 mixed with the laurels, seemed green as summer 
 woods, '^Ecco la piil hella roba di natura." And 
 when I talked to him of his labour and his 
 vineyard, for I found that he was the proprietor 
 of one, he told me that he was always stirring 
 prima che il sole sorta di letto. We continued 
 our route together, and he conducted me by 
 another road home, which wound among rocks 
 covered with pines and wild herbs, upon one of 
 which was placed a hermitage. As we passed 
 on, we occasionally caught a glimpse, over the 
 trees, of the sea flashing like lightning. The 
 night closed upon us as we reached St. Joseph ; 
 and quitting the peasant, I retreated to my soli- 
 tude and my reflections. 
 
20 JOURNAL 
 
 * * * 
 
 Eleven o'clock; the night is lovely ; the bright 
 stars are shining upon the dark world beneath, 
 and bidding us hope for a fair morrow. 
 
 " Who ever gazed upon them shining 
 Nor turn'd to earth without repining?" 
 
 Whenever I look upon them I feel myself better 
 and happier. They are, perhaps, the habitations 
 of those blessed spirits who have passed through 
 the fire of temptation untainted and unscorched, 
 and who are permitted to offer up their inter- 
 cession for their weak and sinful kindred upon 
 earth. * * * 
 
 The city clocks are striking the hour of mid- 
 night. That city, which was so lately filled with 
 tumult and pleasure, and resounded with the 
 hasty tread of business, is now still and slumber- 
 ing, v/hile I am restless and sleepless ; the deep 
 voices of those bells alone, tell that man's ha- 
 bitation is there, and that while he sleeps time 
 wakes. And hark ! there is the distant mur- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 21 
 
 muring of the guards, who are stationed to 
 protect us from infection. If those men too 
 slept, that city which now rests in peace and 
 health, might ere long be filled with delirium 
 and despair. But there is One that sleepeth 
 not, and whose eye doth not cease its watching. 
 * # * 
 
 The hght morning breeze is whispering among 
 the pines ; and those beautiful lines of Tasso, 
 in which he describes Rinaldo lamenting over 
 the errors of his past life, rise to my recollection. 
 
 " Cosi pensando, alle p'lA eccelse cime 
 Ascese 5 e quivi inchino e riverente 
 Alzo il pensier sovra ogni ciel sublime, 
 E le !uci fisso nell' oriente : 
 La prima vita e le mie colpe prime 
 Mira con occhio di pieta clemente. 
 Padre e Sign or j e in me tua grazia piovi, 
 Sicchfe '1 mio vecchio Adam purghi e rinnovi. 
 
 " Cosi pregava : e gli sorgeva a fronte, 
 Fatta gia d' aaro, la vermiglia aurora, 
 Che I'elmo e I'arme, e intorno a lui del monte 
 Le verdi cime illuminando indora 
 
22 JOURNAL 
 
 E ventilar nel petto e nella fronte 
 Sentia gli spirti di piacevol ora, 
 Che sovra il capo suo scotea dal grembo 
 Delia beir Alba un rugiadoso nembo." 
 
 The clay begins to dawn; ambition, hope, 
 and pleasure will soon be awake and in motion. 
 The busy hum of the city will overpower the 
 low dashing of the waves, and the dreams and 
 thoughts of the night will be forgotten by noon. 
 The East begins to glow, the stars grow fainter, 
 man begins to be afoot; I hear the distant bells of 
 the mules, the morning gun is fired, the chain 
 is raised, the fishermen are crowding out of the 
 harbour, the peasants are in their fields. The 
 sun is rising above that bare point of rock that 
 looks as if it would intercept its light; — now it 
 looks out upon the plain, and throws a roseate 
 glow over the thin mists which are spread 
 round the mountains like a veil,— the plain 
 looks like a white and restless sea. And canst 
 thou not impart warmth to me, bright light? 
 
OF AN" EXILE. 
 
 thou givest life and strength and promise to 
 the vine, the olive, and the springing flower; 
 and must the morning ever find me sleepless, cold 
 at heart, and unrefreshed by the dew of hope ? 
 
 29th. When I returned to my house this 
 morning, I found my friend, the peasant, with 
 whom I had walked back yesterday. He had 
 come to enquire for me, and had brought me 
 some fine fruit, which he begged I would accept. 
 His kindness touched me to the heart, as in- 
 deed all kindness does now, for I need it. He 
 told me that the vintage fete was to take 
 place shortly, and begged that T would honour 
 it with my attendance. " We are but poor and 
 icrnorant,'' said he, "but we know how to be kind 
 as well as the fine Parisians ; and though some 
 think us brutal, and though our southern blood 
 may be hot and hasty, yet we can give a 
 stranger the warmer welcome." I promised to 
 go to the fete, and he went away. 
 
24 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I PROPOSE walking this morning to the her- 
 mitage, which is in view of my house. The 
 hermit, I am told, was once well known in 
 Marseilles, but has long dwelt in his rocky 
 retreat. # * * 
 
 w tF w 
 
 Evening, ten o'clock, I am just returned from 
 the hermitage. The path to it creeps among the 
 wild and wooded cliffs, and, gradually ascending, 
 loses itself in a thick wood of pines and lau- 
 rel, till it reaches the foot of the crag on which 
 the hermit lives. His habitation is hollowed 
 out of the rock, in which are cut some holes 
 to give light and air. I looked up, and saw two 
 peasants kneeling at the entrance. The hermit 
 was within, praying before a crucifix: and some 
 
OF AN EXILE. 25 
 
 rabbits were playing among the Avild herbs 
 which grew around. The spot he has chosen 
 for his retirement is admirably calculated for 
 such a purpose. No one would toil and la- 
 bour up the steep ascent, but the contempla- 
 tive and pious ; and he has no neighbours but 
 wild birds and animals. The fig, the olive, 
 and almond trees shade him from the sun ; and 
 mountain thyme, rosemary, and lavender are 
 the flowers of his garden. From the top of 
 the rock he may behold that city, whose cares 
 cannot reach him, and may look down with 
 pity upon those pomps and vanities which he 
 has utterly renounced. 
 
 I waited till they had risen, and then pro- 
 ceeded to ascend the rock. Having arrived 
 at the door of the cell, I took off my hat 
 and saluted the hermit, who crossed himself 
 as he returned my salutation, and invited me 
 to enter, which I did. The interior was rude 
 and bare; a small crucifix, a table, a few chairs, 
 VOL. I. c 
 
26 JOURNAL 
 
 and a low bed of straw, forming all its furni- 
 ture. On the table stood a basket filled with 
 fruit, and beside it a loaf of brown bread. 
 "You are just come in tkne to partake of my 
 breakfast, Sir,'' said the old man to me : " these 
 good people never neglect me, be the sun ever 
 so hot, or the tempest ever so loud. God has 
 filled their hearts with the best of riches, 
 charity and kindness." " My father,'' said the 
 male peasant, who was the husband of the other, 
 " if it had not been for you, we should now 
 be poor and miserable ; my dear Annette 
 might be a beggar, and I still a slave at 
 Algiers." His wife shuddered, and burst into 
 tears. " Enough ! enough of this, my children," 
 said the hermit, " I have but done what the 
 good God commands all to do — to succour the 
 afflicted ; and if I have preserved a fellow crea- 
 ture from captivity, I was but the instrument 
 of a higher power. Go in peace, my blessing 
 go with you ! and don't forget to pray daily as 
 I have directed you." The peasants kissed the 
 
OF AX EXILE. " 27 
 
 good man's hands, and silently descended the 
 rock. A pause of some moments ensued, which 
 was broken by the hermit's saying, " Come, Sir, 
 you have had a long walk, some of this ripe 
 fruit will restore you, for you do not seem able 
 to bear much fatigue." " Father," said I, " I 
 have borne and suffered much, and my mind 
 and body are weakened and shaken, but I may 
 now perhaps enjoy some peace. The tran- 
 quillity and beauty of this place may soothe mv 
 restless thoughts." " Alas ! my son," said the old 
 man, " have you too then, so soon, and so young, 
 acquired the experience of sorrow ? Would that I 
 could take your griefs upon myself! — for I am 
 old, and ready to drop away, and I know what 
 tears are. But God's will be done ! sorrow is 
 often the means of weaning the heart from many 
 a vice and vanity, and of making the sufferer fit 
 for a more peaceful and kinder world. Some day 
 I will tell you of myself — of my disappointments 
 and afflictions, but not now. You are weak and 
 c 2 
 
28 JOURXAL 
 
 depressed. Cheer up, my son ; eat, and be com- 
 forted. You cannot yet have been very guilty ; 
 and if your grief be that of disappointed and 
 Avithered feehngs, and your tears those only 
 of a broken and affectionate heart, reflect that 
 soon they will be all wiped away, and pray for 
 those who may have injured you." "Father," 
 said I, " my sorrows have been indeed early, but 
 not less bitter. Blinded by youthful and mis- 
 taken notions, I turned a deaf ear to the voice 
 of experience ; but 1 am punished : and experi- 
 ence has revenged herself upon my neglect, by 
 prematurely overshadowing my youth. I sought 
 for unreal and visionary happiness, and I am 
 now for ever deprived of all true comfort in this 
 life. Pardon me, pardon me, my good father ; 
 but your words have awakened thoughts which 
 turn my blood to fire ; which gnaw me for 
 ever, and which must wear me out. I strove 
 hard to forget them. I am come here to other 
 sights and other scenes, and the hope of pass- 
 
OK AN EXILE. 9Q 
 
 ing the rest of my life, at least, in some 
 tranquillity ; but the recollection of those things 
 that have driven me from my country is yet too 
 recent." The good hermit insisted upon my 
 tasting his fruit ; and going out, returned with 
 some clear water, from a spring which ran 
 murmuring down the side of the rock. 
 
 If I could ever know peace again, it would be 
 in a spot like that ; and I have not for a long 
 time felt so calm as I did when seated at the 
 hermit's table, and sharing his simple meal. 
 Indeed the tranquil and calm life that I 
 lead here, the warmth and beauty of the cli- 
 mate, and the absence of things and persons 
 which were perpetually bringing bitter thoughts 
 to my mind, have begun to soothe and lull my 
 agony ; and the remembrance of other days 
 may, perhaps, be hushed to temporary sleep. 
 
 The sea, which we saw from the cell, was 
 sprinkled with vessels, whose white sails were 
 swelling in the breeze, and wafting them to 
 
30 JOURNAL 
 
 their destined port. Perhaps, some were going 
 to England — to that land which contains so 
 many blessings, though none for me. Per- 
 haps some one on their decks belonged to that 
 dear spot where for a few days I forgot my fate. 
 Perhaps he might see, might speak to that being 
 whose name is ever mingled with my prayers. 
 I was roused from these reflections by tlic old 
 man, who said, " Look out. Sir, and see what a 
 glorious day ! let us be grateful for it, and enjoy 
 it. There are many sweet paths around my 
 cell; let us go forth." We rose, and quitting 
 the cell, descended the rock by the opposite side 
 to that by which I had ascended. When Ave 
 lad gone some way down, and had entered the 
 wood, we came suddenly upon a small stone edi- 
 fice, that looked like a chapel ; it was enclosed 
 by a railing, and surrounded by a small garden, 
 containing fresh plants and flowers. The build- 
 ing was of white marble, quite plain, and crown- 
 ed by a cross ; under which was an inscription 
 in Latin, taken from the well-known hymn. 
 
OF AN EXILE. SI 
 
 " Tuba mirum spargens sonuni 
 Per sepulchra regionuni 
 Coget omnes ante thronum." 
 
 The hermit knelt down before the tomb, for 
 such, from the inscription, I now concluded it 
 to be, and continued in earnest prayer for some 
 minutes. I also knelt, as a tomb could be no 
 indifferent object to me. As we rose up, the old 
 man slowly shook his head, and crossed himself; 
 and taking hold of my arm, we continued our 
 walk through the wood. " Some day," said he, 
 " I will explain to you what you have seen, but 
 you are not now in a state of mind to listen 
 calmly, and derive the profit from my story I 
 wish. Let us walk to the next village, of St. 
 Cannat. It is now the hour when the peasants 
 are reposing from labour, and refreshing them- 
 selves ;■" — and as the hermit was speaking, the 
 village church bell tolled the Angelus.'* " You 
 
 * This is the name given to a bell which is tolled 
 
32 JOURNAL 
 
 can see the church through the trees," said the 
 liermit ; '* it is there we are going : and hark, 
 there is some festival, for I hear singing and 
 music." We presently emerged from the wood, 
 and the village of St. Cannat lay straight before 
 us, at a short distance, amidst a rich plain of 
 vineyard. Several peasants seeing us approach, 
 ran to meet us, and seemed delighted in welcom- 
 ing the good old man, " Good day, good day, my 
 children," said he, " I have brought this young 
 stranger with me to share in your rejoicing^ 
 for we heard the sounds of gaiety as we came 
 through the wood." " Yes, father," said a 
 young female peasant, " my dearest brother 
 that we all thought lost and drowned in the 
 sea, came home last night, and we are all 
 so delighted — are we not, Claire ?*' turning to a 
 
 every day at twelve, and during the tolling of which, in 
 the more religious provinces, many of the peasants cross 
 themselves, and repeat their Ave and their Pater. 
 
OF AX EXILE, 33 
 
 pretty young creature who was standing near 
 her. Claire blushed, and shrunk back among 
 the other peasants, who smded and exchanged 
 significant glances. We all proceeded to the 
 village, which we found in complete confusion. 
 The young- man whose return had caused all 
 this joy, was leading his mother, who was quite 
 blind, along the narrow street which ran up 
 to a rising ground planted vvith walnut-trees. 
 When tiiey had reached it, he placed her care- 
 fully in a chair, but did not quit her side. She 
 still kept his hand firmly clasped in her own, 
 and seemed determined that the waves should 
 not recover their rescued prey. The rest of 
 the village were all asseqibled on the same spot, 
 and the hermit ffoino- up to the old woman 
 asked her how she did .'' " Well, very well, 
 father, God be praised ! "" said she ; " it is long 
 since I have felt so happy as I am now. And 
 yet my heart is not easy. Look at my brave 
 dutiful boy ; alas ! I cannot. — Tell me, good 
 c 5 
 
34 JOURN^AL 
 
 Father, is he not thinner and wanner than he 
 was ? They tell me that he is the same, and 
 he chides me for not believing them ; but some- 
 how or other a mother's heart — ay, even a 
 blind mother's heart, can never be deceived, 
 and I am svire he has suffered and wasted. Tell 
 me, father, is it not so ? " It was indeed. The 
 ]iooY young man seemed only returned to his 
 native vineyards to die among them ; and the 
 mother's heart spoke too truly. The good old 
 hermit endeavoured to tranquillize her ; and the 
 other peasants had been so delighted and sur- 
 prised at his unexpected return, that they had 
 not been struck by his wasted appearance. 
 But Claire, I think, had, though she would not 
 perhaps confess it to herself; and the old pea- 
 sant hearing her voice, called her and bade her 
 sit by her side. " My dear little Claire," said 
 she, "did they say true when tliey told me that 
 you never smiled after you heard of Auguste's 
 death.? or have you quite forgotten my poor 
 
OF AN EXILE. 35 
 
 boy?" "Oh! my good mother,"" said Claire, 
 blushing and glancing from under her large 
 hat at Auguste, who stood leaning on his 
 mother"'s chair ; " you make me smile now, and 
 you are making Auguste smile too;— but yet," 
 said she to herself in a low tone, " that smile is 
 not what it used to be ; he certainly is thinner 
 and paler than he used to be; — but no! he is 
 only fatigued. — Come, dear mother, let me 
 take care of you, and Auguste will go and en- 
 tertain our friend the hermit, and the stranger 
 he has brought with him." " Go, Auguste," 
 said his mother, " bring out some of our best 
 wine ; pretty Claire wUl stay by her mother and 
 yours." The two lovers exchanged glances, and 
 such glances that they made my own heart 
 throb with bitter recollections. The young 
 man invited us to sit down at a large table 
 which was spread under the trees and covered 
 with fruit and pitchers of wine. But his 
 thoughts were not with us : they went with his 
 
36 JOURNAL 
 
 eyes, which were every moment cast towards his 
 mother and her companion. Claire too ap- 
 peared to regard the table rather oftener than 
 necessity required. But w^hen I looked again at 
 the young man, my heart bled, to think that his 
 hopes would never be realized. Death was 
 written in his features, and it was a strong in- 
 stance of the intoxication of joy that none of 
 the other peasants seemed to perceive it ; nay, 
 perhaps he himself knew it not, and was form- 
 ing sweet projects of bliss and comfort. 
 
 In the mean time the party began to give 
 evident proof that wine gladdens the heart. 
 They proposed a song— one of them, w^ho 
 seemed to be considered the Orpheus of the 
 village, struck up some rude couplets, of which 
 the following may give an idea : — 
 
 " Let Burgundy * boast of her far-famed vine 
 That round Chambertin's trclHces clings j 
 
 * The favourite wine of Louis XIV. and Buonaparte. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 37 
 
 But while we can make and then drink our own wine, 
 
 A fig for the liquor of Kings ! 
 Then drink, boys, a toast— May the vine of Provence 
 
 For ever be fruitful and green, 
 Vive le roi, vive la gloire, vive I'amour, et la France, 
 
 And Marseilles of all cities the queen ! " 
 
 A shout of applause followed this exhibition 
 of vocal talent, and the hermit took the oppor- 
 tunity of rising and proposing to me to de- 
 part. " Be temperate," said he to them, " and 
 God will crown your labours ; but turn not the 
 plentiful blessings he bestows to a vile use/' 
 His words had an instantaneous effect upon 
 the peasants, who proposed accompanying us. 
 We wished the old mother good night, and the 
 whole party broke up, Claire and xVuguste each 
 leading their charge back to the cottage. 
 Happy Auguste ! happy even in death ; for thou 
 wilt die in the arms of love and affection, while 
 J * « * 
 
 I took leave of the hermit at his cell, and 
 promised to visit him shortly. 
 
38 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 My servant has just brought me a letter from 
 England : I have almost ceased to wish for 
 any ; they cannot change or lighten my fate ; 
 and may increase its bitterness, by telling me 
 of things which awaken thoughts that I now try 
 to banish. Matters are in the same state, and 
 my name seems to be forgotten except by the 
 person who writes. Be it so. I have forgotten 
 England, and all its pleasures, for it had none 
 for me; and why should it waste a thought 
 on me ? Nay ; that being whose eyes, like those 
 of a picture, seem ever looking upon me — she 
 too has probably utterly forgotten me. That 
 idea is, indeed, bitter. My God ! what a mys- 
 terious and unaccountable fate is mine ! How 
 have I already suffered ! and what wild and 
 
OF AN EXII.K. 39 
 
 desperate thoughts have at times taken pos- 
 session of my mind ! But now I begin to feel 
 calmer, and to interest myself at least for a time 
 in other things and thoughts. 
 
 Midnight. I have been reading a melancholy 
 history, ending fatally and darkly. 
 
 * * « 
 
 I am now somewhat calmer. This journal 
 too affords me distraction and amusement, and 
 the bright and shining seas before me commu- 
 nicate some of their peacefulness to my mind. 
 
 * # * 
 
 30th. The weather seems about to change, 
 the clouds portend rain, and I shall be a 
 prisoner. 1 cannot always read ; my mind is too 
 restless : besides, books can tell me nothing that 
 I wish to know. Nature is now my only study. 
 
 * * « 
 
 The vigneron's little boy has just been here, 
 with some fruit for me. He is a lively little fel- 
 
40 JOURXAL 
 
 low; he called me "m lord Moussou Inglise!''' 
 I asked him if he liked fruit himself; he did not 
 much care for it, was his reply; he had rather 
 have a little English book. I asked him what 
 book he meant, and why English ; and he told 
 me that an English family had lived in the 
 chateau below the wood, and that he used to 
 go there to play with a little boy about his own 
 age, who had a great many pretty books, and 
 one which was about a little boy that became a 
 great lord, and rode in a beautiful carriage. 
 And then he ran on telling me all the good 
 things he used to eat at the chateau ; and I found 
 the English cakes and pies had quite gained 
 his heart. " And did you learn any English 
 there, my fine fellow ?" said I. "A little, a very 
 little, mi lord Moussou." " And would you like 
 to learn to write and speak it well?" said I. 
 " Oh that I should," said the little rogue, " for 
 then I could go to the city and be a clerk and 
 write at a high desk in a large book." His 
 
OF AX EXILE. 41 
 
 earnest artless manner pleased and interested 
 me ; and I catch at any thing that will excite and 
 impel my feelings into other channels. I told 
 him, if he would come to me in the afternoon, I 
 would try to teach him. At this he thanked 
 me, and, running hastily down the hill, fancied 
 himself, no doubt, already writing at the high 
 desk in the large book. Such is ambition : 
 change but a few circumstances, and this boy 
 might be a future hero or statesman. 
 
 "Some mute inglorious Hampden/' &c. 
 
 The rain begins to fall, the wind is rising, a 
 dark cloud hangs over the sea, which is no 
 longer blue and smiling as yesterday ; a thick 
 mist has shrouded the mountains, and hidden 
 the cross. * * « 
 
 Two o'clock. The rain pours down now in 
 torrents along the hollow path which leads down 
 the hill ; the stream which flows at the foot, is 
 
42 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 black and swollen, and threatens to burst its 
 banks. « * 5^ 
 
 It has burst them : the rain rushes down 
 with increased violence, hurrying every thing 
 away with it, as it pours down the ravine. Sure- 
 ly, but no ; yes, 1 was not mistaken, — 
 
 God speed me ! * * * 
 
 I have been returning thanks to God for 
 having made me the instrument of saving the 
 life of a fellow creature. When I broke off my 
 journal so abruptly, the whole road down from 
 my house, a species of deep, hollow, rocky 
 ravine, was nothing but a black torrent, 
 which, rushing into the stream beneath, had 
 swollen it and formed an irresistible mass of 
 water. On a small spot of ground, which had 
 been isolated by the overflowing of the stream, 
 and was completely cut off from the rest of 
 the valley, or glen, I thought I perceived a 
 human figure. I was not mistaken : it made 
 signs for help. There was no time to be lost : 
 
OF AN EXILE. 43 
 
 llie waters might increase, and the unaided 
 wretch perish ! I rushed out, and having, as 
 well as I could, by a circuitous path, reached 
 the brink of the torrent, I saw on the other 
 side my poor little pupil wringing his hands 
 and callino; on his father for assistance. There 
 was no way of reaching him except by leaping 
 over the water : which presented a frightful 
 appearance, for one false step must have been 
 fatal, as its rapidity was such that 1 must have 
 been hurried along and suffocated. There was, 
 however, a broken fragment of rock that was 
 appearing just above the water, and which 
 seemed by some means or other to have been 
 stopped in its descent. It was sufficiently broad 
 to afford a resting-place, and to break the leap ; 
 but it might be in such a position in the water 
 as to require only my slight weight to destroy 
 its equilibrium, and send it headlong down the 
 torrent. There was, however, a chance ; and 
 without farther hesitation I leaped across the 
 
44 jouR:!srAL 
 
 black abyss. I could feel the rock totter as I 
 lighted upon it; and I had just time to leap to 
 the other side, when, as I had feared, it sunk 
 beneath the water, and was probably hurried 
 off. The poor little fellow clung to me, and 
 seemed to think himself saved ; but, alas ! 
 how were we to return ! Another of the 
 streams had burst its bank ; I could hear it 
 coming roaring and rushing on behind us. 
 Just at that moment the father and some pea- 
 sants appeared on the opposite side. They had 
 been in search of the boy, and came furnished 
 with ropes in case he should have been in any 
 dangerous situation. There was, luckily, a large 
 tree close to the torrent, to which I fastened 
 one end of the rope ; which the peasant, after 
 two or three ineffectual attempts, threw me. 
 Then fastening the boy by another rope round 
 my body, I gradually, and with great difficulty, 
 slid across ; and we reached the other side in 
 safety, while the spot we had just quitted was 
 
OF AX EXILE. 45 
 
 instantly covered by a large body of water. 
 The scene that ensued I cannot describe. The 
 child ran alternately from me to his father, 
 embracing us both ; while the father, kneeling 
 do»vn, with tears in his eyes and pale as death, 
 thanked God for his child's life. Then coming 
 to me, he kissed my hands, hoped that God 
 would bless me, and give me all I could wish 
 for. Poor man ! had he known the pang he 
 caused me then : — All that I wish for I — O Hea- 
 ven ! thou knowest Mhat I have wished and 
 prayed for, till all hope and desire to wish were 
 passed. All that I wish for .'—these words have 
 waked many a slumbering thought. Gentlest, 
 fairest of beings, what have my sinful wishes not 
 been ! I loved thee, though I dared not tell 
 thee so; yet I lived in a visionary atmosphere 
 of hope, brighter and purer than the foul and 
 dark reality. But the winter of mv fate has 
 clouded over that fair sky; and though thy 
 remembrance still clings to my heart, I am now 
 
46 JOURNAL 
 
 hopeless and forsaken. I could have loved thee 
 as woman would be loved ; I could have en- 
 joyed the world and all its pleasures with thee ; 
 for I am no misanthrope. I scorn not the joys 
 of others. I despise not the pursuits and occu- 
 pations of the happy: I do not rail at Provi- 
 dence, and complain that the world is full of 
 misery and uncomfortableness : no ! To those 
 whom experience hath taught wisdom when not 
 too late, — to those who follow the paths of plea- 
 sure and ambition with moderation and honour, 
 and who have never met with any thing to 
 make life utterly blank and tasteless — the 
 world presents innumerable objects of healthy 
 and virtuous exercise. But it is for blighted 
 useless hearts like mine, that the sun has no 
 warmth, and the rain no moisture. Oh ! if my 
 fate had changed its course, how happy I might 
 have been ! But away with such thoughts ; 
 they only lead me back over paths that I have 
 already passed with tears and agony. And yet 
 
OF AN EXILE. 47 
 
 the reflection that I have just saved a whole 
 family from agony is sweet and refreshing to me. 
 Since I cannot find happiness for myself, let me 
 endeavour to make others so. Let me look 
 around ; perhaps I may yet derive some inte- 
 rest from the various scenes that are passing 
 
 near me. 
 
 * 
 
 Five o'clock. The rain has ceased. The da- 
 mage it has done is, I fear, great. But the sky 
 is brightening up, the sea begins to sparkle, the 
 curtain is thrown aside from the mountains. 
 The sun is just breaking through that mist 
 which hung round the hermitage, gilding the 
 cross. I will walk down to the vigneron's 
 cottage, and inquire about my little pupil. 
 # » * 
 
 The evening has turned out delicious. The 
 rain, which was so nearly bringing death to 
 two persons, has softened the air. The wild 
 herbs send forth a richer and fresher perfume, 
 and the wood looks green and rejoicing. 
 
48 JOURXAL 
 
 I found the vigneron's family assembled at 
 supper, consisting of his mother, an old woman 
 near eighty, himself, his wife, the little boy, 
 and a girl about nineteen with black sparkling 
 eyes. The grandmother was seated near the 
 open window, around which clung a luxuriant 
 vine. The setting sun shone full into the cot- 
 tage, across the old woman, shewing the deep 
 furrows of her aged face more distinctly. The 
 rest of the family immediately surrounded me, 
 and invited me to partake of their supper, 
 which 1 declined. The vigneron told me that 
 the fete was to take place on the next day but 
 one, and entreated me not to forget my pro- 
 mise ; and the little boy exclaimed that he had 
 rather lie a-bed all day and not see the fete, 
 if I was not there, for it would be no fete. I 
 kissed the little fellow, and wishing them good 
 
 night, continued my walk. 
 
 * * * 
 
 The rain has made great ravages among the 
 vineyards. Many of the vines are completely 
 
OF AN EXILE. 49 
 
 washed away, and almost all are drooping and 
 mingled togedier in wild confusion. The fruit 
 so lately ready to furnish its sweet juice, is 
 now nothing but a crushed and watery skin; 
 and instead of rich ruby clusters, nothing is 
 to be seen but broken poles and scattered 
 sticks and stones, and black water. The 
 peasants, to whom a considerable part of the 
 vineyards belong, were all there, looking 
 with anguish on the disappointment of their 
 hopes. They attempted not to clear away 
 the ruin: it was useless, nothing could be 
 done — their vines, at least, were destroyed. But 
 this, fortunately, was only a small part of the 
 vineyards, and which had happened to be just 
 in the direction of the torrent ; for higher up, 
 and far away to the right, the prospect was still 
 promising. One of the peasants seeing me 
 looking on the scene before me with sorrow, 
 came up to me, and said, " This is a sad 
 spectacle, Sir; and some of our poor neigh- 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 jouaNAL 
 
 bours must be content with scanty food for a 
 long time. The poor old widow, too, what 
 will she do ? she has none to comfort or la- 
 bour for her now, for her unfortunate son 
 cannot." "What widow.? what son.?" said I. 
 " Why, Sir, it is a sad story, and if you will do 
 me the honour of going with me to my cottage, 
 and tasting my wine, I will tell you all about 
 it." Not caring to return home, or wander far- 
 ther, I accepted his proposal. 
 
 We reached the cottage ; his wife, as the eve- 
 ning was cold, threw some olive and almond wood 
 on the hearth, and we drew round the fire. The 
 wife took up her knitting; a Httle girl, their child, 
 placed herself in the chimney, within a small 
 nook, and began to torment a cat which had 
 established itself in the same post ; while the 
 peasant, having drunk to my health, commenced 
 his story. He did not give it, however, pre- 
 cisely in the following words, as his narrative 
 was unconnected and broken in upon by vari- 
 ous reflections of his own. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Some years ago, and before the peace, the 
 population of a sea-port town and the country 
 round, were hurrying to the principal place, 
 to a sight which had not been seen there 
 since the days of Robespierre. In the middle 
 of the place rose up a scaffolding, upon which 
 was placed the instrument of modern French 
 punishment. Round it stood a numerous party 
 of gcnsdarmes, both horse and foot; and 
 others were moving about among the immense 
 crowd which was collected, and endeavouring to 
 preserve order, and to keep them back from 
 pressing towards the scaffolding. Various were 
 the conversations which took place among the 
 D 2 
 
52 JOURNAL 
 
 persons who were thus assembled, and numerous 
 the reflections which were made on the object of 
 their meeting. But they all seemed grave, and 
 impressed with the ominous appearance of the 
 scaffolding. 
 
 An increasing anxiety of countenance, 
 and a confused murmur, which now arose, 
 gave notice that the unfortunate person for 
 whom these preparations had been made, 
 was approaching. Preceded by half a dozen 
 gensdarmes, and supported on either side by 
 two of the sisters of charity, walked a young 
 woman, apparently not more than nineteen ; pale 
 as the white hoods of the sisters, and seeming to 
 take no note of all that was passing round her. 
 The procession was flanked by gensdarmes, 
 who cleared the way up to the scaffolding. 
 When they arrived at the foot of the steps 
 leading up to it, the sisters whispered something 
 into the young woman's ear, who started and 
 
OF AN EXILE. 53 
 
 looked up. She could not grow paler, but the 
 expression of her face became that of the ut- 
 most terror — passive and poM'erless. She kept 
 her eyes fixed on the fatal instrument while 
 she was ascending the steps, and seemed to be 
 perfectly unconscious that she was moving at 
 all. The sisters who had supported her, now 
 knelt down with her before the priest, who held 
 up to them a small white crucifix, which he 
 put to the unhappy girl's lips. Still she ap- 
 peared almost insensible, and evidently could 
 not have risen without the aid of the sisters, 
 who now proceeded to uncover her neck. The 
 change which at this instant took place in the 
 features of the young woman was remarkable ; 
 she clasped her hands over her neck, appa- 
 rently for the purpose of preserving a black 
 riband which was tied round it ; and her eyes 
 flashed fire and resistance upon those who were 
 near her. The executioner approached, and was 
 
54 JOURNAL 
 
 proceeding to remove her hands by force, when 
 she darted to the other side of the scaffolding, 
 and uttered one of the most appalhng shrieks 
 which ever came from the lips of the agonized or 
 dying. The air was as still as midnight — not 
 a breath was stirring— not a voice heard. The 
 sun was darting his hottest beams upon the 
 multitude ; and the sky was as blue as the sea, 
 which appeared through the end of the street 
 leading down from the place. The effect of the 
 poor creature"'s shriek was withering: it re- 
 sounded over the place., and echoed through the 
 adjoining street, like the cry of some spirit la- 
 menting over the desolation of a ruined city. Some 
 sailors, who were just loosening a vessel from the 
 quay, which was about to proceed upon her 
 voyage, dropped the ropes, and hastily ejacu- 
 lated a Paternoster ; while the horse of a gens- 
 darme, who was stationed just outside the crowd, 
 and at the top of the street, plunged and started 
 off with his powerless rider, carrying him di- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 5S 
 
 rectly down towards the port. The immense 
 crowd at one and the same moment crossed them- 
 selves, and some even dropped upon their knees. 
 In the mean time, the officer on duty near the 
 scaffolding, gave orders that no farther violence 
 should be used for divesting the criminal of her 
 attire, and that the execution should instantly 
 take place. The executioner accordingly secured 
 his victim, and hurried her to the guillotine. 
 In a moment, the quivering head disappeared, 
 but the hands still remained clasped in the 
 same position as before. There was a deep 
 pause ; when, suddenly, an indistinct sound 
 arose in another quarter of the town, and pre- 
 sently a horse was heard (so still were the 
 spectators) clattering with the most furiou^; 
 speed towards the place. Not above five mi- 
 nutes had elapsed since the fatal axe had de- 
 scended, when a horseman, scarcely able to 
 retain his seat, pale as death, bareheaded, 
 and his face covered with sweat and dust, rode 
 
56 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 in among the crowd. His eyes were wildly 
 directed towards the scaffolding, he held up in 
 his hand a sealed packet, and the word ' pardon' 
 passed from mouth to mouth among the crowd, 
 who all made way for him. He still seemed to 
 be ignorant that all was over, for he ceased 
 not to shout as loud as his fatigue and hoarse- 
 ness vvould allow him, " Stop ! for the living 
 God's sake, stop T But when he reached the 
 scaffolding, the whole truth seemed to burst in 
 upon him. The executioner was just removing 
 the headless trunk, and the sisters and priest had 
 approached for the purpose of receiving and 
 burying it. The rider fell instantly from his 
 saddle, the packet escaped from his grasp, and 
 the crowd rushed ungovernably towards the 
 spot. The gensdarmes raised the unfortunate 
 man up ; one of them took possession of the 
 packet, and they moved off to the Pre- 
 fecture, followed by an immense number of 
 persons. When they arrived at that building, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 57 
 
 the gensdarmes carried their still insensible 
 charge in, and the gates were immediately closed 
 against the multitude. He had, however, been 
 recognised by several persons, who informed 
 the rest that he was the brother of the poor 
 girl, who had been to Paris to obtain her pardon. 
 How he had succeeded, and why he had returned 
 too late, was yet to be learned; and it was doubt- 
 ful if the wretched man himself would ever be 
 able to explain this circumstance. The greatest 
 part of the crowd now began to fall away ; a few 
 persons only remained, who were anxious to see 
 him when he came out. They were, however, 
 disappointed ; for, after having waited a con- 
 siderable time, the gates of the Prefecture were 
 opened, some of the gensdarmes came out, 
 and, as they passed, mentioned that the person 
 whom they were expecting, had been taken to 
 the hospital through a door at the other side of 
 the house ; as, upon recovering from his insen- 
 sibility, his behaviour had been so outrageous 
 D 5 
 
58 JOURNAL 
 
 as to render it improper for him to be conveyed 
 through the public streets. The disappointed 
 people retired ; but the events of that melancholy 
 day, and the circumstances which had preceded 
 them, long continued to be the subject of conver- 
 sation in the town, and were as follows. 
 
 About two years before the time at which 
 
 the execution described took place, a regiment 
 
 of the Imperial guards had been stationed at 
 
 Marseilles. They had come by sea from Spain, 
 
 and were expecting shortly to join the army 
 
 that was then in Saxony. The officers were 
 
 most of them young men of noble families ; as 
 
 it was Bonaparte's pohcy, during the latter part 
 
 of his reign, to collect around him as much of the 
 
 old aristocracy of the country as he could. One 
 
 of them, Eugene de Beaumont, was a young man 
 
 of an illustrious family of Picardy, and had 
 
 already distinguished himself by his humanity 
 
 and presence of mind during the retreat from 
 
 Russia. But he was unfortunately of the true 
 
OF AN' EXILE. 59 
 
 modern French school, with no fixed principles 
 of religion, doubtful of futurity, and a scoffer 
 at priests and all the ceremonies of the church. 
 In a city like Marseilles, where the utmost 
 libertinism and licentiousness prevails, he was 
 not likely to acquire better thoughts or habits ; 
 and, consequently, plunged into every dissipation 
 which personal appearance, family, and fortune, 
 could expose him to. But he soon becamt 
 disgusted with the sameness and the coarseness 
 of the vice by which he was surrounded ; and, 
 like the palled epicure, sought for novelty and 
 untasted pleasures. While he was in this dis- 
 contented state of mind, he happened to wander- 
 one day towards the cours or promenade, which 
 leads down from the gate of Aix to the opposite 
 one of Rome. The day was hitensely hot, and 
 the shade of the trees, and the perfume of the 
 flowers which the peasants were offering for sale, 
 lulled him into calmness and a softer mood. He 
 sat down upon a bench which was placed near a 
 
60 JOURNAL 
 
 large basket of violets and carnations, and con- 
 templated the scene before him. On either 
 side of the cours sat several women raised upon 
 tables; and before them were baskets of beau- 
 tiful flowers, arranged in various tasteful groups. 
 The orange blossom, the tuberose, and the nar- 
 cissus, were mixed together in sweet alliance ; 
 while here and there a carnation, or fresh rose, 
 threw a glow over the bouquet. Each female 
 had a large parasol fastened behind her chair, 
 which extended itself over the table, looking 
 like a canopy ; and upon the ground were 
 placed, all around, boxes containing rose-bushes, 
 lemon and orange-trees. Besides the flowers, 
 there was a great quantity of rich fruits piled 
 up on the tables, and seeming to defy the heat 
 and feverish influence of the sun. There were 
 the apples of Genoa, the oranges of Hyeres, 
 and the Golden Islands; the pomegranates and 
 figs of Gascony, and the plums of Touraine. 
 At some distance from the bench upon which 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 61 
 
 Eugene was seated, stood a Charlatan with a 
 credulous and admiring crowd around him, 
 half quack half conjuror, displaying his magic 
 art with one hand, and sovereign remedies with 
 the other. A little farther stood two dark sun- 
 burnt girls, with a cloth spread out on the 
 ground before them, on which was placed a 
 small tin box, a lighted wax taper, and sevei'al 
 crosses and rosaries. Numerous groups of 
 peasants were scattered up and down, and some 
 were reclining under the trees. On each side 
 of the promenade, the street, with its shops 
 covered with white awnings, might be seen 
 through the trees; and a long train of mules 
 laden with merchandize, and guided by a few 
 of the wild-looking mountaineers, were passing 
 along, and filling the air with the music of their 
 bells. 
 
 Eugene had sat some time ; and, tempted 
 by the cool and fresh appearance of some 
 pomegranates which were just opposite to 
 
62 JOURNAL 
 
 him, had got up to cross the cours to purchase 
 some, when his attention was arrested by a 
 group of peasants who were approaching, pre- 
 ceded by a band of music. In advance of the 
 rest, marched one of them, carrying a large 
 loaf, or cake, which was contained within a sort 
 of pavihon adorned with flowers. The rest of 
 the party had all large bouquets in their breasts 
 and hands, and were dressed in their gayest 
 attire ; which to the women is particularly 
 becoming. A large black hat, frequently or- 
 namented with ribands or pieces of silver 
 lace, shades the face; a sort of spencer, drawn 
 into plaits behind, and fitting tight round the 
 waist, covers the upper part of the body ; and a 
 petticoat of some bright colour, with the same 
 coloured stockings and shoes, completes the 
 costume. The men wear a large white hat, a 
 loose green jacket, trowsers and stockings of the 
 same colour, and yellow shoes. On this occa- 
 sion, then, thev were all dressed in the manner 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 63 
 
 described : and there was one among them whose 
 dress became her singularly. She was very 
 dark, her raven hair clustered and clung about 
 her forehead like the rich grape, and almost hid 
 her black sparkling eyes. Her figure was slight, 
 and there was an air of superiority, and almost 
 of elegance, in her step. Eugene, whose eye 
 never failed to remark beauty, was struck by her 
 appearance, and partly from curiosity— partly 
 from some motive which he waited not to ex- 
 amine, determined to follow the procession, which 
 advanced towards a church at some distance. 
 When they arrived there, they all proceeded 
 directly up to the altar, where the priest was 
 waiting for them, and which was by the side of 
 the great altar in a small recess. The assistants 
 then took the bread from the peasant, and placed 
 it near the priest, who commenced the mass, 
 which was accompanied at intervals by the 
 organ. Eugene had followed the party closely, 
 and stood leaning against a pillar, looking at 
 
64; JOURNAL 
 
 the peasant whose beauty had excited his ad- 
 miration. The girl seemed intent upon her 
 mass-book ; but as the service concluded, in 
 rising, she certainly threw a hasty glance to- 
 wards the spot where Eugene was standing. 
 This might, however, have been intended for a 
 small painting of a vessel in distress, which 
 hung just above the young officer's head; but 
 it so happened, that the glance fell directly 
 upon Eugene's face, and that their eyes met. 
 The effect of this meeting of eyes needed no ex- 
 planation, for beauty of form and feature levels 
 every artificial distinction of wealth and rank. 
 These things are too well known, and too often 
 and mournfully proved. The ceremony having 
 concluded, the peasants all quitted the church, 
 followed by Eugene, who had determined not 
 to lose sight of the dark beauty. He watched 
 anxiously to see if she would look back ; but 
 he watciied in vain ; she never once turned her 
 head, but, taking hold of a young man's arm who 
 
OF AN EXILE. 65 
 
 was near her, they both walked hastily up towards 
 the gate of the city, and passing through it, struck 
 off to the right, along the white stone walls, 
 Eugene followed at a distance, and after having 
 toiled across the long burning lane for some 
 time, they came out upon a meadow, and fol- 
 lowing the dry bed of a stream, began to ascend 
 by a narrow road which led through the vine- 
 yards. The two peasants had proceeded some 
 way through the vines, when the female, who 
 had quitted her companion's aim, and was some- 
 thing in advance, started back, and shrieked 
 out. Eugene thinking this afforded him an ex- 
 cellent opportunity for speaking to the peasants, 
 and really alarmed, ran up. Directly across the 
 path lay a large snake, quite dead, though but 
 very lately, and looking as if its folds and 
 rings would still coil and cling round the unwary 
 passenger. Eugene and the girfs brother tran- 
 quillized her fears, by removing the monster 
 from her sight; and the former began to talk 
 
66 JOURNAL 
 
 to them of the procession. They seemed very 
 unwilling to enter into conversation with him, as 
 the military were at that time by no means 
 popular in the south. Eugene, however, was 
 not discouraged, but continued to walk by 
 the side of the female, to the evident displea- 
 sure of her brother ; but this was no new 
 situation to the young officer ; and by his 
 affability and engaging manner, he soon dis- 
 posed the peasants favourably towards him, 
 and Claude, the brother, at last invited him to 
 go to their cottage and rest himself This 
 offer he was of course not backward to accept; 
 and having walked some way on, they disco- 
 vered the house, which was just on the edge of 
 the vineyard, without the smallest shade, while 
 nothing was heard all round but the chirping of 
 innumerable grasshoppers. Behind the house, 
 however, as they came nearer, they discovered a 
 large walnut-tree, extending itself over a small 
 spot of ground, in one corner of which were se- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 67 
 
 veral flasks of oil, and in another, one of the 
 singular looking wells used in Provence. An 
 old woman sat knitting under the tree, and 
 singing one of the old romantic ballads of Pro- 
 vence, which may be thus paraphrased. 
 
 The good old king Rene * sat down in the sun. 
 For his blood was fast cooling — his race nearly run ; 
 And he sat with his nobles and priests on the quay. 
 And he sigh'd for the youth that was far far away. 
 
 " Now tell me, now tell me, ye vvardens," he cried, 
 " Have yelook'd o'er the bright sea so distant and wide? 
 " Do your standards wave high in the warm breeze of Spain 
 " That should bear me my son and my heirhome again." 
 
 * Rene was King and Count of Provence, in the 15th 
 century ; and there is a part of the quay at Marseilles, 
 where the old king used to sit when the weather was 
 cold, and which is called la Cheminee du Roi Ren^. 
 His son was invited to Spain by the Barcelonese, who 
 wished to have Rene for their king; and the young 
 prince died there of a contagious fever. 
 
68 JOURNAL 
 
 " The warm breeze of Spain is awake on the wave, 
 " And a vessel speeds hither both lofty and brave; 
 '• Like the sea-bird she skims o'er the billow so fast, 
 " And the bay's farthest point she hath doubled and past." 
 
 " Now haste ye, now haste ye," the good old king said* 
 •' Let my galley be mann'd, with a flag at its head, 
 " Let the bells ring their welcome, and masses be sung, 
 "And the city with garlands and branches be hung." 
 
 The galley is mann'd with a flag at its head. 
 And the priests and the nobles, the old king have led, 
 Down the green slimy steps to his canopied seat. 
 And the vine leaf and rushes are strew'd at his feet. 
 
 The trumpets are sounding, the abbey bells ring, 
 The people are shouting, and bless the good king ; 
 The cannon are sending their voice o'er the bay. 
 The rowers are bending — the bark starts away. 
 
 " Now tell me, now tell me, my quick little page, 
 " For my eyes are too dim with my joy and my age ; 
 " Doth your prince on the deck with his nobles now stand? 
 ••'' Doth he smile at our coming and wave high his hand ?" 
 
OF AN EXILE. 69 
 
 "A vessel speeds hither, but silent and still 
 " Is the deck that a bright train of nobles should fill ; 
 " Though the breeze to our rowers its freshness doth bring, 
 " It bears us no shout for a father and king." 
 
 " He hath vvatch'd for the islands by night and by day, 
 "And the winds have been hostile, and toilsome the way j 
 " And he sleeps, while his nobles are all waiting near, 
 " Nor thinks that his king and his father are here." 
 
 " A vessel speeds hither so light and so fast, 
 " But no streamers are waving above the high mast ; 
 "A vessel speeds hither so swift and so strong, 
 " But I hear not the mariners' thanksgiving song." 
 
 " Now why doth he slumber so fast and so deep ? 
 "Though ye may, his father may not let him sleep ; 
 " Go down to his bed, and tell low in his ear, 
 " That his king and his old doting father are here." 
 
 But the ear cannot listen, the heart cannot beat. 
 Nor the young and the princely now spring to his feet ; 
 For the hand of contagion hath pass'd o'er his head. 
 And his sleep hath been long on a funeral bed. 
 
70 JOURNAL 
 
 The old woman had continued to sing, without 
 perceiving the approach of her children and 
 Eugene, who stood at some distance, partly con- 
 cealed from her view by a branch of the tree 
 which hung down before her. As she con- 
 cluded her song, the female peasant ran up to 
 her, and said, " Dearest mother, how happy I 
 am to find you so cheerful to-day!" " So, so, 
 my girl ! you are returned at last from the city, 
 and where is Claude ? O ! there he is : and who 
 is with him ? ' said she to her daughter. " A 
 young officer that we met in the vineyard," re- 
 plied the latter; "and as the sun was so hot, 
 and the city distant, Claude asked him to rest 
 himself in our cottage till the noon be past." 
 Claude and Eugene now advanced, and the 
 latter, addressing the old peasant, expressed 
 himself to have been much pleased at the song 
 they had been listening to. " It was but a 
 melancholy one," she replied, " but I love it, 
 for it makes me young again, and puts me in 
 
OF AN EXILE. 71 
 
 mind of the time when I first heard it. Fifty 
 years ago, Sir, I was young and gay as this girl 
 here, and that was the day that I heard my poor 
 beloved husband, God rest him ! singing it, when 
 he was driving his mules through yon wood. 
 Well ! well ! time must pass ; many a branch 
 and root hath this old tree put forth since I sat 
 under its shade first." Claude now proceeded 
 to tell his mother about the procession to the 
 church, and his sister Mary's alarm at the 
 snake ; at which the old woman raised her 
 hands and eyes, and crossed herself. Eugene 
 and Mary in the mean time were standing a 
 little way off, looking down upon the plain, and 
 towards the city, which might be seen at a 
 distance, with its white walls and long dusty 
 road glaring and glittering in the sun, like a 
 cemetery in a sandy desert. " They told me," 
 said Eugene, " that the Proven9al cities were fair 
 and lovely, and that the world could shew few 
 like them. What though their waters be blue, 
 
7^ JOURNAL 
 
 and their harbours covered with masts; who, 
 except the sailor and the merchant, would dwell 
 in such a furnace as the city now presents ? Not 
 a cloud hangs above the flat roofs to refresh the 
 flowers which are withering there, and the hot 
 south wind wafts no freshness through its streets. 
 Nay, the pale sun which gilds the minarets of 
 Moscow, and the keen breath of the Russian blast, 
 is less oppressive than these feverish beams." 
 " Ah ! Sir," said Mary, " you should not abuse 
 our country : as for the city, indeed, you are 
 right; I could not dwell there, every one seems 
 so selfish and grasping; but here, among our 
 green vines we are content if Heaven ripens our 
 fruit. We have the mountain breeze too, which 
 plays above our heads among the leaves of this 
 tree, and which never visits the gay promenades 
 in the city, but to choke them with dust." 
 " Ay, here, indeed,"" said Eugene, " beneath the 
 shade of this tree, I might live and die with 
 some sweet girl of Provence for my companion." 
 
OF AN EXILE. 73 
 
 Her face was immediately covered with a deep 
 blush ; and at that moment the mother, who had 
 been listening to the numerous greetings and 
 remembrances sent her from the city, came up 
 and invited Eugene to enter the cottage. 
 
 Its walls were hung round with pictures of 
 saints ; over the chimney was an image of the 
 Virgin holding the infant Jesus in her arms ; 
 on each side of the image was a large bouquet, 
 which seemed to have stood there some time, 
 and the flowers of which were almost dead. 
 
 The party who had entered the cottage, 
 separated, and the two female peasants set 
 out a table, on which they placed some 
 wine, dried grapes, cheese made from sheep's 
 milk, and bread ; while Eugene amused 
 himself with a young tame kid, which had 
 shewed great dislike to the stranger at first, 
 but which soon came frisking about him, and 
 ate out of his hand. Soon, however, he became 
 tired of his new acquaintance, and ran to his 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 JOURNAL 
 
 mistress, who, Eugene thought, did not carevS* 
 him the less because he had just been fondled 
 by himself. Be that as it might, he Avas 
 fairly estabhshed in the cottage, and soon also 
 at the table, round which they all drew. 
 
 " Our fare is rude and coarse. Sir," said the 
 old peasant, " but a soldier like you, I dare say, 
 is not very nice or difficult. We have nothing 
 but our mountain butter, for our sun is too bright 
 for the dainty milk of the cow. But come, Sir, 
 here is what is well worth that — some of our 
 own wine." — " My good woman," said Eugene, 
 " I have learned to eat whatever is set before me 
 with hospitality and good will ; and, surely, such 
 as we have now is not to be despised. I have 
 seen the day, when some of this wine would 
 have saved many a man's life, and have sent 
 him home again to his country." — " I have often 
 heard talk," said Claude, " of the Russian cam- 
 paign; and to us Provengals the thought of 
 such suffering is dreadful !" — " My blood even 
 now is cold, and my teeth chatter,'* said Eugene, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 75 
 
 "at the remembrance of it. My God ! what sights 
 and miseries were there !" — "Why, Mary," ex 
 claimed the old woman, " you eat nothing ; the 
 very grapes which our good cure blessed — you 
 are giving them to your kid." Mary turned 
 away her face and bent it down to the kid, who 
 was fondling at her feet, and picking the grapes 
 from a bunch which she held in her hand. 
 " Come, my child, eat something ; you are fa- 
 tigued, these walks to the city do thee no good." 
 Mary's face was still bent down to the kid, but 
 she was now obliged to turn round and take 
 something on her plate. Eugene glanced at 
 her, and perceived that her cheeks were glow- 
 ing ; and the idea that he had already excited 
 some interest within her was almost confirmed. 
 " You must have seen many a fine country," 
 said Claude to Eugene. " The lot has never 
 fallen upon me to march, and I don't know 
 that I am sorry for it, for the sake of my 
 mother and Mary here; but 1 like to hear 
 E 9. 
 
76 JOURNAL 
 
 of battles and wonderful escapes." — "Alasf 
 ray good fellow," said Eugene, " you are 
 quite right in not regretting your peaceful 
 life ; had you seen and suffered all that I 
 have, you would be longing for your native 
 vineyards, and never wish to quit them again." 
 " What, Sir, do the officers then suffer as much 
 as their men ?''' said Claude ; " I always thought 
 that they were safer and less exposed, and 
 that it was the poor men that bore all." — " Non- 
 sense, nonsense, my good fellow. Safer ! why, 
 I have seen the Emperor himself enveloped 
 in smoke and fire, while the balls were tearing 
 up the ground beneath his horse's feet ; and 
 I have seen him bare-headed and without a 
 cloak, which he had thrown over the dead 
 frozen body of one of his aides-de-camp, riding 
 amidst the pelting of the snow. Why, I have 
 been with king Joachim when our lives were at 
 the mercy of the wolf and the Cossack. 
 
 " It was one night just as we commenced our 
 
OF AN EXILE. 77 
 
 retreat from Moscow, the flames of which threw 
 a glare over the wide and pathless waste. Our 
 men were every moment sinking into the deep 
 holes, which are often the grave and tomb of 
 the unwary traveller. As we advanced, the 
 cold increased, and became so intense, that the 
 blood would scarcely flow in our veins ; the 
 snow became hard, and whole troops might 
 be seen stretched out in frightful positions over 
 its glittering surface. In vain did his Majesty 
 and myself, who had the honour of being his 
 aide-de-camp — in vain did we animate and 
 encourage our men; they were heartless and 
 reckless of every thing, and they sunk into 
 that drowsy species of luxury which precedes the 
 sleep that ends in death. Some were sitting 
 down, grinning and shrieking with the delirium 
 caused by hunger, and the agony of some un- 
 healed wound that the wind was searching ; while 
 others were kneeling and praying for death, 
 and bidding farewell to their country. Some 
 
78 JOURNAL 
 
 Swiss I heard, who had procured brandy, 
 singing their native mountain air ; and probably 
 the next morning they were all dead. Large 
 troops of dogs were howling around ; and 
 a black swarm of crows was sailing over 
 our heads, and seemed impatient for their 
 prey. The King and myself rode off to 
 look for some shelter and fuel for the men ; 
 and after having wandered about for a con- 
 siderable time, we could perceive coming over 
 the wide steppe a dark mass, and we heard a 
 wild cry, which we instantly concluded to come 
 from the Cossacks. But our horses refused to 
 stir, and stood shivering and shaking with cold. 
 As the cry came near, we could distinguish 
 the wild howling of several wolves, which were 
 galloping over the hard snow straight towards 
 us. We instantly quitted our horses, and fled ; 
 and we could hear the poor animals groaning 
 and snorting with pain and fear. The wolves 
 appeared to have reached their prey, and to 
 have stopped ; but, suddenly, there arose a 
 
OF AN EXILE. 79 
 
 frightful uproar — the hungry animals were dis- 
 puting the booty ; and the grinding of their teeth, 
 and the wild madness of their yell, were dread- 
 ful to hear. We hurried away, this horrible 
 outcry ringing in our ears ; and after some 
 time, but not till we began to feel benumbed, 
 we perceived a light at a distance. We hastened 
 towards it, and found that it came through 
 the small window of a wooden cottage, and we 
 could hear the voice of a female singing within. 
 Our situation was perplexing : should we call out 
 and request admittance into the hut, the person 
 within would probably refuse it us : and if we 
 were to enter by force, we might be surprised 
 by some of the straggling parties of Cossacks, 
 to whom probably the hut belonged. While 
 we stood in this state of suspense, fancying we 
 still heard the yelling of the wolves, the sound 
 of a distant tramping of horses seemed to arise, 
 and presently a loud hurrah echoed along the 
 waste. We could perceive the high caps and 
 
80 JOURNAL 
 
 long spears of the Cossacks rapidly advancing, 
 and we heard them laughing as they came on. 
 I understood their dialect sufficiently to be 
 aware that we need not expect much mercy 
 from these savage troopers ; and we knew that 
 they had threatened to massacre every officer 
 that they might make prisoner. The party was 
 rapidly approaching ; and their mirth and 
 exultation seemed to increase. There was 
 just behind the hut, and in a small court or 
 yard, an outhouse, the door of which was open. 
 Within this we immediately retreated, and en- 
 deavoured to conceal ourselves in a large heap 
 of straw which lay piled in one corner. We 
 had scarcely begun to move it, when a Cossack, 
 who was sleeping there, awoke ; and, taking us 
 for some of his comrades, said a few words to 
 us. They were his last, for the King instantly 
 stabbed him to the heart, and he rolled over 
 among the stubble without a groan. We buried 
 ourselves in the heap as deeply as we could, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 81 
 
 and dragged the dead body with us, that no 
 trace might appear of our being there. We 
 had but just time to do this, and to draw in 
 the head of the corpse, when we heard the 
 Cossacks ride directly up to the door of our 
 concealment, and dismount, caUing for their 
 comrade. Not hearing him answer, some of 
 them came in, and appeared surprised at not 
 finding him. But they immediately went out 
 again ; and we could perceive from the crackling 
 and smoke which arose, that they were kindling 
 a fire, around which they all, as it seemed, as- 
 sembled. They talked of their day's work, of 
 the number of heads they had struck off; and 
 seemed to be displaying the booty which they 
 had gained among the frozen bodies of our men. 
 They were all sitting just close to the door of 
 the outhouse, and part of them were in view of 
 our concealment ; for while they were all in- 
 tent upon the examination of their spoil, I 
 ventured to raise my head a litde and examine 
 E 5 
 
82 JOURlStAL 
 
 them. They consisted of, probably, ten or 
 twelve persons. The fire round which they 
 sat was composed of some of the stunted wood, 
 which is to be found at intervals upon the vast 
 steppes, and heaps of it lay there covered with 
 snow. The Cossacks with their long beards, 
 and wrapped in large rough cloaks, were sitting 
 and lying down close to the fire, and two 
 or three enormous dogs were devouring the 
 thigh of a horse that had, perhaps, been 
 snatched from the wolves. The flame of the 
 wood had died away, and the burning logs 
 were glowing with a still steady light. On the 
 ground lay a number of rich military jackets, 
 which had, probably, been stripped from the 
 frozen limbs of our comrades. The Cossacks 
 were amusing themselves in examining the 
 various articles which the clothes had contained. 
 One had a watch with its gold chain, seals, 
 and rings, which he was surveying with greedy 
 delight, and which I recognised as having 
 
OF AN EXILE. 83 
 
 belonged to one of my dearest friends. Another 
 was turning over the leaves of a mass-book, 
 which was sprinkled with blood, and en- 
 deavouring, with horrid grimaces to pro- 
 nounce some of the prayers in the service 
 for the dead which he had just reached. A 
 third had a small portrait, set round with gold 
 and jewels, which he was tearing from their 
 sockets, while he cast the painted card away, on 
 which were features that had long hung close 
 to some faithful heart, had been pressed to his 
 freezing lips, and whose original was, perhaps, 
 then smiling far away amidst luxury and 
 warmth." 
 
 Eugene here paused, and looked round 
 upon the peasants, who were listening with 
 intense curiosity. Mary had her eyes fixed 
 upon the young officer''s face, which she im- 
 mediately cast down in confusion, and began 
 breaking some bread which lay near, into in- 
 numerable crumbs and shreds. The old peasant 
 looked at her son, and then at the imasre of the 
 
84 JOURNAL 
 
 Virgin, and seemed to be thanking her saints 
 for preserving him to her, Claude filled a 
 large glass of wine, and drank to king Joachim's 
 health, saying, " I may say. Sir, that his Majesty 
 would have been content to be called plain 
 Joachim all his life could he have been in his 
 warm bed at Paris." — " Ay ! you are right, 
 my man," said Eugene ; " we should both have 
 been content with a bed of snow, cold and hard 
 as it was, to have been among our own men." 
 "Well," said the mother, "do let us hear how 
 you escaped from these cruel pirates ; the 
 Blessed Virgin protected you, or you must have 
 perished." 
 
 " As to that,'' said Eugene, " if the Cos- 
 sacks had not fallen asleep, I believe the Vir- 
 gin's protection would have done us little good. 
 But, however, sleep they did ; and every 
 thing around was now still, with the exception 
 of the hard breathing of the men, and the 
 occasional snorting and pawing of their horses, 
 which were fastened at some distance. 'Now 
 
OF AN EXILE. 85 
 
 then,' whispered I to the King, ' now is the 
 time for us to make an effort to escape. If 
 your Majesty will disengage yourself with as 
 little noise as possible from the straw, we may 
 yet baffle these bloodhounds." ' Par dieu," 
 muttered he, ' we are but fools to have brought 
 ourselves into this scrape ; what will the Em 
 peror be thinking ? If we get out of it safe, I 
 expect to be stamped and frowned at * for the 
 
 * Buonaparte was accustomed to^ treat the tributary 
 sovereigns with great haughtiness ; and even his best half, 
 Maria Louisa, seemed to feel sometimes that if she 
 were Empress of France, there was yet an Emperor. 
 On one occasion she had sprained her foot, and when 
 they were walking in the garden at Fontainebleau she 
 stopped to rest herself. Buonaparte, who was out of 
 humour that day, and wished to hurry on, desired she 
 would rise and proceed ; and upon her saying that her 
 foot gave her such pain that she could not, Buonaparte, 
 who was not very considerate of pain, exclaimed, "Al- 
 lans, allons, Madame, it n'y a personne qui ose desoleir 
 a mes ordres." 
 
86 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 next week.' This short dialogue passed between 
 us while we were gradually creeping out from 
 our concealment ; and we then stole gently to 
 the door. The Cossacks were stretched out 
 among their booty, each with his long spear 
 by his side, and his head resting upon a log of 
 wood ; while the deep-red glare of the fire 
 threw a swarthy hue over their ferocious 
 countenances. One of them lay directly across 
 the door ; and he had placed his spear in such 
 a position against it, that it was impossible for 
 either of us to pass through without throwing 
 it down. It must, therefore, be removed, and 
 the utmost caution was necessary, as the handle 
 was resting close to his arm. Having, how- 
 ever, a steady hand, a qualification ^vhich 
 was of no slight value here, and being nearest 
 the door, I took hold of the lance and softly 
 removed it, drawing it within the door. But 
 v/hether I or some dream had disturbed the 
 sleeping Cossack, he suddenly raised his arm, 
 
OF AN EXILE 87 
 
 and turned himself over on his side. We stood 
 in the most dreadful suspense for a few instants, 
 expecting every moment that he would start 
 up, and his Majesty had even raised his sword 
 to destroy him, when we heard him draw a 
 long sigh and continue to breathe hard and 
 regularly, without again stirring. We then 
 cautiously stepped over him, and moved through 
 the rest of the sleepers without any of them 
 being disturbed. But when we had passed 
 them and their large dogs, which, probably 
 from the excessive cold, and their voracious 
 supper, slept more soundly than usual, we could 
 perceive another of the Cossacks standing close 
 to the horses, which were fastened along the 
 side of the wall that ran parallel to the house. 
 The night was quite dark, and one of the dense 
 fogs so frequent in Russia, was fast coming on. 
 The Cossack began to walk up and dovvn be- 
 fore the horses, occasionally striking the end 
 of his spear upon the ground and stamping 
 
88 JOURNAL 
 
 with his feet as they became numbed by the 
 cold. His Majesty and myself had crouched 
 down behind a large pile of the wood which 
 was scattered about the yard ; and there vve 
 anxiously watched the motions of the sentinel 
 and the sleepers. The fog, however, now be- 
 came so thick that the former could not be 
 seen, and the latter could be just distinguished 
 through the red mist that hung round them. 
 Determined to take advantage of the darkness, 
 we cautiously crept out, and along the wall, and 
 presently found ourselves close to the horses. 
 These animals were fastened by rings to the 
 wall, along which ran a set of mangers, and 
 which was covered by a projecting roof. There 
 was a space of twenty yards between them and 
 the Cossack, who kept close to the hut, which 
 sheltered him from the cold. He now suddenly 
 stopped short, and seemed to be listening. We 
 listened too, in hopes that some of our columns 
 might be marching that way — but all was 
 
OF AX EXILE. 89 
 
 Still, and the Cossack continued his round. I 
 ought to mention that we heard the same female 
 voice singing within the hut; and through an 
 aperture opposite to us we could just dis- 
 cern by the dim light of a lamp which hung 
 down from its roof, a woman sitting by the side 
 of a bed, on which was extended the dead body 
 of one of the same horde. 
 
 "The woman was singing in a low melan- 
 choly voice, and the sentinel occasionally accom- 
 panied her in an under-tone. In the mean 
 time King Joachim and myself were cowering 
 down close to the horses behind another of the 
 large piles of wood which lay near them, and 
 anxiously watching some opportunity to extricate 
 ourselves from our perilous situation. The only 
 way that presented itself was by creeping under 
 the bellies of the horses, which extended beyond 
 the space occupied by the Cossack in his 
 march ; while the fog was so thick, that if we 
 could reach the farthest horse unheard, we might 
 
90 JOURNAL 
 
 then escape unpursued, and by chance fall in 
 with some of our posts. Accordingly we both 
 passed under the belly of the first horse, and so 
 on till we came to the last. They had all 
 luckily remained perfectly quiet till we came 
 to the last ; and he, whether younger or more 
 restive than the rest, or seized with some sudden 
 panic, snorted and struck his hoof upon the 
 steel cuirass of his Majesty, which sent forth a 
 loud clang. The Cossack heard it, rushed 
 towards the horse, but we were on our feet and 
 unhurt. He could just perceive us through the 
 fog, and uttering a loud hurrah, fired a pistol 
 at us. We stayed not, as you may suppose, to 
 return his fire, but hurried off. We could hear 
 the rest of the party in motion, and the deep 
 howling of their dogs, and we gave up ourselves 
 for lost ; when, to our great joy, we heard close 
 to us one of our trumpets, and a party of 
 cavalry that had been in search of us, rode up. 
 The officer who commanded them, informed us 
 
OF AN EXILE. 91 
 
 that the Emperor was near, and expecting us. 
 But we determined upon having some of the 
 fuel and warm cloaks we had left behind, and 
 immediately returned to the hut. Our friends 
 the Cossacks, however, had heard the trumpet as 
 well as ourselves, and had made the best of 
 their way off; the expiring fire being the only 
 trace left of them. The soldiers were proceed- 
 ing to break down the hut for fuel, and to turn 
 the poor woman with the body adrift upon the 
 snow ; but I prevented them ; and his Majesty 
 was pleased to approve of my interference. We 
 then rode off, his Majesty and myself mounting 
 two of the cuirassiers horses, who got up behind 
 two others, and we presently arrived at the 
 Emperor's bivouac ; whom we found walking 
 about in great agitation, and taking, as usual, 
 immense quantities of snuff. " How, gen- 
 tlemen,"" said he, " where have you been 
 amusing yourselves ? Parbleu, we have enough 
 to do without being obliged to attend to the 
 duty of our officers." The King explained 
 
92 JOURNAL 
 
 to his Majesty the situation in which we had 
 been placed, by endeavouring to do, what we 
 conceived, an essential part of our duty. The 
 Emperor laughed heartily at our danger; but 
 turning suddenly to the band, which on the 
 King's arrival had struck up Oii peut-on etre 
 mieux qiiau sein de sa Jamille? he said 
 sharply, ' Vous fer'iez mieux de jouer VeiUoiis 
 au aaliit de VEmpire.'' Thus you see that we 
 Iiad all our share of peril and suffering ; but 
 Vive rEmpereur ! I hope soon to be chasing the 
 Austrian white coats among the Bohemian 
 mountains, and to taste some of their emperor's 
 Hungary wine," 
 
 "But," said Mary, blushing slightly, *'you 
 must not learn to forget our wine of Provence, 
 though it be not so sweet or so rare as the 
 wines you have been accustomed to. Sir." 
 Eugene exclaimed vehemently, that " he had 
 rather drink that which was before them, than 
 the richest wines that were made from the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 93 
 
 grapes of Champagne or Burgundy. I shall 
 learn to make love and fight better after living 
 upon the same fruit that made your old trouba- 
 dours so gallant," said he. " Say you so, Sir ?"" 
 said the old peasant, " par la Sainte Baume, I 
 warrant you are already good enough at either. 
 A young cavalier like you has not doffed his 
 cap to a lady's balcon in vain." Mary smiled 
 archly as she glanced at Eugene ; who seemed, 
 as he returned her look, to be fast putting into 
 practice the virtue of the Provencal wine. 
 Rising suddenly, however, and going up to the 
 wide chimney, he began to pluck some of the 
 flowers from off the bouqiiet,, and scatter them 
 about the floor of the cottage. The old woman 
 observed him, and, instantly stretching forth her 
 hands, desired him in an earnest and peremptory 
 tone to desist. " Those flowers," said she, "are 
 our preservers from sickness and misfor- 
 tune : they were gathered while the dew yet 
 hung upon them last St. John's morning, and 
 
94 JOURNAL 
 
 blessed by our holy priest. Mary, gather up 
 those withered leaves, as you would be happy 
 and fortunate. I ask your pardon, Sir, but I 
 am old and must soon leave these children ; 
 and I have long known that they who scorn 
 and cast away St. John's blessed flowers, are in 
 danger of being rejected by the good God." 
 Mary gathered up the scattered fragments, and 
 placed them in her bosom ; while Eugene ex- 
 claimed, that "had he known the flowers were 
 indeed so precious, he would have shuddered at 
 harming them." " Come, come," said Claude, 
 " make yourself easy, Sir ; my dear mother has 
 never failed sending us, since we were children, 
 to gather flowers on St. John's morning ; and 
 always thinks some mischief must befall us, if 
 those bouquets are not in their old place and 
 untouched. But I am sure you meant not to 
 vex or harm us. Sir." Eugene's conscience 
 here whispered something to him, by no means 
 of a satisfactory nature ; but he immediately 
 
OF AN EXILE. 95 
 
 replied, "Mean it, my good fellow ! why, though 
 we cannot boast of our flowers and vines in 
 Picardy, yet we too cherish those we love. My 
 own mother, when I quitted her to join the 
 army, hung round my neck the dry leaves of a 
 rose that had been consecrated by a blessed re- 
 lique; and I have it now where she placed it. 
 As the young man spoke thus, the tears started 
 into his eyes at the remembrance of his mother ; 
 and he turned away, and stooping down stroked 
 the head of the kid which was playing with the 
 tassel of his boot. Mary had stood silent be- 
 hind her mother's chair, distressed at her ab- 
 ruptness to Eugene, and interested and aiFected 
 by the genuine emotion Avhich he betrayed. 
 The old peasant, however, had been quite 
 pacified by the mention of the holy rose, and 
 said, "We Proven9als are hasty. Sir, for our sun 
 is hot and our blood warm; but our anger is 
 soon past, like our winters ; and I trust I have 
 not offended you." " Offended me, my good 
 
96 JOURNAL 
 
 mother ! " said the officer ! " it is I that am the 
 offender — to have caused you all this agitation 
 in return for your kind welcome ; there is only 
 one here, I am afraid," patting the kid, " that 
 would receive me again with welcome. But I 
 must be going, the sun is set, and my presence 
 will soon be required at the barracks." " We 
 are friends then," said all the peasants at once, 
 *'and we shall see you again." "Good, art- 
 less people! Oh! surely," said Eugene, "if 
 you will promise as hearty a reception as I have 
 had to-day. But I must not stay, for I think 
 I bear the retraite .'" In fact, the drums and 
 trumpets of the garrison were sounding that 
 part of military discipline; and as the sound 
 echoed up to the spot on which the cottage 
 stood, it formed a remarkable contrast with 
 the stillness of the vineyards and dark moun- 
 tains which were spreading above the city. The 
 young officer left the cottage, and hastened his 
 steps down the hill ; and as he once turned his 
 
OF AN EXILE. 97 
 
 head to look to the spot he had just quitted, 
 he perceived the black hat with its white 
 ribands, hastily drawn within an open window 
 of the cottage. He reached the cours just as 
 the last trumpets were sounding. The lamps 
 were all glittering among the trees, the flower- 
 women had their little candles beaming through 
 the plants and nosegays, and the promenade was 
 crowded with gay idlers. But Eugene hastened 
 on to the fort St. Nicholas, where his regiment 
 was quartered, and immediately retreating to 
 his room, shut himself in, and began to reason 
 with himself on the absurdity and wickedness 
 of the feeling the day's adventure had ex- 
 cited within him. For he was no heartless 
 seducer. He had lost his mother when very 
 young — he had no other near female relation, 
 and had never enjoyed those intimacies and in- 
 tercourse with the virtuous part of the sex, that 
 preserve young men from their two besetting 
 sins — extreme bashfulness or confirmed liber- 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 JOURNAL 
 
 tinism. He had entered the army when a 
 mere boy ; had led, till now, a soldier's life, 
 aiid, like all those of that profession, was fond 
 of adventure and enterprise. But amidst all 
 his dissipation, he had preserved a certain 
 delicacy of feeling that delighted in nature 
 and simplicity, and that shrunk from deliberately 
 plaiming the ruin of an innocent girl. True, 
 he had followed the peasants, had lingered 
 long at the cottage, and entirely for the sake 
 of the pretty Mary ; but it was rather the 
 freshness and novelty of the circumstance that 
 had led him there, than any dark and wary 
 plan of deceit. Tlie artless and honest man- 
 ners of the family had pleased and interested 
 him; and the simple graces of the fair Pro- 
 vencal had touched him nearer than he could 
 have supposed possible. 'Was he then, the ad- 
 miration of the bright beauties of Paris, after 
 passing amidst their witcheries unwounded and 
 indifferent — was he to feel love for the first time 
 
OF AN EXILE. 99 
 
 for a peasant ? Love ! the idea was ridiculous ; 
 and he determined to forget his day's adven- 
 ture altogether. But the young man was igno- 
 rant of the hold which previous habits of idle- 
 ness and dissipation have upon the mind. He 
 was not aware either that unaffected native 
 beauty, though clothed in rustic habits, and 
 with no instruction but that of its own un- 
 corrupted feelings, may often twine itself 
 more closely round the heart than all the bril- 
 liancy and gloss of nobler maidens. His feel- 
 ings had been excited by his previous listlessncss 
 and eiuiiii ; and as the sun shone in upon him the 
 next morning, he awoke and walked out upon 
 the ramparts of the fort to look towards the 
 peaceful vineyards. The morning was bright 
 and fresh. The blue waters of the sea which 
 bathe the walls of the fort were crisping and 
 rustling with the rising breeze ; and a vessel that 
 had just finished its quarantine, was slowly 
 riding into the harbour. The quays were be- 
 F 2 
 
100 JOURNAL 
 
 ginning to be peopled with the various crowds 
 which business, amusement, or curiosity, daily 
 collect there ; and a few light boats, covered 
 with awnings, were moving among the thick 
 lines of vessels, and bearing provisions to the 
 awakened and busy sailors. Eugene looked on the 
 scene before him, and then turned away with 
 that sort of dissatisfaction with which he who 
 has no employment or pursuit, beholds others 
 engaged in the full career of interest and business. 
 His thought wandered to Mary and the cottage ; 
 and his eyes rested upon the fig trees which 
 grew just above it. His past and feverish years 
 rose up before him, and a pang of repentance 
 and wish for some tie of affection and love 
 were mingled in the deep sigh that he uttered. 
 " Were I but a peasant," said he — " had I 
 for ever dwelt beneath tliose mountains, and 
 never heard other music than the bells of my 
 goats and the village song, I might now be 
 content and uncorrupted." 
 
OF AN KXILE. 101 
 
 I shall not follow the young officer in the vari- 
 ous visits which I was told he made to the cottage. 
 He had gradually accustomed himself to stroll 
 there daily, and there he lingered till night- 
 fall. He had gained the old peasant's heart 
 by a present of a rich gilded painting of her 
 patron St. Magdelaine, and Mary's heart too he 
 had gained by his stories of war and danger ; 
 and she would often sigh to herself, and wisli 
 that she were other than a poor simple peasant ; 
 and then look at Eugene and sigh again. Claude 
 too was delighted with the young officer, and 
 almost wished to be a soldier that he might 
 march with him. They would tend the vines 
 together, when the strong mistral had loosened 
 and thrown down the poles : and they talked 
 of the approaching vintage. Eugene express- 
 ed his hopes that he might still dance at it, 
 and, as he repeated this in the cottage, he took 
 care to whisper aside to Mary " et avec tot." 
 Mary would blush and smile and say to him. 
 
102 JOURNAL 
 
 "Oh ! Sir, our dances are so rude and wild 
 that you will scorn them." "Oh no!' would 
 Eugene reply, " I have long learnt to admire 
 all your native sport?, nay I have seen the 
 gay Proven9al danced amidst the glittering 
 lustres and canopies of Paris, while the rich 
 and the noble looked on and admired." 
 
 Here followed the peasant's detail of the gra- 
 dual increase of Eugene's influence' at the cottage, 
 during which three or four weeks flew rapidly 
 on, bringing at length an order to his regiment, 
 which was quartered, as stated, in the fort of St. 
 Nicholas. On the morning of the day referred 
 to, that regiment was drawn out upon the narrow 
 square within the gate of the fort. A despatch had 
 been received from the Frince of Neufchatel, in- 
 forming the Commandant of the city, that the 
 Emperor had given orders for the regiment of 
 guards to be replaced by other troops, and 
 that the former should immediately begin their 
 
OF AN EXILE. 103 
 
 march for Dresden, where the army then was. 
 Three days were allowed for them to prepare 
 for their departure. The dispatch was read 
 aloud by the commanding officer to the men, 
 who received it with shouts of Vive I'Empereur ! 
 and as the parade broke up, they might be 
 seen embracing one another and repeating their 
 acclamations. The barracks soon resounded 
 with the note of preparation. ]\Iany a dialogue 
 passed among the busy soldiery ; and one among 
 the rest, an old Sapeui; with a beard as long as 
 a Jewish patriarch's, mounted upon a table and 
 shouted out the well-known military song, " le 
 tambour hut il faut partir^' which was taken 
 up by the rest and echoed through the open 
 gratings of the fort over the sea. 
 
 In the mean time the officers had assembled 
 in a circle upon the rampart, and were dis- 
 cussing the probable situation of the army. 
 Most of them were laughing, and in high 
 
104 JOURNAL 
 
 spirits at their approaching departure ; and they 
 all dropped ofF to make their preparations, 
 leaving Eugene standing alone. He was as- 
 tonished at the sort of discontent which he felt 
 at the very thing he had so long been anxious 
 for, and found that his thoughts were more 
 among the green vineyards about him than 
 on the distant plains of Saxony. " I will see 
 her this evening," said he; "it is perhaps well 
 for her, for me, that this is so ; but yet I must 
 know if she will grieve at my going."" He passed 
 the few hours which remained before evening in 
 irritation and impatience ; and soon as the busy 
 hum of the port had subsided, and his particular 
 duty been performed, he hastened through the 
 crowded cuurs, and passing rapidly along the 
 vineyard, soon arrived near the cottage. As 
 he advanced, he heard a voice, which he re- 
 cognised as Mary's, singing one of those ro- 
 mances which abound in Provence, and which 
 
OF AN EXILE. 105 
 
 appeared to relate to some fair lady and her 
 crusading troubadour, alluding to some customs 
 and places which I may probably hereafter make 
 myself acquainted with. The romance I disco- 
 vered lately in a collection of these compositions, 
 and translate it as follows : 
 
 " St. Victor's shrine with gold is crown'd. 
 
 It's tapers burning bright ; 
 St. Victor's monks are kneeling round, 
 
 And pray for Bertha's knight. 
 Her bare white feet stand on the stones 
 
 Where kings and nobles rot ; 
 Her lips have kiss'd St. Victor's bones, 
 
 YetBertrand cometh not. 
 
 " St. Victor's rock looks brown and bare 
 Amid the burning sky; 
 And Bertha now is kneeling there 
 So distant and so high. 
 
 F 5 
 
106 JOURNAL 
 
 No gentle breeze or fountain sweet 
 
 Plays round the holy grot. 
 And bleeding are those tender feet, 
 
 Yet Bertrand cometh not. 
 
 " Thraugh yonder painted lattice beams 
 
 A light that may not sleep ; 
 In yonder turret Bertha dreams, 
 
 And starts to watch and weep. 
 A hasty step is hurrying near. 
 
 It mounts the winding stair; 
 And kisses charm the falling tear. 
 
 For Bertrand now is there." 
 
 As she concluded the last words of the song, 
 Eugene, who had advanced silently and un- 
 perceived, echoed them from behind the wal- 
 nut-tree under which Mary was sitting. 
 
 " O how you frightened me !"' cried the pea- 
 sant : " what ! have you been listening to my 
 poor song too, Sir.?" 
 
 "That I have," said the officer; "and the 
 
OF AX EXILE. 107 
 
 fair Bertha herself could not have sung it 
 more sweetly. Would that my absence could 
 cause so much grief and lamentation to any one ! "" 
 
 " Oh Sir," replied Mary, " we have all some 
 one that loves us, and whose heart is lighter 
 at our approach. Even when I go to the city 
 there below, I am so happy to get back to 
 our cottage, and my dear mother is so pleased 
 to see me, as she sits singing under this tree." 
 
 " But all must love thee, Mary, thou art so 
 kind and gentle. As for me, I am a wander- 
 ing soldier, and have no kindred but a father, 
 whose heart is too full of ambition to feel 
 much tenderness for me. Mary, dear Mary, 
 I am going far from these vineyards ; in three 
 days I shall be marching whither you see those 
 clouds driving along in the southern wind. 
 We are summoned to the army, and my 
 peaceful life is at an end. Will you think 
 of me sometimes .?"" The poor girl was pale 
 and trembling : of the nature of her feelings 
 
108 JOURNAL 
 
 for the young officer she was quite ignorant ; 
 but the idea of his departure had aifected her 
 deeply. She felt that she was about to lose 
 something to which she was accustomed, and 
 on which her thoughts and eyes had longed 
 to rest. She made no immediate reply to 
 Eugene's question ; and when he repeated it, 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 " My dearest girl," said he, throwing him- 
 self down before her, " why do you weep ? 
 what have I said or done to distress you ? — or 
 is it because I go that you shed those pre- 
 cious tears .'* Tell me, is it so ?''' 
 
 Mary's tears now fell the faster as she replied, 
 " Why, oh why. Sir, will you talk thus to 
 a poor girl like me ? You came to our cottage, 
 and we welcomed you ; we were all happy 
 when you were with us, and shall grieve to 
 see you go: — but why do you talk to me, as 
 if I were a noble lady and fit to be your 
 wife ? Go, Sir ; I will pray for you to our 
 
OF AX EXILE. 109 
 
 lioly Saints, and may they preserve you from 
 danger in battle !" 
 
 " And can you then easily bear the idea 
 tliat you may never see me again ? — that he 
 you now see before you, may be, ere long, 
 stretched out far away beneath the dark cold 
 sky of the nordi ! Will you not at least say 
 thafyou will always think of me?" 
 
 " Think of you, Sir ! why should you wish 
 it?" 
 
 " Why should I ?" 
 
 " I know too well already the vexation such 
 thoughts have given me.'' 
 
 " And is it so?" exclaimed Eugene ; " have 
 you then done so already, dear Mary ? Would 
 to God that I could stay with thee for ever, 
 and thus be certain of being always present 
 to thy thoughts and sighs ; — but it may not be." 
 "Look," said Mary, still weeping, "look at 
 that hermitage which is clinging to yon green 
 crag: when you are gone, I will go thither 
 
110 JOURNAL 
 
 daily and pray with the holy hermit for your 
 safety." 
 
 " And will you pray also for my safe return 
 to thee, dear girl ? " 
 
 " You are very curious,"" said she, endeavour- 
 ing to smile, but the attempt was useless, and 
 she hid her face in her hands. 
 
 " Shall we not walk ? " said Eugene. " See 
 how lovely the green wood looks waving in the 
 evening breeze. And where is thy mother, and 
 Claude.''" " They are gone down to the church, 
 whosecross you see there among the leaves of those 
 fig-trees. It was on this very night, two years ago, 
 that my poor father died ; and they are gone to 
 the mass that is said yearly for the repose of his 
 soul." As she spoke, the bell from the church 
 tolled the evening office. Mary crossed herself, 
 and, taking a rosary from her bosom, kissed 
 it fervently. Eugene threw an envious glance 
 upon the holy beads, and said, " And am I then 
 to have no token of remembrance from thee. 
 
OF AN EXILE. Ill 
 
 that I may press to my lips as fondly as you 
 liave kissed your beads ? " 
 
 " Alas ! I have no rich rings or jewels which 
 would be worthy of you, Sir. We peasants 
 have no wealth but our flowers and vines."" 
 
 "And those flowers are rich and precious/' 
 said Eugene ; " for they are the pure sweets of 
 Nature ; but come, give me some of those blessed 
 violets tliat T scattered so rashly about the 
 cottage. Come in and pluck them with your 
 own dear hand." They entered the cottage, the 
 stillness of which was only broken by the uni- 
 form ticking of a clock that stood near the 
 window. Mary drew the withered leaves from 
 amidst one of the bouquets, which were still 
 standing by the side of the image of the Virgin, 
 and cutting some of her shining ringlets, she 
 wrapped them round the flowers; and giving 
 them to Eugene said, " I fear you will say I 
 am too bold, and think lightly of me; but 
 indeed I never gave such things before ; and as 
 
112 JOURNAL 
 
 you are going so far away, I would not wish 
 you to forget us and our cottage entirely." 
 Eugene kissed them as he took them from her 
 liand, and they drew near the open window. 
 The days had shortened sensibly since Eugene's 
 first visit to the cottage; and the moon was 
 throwing her full light upon the country be- 
 neath. The Lazaretto might be seen extending 
 its white vvalls along the shore to the right of 
 the harbour ; while to the left the rocky coast 
 was stretching away in dark shade till it termi- 
 nated in a bold promontory. The long road 
 which leads up from the city was white and 
 still ; the distant sound of the wheels of some 
 traveller that was returning home, alone dis- 
 turbed its silence. As they looked out upon 
 the night, Eugene pointed to that part of the 
 mountain where the road, winding among the 
 dark pines, was lost from view. 
 
 " Beyond that point," said he, " lies many 
 a fairer clime and softer scene than that which 
 
OF AN EXILE. 113 
 
 is now spread before us. Hast thou never 
 sighed for the gay sights and sounds of Paris?" 
 
 " Oh ! never, never/' said Mary ; " no sounds 
 would be sweet, or sights gay to me, if far from 
 my home. My old mother's song as she sits 
 knitting, is more precious to me than all the 
 rich music of our city festivals. And Paris is so 
 far, so very far, — why I could not return before 
 midnight ; and then what would my mother 
 do?" 
 
 Eugene smiled to himself at the sweet girPs 
 simplicity. " And do you love none but your 
 mother, Mary?" 
 
 " Oh yes, my dear Claude, and little Fan- 
 chon," taking the kid with its ringing bells 
 into her arms. 
 
 " And none else. Will you net love me too ? 
 Oh ! say that you will, that you do, and we 
 must, we surely shall meet again !" 
 
 Mary said nothing, but smiled, and as she 
 pointed to the violets, blushed and looked 
 
114 JOURNAL 
 
 down. Eugene was delighted, and she looked 
 so soft and innocent that he suddenly threw his 
 arms round her waist, and imprinted an ardent 
 kiss upon her lips. She shrunk not from his 
 embrace ; her heart was innocent, and she 
 might never see the darling object of her 
 thoughts again. But she was foolish and 
 imprudent ; that kiss had kindled other 
 thoughts and other feelings than her pure 
 tranquil life could ever have known, and which 
 are not soon quelled. The young and handsome 
 officer still encircled her waist; and, while he 
 whispered his promises, sorrows, and love, as 
 his cheek lay close to hers, she sunk into his 
 arms, and for the first time gently murmured 
 "• Dear Eugene ! " 
 
 Oh ! where was the mother then — where 
 v/as the brother, that loved her with a love 
 far stronger and better than his who was now 
 breathing poison into her heart ? Alas ! they 
 were kneeling before die altar, and praying for 
 
OF AN EXILK. 1]5 
 
 the repose of the dead ; while the peace of the 
 livirifj was for ever lost ! 
 
 The clock ticked on ; the kid slept quietly 
 among the soft bed of vine-leaves, the moon 
 shone full in upon the pictured saints, and all 
 was still; but Mary was never to know rest 
 again ! Time would in future be to her long 
 and dreary ; the sports of her kid would no 
 more delight her, and the saints would seem 
 to frown upon her. Voices and steps were 
 heard approaching; the old peasant, led by 
 Claude, came along the path, peaceful and 
 happy at having performed their annual duty. 
 They entered the cottage. The guilty and the 
 weak were there. But the mother knew not of 
 that guilt and weakness. Her face, as the moon 
 fell upon it, was calm and smiling ; and she 
 welcomed Eugene as she had evei done. His 
 confusion she perceived not, but something 
 struck her in Mary's manner as unusual. Some 
 uneasy thoughts came across her mind, which 
 
116 JOURNAL 
 
 were not tranquillized by seeing Claude stand 
 gloomily aloof. Eugene, however, hastily told 
 them of his approaching departure, and they 
 all appeared uneasy and perplexed. At that 
 moment the trumpets of the guards were heard 
 sounding the retraite, and mingling their martial 
 echoes with the drowsy hum of the mosquitoes 
 that were flitting around; and Eugene took a 
 hurried leave of the peasants, and retired to 
 his barracks conscience-stricken, humbled, and 
 repenting. 
 
 There was one he left behind that slept not 
 that night. The old peasant's alarm had sub- 
 sided, and she rested ; but Mary sat upon the 
 bed with her hands pressed to her head and her 
 heart, dark and cheerless. The morning came, 
 the sun shone in, but her eyes were hot and 
 aching, and her limbs stiff. Her mother was 
 again anxious, and suspected that perhaps Eu- 
 gene's departure might have made her sad, and 
 that so fair and brave a youth had touched 
 
OF AN EXILE. Ill 
 
 her heart. And this thought vvas strengthened 
 wlien Eugene towards evening entered the cot- 
 tage. Mary's dark eye brightened, her step 
 was lighter, and she smiled again, though not 
 as she was used. They talked of Eugene's de- 
 parture. But there was an air of restraint over 
 them all. Suspicion had been roused and crime 
 consummated, and their peaceful and trusting 
 intercourse was at an end. 
 
 The time which intervened before the day 
 fixed for the departure of the regiment passed 
 away. The last evening had arrived, and Mary 
 was looking anxiously down the path for Eu- 
 gene. She saw him slowly advancing up the 
 hill, and she retreated within the cottage, as 
 her brother was among the vines just below the 
 house. Alas ! she had begun to learn conceal- 
 ment. Eugene arrived, but he was not wel- 
 comed as before ; the mother had at last per- 
 ceived the danger of his visits, and she was 
 vexed and hurt at her daughter's evident dis- 
 tress. 
 
118 JOURNAL 
 
 " I am come to bid you farewell," said the 
 officer; "to-morrow, ere the siin be risen, we 
 march ; but I shall never forget you all." 
 
 " Say not so, Sir," said the mother, " you 
 only mock us. Is it likely that a young noble 
 like you, when you are in the bright palaces 
 and gardens of Paris, will think of our rude 
 home and manners ? You are brave and hand- 
 some, and many a fair face will smile upon you : 
 but beware, beware, young man, of turning 
 those smiles to tears. A woman's heart is soon 
 softened, and soon broken."" 
 
 Mary drew back, and, quitting the cottage, 
 stood under the walnut-tree looking towards 
 the long road. Eugene's heart smote him as 
 he looked at the old woman, whose anxious 
 eye had followed her daughter ; and he felt that 
 his heart would be heavy as he marched to 
 battle. 
 
 It was time for him to leave them. Claude 
 had come in from his labour, but his suspicions 
 had been roused by the circumstances which he 
 
OF AN EXILE. 119 
 
 had observed when he returned with his mo- 
 ther from the church, and he had become sullen 
 and almost quarrelsome. Mary's feelings may 
 be conceived, but not described : virtuous and 
 gentle, one fatal moment had made her weak 
 and guilty; and the man for whom she had 
 felt that weakness and incurred that guilt was 
 about to leave her, perhaps for ever. She dared 
 not speak to him of all that her heart Avas 
 bursting to say ; but she could not restrain 
 her tears, which now fell freely. The mother 
 and Claude, however, appeared softened when 
 Eugene prepared to depart : their acquaintance 
 had been one of those which a young man 
 of gentle and romantic disposition may fre- 
 quently form with the honest peasants of a 
 country ; and they could not behold him leave 
 them and know that he was going to danger, 
 and possible death, without feeling some real 
 pain. But they were at the same time relieved 
 from their fears by his departure, and conse- 
 
120 JOURNAL 
 
 quently their manner towards him softened and 
 became what it used to be. 
 
 "Mary, come in," said the mother; "our 
 young officer is going to leave us ; come in and 
 let us give him some of our wine of Provence 
 for the last time.'* 
 
 " Oh not for the last time," said Mary, unable 
 to restrain her emotion, *' not for the last time;" 
 and alarmed at having shewn such agitation, 
 she added, " he is going to battle, and we 
 must not talk of last times." 
 
 Claude said nothing for some minutes, and 
 seemed hurt at his sister's evident distress; 
 but suddenly taking the young officer's hand, 
 he said, " Fare ye well. Sir, fare ye well ; 
 you are rich and noble, and may be no stranger 
 to women's tears, since you have seen many a 
 foreign land: but go, Sir, my sister is dearer 
 to me than all the wealth which yon city con- 
 tains, and you have tarried but too long al- 
 ready. Our prayers shall go with you, for I 
 
OF AK EXILE. 121 
 
 think you good, and incapable of wishing to 
 make my mother, myself, and poor Mary 
 vretched."" And as he spoke these words, he 
 threw his arms round his sister's neck, and 
 endeavoured to comfort her. 
 
 The old woman sat thunderstruck at the 
 scene which was passing around her: her eyes 
 turned first to her daughter, and then to Eu- 
 gene, who was standing before her in real dis- 
 tress and confusion. She raised her hands, 
 and pointing to the cross which might just be 
 seen mingling with the broad leaves of the fig- 
 tree, said to the young man. — 
 
 " That white cross is not more pure and 
 innocent than my Mary: look at her, Sir, 
 and tell me if you have ever seen a fairer or 
 a better girl among all the beautiful ladies 
 that wait upon our Empress; and till you 
 came, she was always gay and cheerful; and 
 if she wept, it was but at the moaning of 
 her kid, and her tears were soon past. But now 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 JOURNAL 
 
 she stands there as I never saw her before, and 
 her heart has been sad and her tongue silent 
 for these three days. I blame not you, Sir; 
 you are young, and pause not to think that 
 your soft words and eyes may be dangerous 
 to a poor simple girl. Come hither, Mary," 
 and she put her daughter's hand into Eu- 
 gene's: " Had ye both been peasants, my bless- 
 ing would have rested on you, and yon church 
 might have received you; but it is otherwise. 
 Since my Mary has loved you, young man, I 
 must too, and have done so ; but now say fare- 
 well to her, and thank your God that you leave 
 her innocent !" 
 
 The guilty pair stood before the old woman 
 with misery and remorse in their hearts : " Fare- 
 well," said Eugene, "farewell, dear friends. 
 My God! how bitter it is to leave those to 
 whom we are endeared by habit and affection." 
 And then, as if struck by some sudden feeling, 
 he added, "Yes, affection; for I love this 
 
OF AX EXILE. 123 
 
 sweet girl, and would forget ambition and pride, 
 and return to remain for ever with you. If I 
 fall,"" — and Mary shuddered and almost sank to 
 the ground at her mother's feet, — " if I fall, my 
 head must rest far from here ; but if I am spared, 
 I will return to my mother, my brother, and my 
 wife."" As he spoke thus, he flung his arms 
 round Mary, and taking from his neck a black 
 riband to which hung a small portrait of a lady, 
 " This was my mother," said he, " by those 
 blessed features which have never yet quitted me, 
 I promise to return to you all. I have met with 
 kindness and affection, that have refreshed my 
 heart as the rain does your parched vines ; and I 
 prize this innocent girl's love more than the 
 smiles of noble dames. Take it," said he, 
 giving the picture to Mary, " take it, and pre- 
 serve it, as you value your happiness and mine. 
 Within its frame are the leaves of the blessed 
 rose— blessed to me, since they vvere my mother's 
 last gift." 
 
 & 2 
 
124 JOURNAL 
 
 Mary took the picture, and kissed the smiling 
 features, saying, as she looked at Eugene, they 
 were your mother's. 
 
 "Be it so,"" said the old woman: " if God 
 and our Holy Virgin so direct it. If I have 
 wronged and hurt you, forgive me, dear young 
 man, and may God bless you both, my children !" 
 She bent forward, and kissed Eugene's forehead. 
 While Claude threw his arm round his neck 
 and called him brother. 
 
 But the time was fast speeding on, the eve- 
 ning star had risen above the glowing hori- 
 zon, and the trumpets were about to sound 
 from the city for the last time. The old wo- 
 man rose, and bringing out a mass-book from 
 a small room beyond, she knelt down at the open 
 window, and pointing to the star, said, "Every 
 evening when that blessed light appears, we 
 will pray for you, and chant our country hymn. 
 Pray with us now, and Heaven will send you 
 back safe and unhurt !" 
 
OF AN EXILE. 1^5 
 
 Eugene knelt down— alas ! he seldom prayed, 
 but he was softened, harassed, and filled with 
 pity and shame. They prayed. Mary, whose hand 
 was still clasped in Eugene's, raised her timid 
 voice, and chaunted one of those hymns with 
 which the peasants celebrate the fete of la 
 helle Etoile. Eugene was affected to tears by 
 the scene, but the hymn sank mournfully to 
 his heart, and it seemed more like the requiem 
 of the dead than the sweet and cheerful sup- 
 phcation for the living. Suddenly the trum- 
 pets of the guards were heard mingling their 
 lengthened notes with the soft hymn, and Eu- 
 gene started up. " I must be gone," said he ; 
 those trumpets call me to other scenes, but 
 one fond thought will ever mingle with my toil 
 and danger, and make me forget both.'" 
 
 " O forget not danger," said Mary, throwing 
 her arms round him, " remember, remember me, 
 and let not the fierce Cossack rob thee of my 
 precious violets."" 
 
126 JOURNAL 
 
 " Farewell, farewell," said the officer, " ere 
 those masts wliich crowd the harbour have 
 reached then- distant ports, I may be here 
 again. Our eagles will soon drive back the 
 carrion birds of Russia; and our Empress's 
 father will not long march against his Imperial 
 son-in-law. Once more, farewell " — and kissing 
 Mary for the last time, he hurried out of the 
 cottage. 
 
 The hearts he left there were sad ; but one 
 was indeed full of bitterness. She had not the 
 consciousness of innocence to support her during 
 the dreadful period that must pass before her 
 lover s return. And if he should never come— if 
 he should fall — for that he might deceive her, 
 she never thought ; she was too artless and sin- 
 cere herself. Time passed on. She daily went 
 to the hermitage, from whence the distant plains 
 might be seen, and there she prayed, and looked 
 towards the north. But she soon felt other and 
 new horrors, and her state of mind became dread- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 157 
 
 ful. Her mother, poor unsuspecting woman ! en- 
 deavoured to soothe her, and talked of Eugene's 
 speedy return. Her brother insisted upon her 
 going with him to see the new-year gaieties 
 of the city ;' but her heart sickened at the sight 
 of the fort where Eugene had been quartered. 
 She refused to quit the cottage ; or if she did, 
 it was but to toil up to the hermitage. 
 
 Months passed before intelligence had arrived 
 of the army, when a letter entrusted to some per- 
 son who had brought despatches to the city 
 was forwarded to the cottage. They opened it : 
 it was from Eugene ; but the hand that had 
 traced it was now nothing but dust. That letter 
 he had written when he was dying of the wounds 
 he had received at the battle of Laon ; and con- 
 tained the blessed violets, and the still dearer 
 ringlets. They will strip me,"" wrote he, " and 
 bury me with the rest in a soldier's grave, and this 
 precious treasure will be lost. I have kept them 
 near my heart, till that heart has almost ceased to 
 
128 JouR^^AL 
 
 beat, and now I send them to you that no other 
 hand may touch them. The concluding hnes 
 of his letter could scarcely be distinguished : 
 they were unsteady, and nothing but the words 
 forgive^ 'protect.) and conifort^ could be made 
 out. Mary fell senseless to the earth. Her 
 worst fears were confirmed; disgrace, irremediabJe 
 disgrace and desolation, were now her portion. 
 When she recovered, and her situation gradually 
 returned to her recollection, she had well nigh 
 broke forth into a wild and dreadful confession 
 of her condition. But she looked at her 
 mother, who was sitting powerless in a chair at 
 some distance, and determined to be silent. She 
 might die, she might never reach the period 
 she so much dreaded ; and that distress at 
 least would be spared her poor mother. But 
 the shock which the letter had caused to her 
 had hastened that fatal period ; and ere the 
 following morning she had been seized, as she 
 went at night-fall towards the hermitage, with 
 
OF AN EXILE. 129 
 
 the pangs of labour; and when she was found 
 by some peasants, the work of despair and deli- 
 rium had been accomplished ; — the once inno- 
 cent and tender girl sat beside her dead infant ! 
 
 She had contrived to conceal her pregnancy 
 entirely from all observation, and the afflicted 
 peasants could scarcely believe their eyes when 
 they discovered her. But soon the intelligence 
 spread, the police were informed of the dreadful 
 circumstance, and a proces-verhal was drawn up 
 of it. Mary^ the once loved Mary, passed along 
 that cows, where but a few months before 
 she had walked amid the happy peasants as 
 happy as themselves, and now moved slowly be 
 tween the miUtary escort, chained, and plunged 
 in misery. Her mother could not accompany 
 her, she was incapable of moving from her bed ; 
 but her brother walked by her side, and sup- 
 ported and screened her from the gazing 
 crowd. But at the prison gate he was pre- 
 vented from accompanying her farther ; and the 
 G 5 
 
130 JOURNAL 
 
 poor girl, who had never passed a night from 
 her mother's side before, now lay upon straw 
 in a dark and solitary cell. 
 
 The day for her trial arrived. She was 
 brought in between two gensdarmes; her brother 
 stood at some distance, pale, the tears running 
 down his cheeks as he looked at her, and the 
 spectators were apparently deeply affected at 
 the melancholy situation in which the poor un- 
 happy girl was placed. The story was known, 
 but in the then unsettled state of public affairs, 
 no attempts had been made for her pardon ; 
 and when the evidence had been gone through, 
 so clear and undoubted was the case, that the 
 advocate declined addressing the court, and the 
 judges immediately pronounced the fatal sen- 
 tence. Mary heard it, but cared not. She 
 could not live. She was not what she had been. 
 She felt that her peace, her innocent delight in 
 nature, in her home, and her village pleasures, 
 were gone for ever; and the thought of her 
 
OF AN EXILE. 131 
 
 mother had scarcely power now to increase 
 her utter desolation. The sentence was to 
 be put into execution in twelve days'* time ; 
 and as she was led back to the prison, many a 
 young female shuddered, and crossed herself. 
 But Claude has spoken to her, has whispered 
 hope to hei-, and told her that he had heard of 
 Eugene's father being now at Paris, and that 
 all the savings of many years should be used 
 for his present purpose. 
 
 He stayed not a moment; but leaving his 
 mother under the care of a young female pea- 
 sant with whom he often had danced at the 
 vintage ye^e?, he joined the courier which was 
 just leaving Marseilles, and in four days reached 
 Paris. He found oilt Eugene's father, who 
 was in deep mourning for his son, and who was 
 likewise depressed at the situation of the Govern- 
 ment. But Eugene had written to him before 
 his death, told him his story, and entreated him 
 to protect Mary ; and the father had determined 
 
132 JOURNAL 
 
 upon sending a person to make inquiries about 
 the poor girl. His agitation was great, there- 
 fore, when Claude related to him all the cir- 
 cumstances that had taken place. His interest 
 with some persons high in office was still con- 
 siderable ; and, before the clocks of Paris struck 
 eight that evening, Claude was on his way back 
 to Marseilles with a pardon for his sister. 
 
 He travelled on in the most dreadful impa- 
 tience ; every hour that he heard strike made 
 him shudder, and by the tenth day he had 
 reached the banks of the Isere. It afterwards 
 appeared from the reports of persons along the 
 road, and from his own wild ravings, that when 
 he reached that mountain stream it was black 
 and swollen, its waters had been increased bv 
 continual and heavy rains ; and when he reached 
 the river, the boat had been carried away, the 
 ropes broken, and the banks washed down ; 
 while pieces of floating timber and boards of 
 houses, and even animals, were hurrying along 
 
OF AN EXILE. 183 
 
 in the whirling current. There did he stay the 
 rest of that afternoon, and a great part of the 
 next day, in madness and distracted fear ; and 
 he could almost fancy he heard the hammers 
 of the workmen that were erecting the scaffold- 
 ing. At last toward the evening of the second 
 day, a passage was effected, and he hurried on. 
 When he arrived, on the morning of the twelfth 
 day, at a village about ten miles distant from 
 the town where the execution was to take 
 place, the clock struck nine. He quitted the 
 carriage, and mounting a horse hurried along 
 the stony road, and reached the heights above 
 the town. He could not help pausing a mo- 
 ment before descending, and looking towards it 
 to see if it was in unusual motion. But it 
 seemed still as the deep blue sea which was 
 sleeping beneath the hot sun, and his heart beat 
 more freely. How he arrived, and all the suc- 
 ceeding circumstances, were at first related. 
 The poor old mother could not bear to 
 
134 JOURNAL 
 
 remain in her former residence. The wahiut- 
 tree no longer shaded her as she used to sit 
 spinning and expecting her daughter's return. 
 She quitted it, and came to Hve close to the 
 church. 
 
 Poor Claude has never recovered the dreadful 
 shock he received. He is a madman, a wild and 
 terrible one, and a mgneron told me a story 
 of him which had made my blood curdle. He 
 was at first confined in an old building not far 
 from the village church, which has since been 
 removed: and one night as a peasant was re- 
 turning home through the cemetery, he thought, 
 as he passed among the grave-stones, that he heard 
 a noise at some little distance. He was not 
 deceived, for immediately some one uttered a 
 loud yell, and a figure ran towards the terrified 
 peasant, rattling some chains which were in his 
 hands, and grinning and howling in the most 
 horrible manner. The peasant had just time 
 to put out the lamp he carried, and creep 
 
or AN EXILE. 135 
 
 through a gate, along a low wall which in- 
 closed the cemetery ; while he heard the enraged 
 madman, for it was poor Claude who had escaped 
 from his confinement, rushing among the graves 
 and dashing his chains upon the stones, 
 
 " I had just opened my window," said the 
 vigneron, "to look at the night to see if our 
 vintage was likely to prosper, when I heard one 
 of the most dreadful cries that man can hear. 
 It was like the yelling of some tormented spirit 
 in purgatory ; and I hastily shut the v.indow ; 
 and, kissing my wife and child, who slept 
 soundly, said my prayers and went to bed ; but 
 that cry still rang in my ears, and I dreaded 
 some visitation upon the city. But the next 
 morning the news of the madman's escape 
 was told me, and that the peasant was very 
 ill of his fright. My God ! what dreadful 
 things happen in the world ; the madman was 
 secured, and he is now confined in the city." 
 
136 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 Sucli was the conclusion of this melancholy 
 story. Mysterious Providence ! A poor harm- 
 less girl, that never would have injured the 
 smallest reptile, became, by the course of these 
 events, a murderess and a convict. And the 
 peace of that cottage which the soldier had par- 
 taken of and enjoyed, was by him turned into 
 desolation, death, and delirium. When we 
 look upon the stream of life, as it flows on 
 sometimes in uniformity and gentleness, and 
 at others like the wild and rushing torrent, 
 fertilising and refreshing the lands of some, 
 while it swallows up the flocks and smiling gar- 
 dens of others, who can refrain from feeling 
 perplexity and doubt ? Who has not some- 
 times, amidst his miseries and misfortunes, 
 looked round upon the very different situation 
 of others, and wondered and almost repined? 
 Who has not at some time or other felt within 
 his heart a consciousness that he vvas formed for 
 higher and better situations than that in which 
 
OF AN EXILE. 137 
 
 he is placed ? But when all hope, all prospect 
 of a change are passed, and we are influenced 
 by the same noble and generous impulses, it 
 is then that we turn to the highest and best 
 of places, it is then that we feel indeed that 
 there is a Providence. Though the outward 
 world be dark and cheerless, though the storms 
 of life surround us, yet we have within our hearts 
 the pure stream of mercy from on high, com- 
 forting, and soothing our spirits like the spring 
 that gushes from the rocks on the shore of 
 the raging ocean. And because we see ine- 
 qualities and apparent contradictions and con- 
 fusion, are we therefore to doubt the existence 
 of a protecting and balancing hand ? Do we 
 not feel within our own hearts the history 
 of the system of the great Creator ? Do we 
 not feel the powers of virtue and vice each 
 acting in their separate way, but both con- 
 ducing to some wise purpose ? The virtue 
 that makes the better and higher feelings of 
 
138 JOURXAL 
 
 our nature more green and fruitful, renders 
 us liappy and contented. While the devas- 
 tation and ruin which our vicious propen- 
 sities may have caused, have only swept away 
 many a noxious vapour, and left our souls 
 clear and calm. And if we see in others 
 vice so far prevail as to choke up the course 
 and influence of virtue, are we there- 
 fore to pronounce rashly that this is unjust, 
 and unworthy of an impartial being.'* How 
 do we know but that the vice which we lament, 
 may be the means of good and blessing, as 
 the treachery of Judas, and the weakness of 
 the Roman governor acted together in the 
 great plan of our redemption "i When I see 
 some shallow worldling, whose paltry aspi- 
 rations have been baffled, and whose life has 
 been one of sense and selfishness, repine at 
 his lot, and arraign the ways of Providence, 
 I look upon him with dread and pity. The 
 tempest that may dissipate the noxious va- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 139 
 
 pours from his mind is yet to come, and 
 long and bitterly may he suffer before it 
 works its destined end. The fool hath said 
 in his heart " There is no God," or what 
 comes to the same thing — has dared to re- 
 pine at, and accuse his works and will. 
 
140 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I WAS yesterday at the vintage fete. But 
 the story I so recently heard, and the de- 
 struction caused by the late rains, dwelt too 
 strongly on my mind to allow it to derive 
 much pleasure from the really cheerful scene. 
 The form of the hapless Mary seemed to 
 wander before me, and the cry of her poor 
 brother rang in my ears. The vignerons, how- 
 ever, who had lost their vines in the storm, 
 seemed to forget their misfortunes amid the 
 mirth of the other peasants, who were all as- 
 sembled upon the small place in front of the 
 church, from which the procession, with its 
 rude Saints and banners, and preceded by the 
 priest, advanced and marched thrice round. 
 In the midst of the Saints was carried a fisure 
 
OF AN EXILE. 141 
 
 covered with grapes and vine-leaves, and seated 
 upon a tun to represent Bacchus ; the pagan 
 superstitions being thus united, as they fre- 
 quently are in Provence, with the ceremonies 
 of the Roman Catholic religion. 
 
 The descendants from the Phocaeans cannot 
 forget their classical origin ; and the bust of 
 Homer which they have set up in one of the 
 streets of the city, looks down upon the children 
 of those who rejected him, and recalls the re- 
 collection of the fate which so many illustrious 
 spirits have met with. Homer, Camoens, Tasso, 
 Dante, Chatterton, Burns, all died in exile, or 
 hopeless poverty. Homer wandering blind and 
 homeless ; Camoens dying as he had lived — poor 
 and neglected ; Tasso pining away the brightest 
 years of his life in darkness, captivity, and 
 hopeless love; Dante the fierce, the vindictive 
 Dante, banished by the country, which, like 
 Coriolanus, he scorned ; Chatterton perishing 
 in a common workhouse ; and lastly, the Scot- 
 
142 JOLKXAL 
 
 tisli poet, he who wrote the " Cotter's Saturday 
 Niffht," left to wear his ardent soul away in the 
 drudgery of detecting petty frauds and mea- 
 suring brandy. O ye who now rule the hearts 
 of mankind with your verse and words, be not 
 too elated with their incense and acclamations ; 
 but in the midst of luxury and the honours 
 which an obedient world showers upon you, 
 think sometimes of the dark bed of Chatterton— 
 the solitary cell of Tasso, and be humble. 
 
 November 1. This day was one of gloom 
 and solemnity in the city. I walked there in the 
 morning. The shops were all shut, the bells 
 of all the churches were ringing the funeral 
 chime, and flags upon the vessels in the harbour 
 were half-mast high. It was lejour des Marts, 
 the day of the dead, when the living cease from 
 their labours to pray for the repose of the mil- 
 lions of souls that are passed away. The churches 
 were all hung with black, and the people were 
 kneehng around the confessionals, whispering 
 their guilt and repentance to the unseen con- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 143 
 
 fessor ; while the still silence was only broken 
 by the ringing of a small bell, which announced 
 the different periods of the service. But soon 
 the whole multitude joined in that solemn and 
 thrilling hymn, which is more particularly 
 striking to the traveller, meeting, as he does, 
 with extracts from it, inscribed upon crosses 
 amid the dangers of his Alpine wanderings. 
 There is something singularly affecting to me in 
 this ceremony. Young and old, rich and poor, 
 are all mingled together as they pray for their 
 buried kindred ; thus pointing out to the con- 
 templative mind an emblem of the future min- 
 gling of their dust. In the catholic churches 
 there are no invidious pews with their rich crim- 
 son linings, and no stately powdered footman 
 bearing the gilded prayer-book, marches before 
 the haughty master as he passes up the aisle 
 to his privileged seat. Each person comes 
 silently in, and making the sign of the cross 
 upon his forehead, quietly takes a chair in the 
 position where he can best see the altar. True, 
 
144 JOURNAL 
 
 some small mite is paid for this, but the chair 
 is not a necessary part of the attendance at mass ; 
 for the poor and devout peasant, to whom, per- 
 haps, that mite is an object, stands beside the 
 wife of the rich merchant, and is content to 
 kneel upon the hard pavement. But I am far 
 from approving of many other parts of the 
 catholic service as I shall have occasion to men- 
 tion hereafter. 
 
 T remained during the day in the city : the 
 gravity and composed appearance of every thing 
 suited my feelings. Fetes and noisy rejoicings 
 destroy me ; they irritate and make me feel dis- 
 pleased with myself for not being able to share 
 in the cheerfulness of others. But it must be 
 unshrinking resignation indeed, that can learn 
 to derive consolation at all times, either from the 
 smiles or tears of others. When the friend to 
 whom I have poured out all the misery of my 
 soul, has told me that there were many others 
 more wretched than myself, and that this should 
 
OF AX I.XILE. 145 
 
 comfort me, I have smiled and wondered at such 
 doctrine. What! shall I, who know what it 
 is to look round upon life, and not see one green 
 spot to refresh my eyes, whose days are full of 
 disappointment and grief, shall I comfort myself 
 with the idea that others are wearing away their 
 lives in the same situation ? If my heart be 
 humane, such thoughts can only add to my sor- 
 row ; besides that they deprive me of the meagre 
 satisfaction of the unhappy, the belief that they 
 are struggling with unusual afflictions. Away 
 with that poisonous and blighting maxim of the 
 French philosopher and duke, that we rejoice 
 even in the misfortunes of our best friends : he 
 that does so, never had any friends, and never will. 
 I strolled in the evening into one of the public 
 cafes. The variety of persons one sees there, 
 makes me forget other thoughts for a time. 
 When I entered it, I perceived two Turks sitting 
 on one side with their cigars and their coffee 
 before them ; a few Englishmen were lounging 
 
 VOL. f. H 
 
146 JOURNAL 
 
 about, and the noise of the billiard-table was 
 heard from an adjoining room. I had scarcely 
 sat down and called for some coffee, when some 
 other turbaned personages came in and placed 
 themselves on the opposite side of the room to 
 that on which the Turks were seated. There 
 was an evident difference in the appearance of 
 the two parties. The Turks, with their over- 
 hanging eyebrows and shaggy beards, looked 
 fiercely at the group which was opposite to 
 them. This latter consisted of an elderly man, 
 two younger, and a boy of about fourteen, who 
 appeared very much inclined to ridicule the 
 Turks. The costume of these last differed from 
 that of their neighbours. They were Greeks, 
 with clear oval countenances, and a brighter and 
 darker eye than the Turks could boast of. The 
 two parties stared at each other with that sort of 
 expression of countenance with which two bulls 
 may be supposed to regard one another, when 
 separated in their furious strife. Here were the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 147 
 
 two bitterest enemies which can perhaps exist, 
 the insurgent and his tyrant, sitting quietly with- 
 in the same room. While the troops of either 
 party were at that moment engaged in war even 
 to the knife, they were sitting at their httle mar- 
 ble tables beneath the soft light of the lamp, and 
 listening to a German girl who was playing upon 
 the harp in the midst of the cafe. But, as I 
 have already said, the Greek boy appeared very 
 much disposed to commence an attack upon the 
 Turks ; and had they not been more peaceably 
 disposed, a scene of confusion might have en- 
 sued. They, however, got up and quitted the 
 cafe. The Greeks remained ; they were from 
 Smyrna, spoke a little French, and told me that 
 they had made their escape from that place, and 
 were going to the Morea. May they be suc- 
 cessful in their righteous cause ! 
 
 I entered into conversation with a young 
 Englishman who is residing here, and who 
 pleased me much. His manners are simple and 
 H 2 
 
148 JOURNAL 
 
 retiring, his dress plain, and almost shabby ; but 
 I could perceive that he was look^-d upon with 
 respect and regard by the rest of his countrymen 
 who were there. He has been a considerable 
 traveller, but chiefly on foot. "I am not rich,"" 
 said he to me, " but I am of an ardent, inquisitive 
 disposition, and prefer living here upon hard 
 fare, and denying myself the gaieties and lux- 
 uries of the city, that I may reserve my money 
 to enable me to see other countries. I am in a 
 short time going to Italy by way of Nice." His 
 way of thinking and independence of mind coin- 
 cided so much with ray own temper, that we 
 soon became upon good terms ; and as I am en- 
 deavouring to procure myself all the distraction 
 I can, I asked him to come up to my house the 
 following morning, which he promised to do. 
 The gay, dissipated idlers of this large city do 
 not suit me. If I have any society, it must be 
 that of the quiet and the reflecting. 
 
 November 2. This day has been spent by me 
 
OF AN EXILE. 149 
 
 with my new acquaintance the Enghsh pedestrian. 
 He came up early in the morning, before the heat 
 of the sun had become oppressive, and breakfasted 
 with me. His conversation is animated and ima- 
 ginative, and his situation, I suspect, unfortunate, 
 another reason for our intimacy. We strolled out 
 after breakfast into the wood . ' ' What a contrast," 
 he exclaimed, "what a contrast does our situa- 
 tion now present to that of our friends," and 
 he sighed, " in England ! They are gathering 
 round the crackling fire in their carpeted rooms, 
 with the doors and windows closed against every 
 blast, while we are breathing this mild and per- 
 fumed air. But yet all the beauty and warmth 
 of these skies are not worth the dark fog which, 
 as it hangs over the street, makes the dear and 
 cheerful fire-side more precious." — *' Such may be 
 your feelings,'' I replied, " but such cannot be 
 mine. You, after having stored your mind 
 with the various knowledge to be acquired in 
 travelling, will return to display it to your won- 
 
150 JOLRNAL 
 
 dering family, and tell of your perils and plea- 
 sures to some fond heart that wishes for your 
 return. But I have now nothing in common 
 with my country ; my health is ruined, my hap- 
 piness gone, and these breezes and the hum- 
 ming of these bees will help me to dream away 
 the rest of my life. Were I to tell you all I 
 have suffered, all I have lost, you would ac- 
 knowledge that the softer sounds and beauties of 
 Nature can alone now comfort me. It would 
 seem impertinent and weak in me if I were so 
 soon to tell you of all this ; and yet I have no 
 one to whom I can talk of those things that are 
 nearest my heart, and thus somewhat relieve it." 
 " I too have known sorrow," replied my friend, 
 " but, thank God, it will now soon cease. 
 I have been a wanderer ; but by the end of the 
 year I hope once more to see the white cliffs of 
 Dover. I was careless and extravagant; my 
 father was the reverse : I had large debts, my 
 father refused to pay them, and I fled : he has. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 151 
 
 however, at last relented, and I shall soon be 
 freed from all my difficulties. I have lived in 
 different parts of the Continent ; I have toiled 
 up mountains, and along burning plains, and 
 consequently I have met with adventures. The 
 day is too hot to walk ; if you choose we will 
 sit down under this fig tree, and, as we watch 
 the course of yonder vessel, I will relate to you 
 a singular circumstance which happened to me 
 some years ago." I thanked him ; we sat down, 
 and he commenced as follows. 
 
152 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " I HAD been passing the winter of 1814, and 
 part of 1816, at Aix ; but as the spring was fast 
 advancing, and the heat began to be oppres- 
 sive, I determined upon quitting that place 
 for Grenoble, where I had resolved to reside 
 during the summer. Accordingly, one morning 
 at the beginning of March, a little before sun- 
 rise, I quitted Aix with my knapsack at my 
 back. There are many of our countrymen 
 Avho would scorn to load themselves with this 
 badge of poverty, but I have always found 
 it the most independent and agreeable plan. I 
 strolled along the banks of the Durance, that 
 winds along between high rugged rocks, with 
 here and there a scattered vineyard and half- 
 ruined tower perched upon a broken crag, the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 153 
 
 former habitation of some princely troubadour. 
 Not a house of any kind was in sight ; all was 
 wild, but beautiful, and such a scene as the 
 imagination might have peopled with those 
 bright beauties and eloquent poets that once 
 held at Aix their Courts of Love. I passed on 
 by Manosque, which rises at the end of the 
 valley in a pyramid of vines and olives, and 
 whose houses are built up among the rich 
 gardens to the top of the rock. When I had 
 passed this place, a wide plain extended itsell 
 before me. The Durance, inclosed within its 
 stoney channel, still kept along the side of the 
 road, but was no longer hemmed in by the 
 narrow defile we had passed. It might be seen 
 coming down like a silvery snake windino- 
 through the fields from the lower Alps, where it 
 takes its rise, and which glittered in the sun 
 along the distant horizon. I continued my 
 route, occasionally joined by the kind peasants, 
 in whose cottages I often found welcome and 
 H 5 
 
154 JOURNAL 
 
 refreshment ; and passing by the bleak and 
 gloomy Sisteron, and over some of the most de- 
 solate mountains I had ever beheld, I arrived on 
 the third day at Gap, a small town at the foot 
 of the Higher Alps. These mountains give their 
 name to the department which is a part of the 
 ancient province of Dauphine, and which they 
 divide into two unequal portions. As I entered 
 the town, the weather, that had been hitherto 
 still and warm, now seemed about to change ; 
 and I was vexed at this, as I had not intended 
 to sleep at Gap, which presented nothing to in- 
 terest me, but to continue my route over the 
 mountains to a small solitary inn which had 
 been described to me as likely, from its situation, 
 to delight me much. The storm, however, if 
 storm were indeed impending, kept off, and I 
 determined to go on. I began to ascend the 
 high rock, at the foot of which Gap stands, and 
 which stands as an outpost of the wild chain 
 that extends away towards Piedmont. After 
 
OF AN EXILE. 155 
 
 reaching its summit, and travelling along it for 
 a short time, the road as suddenly and steeply 
 descends into a deep valley, on one side of which 
 appeared almost close to the road, the towering 
 chain of the Alps, pointing their white peaks to 
 the sky, and looking like a long line of silent 
 shrouded spirits. A rapid torrent rolled close to 
 the road, and the parapet which had been for- 
 merly erected to preserve the traveller from mis- 
 taking his way, had fallen in, and afforded no se- 
 curity, should night overtake the stranger in this 
 part of the country. After following the course 
 of this torrent for some hours, I began towards 
 sunset to ascend the principal chain of the 
 mountains, having crossed the torrent by a rude 
 wooden bridge that trembled as I passed it. I 
 continued gradually to make my way up the 
 steep winding road, enjoying the magnificent 
 view that opened itself upon me, of a vast val- 
 ley, with the old town of Les Diguieres lying 
 beneath on one side, and a labyrinth of broken 
 
156 JOURNAL 
 
 rocks and precipices on the other ; while the bright 
 snowy pinnacles of the more distant Alps were 
 peering one above the other, as if impatient to 
 burst from their ranks. The weather, however, 
 began now to look very threatening, and the 
 storm gave strong signs that its hesitation was at 
 an end. The wind rose, the sun looked red and 
 misty as it was preparing to set amidst that 
 vapoury haze that announces an approaching 
 tempest, and dark masses of cloud spread 
 themselves slowly around, gathering above the 
 sharp peaks, glimpses of which appeared occa- 
 sionally through them, like the scraggy skeleton 
 hand of a spectre thrust out from its shroud. 
 I had often been told of the danger of a storm 
 among these mountains, as the only road across 
 them runs along the very brink of an immea- 
 surable precipice, and the wind is sometimes 
 so strong as it sweeps through the gorges, as to 
 bear off with it the powerless passenger, and 
 even sometimes mules. I pressed on, however. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 157 
 
 hoping that I might reach the inn before the 
 storm burst ; but my hopes were disappointed, 
 for a tremendous peal of thunder, which broke 
 over me, and echoed far away among the deso- 
 late recesses by which I was surrounded, gave 
 notice that the tumult was beginning. And no 
 sooner had it begun, than it raged with the 
 greatest violence, very unlike those storms which 
 prevail in plains. There the rain and wind come 
 on by degrees, and retire as gradually. But at 
 the signal given by this terrible piece of artillery, 
 the whole rage of the winds burst forth. They 
 roared about like a tempestuous sea, and al- 
 most took away my breath. To add to my per- 
 plexity, the snow began to fall ; and the wind, 
 seizing and whirling it in all directions, filled 
 the air with such mist and confusion, that I was 
 every moment afraid of stepping down into the 
 horrible gulf beneath. The lightning, as it 
 flashed over the abyss, shewed me the waters 
 of the torrent boiling and glittering along ; but 
 
158 JOURNAL 
 
 though it looked like a rushing river, I could 
 hear no sound but the howling of the wind. I 
 shrunk under the shelter of a projecting part of 
 the mountain which pressed close to the road ; 
 and there I remained, expecting every instant 
 to be swept off by the tourmente, or smothered 
 by the snow, and looking anxiously enough, 
 you may suppose, at one of those crosses that 
 are erected to commemorate some fatal accident or 
 crime, and which was directly before me. I was 
 soon, however, relieved from my dismay, for the 
 duration of the tempest was short in proportion to 
 its fury, and I had presently the pleasure to hear 
 the wind sink, and to find that the snow ceased. 
 The clouds, however, still continued to hang, 
 like reconnoitring parties, in different quarters of 
 the sky, and I hastened on through the new fallen 
 snow towards the inn. In about ten minutes I 
 reached the house, which stood quite isolated, 
 close to the foot of the impending rock. The 
 road there was a little wider than in the other 
 
OF AN EXILE. 159 
 
 parts ; and advantage had been taken of this 
 circumstance for building the inn. I entered, 
 and found the innkeeper sitting near a large iron 
 stove that was in the middle of the apartment, 
 and two gensdarmes were at some distance 
 smoking their cigars, who were stationed there 
 for the proper surveillance of the road. Of 
 course, a suspicious-looking knapsack traveller 
 like myself was immediately requested to display 
 his passport. " Monsieur aura la complaisance 
 (lemontrer sespapiers." Now, I keep a journal 
 of my travels by way of amusement, and the 
 term papers, was so general and sweeping, 
 that I began to think it included my diary, 
 which I certainly was determined to resist the 
 inspection of. But recollecting that the same 
 word also included certificates of being a good 
 mechanic, a servant, &c. and not having such, it 
 was of course only necessary to produce my pass- 
 port. The gensdarme to whom I presented it, 
 as he opened its torn folds, said, " Monsieur a 
 
UiO JOURNAL 
 
 hien vu des pai/s." I admitted that I had been 
 a tolerable traveller, but in no country so agree- 
 ably as France, I added. The innkeeper and 
 both the gensdarmes made me a low bow, and 
 the one to whom I had given my papers, as he 
 turned them, made me a still lower ; which I at- 
 tributed to my being described as gentilhomme ; 
 and as my journey was to be a short one, I 
 was dressed quite well enough to support that 
 title. I then ordered my supper and some wine, 
 and drinking to the health of Louis XVIII., I 
 invited the gensdarmes and the innkeeper to 
 assist me in my bottle. At my mention of the 
 King's name, I had observed that they all three 
 glanced at one another, and the innkeeper said 
 to me, " Monsieur apparently comes from Pro- 
 vence,— is there any thing new there V and the 
 gensdarmes bent towards me, as if anxiously 
 expecting my reply. Now the truth was, that 
 just when I left Aix, a dark confused report had 
 been spread of some disturbances at Frejus or 
 
OF AN EXILE. 161 
 
 Cannes, two small ports upon the Mediterranean. 
 But I had neither time nor inclination to investi- 
 gate the truth of it, and I had taken good, care 
 to say nothing upon the subject as I came along, 
 well knowing, as I did, the French police. I re- 
 plied, therefore, that " I really was not aware of 
 any thing new, and that, besides, I never trou- 
 bled myself with politics."" The others, whether 
 equally cautious or ignorant as myself, said 
 nothing more, and our conversation turned upon 
 the storm by which I had been overtaken. I 
 mentioned the awkward situation that I had 
 been in, and made inquiries respecting the cross 
 I had seen erected upon the road. One of the 
 gensdarmes told me that it had been put there 
 in memory of a dreadful event that had taken 
 place upon the spot. " I have been some years 
 stationed in this part of the country," said he, 
 " and never saw such a horrible sight. It is now 
 about four years that I was standing one morn- 
 ing in tfce month of August at the door of this 
 
162 JOURNAL 
 
 inn. A carriage coming from Grenoble, drove 
 up, in which were M. de Vitrolles and his two 
 daughters, relations to the Prefet of Gap. Ma 
 Jbi ! they were young and pretty creatures, and 
 I assisted them out of their carriage. They all 
 came in and refreshed themselves. M. de 
 Vitrolles asked me if the roads were safe. * You 
 have nothing to fear,' said I, ' but thesnowand the 
 tourmente ; and if there were any rascals among 
 the passes, I am sure they would never think of 
 being uncivil to two such gentilles demoiselles 
 as these,' and I made a low bow to them. Pardi, 
 they smiled and looked as pleased, and M. de 
 Vitrolles seemed quite enchanted with my pohte- 
 ness." Here the gensdarme, who seemed as 
 great a coxcomb as it was possible for a gens- 
 darme to be, brushed up his whiskers and drew 
 his hands through his hair. " Well !'' he con- 
 tinued, " when they had finished their soup and 
 their wine, of which I had ray share, in a bum- 
 per to the young ladies' health, M. de Vitrolles 
 
OF AN EXILE. 163 
 
 ordered the postillion to mount his horse, and he 
 handed one of his daughters into the carriage, 
 while I had the honour of handing the other, 
 who seemed eji veritt taken with my manner. 
 So off they set, laughing and calling to the 
 postillion to make as much haste as he could 
 with safety, as they were anxious to reach 
 Gap in time for the ball that was to be given 
 in honour of the Emperor, that is to say, 
 Bonaparte"'s fete ;" and the gensdarme here 
 moved back his chair, and looked as if he had 
 committed some blunder. I was, however, quite 
 unable to see why he should have thus taken 
 himself up, as it was very natural for him to 
 have made use of the expression he was first 
 going to use. He recovered himself, however, 
 and continued his narrative. " Well, they drove 
 off. Sir, as I told you ; but they had not been 
 gone above five or six minutes, and had just 
 turned the projecting part of the mountain, when 
 I heard a desperate shriek and the barking of 
 
1G4. 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 my dog here," pointing to a large rough dog that 
 lay at his feet. " I rushed out and ran to the 
 spot, and, my God ! when I got there, what a 
 sight it was. The carriage, just at that instant, 
 swung over the precipice, and went whirling 
 away, bang, bang against the rocks, with the 
 horses kicking in the air, and the poor creatures 
 that had been in it, dropping like flakes of snow 
 down into the torrent. The postilion had been 
 thrown off' and lay in the road; and as I con- 
 tinued to look down after the carriage, I saw 
 something white among a heap of bushes that 
 grew half way down the precipice. I thought it 
 was a patch of snow at first, but presently it 
 seemed to move; and lying down on my belly, 
 and putting my car close over the brink, I cer- 
 tainly heard a kind of shrieking: — but what 
 could I do.^ it was impossible to reach the poor 
 girl that was clinging there; and presently all 
 was over, for I saw the whole bush give way 
 and go plunging down with a quantity of dust 
 
Ol- AN EXILE. 165 
 
 and a large piece of rock. I went down into the 
 valley, and got assistance. When we reached 
 the spot where they had fallen, we found the 
 horses all dead and battered, the carriage in 
 shivers ; but, to our terror and astonishment, the 
 poor gentleman and one of his daughters were 
 still alive. It would have been better for them, 
 though, to have been killed upon the spot ; for 
 they died all the same, after lingering two days 
 in dreadful agony. They were all three carried 
 to Gap, and buried there; and soon after, the 
 cross you saw was put up." 
 
 I thanked the gensdarme for his story, and 
 ordered another bottle of wine for him and his 
 comrade; but as I was fatigued with my long 
 march, and the danger I had been in, I retired 
 directly to my room. The wind had again risen, 
 and moaned along the passage that led to my 
 apartment, the door of which had no lock or 
 fastening to it, and against which I placed a 
 large chair. I undressed myself, and got into 
 
166 JOURNAL 
 
 bed, but I could not sleep : some nameless feel- 
 ing kept me feverish and restless. The moon at 
 intervals shone into my room, and fell upon the 
 gigantic figures of a piece of tapestry which hung 
 over the decayed walls of my room, and which 
 had probably been torn from the rich cham- 
 bers of the castle of Les Diguieres, which lay in 
 the valley beneath, and had belonged to the 
 famous Constable of that name, to whom Louis 
 XIII. assigned the reputation ' d" avoir toi0ours 
 etc vainqueu?', et de n' avoir jamais He vuincu.'' 
 They were swinging about in the wind, which 
 penetrated through the thin walls, and seemed to 
 be brandishing their spears and shields. I tried 
 to compose myself; nothing would do. I tossed 
 from side to side, sat up, shook my pillow, and 
 put into practice all those manoeuvres that a 
 nervous and fidgety man thinks likely to render 
 him more comfortable. But all was vain ; so I 
 got up, and opening my window, looked out 
 upon the night. The moon was struggling like 
 
OF AN EXILE. 167 
 
 a gallant ship with a rolling sea of clouds ; and 
 here and there a few stars appeared like the scat- 
 tered vessels of a fleet. The precipice was before 
 me, dark, deep, and yawning ; while far away 
 on the other side, and occasionally lighted up by 
 a sudden burst of the moon, lay heaps of brown 
 and broken rocks, looking like the ruins of a vast 
 city. I stood listening to the groaning of the 
 wind, and fancied I could hear now and then the 
 howling of wolves. But my attention was sud- 
 denly attracted to another sound, that seemed to 
 come from the direction in which I had that day 
 passed. I even thought that I could distin- 
 guish the noise of wheels ; and yet it was not 
 likely that any carriage would be travelling at 
 that late hour, except perhaps the courier. 
 There was certainly, however, a low murmur- 
 ing sound, scarcely to be distinguished from 
 the wind, yet still audible. It gradually in- 
 creased ; and whatever it was that caused it, 
 the object seemed to be fast approaching. I 
 
168 JOURNAL 
 
 could soon distinctly hear the hollow rolling of 
 wheels, and the heavy tramp of apparently a 
 considerable body of men, whose number was 
 at least sufficient to make themselves heard, as 
 they marched over the light snow that still lay 
 slightly on the road. The other persons in the 
 inn had, it appeared, been roused by this unex- 
 pected occurrence ; for I heard them in motion 
 below, and I saw one of the gensdarmes come 
 out and stand before the door of the house 
 listening to the noise. Presently a horseman 
 turned a projecting point of rock, and rode va- 
 pidly up to the inn. The gensdarme immedi- 
 ately advanced towards him, and the horseman, 
 stooping down over his horse's neck, said some- 
 thing to him in so low a tone that I lost it. He 
 then dismounted, and, giving his horse to the 
 gensdarme, came into the house. I had not 
 time to speculate or conjecture who or what this 
 man was ; for at that moment a considerable 
 party of men advanced along the road, pre- 
 
OF AX EXILE. 169 
 
 ceded by a few horsemen. As they came near, 
 I could perceive that they were a military de- 
 tachment ; but their appearance struck me as 
 singular, and. not at all like that of the troops 
 I had seen at Aix or Marseilles. The soldiers, 
 however, and their officers, came directly up, and 
 halted beneath my window. They consisted of 
 about five or six horsemen, and from forty to 
 fifty foot-soldiers. The horsemen were but in- 
 differently mounted, their horses were wretched- 
 looking animals; and two that were harnessed to 
 a small piece of ordnance, seemed as if they were 
 very unused to their present appendage. The 
 infantry M'ere noble-looking veterans, but had a 
 fatigued and harassed appearance ; and there 
 v.'as an air of hurry and confusion in their man- 
 ner, that seemed more adapted to a party of 
 troops in full retreat in a hostile country, than to 
 a French regiment quietly changing its quarters. 
 Some of the horsemen were dismounted, and 
 paid particular attention to one whom I con- 
 
 VOL. I. 1 
 
170 JOURNAL 
 
 eluded to be the commanding officer. This 
 latter was a short man, with a plain cocked hat. 
 He came into the inn, followed by two of the 
 dismounted horsemen ; two or three of the other 
 horsemen rode hastily on ; and the soldiers, as 
 they rested on their arms, kept up a murmuring 
 conversation among themselves. Suddenly the 
 door of my room was pushed open, down tumbled 
 the large chair, and my friend the gensdarme, 
 with his sword drawn, walked in, and requested 
 that I would dress myself directly and follow 
 him. The request was made in that sort of way 
 that admits of little hesitation : so, hurrying on 
 my clothes, I accompanied my friend along the 
 passage, and down the narrow stairs, wondering 
 what all this could mean. 
 
 When we got into the kitchen, the short offi- 
 cer was standing directly in front of me, with his 
 hands behind him, near the stove ; and under his 
 great coat, which was thrown backj his uniform 
 appeared, of a dark-green colour. Two other 
 
OK AN EXILE. 
 
 171 
 
 officers in rich uniforms stood by him, the inn- 
 keeper in a corner of the room, and the other 
 gensdarme erect against the open door of the inn 
 with his sword drawn. I was proceeding to ex- 
 press- my surprise at having been thus disturbed 
 in my sleep, and had prepared a very eloquent 
 and conciliatory compliment to the general civi- 
 lity of the French military, when the short officer 
 fixed his eye steadily upon me, and said rather 
 in a sharp tone, — "jEJ^ bien ! M. CA nglois^ vous 
 voyagez done comme cela tout seul a pied ? Uou 
 venez vous T' The abruptness and haughtiness of 
 the question irritated me; and I replied, that I 
 had already shewn my passport to the gensdarmes, 
 and that I considered myself to have been very 
 unnecessarily interrupted in my repose, to answer 
 useless interrogatories. The other two officers 
 looked at each other and smiled, and the short one 
 said, — '■'■Doucement^doueement^ M.le Voyageur: 
 lam the Emperor." I was thunderstruck, and 
 the whole singularity of my position burst upon 
 ; 2 
 
172 JpURNAL 
 
 me. Here, then, was the explanation of those 
 dark rumours which I had heard before quitting 
 Aix. Yet in spite of the unpleasant circum- 
 stances in which this might involve me, I felt 
 a certain satisfaction at the opportunity thus 
 afforded me, of seeing that remarkable man. I 
 remained silent, and undecided if I should 
 apologize for my incivility, when he continued, 
 saying " Vous venez de Marseille apparam- 
 meni, how many troops are there in that city ? 
 Was there any disturbance there when you left 
 it .?" I stated, that I had just come from Aix. — 
 B. '■'' Etes vous militaire f"" "No," I replied, 
 " I am in the law." " Bahl Avocut .'" said Bo- 
 naparte, taking a long pinch of snuff. " Have 
 you been at Paris lately T'' " Yes, Sire:" I did 
 not choose to mince the matter, and call him 
 General there. B. " Vous avez vu le Roi?'" — 
 '•Yes, Sire." " What do you think of 
 him .f*" The question puzzled me, but I luckily 
 found words to reply, that it was difficult to 
 
OF AX KXILE. 173 
 
 form any opinion of a king who had reigned 
 so short a time. — *' Bon ! vous avez raison, 
 M. VAviKut ; but he is not fit for France. 
 I am going to replace her in the splendid posi- 
 tion which belongs to her. Mais soyez tran- 
 f/uil/e, you will not be molested. England has 
 always been my enemy ; I hope that in future 
 Ave shall be friends, and we will make Europe 
 happy. Your Parliament will be well pleased 
 to see me again on the throne of France;" and 
 he added, " I have many partisans in your Par- 
 liament." This question I certainly was not 
 prepared to discuss, so I let it pass : had I been 
 a member of that illustrious assembly, I might, 
 perhaps, have opposed it. He then pointed to 
 his grenadiers, who were seen through the open 
 door : " Cest une partie cle ma garde,— I am 
 going to cross the whole of France with those 
 forty men. Grenoble is already mine, and by 
 to-morrow le drapeau tricolor will float upon the 
 steeples of Lyons." I ventured to remark their 
 
174 JOURNAL 
 
 fine appearance. " Oui, cest le reste dc ma 
 lieille garde ; with thirty thousand men like 
 those I could beat all the Allied Powers. Mais 
 alloiis, Bertrahd,"" turning to one of the officers, 
 " depechoiis nous — Drouot^ doiiuez I'ordre, let us 
 go and see what Labedoyere has been doing for 
 us." — The word of command was immediately 
 given : the grenadiers shouldered their arms 
 and marched, while the Emperor mounted his 
 horse, and slightly touching his hat, rode off, 
 followed by his generals. 
 
 I was not disposed, as you may well ima- 
 gine, to return to bed tliat night. My exami- 
 nation had too much discomposed me, although 
 I had turned out a very harmless character. The 
 next morning I continued my route, and reached 
 Grenoble. When I arrived there, I found the 
 town in great confusion. Bonaparte was still 
 there ; and, as I passed along the streets, I was 
 enveloped in a crowd of persons who were carry- 
 ing the gates of a part of the city upon their 
 
OK AN EXILE. 175 
 
 shoulders; and which, I was afterwards in- 
 formed, they had presented to Bonaparte, 
 saying, " Napoleon, we could not give you 
 the keys of your good city of Grenoble, but 
 here are the gates." The general command- 
 ing there had, it seems, made away with 
 the keys. Here my friend having concluded 
 his story, we separated, and I returned liome, 
 after having exchanged promises to meet 
 again shortly. 
 
176 
 
 JOURXAL 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 November 30. — I have been for some time 
 past low and depressed. I have written nothing 
 here, and have never once gone down to the city 
 since the day of All Saints My mind has been 
 engaged in its own thoughts and reflections, and 
 has been unwilUng to look abroad. There is a 
 season approaching which I used once to wel- 
 come with innocent and expecting joy. I re- 
 member, when I was a child, how delightful 
 the gradual advance of Christmas used to seem 
 to me. The serenades of the parish wakes, 
 the gay shops with their windows heaped 
 with citrons and raisins, and the preparatory 
 collections of the joyous holly with its deep-red 
 berries, used to make me leap and dance with 
 anticipation, as I walked with my nurse along 
 
OF AN EXILE. 177 
 
 the street. l^hen at home : the plan that I 
 listened to for the Christmas dinner— the party 
 to be invited — the enumeration of the presents 
 from the country, and of the Christmas-boxes to 
 be given. I think I see my father now — (after 
 we had lost my mother) — consulting with my sis- 
 ter, who is now no more, upon the viands that 
 were to be collected for the approaching feast. 
 And when the long-looked-for day did arrive, I 
 was awake and restless long before morning, with 
 the anticipation of that beautiful and cheerful 
 salutation, " A merry Christmas," of the annual 
 new shilling, of the droning sound of the carols, 
 of the new suit of clothes, of the gaily decked 
 church, of the dinner and the dessert ; and then 
 the kisses of the kind ladies, of their little books 
 and boxes of sweetmeats, and finally, of the 
 triumphant entry of the galanty show ! Blessed, 
 happy season ! when all these simple joys could 
 please, when I knew not distrust nor sorrow, but 
 looked forward to one long and bright Christ- 
 i5 
 
178 JOURNAL 
 
 mas. How different is my present state ! I 
 have learnt the history of Hfe, that history so 
 full of revolutions and wonders. And yet the 
 style of its great Author may be traced through- 
 out its pages ; and when we close it, we ought 
 to rise wiser and better from its perusal. There 
 are many, who, disgusted too soon with its dry 
 preface and unadorned commencement, shut the 
 book in silence and aversion, and cast it, like 
 a noxious weed, away. There are others who 
 hastily pass over its graver and more instructive 
 subjects, and speed on to its flowery passages, 
 without retaining or remembering one useful 
 lesson contained within it. But there are others 
 who come to its examination with seriousness and 
 impartiality ; who, aware of its difficulty and 
 pleased at the instructive contrasts it presents, 
 pass from word to word, and from page to page, 
 with cautious application, and, combining the 
 whole into one system of information and know- 
 ledge, are thus prepared to instruct others in the 
 
or AN EXILE. 179 
 
 various mischiefs which they have remarked pre- 
 vailing during the successive reigns of the pas- 
 sions, and can look back upon the time they 
 have thus spent as neither wasted nor improperly 
 employed. Such men are, indeed, happy ; for 
 their happiness is that of reason and experience, 
 and not the unreal and vapoury light which pro- 
 ceeds from the unwholesome exhalations of an 
 uncultivated soil. I could have been such, I 
 feel that I could, but my fate has been other- 
 wise directed. * * * 
 
 December 2. — I walked to Marseilles yester- 
 day morning. I was anxious to make some in- 
 quiries respecting the progress of the yellow 
 fever at Barcelona. The fearful scourge is still 
 raging in that city ; thousands are dying daily. 
 When one stands upon that beautiful terrace 
 which extends from one side of the harbour 
 along the coast as far as the old church, which 
 has been built upon the ruins of a Temple of 
 
180 JOURNAL 
 
 Diana, — when one looks over the fair waters 
 which flow by the infected shores of Spain, the' 
 imagination wonders how the fresh waves could 
 ever bear upon their living crests the fatal and 
 pestiferous vessel. It would seem that the in- 
 fluence of those winds that blow from Palestine 
 should dispel the bhght and corruption of these 
 infectious plagues, which, like the original sin 
 of our nature, deform and pollute the lovely 
 shores of the Mediterranean. Was it not enough 
 that the dark rocks of Africa should send forth 
 the pestilence and the pirate "^ Must the Atlantic 
 too— the mountainous Atlantic, waft destruction 
 into Europe .? Why did not the Pagan God close 
 with his gigantic columns the treacherous strait 
 which connects these seas with the great ocean .'* 
 The vessel, the single vessel, which was bearing 
 death and agony into a busy city, passed un- 
 heeded along ; and as it anchored in the unsus- 
 picious harbour, the delighted and smiling kin- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 181 
 
 dred of thb mariners ran to its deck, to clasp 
 pestilence and inhale contaminated breath. 
 * * * 
 
 The intelligence which has reached Marseilles 
 is indeed melancholy. But I have been told of 
 an affecting instance of heroism and devoted- 
 ness: two of the Sisters of Charity have left 
 Paris, in order to go to the suffering Barcelonese, 
 and succour the sick. Such are the fruits of 
 that blessed religion which preserves the un- 
 shrinking believer from the mouth of the lion 
 and the sevenfold heat of the furnace ! What 
 system of morality or philosophy would com- 
 mand us to act thus, or even support us under 
 such a trying task when commenced ? Morality 
 will teach us to live honestly and honourably ; 
 Philosophy will enable us to bear the evils of life 
 with calmness ; but will either of them say to us, 
 " Go and search out the unhappy and the sick : 
 thou hast done thy duty in society as others, 
 and as thou oughtest, thou hast supported thy 
 
182 JOURNAL 
 
 misfortunes with patience, since what would it 
 avail thee to do otherwise? but there is still a 
 higher duty to be performed. Thou must not 
 only be passive in thy virtues, but active. Go 
 to that city which lies in tears and misery ; go, 
 and by thy humble exertions alleviate its dis- 
 tress. ' Thou shalt not be afraid of the pesti- 
 lence that walketh in darkness, nor for the sick- 
 ness that destroyeth in the noon day.' And 
 though nothing but pain and incessant labour 
 await thee, though thou mayest die in the ful- 
 filment of the duties I command thee to per- 
 form ; yet be assured, that nothing which is done 
 from firm and ardent conviction of its being 
 required by the humane and charitable precepts 
 of the Christian religion, can be done use- 
 lessly. Go — thou wilt feel, amidst all the hor- 
 rors which will soon be before thee, a conscious- 
 ness that thou art doing what thou couldest not 
 do of thyself alone." * * * 
 
 Barcelona appears, indeed, to be in a dreadful 
 
OF AN EXILE. 183 
 
 State of confusion. The horrors of anarchy and 
 revolution are added to its other suiferings. 
 Spain is a prey to one of those eruptions which 
 are sometimes the means of clearing a distem- 
 pered country of its humours and corruptions ; 
 but which, if unskilfully managed, or too hastily 
 checked, are only the sources of incurable dis- 
 ease and evil. She cannot, I fear, derive any 
 benefit from this crisis in her nature, as her 
 miglity neighbour has done. There is an ori- 
 ginal weakness, a sort of unnaturally long child- 
 ishness about her, that checks and paralyses the 
 developement of her moral powers. The indo- 
 lent bigotry of the people, and the suspicious 
 tyranny of the sovereign, have both contributed 
 to retain her in long and ignorant tutelage. And 
 now that she has attempted to take her place 
 amid the nations of Europe, who have attained 
 their full strength, either internal disunion, or 
 foreign interference, will send her back to the 
 
184 JOURNAL 
 
 nursery, there to play with her beads and her 
 guitars. * « * 
 
 As I stood upon the quay with my friend the 
 young pedestrian, whom I met, the Mistral, 
 or north-west wind, was blowing violently into 
 the harbour. The sky was black, the sea white 
 and stormy, and a few small fishing-boats in the 
 offing were hurrying along towards the harbour. 
 Presently, a shot was fired from the fort above ; 
 and while we were wondering what this could 
 mean, we saw the boats that had come close 
 up to the mouth of the port accosted by a 
 boat containing the officers of health. We were 
 shortly after informed, that these boats came 
 from the coast of Spain, and that they had been 
 driven in by the violence of the weather. Of 
 course, the crowd upon the quay was thrown into 
 considerable agitation, but they were soon some- 
 what tranquillized, by observing, that the boats 
 were stationed just under the guns of the fort, 
 and watched by several boats filled with armed 
 
OF AN EXILE. 185 
 
 men. I trust, therefore, no mischief will ensue 
 from this unlucky occurrence. 
 
 The accounts from the Lazarette in this city, 
 are more satisfactory and encouraging ; the cases 
 of disease which existed there, are fast de- 
 creasing. What a striking reflection it is, that 
 this building should be so near these populous 
 streets; and what gratitude ought not their 
 inhabitants to feel for those, whose vigilance 
 and unceasing care prevent the infection from 
 spreading beyond the u alls of its prison ! The 
 regulations respecting the system of quarantine 
 are interesting, and, I may say, impressive. 
 There are always stationed at Pomegue, one 
 of the islands which lie in the bay, and where 
 all vessels are compelled to stop, boats which 
 belong to the Board of Health. As soon as 
 any ship has cast anchor at the island, one of 
 these boats approaches it, and the captain of 
 the ship getting into his own boat, is towed by 
 the other up to that part of the Lazarette which 
 
186 JOURNAL 
 
 looks upon the sea. As soon as they have ar- 
 rived there, one of the officers of health pre- 
 sents himself in a balcony in front of the lodge 
 that overlooks the coast, and holds up one of 
 the Gospels, framed and covered with a glass. 
 The captain extending a long rod, touches it, 
 and swears by the holy Crucifix to speak the 
 truth. He is then asked from whence he comes, 
 the nature of his cargo, the number of his crew, 
 the communication he may have had with other 
 vessels, and, finally, the number of his passen- 
 gers, and their quality. The captain then pre- 
 sents his bill of health at the end of the rod, 
 which the attendants receive with pincers, dip- 
 ped into vinegar, and spread out upon a plank be- 
 fore the officer. According to the orders which 
 this latter may give, the captain regulates his 
 proceedings, and either places his vessel near 
 the chain of the port, or returns to Pomegue 
 and awaits farther instructions. 
 
 These depend upon the circumstances. The 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 187 
 
 Consuls of the respective ports, from which the 
 vessels come, are obliged to deliver to their cap- 
 tains bills of health, of which there are foui- 
 kinds. The first is, the unstained, indicating 
 that the crew are in perfect health. The next 
 is, the possibly suspicious, the vessel having 
 come from a suspected port. The third is, the 
 positively suspected, as coming from a country 
 which is infected, or which has had communi- 
 cation with others that are so. And the last is, 
 the awful one, that the plague is on board. It 
 is therefore the state of these bills which deter- 
 mines the duration of the quarantine, and which 
 varies according to the nature of the case. Some- 
 times twenty-five, twenty-eight, thirty days are 
 considered necessary or sufficient; but in the 
 case of positive infection, forty days are re- 
 quired, and five weeks purification of the vessel 
 afterwards. This last consists of washing ir, of 
 nluno-iiio- all its tackle into the sea, and a strict 
 examination of its cargo. Should any one fall 
 
188 JOURXAL 
 
 sick on board, be is immediately carried to tbe 
 Lazarette; sbould be die, tbe cause of bis deatb 
 is ascertained, and be is directly buried. Tbe 
 internal regulations of tbe Lazarette are not less 
 peculiar. It is placed under tbe exclusive di- 
 rection of tbe Board of Healtb ; tbe captain is 
 generally a mercbant wbo bas travelled to tbe 
 Levant, and unmarried. He must sleep in tbe 
 Lazarette. He bas tbe management of tbe wbole 
 of tbe interior police. He accompanies tbe 
 officers of bealtb in tbeir visits to tbe different 
 cbambers; be punisbes, and is responsible for 
 faults ; and be draws up tbe wills of tbe dying, 
 wbicb bave tbe same force as if tbey bad been 
 prepared by a notary. Tbe persons wbo are 
 performing quarantine witbin tbe building, are 
 allowed to walk in different quarters, as tbe case 
 may be. But tbey are all watcbed and attended 
 by guards, wbo at nigbt are locked up witb 
 tbem. Wben any one falls sick, a pbysician 
 is sent to bim, wbo remains at tbe door of bis 
 
OF AN EXILE. 189 
 
 apartment, and having ordered proper medicines, 
 departs. Should there be no hope of saving the 
 unfortunate person's life, the captain presents 
 himself at the door of the room, and the 
 dying wretch dictates his will to him. — 
 Should he ask for a priest, one is sent to him ; 
 but he places himself in a corner of the apart- 
 ment, from whence he hears the confession, and 
 bestows his absolution and blessing. The host 
 and extreme unction are never administered to 
 the sick here. When the priest goes out, he is 
 obliged to swear upon the cross that he has not 
 touched the sick person. When the latter is 
 dead, he is buried in quick lime ; every thing 
 which belonged to him is burnt, the walls of his 
 room are cleaned and whitened, and his death 
 carefully concealed from the other persons within 
 the Lazarette. 
 
 Such is the constitution of this remarkable 
 establishment. It has afforded shelter and relief 
 to numerous vessels which had been rejected bv 
 
190 JOURNAL 
 
 other ports; and in the year 1801 the whole 
 French army which returned from Egypt was 
 at once admitted within its walls, which circum- 
 stance may give an idea of its extent. Its situa- 
 tion is very favourable to the attainment of the 
 object for which it was built, being placed on a 
 rising ground to the right of the harbour, and 
 exposed to the full force of the mighty Mistral 
 I shall walk up to it one of these days. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 191 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 I WENT with my friend to the same cafe 
 which I have before mentioned. There is some- 
 thing certainly quite pecuhar in these places in 
 this city. Persons of all nations are mingled 
 together within them. There were the Algerine 
 and the Turk of Constantinople seated at one 
 table, with their heads bent down upon their 
 breasts, and dozing in listlessness and indolence. 
 Farther on sat a knot of German students, who 
 have come here in order to embark for Greece, 
 and enjoying the only refreshment their finances 
 admit of — eau sucree. At the table opposite to 
 me were two emigrants — one from Spain, flying 
 from the Constitutionalists, and the other from 
 Piedmont, being himself one of this very de- 
 scription of persons. Leaning upon the comp- 
 
192 JOURNAL 
 
 toir, and talking to the presiding genius, was a 
 voung English officer all fresh from Florence, 
 with his travelling cap of straw, and his eyes 
 repeating the lessons they had been taught upon 
 the banks of the Arno, to the fair Provencal, 
 whose husband stood by black and scowling, 
 looking as if his hot southern blood would not 
 allow him to be as complaisant as Sterne's glove- 
 merchant. Some English captains of merchant- 
 men were collected together in a small room, 
 into which I could just see through a glass door, 
 and had got their grog, their pipe, and their 
 song as merrily as in the parlour of the Gun at 
 Wapping. Tn another cabinet at the other side 
 of the comptoir were a number of young corn- 
 mis, or clerks to merchants, playing at bil- 
 liards, and singing, in confusion worse confound- 
 ed, all sorts of songs, both military, amatory, 
 and political. Of the latter, I could just catch 
 this burthen, which probably alluded to the 
 missionaries : 
 
OF AN EXILK. 193 
 
 ** Soufflons ! soufBons 1 soufflons ! 
 Eteignons la lumiere, 
 Et soufflons le feu." 
 
 Then, in the midst of the ca/e, and just under 
 the lamp, stood a bhnd German harper, attend- 
 ed by his daughter, who sang occasionally ; and 
 who, at the request of an American captain sit- 
 ting near me, struck up " Yankee Doodle," which 
 he had somewhere learned, and which had 
 attracted some of the Yankee sailors about the 
 door. And of all these 'persons, I was, perhaps, 
 the only one that looked on \vdthout sharing in 
 their mirth, or even tranquillity. For nothing 
 seemed to disturb the opium stillness of the 
 Turks. I could fancy that I saw them sitting 
 before their doors at Constantinople, after having 
 well drugged themselves with the Lethean po- 
 tion, looking over the bright Bosphorus, and 
 buried in their noxious dream. So might I sit 
 beneath the shade of my wood, and gaze upon 
 
 VOL. 1. K 
 
194 JOURNAL 
 
 as glorious a sea ; but then, the dream — where 
 would the dream be? Opium, too, would give it 
 me ; but how would it leave me ? More wretch- 
 ed, more desponding than before. I have often 
 felt a strong temptation to try this antidote to 
 bitter thought ; but dread the tyranny which, 
 stealing on with petty pace, it would soon exert 
 over me. 
 
 December 3. I have quite neglected my little 
 pupil of late. He was with me this morning, af- 
 fectionate little fellow ! I had been reading an 
 Italian and favourite author, and had cast myself 
 upon my knees in agony, as I finished the fol- 
 lowing passage : " Cos' e la vita per me ? II tem- 
 po mi divoro i raomenti felici : io non la conosco 
 se non nel sentimento del dolore ! ed ora anche 
 r illuzione mi abbandona. Io medito sul passato. 
 io m'affisso su i di che verranno, e non veggio 
 che pianto. Questi anni che appena giungono a 
 segnare la mia giovenezza, come passarono lenti 
 fra i timori, ie speranze, i desiderj, gV inganni, la 
 
OF AN EXILE. 195 
 
 noja ! e s' io cerco la eredit^ che mi hanno lasci- 
 ato, non mi trovoche la rimembranza di pochi 
 piaceri che non sono piu, d' un mare di sciagure 
 che atterrano il mio coraggio **** La sola morte, 
 a cui e commesso il sacro cangiamento delle cose, 
 mi ofFre pace !" The little boy had entered the 
 room unperceived by me, and crept up to my 
 side. Suddenly, as I wept, he threw hiiS' arms 
 round my neck, crying, " My dear Monsieur, 
 what have you lost ? or why do you cry ? — don't 
 cry ; you know you saved me from being drown- 
 ed, and you must be happy." Alas ! what had I 
 not lost, and what would I not have given to be 
 as innocent and hap})y as that child ! I would 
 have given fame, wealth, and title, all the years 
 that man may live, for one short month of that 
 love and harmony, which I could so well 
 enjoy. Nay, I would even be content to linger 
 out the rest of my life upon a bed of sickness, 
 to be tended and soothed by one voice and hand ! 
 my fever would scorch me less, my eves would 
 K 2 
 
196 JOURNAL 
 
 not ache and throb, if they could be fixed upon 
 one gentle well-remembered face, that now 
 seems, as I press its image to my lips, to smile 
 upon me. Here are, indeed, "lips parted by 
 sugared-breath,"" and I could almost say, the 
 picture thought. The little boy now sprang 
 up and cried, " Mais, mon Dieu ! I have forgot 
 my commission. My pretty little sister is going 
 to the church with Adolphe to-morrow, and you 
 must come and see us all. She will look so 
 pretty, and we shall be so happy, and so will you, 
 and so shall I ; I'm to have my new jacket ; and 
 Adolphe has promised to take me to the city : oh ! 
 how I love Adolphe. Won't you come ?" I pro- 
 mised that I would go. " But alions r said I, " we 
 must begin our lesson;" and he began to murmur 
 and stammer his broken English, all the time 
 looking up in my face, and seeming to be aware 
 of the curious mistakes he was making. Those 
 who have been met by the little ragged children 
 who haunt the valleys and descents of France, 
 
OF A\ EXILE. 197 
 
 recollect the amusement they have received from 
 listening to their jargon, half pathetic, half ludi- 
 crous, as they dance and tumble and sing, while 
 they force upon the traveller their bouquets. 
 
 December 4. I went this morning to the 
 marriage: I found the vignerons cottage in con- 
 siderable confusion. The bridegroom was not 
 arrived. But the pretty bride was seated in the 
 room which I entered, surrounded by some of 
 her young friends, and dressed in her gayest 
 colours. She had a portrait of her future hus- 
 band hanging round her neck, and her hair 
 was adorned with flowers. The old grandmother 
 seemed to be quite young again : she was post- 
 ing about from the kitchen and back again, with 
 that sort of restlessness that old people display 
 when they see any thing which they do not 
 thoroughly comprehend. My little pupil was 
 running round her, and displaying his finery. 
 Presently we heard music ; and the bridegroom, 
 accompanied by some of the peasants, entered the 
 
198 JOURNAL 
 
 cottage, and advanced up to his intended. Al- 
 lons, allons a Veglise^' shouted my friend the 
 vigneron; and we all set oJfFto the little church. 
 When the ceremony had concluded, we all re- 
 turned to the cottage. Tables were there spread 
 out upon the place before the house, and Ave sat 
 down to dinner, which was soon over, for the 
 peasants were anxious to begin their dance. Ac- 
 cordingly they soon commenced, and a very pleas- 
 ing sight it was. They formed themselves into 
 a long chain, or rather several chains, for there 
 were two or three parties ; and as they all wound 
 among each other, their bright dresses made 
 them look like so many twining garlands. Many 
 of them had small bells fastened to their knees, 
 and these joining their tinkling to the noise of 
 the fiddles, produced a very pleasing effect. 
 The old grandmother sat at the door of the 
 cottage, beating time with her shaking head,, 
 and endeavouring to retain prisoner her little 
 
OF AN EXILE. 199 
 
 grandson, who had been expelled from the chain 
 for his unruly style of dancing. 
 
 After the first dance was concluded, the bride 
 came up to me, and asked me to dance the Pro- 
 vencal, another sort of figure, with her, I sup- 
 pose out of compliment to the stranger. 1 
 smiled, and almost laughed at the idea. But a 
 bitter recollection, as usual, suddenly shot across 
 me. The last time that I was asked to dance 
 was, I remember, at a public ball, in my 
 own country. I sat silent and musing near 
 some of my friends, who knew my melan- 
 choly mood ; but happening to raise my head, I 
 saw before me one of the sweetest faces that the 
 eye could wish to rest upon, or the memory 
 cherish. She was dancing in all the free delight 
 of her first ball ; and her fair clear skin, and 
 deep blue eyes, were flushed and sparkling with 
 pleasure and animation. I knew not who she 
 was,— I enquired not, — what was it to me? Yet 
 
^0 JOURNAL 
 
 I continued to look at her as she moved hghtly 
 and gracefully along ; and there was something 
 in her features, that made me think of rest and 
 domestic comfort and virtue, — all ! all lost for 
 ever lost to me ! The delicious music of the quad- 
 rilles which floated around me, and the perfume 
 of the flowers that decked the room, thrilled 
 through my veins ; bringing to my recollection 
 those lines which describe the agonizing impres- 
 sion produced upon some persons by such odours^ 
 
 " As when roses steal 
 In balmy perfume o'er Circassian air. 
 So soft, so wildly sweet, they almost wake despair.'* 
 
 A friend, who observed me sitting silent and 
 serious, came up to me, and proposed to me to. 
 dance. I looked at the lovely creature that wa& 
 passing before me, and hesitated ; but the recol- 
 lection of what I was, and what I would be, 
 darted through my soul, and I shrunk back in 
 
OF AN EXILE. 201 
 
 scorn and contempt of my own weakness. Was 
 a desolate unworthy being, like myself, to 
 presume to touch the hands of that pure and 
 innocent beauty ? Could I forget, while I held 
 her hand clasped in mine as we swept through 
 the airy circle, — could I forget that a deepgulph 
 was fixed between me and nature ? — that my 
 heart might beat, but only to torment me ? No, 
 the memory of my bonds, of my nothingness, 
 would have paralysed all mv motions ; I should 
 have thought of the days when I was as inno- 
 cent and artless as this fair girl ; when I might 
 have, but for the unaccountable darkness and 
 waywardness of my mind, entered upon life as 
 happily, and not have been, as I then was, an 
 useless, degraded, and miserable man ! I felt 
 like the fallen spirit. I trod upon the burning 
 marie, and looked up to the crystal gates of 
 Heaven in hopeless regret. There is not upon 
 earth a keener agony than to feel what none 
 can guess ; to be considered calm and contented, 
 k5 
 
202 JOURNAL 
 
 while the coals of fire are smoking within our 
 bosom. It is hke that terrible trance which is 
 said to overtake some persons, rendering them 
 incapable of speaking or moving, yet leaving 
 them the faculty of hearing ; and, thus in 
 intense and palsied pain, of listening to the 
 preparations for their funeral, the plans which 
 are formed of pleasure and amusement, the 
 world speeding on in its active busy course^ 
 while they are considered dead, cold, and 
 nought r I have somewhere met with an idea 
 that would teach us to believe in the existence of 
 a terrible penance, which we are compelled to 
 perform here for our misdeeds in some past state ; 
 that we are doomed to see all around us happy, 
 every one engaged in healthy toil and occupa- 
 tion, surrounded by friends, and blessed by the 
 enjoyment of home and its holy influence; 
 while the pilgrim- spirit is working out its 
 pardon in darkness and tears, unsought and 
 unloved. The feelings which at times beset 
 
OF AN EXILE. 203 
 
 me are, indeed, worthy of such a doctrine. 
 The whole world around me seems full of plea- 
 sure and rational objects of ambition, while I 
 cannot join in their pursuit. What had I done 
 that I should, so young, and, I think, so harm- 
 less, cast away all that can render this suffi- 
 ciently difficult life still more so? What had T 
 done? I was proud, self-sufficient, and a vi- 
 sionary ; my plans and prospects were as 
 wild and unstable as the moving sand, and 
 my penance is long and bitter. And yet, let mc 
 reflect once more upon what I might have still be- 
 come, amid the temptations, the gloomy, ghastly- 
 temptations, that gathered round me. At times, 
 the idea of self-destruction has passed before 
 me, and flashed over my agitated mind, like the 
 forked lightnino^ that shows to the harassed ma- 
 riner the black coast froA\ming amid breakers and 
 sand-banks, which may either shelter or destroy 
 his ship for ever. But, then, the horrible uncer- 
 tainty, the possibility of our lying in a consciou;? 
 
204 JOUBNAI, 
 
 listening trance, of hearing the mirth and shouts 
 that fill the street, whose lamps reflect their light 
 through the church-yard gates upon our tombs ; 
 or of being plunged in thick-ribbed ice ; ox feel- 
 ing the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is 
 never quenched, gnawing and consuming our 
 vitals ! Often, as I have wandered at night 
 through the bright streets of London, the sight of 
 one of those church-yards, those white and silent 
 cities, which stand out before the passenger, 
 has made me shudder. I have turned, looking 
 in through the bars of their gates, upon the wide 
 and wan assemblage of stones, that seemed to be 
 gathered together in mockery of the long and 
 brilliant streets that surround them. And, while 
 1 have thus remained, a carriage, with its glitter- 
 ing lamps and prancing horses and sparkling 
 inmates, has dashed past me ; the kindred, per- 
 haps, of some of the denizens of this second ca- 
 pital. Capital ! ay, and a mighty one it is ! You 
 may build and heap chamber upon chamber— you 
 
OF AN EXTLE. 205 
 
 may spread your boasted streets and squares, 
 busy, ant-llke man ! but death is a better work- 
 man, his tools are sharper, and his anms stronger ; 
 ere you have finished one paltry house, he will 
 have erected many a splendid storied edifice. 
 How would the population of all the cities that 
 now exist appear, if the inhabitants of death's 
 city were to confront them ? — Like the contempti- 
 ble dust we shake from our feet before the im- 
 measurable sands of the Great Desert. TheUy 
 as I stood, would come by the wandering musi- 
 cians, with their instruments and songs ; and 
 the organ's lengthened and drowsy notes would 
 bring back the days to me, when I used to 
 hear those sounds as I sat upon my sisterV 
 knee, whose grave was visible through the gate 
 of the church-yard. And all that I had ever 
 hoped, and felt, and done, and suffered, has 
 swept over my soul, and I have prayed for peace, 
 and pardon, and strength. And they have 
 been granted me, — at least, the latter ; else I 
 
206 JOURNAL 
 
 should have sunk into the abyss that yawned 
 for me. 
 
 O ye who have held the even tenor ot 
 your way in calmness and peace, think not 
 such thoughts the romantic raving rhapso- 
 dies of folly ! — alas ! I have done with ro- 
 mance ; I feel too truly what I write. If to 
 be possessed of a heart capable of virtues, 
 and alive to all the true sovu'ces of natural 
 happiness, and then to have all this counter- 
 acted by some early fatal blight, and to be cast 
 into outer darkness, be afflicting and wounding 
 to that heart, then is my language no rhapsody. 
 It is the language of misery, of hopeless misery f 
 I have sat near the only being that I ever truly 
 loved, with those feelings that render our nature 
 pure and exalted ; I have sat near her, and have 
 not dared to speak to her. I have seen others 
 fluttering about her, while I, who would have 
 given my life for one soft and kind glance of 
 those blue eyes, trembled to look at them. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 207 
 
 Yet, when I did venture, — my God ! the recol- 
 lection makes my heart, even now, burn, — me- 
 thought there was at times a slight blush, a 
 hasty averted cheek, that would have told me 
 that I was guessed; and I remember, after the 
 last agonizing night I passed in her company, 
 composing these lines when I retired to my 
 room. 
 
 When the lips have said farewell. 
 
 When the eyes have look'd their last. 
 
 When we feel — but dare not tell. 
 That our only joys are past ; 
 
 When we gaze upon the face 
 
 That we ne'er may see again } 
 W^hen in it we strive to trace 
 
 That we have not loved in vain ; 
 
 Should the cheek be still as glowhig. 
 Should the eye be still as bright. 
 
 Should the thought that v)e are going 
 Quench not all its cheerful light : 
 
208 JOURNAL 
 
 Then farewell to memory's pleasure I 
 Farewell all that might have cheer'd !— 
 
 Thus we lose each fancied treasure 
 Which our woes had so endear'd.— • 
 
 But should grief, though still and noiseless, 
 Blanch the brow and dim the eye ; 
 
 Should the heart, that must be voiceless. 
 Check in vain the struggling sigh ; 
 
 'Tis this that gilds our lonely way 
 Through many a path beset with sorrow j 
 
 'Tis this which cheers us on to-day, 
 And bids us hope and live to-morrow ; — 
 
 While all around but mocks our sight. 
 And every day unmark'd departs, 
 
 Tis this which sheds a holy light 
 O'er the dear world within our hearts. 
 
 For oft mid sounds of joy and mirth 
 Our wither'd prospects rise before us. 
 
 And ask us why we cling to earth, 
 
 Since nought can now to peace restore us ? 
 
OF AN EXILE. 209 
 
 Mid scenes of happy love, alone. 
 
 Our hearts adore their mystic power j 
 
 But all their sweetness fades unknown. 
 As round the grave fades many a flower. 
 
 Yet one dear thought, like music stealing. 
 That soothes the madman's brain to rest. 
 
 Breathes freshness o'er our waste of feeling. 
 And whispers, that our love was guessed I 
 
210 JOUKNAL 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I STOOD to day with my friend the pedestrian 
 upon the ruins of the Abbey of St. Victor, 
 which are upon an eminence overlooking the 
 harbour and the busy quays. Just beneath me 
 was the yard for building ships, and the noise 
 of innumerable hammers rang in my ears, which 
 were employed in making a frigate for the Tu- 
 nisian pirates. Around me were the remnants 
 of the Abbey, seeming to look down in grief at 
 the treacherous preparations. When it had 
 stood in all its strength and sanctity, the holy 
 monks, as they passed through the gate of Para- 
 dise, which was the name given to the entrance 
 of the house, on account of its superior piety, 
 could have httle suspected that this unusual din 
 would have echoed through their ruined cham- 
 
OF AX EXILE. 
 
 211 
 
 bers. The prophecy of the Cordelier Hugo 
 respecting the refectory of the Abbey, was even 
 more fully accomplished than he expected ; since 
 not only did it become the stable of a king, as 
 he had predicted, but the clattering of the infi- 
 del frigate's works resounded into its grass-grown 
 soil, and over the graves of those who had perhaps 
 preached the crusade. Time ! time ! thou mighty 
 master of contrast, what mayest thou not have 
 done here ere another century be past .'' 
 
 Of all the hurrying thousands that were en- 
 gaged below me in these money-making specu- 
 lations, how many would be alive ? Of all the 
 ships that crowded the harbour, and were re- 
 ceiving or delivering their various cargoes, how 
 many, ere a few years were past, might be lying 
 full five fathom deep, with all their crews ? And 
 I, that stood thus reflecting upon these things, 
 where should I be ? what should I not have 
 learnt ? I might be smiline; at the shallow me- 
 ditations that then perplexed me ; I might be 
 
212 JOURNAL 
 
 surveying the past, the present, and future, 
 with a spirit's eye, and have forgotten that I 
 had ever lived amid time and space. 
 * * # 
 
 My friend and I remained looking upon the 
 active scene. Directly opposite to us was the 
 Consisane. or office of health, near which floated 
 several boats belonging to the vessels which were 
 in quarantine, and who were receiving their pro- 
 visions through the iron gratings of the little 
 room, in which the officer of health makes his 
 appearance, and presiiles at their distribution. 
 No person can now quit the harbour even in a 
 small boat, without express permission from the 
 Board of Health; and the Catalan fishermen are 
 all obliged to come up to the office the moment 
 they enter the port, to give a strict account, 
 upon the crucifix, of their proceedings at sea. 
 Some of them were just sailing in and up to the 
 Coiisigne. Further on, upon the quay, stood 
 the beautiful Hotel cle Ville, the work of Puget, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 213 
 
 who was a sculptor, painter, and architect. The 
 open space before it was thronged with mer- 
 chants and brokers of all nations, awaiting the 
 opening of 'Change. " Parthians, and Medes, 
 and Elamites, and strangers of Rome, Jews 
 and Proselytes, Cretes and Arabians," — they 
 were all mingled together for the same end. 
 There they were, bartering and exchanging the 
 produce of the soft climes of the South for the 
 ruder productions of Northern regions: the 
 rich juice of the olive might be given for the 
 dark Norwegian pine ; and those glowing fruits 
 of vegetable gold that had glittered upon the 
 shores of their native seas, would be sent to the 
 fogs and mists of London, in traffic for some of 
 its more solid merchandise. 
 
 As we continued to look down upon the quay, 
 some of the German students I have before al- 
 luded to, made their appearance among the 
 crowd, looking like a party of wandering Huns, 
 with their fur caps, bearded faces, and long 
 
214 JOURNAL 
 
 white hair. Two or three poHce agents were 
 lurking at some distance from them, and seemed 
 watching their motions. " Look at those bar- 
 barians !" said my companion to me, " for what 
 other name can we give them, in spite of their 
 enthusiasm in the cause which they are come here 
 to support? The least glance of astonishment 
 at their singular dress is enough to excite their 
 instant wrath. I remember once to have been 
 very nearly engaged in a serious dispute with a 
 brother student of theirs at Heidelberg, where 
 one of their academical detachments is quartered. 
 We were sitting in the same room, and were the 
 only persons there, and the fellow would insist 
 that I understood German sufficiently well to 
 converse with him, but that I would not do so 
 from pride. They have, however, conducted 
 themselves quietly enough here, grace a la police, 
 that, like the ever-wakeful Cerberus, hears and 
 sees all. Its vigilance is really surprising ; and 
 a circumstance happened to me which will show 
 
OF AN EXILE. 215 
 
 you the exact information that it receives of 
 every body's motions. I was returning from 
 Cette, a small port in Languedoc, to Lyons. 
 In the public carriage I found a very agreeable 
 Frenchman ; and as our journey was a long one, 
 we became intimate. He was lively, sang nume- 
 rous songs, and the journey seemed by no means 
 tedious. We made two or three excursions toge- 
 ther upon the road, and, as he said that he was 
 going to reside at Lyons, I congratulated myself 
 upon having formed an acquaintance with so agree- 
 able a person. For in this country these intimacies 
 are very frequent among travellers, who remain 
 together sometimes a week or ten days. We ar- 
 rived at Lyons, proceeded to the same inn, 
 and were sitting over our dessert after dinner. 
 All of a sudden the door was thrown open, and 
 three or four gensdarmes walked in : ^ Le voild,'' 
 said they all, and I turned as pale as death, I 
 am sure, for they said, ' O Sir, don't be alarmed ; 
 our business is with this gentleman;' and turning 
 
216 JOURNAL 
 
 to my companion, I perceived him pale and 
 trembling. The gensdarmes carried him off. I 
 made enquiries in the inn about this extraordi- 
 nary circumstance, but they could tell me 
 nothing ; so away I went to the Commissary of 
 Police. The moment the man saw me, he said, 
 ' Oh, I know what you want ; but make yourself 
 easy, we know very well how -you became ac- 
 quainted with that man ;' and then he recounted 
 to me all we had done on our way to Lyons. 
 ' But you will never see him again. He had 
 been transported for some political offence, and 
 since he has chosen to return before his time, 
 we have sent him to the gallies.' 
 
 " I remember, too, that at the Restaurateur's 
 at Paris, where 1 used to dine, there came a 
 gentleman very smartly dressed, with the cross 
 of the Legion of Honour. He used to fare 
 most sumptuously, and all the waiters paid him 
 uncommon attention. I concluded him to be a 
 person of great rank ; and so indeed he was; for 
 
OF AN EXILE. 217 
 
 I 
 
 I was afterwards told that he was supported by 
 the Government, and that he dined about in 
 this way as a spy upon the proceedings of other 
 persons ; at least, so it was strongly suspected." 
 * * * 
 
 I went to-day to look at the chateau which 
 stands below my house, and which belonged 
 formerly to the director Barras : it is deserted ; 
 for the republican, if alive, is now in exile. It 
 excites impressive reflections to see so many of 
 the persons that were concerned in the terrible 
 scenes of the Revolution, now almost all either 
 in banishment, or in untimely graves. And 
 he, too, the modern Caesar, the vir ambitionis 
 ti commutatus et commotus, who would have 
 exhausted worlds, and then invented new — he, 
 too, is gone to his scanty sepulchre ! Born on 
 a barren and rude rock, he has died upon one. 
 After having wielded the thunders of war, and 
 ruled almost the whole world, he dwindled away 
 into a captive, railing at his keeper, like the 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
218 JOURNAL 
 
 rich and titled gamester in his cell. He set his 
 power upon the hazard of a cast, and lost it ! 
 and mortification and 
 
 " The fiery spirit working forth its way, 
 Wasted the puny body to decay." 
 
 I have been shown a portrait of Madame de 
 Maintenon. This is another instance of the 
 tide in the aifaiis of men, which may lead on to 
 fortune, if taken. Her history is singular. Pass- 
 ing her earliest infancy in a dungeon, where she 
 even then gave indications of her wit and spirit, 
 by replying to a taunt of the gaoler's daughter 
 as to her being poor, " Out, cest vrai, mais je 
 suis demoiselle, et tu ne fes pas."" Becoming 
 afterwards the wife of a worn-out libertine, 
 whose pains and infirmities she soothed, and 
 attracted as much society to his house by her 
 powers of conversation, as her husband by his 
 humour. And finally dying the widow of the 
 proudest monarch of Europe, to whose children 
 she had been governess. So completely did she 
 
OF AN EXILE. 219 
 
 fascinate the attention of those who listened to 
 her, that upon one occasion the servant is re- 
 ported to have whispered to her, *' Another 
 story, Madame, for there is no roast to-day." 
 ?»Iadame dc Maintenon amused herself by writ- 
 ing poetry occasionally ; and I lately met with 
 the following specimen of her powers of composi- 
 tion, written in the character of a gaoleress. 
 
 " Ah ! I'ingrat, le maudit metier 
 Que le metier de Geoliere ; 
 II faut etre barbare et here, 
 II faut enrager un pauvre prisonnier ; 
 Ah ! ce n'est pas la ma maniere. 
 
 '* Ceux que je prends dans mes liens 
 D'eux-meme sont venus s'y rendre ; 
 Je n'ai pas cherchfe les moyens 
 De leur plaire, ou deles surprendre. 
 Prison ou liberty je leur donne a choisir, 
 Et je puis dire sans etre vaine, 
 Je prends mes captifs sans plaisir, 
 Et je sais les garder sans peine." 
 
 L 2 
 
220 JOURNAL 
 
 December 28th. We have had for these four 
 days the most tempestuous weather. On the 
 day preceding Christmas-day, I walked to Mar- 
 seilles in the morning, intending to return at 
 night, I had, at first, determined upon not 
 quitting my house till all the fetes and rejoicings 
 incident to this season were past, as all these 
 things recall other and happier days to me. But 
 my friend, the young English pedestrian, having 
 come up here, prevailed upon me to accompany 
 him back to the city. His society is very agree- 
 able to me, just suiting the tone of my mind. 
 We rambled out to the other side of the city to- 
 wards a chateau called Borelli, which is beauti- 
 fully situated, and its marble statues and terrace 
 are bathed by the waters of the sea. This cha- 
 teau derives its Italian name, I was told, from a 
 Count Borelli, a Genoese nobleman, who married 
 the heiress of the property. There are a few 
 pictures within it, particularly one representing 
 the Chevalier Rose superintending the burial of 
 
OF AN EXILE. 221 
 
 the dead, during the great plague which raged 
 at Marseilles. We strolled about the gardens, 
 and dined in a small inn, from whence we had a 
 beautiful prospect of the sea, the vineyards, and 
 the lofty rock called Marseille Boyre, upon 
 which is the famous grotto called la baume de 
 Rolland. On the coast, a little beyond the cha- 
 teau, are the ruins of an old house, with a large 
 fig-tree growing among its broken walls ; close 
 by it were stationed a party of the troops em- 
 ployed in guarding against any infringement of 
 the quarantine regulations; and at some dis- 
 tance, sheltered by a small point of rock, lay a 
 iew of the suspicious vessels. Further off, were 
 the three islands, which lie like blockading 
 vessels in view of the harbour, called, If, Po- 
 megue, and Ratoneau. In the first is the famous 
 castle dTf, which was formerly used as a prison 
 of state. Pomegue lies at a greater distance, and 
 it is there that the vessels which come from the 
 Levant perform quarantine. Ratoneau is bare 
 
222 JOURNAL 
 
 and deserted. Its castle was built in the time of 
 Francis I. (who paid several visits to Mar- 
 seilles) to protect the harbour from the attacks 
 of the Spaniards. Francis, shortly after his ac- 
 cession to the throne, came here, and was received 
 in a most sumptuous manner. Among the 
 curious shows which had been provided to 
 entertain him, was a battle, in which the com- 
 batants pelted each other with oranges ; and the 
 gallant King, says the old Chronicle, being al- 
 ways fond of reaping glory, having taken a 
 buckler and joined in the onset, ^^ jit de fort beaux 
 coups, apres avant re^u quelgues-uns a la teste et 
 a le corps!" In 1597 a small fort was built, 
 which was garrisoned by a party of invalids. A 
 curious circumstance is told of one of these 
 soldiers. He was the corporal, and commanded 
 a party consisting of four men. He took it into 
 his head that he was the King or Lord of the 
 Isle, the monarch of all he surveyed, " from the 
 centre all round to the sea." His garrison had 
 
OF AN EXILE. 221} 
 
 gone one day to fetch provisions, and on their 
 return were wonderfully surprised to be receiv- 
 ed in a hostile manner by the governor, who 
 threatened to fire upon them if they approached. 
 The man remained unmolested in his new do- 
 minions for a short time ; but at last, having 
 become extremely troublesome to the fishermen, 
 whom he compelled, with the gun of the fort, to 
 bring him provisions, two stout men approached 
 the island, with a white flag, and requested re- 
 fuge in his ^lajesty^'s states from persecution. 
 The King of Ratoneau, hke his brother Per- 
 sian, received the unfortunate exiles who had re- 
 lied upon his magnanimity. He was, besides- 
 well pleased to have some one to partake in the 
 fatigue of the government of so large an empire. 
 They were admitted; but the treacherous and 
 sacrilegious intruders laid immediate hands upon 
 his sacred majesty, and carried him to an hospi- 
 tal for the deranged, where he died. 
 
 As we returned from our excursion, the wea- 
 
224 JOUUNAL 
 
 ther, which had been for some time past invari- 
 ably calm and bright, seemed to be changing. 
 The waves began to murmur in that sort of low 
 prophetic tone that frequently precedes a tempest, 
 and the clouds were darkening and gathering 
 above the city. There is a tall white column 
 erected in a conspicuous part of the city, in me- 
 mory of those persons who perished through their 
 exertions in the plague ; and this was now rearing 
 itself against the dark and threatening back- 
 ground of cloud, hke the pillar of salt which 
 suddenly shot up and sparkled amid the black- 
 ness and desolation of the perishing and dis- 
 obedient cities. 
 
 I accompanied my friend to the cafe, which 
 I have before mentioned ; and we took some re- 
 freshment. My old friends, the Turks, were 
 there, and the usual complement of singing 
 clerks and captains. 
 
 I soon left the cafe, and walked out upon 
 the quay, which was close by. It was Christ- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 225 
 
 nias-eve. The cliurches were all bright with the 
 preparations for the midnight-mass ; but the 
 quays were deserted, except by the Doucmiers, 
 or custom-house officers, who were pacing 
 along in front of the vessels. The tempest had 
 now set in ; the masts were all rocking, and 
 their ropes creaking; while the wind howled 
 through the long street of la Canebiere, which 
 leads up from the port, like the roaring sea itself. 
 Further down towards the mouth of the har- 
 bour, were part of the vessels in quarantine, 
 rolling and heaving upon their anchors, as if 
 they were about to slip them, and hurry among 
 the other ships. I mounted the Place de la Tou- 
 rette, which extends along to the right as far as 
 an ancient church, which I have before alluded 
 to ; and from thence 1 could hear the storm 
 raging among the rocks and caverns which line the 
 coast; and I could just distinguish two or three 
 vessels, which were performing quarantine at one 
 of the islands, labouring and striving against 
 L 5 
 
226 JOUTINAL 
 
 the vast rolling billows. The clouds were driv- 
 ing along like a flying army ; while, just in one 
 quarter of the heavens, I could at intervals dis- 
 cover a solitary star, that seemed as if it were 
 endeavouring to chase away the darkness and 
 dreariness of the scene. 
 
 It was Christmas-eve. — Good God ! Here 
 was, indeed, a type of my life before me. 
 How many times upon this anniversary had 
 the quiet waters slept beneath the bright and 
 starry sky. Perhaps, for many years before, 
 the night preceding the holy festival of our 
 church had been soft and undisturbed by 
 aught but the hymn of the Catalan, as he was 
 returning from fishing ; or the dance and song of 
 the joyous citizens, who might have been assem- 
 bled where I then stood ; while some vessel, that 
 had just returned from its distant voyage across 
 the Atlantic, might have been gently dropping 
 into harbour with its streamers, and shouts of 
 Noel ! Noel ! But now all was different. The 
 
OF AX EXILE. ^27 
 
 waters were black as the heavens above them. 
 The fishermen were safely housed in their ca- 
 bins, and shuddering, or repeating their Ave, 
 as they listened to the wild uproar. The place 
 where I stood was dark, cold, and desolate ; 
 and the morning would, perhaps, rise upon a sad 
 scene of ruin and wreck. 
 
 And such it is with me ! The winds which 
 whistled by me, came from the north : tliey 
 had passed over England, where my prospects 
 were once as happy and smiling as the day whicii 
 had preceded the storm, and from which I was 
 now for ever severed by the unkind breakers of 
 misfortune. Even then, were those I still loved, 
 and with whom I could have lived in friendship 
 and pleasure under other circumstances, gathering 
 round the cheerful hearth, amidst affection and 
 comfort ; stirring the fire, and drawing the cur- 
 tains closer as the tempest increased, and wearing 
 away the social evening in domestic and peaceful 
 amusements. And so was I once ; but then I 
 
^MS JOURNAL 
 
 was a child : as a man, I was not destined to be 
 happy ; the storm that was to break over me, 
 even in my infancy, might have been heard mut- 
 tering in the distance. Yet it might have passed 
 away, I might have weathered it; others have 
 done so, and swept triumph antly into port ; but 
 my pilot was less cautious, and my vessel carried 
 too much sail. 
 
 Descending from the Toureite, I returned 
 along the quay. The midnight-mass had com- 
 menced. At one end of the harbour, and at the 
 entrance of a small street, 1 could see the glit- 
 tering windows of a church. The wind, as it 
 occasionally blew aside the crimson curtain which 
 hung down before the open door, showed me the 
 altar, with its tapers, and flowers, and silver 
 crucifix. Presently I could hear the loud tones 
 of the organ, mingling itself with the voices 
 of the choristers ; and as I advanced nearer, all 
 this was again hushed by the sound of the little 
 tinkling bell, which announced the elevation of 
 
OF AN EXILE. 229 
 
 the Host. The church was crowded to excess, 
 and around the door knelt a great number of 
 persons, bending their foreheads to the earth, as 
 the priest held aloft the holy image. All was 
 still, save the howling of the wind, and the 
 rushing and raging of the sea ; while a rich cloud 
 of incense spread itself through the church, and 
 floated out upon the prostrate throng. Suddenly 
 the organ burst majestically forth into the trium- 
 phal Te Deum^ and the loud and harmonious 
 chorus echoed down from the gallery. The 
 mass shortly after concluded. T remained wan- 
 dering about till daybreak. It was then past 
 four , and I felt no inclination for sleep. 
 
 *^ Ha 
 
 The storm has done its bidding : — a gallant 
 vessel has been wrecked, and the whole coast is 
 covered with floating spars, and logs of wood, and 
 all the miserable remnants of what yesterday 
 was walking " the waters like a thing of life." 
 
•£30 JOURNAL 
 
 It appears that the vessel which has terminated 
 its voyage thus fatally, was an American, from 
 Campeche, laden with the wood of that name, 
 which is used for dyeing, and which is scattered 
 all along the coast. She was performing quaran- 
 tine, but anchored in an unsafe position, too 
 near some rocks, which ate into her cables, and, 
 during the worst fury of the tempest, she drove 
 upon that part of the coast in the direction of 
 the Chateau Borelli, which is there steep and 
 ruo-ged. The mast was within a leap of the 
 rock, which the crew succeeded in gaining, ex- 
 cept one man, and he, too, the pilot, who had but 
 entered the vessel a day or two before, and whose 
 foot slipping as he was preparing to take the 
 leap, he fell headlong into the boiling gulph be- 
 low. The crew remained huddled together upon 
 a narrow ridge of the cUff, which rose up straight 
 and steep above them ; while the vast breakers 
 threw their spray and surf upon them in disap- 
 pointed malice. They called for help, but the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 281 
 
 Wind roared too loudly, and drowned their feeble 
 voices. When the day broke, however, the 
 shivering and trembling men were removed, and 
 safely conveyed to the Lazaretto. Such a cir- 
 cumstance has not occurred to the vessels in qua- 
 rantine, I was told, for many years. 
 * # * 
 
 Christmas-day was passed amidst the usual 
 festivities which then take place in these coun- 
 tries. But many of the old Provencal customs 
 have been discontinued, which are alone in- 
 teresting to the observer of human nature ; for, 
 in spite of the general gaiety of Frenchy?^^*, I 
 think that the celebration of Christmas-day in 
 England is the most affecting and beautiful fes- 
 tival that can be witnessed. There is no pomp 
 of incense and richly-robed priest ; the churches 
 are not loaded with silks and tapestries, — all is 
 plain and unassuming; the simple and fresh 
 holly, ranged in regular lines along the aisle, — 
 the tasteful and arduous task of the more than 
 
JOURNAL 
 
 usually attentive pew-openers ; — the happy ser- 
 vants trooping-in in their new clothes, and with 
 the just received Christmas-box ; the impressive 
 prayers and collects uttered and understood by 
 the whole congregation ; the Christmas-hymn 
 sung with additional spirit and melody by the 
 neat charity-children, in their fair white caps and 
 bright green gowns ; and the appropriate sermon, 
 the remembering of whose text is to ])e the test 
 and trial of many an anxious child, awaiting, in 
 hope delayed, the mysterious and long-promised 
 gift. And then, when the religious service of 
 the day is concluded, when long separated 
 friends and kin are met round the amply covered 
 board, the street resounding with music and 
 song, in single and impressive contrast to the 
 usual termination of a holy day in England. 
 Here one fete telleth another : all is glitter, and 
 banner, and show, — which may heat the imagina- 
 tion, which may dazzle the ignorant, but cannot 
 touch the quiet and lasting feelings of the heart. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 233 
 
 January 2. — As I had not seen the good her- 
 mit for a considerable time, T yesterday went up 
 to his cell. I found him sitting at the entrance, 
 reading. He had not perceived my approach, 
 so intent was he upon his book. I stood still 
 for a moment to look at him. His face might 
 have served as a model for Rembrandt, shadowy 
 and contemplative, such as that of the Philoso- 
 pher in meditation, which has always struck me 
 as one of the finest compositions of that painter. 
 The rustling of a wild rabbit among the herbs, 
 which had been alarmed at my approach, made 
 him raise his head; and he then saw me. " Ah ! 
 my son," said he, " I have long looked for thee, 
 and wondered at thy delay. Have the pleasures 
 and festivities of the city made thee forget thy 
 sorrows and me .?" " Oh no ! good father," I 
 replied, " I had not forgotten you ; but I have 
 been endeavouring to look abroad from my own 
 reflections, and observe what passes in the city. 
 Itii fetes and amusements have no charms for 
 
23-i JOURNAL 
 
 me ; but they afford me food for thoughts and 
 observations, which distract, in some degree, my 
 attention from myself." " Alas ! my son," said 
 the hermit, " that city, which now is the source 
 of some relief to you, would only revive in me 
 the remembrance of the horrors and distresses 
 I have seen and felt there. Great God ! when 
 I look down upon it now, and see it full of busy 
 and happy beings, hurrying through the crowd- 
 ed streets, and celebrating the opening year; 
 when I cast my eyes upon the long road, and 
 behold it covered with merchandize, and travel- 
 lers hastening towards its walls, — I think of the 
 time when that road was unoccupied, save by 
 troops of soldiers, who were encamped around, 
 and cutting off all communication with that 
 miserable city. I see again the streets filled with 
 far different sights than those which throng them 
 novr; and ray own sufferings and losses seem 
 fresh and recent." And he bent his head upon 
 his breast, and wept. I was much affected by his 
 
OF AN EXILE. 235 
 
 distress, and remained silent. "If you are 
 come to me for comfort, young man," he conti- 
 nued, " my instruction and advice cannot teach 
 you such resignation as the history of the events 
 which have occurred to me. The day is warm 
 and bright; sit down here beside me upon 
 this smooth rock, and I will relate to you my 
 sorrows. The fig-trees will shade you ; and 
 should the noon-day sun reach us, I have good 
 store of fruits to refresh us, in my cell." — I sat 
 down upon the rock, from whence I could see 
 the city, and part of the Lazaretto, to which 
 latter some boats were seen hastily moving, as if 
 from the infected ships. 
 
9.S6 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Age and misfortune, began the hermit, 
 make sad changes in man. Once I was strong, 
 and full of hope and ambition ; but time has 
 told me many a tale of experience and disap- 
 pointment. I was the son of a merchant of 
 Marseilles ; my father had long carried on a 
 successful trade with the Levant, and realized 
 a considerable property. He had married early 
 in life the daughter of a Spanish merchant, who 
 had resided some time at Marseilles, and who 
 was a native of Cadiz. He was still living 
 when I was born, and my father's correspondent 
 in that city. I was an only child, and fortune 
 and every prospect of happiness seemed mine. 
 I had from infancy been attached to the daughter 
 of a friend of my father ; we had grown up to- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 23T 
 
 gethcr; and it was settled that, upon my return 
 from Cadiz, where my father had occasion to 
 send me to transact some business, we should 
 be married. I quitted Marseilles in the month 
 of February, and reached Cadiz in safety. 
 The business which I had come upon detained 
 me there till the commencement of May, and I 
 was beginning to make my preparations for re- 
 turning home. A vessel belonging to my father 
 was expected shortly to arrive, and I was to re- 
 turn with her. She did arrive, and brought me 
 letters. My family and my beloved Aimee were 
 all well ; but my father mentioned that some 
 alarm had been excited at Marseilles, on account 
 of a vessel having lately arrived from Syria, and 
 which was supposed to be infected with the 
 plague. But, he added, that the reports of the 
 physicians, who had attended and examined the 
 few persons who were ill on board, were favour- 
 able, and that the terror was subsiding. I could 
 not help feeling a little uneasiness and agitation 
 
238 JOURNAL 
 
 at this intelligence, and was very anxious that 
 the vessel should complete her cargo, that we 
 might sail immediately. At length that moment 
 arrived ; and as we made but little way, I used 
 impatiently to pace the deck daily, and almost 
 nightly, watching for the Mountain of St. Victor, 
 which first presents itself to the homeward-bound 
 vessel. Our voyage was tedious ; the weather 
 was beautifully bright and clear, but the winds 
 were too gentle and soft for my wishes. The 
 deep-blue waters were like those of some inland 
 lake, and the sea-birds floated and almost slept 
 upon their smooth surface. I beguiled the time 
 as well as I could, by reading and conversing with 
 the Captain, who was an old experienced sailor, 
 and told me many a tale of peril as I paced the 
 deck with him, when the sun had gone down. I 
 am old and forgetful now, and all the pleasure I 
 experienced in listening to them is almost effaced 
 from my memory ; yet I can still recollect the 
 awe and interest with which I heard him tell of 
 
OF AN EXILE. 239 
 
 the time when he had been wrecked ; and I 
 will endeavour to relate what he said, in his own 
 words, which made great impression upon me at 
 the lime. It was in the Bay of Biscay, as he 
 told me, not far from the mouth of the Gironde, 
 which runs down from Bourdeaux. " For some 
 days the weather had been as still and smiling 
 as it is now,"" said he, '' and the bay was looking 
 as innocent as if it knew nothing; of the bones 
 and treasures that it had swallowed up. The 
 pilot-boats were flitting about with their dingy 
 sails, and watching for their work. But sailors 
 are not to be deceived by the treachery of the 
 winds and waves; and there was a little oval 
 cloud hovering in the west that we had often 
 seen, and knew well what it meant ; so I ordered 
 every thing," continued the Captain, " to be 
 kept close and steady, and as night came on, I 
 had almost all our sail taken in. I knew that 
 we were not far from the mouth of the Gironde, 
 and we were looking out for the light on the 
 
240 JOURNAL 
 
 Tower of Cordouan. A bright star was just 
 rising, and we at first mistook it for the beacon ; 
 but as it gradually lifted itself into the sky, we 
 laughed at ourselves for ignorant landsmen. At 
 last, however, I spied the little flame twinkling 
 and glimmering through the darkness, and glad 
 enough we all were to see it. Just then a light 
 breeze got up from the westward, and I had the 
 rest of our sail taken in, that we might lie-to for 
 the night. We had scarcely made fast our 
 ropes, and got all safe, when the wind freshened, 
 and in seven or eight minutes was blowing a 
 hurricane. You have never been in the Bay," 
 said the Captain to me, " so you can't tell what a 
 place it is : currents, and rocks, and sands, and 
 a sea as high as the mast of one of our ships at 
 Toulon ! The night was as black as ink, and 
 we went flying along straight towards the land, 
 which I knew must be about three leagues off". 
 All of a sudden the man at the helm uttered a 
 terrible shout, and there came driving past us a 
 
OK AN EXILE. 241 
 
 large hull, keel uppermost. So much for the 
 poor souls within her," added the Captain; 
 *' they should have taken-in their sail in time. 
 But it was a terrible sight ; my men all crossed 
 themselves ; and I made a vow to our Lady, that 
 if I got my ship safe into port, I would hang up 
 a model of her in the old church of St. Andrew 
 at Bourdeaux, and repeat ten aves a-day for a 
 week." Here, said the Hermit, I remember 
 he was interrupted in his account by a cry 
 from the man at the helm, of Look out ahead 
 there ! and, turning round, we saw a large 
 ship bearing down upon us. She came up, 
 and hailed us. It was a frigate, engaged in 
 cruising, as the Algerines were supposed to be 
 abroad. The Captain mentioned whither we 
 were bound, and we were allowed to pass on. 
 He then continued, as nearly as I can recollect, 
 in the following words : " We drove on, our 
 sails all in shreds and tatters, one of our masts 
 split in two, and the waves sweeping about the 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
^42 JOURNAL 
 
 deck like hungry wolves. Presently we heaid 
 them roaring and boiling upon a ridge of rocks 
 which stretch along at some distance from the 
 shore, and we could just see their white heads 
 breaking; about ; but a tremendous billow threw 
 us over them, and we breathed again. It would 
 not do, though ; for we soon heard our keel 
 grounding and grating among the sands," said 
 he, " like the growling of a sea-monster. My 
 men directly hauled over the boat, and all, ex- 
 cept another man and myself, leaped in ; but 
 they had not got, I am sure, five yards from 
 the ship, when I heard a deadly yell, and the 
 boat came floating past with a poor creature 
 clinging to it, who was swept off in a moment by 
 the breaking of a huge wave. The man and 
 myself,"" he continued, " passed a horrid night ; 
 but luckily the ship stuck so fast in the sands, 
 that she remained steady; and having lashed 
 ourselves to the stern-posts, we got through till 
 morning. The tide seemed to be falling, and 
 I beo-an to be alarmed lest it irhould loosen, and 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 carry us out to sea. But, grace a Dkul in 
 about five hours time it left us nearly dry, and 
 we both waded ashore. One of our kegs of 
 brandy had been washed up ; and my man," 
 said the Captain very truly, " like a wicked 
 ungrateful heretic as he was, fell to drinking it, 
 instead of going down upon his knees and re- 
 turning thanks to the Virgin ; but he had his 
 reward, for he drank so much that he died upon 
 the spot. I got assistance from the people of the 
 country, and saved some of my cargo ; but my 
 ship, poor thing ! was soon knocked all to pieces. 
 But here I am," concluded the Captain, " having 
 made many more voyages since that; and by 
 to-morrow morning I hope we shall see St. 
 Victor's crag peeping up to welcome us back." 
 
 In this at least he was right, for towards day- 
 break the next morning the long line of rocky 
 coast, which forms the bay of Marseilles, opened 
 upon us, and St. Victor's rock appeared above 
 all in the distance. The sailors saluted it witii 
 
 M % 
 
5244 JOURNAL 
 
 the usual cries of " La Victoria! la Victoria f 
 lou deluubrou de la Victoria T and we sailed 
 slowly up to the Island of Pomegue, where every 
 vessel is compelled to bring-to. Our bill of 
 health was in a perfect state, and I anticipated 
 no delay, as we came from a port which was not 
 suspected of being infected with any contagious 
 disease. But it appeared that the recent alarm 
 had made the officers of health more than usually 
 cautious ; for we were ordered to remain at 
 Pomegue till further orders. My impatience 
 was at its height, and if I had dared, or if it 
 had been possible, I should have instantly left 
 the ship, and gone on shore ; but, by so doing, 
 1 should have rendered myself liable to be fired 
 upon. I remained therefore, daily looking to- 
 wards the city, some of whose uhite houses, 
 and the old fort above the harbour, I could 
 distinguish, and wishing myself with my Aimee 
 on the banks of the quiet Huveaune, where my 
 father had a chateau. The heat was excessive, 
 and our vessel lay exposed to the burning rays of 
 
OF AN EXILE. 245 
 
 ihe sun, which glared upon the dry and barren 
 rock where we were anchored. Four days 
 passed over ; and at length the Captain received 
 permission to place himself at the entrance ot" 
 the harbour, where he was to remain for two 
 subsequent days. As we took our station, 1 
 looked round upon the quay, and saw my father 
 and mother, with Aimee, standing near the fort 
 of Saint Nicholas, part of which, as you may 
 have observed, still exists. The ramparts of the 
 fort were covered with soldiers, who were watch- 
 ing us and another vessel that was making her 
 way out of the harbour. You are not aware, 
 perhaps, that this fort was built by Louis the 
 Fourteenth, at the suggestion of Cardinal de 
 Mazarin, to curb the restless disposition of us 
 Proven(,'als; and that he is said to have re- 
 marked upon the occasion, that he would have 
 his hastide too at Marseilles. 
 
 My father and mother, and, alas ! dear Aimee, 
 waved their liands; and I murmured at the 
 precautions which detained me from them, and 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
246 JOURNAL 
 
 Avhich I considered unnecessary. At last, how- 
 ever, our quarantine concluded ; and early on 
 the third morning I hurried into one of the 
 small boats that ply in the harbour, and in a 
 few minutes was clasped in my father's and 
 mother''s arms. I then hurried off to Aimeo, 
 whom I found at her father's ; and sweet and 
 joyful was our meeting. " I am come at last," 
 said I, " my soft bride ; the sleepy envious 
 winds have made me cast many a longing look 
 towards the glowing clouds that I knew were 
 hanging over my native city ; but, dear Aimee, 
 have you thought of me, and prayed for me in 
 my absence ?'''' 
 
 " Prayed for you, Henri ?" said she ; " every 
 morning and night, as the matin and vesper 
 bells have tolled, I have gone to the old cathe- 
 dral, and knelt before Saint Nicholas, the patron 
 saint of mariners ; and I have made a vow too, 
 dear Henri, that if you came back safe, I would 
 go up in the noon day sun to our ladies' fort on • 
 the rock, and hang up thy picture on the white 
 
OF AN EXILE, .ii i 
 
 walls. And when we were alarmed about the 
 plague, your father and mother would not write 
 till all immediate danger was over ; lest, should 
 we have been visited by it, you should have 
 returned ; and I am sure I had rather have 
 died, too, than have wished you to come." I 
 threw my arms round her, and we felt that 
 innocent and unspeakable happiness which two 
 persons, who have been separated for the first 
 time since their infancy, feel when they meet 
 again. Her lather came in, and welcomed me 
 with tenderness ; and f proposed to him to fix 
 the day for our marriage. 
 
 " Oh V said he, " you must talk to Aimee 
 about that ;" but Aimee had disappeared, and. I 
 went in search of her. I found her in a small 
 garden that looked on the countrv, which she 
 had filled with carnations and jasmin, which were 
 shaded by some almond-trees. 
 
 " Aimee," said I, " do you lo%e your flowers 
 better than Henri, then, that you have left him for 
 t hem .'' Sure, your love is not like yon pale jasmin? 
 
248 JOURNAL 
 
 that stands cold and white beside those blushing 
 roses? Come, my well-beloved, let us talk of 
 our marriage. The dark beauties of Spain have 
 had no power to cloud the light that thy soft 
 blue eyes have shed upon my heart. We have 
 loved one another since we were children, and 
 let us soon vow at the altar that our love shall 
 cleave to us till we die." 
 
 " O let me attend to my flowers," said Aimee, 
 " they are all parched and drooping : I declare 
 I have quite neglected them of late, to think of 
 you." 
 
 " But now that I am come," said I, " you 
 will neglect me for your flowers! Oh, Aimee, 
 I am sure I have thought daily and hourly of 
 you when I was on the shores of Andalusia, 
 and I have counted the minutes and hours that 
 must elapse before I could call you wife; and 
 now 3'ou affect indifference, and seem to be 
 ignorant of my wishes.''' 
 
 " Oh, no, dearest Henri !" said she, taking 
 my hands, " forgive the passing pleasure which I 
 
01 AN KXII.E. 24ij 
 
 took in teazing you. I have loved you when we 
 used to ramble among the olives, on the banks 
 of the Huveaune, and gather wild shrubs and 
 flowers — I have loved you all my days; and when 
 you will, I am I'eady to promise to love you as a 
 wife for ever."" — Such words as these may seem 
 strange for an old withered man like myself, but 
 then I was young and straight, and these white 
 straggling hairs that streak my forehead were 
 then dark and glossy, and pleasing to the eye 
 of woman. Every word, every minute of that 
 happy time, is present to my mind, as the de- 
 parting sailor sees the quay crowded with his 
 friends, though the coast be like a speck upon 
 the sea. Well, my son, we were married; — alas ! 
 alas ! well do 1 recollect that day ; — and as I 
 clasped my tender Aimee in my arms, I thought 
 that my life was to be one of bliss and domestic 
 comfort ; and such did I taste during the first 
 week of our union. But soon a fresh alarm 
 began to arise in the city. The circumstances 
 >i 5 
 
250 JOURNAL 
 
 which had first excited uneasiness respecting the 
 plague, it appeared, were these : 
 
 Intelhgence had reached Marseilles, in the 
 month of April, that the greatest part of tlve 
 Syrian cities, and those of Palestine, were 
 afflicted with the plague. Some time in the same 
 month a vessel had arrived at Pomegue, which 
 came from Tripoli ; its bill, or certificate, of 
 health was unsatisfactory and soiled, because 
 it had left that port about the thirty-first of Ja- 
 nuary, and after the plague had shown itself in 
 the place from whence it came. The captain 
 stated, that he had put into Leghorn, and that 
 he had there lost, by sickness, six of his crew ; 
 but the report of the physicians of that town 
 stated, that these men had died of malignant fe- 
 vers, arising from bad nourishment. A few days, 
 however, after the arrival of the vessel at Po- 
 megue, one of the crew died ; and on the follow- 
 ing day his body was removed from the ship, and 
 examined ; —the principal surgeons of the city, 
 by their report, declared that they had not disco- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 251 
 
 vered any symptoms of contagious disease, and 
 this tranquillized the general alarm. The Board 
 of Health then proceeded to make fresh regula- 
 tions respecting the quarantine, which was fixed 
 to be for forty days. Towards the end of the 
 same month, three other vessels arrived at the 
 islands : one from Seide, which harbour it had 
 left since the plague had shown itself there ; ano- 
 ther from the same place ; and the third from 
 Alexandria. They were ordered to perform strict 
 quarantine. The terror which the arrival of the 
 first vessel had excited had now subsided, and 
 it was just at this period that I returned to Mar- 
 seilles. The circumstances which then occurred, 
 1 have told you; and Aimee and I werejust think- 
 ing of visiting our favourite walks on the banks 
 of the Huveaune, and passing some delicious 
 weeks there, vv'hen it was reported in the city that 
 one of the guards, which were stationed on board 
 the vessels performing quarantine to prevent 
 any infraction of the sanitary laws, had died ; 
 but it was also said, that the surgeons had 
 
252 JOURNAL 
 
 examined his body, and had made the same 
 satisfactory report as before. Still a second oc- 
 currence of this nature left an uneasy impression 
 upon the mind; but when the passengers of these 
 very ships had finished their quarantine, and 
 were allowed to communicate with their friends, 
 we began again to recover from our dread. Sud- 
 denly, however, a report was again spread that 
 another of the crew, and a porter, who had been 
 emploj^ed in removing the cargo, had fallen ill. 
 The day after, the report was confirmed ; with 
 the addition, that two more men on board an- 
 other vessel had likewise been taken ill. Two 
 days after, my father, who was one of the Syn- 
 dics of the town, received intelligence that all 
 the four had died ; but this circumstance was 
 concealed from the people in general. The 
 surgeons again, upon an examination of the 
 bodies, made precisely the same report as before. 
 The Board of Health, however, notwithstand- 
 ing these several reports, determined upon sepa- 
 rating the suspicious vessels from the rest, and 
 
OF AN EMLE. 253 
 
 sent them to perform their quarantine at a re- 
 mote island. My father received constant in- 
 telHoence from the Board of Health of all that 
 was passing, but carefully concealed it from my 
 mother; and, in acquainting me with the cir- 
 cumstances, recommended my observing the 
 same precaution to my wife. Poor Aimee ! she 
 was surprised at my frequent conferences with 
 my father, and used to chide me so fondly and 
 so sweetly, saying, " That I was keeping some 
 secret from her, and that I was cruel to irritate 
 the chief failing of her sex by such mystery." 
 But we were unwilling to communicate to those 
 so dear to us, the restless uneasiness my father 
 and myself both felt ; and as I kissed her, I told 
 her that we were preparing a festival for her. 
 — Alas ! I little thought what that festival 
 would be. 
 
 A few days after the death of the last per- 
 sons, two others fell ill, and died. The surgeons 
 who examined them made the usual report ; but 
 the next day, an individual belongmg to the fa- 
 
954> JOURNAL 
 
 mily of one of them died, as also a third porter 
 employed on board the ships ; and then the 
 surgeons declared that they had reason to sus- 
 pect contagious disease. The matter now began 
 to assume a serious aspect, and dispatches were 
 sent off by my father to the Council of Marine 
 at Paris, and to the Governor of the Province. 
 The magistrates assembled at the H6:el de Ville; 
 and all the chief physicians of the city being ad- 
 mitted, stated, that they had discovered evident 
 symptoms of contagion in a house to which they 
 had been called. A guard was immediately 
 stationed at the door of this house, and all com- 
 munication with its inmates strictly forbidden. 
 The next day, however, the person upon whom 
 the physicians had discovered the unfavourable 
 symptoms died ; and his wife, who was also ill, 
 soon followed him. The bodies were removed 
 during the night, to avoid spreading the alarm, 
 and buried imder the superintendence of a Syn- 
 dic ;— the house was blocked up. Thus matters 
 
OF AX EXIT.E. 255 
 
 continued for some time, occasional cases of dis- 
 ease and death occurring; but the contagion 
 not appearing to make any progress, and as it 
 had been impossible to conceal all these circum- 
 stances from the city, every body began again to 
 breathe more freely, and to hope that the alarm 
 had been groundless. The populace even went 
 so far as to insult the physicians and magistrates, 
 who had recommended the continuation of the 
 strict precautions which had been adopted. 
 
 The theatres were again filled with the aban- 
 doned and dissipated ; who, struck with terror 
 at the idea of such a termination to their vicious 
 lives, had shrunk, appalled, from their usual 
 haunts, and had begun to frequent the churches. 
 The quays began again to look gay and busy ; for 
 the preceding events had caused such a panic, 
 that every one avoided the neighbourhood of 
 the harbour, as the contagion was supposed to 
 iurk there. My father's house was upon the 
 quay which fronts the mouth of the port, and 
 
256 JOURNAL 
 
 from thence we could, with the aid of a glass, 
 discover the banished ships that were lying still 
 and lonely at the farthest island. We were now 
 in the month of July, and the heat of the sun 
 was intense : the Mistral, our preserver from 
 sickness and disease, had not passed through the 
 dusty and burning streets for many weeks ; and 
 the sea presented an unbroken line of glittering 
 brightness far as the eye could reach. Aimee 
 and I went to our dear Huveaune, and there we 
 passed a week of peace and freshness, amidst 
 the green fig-trees and the rich flowers that 
 flourish there — an Eden in the midst of a dry 
 and arid wilderness; but at the end of that 
 week, I received a letter from my father, in- 
 forming me that fifteen persons had fallen ill in 
 the Rue de VEscale, one of the streets of the old 
 town, which you may have observed behind the 
 right side of the harbour ; in whose dark and 
 narrow recesses one might almost expect to find 
 the true descendants of our Greek founders. 
 
01 AN EXILi:. >i5T 
 
 My father, however, added, that the pliysicians 
 wlio had examined these persons, by no means 
 stated positively that they were attacked by the 
 plague. I determined upon immediately I'eturn- 
 ing to tlie city ; and Aimee, to whom 1 had 
 now been obliged to communicate the contents 
 of my father's letter, insisted upon accompanying 
 me. " Never shall it be said of me, that I re- 
 mained among the cool groves of our bastide" 
 said she, " and left you to go alone, to risk your 
 self in that burning and threatening city. Xo ! 
 if God is pleased to visit these devoted walls 
 with some dreadful scourge, at least T will 
 share the perils and labours that it may impose 
 upon those whose situation requires exertion." 
 Wc returned : but in our way we met many of 
 the inhabitants flying to the country, with as 
 much of their property as they could carry 
 with them. Aimee turned pale as she re- 
 marked them, but said nothing; and we arrived 
 towards evening at mv father's. He was not 
 
258 JOCltXAL 
 
 at his house ; and my mother, wliom we found 
 in great agitation, told us that he was gone to 
 the Hotel de Ville. Leaving Aimee with her, I 
 hurried thither ; and inquiring for my father, 
 was admitted into the room where the Council 
 was assembled. The physicians v.ere making 
 their report respecting the fifteen ]jersons who 
 had fallen ill, and added, that eight of them had 
 died. Still they would not give any ])osltive 
 opinion as to the nature of their disease ; but 
 the Syndics resolved upon taking the strictest 
 precautions, and had all the bodies removed at 
 midnight. The houses where the disease had 
 terminated so fatally, were all fumigated and 
 blocked up ; and strong guards posted at the 
 entrance of the narrow street, to prevent all 
 communication with it. Fresh alarm was now 
 again excited; the quays were all deserted, 
 and every body hurried through the streets in 
 suspicious haste. The churches were again 
 filled with kneeling and terrified crowds, who 
 
OP AK EXILE. 259 
 
 made innumerable vows; and the confessionals 
 were thronged with trembling penitents. To 
 add to the general dismay, a decree of the Par- 
 liament of Aix was sent forth, forbidding all 
 communication between the country and the 
 citv ; and, from the higher parts of the public 
 walk, parties of troops might be seen stationing 
 themselves all round the walls, and taking the 
 appearance of a besieging army, while the vine- 
 yards and fields were filled with tents, and fur- 
 niture, and terrified crowds. I would have sent 
 Aimee to our hastide ; but if she would have 
 gone, that was now impossible ; for its quiet 
 groves were probably occupied by the soldiery 
 who were stationed in that quarter. It was 
 bitter to rne to think that those walks where 
 we had so lately wandered, and those flowers 
 that we had watched and watered ourselves, 
 would now be trampled upon by the rude 
 and careless steps of these men. The ex- 
 istence of the plague within the city was now 
 
260 JOURXAL 
 
 positively ascertained ; no Anther hesitation or 
 doubt remained upon the minds of the phy- 
 sicians, and they had proposed, as a sure pre- 
 ventive to its spreading, that fires should be 
 lighted at sunset through every street of the 
 city. Accordingly, as soon as the evening-gun 
 had announced to al] vessels at sea that the har- 
 bour was closed for the night, at one and the 
 same moment, the piles of wood which had 
 been heaped up in every quarter were kindled, 
 and spread their red light over the wljite city. 
 I shall never forget the scene. The flames arose 
 in thick and smoking volumes, and showed, in- 
 distinctly, the numerous crowds that were stand- 
 ing around watching their progress ; some of 
 whom appeared almost to imagine that they were 
 to work an immediate and beneficial effect. The 
 waters of the harbour seemed like a sheet of fire ; 
 and the ships that crossed the bay that night 
 must have thought that the city was a prey 
 to some dreadful conflagration. The Syndics 
 
OF AN EXILE. 261 
 
 passed through all the streets, accompanied by 
 a body of troops ; and at length the morning 
 arose bright and cheering upon the still awake 
 and wandering crowd. I had accompanied my 
 father part of the night in his duties, but I 
 quitted him when we reached the Place Saint 
 Ferreol, and hastened to my mother and Aimte, 
 who were together. They were sitting at the 
 open window of our house that looked, as I have 
 said, upon the harbour and quay, and gazing 
 upon the awful scene before them. My mother 
 inquired anxiously where I had left my father, 
 and seemed in the greatest alarm about him. 
 Aimce, my dear affectionate wife, endeavoured 
 to tranquillize her, though I could perceive that 
 she was far from feeling the confidence she was 
 endeavouring to inspire. " Dear mother," said 
 she, " all will yet be well ; Henri here thinks so, 
 —don't you think so, Henri.?" Alas ! I did not 
 think so ; but I spoke encouragingly to the dear 
 beings that seemed to look to me for comfort. 
 
g62 JOUllNAL 
 
 " I trust and hope it will be so," said I ; " the 
 wood has burnt bravely, and the whole city is 
 filled with its smoke and smell, which will check 
 and kill the plague if it be still clinging among 
 our garments and houses. Besides, look at those 
 clouds yonder, surely they portend the Mistral, 
 whose fresh breath will sweep up the Canebiere, 
 and dispense coolness and cheerfulness around. 
 Cheer up, dearest mother ! let us welcome my 
 father, after his arduous duty, with smiles. Sec, 
 he is coming now, with that good and gallant 
 man the Chevalier Rose." My father, accompa- 
 nied by the Chevalier, came in, and we anxiously 
 questioned him upon the state in which the city 
 now was. Their account was rather encou- 
 raging ; no fresh case of disease had occurred, 
 and much benefit was expected from the in- 
 fluence of the fires. "It is singular," said the 
 Chevalier, " that the government has afforded 
 us no assistance: our provision must shortly 
 fail, the city is full of beggars; — as we are cut 
 
OF AN EXILE. 26S 
 
 off from all communication witli the country, I 
 fear we shall hs shortly in great want of sup- 
 plies."" At this moment a message arrived from 
 the Hotel de Ville, begging the attendance of the 
 Chevalier and my father immediately ; and v. e 
 heard a loud uproar upon the quay. The peo- 
 ple were clamorous for bread, as the flour, 
 which the city had contained, was almost all ex- 
 hausted. My mother and Aimee retired from 
 the window, which I closed, saying, " This is 
 nothing, don't be alarmed, a few soft words and 
 promises will soon quiet them. Dear Aimee, 
 why do you tremble so.?"' and she fainted in my 
 arms. My mother and myself sprinkled her 
 forehead with water, and when she recovered, 
 she burst into tears. '' It is I that am the cow- 
 ard now !" said she ; " but, indeed, the sight of 
 those wild-looking men has filled me with ter- 
 ror ; what would become of us if the desperate 
 populace were to rise ?"" " Oh ! fear not that, my 
 love," said I ; " the Chevalier knows their hu- 
 
2Gi JOUENAL 
 
 mour well, and ere now will have soothed them 
 into patience." And I was not deceiving them, 
 for presently we heard loud shouting, and cries 
 of " Vive le Chevalier Rose noU-e hierifaiteur r 
 echoed along the harbour. I persuaded my 
 dear mother and Aimee to take some rest; 
 and, leaving the house, hastened to the Hotel dc 
 Ville, which I found surrounded by a crowd of 
 persons of all descriptions. They seemed to be 
 in the utmost agitation, and repeatedly shouted 
 Saint Hoch! Saint Roch ! I recollected that the 
 following day was the festival of that Saint, who 
 was worshipped as our protector and guardian 
 from pestilence. The Syndics had determined 
 upon preventing the customary procession, as 
 they dreaded the great increase of the contagion 
 which might thus be caused ; but the ignorant 
 and infatuated throng obstinately insisted upon 
 its taking place; and such was their fury, that 
 the Syndics were obliged to give way ; and even 
 the Chevalier Rose, who had tranquillized their 
 
OF AN j:\ile. 
 
 265 
 
 Hrst clamour for bread, was unable to prevail 
 upon them to give up the procession. Ac- 
 cordingly, the next morning by daybreak the 
 whole city was flocking into the streets ; and even 
 those who had remained panic-stricken within 
 their houses for some weeks, now made their ap- 
 pearance, as if the influence of the Saint would 
 dispel all the noxious and poisonous air around 
 them. The procession, accompanied by the 
 Syndics and a body of troops, set out from the 
 church, which you may have remarked on one 
 side of the Cours, and passing down the Rue de 
 Canebiere, came out upon the quay; there it 
 halted, and the scene was singularly awful and 
 impressive. The vessels were all covered with 
 flaffs, and manned with their crews in their best 
 attire ; while the houses all along the quays 
 were hung with green boughs and crimson ^ilk 
 and tapestries. A party of troops, with drums 
 and trumpets, preceded the procession. A long 
 line of monks and friars was ranged around 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
266 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 the quay, bearing wax tapers and baskets of 
 flowers, chanting the hymn that is appropriated 
 to the service of the Saint. Behind them, 
 and extending a httle way up the street, stood 
 the priests of the different churches, with the 
 bishop at their head, mitred and arrayed in his 
 richest robes, surrounded by the magistrates, 
 while banners and ohve-branches were waving 
 in the air above them. Immediately before 
 the bishop, was carried a large silver image of 
 the Saint, the arms of which were extended, as 
 if in the act of bestowing blessings on all around. 
 At a signal which was given by the firing of a 
 gun, the immense crowd, which stood in the 
 street and along each side of the harbour, sunk 
 upon their knees ; the sailors knelt upon the 
 decks of their ships ; and the bishop, in an 
 audible and solemn tone, pronounced, amidst 
 the listening multitude, the prayer which is ap- 
 pointed to Saint Roch, and which you may see 
 hanging up in one of the apartments of the 
 
OK AN ".NILE. 
 
 267 
 
 Consigne. He ceased, and instantly the air re- 
 sounded with loud shouts of Saint Roch ! Saint 
 Roch ! ora pro nobis ! and the bells of all the 
 churches tolled quick and deep. I was looking 
 upon the scene, with my mother and Airaee, 
 from our window ; and throwing my arms around 
 the waist of each, we knelt at the signal, and 
 remained some time in true and fervent prayer., 
 I have often thought of that moment since, and 
 wished that I could then have died. My heart 
 was full of affection and devotion, and clasping 
 the beings I most loved on earth, and with such a 
 splendid sight before me, I could have sunk back 
 into their arms, and never should have known 
 the misery I afterwards felt. As we rose up, 
 the hymn again burst forth from the departing 
 train of priests, and was taken up by the crowd 
 on the quays and the sailors, and echoed even 
 over the sea, which lay listening in brightness 
 and calm. " Surely," said Aimee, " our God 
 will hearken to the intercession of the holy Saint, 
 N 2 
 
JOURNAL 
 
 and accept the prayers and praises of such £3 
 multitude ; and if the supphcation of a humble 
 and affectionate heart be worthy of being ac- 
 cepted, mine has been heard, Henri, dear 
 Henri !*" and she threw her arms round me. 
 " Can it be possible, as I have heard and read, 
 that such a vast people as now stands before us 
 could be all in one short week swept off by the 
 withering hand of plague ? It cannot surely be ; 
 else, long ere now, the disease had spread, and 
 not lingered in one single secluded street." 
 " Alas!" said I, " that all the voices which are 
 now calling on our patron Saint might be, ere 
 long, hushed, or raised in agony, is but too true ; 
 but let us hope the best."" The procession now^ 
 began to return from the quay ; and as the hymn 
 gradually became softer and more distant, as the 
 rich train passed up the Canebiere, the crowd 
 by degrees fell away, and the influence of the 
 Saint appeared already to have visited them, for 
 they were smiling, and more cheerful than they 
 
OF A\' I'.XILE. 5^6*9 
 
 had l>een for weeks. But our trials and suffer- 
 ings were but begun. Tliis very festival, which 
 the people had fondly trusted was to charm away 
 the plague, was the means of its complete 
 triumph ; for it was like the fire that may lie 
 smouldering and smothered in the black embei's, 
 but, if the match and dry rushes be cast upon it, 
 kindles, and breaks out into a burning flame. 
 The meeting of such a host of persons together, 
 had collected into one centre all the lurking 
 seeds of disease, and before two days had 
 <?lapsed, the plague was raging in every part of 
 the city in hungry wildness. The Syndics, 
 however, still continued their exertions ; and my 
 father was not among the least active. But the 
 labour of prevention and precaution was at an 
 end ; nothing now remained to be done but to 
 alleviate suffering, and remove the ravages of 
 death. The city began to wear an appearance 
 of the most friohtful desolation and dismav ; 
 and from the open windows of the long lines 
 
270 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 of houses, cries of agony and lamentation were 
 heard. The harbour presented a scene of con- 
 fusion and dread ; the vessels were all drawn 
 away from the quay, along which a strong 
 palisade was erected ; and bodies of troops 
 were stationed at different intervals about the 
 city, to protect and assist the Syndics in the dis- 
 charge of their arduous duties, and to preserve 
 some kind of order. You may imagine the con- 
 stant and dreadful agitation in which my poor 
 Aimee and my mother were kept, both on my 
 account, and my fathw's; for I accompanied 
 him every where, and assisted the Chevalier 
 Rose in burying the dead. For to such a height 
 had the disease now arrived, that almost all 
 those persons who had been hitherto employed 
 in doing this, had perished. The beggars and 
 galley slaves were employed, but they likewise 
 sunk beneath the contagion, in great numbers ; 
 and the dead began to accumulate in vast fright- 
 ful heaps in all parts of the city! What a 
 
OF AN EX I LB. 271 
 
 dreadful sight it was, as we made our rounds ! 
 There were the putrid and decaying corpses 
 lying all along the streets, and beneath the trees 
 of the public walks, which are now crowded 
 with gay revellers. Among them, and surround 
 ed by these horrid spectacles, la}^ whole families 
 on small mattresses, moaning with pain and hun- 
 ger, and parched with burning thirst. We met 
 persons wandering about in all the different spe- 
 cies of madness, brought on by intense agony. 
 Some were shrieking and yelling, and wildly 
 imploring assistance ; and others were languid 
 and worn out, and roamed along weeping and 
 wringing their hands. A single night was suffi- 
 cient to add more than a thousand carcases to 
 the already appalling heap ; and horrible indeed 
 were those nights. The weather was as calm 
 and clear as it is now, and continued so for 
 weeks together. In vain did we pray for the 
 Mistral. The sun, as it went down every even- 
 ing, left us no breeze to cool our parched bodies ; 
 
272 jorHNAL 
 
 and the night used to creep on amidst the groans 
 of the dying, and the howUng of the city dogs, 
 which were hkewise infected. Sometimes, at 
 intervals, we could hear, from the upper end of 
 the (Jours, the trumpets of the troops that were 
 watching our devoted walls, and they echoed 
 solemnly and sadly over the vineyards. Still, 
 among these sights of danger and devastation, 
 my excellent father remained firm ; and through 
 the exertions of the Syndics and the Chevalier 
 Rose, and the pious labours of the bishop and 
 the priests of the different parishes, some scanty 
 comfort and relief were afforded to the afflicted 
 and suffering people. But the most heart-rend- 
 ing sight of all, that hourly and momentarily 
 met our eyes, was that of numbers of infants 
 moaning in their cradles by the side of their dead 
 mothers ! 
 
 But I must pause now, my son; it is long 
 since I have talked of these matters, and the 
 relating of them brings them as fresh before me 
 
OF AN EXILE. 273 
 
 as ever. Let us retire into my cell, and refresh 
 ourselves with some of these ripe grapes and 
 orancjes ; mv mouth is parched, and the sun be- 
 oius to beat through the leaves of these fig-trees. 
 We will remain till the evening breeze rises and 
 breathes through the wood." — We entered the 
 cell; and the old man, going up to the crucifix, 
 knelt before it, and repeated a low prayer, with 
 his head bent down to the earth ; then rising, 
 and pointing to the oranges, " Taste them, my 
 son," said he, " they are from Nice, that moun- 
 tain Paradise, and the gardens where they grow 
 may be seen glittering from the wide sea. You 
 are not aware, perhaps, that this fruit will not 
 prosper except in the neighbourhood of the sea, 
 and that, like our restless flies, it delights in the 
 warmest and most genial spots." I observed to 
 the old man that I had never been at Nice. 
 " 'Tis a lovely place," said he ; " and I wonder 
 not that so many of your sick countrymen should 
 select it for their graves. Our seas and skies are 
 X 5 
 
274 JOURNAL 
 
 blue here ; but. then, we have the impetuous 
 Mistral^ which roots up our woods and vine- 
 yards, and choaks us with the white dust of 
 our roads. But there it is far otherwise ; — nestled 
 in the arras of a deep bay, and sheltered by lofty 
 rocks, Nice feels not the rude breath of the Mis- 
 tral, and enjoys, during the winter months, such 
 weather as would charm the unhappy into for- 
 getfulness of the past. All around are rich 
 woods of olives, bathed by the quiet waters, and 
 clothing the rugged and perpendicular sides of 
 the Genoese Alps. I remember when I was 
 there in my youth, with my mother and my lost 
 Aimee, I used to wander, in dreaming and deli- 
 cious visions, along the myrtle-clad shores. And, 
 I was once particularly delighted with the grand 
 appearance of Corsica, which, in a clear morn- 
 ing horizon, resembled the pinnacles of some 
 magic castle ; for as the sun rose, and his rays 
 flung a misty hght over the island, it seemed 
 gradually to fade and sink beneath the waters. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 275 
 
 And I recollect that my father laughed at me 
 when I told him that I had seen it. Why it is 
 fifty leagues off, said he : but still I had seen 
 the island, for the fishermen all told me so ; and 
 I remember too a little chapel built in the rock, 
 and dedicated to Saint Charles, where I used to 
 go and sit, and look over the rich valley that lay 
 beneath. Convents and churches, with their 
 marble staircases and pillars, glittered amid the 
 olives that covered the high banks of the torrent- 
 river Paglion, that runs through the valley; 
 while in the distance, near the city, were the rich 
 fruits 3'ou see there mingling themselves with 
 the fig and almond trees that were just put- 
 ting out their pink blossoms ; and then, when 1 
 clambered higher, and reached the old castle of 
 Montalbano, which was at that time an impor- 
 tant fortress, — then, what a glorious prospect 
 used I to discover ! The wide bay before me, 
 with its rich green shores, and Antibes sparkling 
 in the distance; beneath me the harbour of 
 
276 JOUR\'AL 
 
 Villa Franca, inclosed in a semicircle of wood- 
 ed hills, and its tall light-house, at the end 
 of the narrow quay ; and behind me the dark 
 rough rocks which overhang Nice, backed by 
 the snowy Alps, like the advanced-guard of a 
 mighty army, whose white plumes might be 
 seen stretching and towering away in unequal 
 and interminable lines. — But come,"" said the 
 old man, " the sun is sinking behind yon pro- 
 jecting point of the bay, the leaves begin to 
 tremble ; we will resume our seat on the rocks, 
 and I will endeavour to conclude my melancholy 
 story." We went out, and the Hermit sat down 
 amongst the wild herbs, while I remained lean- 
 ing against the trunk of a large pine, which was 
 growing out of the rock. 
 
t)V AN IvXII.K. 277 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I TOLD you, resumed the Hermit, that 
 our eyes were affected and wounded with the 
 pitiable sight of the poor helpless infants, that lay 
 weeping and sobbing beside the lifeless bodies of 
 those mothers that could no longer soothe and 
 hush their cries. Among- those women I re- 
 marked, as I was passing through the Cou)-s, 
 the wife of one of the porters that liad for- 
 merly been employed by my father ; and taking 
 up her poor little infant, which was clinging 
 to her cold breast, I carried it off in my arms 
 to our house. ]\Iy mother and Aimee received 
 the child with tenderness and soft compassion, 
 and procured some milk from the goats, which 
 wandered neglected about the city; and they 
 had the satisfaction to restore the little crea- 
 
278 JOURNAL 
 
 ture to strength. Wc were now in the month 
 of September. The disease was unabated and 
 unrelenting in its course, and dire and dark had 
 been its ravages. The magistrates assembled at 
 the Hotel de Ville towards the beginning of the 
 month, and examined into the condition of the 
 city, and the number of deaths which had taken 
 place. The result of the examination was appal- 
 lino- ! For the circumstance of their own number 
 being reduced to one-third of what it had been 
 a month before, was sufficient to impress their 
 minds with an idea of the general extent of the 
 ruin. Upwards of five hundred persons im- 
 mediately connected with the Hotel de Ville 
 had perished. The city guard, which had 
 been engaged in superintending the distri- 
 bution of wine to the people, and in preserving 
 order, v.ere almost all swept away ; and the offi- 
 cers of the police were every one dead. The 
 magistrates who remained alive, sat looking at 
 one another in silence for some time; till the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 279 
 
 Chevalier Rose, addressing them in an encou- 
 raging and noble speech, insph-ed them with 
 fresh hope and confidence. " Fellow citizens,"" 
 said he, " let us not shrink from our imperative 
 duties. If we are at last to perish by the disease 
 which now rages unresisted in the city, let us, 
 at least, while we are lying in pain and solitude, 
 have the consoling reflection that we have done 
 what we ought. Let us imitate the bright ex- 
 ample of our virtuous Bishop, whom I can see 
 now, through the windows of this chamber, 
 moving among the sick and dying; attended by 
 his priests and friars, and administering bodily 
 and spiritual nourishment to those who are 
 neglected by all but God and his ministers! 
 Let us remember that the eyes of our country 
 are upon us ; that our conduct in these peril- 
 ous times will be handed down to the admira- 
 tion or contempt of posterity." And as he 
 concluded, the other magistrates rose simulta- 
 neously, and going to him, clasped his hands. 
 
280 JDUR^JAL 
 
 and promised to stand by him firmly to the 
 last. INIy father had not attended the meeting ; 
 he had been engaged in the Place Saint Fer- 
 reol, in superintending the carrying away a vast 
 pile of bodies that were heaped up in the cen- 
 tre. I left the Hotel de Vilk ; I joined him 
 in the Place; and there stood the few remain- 
 ing galley-slaves, clothed in large loose dresses, 
 with wide hanging sleeves, dragging the bodies 
 with long iron hooks, and tossing them into 
 carts. I recognised among these appalling 
 heaps, which were training amid the dust, and 
 distorted with the last pangs of distraction 
 and delirious pain, some that I had been ac- 
 customed to pass many happy hours with upon 
 that very place. The galley-slaves began, how- 
 ever, to be refractory, and refused any longer 
 to work ; and my father and myself were 
 in great perplexity and difficulty, when the 
 Chevaher Rose arrived. "' How now !" he 
 called out to the desperate and rebellious 
 slaves, who had cast themselves upon the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 281 
 
 earth, and liid their faces in the long sleeves 
 of their garments ; — " how now, ye wild and 
 wicked wretches! — is it thus that ye expect to 
 obtain pardon for your crimes ? Is it thus 
 that ye expiate the dark and deadly deeds 
 whose mark ye bear ? Do ye not hear the 
 groans and shrieks of the dying around you, 
 and who are wandering in misery through the 
 city ? Such will be your eternal fate, unhappy 
 men ! such is the hell that awaits your guilty 
 souls, if ye will not do our bidding! And of 
 what do ye complain ? Are ye exposed to 
 greater danger than your magistrates ? Do ye 
 see us shrink from duty ?'' — and seizing from 
 the hands of one of them an iron hook, he con- 
 tinued, " Rise ! rise ! the Chevalier Rose never 
 asked man to encounter peril whicli he himself 
 would shun ! Rise, and follow me !" And 
 liaving thus spoken, he began himself to drag 
 the corrupted carcases, and fling them into the 
 cart. The galley-slaves, used to his well-known 
 voice and influence, rose; and giving him a 
 
282 JOURNAL 
 
 loud cheer, continued their labour. The hea- 
 vily laden tumbril then passed slowly down the 
 street, and along the quay, rolling on towards 
 the Place de la Tourette ; where, doubtless, my 
 son, you, who love the glorious sights of Nature, 
 have stood. Beneath that place had been dis- 
 covered some dark subterranean caverns which 
 communicated with the sea, whose waters echoed 
 among them. The promiscuous and livid bodies 
 were hurled down into the gloomy depths ; and 
 the dashing of the breakers, and the screams of 
 the sea-birds, were their only requiem. ^"ou 
 have, perhaps, seen the painting which repre- 
 sents this awful scene ; it is, I believe, in 
 one of the chambers of the chateau BorelU. I 
 replied, that I had seen it; as also another, at 
 the Consigne, displaying the terrible effects of 
 the plague, and the heart-rending scenes of sor- 
 row and separation which it had caused. — The 
 old man clasped his hands together, and casting 
 his eyes up to Heaven, said : Of separation and 
 
OF AN EXILE. 28^ 
 
 sorrow, indeed ! God knows it has been so to me ! 
 A father, mother, and a young new-made bride, 
 all, all, swept off! while I was spared to linger 
 out a long and lonely life. When I saw so 
 many dying around me ; when I felt their hot 
 breath upon me, and listened to their cries, I 
 thanked God for my life, and hurried back daily, 
 after attending my father, to my affectionate 
 Aimee. But when I had none left to return to, 
 when none sat watching for me at the window 
 which looked towards the Hotel de Ville, then I 
 could and did pray for death. But I have 
 somewhere read, as I read much now, that there 
 are persons so constituted, that the danger in 
 which they may be placed, only serves to keep 
 their blood in that wholesome agitation and 
 warmth which prevents them from sinking 
 into the dangerous lassitude of fear; and that 
 le peril rnonte a la ttte comme le vin, I think 
 the expression was. For though 1 was daily 
 and nightly engaged in assisting my father in 
 
284) JOURNAL 
 
 the performance of his duties, yet the hand of 
 disease passed harmless over me. Not so did 
 it spare my father ! For towards the end of 
 September, one morning as he was passing 
 through a narrow street of the old town, his 
 foot slipped, and he rolled among a heap of the 
 festering carcases. The shock, the disgust of 
 this circumstance, affected him so much, and 
 had so tainted his blood, that upon his return 
 home, which he immediately did, he complained 
 of sickness, and before the next morning was 
 in the last agonies of the disease. We all, you 
 may conceive, were stricken to the heart. The 
 whole night we had watched by his restless 
 pillow; and Aimee had supported his burning 
 forehead in her arms. She would not quit him; 
 and 1 stood looking on, in dreadful anticipation 
 of what might yet follow. The poor little 
 babe lay sleeping softly in its cradle, unheeding 
 the fearful scene which was passing around it. 
 My mother knelt before the crucifix vvhicli was 
 
OK AN' EXILE. 285 
 
 at the head of the bed, and occasionally sprin- 
 kled my father's forehead with perfumed water. 
 He, alas ! knew us not, his senses wandered, he 
 fancied himself still endeavouring to extricate 
 himself from among the fatal heap of bodies, 
 and he struggled and strove to free himself 
 from our arms; — but all was soon over! and 
 Marseilles lost another of her best and most 
 useful citizens. We could not bear the idea of 
 burying him instantly, as our safety seemed to 
 require ; but a few hours after his death, my 
 mother, who had sat silent and inattentive to 
 every thing by the side of the bed, looking 
 upon the fast-changing features, complained of 
 violent pains in her head. Aimee und myself 
 both shuddered at her words, and we had reason ; 
 for ere the sun had cast his last beams upon our 
 windows, my father and mother lay by eacb 
 other, in rest from all their pain ! Aimee and 
 I knelt before the crucifix, and offered up our 
 prayers for their departed spirits. But the bit- 
 
286 JOURNAL 
 
 ter thought that they must be buried directly, 
 that our hves, my precious Aime(j''s hfe, might be 
 endangered if their bodies were allowed to re- 
 main, soon presented itself to me. But could I 
 see them thrown into the yawning pits of the 
 Tourette ? (since, in those times, there were no 
 distinctions of rich and poor funerals,) — impossi- 
 ble ! and I determined upon bearing them myself 
 to the garden, which was behind the house that 
 belonged to my wife's father, who was then in 
 America. I sprinkled them with vinegar; and 
 wrapping- myself in a wide cloak, I conveyed 
 them separately away, and laid them with mv 
 own hands in one grave, beneath the almond- 
 trees. 
 
 Thus had I, at last, begun to feel in my own 
 family the desolation and blank which the de- 
 structive ravages of the disease had caused ; 
 and all I had now left in the world to live for, 
 was my Aimee. But she was spared to me ; and 
 I made a vow to the Holy Virgin, that I would 
 
OF AN KX(LK. 287 
 
 dedicate my first daughter to her service, if both 
 our days were lengthened, and our hves spared 
 to see our children flourishing around us. The 
 first period which passed after our loss, was 
 drearv and disconsolate ; I had been my poor 
 father's companion in his difficult and dangerous 
 duties ; and now I went forth alone, and bitterly 
 did I lament the painful privation. But I soon 
 gave up my former exertions ; a secret and unde- 
 finable dread began to hang over me, and I was 
 unwilling to quit Aimee for any length of time. 
 She, innocent and tender as she was, began to 
 recover her spirits; and as the autumn ad- 
 vanced, when the heat decreases, and the chill 
 Mistral sweeps up from the north, with its dark 
 train of clouds, we both hoped that some dimi- 
 nution of the disease would take place. For 
 increase, it scarcely could. The harbour before 
 our windows presented a frightful appearance ; — 
 its waters were covered with the floating car- 
 
288 JOUR.VAI- 
 
 cases of men and aniu)als, and die ships Jay 
 silent and gloomy upon the corrupted \vaters. 
 
 All along the quay were scattered the pre- 
 cious, and now useless cargoes, which had been 
 intended for a healthy and happy city ; but 
 some of which had, perhaps, caused the ruin 
 that lay around them, and mocked the rich 
 productions of America and Italy. And when 
 I ventured into the streets to examine into the 
 state in which the city was, what a sight pre- 
 sented itself! It had seemed, weeks before, as if 
 nothing could have added to the dismay and 
 darkness of the scene ; but though the contagion 
 was then at its height, it had not accomplished 
 all its wild work. The long wide street of La 
 Canehiere was filled with beds, and furniture of 
 all descriptions, thrown from the windows of the 
 houses, which looked white and desolate, like a 
 long range of tombs. At some of the windows 
 were a few pale and emaciated wretches, who 
 were leaning upon their withered arms, and 
 
OF AN EXILE. 289 
 
 looking down towards the sea, as if the sight of 
 it could have refreshed and cooled the poison of 
 their blood. Higher up in the Cours, and close 
 to the gates of Aix and Prome, lay a vast heap of 
 goats and horses, which had died of hunger and 
 disease, while black swarms of mosquitoes were 
 humming and hovering about them. Here and 
 there among the piles of human bodies, which 
 were spread in every direction, lay the Friars 
 and Monks of the different Orders which the 
 city contained ; their hands crossed upon their 
 breasts, and clasping their beads. For terribly 
 had the good brothers suffered in the exercise 
 of their Christian and compassionate ministry. 
 Capuchins, Jesuits, Observantines, Recollets, 
 barefooted Caraielites, Trinitarians, Dominicans, 
 and many others, to the amount of three hundred, 
 besides the greatest part of the Cures of the dif- 
 ferent parishes, were scattered all through the 
 city, in death and decay. The hospitals had be- 
 come incapable of containing the sick ; for the 
 
 VOL. I. o 
 
290 JOURNAL 
 
 moment any symptoms of contagion appeared 
 
 upon any one, he was frequently, and instantly, 
 
 deserted by all his kindred and friends, and left 
 
 to die in his lonely chamber of hunger and pain, 
 
 or obliged to crawl to the hospital. But those 
 
 establishments soon could contain no more, and 
 
 thus thousands were compelled to drag their 
 
 weak and wasted limbs to some shady corner or 
 
 doorway, where they might lie unmolested and 
 
 die. Thus passed away the month of September 
 
 and part of October. The Chevalier Rose, and 
 
 our pious Bishop, ceased not to pass among the 
 
 afflicted people, like protecting prophets, of whom 
 
 it might have been said in the words of the holy 
 
 King David, " A thousand shall fall beside 
 
 thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but 
 
 the pestilence shall not come nigh thee."' The 
 
 month of October at last concluded, and the 
 
 first of November our holy festival of All Saints 
 
 arrived. Who would have thought upon that 
 
 anniversary a year before, that its revolving 
 
OK AX KXILE. 291 
 
 successor would have presented such a spectacle 
 as that day rose upon ? Then, all was still and 
 solemn, the religious crowd were quiedy and 
 slowly pacing to the churches, to pray for their 
 departed relations, and the city was at rest from 
 its labours, but not as it was at that moment. 
 Those who had knelt and asked the interces- 
 sion of the blessed saints, for the suffering souls 
 of the dead, were now, perhaps, themselves 
 all mingled among them, and expiating their 
 own sins. 
 
 It had been determined by the few remaining 
 Magistrates and the good Bishop, that upon this 
 day, an encouraging and unusually solemn ser- 
 vice and procession should take place ; and that 
 a new festival should be instituted, in memory 
 of the destruction which the plague had caused, 
 and as a means, possibly, of appeasing the wrath 
 and awakening the pity of God. There were no 
 longer the same reasons to prevent the celebra- 
 tion of this ceremony, as had existed some months 
 o'i 
 
292 JOURNAL 
 
 before with respect to that of St. Roch. Then 
 we were endeavouring to baffle the insidious 
 pest, and to detect and quell its silent course. 
 Now all was different : its fury and fire had 
 gone the way they would, and worked their 
 pleasure, and we had but to pray for relief and 
 future alleviation. On that morning Aimee and 
 I had gone to the garden where our parents 
 were buried ; and kneeling upon their graves, 
 and clasping each other's hands, we had poured 
 out our supplications to the interceding Saviour, 
 and his blessed Mother. When we returned, 
 Aimee took the laughing infant from the ser- 
 vant's arms, and, going to the window, stood 
 playing with it and fondling it there. The 
 heat was so intense still, that we were compelled 
 to throw open our windows, to admit some of 
 the fresh sea-air, though the sight that lay be- 
 fore us was so dismal. But long habit had some- 
 what accustomed us to it, and my wife could 
 now for a short time enjoy the cool breeze when 
 
OF AN EXILE. 298 
 
 it visited us. I placed myself at her side, and, 
 putting my arm round her waist, I told her of 
 the ceremony which was just about to take place. 
 " God bless our Bishop, and the noble Chevalier ! 
 said she ; they have supported and soothed the 
 sinking courage and spirits of us all, and long 
 will their names be loved and remembered. 
 Hereafter, dear Henri, as we stand upon the 
 Tourette on some cool autumnal evening, and 
 look down upon the city and healthy waters, and 
 once more busy quays, we shall talk of these 
 days with shuddering recollection, and com- 
 pare the cheerful scene with that which now lies 
 before us. We shall talk of the good Bishop 
 aud our friend the Chevalier, whp will then be 
 saints in heaven ; and as we sit upon the scat- 
 tered blocks of marble, while our children are 
 around us, we shall feel the gale playing upon 
 our faces, we shall hear the Catalan's evening 
 song, as he sails into the peaceful harbour ; 
 and we shall feel our hearts sad but grateful at 
 
294 .TOURXAL 
 
 the remembrance of these burning days." " May 
 it be so! may your anticipations be accompHshed, 
 my best of treasures ! said I ; thank God ! I too, 
 have done my duty, and in times Hke these may 
 say so. Not for worlds would I have to reflect 
 upon my having selfishly consulted my own 
 safety, and shrunk from sharing the dangers 
 which my fellow-citizens have encountered. But 
 for thy sake am I spared ; thy innocence and 
 love have interceded for me, like yon misty va- 
 pour, that is just gathering about the sun, and 
 will prevent his burning rays from falling upon 
 the holy procession. And thy soft and compas- 
 sionate care of that sleeping babe will plead for 
 us both, and rising up to heaven with the prayers 
 and incense that our priests will soon offer, may 
 at last appease the angry Saints. See ! the Ma- 
 gistrates and the Chevalier are passing along the 
 quay, and proceeding to join the procession ; 
 they wave their hands to us. I leave thee, 
 Aimee, I go to pray for us all before the holy 
 
OF AN EXILE. 295 
 
 sacrament, but will not tarry long." As I said 
 these words, the bell of the cathedral from 
 whence the train was to set out, slowly tolled, 
 and swung its solemn sound down upon the 
 quay. At its deep knell, the sick, the dying, the 
 desperate men, women, and children, that were 
 scattered and spread along the brink of the 
 waters, as if they had hoped to find some relief 
 upon the cold stone-work which hung above 
 them, raised their feeble limbs, and staggered 
 and tottered toward the Cours, where the solemn 
 service was to take place. I hastened thither, and 
 an affecting and striking appearance did it pre- 
 sent. At one extremity was erected a tempo- 
 rary altar surrounded with green branches and 
 boughs, and covered with fair white muslin. 
 Above it hung a rich crimson canopy, bordered 
 with golden fringes and tassels, and surmounted 
 by white plumes of feathers. Upon the altar 
 were placed tapers and flowers, and bright 
 golden vessels ; while all around were strewed 
 
296 JOURNAL 
 
 fresh leaves and roses. The steps which led 
 up to the table were covered with precious 
 tapestries ; and upon the canopy was worked a 
 large bleeding heart, surrounded by the words 
 Sacre Cceur de Jesus. From among the trees 
 which hned each side of the Cours, waved 
 painted banners and pictures of Saints, mixed 
 with mirrors and crosses, and blessed beads. 
 But the living scene was sadly and mournfully 
 contrasted with the pride and pomp, and sump- 
 tuous show of the holy preparations. There 
 lay the dying upon their mattresses, which they 
 had contrived to have placed as near the altar as 
 possible ; and as they tossed and turned upon 
 their feverish beds, they ceased not to fix their 
 eyes upon the sacred heart. Then came crowd- 
 ing round, those whom the disease had yet 
 spared, but who looked as pale and palsied as if 
 they had risen from their graves. Their staring 
 eyes, and skeleton bodies, mingled themselves 
 horribly with the banners and branches which 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 297 
 
 hung above them ; and their anxious features 
 were reflected all down the Cours in the mirrors, 
 which, as they swung about in the wind, seemed 
 to multiply them in endless and ghastly lines. 
 Presently we heard the voices of the priests and 
 friars approaching, accompanied by the hoarse 
 and lengthened tones of the trumpet, which 
 seemed, indeed, to be spreading its miraculous 
 sound among the graves of the world, and sum- 
 moning mankind before the Eternal Throne ! 
 I thought then upon my poor parents, and I 
 bowed my head upon my hands in prayer. 
 Daily and nightly do I kneel before yon cruci- 
 fix; but never, never have I offered up my 
 heart to God with such fervour and intensity 
 as upon that well-remembered day ! The pro- 
 cession came slowly on ; the thronging people 
 listened in silence, and the restless and dying 
 sufferers lay still upon their beds. But, alas ! 
 how different did it appear from what it had 
 been some months before ! Then, there was a 
 o 5 
 
298 JOURNAL 
 
 long train of priests and friars, a»d magistrates, 
 and railitory pomp ; while the bishop, arrayed 
 in his mitre and splendid stole, looked with 
 encouraging and noble countenance upon the 
 faithful people. All this was changed. Attended 
 only by the Chevalier Rose and two or three 
 magistrates, which were all that remained ; a 
 few of the canons of the Jcouks; and the 
 Cure, and some priests of the parish of St. Fer- 
 reol ; he walked in humility and mortification ; 
 clothed in coarse garments, the rope of peni- 
 tence round his neck, the cross traced upon his 
 breast, and barefooted, the pious prelate as- 
 cended the steps of the altar, and threw him- 
 self in deep and ardent devotion at its feet. 
 Then rising and turning round towards his 
 kneeling flock, and spreading his hands above 
 them, he bestowed upon them the consoling and 
 comforting benediction, the Dominus sit vobis- 
 cum! which recalls the wandering mind to its 
 duty. Then consecrating the holy wafer, and 
 
or AN F.XILE. 299 
 
 murmuring over it the mysterious and unheard 
 prayer, he held it up to the expecting multitude, 
 who bent their bodies to the earth. And having 
 partaken himself of the blessed sacrament, and 
 distributed it to the ministering priests, he so- 
 lemnly dedicated the city to the Sacri Cceur de 
 Jesus,* and instituted and appointed the day to 
 be kept as a festival once in every century. 
 He then descended the steps of the altar, and 
 passing among the thickly spread mattresses, he 
 anointed the now hushed and grateful sufferers 
 with the consecrated oil; and many, as his 
 fingers completed the Christian sign upon their 
 foreheads, looked upon his face and died. 
 
 I remained praying and kneehng in admira- 
 tion and awe ; but the thought of Aimee, who 
 
 * Upon the banners which are carried at this proces- 
 sion, the Saviour is represented with a heart upon his 
 breast, surmounted by a cross, and encircled by a ght- 
 tering glorj', to which he points, as if bidding mankind 
 confide and appeal to his love. 
 
300 JOURNAL 
 
 must be expecting me, made me start to my 
 feet, and bowing my head to the bishop, who 
 was standing close to me, I hurried away. My 
 house was close by, and, as I hastened up the 
 stair, I heard my wife laughing, and the little 
 baby crowing and chuckling with joy. When I 
 entered the room, Aimee was playing with a ball 
 of cotton, which she was throwing and making 
 roll about the room to amuse the child. " Bless 
 you, my love !" said I to her, " it is indeed re- 
 freshing, after such a sight as I come from, to 
 find you thus ; come, let me, too, join in your 
 sport ;" and I strove to snatch the ball from her, 
 which she playfully hid in her bosom. " Oh !" 
 said she, " you cannot have this, it came here 
 from a young and gay knight that was lingering 
 beneath my window ; and, I suppose, contains 
 soft and sugared words." " What do you mean, 
 Aimee .?" said I ; "you are become too poetical 
 and mysterious in your language for my under- 
 standing!" and I believe I looked angry. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 301 
 
 *' Fie, Henri !" said the gentle creature ; " what ! 
 are you envious of my new acquirements ? I 
 thought you loved me better than to be vexed at 
 my prating folly : let us not quarrel about this 
 toy," and she threw it on the ground, I looked 
 at her, and saw the tears starting to her eyes : 
 my heart smote me, and I flung my arms round 
 her neck, while the babe played with my hair. 
 " Oh ! there stands my knight," said Aimee, 
 pointing to a little boy who was upon the quay 
 just below our window ; " see how wistful he looks 
 up to us." " What do you mean, my love ?'' 
 said I. " Well, if you must know this mighty 
 secret," said my wife, " that careless rogue in 
 playing with his ball, (poor fellow ! it is well for 
 hiin that he has health and spirits to do so,) 
 flung it up through the window, and then ran 
 away, frightened at his fault; see, one of the 
 squares is broken." I took up the ball, and 
 threw it down to the boy, who ran off immedi- 
 ately ; but seeing the Chevalier passing towards 
 
302 JOURNAL 
 
 the Hotel de Ville^ I kissed Aimee, and hastened 
 after him. 
 
 The (^.hevalier had just received a report from 
 the remaining physicians of the city, stating that 
 the disease was sensibly diminishing. " Thank 
 God!" said he, " our gates will soon be opened, 
 and the assistance of money and provisions, pro- 
 mised us by the Parliament of Aix, will soon 
 arrive. Henri, my friend, I have sup}X)rted 
 myself through these trying scenes by God's 
 assistance ! but I know not what I should do, 
 did they last much longer. To see so many of 
 our best and dearest friends and citizens lying 
 dead and deserted ; and to think of the dreary 
 void that must be here when health returns to 
 us! Great God ! look at this silent hall!" con- 
 tinued he, as we entered the council chamber ; 
 " look at that circle of chairs ! almost all those 
 who filled them some months ago, and were con- 
 gratulating themselves upon the success of their 
 precautions, are now — where shall I say ? for I 
 
OF AN EXILE. 30'6 
 
 know not — flung, perhaps, amidst the slaves and 
 the beggars into the caverns of the Toiirelte. I 
 shuddered at the recollection of the scene which 
 I had witnessed there, and said, " At least, my 
 dear Hose, my own father and mother are 
 buried in an unpolluted, though it be not a con- 
 secrated grave. The almond-trees with their 
 green leaves and pink blossoms shade the earth 
 which covers them ; and the breeze which 
 sweeps along the vineyards, breathes freshness 
 among the flowers that my Aimee planted 
 there." We looked out upon the harbour, 
 whose vessels were beginning to assume a 
 healthier appearance ; the sailors being em})loycd 
 in washing their decks, and hanging out into the 
 air the beds of those whose bodies were fioat- 
 inp- around. The men had hitherto remained 
 indifferent and inactive; and with the reckless 
 desperation of their disposition, had passed the 
 little time they expected to live, in intemperance 
 and blasphemy. But the holy ceremony seemed 
 
804< JOURNAL 
 
 to have changed the hearts and elevated the 
 hopes of all, and some were even singing their 
 long-neglected songs. The Castle of St. Nicho- 
 las, on the opposite quay, was deserted and 
 dreary, very different from the appearance it had 
 presented when I had anchored beneath it five 
 months before. But it was no longer bathed by 
 the same untainted waters ; heaps of human 
 carcases floated along by its walls, and the green 
 and gangrened limbs of various animals were 
 piled up on the rocks at its feet. " Look," said 
 the Chevalier, " look at yon vessel which lies 
 close to the Consigne ; she is but small, and yet 
 the pestilence which has swept off so many thou- 
 sands from this vast city, came lurking among 
 her precious silks. Those fair forms for whose 
 pride and pomp they were woven and wafted 
 hither, are now a prey to the worm and the 
 water-rat. And how is thy wife ?''"' continued he, 
 "• does she still hold up in cheerfulness and confi- 
 dence? Thou art indeed happy in having such 
 
OF AN EXILE. 305 
 
 a comfort under these afflictions. I think I can 
 see her at the window of thy house ;" and in fact 
 Aimee was leaning out of the window upon her 
 hand; the child was not with her, and I supposed 
 that it slept. I waved my hand to her, but she 
 saw me not, else I knew she would have kissed 
 those white fingers to me. A friar just then 
 came up to the Hotels and inquired for the Che- 
 valier. We descended from the balcony where 
 we had been standing, and found the religious 
 below. He was the bearer of a message from the 
 Bishop, requesting the Chevalier's assistance in 
 distributing the bread and wine which the vir- 
 tuous and venerable patriarch had daily be- 
 stowed upon the hungry people. Hitherto they 
 had received it in tranquillity, and trembling 
 anticipation that they might never need more; 
 but now, since the mass, they had recovered 
 their hope and strength, and numbers who had 
 wandered about before^ careless of nourishment, 
 now rushed towards the episcopal palace, and 
 
306 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 pressed upon one another in close and crush- 
 ing confusion. 
 
 Such was the report of the friar, and the 
 Chevaher's powerful interference could alone 
 perhaps prevent this additional evil. He has- 
 tened off with the messenger, and I returned 
 to Aimee. She was still leaning upon the win- 
 dow ; and as I passed under it, I looked up, 
 and smiling, said to her, " Here I am, my love ; 
 you need not lean and linger there now, to 
 watch for me ; here I am, come to complete 
 our peace."" She smiled upon me, but spoke 
 not ; and an unpleasant and uneasy sensation 
 passed across me, as I looked at her languid 
 eyes. I hastened up the stairs, and into the 
 room ; the infant was not there ; and Aimee, hear- 
 ing me come in, turned round and held out her 
 hand to me. There was something in the way 
 she did this so unusual, so unlike her general 
 manner, that I stood still for an instant, looking 
 upon her in silence. Her countenance was still 
 
OF AN EXILE. 307 
 
 cheerful and smiling, but there was an expres- 
 sion of lassitude and debility in the features, and 
 a slight redness hung about her eyelids ; her 
 hands were hot, but so were the sun's rays, which 
 had been beating upon the window as it was 
 sinking into the sea ; and I said to her, " My 
 inconsiderate, careless Aimee, is it thus you con- 
 sult our happiness, by making yourself ill, and 
 exposing your delicate frame so long to those 
 dangerous beams ? Here, taste these oranges, 
 which you know have been preserved here ever 
 since my return from Cadiz : they will cool 
 your tongue and parched lips ;" for she complain- 
 ed of thirst, and said that her mouth seemed 
 burning. She took the oranges, and, dividing one 
 into two parts, gave me one, saying, " You too 
 must be weary, my dearest husband. Alas ! we 
 weak women require so much care and cherishing, 
 and yet remain inactive and useless ! while you, 
 proud in your strength and courage, seem re- 
 gardless of fatigue and danger." The moist syrup 
 
SOS JOURNAL 
 
 seemed to relieve her ; and being anxious to know 
 if the tumult and trouble around the bishop's 
 palace had been appeased, I tenderly embraced 
 my wife, and telling her where I was going, I 
 left her, as I thought, refreshed and restored 
 from the noxious effects of the sun. I hastened 
 up to the palace, and there I beheld indeed the 
 influence of heroism and piety. The vast crowd 
 was hushed and tranquil ; the excellent Bishop 
 stood upon the steps, surrounded by the priests, 
 one of whom held up a large silver cross; the 
 Chevalier was just below him. The obedient 
 people came, one by one, in patience and grati- 
 tude, and received upon their knees, from the 
 hands of the good Belsunce, the strengthening 
 donation. The venerable man blessed each as 
 he knelt down, and the Chevaher addressed to 
 many of them some encouraging expressions. 
 " That is well," said he to one man whom he 
 had observed before as among the most violent, 
 " that is well, my good man ; your fellow-citizens 
 
OF AN EXILE. 309 
 
 can now partake in tranquillity of these alms, 
 and your next confession will be more acceptable 
 to your priest than if you had converted the 
 Bishop's charitable exertions into a scene of dis- 
 appointment, and perhaps death. " Oui, mon 
 Chevalier^' said the man, " if ever God de- 
 scended upon the earth to befriend the poor, he 
 is among us now. When I look at you and our 
 merciful Bishop, I am sure that ye are the angels 
 appointed to assist us in our distress." " So, my 
 pretty maiden,'* said my friend Rose to a young 
 flower-girl, " could not you find a lover to come 
 and receive your mother's portion, without being 
 compelled to struggle and strive with those slen- 
 der limbs among the crowd .''" The girl blushed 
 as she saw those near her smiling, and said, 
 " Oh ! Sir, to be sure, Adolphe would have 
 come directly, but, thank God, he is at Paris," 
 clasping her hands as the Bishop blessed her. 
 
 Well, my son, the blessed and Christian office 
 lasted till the moon rose, and even after ; for the 
 
310 JOURNAL 
 
 aged and infirm, who could not advance before, 
 now made their feeble way up to the Bishop's 
 feet ; and a beautiful sight it was to see them, as 
 the moonlight fell upon their furrowed faces, 
 holding up their shaking hands, and themselves 
 blessing the holy priests. I could have lingered 
 much longer there, but Aimee was alone ; and I 
 walked slowly back towards my house, among 
 the retiring people. As we passed along the end 
 of the Cours, we saw sitting, upon one of those 
 benches under the trees, where probably, my 
 son, you have often sought shade, a Turk who 
 had long dwelt at Marseilles, and was noted for 
 his skill in medicine. His name was Hassan ; 
 and he had perhaps, by his spices and prescrip- 
 tions, preserved numbers from falling a prey to 
 the pestilence. He was sitting calmly and 
 gravely amidst the bodies which still lay around, 
 and held in one hand a pipe, which he was 
 smoking, while the other was concealed in the 
 folds of his robe. As we passed by him, the peo- 
 
OF AN EXII-E. 311 
 
 pie saluted him, and seemed to do so with a sort 
 of awe. Hassan replied to their address with 
 a slow and tranquil bow, seeming to be perfectly 
 indifferent to the living and the dead around 
 him. It was a striking and strong instance of 
 that system of fate and fixed destiny which you 
 have probably heard of, my son, and the be- 
 lievers in which feel neither hope nor fear, but 
 await the inevitable event in complete compo- 
 sure. 
 
 I reached my house, the windows were closed ; 
 which surprised me, as I knew my Aimee loved 
 to stand and gaze upon the waters of the har- 
 bour as the moon shone upon them, and which 
 had been during the afternoon freed in a great 
 degree from the putrid bodies, by the sailors, 
 who, moving about in boats, had pushed them 
 with long poles towards the mouth of the har- 
 bour, from whence they floated away round up 
 to the rocks along the coast. But my wife, I 
 thought, might probably be performing her 
 
312 JOURNAL 
 
 evening devotions j and as I drew near the door, 
 I heard her voice in low and confused murmurs. 
 But, Mother of God ! how did I find her ! I had 
 left her sitting at her embroidery, at a table near 
 the window, and I looked towards that part of 
 the room. She was not there. The rest of the 
 apartment was in darkness, and the moon just 
 threw a few beams upon the table, which was 
 covered with painted roses and velvets, and shin- 
 ing silks. I was alarmed ; I heard however her 
 voice, and stepping on, my foot (and the old man 
 shuddered) struck against something which lay 
 upon the floor. Tt was my wife. She knew me, 
 called to me ; " Henri, raise me up ; I am ill, 
 my feet are weak and wavering, and, in crossing 
 the room to fetch my guitar, I have fallen here." 
 I raised her up, and supporting her in my arms, 
 I bore her to the couch. Her hands were like 
 fire, and her lips, as I kissed them, almost 
 clung to mine. *' Aimee, my precious crea- 
 ture," I asked in agony and horror, *' what 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 S13 
 
 dost thou feel ? what means this strange weak- 
 ness ? Are you in pain ?" " My tongue is blis- 
 tered, my forehead throbs, ' said she, " and I 
 could drink the worst and dullest water/' I put 
 one of the oranges to her lips, but she seemed 
 to heed it not, in spite of her wish for moisture. 
 The truth now at once flashed upon my dis- 
 tracted mind : the pestilence had breathed upon 
 her ; but how, and in what manner, and from 
 whence had it come ? Aimee had never once 
 quitted the house, and the servant was too ter- 
 rified to do so, and, I knew, had not. Suddenly 
 the circumstance of the ball darted across me. It 
 was even so,— the infected cotton had communi- 
 cated its poison to my wife's heart's blood. She 
 continued to lie in my arras, but still and tran- 
 quil, as if my embrace had power to refresh 
 and soothe her ; but soon she complained of 
 shooting pains in all her limbs, and seemed grow- 
 ing worse. I called wildly for the servant ; and 
 telling her to watch by her mistress, and ^his- 
 voL. I. r 
 
314 JOURNAL 
 
 pering my suffering Aimee that I would soon 
 bring her relief, hurried away to the Cours. 
 The Turk, Hassan, was still there, and I rushed 
 up to him. " Come with me, come fly, Hassan !" 
 I almost shrieked out ; '' bring hither thy simples 
 and spells, for they are all needed." The Maho- 
 metan looked at me calmly as he slowly rose ; 
 and said, " Allah ! il Allah 1 there is no God 
 but Allah! and Mahomet is his Prophet. What 
 is to be must be. The camel may not strive 
 against his master, nor the slave against the whip ; 
 nevertheless, I will go with thee, young man." 
 He gathered up his long garments, and walked 
 on, but so deliberately, that I was tempted to 
 upbraid him with his cruelty. When we got 
 back to my house, the pest had not lingered in 
 its course : my poor wife was delirious, and her 
 cries wrung and racked my heart-strings. I 
 sunk upon my knees by the side of the couch, 
 and took her clenched hand into my own. She 
 knew me not ! Her words were wild and wan- 
 
OF AN EXILK. 815 
 
 dering, and she raved of harps, and saints, and 
 sleeping angels. '' Give me the babe !" she 
 shrieked out ; " give me the babe ! see, they ask 
 me for it ! they frown upon me, and wave me 
 away, and point to it. Give me the babe ! Ah ! 
 now," and she clasped my hand ; " now I have 
 him, the blessed Virgin opens her arms to me ; 
 the angels tune their harps !" And fatigued and 
 exhausted by the paroxysm, she then lay still. 
 Hassan stood at the foot of the couch, looking 
 down upon her in silence ; and when she ceased 
 to rave, he slowly shook his head. " The Black 
 Spirit hath been here," said he ; "I see the 
 point of his sable arrow, even now, festering in 
 those boils which are upon thy wife's neck : not 
 all the herbs and frankincense of our spicy groves 
 could now sweeten or heal her blood. Thy fair 
 Palm-tree must die, young man ; the hot blast 
 of the Simoom hath scorched her," — If you, my 
 son, have ever lost something which seemed to 
 form a part of your existence, and your words 
 p 2 
 
316 JOURNAL 
 
 would lead me to suppose that you have, then 
 can you feel for me, and conceive what 1 suf- 
 fered as the Physician Hassan spoke thus. 
 
 " No ! no ! say not so ! good Turk," I cried, 
 " say not so ! I will give thee gold and merchan- 
 dise sufficient to make thee Vizier over thy na- 
 tive city, if thou wilt heal this sweet saint."" " It 
 cannot be,"" said Hassan, "alas ! pity it is that so 
 fair a creature should die an infidel, and be for 
 ever cut off from the blessed gardens of our Pa- 
 radise, and the songs and pleasures of the fa- 
 voured Houris. But it cannot be ! the Angel of 
 Death is even now covering her with his wings ;""' 
 and the death-pang began indeed to rattle in her 
 throat. But I cannot, I cannot tell thee how she 
 died ; I scarcely know. I remember something of 
 her clinging to my neck, and kissing my forehead, 
 and the screams of the servant, and the odour of 
 essences and spices ; but nothing distinct re- 
 mains upon my recollection. I became delirious, 
 as thev told me afterwards, and knew no one, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 317 
 
 not even my friend Rose, who never left me. 
 When I recovered my senses, after a montli's 
 darkness and distraction, all was blank. My loss 
 alone stood before me, like yon rugged island, 
 which is surrounded by a cold unfathomable 
 waste. My wife had been buried in the same 
 grave with my parents, by the care of my affec- 
 tionate Rose ! 
 
 During my derangement the month of No- 
 vember had passed quite away. December ar- 
 rived, and brought with it the Mistral, and the 
 malady, as they told me, was dying away ; and 
 need, indeed, it had to do so, for it had little 
 left to ravage. The parliament of Aix, towards 
 the end of the month, withdrew the line of 
 troops from before our walls, and the new year 
 opened encouragingly upon the reviving city. 
 But it brought no change of prospects to me ; I 
 was like the vineyards which lay around us, and 
 which had pined away during the plague, un- 
 tended and forgotten. — Your sorrows, my son, 
 
318 JOURNAL 
 
 have, no doubt, made you pious, and a reader of 
 the Scriptures, as it did myself. I used to sit at 
 my window and look upon the rejoicing crowds 
 which again thronged the quay, and compare 
 myself, as I saw them smiling and greeting each 
 other, to the field so beautifully described by the 
 Prophet son of Amos. 
 
 " I will water thee with my tears, O Heshbon 
 and Elialeh ! for the shouting for thy summer 
 fruits, and for thy harvest is fallen ; and glad- 
 ness is taken away, and joy out of the plentiful 
 field ; and in the vineyards there shall be no 
 shouting ; the treader shall tread out no wine in 
 their presses ; I have made their vintage-shout- 
 ing to cease." And soon, my son, I became indif- 
 ferent to the world : I had none to labour or live 
 for; and I determined upon quitting those scenes 
 which only increased the bitterest of my recol- 
 lections. I gave up my property to my Aimee's 
 father, who had returned from America to 
 mourn with me over her loss, and retired hither. 
 
or AN EXILE. 819 
 
 The sacred dust of the three beings who had 
 made my past life happy, I removed ; and it now 
 Hes mingled and awaiting mine in the marble 
 tomb below. Many a long year has gone by 
 since that time, and I little thought that I 
 should have lingered so long after them upon 
 the earth." 
 
320 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 As the hermit concluded his story, the ves- 
 per-bell tolled from the village below; and I 
 found that my attention had been so occupied 
 by listening to him, that the day had passed 
 away unperceived. The moon had risen, and 
 threw her full unclouded light upon the rude 
 and winding paths which led down from the cell : 
 I rose, and asking the old man's blessing, who 
 seemed exhausted and depressed, I returned 
 through the perfumed wood to my house. 
 When I arrived there, I found that my friend 
 the vigneron had left me a new-year's gift. It 
 was a pretty basket, made of rushes, and filled 
 Avith rich grapes; and my servant called it a 
 Cophin. The singularity of this appellation 
 struck me, and I immediately recognised another 
 
OF AN EXILE. 321 
 
 of those traces which remain in these countries 
 of their ancient Greek colonists; cophin being 
 evidently a corruption of the Greek M<pmg, a 
 little basket. 
 
 The history of these colonists is one of those 
 circumstances which furnish to the studious 
 mind a wide field for thought and pleasing re- 
 flection. Some of the Greeks who had taken 
 up their residence in that part of Asia Minor 
 which is bathed by the iEgean Sea, and which 
 lies between Troy and Smyrna, had been ex- 
 pelled from their country by Harpagus, one of the 
 generals of Cyrus : they were called Phocasans ; 
 and, after wandering about for some time like 
 pirates, reached, at length, the coast of Pro- 
 vence. Upon their arrival, delighted at the ap- 
 pearance of the country, which, with its bright 
 sun and vines and green fig-trees, reminded 
 them of their own, they determined upon con- 
 cluding their unsettled mode of life, and fixing 
 themselves in this inviting region. But, in or- 
 V 5 
 
S2^ JOURNAL 
 
 der to effect this peaceably, it was necessary to 
 despatch an embassy to the rude Prince of the 
 Provencals; who then resided at, it is supposed, 
 the modern Aries. Upon the arrival of the Pho- 
 caean messengers at that place, they found that 
 the inhabitants were engaged in celebrating a 
 festival, which the King of Aries had proclaimed 
 for the purpose of choosing a husband for his 
 daughter. The ambassadors were introduced 
 into the hall, or, perhaps, wood, where were 
 assembled the Provencal chief, with his daughter, 
 and a long train of suitors, and courteously 
 entertained. But to the astonishment and dis- 
 may of the native wooers, the Princess, who was 
 allowed the singular privilege of choosing for 
 herself, immediately bestowed her hand upon 
 the leader of the stranger guests. Of course, 
 by this marriage the Phocaeans became friends 
 and allies to the father of their Queen, and 
 were allowed the permission which they had re- 
 quested, to build for themselves a city, of which, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 323 
 
 the foundations were immediately laid, and 
 which were to form the city that now lies below 
 me. They called it Massilia, for which name 
 various learned reasons have been given, which 
 I neither understand nor can enter into. The 
 city Massilia, from whatever circumstance so 
 called, silently and gradually increased in opu- 
 lence and importance ; while her harbour was 
 thronged with ships, and her internal govern- 
 ment was wise and pure. Six hundred of the 
 most esteemed citizens formed the principal coun- 
 cil or senate ; of whom, fifteen were selected to 
 transact all the more immediate and urgent 
 affairs. No one, unless he had children, could 
 form a part of this council ; the natural af- 
 fections of the heart being considered, in the 
 simplicity of those times, the best security 
 which could be obtained for the freedom and 
 welfare of the state. Their manners were cor- 
 rect and simple ; all licentious amusements were 
 forbidden ; and the attention of the people was 
 
324 JOURNAL 
 
 entirely bestowed upon the increase of their 
 commercial fame. But there prevailed among 
 them one singular custom, which the philosopher 
 will consider with curiosity ; the Christian with 
 pious horror ; and the unhappy with deep in- 
 terest. When any person, after having suffered 
 unusual misfortunes and misery, lost all hope 
 and courage, and considering himself deserted or 
 detested by the Gods, determined upon dying, 
 the Senate required that his purpose should be 
 intimated to them. That body then assembled 
 in the Hall of Audience in solemn state, and the 
 unfortunate and desperate person was brought 
 before them. He was then questioned as to his 
 resolution; and if he still persisted in it, was 
 ordered to unfold to the assembly his reasons ; 
 which he did: — giving an account of his afflic- 
 tions, and confessing his despair. The senators 
 then deUberated upon the case ; and if they 
 considered the man before them a fit object for 
 relief, delivered to him a portion of the hemlock, 
 
OF AN EXJLE. S25 
 
 nhich was pi'eserved for this express purpose 
 in the gardens of the Senatorial Palace, and 
 sanctioned, by a recorded decree, the dreadful 
 act which then followed. This melancholy aban- 
 donment of what mankind in general so fondly 
 cling to, is one of those problems in the mystery 
 of our nature, which set all reason and philo- 
 sophy at defiance. For the wise and the weak 
 alike fall by their own hand ; the warrior, the 
 statesman, the eloquent orator, and the poor 
 drivelling and desperate mechanic, have all sunk 
 beneath the intense gloom and agony of mental 
 depression. Yet, in this smiling climate, it 
 would seem impossible for a man to become so 
 totally and hopelessly darkened, as to require the 
 juice of the fatal hemlock. For since I have 
 dwelt here, I have found my heart grow calmer, 
 and my spirits lighter. I have thought upon the 
 past with less bitterness, and have even been, at 
 times, almost happy. But then, the words of 
 others would awake again the scotched snake. 
 
326 JOURNAL 
 
 and the sun would seem dull and misty. And so 
 must it ever be ! It is not the sumptuous palace, 
 nor the quiet cottage ; it is not the golden gar- 
 den, with its statues and founts and marble ter- 
 races ; nor the simple hedge-rows of wild roses 
 and honeysuckle, winding among the green 
 lanes, that can give rest or peace to the mind : — 
 it is its own place, and in itself 
 
 " Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." 
 
 We may change our clime, we may dwell 
 amid the olive and the vine, beneath the cataract 
 and the snowy mountain ; but though, thus sur- 
 rounded by beautiful nature, the chain which 
 binds our hearts may for a time be slackened, 
 yet, anon, the inquisitor Care tightens and 
 twists its links, and the iron again enters into 
 our souls. 
 
 Montesquieu, in his Spirit of Laws, says, 
 " That while the practice of suicide continued to 
 
OF AN EXILE, 327 
 
 be general among the nations of antiquity, their 
 Repubhcan virtues were sterner and stronger, 
 than when a Roman senate had learned tamely 
 to obey the nod of an imperial despot." It cer- 
 tainly did not diminish the activity and indepen- 
 dent spirit of INIarseilles. She planted colonies, 
 she assisted Rome against her great rival, and 
 was numbered among her most faithful friends 
 and allies. But amidst that mighty struggle 
 for the world, between Caesar and Pompey, the 
 Greek city sunk beneath the brighter star of 
 the Dictator, and became his tributary. Time 
 passed on ; — Emperor after Emperor delighted 
 or disturbed the world, till at length Constan- 
 tine, at the commencement of the fourth cen- 
 tury, became the first Christian Prince and Pon- 
 tiff of Rome, and Marseilles ceased from her 
 Pagan superstitions. Upon the death of Con- 
 stantine, and the partition of the empire among 
 his sons, Marseilles was allotted, among the other 
 cities of Transalpine Gaul, to Constantine the 
 
Si>8 JOURNAL 
 
 younger; and became, during his reign, the 
 scene of a remarkable tragedy. The young 
 prince had married Fausta, the daughter of 
 Maximian Hercuhus; who, compelled by the 
 failure of his projects and plots against his own 
 son Maxentius, in favour of whom he had has- 
 tily abdicated the crown of Italy, was living a 
 fugitive at the Gallic court. Maximian, how- 
 ever, though foiled in his previous attempts to 
 regain sovereign power, was not contented to 
 live in security and tranquillity. He formed a 
 dark conspiracy against his son-in-law and bene- 
 factor ; but his machinations were discovered, 
 and he was obliged to fly. He hurried to Mar- 
 seilles, with the hope, perhaps, of saving him- 
 self by sea ; but Constantine, having rapidly 
 pursued the traitor, with a party of troops, was 
 admitted secretly by a postern gate into the 
 city, and Maximian fell into his hands. He, 
 however, piously refused to punish, as he 
 might justly have done, the father of his wife; 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 and life was spared, and liberty restored to the 
 fugitive. But the abdicated sovereign could not 
 continue an obedient subject ; and he again con- 
 trived an ungrateful plan of rebellion and mur- 
 der; darker and more deceitful than the last, 
 since he had endeavoured to corrupt the faithful 
 tenderness of his daughter, and induce her to 
 unite with him in his bloody design against her 
 husband. Fausta feigned compliance, and pro- 
 mised to dismiss the guards which were always 
 placed at night in the royal chamber, — thus leav- 
 ing the prince an easy prey to the assassin ; but 
 the unhappy daughter and affectionate wife had 
 disclosed all to Constantine; and one of the 
 Eunuchs of the palace was commanded to lie 
 down in the devoted bed. In the dead of the 
 night, Maximian, feigning to awake suddenly, 
 rises, and, amidst an affected and artificial agita- 
 tion, hurries to the chamber of his son-in-law, to 
 communicate some ominous dream. There he 
 exultingly despatches the unsuspecting Eunuch ; 
 
330 JOURNAL OF AN EXILE. 
 
 and coming forth, proclaims to the palace the 
 death of the Emperor. On a sudden the trum- 
 pets sound, the Imperial eagles are seen advanc- 
 ing amid the torches of the Praetorian guard, 
 and the Emperor himself, surrounded by his 
 officers, stands before the terrified and confound- 
 ed Maximian. All further generosity to the 
 incorrigible and unnatural parent would have 
 been useless and impolitic. The melanchol}^ 
 choice, however, of the mode in which he would 
 die was allowed him ; and the baffled tyrant 
 placed about his own neck the rope which ter- 
 minated his dangerous life. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET-STREET. 
 
THE 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 AN EXILE. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR SAUNDERS AND DTLEY, 
 
 BRITISH AXD FOREIGX PUBLIC LIBRAKY, 
 CONDUIT-STREET, HANOVER-SQUARE. 
 
 1825. 
 
JOURNAL. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Jan. 4. 182S.— I stiiolled this morning 
 to the village, where I had first been with the 
 hermit. As I entered the narrow street, I saw 
 several persons collected before the door of the 
 house which I thought was Auguste's, the pre- 
 served mariner ; and i hastened on, expecting 
 to find, perhaps, the joyful preparations for his 
 wedding in full course. But when I had reached 
 the cottage, a very different sight presented it- 
 self Seven or eight peasants were assembled in 
 silence, looking upon the melancholy decora- 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
2 JOUUNAL 
 
 tions of a village funeral. Across the door of 
 the house hung a black cloth, which just left 
 sufficient space beneath its folds to allow the 
 persons without, a view into the interior of the 
 apartment. That was dark and dismal, the 
 windows were all closed, and the only light 
 which the cottage received was from the dark- 
 ened door and a few wax tapers, which were 
 placed in rude wooden stands, and surrounded 
 an open bier. Within this, I could just see 
 the pale features of the dead person, which 
 were, however, partly concealed by a white 
 pillow, which lay upon his breast, on which was 
 placed the cross. Near the bier stood a small 
 vessel with holy water, and a little brush for 
 sprinkling it. I must acknowledge that my 
 heart smote me when I saw the old mother 
 sitting by the body : 1 had hoped that these 
 preparations had been made for age and in- 
 firmity. It was not so ! Auguste, the young, 
 the hopeful, was dead ! and I looked round 
 
OF AX EXILE. 
 
 for Claire. I saw her near the poor mo- 
 ther, clasping her shaking hands in her own. 
 I ventured not to enter the cottage at such 
 a moment ; the presence of a stranger and 
 foreigner might have been disagreeable. I 
 passed on, therefore, to the church, which was 
 at a little distance. Its doors were open, and, 
 just as I reached them, the cure came forth, 
 preceded by a man bearing a tall cross, and 
 carrying his black cap in his hand. I uncovered 
 my head as he passed, and entered the church. 
 It was simple and unpretending in its appear- 
 ance, except in its altar. That was, as usual, 
 loaded with flowers and tinsel ornaments, and 
 a ghttering painting of the patron Saint, re- 
 clined against the little pavilion in which the 
 precious wafer was contained. A ievf votive 
 paintings, and some fresh vine-leaves, hung 
 round upon the walls, and completed the decora- 
 tion of this rustic temple. My mind recalled to 
 itself the village churches in my own country ; 
 B 2 
 
JOURNAL 
 
 and I felt my heart and reason give the pre- 
 ference to the latter. Here, the gaudy trash 
 and trappings of the altar conveyed no lesson to 
 the simple peasants, but could only please and 
 flatter their eyes. The priest, as he knelt be- 
 fore it, and moved backwards and forwards the 
 vessels and Saints in solemn mummery, mutter- 
 ing some obscure and unintelligible prayer, 
 could work no lasting effect upon the minds or 
 hearts of his flock, who only obey, because they 
 do not understand. How different is the scene 
 in the sweet and humble English village ! At 
 the sound of the church-going bell, on a bright 
 Sabbath morning, what a happy and holy sight 
 is there ! Wordsworth has beautifully described 
 it in his " White Doe of Rylstone." 
 
 " From Boehm's old monastic tower 
 The bells ring loud with gladsome power ; 
 The sun is bright, the fields are gay, 
 With people in their best array 
 
OF AN EXILE. O 
 
 Of Stole and doublet, hood and scarf, 
 Along the banks of the crystal Wharf, 
 Through the vale retired and lowly 
 Trooping to that summons holy. 
 
 And up among the moorlands see 
 
 What sprinklings of blithe company. 
 
 Of lasses and of shepherd grooms. 
 
 That down the steep hills force their way, — 
 
 Path, or no path, what care they? 
 
 And thus, in joyous crowd they hie 
 
 To Boehm's mouldering priory." 
 
 And then, when they reach it, the low Gothic 
 porch, with its stone benches, upon which the 
 iiged and weary rest themselves till the bell rings 
 quickly in ; the rustics in their doublets and 
 stoles ranged in long rows up the aisle ; the low 
 murmuring from the vestry of the parish-school, 
 as the minister's daughter listens to the Cate- 
 chism which some of the lisping lips can scarcely 
 utter ; and the sullen sound of the opening and 
 shutting of the pews. Then, the minister in a 
 
b JOURNAL 
 
 plain white surplice, holding out the cheerful 
 promise of absolution to the truly repentant; 
 very diiferent from the mysterious secrecy of the 
 confessional, and its paltry penance of abstinence 
 from flesh. Hey wood, one of our old poets, has 
 sarcastically described the arrogant system of 
 Romish absolution and indulgence. 
 
 " With small cost, without any pain, 
 These pardons bring them to Heaven plain. 
 Give me but a penny or two-pence^ 
 And as soon as the soul is departed hence, 
 In half an hour, or three-quarters at most, 
 The soul is in Heaven with the Holy-Ghost." 
 
 Then, too, the simple psalm sung in full 
 ambitious chorus by the musical spirits of the 
 village, who are all assembled, with the clerk at 
 their head, and the bassoon in front in the large 
 gallery, and, as its loud and ringing tones cease, 
 the minister's voice is again heard slowly recalling 
 the attention to the decalogue, as he stands at 
 
OF AN EXILE. 7 
 
 the rude wooden table; on one side of which 
 hangs our Saviour's prayer, and, on the other, 
 those commandments which he is endeavouring 
 to enforce. Finally, the clear Christian dis- 
 course, adapted to the understanding and hearts 
 of all, alike removed from the gloomy threaten- 
 inffs of the Puritan and the hcentious lesson of the 
 Neapolitan Friar. But here, the peasants may 
 troop to the mass with their gay jackets and 
 nosegays, and shining crosses ; their hearts may 
 be humble and good ; yet the communion of 
 prayer, the spirit of that encouraging part of our 
 ser\^ce which prays all that may be there as- 
 sembled, to accompany their pastor with a pure 
 heart and humble voice in the supplications, is 
 wanting. 
 
 The ignorant peasant prays, but knows not to 
 whom, whether to the Saints, the Saviour, or his 
 holy Mother. He listens to the Latin invoca- 
 tion with stupid astonishment, and thinks that it 
 must be a fine thing to be so near the altar and 
 
8 JOUllNAL 
 
 the host as M. Le Cure. I was interrupted in 
 my reflections by the approaching sound of 
 voices, which announced the advance of tlie 
 funeral, and I heard the attendants singing one 
 of those hymns which are particularly adapted 
 to this part of France. As the strain came 
 stealing on, I could compare its effect with that 
 produced by the gradual approach of the same 
 mournful train in England ; and, again, the 
 latter claimed the preference. The stillness 
 which reigns around, broken only by the 
 closing of the hearse-door, the neighing of the 
 plumed and pawing horses, and the thrilling 
 words of the clergyman as he precedes the 
 coffin, " I am the resurrection and the life," 
 are far more awakening to the dearest feelings 
 of our nature than the artificial hymn that 
 now echoed tlirough the church as the pro- 
 cession entered it. Slowly advancing, the 
 bearers placed the open bier in the middle, 
 and stood round it. The priest, after having 
 
OF AN EXILE. 9 
 
 knelt and bowed and knelt again before the 
 altar, performed the funeral service, and the 
 hymn for the dead was chanted. The old 
 mother, who had attended the corpse, supported 
 by Claire and her daughter, suddenly fell to the 
 earth, as the deep voice of the assistant pro- 
 nounced the de prqfundis clamavi, and was car- 
 ried out. The ceremony then concluded, the priest 
 having sprinkled the pale face with holy water; 
 and they all left the church to proceed to the 
 cemetery. I was anxious to inquire about the 
 poor old woman, and hastened to the cottage. 
 She had recovered, but was in great misery. 
 " The will of the holy Saints be done!" said she ; 
 " but indeed it was a hard thing to lose my boy 
 thus : better had it been that he had never corae 
 back, for then I should not have known how he 
 suffered. But now I shall always think I hear him 
 (and I thank God that I could not see him) speak- 
 ing more and more weakly every day, and yet 
 w gently and sweetly, and clasping ray old hand« 
 b5 
 
10 JOURNAL 
 
 with his thin wasted fingers." Poor Claire and 
 the sister said nothing : they were standing at the 
 window looking towards the cemetery, where the 
 dreary business was seen drawing to an end. 
 The scene distressed me : I could be of no use 
 or comfort, so I left the mourners unmolested, 
 and returned to my house. 
 
 I found my friend the pedestrian waiting 
 for me. My little pupil was there too, and 
 was attacking him with some of those terms of 
 abuse which are bestowed upon Englishmen in 
 this country, and which children catch up with- 
 out knowing what they mean. We were both 
 much amused at his arch impertinence, and my 
 friend said to me, " The mutual ridicule with 
 which the natives of different countries are dis- 
 posed to treat one another, is in no case so 
 strongly exemplified as in that of France and 
 England. The Spaniard, the Italian, the Swiss, 
 the German, the Russian, and even the Turk, 
 do not regard each the other with that consum- 
 
01 AN EXILE. 11 
 
 mate and captious contempt which influences the 
 untravelled Frenchman and Enghshman. The 
 latter, when he first arrives in this country, is 
 prepared to consider the people, the manners, 
 the customs, and the country, as inferior to his 
 own, as perhaps the Chinese thinks the institu- 
 tions of the Europeans are, compared with those 
 of his Solon, Confucius, All the pride and pre- 
 judices of an islander are awake, and he passe? 
 among the officious and smiling Gauls with true 
 British scorn . France ! what is it full of, but 
 dancers and tumblers, weak soups, frogs, fid- 
 dlers, and fripperies ? and adopting the unsparing 
 creed of that intolerant literary pontiff Johnson, 
 he exclaims, as he shivers before a smoky wood 
 fire, and gazes with despair upon the cold tiled 
 pavement of his room, " Extra Britanmam 
 nulla salus."" 
 
 " The Frenchman, on the other hand, crosses 
 the narrow strait, to which he has given the sin- 
 gular appellation of the Sleeve ; and concerning 
 
1^ JOUIINAL 
 
 which, I once saw a French caricature. It re- 
 presented Bonaparte endeavouring to creep into> 
 the sleeve of a coat ; while a great staring figure 
 in red, intended for Le Rot George, stood over 
 him with a drawn sword, saying, " si tu oses, kc 
 y r ester as ^^ 
 
 " To return to our traveller. He lands in good 
 humour aud good will : he has been very sicky 
 Mais un peu de bouillon arrangera tout cela. 
 The commissioners of the hotels crowd round 
 him, and he proceeds to the Tete du Roi tenue 
 par Podeviti. But soon all his latent prejudices 
 are put into action, Point de bouilli, une soupe 
 eomme de Veau, du viii comme de Vencre, et rien 
 qii'une sauce blanche. Quel pays d'Heretic/ues f 
 cent Religions^ mais qii'une sauce ! Then on 
 his journey up to London. The rapidity of the 
 diligences affrights him ; the exorbitant charges 
 at the Inns make him wish himself again at 
 Beuuvais ; and the dark foggy atmosphere of 
 London, as he descends the precipitous steep 
 
OF AN EXILE, 13 
 
 into Greenwich, recalls to his terrified mind 
 the pistols and the poisons, and the suicidal taste 
 of the country, where the sun never shines. Nor 
 is his distress alleviated, when he arrives at the 
 White Bear. All is Babel ar>d confusion around 
 him ; nothing but cries of Coach, Coach, and 
 frequent attempts of the porters to carry off his 
 sac de nuit to a Jiacre. His fare is demanded 
 by a man who keeps his hat on his heady 
 and who, instead of a profound bow, for the 
 munificent pour boiie of twelve sous, throws them 
 into the kennel, and calls him a French fool. 
 When he has at last succeeded in discovering his 
 friend in Poland-street, he finds him half English, 
 eating beef and potatoes, and drinking porter. 
 He sets forth in search of a Restaurateur, and 
 dans un carreau, as he calls it, or square, actu- 
 ally discovers a real undoubted one. He en- 
 ters delighted, orders his Julienne, his fr'ican- 
 deau, his omelette aux fines herhes, and his 
 demi houteille de Botir^o^ne. He has omitted 
 
14 JOUHKAL 
 
 to examine the carte; '"'' rnais c'est egal^"" he 
 knows well enough the price of these articles. 
 A la honheur ! he exclaims as he finishes 
 his portion of Parmesan, and calls for the note. 
 Mais^ Grand Dieu ! ten shillings ! Why he 
 could have a superb dinner chez Very^ la demi 
 tasse and petit ver7'e included, for less. He has 
 scarcely recovered from the dismay which this oc- 
 currence has excited within him, when he strolls 
 into a coffee-house. He takes his hat off as he 
 enters, and makes a bow to a lady, who happens 
 to be sitting at a table, waiting till her husband 
 comes down stairs, and whom he has mistaken 
 for the dame du Comptoir. He addresses hin 
 conversation to a gentleman near him, who 
 scarcely answers him, and looks at him suspi- 
 ciously. Baffled in his attempt to procure a 
 game at dominoes, he calls for coffee, which is 
 brought to him in a large silver vessel, surrounded 
 by a labyrinth of basins and cups. The coffee 
 seems like the scourings of the boiler at the 
 
OF AN EXILE, 15 
 
 Cafe de Foi ; and his grimaces and annoyance 
 are prodigious. He rises to leave the cafe, and 
 gracefully pours the contents of the sugar-basin 
 into his pocket, amidst the laughter of the per- 
 sons who are near, and the indignant expostula- 
 tions of the waiter. And to crown all, the four- 
 pence which he had laid down upon the table, 
 and the one which he presents to the waiter, 
 are both scornfully rejected, and two shillings are 
 angrily demanded. Such are the miseries which 
 await many an unfortunate native of this country, 
 who crosses over to England, with all the vain 
 and pert prejudices of his nation, which, though 
 differently shewn, render him just as ridiculous, 
 and really uncomfortable, as the sullen English- 
 man." 
 
36 JOUKNAL 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Mv friend the Pedestrian proposed, that we 
 should walk together to the Lazarette, as I had 
 been long anxious to see this singular building. 
 It is built upon a rising ground, to the right of 
 the harbour, and open to the influence of the 
 Mislral. This wind, which, I have had frequent 
 occasion to mention, is one of those peculiar 
 phsenomena which affect joarticular districts : it 
 l)lows from the north-west, and, when gentle, 
 diffuses an agreeable and refreshing coolness 
 upon the parched vineyards and thirsty fields. 
 But it frequently sweeps over Provence with 
 the utmost fury, howling along the troubled 
 waters of the Rhone, shaking, and sometimes 
 shattering the bridge of boats, which con- 
 nects the ancient town of Tarascon with its 
 opposite neighbour, Beaucaire, so well known 
 
OF AN KXILE. 17 
 
 as the Lelpsic of France. And then spreading 
 itself away through the country, it snatches up 
 the thick heaps of white dust, that have lain accu- 
 mulating for months upon the roads, and whirls 
 them in a blinding cloud upon the passenger and 
 the pasture. And I myself have seen the air as 
 thick for miles round with this dust as if it were 
 snovvinff. It has been known to continue for 
 weeks and months together, and to disappear 
 for as long a period ; as for instance, during the 
 miserable days that Marseilles passed, when 
 oppressed by the plague. For it is considered 
 in the Provencal harbours a great dispeller of 
 the unwholesome air, which may, and probably 
 does, arise from the beating of a southern sun 
 upon a tideless sea. Tlie waters of the ports 
 upon the Mediterranean are not renewed and re- 
 freshed by the influx of pure waves ; all the mud 
 and filth of the city run into them, and a dan- 
 gerous steam must arise from the corruption 
 and constant contamination which thus take 
 place. 
 
18 JOURNAL 
 
 The Lazarette is a very large establishment ; 
 but, as I have before set down an account of 
 its regulations, it will not be necessary for me to 
 record much concerning it now. We were ad- 
 mitted within an outer gate, upon which might 
 well be inscribed those lines which Dante has 
 placed over his Inferno : 
 
 " Per me si va nella citta dolente, 
 Per me si va nell' eterno dolore. 
 Per me si va fra la perduta gente !" 
 
 Beyond the gate ^ve found a long passage 
 
 separated from the rest of the building by a 
 
 treble screen of iron, behind which the persons 
 
 who are performing quarantine stand when 
 
 they wish to communicate with their friends. 
 
 Several were then engaged in this agreeable 
 
 employment, but looked extremely ridiculous 
 
 thus caged up. They had more the appearance 
 
 of the royal lions and tigers which I remember 
 
 to have been so delighted with when a child, as 
 
 they roamed backwards and forwards in their 
 
OF AX EXILE. 19 
 
 iron dens, lashing their bodies with their spiry 
 tails, and glaring out through the bars upon 
 the impudent intruders. But yet, appalling re- 
 flection ! those men, were they but admitted to 
 the embrace and society of their friends, might 
 work as much, aye and more, horrible mischief 
 than the wildest and worst of savage beasts. 
 Look at the sad history of the Plague, and even 
 now the frightful condition of Barcelona. The 
 last accounts from that place were indeed distress- 
 ing ; it had become a second Marseilles under the 
 fearfuUest influence of pestilence ; but, alas ! 
 unlike her, in the devotedness and heroism of 
 its citizens. For they are divided against them- 
 selves ; the pest of anarchy has united itself in 
 most unholy league with the fever'i> yellow 
 banners ; and they march on unchecked, nay, 
 even aided by the mad and parricidal civil war- 
 fare of the Catalonians. I am informed that the 
 deaths exceed 1500 a-day, and that some 
 wretches have been detected in mixing poison 
 
20 JOURNAL 
 
 among the fish in the public market : that, of 
 the physicians who went down thither from 
 Paris, in noble emulation of the two Charitable 
 Sisters, one has died, and another is in great 
 danger : that the disease has spread all along 
 the coast of Spain, and that Cadiz herself begins 
 to tremble : that the suburbs of the city are 
 covered with the dead bodies of persons who at- 
 tempted to make from the city, and who were 
 instantly shot by the Sanitary Cordon. It has 
 been asserted, that the establishment of this 
 latter precaution, which has also taken place in 
 France, is more likely to introduce the infection 
 than avert it ; as it will be impossible to prevent 
 the troops from having communication with 
 some diseased persons: And this has given rise 
 to an p.nxinus discussion respecting the nature of 
 tlie yellow fever, whether it be contagious or 
 infectious. I am not sufficiently versed in these 
 matters to decide the question; but from the in- 
 quiries I have made here, I should rather be in- 
 
OF AX EXILE. 21 
 
 dined to consider it as infectious simply, and not 
 contagious. 1 say, simply, because it appears to 
 me that it is much more easy to take precautions 
 ao-ainst such diseases, than against those which 
 are contagious. This has been proved in the 
 present instance, with respect to Marseilles ; for 
 it is now well known, that a man who had been 
 employed on board one of the suspected vessels, 
 in discharging her cargo, and had been allowed, 
 finally, to come on shore, died a day or two after 
 of the yellow fever. He lodged in one of the 
 streets of the old city, where the plague first 
 broke out, and must have communicated with 
 the other inmates of the house, "^rhe authorities 
 got intelligence of the circumstance, and the 
 house was instantly blocked up, the man buried 
 in quick-lime, and his wife, and all the persons 
 whom they could possibly suspect of having had 
 intercourse with the deceased, sent to the Laza- 
 rette. This happened some time back, and wa.-? 
 not, I believe, generally known for some days. 
 
2^ JOURNAL 
 
 But when it did become known, it excited great 
 alarm here. Many families quitted their houses, 
 and fled away to Avignon, and some even to 
 Lyons. The news of our position reached Paris '■> 
 every body there considered us as a lost people, 
 and I certainly saw a letter, stating that in that 
 city it was very positively affirmed, that we were 
 dying by twenties and thirties a day. 
 
 " Extemplo Libyse inagnas it Fama per urbes. 
 
 * * * • 
 
 Parva metu primo mox sese attollit in auras, 
 Ingrediturque solo, et caput inter nubila condit. 
 
 And I have no doubt that very shortly, though 
 parva metu primo, she would have hidden 
 (not her diminished head) among the clouds, 
 and that thirty would have been made, according 
 to FalstafF's arithmetic, three hundred. Nay, so 
 far was this report carried, that an Englishman 
 who left this place six weeks ago for Naples, has 
 just returned as he went ; for the vessel was 
 
OF AM EXILE. »3 
 
 refused admittance into the harbour, as coming 
 from a diseased port ; and so said he to me, " I 
 am come back re infectd. But, thank God, this 
 second visitation was averted from these walls, 
 for nothing further has occurred ; and it would 
 appear, from this circumstance, that the disease 
 is clearly only infectious ; for had it been conta- 
 gious, we should be now, perhaps, spread about 
 the streets in agony, with no Chevaher Rose or 
 good Belsunce to console and comfort our bodily 
 and mental pains. The symptoms of this com- 
 plaint may be easily mistaken for a common head- 
 ache, till the fatal black vomit appears; then, 
 indeed, there can be no uncertainty. It has 
 been said, that if between the paroxysms of this 
 fever strong doses of bark and port wine be given 
 to the diseased persons, a cure may be confi- 
 dently expected. 
 
 We saw, through the grating, the captain of 
 the American vessel that was wrecked the other 
 day, watched closely by a guard. His reflec- 
 
S4 JOURNAL 
 
 tions could not be the most agreeable during his 
 captivity ; nor would, I imagine, those of any 
 person be, thus imprisoned, in the midst of 
 death and danger. No communication is per- 
 mitted between persons who are in any way sus- 
 pected as to their health ; and thus a man stalks 
 about like some blighted and deserted sinner, 
 and is reduced to the amusement of scrawling 
 upon the walls of his prison, impatient and que- 
 rulous sentences ; such, for instance, as " La vie 
 est v/ne quarantaine pour le paradis.^' Looking 
 down upon the sea when we quitted the Laza- 
 rette, we could perceive some of the exiled ships 
 riding at their anchors, and boats engaged in 
 bringing off either their sick, or their cargoes. 
 These latter, as I have I believe before remarked, 
 are conveyed to the Lazarette, according to their 
 nature, where they are subjected to the opera- 
 tion of being purified. The merchandize which 
 is considered capable of communicating the in- 
 fection, consists of sUks, linen stuffs of all kinds. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 25 
 
 cotton, sponges ; nay, books, chaplets, and rosa- 
 ries. The boats were slowly labouring along 
 with their dangerous burthens, and I thought I 
 could almost see some sickening yellow wretch 
 drinking in the light Mistral, which he hoped 
 might cool his burning entrails. " Let us de- 
 scend towards the harbour," said my companion; 
 and on our way thither we passed an old gate, the 
 only remnant then left in these streets of their 
 old Roman masters. It was neither remarkable 
 for beauty of architectural ornaments or form, 
 but it might perhaps have been the entrance by 
 which Constantine had been secretly admitted 
 into the city, and through which the body of 
 the strangled Maximin, which was discovered in 
 the eleventh century, in a marble tomb, might 
 have been conveyed, when Raynambauld, the 
 Archbishop of ArJes, ordered that the pagan 
 bones should be cast into the sea. We passed 
 on, and reached the quay. It was crowded with 
 the idle and the industrious, the merchant, the 
 
 VOL. II. c 
 
26 JOURNAL 
 
 sailor, and the politician. Greece, England, 
 Spain, Paris, supplied ample food for all ; and 
 the crowd and conversation seemed to be as 
 varied as the rich piles of fruit and goods that lay 
 along the wharfs mixed with ropes and huge iron 
 rings, and casks of oil. The fishermen, in their 
 red caps and coarse rough brown jackets, were 
 dropping about in their Spanish-looking boats ; 
 and a watchful gendarme was lounging along 
 here and there, and occasionally snatching the 
 forbidden cigar from the detected sailor. For 
 the use of this luxury is strictly forbidden upon 
 the quay, lest some unlucky spark might commu- 
 nicate with the vast quantity of hemp and flax 
 which Marseilles imports from the north. As we 
 walked down toward the mouth of the harbour, 
 a large brig came sweeping in with a considera- 
 ble part of her stern torn away ; and as she 
 passed between the two forts of St. John and St. 
 Nicholas, and beneath that of Notre Dame, 
 which, perched upon a barren beetling rock 
 
OF AN EXILE. 27 
 
 above the latter fort, seems to be looking down 
 upon the city and waters at its feet as its pecu- 
 liar charge, the crew uncovered their heads, 
 and reverently crossed themselves. They had 
 probably been hard pressed at sea, as the appear- 
 ance of their ship denoted, and they were thank- 
 ing the blessed Virgin for her intercession. 
 " The superstition and strangely contrasted be- 
 haviour of sailors in danger," said I to my com- 
 panion, " is a singular feature in then- nature. 
 At one time, brave and bold as the waves they 
 are climbing over, they dare and defy the storm, 
 the cannon, and the concealed battery. But, 
 should they happen to sail from a port on an un- 
 lucky day, — should their beads be wrongly num- 
 bered, or their paternoster be pronounced im- 
 perfectly, depression and dread hang upon them ; 
 and they feel all the old influence of the omen 
 and the augur. Those men who are now mov- 
 ing by, and offering up their thanksgiving for 
 their preservation, were probably encouraged in 
 c 2 
 
S8 JOURNAL 
 
 the working of their ship during her dangerous 
 troubles, by some favourable sign, some unusual 
 brightness of the lamp that was burning near 
 the picture of their patron St. Nicholas, Else 
 they had perhaps yielded to the terrors of th e 
 tempest, and the splitting ship would have 
 echoed with their drunken and desperate cries. " 
 We ascended the Place de la Toureite, in whose 
 pits lies the dust of a city. Magistrates, Priests, 
 nobles, slaves, and fair female forms, were all 
 cast into the moaning caverns ; and those impres- 
 sive lines of Virgil, in which he describes the 
 husbandman ploughing a field of battle, might 
 be here applied to the fisherman : 
 
 " Grandiaque effossis mirabitur ossa sepulchris." 
 
 We proceeded up to the church, which stands at 
 the end of the terrace, and which is said to ha\ e 
 been built upon the site of an ancient temple of 
 Diana. It is mean and neglected, as are all the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 29 
 
 churches of this city, and very unUke the sump- 
 tuous cathedrals of the Netherlands, where, 
 however, I am inclined to think no deeper de- 
 votion prevails than in these southern climes. 
 For, if the piety and sanctity of a Christian 
 temple are to be estimated according to the num- 
 ber of holy relics which it contains, FEgUse 
 Majeure, which is the name given to this church, 
 may fairly boast of its illustrious origin and trea- 
 sury. It is asserted to have been founded by 
 St. Lazarus himself, the brother of Mary Mag- 
 dalen, who were both, together with St. Martha 
 and Joseph of Arimathea, exposed by the Jews, 
 in a vessel without sails, to the winds and waves, 
 which, less cruel than their persecutors, wafted 
 the saintly band to the shores of Provence. 
 They dispersed themselves with holy zeal over 
 the sinful country ; but Lazarus remained at 
 Marseilles, and founded this church upon the 
 ruins of the Phocaean Temple. Mary Magda- 
 len, the humble penitent, ever mindful of her 
 
30 JOLllNAL 
 
 former guilt, and of its necessary penance, re- 
 tired to the barren mountain of St. Victor, which 
 looks down upon Aix, and shews itself to the 
 mariner far out at sea. There she inhabited a 
 grotto hollowed out of the rock, and there, 
 amidst self-denial and mortification, she died. 
 But her influence and memory still lingered 
 about the rugged walls which her tears and 
 trials had hallowed ; and many a pilgrim- 
 age, and many a vow, were accomplished with- 
 in their still recesses. Louis XIV. and 
 his mother Anne of Austria, both knelt at 
 the feet of the Colossal statue of the Saint, 
 which then existed, but which the Revolutionary 
 crusade against the images of God and man 
 struck down into dust. The legend is firmly 
 believed by the simple peasants ; and even the 
 more enlightened and enlarged mind may pause 
 before it rejects entirely the fond imagination. 
 The enthusiastic feelings which arise at the 
 fancied presence of the dust of heroes or poets, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 31 
 
 may be alike excited towards holier things ; antl 
 he who is warmed to patriotism by the idea that 
 he stands near the ashes of Nelson or Washing- 
 ton, in which are still living their " wonted fires,"" 
 may feel his heart becoming more humble and 
 devoted to God by the contemplation of those 
 spots which tradition has invested with the odour 
 of sanctity. When the fierce Crusaders, red 
 with blood and slaughter, and trampling upon 
 the malicious and turbaned Infidel, had planted 
 the Christian banner upon the holy hill of Zion, 
 the sight of the stony sepulchre in which they be- 
 lieved the wounded body of their Saviour to have 
 been laid, softened and subdued their impetuous 
 vengeance ; they knelt in awe and admiration be- 
 fore it ; and casting away their shields and drip- 
 ping swords, and clasping their mailed hands in 
 unanimous prayer, they felt, for a time, the pre- 
 sence of the God of peace and love. In what 
 were the morals of the French people benefited 
 by their contemptuous annihilation of those Ic- 
 
32 JOURNAL 
 
 gends and holy places, which form so consider- 
 able a part of the Roman Catholic Religion ? 
 Did it make them kinder or better ? No. On 
 the contrary, they became more wicked, and 
 more frantic. The very populace of Marseilles, 
 who would have formerly trusted in the inter- 
 cession of their Saints, and have endured misery 
 in patience, became, upon their abolition, the 
 most licentious and lawless of the Republican 
 banditti. * * # 
 
 An Abbe, who is collecting alms for the poor 
 Christians in Palestine, is to preach to-morrow 
 in the principal church, and I propose going 
 thither. 
 
 Jan. 9. I went this morning to hear the 
 Abbe Demahures deliver his discourse. The 
 church was crowded to excess. There was no 
 mass ; it was simply an exhortation and address 
 to the charitable feelings of his fellow Christians. 
 
 The Abbe was a man apparently about forty, 
 dressed in a large black robe, and from his chin 
 
OF AN EXILE. 33 
 
 hung a long black beard. His text was taken 
 from Isaiah : " The wilderness, the solitary place 
 shall be glad; . . . and the desert shall rejoice, and 
 blossom as the rose." He began by explaining 
 the text in the sense in which he wished the 
 words to be particularly understood by his con- 
 gregation, and endeavoured to impress upon 
 their minds the importance of his mission. He 
 then went on to describe what that mission was, 
 and concluded his sermon with a pathetic en- 
 treaty, that his hearers would believe implicitly 
 the tale of distress he had told them ; that 
 his humble voice might not be raised, as that of 
 one crying in the wilderness, to pillars of sand 
 and suffocating winds ; and that, by their power- 
 ful aid and assistance, they would cause the 
 poor destitute churches of Palestine to be glad 
 and blossom again, as the refreshed rose. The 
 scene was striking. The church was filled with 
 all descriptions of persons, and all apparently 
 listening in deep attention. The voice of the 
 c5 
 
34 JOURNAL 
 
 preacher, as it echoed down the aisle, and talked 
 of the suffering pilgrim, the persecuted hermit, 
 and the pious protection of those who listened 
 to him, sounded like that of the venerable 
 Peter, as he animated and excited the surround- 
 ing multitude to the first Crusade ; and I almost 
 expected to hear, as he concluded, the unani- 
 mous shout, "It is the will of God! it is the 
 will of God !" 
 
OF AN EXILE. 36 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Jan. 20. My friend the pedestrian came up 
 yesterday, and asked me to accompany him to 
 Nice ; but I dechned, at least for the present. 
 I have become attached to this place, and my 
 health is in that state that I cannot bear the 
 fatigue of travelling. He remained with me the 
 whole day, and afforded me very great amuse- 
 ment, by relating to me some of the various 
 scenes he has passed through since he had re- 
 sided in this country. He has lived in different 
 parts of the Continent, and remained a consider- 
 able time at Lyons, which he described to me as 
 a noble city, ricii in trade, and in the beauty of 
 its position. 
 
 He is an enthusiastic admirer of Nature, and 
 told me that he used to pass much of his time 
 
36 JOURNAL 
 
 in wandering along the high woody banks of 
 the Saone, which unites itself with the Rhone 
 below the city. He particularly described to me, 
 with considerable ingenuity, a small island 
 called risle Barbe, which lies in the centre of the 
 Saone, close to the village of that name, about 
 two miles from Lyons ; and which, on the 
 Patron Saint's day, with its gay tents and flags, 
 and waving trees, and high-capped peasants, 
 presented the appearance of some gay triumphal 
 galley, slowly making her way down the river ; 
 and he also mentioned to me, the splendid 
 effect produced by the procession of the holy 
 Sacrament upon the Fete Dieu, as it spread it- 
 self down the long Quai du Rhone : — the cloud- 
 less sun shining full upon the silver censers, the 
 waving plumes of the canopy, the military 
 escort, the altars, like blooming bowers, placed 
 at intervals all along as far as the eye could 
 reach, the white streamers hanging in long lines 
 from the windows of the houses, and the bare 
 
OF AN EXILE. 37 
 
 heads of the thousands that lined the stone 
 parapets and bridges, and the broad I'iver be- 
 neath, slowly pacing on, and almost lingering 
 about the rushy banks, as the priest held up 
 the glory-encircled Host. 
 
 " After having wandered over different parts 
 of France for nearly a year," my friend conti- 
 nued, " I began to feel anxious to know some- 
 thing about my friends in England. I determined 
 upon leaving Lyons, where I then was, and re- 
 turning towards the coast of France, by way of 
 Switzerland and the Rhine. I quitted Lyons 
 one evening just before sunset, after the heat of 
 the day, in the month of June. As I ascended the 
 eminence which stands at the end of the Qnai 
 du Rhone, and which commences the road to 
 Geneva, I paused, to look back upon the 
 city I was leaving. The Rhone ran below 
 me, and making a majestic turn, held on its 
 mighty course by the long white quays, with 
 their trees and steeples, and lofty houses ; while 
 
38 JOURNAL 
 
 the Pont Morand threw its slender arches across 
 the waters, which rushed through them in rip- 
 pling eddies. Beyond, on the other side, were 
 fields, and vineyards, and long low marshes, and 
 promenades ; while the mountains of Dauphine 
 were spreading themselves in the distance. But 
 more to the left, rose up in the clear evening sky, 
 a dome, solitary and gigantic. It was the crest 
 of Mont Blanc. Its distance was probably, in a 
 straight line, eighty or ninety miles, and yet I 
 saw it distinctly, and apparently near. I am in- 
 clined, as you may have observed, to think deeply 
 upon all I see ; and I have always found that 
 the eflfect produced upon me by beholding these 
 stupendous works of Nature at a distance, is 
 greater than when I am beneath them. They 
 leave an impression of mysterious awe upon my 
 mind ; and I can compare the feelings with which 
 I looked at Mont Blanc to nothing else than 
 those with which I contemplate eternity. There 
 it was still and stately, nor could any one 
 
OF AN EXILE. 39 
 
 assert, that its foundations were not laid in the 
 wilderness of glaciers and torrents. But between 
 me and it, all was unknown and untrodden ; a 
 wide space of meadow, garden, vineyard, and 
 rocky glen must be passed, ere it could be 
 reached ; and yet it was as certain, that the 
 mountain was beyond, as that the bell which I 
 heard tolling from the cathedral, and which 
 swung its sullen sound even to my feet, was 
 hanging, though out of my reach and ken, in its 
 gothic tower, I turned to proceed : the sun 
 suddenly sunk behind the dome, leaving it of a 
 deadly white and livid colour, as the dark rock 
 showed itself here and there through the snow. 
 I paced on through the old provinces of Bresse 
 and Bugey, towards Geneva. These two pro- 
 vinces formerly belonged to the Duke of Savoy, 
 and were obtained from him in exchange for Susa, 
 which commands the mountain-pass into Pied- 
 mont, by le bon Roi Henri. I need not mention 
 his numerical position ; as unfortunately the ap- 
 
40 JOURNAL 
 
 pellation which describes his character, at the same 
 time points out to all who have read history, this 
 among the few bright exceptions to the usual 
 catalogue of kingly names. He was accused of 
 having by this exchange made peace, eomme un 
 marcJiandf in giving up the town which com- 
 manded an easy access into the Promised Land of 
 Europe; but Henry was content withthe simp le 
 merit of having strengthened his frontier, with- 
 out desiring the more brilliant possession that 
 might have caused another Pavia. My road lay 
 along the banks of the Rhone, which came rush- 
 ing down from its native glacier. It was swollen 
 with recent rains, and its dark rippling waters 
 swept by the winding banks like a flying host. 
 The country through which I passed, after my 
 three days' march, was wild and mountainous, 
 and seemed to be gradually swelling from the 
 wide plains of France, into the rocky spires 
 and snowy crags of Savoy." 
 
 " I passed the gulph where the angry Rhone 
 
OF AN KXILE. 41 
 
 sinks into its rebellious channel, and is almost 
 lost, till at some distance it rises again, at first 
 gentle and repentant, but soon resumes its stern 
 and stormy course as it hurries away to the 
 Mediterranean. I remember I was asked for 
 my passport there. The Commissary, who was 
 a short pursy man, with a red Burgundy face, 
 sat at a small desk in all the dignity of a village 
 authority, and stared at me through his specta- 
 cles, as he read in good French my title of 
 gentilhomme Anglois. My general appearance 
 certainly was not much like that of a nobleman, 
 having an old cloth knapsack on my back, a 
 hat which might very well have passed for Ge- 
 neral IVIonk's in Westminster Abbey, and a 
 coat which was very like a poet's. My shoes 
 were still in worse plight, for the stony road of 
 the mountains had so maltreated them, that I 
 was literally in the situation of Peter Pindar's 
 pilgrim on his way to Loretto. However, as 
 gentilliomme Anglois I certainly was described ; 
 
42 JOUllXAL 
 
 and the man, looking at me suspiciously, asked 
 me where I was going, and said with a sneer, 
 •' Mafoi ! Monsieur^ s'l fetois gent'dhomme, je 
 ne voyagerois pas a pied. Je suis hon pieton 
 pourtanty His appearance, however, I pre- 
 sumed within myself to think, was very unlike 
 that of a man capable of toiling up a mountain, 
 for his legs were so thick and fat, and his neck 
 so short, that I should as soon have suspected 
 a barrel of being a pedestrian. However, the 
 Commissary of Blanchy had a right at Blanchy 
 to be what he pleased, but none to sneer at me; 
 so 1 very shortly told him that if he wanted to 
 know where I was going he must look at my 
 passport, and, as for his preferring any other 
 conveyance than that of his own feet, it was no 
 affair of mine. A few boys that were lounging 
 at the door of the office, and the deputy's deputy, 
 seemed thunderstruck at my disrespectful reply, 
 but nothing further passed ; and the man having 
 examined and signed my passport, 1 marched 
 
OF AN EXILE. 43 
 
 on. I passed the night at an inn just above 
 Geneva, in a small village ; and my fondness for 
 odd incidents had very nearly involved me in a 
 serious inconvenience." 
 
 " The innkeeper, seeing that 1 was rather a 
 singular-looking traveller, treated me with little 
 ceremony, as my title was in my pocket, but my 
 worn-out shoes stared him in the face. I reach- 
 ed the inn about sunset, and the man was sitting 
 before his door. I asked if I could have a bed 
 for the night. The innkeeper examined me from 
 top to toe, and then said, " Maisje peiise que 
 Old. There is a room, is there not, Jeannette ?"" 
 calling to his daughter, who was engaged in pre- 
 paring supper within. The girl came immedi- 
 ately to the door with a piece of veal in her hand, 
 into which she was inserting httle pins of lard, 
 and which made the meat look something like a 
 red cribbage-board. She was a pretty hruette 
 enough ; and if I had been in better funds 
 than I was then, and more like a Seigneur, I 
 
44 JOURNAL 
 
 had not fared ill in the hands of la Demoiselle 
 de VAuherge. But my present appearance was 
 enough to banish all that kind of thing ; and she 
 said rather too haughtily, I thought, since she was 
 addressing me, " Out, vous pouvez avoir lut lity 
 This reply, however, was ambiguous, as it fre- 
 quently happens in these small inns that there is 
 only one room, which contains three or four beds. 
 However, I made the best of it ; and unbuck- 
 ling my knapsack, I sat myself down on a bench 
 at the door," 
 
 " The evening was uncommonly beautiful, 
 and from my seat I could see part of the range 
 of the Jura mountains, which were " up-heaving 
 their broad bare backs to the sky." " II paroit,"" 
 said the innkeeper, with that sort of look that a 
 man assumes wlien he is endeavouring to say 
 something impertinent in an easy jocose manner 
 — " il paroit" nodding at them with his head, 
 " que ces Soulier s-la s'ennuyent de vos pieds et de 
 lein- lorigue route. lis seront bien contents de se 
 
OF AN EXILE. 45 
 
 rcposer chez le savetier.'''' All this was quite true; 
 and as I have always found it the best way on 
 these occasions to take such things in good hu- 
 mour, I replied, that I thought so too. My 
 patience under this attack made us friends di- 
 rectly, and calling to his daughter, he told her 
 to bring us the goute.*' " Come, Sir," said 
 he, " choquonsf to our better acquaintance." I 
 did not omit making my bow to the demoiselle 
 as I drank '' to our better acquaintance;" and 
 my bow certainly neutralized the effect of my 
 shoes, for she said, the gentleman is tired ; per- 
 haps he would like to have his supper, and retire 
 early. I seconded this proposition, and ordered 
 some warm milk and bread. The innkeeper 
 seemed disposed to recommence hostilities at this 
 death-blow to his usual supper charge of Sf. 10s. 
 
 * This is a small glass of brandy, which answers to 
 our stirrup-cup in some instances, and in others, as it 
 was used here. 
 
 t Let us hob-and-nob. 
 
4G JOURNAL 
 
 but I added directly, " and let me have a 
 bottle of wine now." The storm passed off' 
 instantaneously ; and we were soon seated 
 at the table with our Vin de Beaujolois. — 
 " Here 's to the health of your comrades," 
 said the innkeeper, swallowing a large glass 
 of wine that I had poured out for him : "I 
 have seen many of them, and capital walkers 
 they are ; a little wild though, and not much 
 like scholars." What the deuce does he 
 mean ? thought I, and I was going to ask him, 
 when he continued, " Ma Jbi ! you German 
 students had better mind your Greek and Latin, 
 than go wandering away to fight against the 
 Turks. It is a poor business, and the Greeks 
 won't thank you much, after all, for they want 
 money more than men."" Here was a curious 
 mistake ! However, I determined upon humour- 
 ing it, as there appeared to be no gensdarme sta- 
 tioned in the inn. " Why, as to money," said 
 1, " to be sure we have not much of that,*" and 
 
OF AK EXILE. 47 
 
 the innkeeper eyed me again ; " but we have 
 stout hearts and arms, and we know pretty well 
 how to fight."" " Diable P said the man, " that 
 is a curious hfe for a scholar ; I thought you 
 fought only with your pens and your books. 
 But pray, what part of Germany are you of?" 
 I had it all before me where to choose, so I re- 
 solutely replied, of Stutgard. " Ah ! la jo/ie 
 ville" said mine host, ^'je la connois bien."" You 
 have the advantage of me then, thought I. "It 
 is upwards of three and twenty years ago, before 
 you were born, young man, that I was there 
 with our army, and well do I remember the 
 time; — we were commanded by Moreau, le 
 traitre ! but we all loved him then ; ay, and 
 if he had wished, he might have been our gene- 
 lal now. ParcU ! we had hard work of it there ; 
 the Archduke never let us rest, and soon 
 beat away back to the Rhine the other army 
 that was commanded by Jourdan, which was to 
 communicate with us. And, after all, nous voild 
 
4-8 JOURNAL 
 
 in full retreat, too, across the Devil's Forest; 
 for it was black and gloomy as himself; and 
 many a man found Hell or Paradise among its 
 desperate defiles !* But a noble retreat it was, 
 harassed as we were by the Austrian Duke, and 
 that emigrant Bourbon." " Which r said I. " Oh ! 
 d'Enghien ! d'Enghien ! he that got his deserts 
 afterwards ; and yet that was a black affair, too. 
 As to Moreau, what a pity it was that a man 
 who could bring off his army so well, should go 
 and have his legs shot off in an Austrian camp ! 
 Mais a la sante desjoliesjilles da voire Ville,"" and 
 he winked at me as he savoured the wine, which 
 he seldom tasted at his own expense ; " I used to 
 drink to their healths when I was there, in bright 
 bumpers of Rliein wine. I was quartered in 
 
 * In the Black Forest there was an inn, which took 
 for its sign " The Kingdom of Heaven," and the pea- 
 sants used to say, that, in that wood, either Heaven or 
 Hell were found. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 49 
 
 the house of a woman that sold fruit ; and in 
 one of the skirmishes about the city was 
 wounded ; she took care of me, and so did her 
 daughter, ray dear wife, God rest her ! I mar- 
 ried her, Sir, after the peace of Leoben, and 
 brought Iier here, and we hved as happily as we 
 could mth our little girls. My wound here," 
 pointing to his leg, which, I had not observed 
 before, was lame, " kept me safe with my wife. 
 But she died, Sir, — as we all must ! Our Cure 
 said that ' she made a good end ;' and 1 know 
 it, if he did not say so, for she had been kind 
 and charitable. Perhaps you may know the 
 house she used to live in; it was close to the 
 Museum, a small low building, not far from 
 the banks of the little river there." 
 
 I began now to repent a little of my new cha- 
 racter, and proceeded to hattre la campagne, as 
 the French say. The innkeeper asked me vari- 
 ous questions respecting people he had known 
 at Stutgard ; and concluded, by commencing 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
50 JOURNAL 
 
 a conversation in German with me. '* Kumen 
 mein Herr^'' said he, " lieben sie diese Wein ? er 
 ist recht g^itf'' I have acquired a httle acquaint- 
 ance with that language since, and should have 
 been glad to have had the same then, for the 
 man might as well have talked to me in Arabic. 
 I knew, however, that Fa was German for Yes, 
 so I hazarded the monosyllable. " Das ist 
 zcohl,'' said the innkeeper ; " diese Wein ist 
 vicht travaille, as we say in French." " Fc," 
 responded I again, and instantly perceived my 
 blunder ; for the man, luckily however in 
 French, attacked me. " Comment^ Monsieur 
 I Etudiant, what do you say there ? that my 
 wine is doctored?" "Oh! non, 7ion," I stam- 
 mered out; "but I left my country so young 
 that I have almost forgotten my own lan- 
 guage." " Tant pis," said the man, rather 
 surlily, and I thought suspiciously; but just 
 then came the smiling Jeannette to the door of 
 the house, and informed me that my milk and 
 
pF AN EXILE. 
 
 51 
 
 bread were ready. " Bon" said I, ^'faifaim,"' 
 and I went into the house, where my supper 
 was set out. The innkeeper came in, and sat 
 himself down before the kitchen fire, which I 
 could just see through the door of the room I 
 was in ; and at a round wooden table sat two 
 rouliers^ or waggoners, taking their supper 
 of harico beans. I was of course anxious to 
 avoid all fresh conversation with the innkeeper, 
 which might have further betrayed my incognito ; 
 so, after I had finished my milk, I called Jean- 
 nette, and she showed me my room ; which was 
 at the top of a narrow staircase, and had a small 
 window looking upon the road. I told Jean- 
 nette that T intended to start very early in the 
 morning, and paid her my reckoning, and gave 
 her a franc for herself. " Oh^ Monsieur r said 
 she, " you can easily open the door ; efje couche 
 moi tout pres de vous, so that I shall hear you." 
 Now there are some wandering adventurers 
 that this couche tout pres de vous would have in- 
 D 2 
 
52 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 stigated to some harumscarum trick ; but, as 
 you perceive, I am too much of a pliilosopher to 
 become a Don Juan. Jeannette wished me 
 good night, and drawing to the door, which 
 had, as usual, no lock, left me to myself. 
 
 My apartment was singularly furnished : some 
 large wooden chests stood there ; one of which 
 I ventured to open, and there beheld Jeannette 's 
 Sunday finery, and a magnificent cocked hat and 
 coat of the old regime, that had belonged pro- 
 bably to some seigneiir du milage, and had fal- 
 len to the share of the innkeeper's father, who 
 was of this part of the country, at the destruc- 
 tion of the noble pigeon-house and chateau. 
 For you must know, that it was considered for- 
 merly a distinguishing mark of nobility to be 
 entitled to a pigeon-house. To return to the 
 furniture of my chamber: in one corner was 
 a strange-looking closet, something like Blue- 
 beard's ; and the same curiosity was excited with- 
 in me to inspect it, as impelled the unfortunate 
 
OF AN EXILE. 53 
 
 Fatima. Besides, some bravo might be concealed 
 within it ; and before opening the door, I cauti- 
 ously felt about the room for the chinks of a trap- 
 door, through which my mangled body was to 
 be cast. I opened the closet, which turned out 
 to be a very safe one, for it contained sundry 
 pieces of cold houilli, and butter and bread. It 
 was, however, a mark of confidence in Jeannette, 
 to leave me alone with them ; and I prepared to 
 undress myself in great security, when I heard 
 a noise in the road below, and saw two gens- 
 darraes ride up to the inn, escorting a couple of 
 runaway galley-slaves, as I guessed them to be 
 from their peculiarly haggard appearance. I 
 just saw them dismounting by the light of the 
 moon, and calling for the innkeeper to take their 
 horses. The prisoners were chained together, 
 and clanked into the house after the gensdarmes, 
 who made the kitchen resound with their calls 
 ioi supper, and the stamping of their heavy 
 boots. Votre passeport, Monsieur — the il Bondo- 
 
54 JOURNAL 
 
 cani talisman of the Police, darted across my 
 mind ; and I felt myself in a cold sweat as I 
 recollected my inconsiderate assumption of the 
 suspicious character of a German Student and 
 Crusader. The innkeeper, I thought, would most 
 assuredly mention his having one of those public 
 personages in his house, and my imagination re- 
 presented me chained, as an impostor and dan- 
 gerous spy, to the slaves, and led away to Lyons. 
 I remained perfectly quiet, however, listening in 
 much anxiety to the conversation below, and ex- 
 pecting every instant to hear ' Majai, iljaut Men 
 Jaire attention a ces pietons-la, go, my girl, and ask 
 for his papers.' But to my great relief, nothing 
 of this sort passed, and the noise below gradually 
 died away. I could not however sleep, as I was 
 considering how I should get off in the morning, 
 which, as it bi'oke into my room, found me fe- 
 verish and perplexed. 
 
 I got up and dressed myself. I took the pre- 
 caution of removing all my baggage from my 
 
OF AX EXILE. 55 
 
 knapsack, and put it into my pocket, with the 
 knapsack, which was small, and could just con- 
 tain my necessary changes of linen ; then, taking 
 my shoes in my hand. I cautiously descended 
 the stairs. When I got down, the door which 
 separated it from the kitchen was shut, and I 
 peeped through the glass above it : one of the 
 gensdarmes was fast asleep near the fireplace ; 
 and the other was standing at the door of the 
 inn, and seemed to be examining the appearance 
 of the weather. I hesitated a moment before 
 emerging from my reconnoitring post ; but it 
 was better to have to do with one than two, so 
 out I came. The noise I made in opening the 
 door made the gensdarme turn round, and the 
 runaways who were chained to a strong wooden 
 bench, which was fastened to the wall, and were 
 lying on one side of the room, turned their 
 heads and looked at me. The gensdarme quitted 
 the door, and entering the kitchen, said, " You 
 are early this morning, friend." " Oui,"" said I, 
 
56 
 
 JOURXAL 
 
 in my best French, " J''ai loin a aller ce matin ;'' 
 and putting on my shoes, I was quietly passing 
 the man, when he said, ^'Allans ! Allans ! you are 
 in a great hurry, prenez lagoute auparavant," and 
 he poured out two small glasses of brandy, one of 
 which he presented to me. The devil take his 
 goute, thought I ; but in for a penny, in for a 
 pound, as they say, so I swallowed my brandy, and 
 made a second attempt to retreat. Whether my 
 evident uneasiness struck the gensdarrae, I know 
 not, but something seemed to do so, for he sud- 
 denly said, " Apropos, mon liomme, have you a 
 passport ?" My blood ran cold, when just at that 
 moment down came Jeannette. " Ah, majoUettey'' 
 said my persecutor to her, " te voila aussi, ma 
 foil every body seems in motion this morning." 
 I made, during this interval, a third effort to ex- 
 tricate myself from my critical position ; and the 
 good-natured girl, seeing that I was in some diffi- 
 culty or other, said to the gensdarme, ^'-Laissez le 
 aller; nous le connoissons — il ny a pas de dan- 
 ger;"" and making an awkward bow, away I went. 
 
OF AN EXILE, 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 I TOOK care, said the pedestrian, to walk slowly 
 while in sight of the house, lest I should excite 
 some suspicion ; but the gensdarme, who came 
 again to the door, seemed quite satisfied by Jean- 
 nette's mediation, and calling to me, said, " You 
 will find the path down by the river dry now, and 
 the bark is mended ; if I were you, I would go to 
 Geneva that way." 
 
 Now, he might as well have talked to me 
 of a path in the moon, as I had never seen 
 the country before ; but I presently overtook, 
 just at the turning down of a lane, three men. 
 I hailed them, and asked them my way to 
 Geneva. " Oh !" said one, " we are going 
 that way ourselves ; come with us, and we 
 will guide you."" Accordingly, we all four pro- 
 d5 
 
58 JOURNAL 
 
 ceeded on, and soon descended into a rich 
 valley of meadow and corn field, all green and 
 fresh with the recent rains. From the con- 
 versation of the men, I found that they were 
 Savoyards returning home from some of their 
 wide and wandering journeys. They were men, 
 but had probably passed their youth amid the 
 streets of Paris or London. Sent off in their 
 earliest years from their native mountains, with 
 a marmot or an organ, and a few sous^ the hardy 
 Savoyard journeys 
 
 ♦• With luimble ware and pipe of merry sound ;" 
 
 and daunted by no distance or difficulties, paces 
 away with his wild music along the roads of a 
 foreign clime friendless and forlorn. When he 
 reaches any considerable city, there he takes his 
 stand, and collects a curious crowd around him 
 by the exhibition of the httle animal, his con- 
 stant companion, or the miraculous machinery of 
 his organ. Thus, perhaps, he may contrive to 
 
OK AN^ EXILE. 59 
 
 scrape together a scanty subsistence ; but it is, 
 indeed, scanty, and often the gateway of some 
 house, or the bench before some door, is his 
 bed ; or if he attempt, by industry, to gain a bet- 
 ter livelihood, the vilest employments are assign- 
 ed him ; — he clambers up the dark chimney, or 
 polishes the shoes of the hurrying calico, at Paris; 
 or he becomes an itinerant vender of images, or 
 the exhibitor of monkeys and dancing dogs in 
 the British capital. And when he has succeeded 
 at last in hoarding a little treasure, his green 
 valleys and wooden cabin present themselves be- 
 fore him, and he hastens back to pass the rest of 
 his days amidst the winding recesses of La Mau- 
 riennc or La Tarentaise, two of the beautiful 
 defiles of Savoy. 
 
 Such characters I found were the men I had 
 joined ; and we continued our way together, 
 and, gradually descending, reached the banks 
 of the Rhone, which ran racingly by. We 
 hallooed for the bark, which was upon the other 
 
60 JOURNAL 
 
 side, and which presently came swinging acrosi? 
 by means of the pulley which is fastened to s. 
 rope stretched from a post on one side of the 
 river to another on the opposite side. We all 
 got into the bark, and floated slowly back, as the 
 stream was so rapid that it impeded the transver- 
 sal motion of our vessel : all our dependence was 
 upon the strength of the rope which retained the 
 boat ; had that broken, we must have been hur- 
 ried off, or perhaps swept down into the gulph 
 which swallows up the unwilling river. We, 
 however, arrived safely on the opposite bank, 
 and I began to feel that I was on Swiss ground. 
 But we were yet a considerable distance from 
 Geneva ; and after walking on for an hour or 
 two, I invited my companions to enter a small 
 inn, and called for some wine. They drank, of 
 course, to my health ; but the wine was detesta- 
 ble, cold and sharp, something like that which 
 is produced round Paris. My Savoyards, how- 
 ever, appeared to relish it well enough, and said 
 
OF AN EXILE. 61 
 
 to one another, " Bon, hon ; ceci vaut mieux que 
 la maiivaise litre de Londres!''' " What, then, 
 you have been in London ?" said I, " Yes, we 
 have been there," replied one of them — " I and 
 my comrade here ; but he," pointing to the third, 
 " has always lived at Paris." " And how did you 
 like London, my friends ?" said I to the two 
 who had been there, '• Ah ! Monsieur, pas trop ; 
 we poor wanderers never wish much to live in 
 such large cities; every body despises us and 
 our broken words, and many a cold comfortless 
 night have we passed upon the steps of some 
 fine Palace. Mais vive St. Maurice et notre 
 chere valUe ! we shall soon forget all when we 
 get back to Chamouny." 
 
 I could have wished to have made them my 
 guides to that place, and to have visited the 
 mighty Archiprete dei monti ; but my finances 
 were in that state which requires a strict ad- 
 herence to some settled route ; and this I had 
 resolved should be along the shores of the Lake 
 
6S JOURNAL 
 
 of Geneva on the Swiss side, and so across 
 the country by Fribourg to Berne and Basle. 
 The country through which we passed after we 
 had quitted the inn, did not strike me as differ- 
 ing particularly from any other, the wide plain 
 on \\hich Geneva stands being hidden from my 
 view. 
 
 We continued, however, gradually to ad- 
 vance ; and as we passed among the long green 
 lanes which lead from the river to the city, the 
 Savoyards struck up part of that beautiful air 
 which was so popular at Paris, and which these 
 men had probably learnt there. 
 
 Aux montagnes de la Savoie 
 Je naquis de pauvres parens, 
 Voila qu'a Paris Ton m'envoie. 
 Car nous etions beaucoup d'enfans, 
 Je n'ai apporte, helas ! en France, 
 Que mes chansons, quinze ans, ma vielle et I'inno- 
 cence. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 63 
 
 When we had arrived, as they informed me, 
 uithin half a mile of Geneva, my companions 
 told me that their path lay in another direction, 
 that they had far to go before night-fall, and 
 taking off their hats, and wishing me a bon 
 voyage, they all three dropped down into a nar- 
 row winding road which turned away to the 
 right ; and I continued my journey alone. 
 
 1 soon got a glimpse of Geneva, spreading 
 before me with its two towers, looking like those 
 of the Tower of London ; but I was still a con- 
 siderable time before I reached the gates. I 
 entered them from the Savoy side, where the 
 two roads branch off; one towards Chamouny, 
 and the other leading away to France. I con- 
 fess that its appearance disappointed me ; I had 
 heard so much of Geneva ; of its being such a Pa- 
 radise ; of the beauty of its site, and the charm- 
 ing richness of its environs. I saw nothing but 
 a wide extent of country, varied, to be sure, but 
 
64 JOURNAL 
 
 not so picturesque or agreeable as that about 
 one of our English watering-places, — I mean 
 Tunbridge Wells. The Jura mountains rising 
 like giants, and sullenly bending away towards 
 Basle, were the only interesting objects in sight ; 
 for when I looked towards the Alpine recesses of 
 Savoy, all was cloud and obscurity. But as I 
 advanced, I saw the blue lake glancing in upon 
 me occasionally through some break in the 
 houses ; and I hastened on in all the anxious an- 
 ticipation of having one of my first wishes gra- 
 tified. Again I was disappointed ; instead of a 
 magnificent sheet of water spreading itself out 
 in majestic extent, I perceived that the lake at 
 Geneva only shewed part of its charms, like an 
 artful coquette ; and that all its love and beauty 
 lay retired behind the green banks of the Pays 
 de Vaud. Still it was a fresh and cheering sight, 
 as the waves came whitening round the point of 
 land which forms its bend, and made two or 
 three boats that were rowing up from Lau- 
 sanne, heave and roll as if at sea. 
 
OF AN KXILE. 
 
 65 
 
 I roamed about tlie town, beneath its dark 
 sheds, and ascended the terrace, whence I again 
 saw the lake. But I always become tired in a 
 short time of a town ; its museums and galleries, 
 and libraries, never interest mc; my imagin- 
 ation speeds over the country which surrounds 
 them. Besides, my finances were so narrow, 
 that they only admitted of my enjoying the 
 unstinted beauties of Nature ; and the constantly- 
 repeated franc at the door of these shows, 
 would soon have made my little, less! I 
 visited, however, the old church, from whose 
 pulpit the gloomy Calvin may have dictated 
 his Pontifical decrees, and, perhaps, fulmina- 
 ted the deadly sentence upon Michael Servet. 
 
 It is a singular reflection that two of the 
 Lake cities of Switzerland should have been 
 the scenes of parallel instances of bigoted zeal 
 in two rival religions. Constance beheld the 
 intrepid Huss sacrificed, either to the weak- 
 ness or treachery of the Emperor Sigismund ; 
 
66 JOURNAL 
 
 and the Pope of Geneva imitating those, 
 against whom he preached, condemned his 
 Arian opponent Servet to be burned aUve. 
 
 As my funds were in this state, you may con- 
 clude that 1 did not dine at the table d'hote 
 of the expensive inns of Geneva. 1 just planted 
 myself in the corner of one of the small rooms at 
 the Traiteurs, a house looking upon the lake ; 
 and enjoyed my simple fare with that companion 
 before me, more than if I had swallowed soups 
 and sauces in a crowded chattering room. 
 
 After dinner, I strolled about, and looked up 
 at the windows of the house in which Rousseau 
 was born, with that enthusiastic pleasure that 
 one feels in beholding the former residence of a 
 favourite author. It is almost like grasping the 
 hand of an old friend ; all the passages of our 
 former pleasures and amusements flow in upon 
 our hearts. 
 
 I saw many of my countrymen lounging 
 about ; none, however, that I knew ; and pro- 
 
OF AX EXILE. 
 
 67 
 
 bably if I had, neither I, nor they, would have 
 been desirous of claiming acquaintance, as our 
 mutual pride would have held us back : I, be- 
 cause I was poor, and they, because they were 
 rich. I had, however, somewhat improved my 
 costume ; I had sent my shoes, according to the 
 innkeeper's hint, de se reposer chez le Savetievy 
 and I was shod in a splendid new pair, which 
 were, however, rather like the seven devils, more 
 wicked than the others, for they pinched my 
 feet cruelly. 
 
 I had left my baggage safely at the inn, a 
 small place somewhere in the street leading 
 along the lake; and as I rambled on, saw se- 
 veral carriages hastening away, filled with glitter- 
 ing company, towards the country. I walked in 
 the same direction that they took; but presently 
 I saw them all returning, slowly and silently, 
 with the same inmates, but some of them in 
 tears : the circumstance surprised me ; I spoke 
 to some person who was returning on foot, 
 
68 JOURNAL 
 
 and he told me that the ball to which the car- 
 riages had hastened, was stopped by a fatal acci- 
 dent. A little boy, one of the sons of the lady 
 who gave it, had been playing in a cart, the cart 
 had upset and fallen upon him, and the child 
 lay in agony, and probably expiring. It was 
 further said, that the poor mother, when told of 
 the occurrence, thought not that it was so serious; 
 but when the physician, who had been to visit 
 her little boy, came into the room to make his 
 report to her, she asked him if the ball could go 
 on ? " Ball ! Madam," replied he, " in twenty- 
 four hours your child will be dead."" The 
 mother fell senseless, and never recovered com- 
 pletely the shock. 
 
 Upon returning to my inn, I mentioned that 
 I intended to set out early the next morning. 
 The people of the house asked me if my pass- 
 port had been signed ? " No," replied I ; " I 
 thought that in Switzerland there was no neces- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 69 
 
 sity for that." They laughed at me, and I 
 found that this Republic had imitated the sus- 
 picious care of its neighbours, and that the tra- 
 veller was obliged to add another link here to 
 that chain of superintendence which lengthens as 
 he goes. I set forth, therefore, to the Senate- 
 house, where, after waiting some time as obse- 
 quiously as in the Bureau des Affaires Etran- 
 geres at Paris, I was favoured with the signature 
 of the Swiss aedile. 
 
 I then went and stood upon the bridges that 
 unite the two parts of the city, and beneath 
 which the Rhone seems to speed away, as if 
 it feared a second annihilation in the rival lake. 
 I was not a native of Geneva, and yet I almost 
 felt that faintness of heart which Rousseau de- 
 scribes himself to have experienced as often as 
 he crossed them — Un defaillement de cosier, as 
 he calls it. I returned to ray hotel — a name 
 goes a great way; and went to bed. Next morn- 
 
70 JOURNAL 
 
 ing, before sunrise, I was up, and in motion. 
 I left the inn, and emerged shortly upon the 
 road which leads towards Lausanne. 
 
 There is no one but the pedestrian that can 
 tell or feel the delight of this commencement of 
 his day's march in a bright breezy morning. 
 
 " Cheerful, at morn, he wakes from short repose. 
 Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes." 
 
 Every thing pleases him ; he may be said to 
 feel his existence, and the singing of the birds, 
 the waving of the trees, the distant lowing of 
 the cows, make him stride on like a giant re- 
 freshed. 
 
 On I went, and as I met the peasants carry- 
 ing in their milk and fruit to market, I re- 
 galed myself with the delicious and still warm 
 liquid, which, with some fruit and bread, made 
 me a capital breakfast, and equalled the rich 
 liebeu Frauen milch, which I afterwards tasted in 
 Germany. You are too independent and inqui- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 71 
 
 sitivo yourself, my friend, to see any thing in 
 this, but an ardent devotion to simple and natu- 
 ral tastes ; and you can, I am sure, understand 
 the pleasure I feel in this mode of breakfasting. 
 There are many, I know, who would smile upon 
 me with scorn, and perhaps might call me mad ; 
 but I can reply to them in the words of the 
 Roman : ^''Malim cum ^ meipso' insanire, qudm 
 cunt aliis sayereT I had rather enjoy a fresh 
 morning on the shores of Geneva's lake, though 
 I fasted on bread and water for days, than 
 dine upon turtle or venison, washed down by 
 the brightest champagne. 
 
 " You are right,"" replied I. " He who loves 
 Nature and all her works and wonders, can, 
 indeed, say that he is independent. The smiles 
 of mankind pass away, their hearts grow cold 
 towards us, and if we are unfortunate, they 
 either quite neglect us, or look upon us with that 
 •ort of pity which the rich man bestows upon the 
 beggar. But Nature, glorious, gracious Nature, 
 
72 JOURNAL 
 
 is ever unchanged ; and if storms for a time de- 
 face her fields and ruffle the glassy surface of her 
 lakes, she soon, like a hasty but affectionate 
 mother, breathes comfort to us again, and show- 
 ers upon us her sweets and flowers. When I 
 came hither, my heart was almost broken, life 
 seemed a blank to me, and I looked around upon 
 those glittering walls and houses, as upon the 
 white tomb that was to relieve and rest me. 
 But the precious breezes of that sparkling sea 
 have brought some coolness to my burning soul ; 
 the endless peace of these skies has lulled my 
 unquiet thoughts to some repose ; and I have 
 found that to sit and muse on the past amongst 
 the wild herbs which grow in the wood beneath, 
 is less painful than if I were in crowded streets 
 or chambers. The slumbering passions of my 
 nature are not roused by the sight of forbidden 
 fruits ; and though I am for ever banished from 
 the world's Eden of domestic bliss, yet the fiery 
 flashing of the restless sword falls less fiercely 
 
OF AN EXILE. 73 
 
 upon my eyes. But pray continue your account." 
 *' Well," proceeded my friend, " I paced on in 
 the full enjoyment of my greatest pleasure. 1 
 had been recommended to go to Ferney to see 
 Voltaire's house, where, if I chose, I might sit 
 in his chair; but Voltaire never was a favourite 
 with me, and the mere sight of an author's 
 dwelling, unless he has been my companion and 
 friend, does not tempt my curiosity. So I 
 passed on amid the shady avenues of trees which 
 border the commencement of the road, and 
 shelter the numerous villas that are scattered 
 along the banks of the lake. This I could not 
 see, for it was hidden by walls and gardens, 
 except when it sparkled in upon me through the 
 trees of some orchard, whose wall was not so 
 high as the rest. At last, however, my view 
 was unimpeded, and I could walk close to the 
 dimpling waters. I reached Nyon, but passed 
 beneath it, and loitered on, dreaming and de- 
 hghted. The frowning black cliffs of Savoy 
 
 VOL, II. K 
 
74 JOURNAL 
 
 reared themselves on the opposite side, just 
 leaving space enough between themselves and 
 the lake for a road, a village, or town ; the 
 lake lay like a precious amethyst, with the 
 dark mountains reflected within its surface, and 
 whispered and wound about the shore at my 
 feet. And what a contrast did that shore present 
 to the other side. It was like hope to despair ! 
 — the one, green, flourishing, and fruitful ; the 
 other, brown, barren, and blighted, Nyon, Rolle, 
 vineyards, smiling villas, white churches, and 
 liberty, were around me ! — beyond, were squalid 
 cabins and despotism. 
 
 I dined at a small inn, somewhere on the 
 road between Rolle and Lausanne; and towards 
 the afternoon, when the sun's heat was a lit- 
 tle past, continued my route. But soon the mag- 
 nificent full view of the lake opened upon me, 
 as I reached an eminence at some distance from 
 the inn ; and my eyes impatiently darted their 
 view away down to its extremity, where some 
 
or AN EXILE. 
 
 75 
 
 white shining specks told of Vevay and Chillon, 
 and on the other side, La Meillerie. 
 
 Evening was coming on, and I sat down upon 
 the bank ; a dark cloud was hanging over part of 
 the waters, and I thought portended one of those 
 magnificent lake storms which sweep out from 
 the Alpine treasures of tempest and trouble ; but 
 the cloud passed slowly away, leaving the un- 
 spotted lake pure and harmless, as it looked up 
 to the smiling sky. I would not yield the re- 
 membrance of the sensations I experienced while 
 resting myself, for that of the most brilliant suc- 
 cess of ambition. I took out a small tin cup, 
 which I carried with me constantly, and drank 
 some of the cool waters ; and I can well conceive 
 the feelings which made Rousseau, as he roamed 
 along those shores, mingle his passionate tears 
 with the blue waves. There is no explaining in 
 detail, the intensity of the delight of a true adorer 
 of Nature, when surrounded by her choice works, 
 ^he cannot explain it himself. He feels that 
 E 2 
 
76 JOURNAL 
 
 his heart is identified with the beautiful objects 
 which are spread around him, and he remains in 
 rapt and rapturous contemplations. When I 
 indulge this holy enthusiasm, those rich lines of 
 Beattie have always come into my mind, and I 
 have felt them : 
 
 O how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
 Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ? 
 
 The warbling woodland, the resounding shore. 
 The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields, — 
 
 All that the genial ray of morning gilds. 
 And all that echoes to the song of even. 
 
 All that the mountain's sheltering bosom yields. 
 And all the dread magnificence of Heaven,-— 
 O how canst thou renounce and hope to be forgiven ? 
 
 The bell of Lausanne, as it ' swung its sullen 
 roar o''er the wide water''d shore,' warned me 
 that it was time for me to return to reality ; and 
 towards dusk, I found myself ascending the steep 
 eminence upon which that city stands. It was 
 Saturday evening, toil was at an end, and the 
 
OF AW EXILK. 71 
 
 inhabitants were slowly sauntering along upon 
 the terrace, which is the first object that attracts 
 the attention. I paused as I passed across it, 
 and looked down again upon the lake. Its cha- 
 racter was changed. The moon had risen, and 
 a pale golden path seemed to connect the rival 
 banks; that of Savoy looked still darker and 
 drearier, while a few solitary lights glimmered 
 along its frowning line. I turned to proceed, 
 and made my way to an inn, (not the Faucon, I 
 should just as soon think of going to the Claren- 
 don in London, but a smaller and more modest 
 one.) I was furnished with my usual repast of 
 bread and milk, and went to bed. 
 
 But it grows late, said my pedestrian acquaint- 
 ance, and I have some distance to go ; some other 
 time, I will relate to you the rest of the circum- 
 stances which I have met witli in my travels." 
 
78 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 January 20. — I went strolling about the couo- 
 try to-day, away beyond the Chateau Borelli, and 
 reached another bastide or villa, which lies near 
 the mountains. In my way thither, I passed a 
 solitary-looking Chateau, where, they told me, the 
 present King of Spain had lived for some time, 
 when he had been kidnapped into France by the 
 king of the fortune-tellers, who built up castles 
 and coronets for others, but, like the blind wan- 
 dering gypsy, could not control his own fate. 
 Many of the Peers and Princes that he made are 
 now high and haughty in their golden galleries 
 at Paris ; while the Aladdin himself has lost 
 the magic lamp, and sleeps on the enchanted 
 and solitary rock of the Atlantic. The house 
 
OF AN EXILE. 79 
 
 itself presents nothing remarkable, — a few fig- 
 trees and vines are scattered about it ; and Fer- 
 dinand must have bitterly regretted the shady 
 groves of Aranjuez, while wearing his degraded 
 days away upon this^ parched soil. The villa, 
 which I visited afterwards, was of a very dif- 
 ferent description ; — it belonged to some rich 
 merchant of Marseilles, and its gardens were 
 laid out like a little Versailles. Statues and 
 fountains and pavilions, in mimic microscopic 
 mockery, brought the stately avenues of that 
 splendid palace to my recollection. But here the 
 resemblance failed, for as I sat beneath the shade 
 of the fig and almond trees, and as the bee 
 and the blithe bird hummed and hovered about 
 me, I thought of the damp and dingy atmo- 
 sphere that was then hanging over the leafless 
 elms and oaks of the northern chateau. 
 
 As I was returning home, I overtook a peasant 
 driving a mule, laden with the roots of olive-trees 
 and their branches, which he was carrying home 
 
80 JOURNAL 
 
 for fuel. Those branches make a delicious fire, 
 especially when mixed with the almond wood; — 
 they diffuse a rich perfume around the room, and 
 fill it, as it were, with incense. I am very fond of 
 a wood fire ;— there is something venerable, hos- 
 pitable, and, I may almost say, poetical, in the 
 sight of a wide chimney filled with bright bick- 
 ering logs, that crackle and sparkle and seem to 
 rejoice themselves in the cheerfulness they create. 
 The " ligna super Jhco large reponens^'' is, in 
 my opinion, much more calculated to dissolve the 
 cold than coal, for there is nothing to impede the 
 circulation of the hot air from the chimney ; 
 and the feet, the most important part of the cir- 
 culating system, are kept infinitely warmer than 
 when the fire is contained in an elevated grate. 
 And then the faggots blazing upon the am- 
 ple hearth carry us back to olden times, to 
 the days of the ancient hall hung round with 
 banners, of the dais, and the volcano of a 
 chimney, that mingled its roaring with the wild 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 81 
 
 wassail that echoed along the gothic benches; 
 some remnant of which antique state may be 
 found in the halls of our colleges at the Uni- 
 versities;— there are the raised and privileged 
 high table, the frowning pictures of some of the 
 knightly founders, mingled with the grave bishop 
 and the sagacious lawyer ; and the pomp and 
 ceremony of dining, such as it must have been 
 when the Baron perhaps gave the same signal for 
 dinner as the presiding Fellow does at present. 
 The long train of attendants, bearing in the 
 dishes after the conclusion of the short grace, to 
 which attention is called by the single blow of a 
 small hammer upon the tables, has always re- 
 called to my mind these lines of Suckling. 
 
 "Just in the nick, the cook knock'd thrice. 
 And all the waiters, in a trice. 
 
 His summons did obey ; — 
 Each serving-man, with dish in hand, 
 March'd boldly up with dish in hand. 
 Presented, and away." 
 £ 5 
 
82 JOURNAL 
 
 Alas f these recollections of the former pas- 
 sages of my life, when I was in the full bloom 
 of youth and hope, fall mournfully now upon 
 my heart. And yet there is a pleasure derived 
 from thinking upon the past, though the present 
 be miserable and comfortless ; such as the ma- 
 riner feels as he sees, in his mind's-eye, his 
 wife and smiUng children, and cheerful hearth,, 
 while surrounded by darkness and roaring 
 breakers. 
 
 I recognized the peasant I had overtaken af- 
 the same I had before seen at my friend the 
 hermit's; and the recognition was mutual. 
 
 " Bon jmir, bon jour. Monsieur /" said he, 
 ^^voiloL ce diable de Mistral." The north-west 
 wind had suddenly got up, and was flying away 
 over the plain, pouncing upon the dusty roads 
 and lanes, and scattering the white powder iii 
 our faces. 
 
 *' Yes, my friend," said I ; " but it will d& 
 us good ; it will keep off the yellow fever." 
 
OF AN EXILE. bO 
 
 " Ah ! I don't think of that/' said he ; " yna 
 foi, non ! the fine folks in the city may talk 
 about that if they will ; but we campagnards 
 have enough to do to mind our fields. But what 
 do they say about the war .''" 
 
 War ! what could he mean ? I had not 
 then become so utterly indifferent to what was 
 passing around me, as to be ignorant of a war, 
 
 " On dit" added the peasant, *' que le general 
 a etc pris." I recollected to have heard some- 
 thing about a General Berton that had been 
 hatching some annual plot in Saumur, and con- 
 cluded that the man alluded to him. 
 
 " Oh !"" said I, " all that will soon be over." 
 
 " I'ant mieux,'"' said the peasant ; " for though 
 fevers don't much concern us, war does ; we are 
 obliged to pay our taxes, and more droit upon 
 our wine, and every tWus, you knovv. Sir, counts 
 to a poor man." 
 
 "Make yourself easy, my friend," said I;r 
 " your tranquillity will not be disturbed." 
 
84 JOURNAL 
 
 " Ah ! vive la tranguillite r exclaimed the 
 peasant. 
 
 We were approaching the village where my 
 companion lived, which lay near the sea. The 
 little tinkling bell of his mule brought out two 
 or three children from the house up to the 
 little court of which he drove the animal, and 
 who began to stroke its ears, which he took very 
 lovingly. The wife came to the door with a 
 small dish of lentils in her hand, into which 
 she was pouring some oil, — probably for their 
 dinner. It was a sort of inn ; I was tired, 
 and the sun was at its greatest heat; so, upon 
 the invitation of the peasant, I went in with 
 him. 
 
 " Alloris, ma femme" said the man, " let us 
 have some of our best saucisses, and our best 
 oil, for the gentleman. We have no butter. 
 Sir, you must go away beyond the Iscre for 
 that, but our oil is fresh and sweet." 
 
 I had never tasted any thing dressed in that 
 
OF AN EXILE. 85 
 
 way before, so I made no objection. Our meal 
 was soon prepared, and we sat down. The 
 children had napkins carefully tied about their 
 necks. The peasant said a short grace, and the 
 wife prepared to do the honours of the sim- 
 ple board. My walk had given me some ap- 
 petite, and I really found that their oil was 
 not so disagreeable as I had expected. The 
 peasants were quite pleased at my apparent 
 satisfaction; and the man said to me, 
 
 " Ah ! my good gentleman, one sees well 
 
 that you are not like the proud dainty seigneurs 
 
 that sometimes come this way, and tell us 
 
 that our country is good for nothing. The 
 
 other day there came two fine ladies and a 
 
 handsome cavalier to see the chateau, where 
 
 you have been this morning, and they stopped 
 
 here to refresh themselves; — but, diable ! they 
 
 wanted fresh butter and white bread, and bright 
 
 knives; and said, that in their country every 
 
 auberge had such things; and the gentleman 
 
86 JOURNAL 
 
 wanted Champagne and all those dainty wines, 
 and said that ours was no better than English 
 beer." 
 
 " Why," I replied, '' I am not so rich as they 
 are, perhaps, and must put up with humble 
 fare. I certainly like butter better th^ oil ; but 
 we cannot have all we would wish in a foreign 
 land." a 
 
 " You may say that with truth," said the 
 peasant ; " and no man knows it better than 
 mvself. When I was eating black rusk at Al- 
 giers, I used often to think that I would be con-^ 
 tent to live upon walnut oil all my days, if I 
 could get back to the place where they made it." 
 " Do they make an oil from walnuts ?" 
 " Oh yes, Sir, down by Valence on the Rhone ; 
 and we get some of it here sometimes, mixed up 
 with the innocent olive oil." 
 
 " And what do you mean by Algiers and 
 black rusk ?" said I. 
 
 " What do I mean, Sir ?— why, that for a year 
 
OF AN EXILE. 87 
 
 I was groaning among those cursed pirates, and 
 looking wistfully enough at the rice and the 
 mutton that my old devilish master used to de- 
 vour ; and I should be there now, perhaps, had 
 it not been for the good old Hermit of Saint 
 Joseph." 1* 
 
 " How did he contribute to your liberation ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " How ? — why by paying the ransom for me , 
 which I might as well have waited to pay myself 
 as to dine with our prefet, although my good 
 Annette here toiled in the heat of the sun, with 
 her oar, in the hope of scraping up something 
 for me."" 
 
 I expressed my curiosity to hear the circum- 
 stance to which my host alluded ; and he imme- 
 diately said, *' Certainly, Sir, if you will come 
 and sit with me under the large mulberry-tree 
 where the little ones are playing, I will tell you 
 all about it ; — and try and make us a little coffee, 
 Annette," added the man to his wife. 
 
88 JOURNAL 
 
 " Oh ! oui, pour le Monsieur ; my good Louis, 
 coffee is too dear for us," said Annette. 
 
 " Ah bah .'" replied the husband, laughing, 
 " you are as bad as my master Hamet, an old 
 cruel devil, that used to tell me that I was a 
 very expensive slave to him, because I drank so 
 much water, that he should soon be obliged to 
 sink a fresh well."" 
 
 Annette seemed to be alarmed by this terrible 
 comparison, and set about preparing the coffee ; 
 while my host and myself sat quietly down under 
 the tree. 
 
 ^^ Ma Jhi r said the peasant, *' I have told 
 the story often enough to all my neighbouis, 
 and yet my blood runs cold every time I think 
 of it. You have seen the small vessels that 
 come from the ports along the coast, Sir, with 
 fruit and flowers .?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have often seen them discharging 
 their pretty cargoes."" 
 
 " Well, Sir, I used to belong to one of those 
 
OF AN EXILE. 89 
 
 little things, and made one or two voyages as 
 far as Genoa. We were coming back from thot 
 place, and just put into Nice, to take some 
 oranges on board ; — we were soon all ready 
 again, and the wind came fair ; so one bright 
 May morning we worked out of the bay, with a 
 famous freight of fresh fruits and flowers, and 
 our deck looked just like the garden of one of 
 our bastides here. The wind, as it blew among 
 our sails, seemed quite sweet; and I plucked 
 one of the almond-blossoms, and threw it upon 
 the water. ' Va,'' said I, ' va tronver An- 
 nette, and tell her that I am coming.' I was a 
 young man then, Sir, and you know, perhaps, 
 that we do many foolish things at that time." 
 
 I said nothing — I could not ; but bowed my 
 head in assent. 
 
 " Well, Sir, on we went ; and our captain 
 said, that the weather was so fine there was 
 no use in creeping along the coast ; he should 
 bear out to sea, and so get away to Marseilles ; 
 
90 JOURNAL 
 
 and you may be sure I did not object. So away 
 we went, all sail hoisted, and Antibes soon 
 looked like that white speck of a hut on the 
 mountain yonder. It was a glorious sight, as 
 the little ship floated along so easily upon the 
 waves ; and many a wistful look 1 cast towards 
 the quarter that I thought Marseilles lay in ; but 
 I could sec nothing except a light mist, that the 
 captain told me was hovering about the coast. 
 But, said he, we shall see the sun shining on the 
 Catalan boats by to-morrow evening, and we 
 shall, I hope, sail in with them. The night 
 came on ; we were all steady, as the captain 
 said, and the stars were all out. We went down 
 to bed ; the man at the helm began to smg over 
 my head one of the songs that are such fa- 
 vourites among the coasters, and I lay listening 
 to him till I fell asleep." 
 
 " Do you happen to recollect it?" said I. 
 " I will try," replied Louis, and considering a 
 little, he began the song, the original of which 
 
OF AN KXILE. 91 
 
 I have lost, though I preserved the following- 
 translation of it : — 
 
 My comrades all have said good night. 
 But the helmsman's heart with hope is hght. 
 For he must see, while alone he wakes. 
 Our Lady's Fort as the daylight breaks. 
 
 My comrades all have said good night; 
 But the stars are shining still and bright. 
 And the flowers that stand around my feet. 
 As gentlest hours of sleep, are sweet. 
 
 My comrades all have said good night ; 
 But our vessel holds her course aright. 
 And long ere next the sun be set 
 They '11 see her from the high Tourette. 
 
 " I don't know how long I had slept, hut I was 
 awakened by a terrible bustle over head. The 
 morning was just breaking, and I got up, and 
 went upon deck \— par la Sainte Baume! I trem- 
 
92 JOURNAL 
 
 ble even now at the thought, there was a large ship 
 coming right down upon our vessel, with all her 
 sail set, and bristling and foaming upon the waves 
 like a great fish. There was a mist hovering 
 about us, so that I could not distinguish her 
 deck ; but I heard some strange shouts, and our 
 captain ran about like a madman : the man at 
 the helm stood firm, and tried to take the wind 
 of her, as the captain kept crying out ; but it 
 was too late ; and in seven or eight minutes she 
 was close up to us. Three or four men, in tur- 
 bans, instantly jumped upon our deck, bellow- 
 ing out, ^^ No paura, no jpaura^' and began to 
 grin and nod at us, as if we were old acquaint- 
 ances. Majhi ! such acquaintances as those are 
 none of the best. The rascals turned away our 
 man from the helm, took out the fruit, and then 
 hoisted us all up into their cursed black ship ; at 
 one end of which the captain was sitting, an old 
 man with a long white beard, and a large shawl 
 tied round his neck ; a brace of pistols was stick- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 93 
 
 ing in his breast. Our poor little boat they sent 
 adrift. Our captain seemed to understand their 
 jargon a little; and the old pirate laughed, and 
 talked with him, and he told me afterwards, that 
 he had been thanking us for our fruit and flow- 
 ers, as he had one of his favourite ladies on board. 
 Well, Sir, we prisoners were sent down into the 
 hold, and there they kept us, feeding us with 
 some black stuff, that T would not give to my 
 mule ; and there we stayed for six days, among 
 the cables and blocks, and tormented by thirst : 
 they only allowed us to come upon deck for half 
 an hour. We did not much care about that, 
 for those wretches got round us, and jabbered 
 their gibberish, and seemed like evil spirits. Mais 
 allons, Annette, le cafe, le cafe; and Annette came 
 forth with it. The children, seeing the white 
 sugar that had been produced for me, came 
 stealing up, and peeped round from behind the 
 trunk of the tree under which we were sitting. 
 " Ah ! les poUssons,'''' said the father, " viens 
 
94 JOURNAL 
 
 ici, moil petit Louis, viens a ton grand pere" 
 and he took the youngest on his knee ; who 
 looked boldly up in his face, and at the same 
 time possessed himself of a very respectable piece 
 of sugar. " Oh ! Louis, you spoil that child," said 
 Annette. " Well, well, my wife, he is like 
 his poor father, and I can't help fondling and in- 
 dulging him. Our boy, Sir, was killed at Wa- 
 terloo, and this is his son ; there stands his sis- 
 ter ; — here, Josephine, come and speak to the 
 gentleman, and he will give you some sugar 
 too." The girl came slowly up to me, and 
 held out her hand, into which I put my sweet 
 donation, and off she ran to display it, I suppose, 
 to some less fortunate companion. Our coffee 
 was excellent ; and as we sipped it, Louis conti- 
 nued his story. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 95 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Well, Sir, there we lay — the captain, the 
 other man, and myself, melancholy enough, and 
 wishing for some lucky Levanter, that might set 
 the pirates at their wit's ends, and perhaps give 
 us a chance of working the ship, as the captain 
 said ; — but the infidels had the upper hand of us 
 that time; and though we all prayed and told 
 our beads, the Virgin had a mind to make us taste 
 of slavery ; and if, as they tell me, our good King 
 Saint Louis was in the same plight, why, I don't 
 know that we had any right to complain. On 
 the sixth morning we heard a desperate howling 
 and yelling over head ; and one of the black dogs 
 called to us into the hold, and told us to come 
 on deck and see Algiers, ' Veni can dvijidel, 
 veni, ecco la Algiere.'' I have remembered the 
 
96 JOURNAL 
 
 words ever since, for the Captain crossed himself 
 and said, ' The Holy Saints have mercy upon 
 us now!' Up we went upon deck, and there, 
 sure enough, was that devilish purgatory straight 
 before us. — Did you ever see Villa Franca be- 
 yond Nice from the sea, Sir ?" 
 
 " Never," said I. 
 
 " When I first looked towards the land, my 
 heart beat, and I thought that it was all a 
 dream, and that I was just off that place ; 
 there were the green banks to the right, and the 
 high rocks behind, and a fort up to the left, 
 that might have been the castle of Montalbano, 
 and the lighthouse and the mole just as they are 
 at Franca; but, then, there were two or three 
 odd-looking towers, just like those large oil- 
 flasks you see yonder ; and the sun glittered 
 upon something else there, that looked like the 
 moon when she has a mind to be leaving us. 
 And sure enough it was no dream ; for when we 
 got into the harbour, instead of the pretty-look- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 97 
 
 iiig peasants that used to come, with their black 
 bilk nets twining among their hair, and buy our 
 gay flowers, there was nothing but a parcel of 
 savasre black men in turbans, and some sad 
 pale fellows in chains, that looked like galley 
 slaves, except that they were almost naked. 
 And I whispered the Captain, that the Turks 
 seemed to be like us in that respect, and did not 
 cut off a poor man's life because he was unfor- 
 tunate and guilty. The Captain turned his face 
 upon me, — pardi ! I'see him now,— and said, with 
 a deep groan, ' We shall be like them to-mor- 
 row, and perhaps worse, — they were once as we 
 are.' My heart sunk as low as one of our wells, 
 and I did not speak another word. And, in- 
 deed, I had no opportunity, for when we got 
 close up to the mole, the boat was ordered out, 
 and the old Jew of a Captain made us get into 
 it, and away we went to the shore. When we 
 landed, we were marched off directly along the 
 dirty dismal streets, just like those in the old 
 
 VOL. II. V 
 
98 JOURNAL 
 
 town ; and we presently stopped at a house they 
 said was the Dey's palace, and a dismal-looking 
 place it was, with its small grated windows. 
 But what do you think we saw directly before us 
 at the entrance ? — Mon Dieu ! fa mejuit mal an 
 cceur meme a present. Voyons Annette, donne 
 la goute. Allans, Monsieur, to your better 
 health. Bois, mon petit chat" said he to the 
 child that was sitting upon his knee ; and the in- 
 fant suspiciously sipped some of the hot liquid. — 
 " We saw, Sir, three bleeding heads lying on 
 the ground, and my foot slipped in some of the 
 blood and brains that were spread about. Holy 
 Saint Victor ! thy name be thanked for bringing 
 me safe out of that tiger's den. The old Dey 
 was sitting up in his room upon a cushion, 
 smoking ; a parcel of pigeons were flying about 
 him ; and, as we saw him through the window, 
 he looked just like one of my goats there, with 
 his beard and his fur tippet and the half moon 
 that was stuck in front of his turban. They 
 
OF AN EXILK. 99 
 
 made us kneel down in the mud, and make the 
 salem, as they called it! — D'lahle! to kneel to an 
 Infidel Satan like that ! — I don't know what they 
 said, but when we got up, we prisoners were all 
 separated, and my poor captain led away by 
 the man Avho had commanded the ship that 
 took us. I and the other followed a man 
 they called an Aga, and, as we went along, 
 the malicious Moors did nothing but shriek in 
 our ears, schiavi ! scldaxn ! They should have 
 known better, for they were all coming from 
 their churches, as my companion told me, who 
 had been there once before. Well, Sir, when 
 we got to the Aga's house, he stripped off 
 all our clothes, and put on some of the rags 
 and remnants that had served for some other 
 poor devils; and told us, in his lingtia franc a, 
 that we might be thankful we had fallen to so 
 good a master, for that, when his slaves offend- 
 ed him, he never gave them more than forty 
 lashes ! while every one else gave theirs fifty ! 
 
 F 2 
 
loo 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 My shoulders began to tingle, and my com- 
 panion looked very grave ; but, as it was get- 
 ting dark, we were sent away into a black 
 hole of a place like a dog-stable, to sleep. 
 Next morning, by daybreak, we heard a fellow 
 shouting, A trabqjo, a trabqjo can del Christian ; 
 and the task-master came in with a long whip, 
 and bade us get up. Ma Jhi ! there was no 
 alternative, so up we sprang ; and all that day 
 did we broil and blister in a hot Afric sun, 
 witli nothing but some black crust and water 
 for our food. And when we faltered or flag- 
 ged, crack, crack came the long whip about 
 us, till our legs smarted again. My com- 
 panion soon fell away, and looked as meagre 
 as one of our cows here in Provence, that 
 have no taste for shrubs and burnt grass. I 
 was young and strong, and I thought of my 
 dear Annette, and endeavoured to keep up 
 my spirits ; but when my work was done, and 
 I had a little time to myself in the evening, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 101 
 
 it was then I used to feel lonely and lost. I 
 could see from my master's garden the sea 
 and the little ships flitting along in the dis- 
 tance ; and when the weather was clear, I 
 could see the opposite land. And I used to 
 think, if I could once get over there, I would 
 easily beg my way to Marseilles and Annette, 
 But the cunning heretics watched us too close, 
 and I might have sung, as they say one of 
 our Troubadours used to do, when he was shut 
 up somewhere in Germany I believe." The song 
 to which the man alluded, I recollected to have 
 before seen ; and having referred to it in the even- 
 ing, I amused myself in translating it, as follows, 
 as far as the sense and obscurity of the old lan- 
 guage would admit. The metre is extraordinary ; 
 as appears by the first stanza of the original. 
 Ja nul home pres non dira sa razoii 
 Adreitamen, se come horn doulen non 
 Mas per conort pot el faire canson 
 Prou ha d'amicz, nia paure don li don 
 Honta y auran se por ma rehezon 
 Sony fach dos hivers prez. 
 
102 JOURNAL 
 
 Since he, who lies in binding bonds, his story cannot 
 tell. 
 
 To comfort him in this distress, and all his longing 
 quell, 
 
 I counsel, that he make a song, and try its soothing spell. 
 
 Now great will be your shame, my friends, your false- 
 hood dark as hell. 
 
 If thus, because, to ransom me, your lands ye will 
 not sell. 
 
 Two winters see my chains. 
 
 And let them think, my subjects all, my lords and ba- 
 rons bold — 
 
 Those English, Norman, Gascon knights, who of me 
 fiefs do hold — 
 
 There 's not a serf that i possess, but, if to bondage sold, 
 
 Could make his prison gates fly back, and pass forth free, 
 for gold. 
 
 I will not call my liegers false, yet, if the truth be told. 
 Two winters see my chains. 
 
 Alas ! the weary captive's heart hath neither friend nor 
 
 kin ; 
 They think not of his pining, as they sit their hallj 
 
 within ; 
 The thought of that torments me more than all the 
 
 pangs of sin. 
 And should 1 die, thus far away from battle's glorious din, 
 
OF AN KXILE 
 
 103 
 
 What knight, on those who leave me thus, his faith again 
 could pin ? — 
 
 Two winters here in chains. 
 
 Nor is it strange that thus I yield to dark depression's 
 
 sleep ; 
 The King of France, with spear and brand, doth o'er my 
 
 fiefdoms sweep, 
 And break the peace that he hath sworn by Holy Rood 
 
 to keep ; 
 And well 1 know, that many a Prince and King do hold 
 
 me cheap, 
 Since I have passed my weary days within this dungeon 
 
 deep, 
 
 Two winters thus in chains. 
 
 But, mark ye ! fierce and haughty foes, whose hearts are 
 
 now so high, 
 Because tliat thus, in traitor bonds. King Richard now 
 
 doth lie, 
 Wlien these long tedious hours of pain are past, that 
 
 make me sigh, 
 Ye'il see once more, and quail beneath the lion's fiery 
 
 eye. 
 Cheer up ! my brother troubadours, though ihus are 
 
 lingering by 
 
 Two winters o'er my chains. 
 
104 JOLRMAL 
 
 Sister, Countess, listen well, it is not thee 1 blame, 
 And yet, because I kept thee safe from worldly suit and 
 claim, 
 
 My days are such as these. 
 
 No longer can 1 masses sing to Chartreuse Holy Dame. 
 La Mene Loeys. 
 
 To return to the peasant, " But I trust that 
 you did not remain as long as poor Richard 
 among those cruel gaolers of yours ?" said I. 
 
 " You shall hear, Sir. I told you that my 
 companion wasted and pined away, and he soon 
 died, leaving me sad enough! Light or nine 
 months passed, or crawled on I might say, after 
 his death, and I began to give up all hope and 
 wish to follow him ; when, one day, as I was 
 sitting down near a well I had been sinking, 
 and eating my black cake, who should I see 
 coming towards me but one of the Fathers 
 of our Holy Trinity, that are all now dead or 
 scattered, God knows where ! You that are in 
 a foreign country will understand. Sir, what 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 105 
 
 I felt when I saw liiivi,— I fell at his feet and 
 wept. The good father raised me, and told 
 me to be comforted ; ' Thou art free, ray son V 
 said he, 'thy ransom is paid, and thou wilt, 
 ere many days be past, see thy friends.' You 
 may imagine, Sir, that I was happy, and too 
 happy to speak, for I looked at the good man, un- 
 able to utter a word for joy : and when, at length, 
 I did speak, I said nothing intelligible. The kind 
 friar bade me be tranquil and compose myself. 
 Well, Sir, I followed him to the quay, and there 
 were a number of other happy creatures like my- 
 self, singing and shouting. La patrie! Lapatrie! 
 and we all embarked ; and many a curse did 
 we bestow upon the wicked place as we left 
 it. But we kept our chains, and said that 
 we would not pull them off, till we had shown 
 to the city the dreadful state to which its 
 Christian natives are often reduced. And merry 
 and gay we were, and we made the ship ring 
 again with our vintage songs, I thought that 
 F 5 
 
106 
 
 JOUKKAL 
 
 the good Fathers of the Trinity had paid my 
 ransom, as they were used to do every year, 
 till they were all turned adrift — poor Saints ! 
 But the others told me that they had heard the 
 Consul talking to the friar about me, and that 
 he had said, ' that though the money was 
 in his hands, yet the friar had better seem 
 to pay it among that for the rest. It was an 
 odd story, and I could scarcely believe it; 
 since, if that troubadour king could not find 
 friends to ransom him, how was I, that had 
 nobody but my betrothed Annette? And im- 
 patient enough I was to have it all cleared up. 
 We had a glorious passage; and when Ave 
 saw the old mountain of La Victoire, I thought 
 that the tunny-fish would be all frightened 
 away by the shout that we set up. They made 
 us perform quarantine for a few days ; but we 
 were all right, and we sailed straight up to the 
 quay, close to the Hotel de Ville. 'I hey had 
 been expecting us, and the windows were all 
 
OF AN EXILE. 107 
 
 hung with flowers and silks; and the rest of 
 the Holy Brothers were all there, with their 
 Abbot ; and as we cast anchor, the little boy, 
 that carried the bright silver cross before the 
 monks, raised it aloft, and all the people that 
 were standing about threw up their caps, and the 
 bells tolled, and the Abbot blessed us. When 
 we landed, they made us march two and two, 
 with our chains, and as we went up the Cane- 
 biere, we pointed to the marks which the long 
 whips of those African imps had made ; and the 
 ladies waved their white hands, and threw roses 
 upon us, and came and took off our chains. But 
 all that did not satisfy me; I was looking about 
 for Annette, and, sure enough, I saw her standing 
 under the trees of the Coiirs, just as we reached 
 it, and weeping. I could not bear the sight, and 
 stay where I was, so 1 darted out of the procession 
 and rushed up to her. She knew me directly, 
 and giving a loud shriek, fainted in my arms. 
 I had my chains still about my hands, and as I 
 
108 JOURNAL 
 
 put them round her, I thought that if she 
 had been always with me, I should not have so 
 much cared to have worn them longer. But a 
 kind lady came and took them off, and sprink- 
 led ray Annette's face with sweet water, and she 
 opened her eyes, and flung her arms round my 
 neck, and sobbed for joy. And all the people 
 seemed as delighted as ourselves ; for the men 
 had tears in their eyes, and blessed us as they 
 passed. But when I looked again at my An- 
 nette, my heart smote me, she was so pale and 
 thin, and her clothes were worn and old. and 
 her hands blistered ; and ! said to her, My 
 Annette, my dear Annette, what! have you been 
 a slave too .'* you look as wan and weak as my- 
 self/' 
 
 " Oh ! Louis," said she. 
 
 " Ay, ay, ma J^emmc,^ said the man to his 
 wife, who had stolen up from the door, and 
 was listening behind the tree, •' we are talking 
 
OF AN EXILE. 109 
 
 about you, and listeners hear no good of them- 
 selves." 
 
 " Eh bien ! mon hofnme, say what you will 
 about me, for you ought to know me well after 
 thirty years' acquaintance, and I am not afraid 
 of you." 
 
 " Ah, no," said Louis to me, "she has no 
 reason, indeed, for she knows that I love her as 
 well as my preserver from the Turks. Why, 
 Sir, she used to labour day after day, in one of 
 the little boats that you may have seen plying 
 about the harbour, in hope of scraping to- 
 gether something for me ; but she would have 
 worked long enough ere she could have got suf- 
 ficient to content those greedy, griping sharks. 
 But the Virgin protected her. Sir, as I always 
 tell her, and made her labour profitable. 
 Come here, ma femme^ and tell your own story. 
 Here, bring your wheel and your stocking, and 
 let us have a few of our sweetest grapes that are 
 
110 JOURNAL 
 
 hanging up near the chimney." The wheel and 
 the grapes were brought, and Annette sat down, 
 while the little boy, who had been for some 
 time impatient of his thraldom upon the knee of 
 his grandfather, (who seemed like others to have 
 acquired a taste for confining others, by having 
 been confined himself,) now crept down, and 
 began to make sad confusion among the ball of 
 flax which was upon the ground. " Reste tran- 
 quille do7ic\ mon pkcio7i," said his grandmother. 
 " Je vais conter line Mstoire ;" and the child, 
 cheated into a belief that the Mstoire was to 
 be one of fairies and fine castles, sat himself 
 down quietly among the leaves of the tree that 
 had been blown down by the recent attack of 
 the Mistral. 
 
 " My husband, there," said the French female 
 peasant, " has made me tell my story so often, 
 that I begin to be ashamed of it; and a gentleman, 
 like you, I fear, v/on't find much to please you in 
 it. When the news came of one of our coasters 
 
OV AN EXILE. ill 
 
 having been robbed by the Pirates, and the 
 men taken away for slaves, I was sitting with 
 my mother in our httle stall that we used to have 
 near the Museum. ' Voild une triste affaire,' said 
 some of the other flower-women that were stand- 
 ing there, ' some of the finest and first flowers and 
 fruits all gone, not to mention the men. It is a 
 shame that the king does not hang all those rob- 
 bers.' 1 was expecting my Louis home every 
 day, and when 1 heard them talking so, I asked 
 what they meant. ' ^Vhy, one of our best coast- 
 ers, the Emilie, has been sent adrift by the 
 Algerines, who took good care to have all out 
 of her that was worth any thing, — the poor fruits 
 and flowers, and the men too.' That was the 
 name of my Louis's ship; and 1 jumped up, 
 and without saying any thing to my mother, 
 who called after me in vain, away I ran down to 
 the port, and there, sure enough, I saw the poor 
 little vessel just brought in by one of the Ca- 
 talans. Oh, Sir ! what I felt then ! and how 1 
 
112 JOURNAL 
 
 wished that I were rich and great that i might 
 give all I had to buy back my poor lover ; but it 
 was of no use to wish, so what do you think I 
 determined to do ? Why, I will tell you, Sir. Said 
 I to my mother, There now, I shall never be mar- 
 ried, for the only man that I will have is taken 
 by the Algerine pirates for a slave. ' Nonsense," 
 says my mother, 'you '11 find plenty besides him; 
 there's Charles the porter, that you know always 
 offers to carry our flowers from the port for 
 nothing, and a kind-hearted fellow he is. Dieu 
 merci ! never be married!' But my mother 
 might say what she pleased, I was determined 
 to have my own way. No ! says I, no ! no ! 
 ma Mere, I will never forsake dear Louis, that 
 you know used to smuggle us in many a pretty 
 thing from Genoa, made by the nuns there ; 
 so you may stay here to mind the flowers, 
 and I shall go and try to earn some money by 
 working in one of the little boats. Mayhap 
 some kind Christians will pay me more than 
 
(iF AS EMl.E. 113 
 
 the rest, when they know why I do it. So, 
 Sir, I did so. And many a burning day I 
 laboured ; but every body laughed at me, and 
 said I was a fool to make myself a galley- 
 slave, because my lover was one. Yet, Sir, for 
 all that, I went on, and I thought that I was 
 doing the same thing as my Louis. Well, one 
 day, there came a gentleman down to the quay, 
 and told me to carry him over to the castle of 
 St. John, that's close to the Imilt Tourette; and 
 while we were crossing, he told me that I was 
 too weak to work in that way ; and asked me if I 
 had no friends to get me a place in the city. — 
 Oh, Sir, said I, the only friend I have, except 
 my mother (and she can't do any thing for me), 
 is a slave, and can"'t marry me now."" 
 
 " Poor woman I" said the gentleman, " and 
 how long has he been so.^" 
 
 " Oh ! about nii e months. Sir; and may be nine 
 years, unless God is pleased to do something for 
 us, since I shall never be able to cam enouoh for 
 
114 JOURNAL 
 
 his ransom. ' Poor woman !' again said the gen- 
 tleman, and so sweetly and mournfully; and as 
 we had got to ihe other side, he gave me a crown, 
 and went away. 1 put it with the rest I had 
 saved, and kept on labouring, and every evening 
 when I went home I hid my money ; and my 
 mother scolded me ; and the porter Charles kept 
 coming about the house ; — but still I trusted in 
 the Virgin, Sir, that always protects faithful 
 hearts. But mine was heavy enough, as I saw 
 the tenth month come, and no hope yet of buy- 
 ing Louis ; and vvhen I heard that the friars 
 were gone to Barbary, to deliver as many of the 
 slaves as they could, I used to pray every day 
 up at our Lady's Chapel in the fort on the rock, 
 and promise her a bouquet of roses and jasmin, 
 if she would send my lover back. But they told 
 me all the names of the men that the good reli- 
 gious had ransomed, and his was not there. So 
 when they came back, I could not bear the 
 sight; and I was standing as miserable as any 
 
OF AN EXII/E. 115 
 
 one could be, when whom should I see, but the 
 very man I was crying about ! Oh, Sir ! I 
 thought I should have died ; and when I reco- 
 vered, (for I fainted,) I^ouis and I went home to 
 my mother's, and she seemed glad to see him, 
 and we were married two days after. But we 
 could not think who had paid the money for us, 
 till I happened to think of the kind-spoken gen- 
 tleman I had carried over the port a month be- 
 fore; and said I one day to my husband, I have 
 it, — as sure as there's a true tear of our Saviour 
 in the old church treasury, I know the good 
 man that has done this for us. So I kept a good 
 look-out for him, and one day I saw him coming 
 along the Rue St. Ferreol, just as I was returning 
 from the fruit-market, with some figs I had been 
 buying. So I ran up to him,*and fell down at 
 his feet, and took his hands, and put them to my 
 lips, and told him that God and the Saints would 
 for ever bless him, here and hereafter, for his 
 charity. But he seemed angry, and told me 
 
116 JOURNAL 
 
 that I had mistaken him for some one else, and 
 broke away from me. But I was determined 
 that I would find out the truth, and I spoke to 
 Louis about it. ' Oh !'' says he, ' I have a friend 
 that lives with the banker that does all the busi- 
 ness for Algiers ; I ""11 ask him about it.' And so 
 he did ; and the clerk told him that a gentleman, 
 describing the very same that I thought, had 
 come to their house, and paid in the money for 
 the ransom of a slave named Louis Faushet, 
 then at Algiers. And a few days after I saw 
 him again ; but this time I would not be put 
 away, and I wept bitterly, because he seemed so 
 unwilling to speak to me. And the good Sama- 
 ritan at last confessed what he had done, but 
 told me to keep it a secret ; and so I did ; but 
 it's almost the only (me I ever kept." 
 
 " That 's true enough," said Louis. 
 
 " He used to give us money after, but he 
 seemed very unhappy ; and at last told us, one 
 day, that he was going to live up at Saint Joseph, 
 
OF AN EX ILK. 117 
 
 in 
 
 the liemiitage there. And he soon went ; but 
 made us happy and easy for Ufe, with some of 
 the money that he said was of no use to him, 
 since he had lost every body he loved in the 
 plague. My husband's uncle died soon after, 
 and left us this house ; and here we have lived 
 ever since. But we have had our troubles too ; 
 for our boy was killed at Waterloo, and his wife 
 soon followed him. leaving us these two little or- 
 phans. We try to make up their loss to them as 
 well as we can ; but we are old, and must soon 
 be taken from them like their own father and 
 mother." 
 
 " Thank je, my friends," said I, " for your 
 story. Some other day I will come and pay you 
 another visit ; but I must be hastening home." 
 
 I quitted the inn, and reached my house in 
 about two hours. I then read for a considerable 
 part of the night. 
 
118 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 February 10. — I have been for some days 
 past a prey to all my former depression and 
 despair, having no pleasure in any thing, not 
 even in the alFectionate fondling of my pupil. 
 The snake within me is only scotched, not killed ; 
 and the whole bitterness and blankness of my 
 fate at times come back upon me. At a period 
 of life when man begins to look round upon the 
 world with the eye of experience and understand- 
 ing, when the boiling impetuosity of his very 
 first youth subsides into the clear majestic cur- 
 rent of confirmed manhood and rational direction, 
 I am deprived, for ever deprived, of all the be- 
 nefits which others derive from the remembrance 
 of their faults, like the lawgiver of the Jews, 
 who was shown from the top of Mount Pisgah 
 
or AN EXILE. 119 
 
 those lands flowing with milk and honey, which 
 he was never to enter, though he had passed, 
 like the rest, many a burning sand and stony 
 desert. I remember when I came here, two 
 years ago, after my extrication from the difficul- 
 ties and distresses which then embarrassed me, I 
 thought that I might still hope for future and 
 better prospects, though the path of my life had 
 commenced but roughly. The novelty of the 
 country, the beauty of its climate, and the an- 
 ticipation of again returning to my country, from 
 whence my misfortunes had banished me, ele- 
 vated and encouraged my spirits. I was younger, 
 too, and the veil of delusion and dreamy delight 
 had not been entirely cast aside from the sober 
 realities of life. Fancy, with her fairy wand, 
 still stood by me, and " Hope smiled and waved 
 her golden hair," as the magic Palace of En- 
 chantment glittered before my eyes. But all 
 that is passed ! Hope and Fancy are gone — Indif- 
 ference and Despair remain ! I now see all face to 
 
120 JOUIiKAT. 
 
 face, not as through a glass, darkly. I may say 
 with Spenser — 
 
 ** All is but feigned, and with ochre dyed. 
 That every shower will wash and wipe away ; 
 
 All things do change, that under heaven abide, 
 And after death, all friendship doth decay. 
 Therefore, whatever man bear'st worldly sway. 
 
 Living, on God, and on thyself rely : 
 
 For when thou diest, all shall with thee die. 
 » * * 
 
 February 14. — My pedestrian friend, who 
 had, as he told me, become anxious about me, 
 came up here yesterday. His conversation ge- 
 nerally amuses me, and his manners and tastes 
 correspond so much with my own, that I do 
 not feel his presence as any intrusion upon my 
 privacy. He again repeated his wish that I 
 would accompany him to Nice, where he is 
 shortly going; but I have given him no posi- 
 tive answer ; I care so little for change of place, 
 I have so little pleasure to expect from it, that 
 
OF AN EXILE, 
 
 121 
 
 I would fain remain quiet. My friend per- 
 ceiving that I was much depressed, said, " I am 
 very sorry that you seem to be relaxing into 
 your former uneasiness of mind ; if you will 
 allow me, I will continue the account of my 
 pedestrian pilgrimage to Boulogne, which was 
 my destined point ; perhaps it may dissipate your 
 melancholy for the present." His motive was 
 good-natured, and therefore I acquiesced in his 
 proposal ; and after we had taken an early dinner 
 of fruits and bread, which we both prefer, in this 
 climate, to meat, thus imitating the natives, my 
 friend continued his narrative in nearly the fol- 
 lowing words : 
 
 " You may remember that I had arrived at Lau- 
 sanne, when I broke off in my account. I went 
 to bed, as I told you, and the next morning was 
 awakened by the gar(^on d'ecurie, who brought 
 me my shoes unusually shining and splendid. 
 The man told me, that there was another Eng- 
 lish gentleman below, who had come in after 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
122 JOURNAL 
 
 me. I got up and went down, and found him. 
 We entered into conversation, and he informed 
 me that he had been pedestrianising too, having 
 come as far as Dijon, from Paris, in that manner. 
 But he had since sprained his foot, had come to 
 Lausanne with a voiturier, and was now calhng 
 hastily for a surgeon, as he fancied his foot had 
 grown worse. The surgeon came, examined it, 
 and recommended that he should bathe it in hot 
 water, dans de Teau chaude, and went away. But 
 the EngHshman was no Frenchman, and he made 
 sad work of the eau chaude " Jefaut metier e 
 mes pieds dans chaude eau dans une tube,"" said 
 he to the servant, who appeared at his summons, 
 and who stared at him in hopeless astonishment. 
 I explained, however, to her what the gentleman 
 wanted ; and the water was, I suppose, carried to 
 his room, for away he limped. 
 
 I took my breakfast, and afterwards walked out. 
 It was Sunday morning, and the Protestant popu- 
 lation of Lausanne were all in motion, and hasten- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 123 
 
 ing away to the cathedral. I followed them, plung- 
 ing down the steep streets of the town, and then 
 ascending again to an open square, where the 
 church stands. I saw nothing to distinguish it 
 particularly from others ; it contained, however, 
 one singular tomb, that of Felix Amadeus the 
 Eighth, of Savoy, who was first a king, then a 
 pope, and lastly, a simple individual. 
 
 In fourteen hundred and thirty-four, he abdi- 
 cated his crown, and retired to the Priory of Rip- 
 aille, where he founded the chief Order of Savoy, 
 Saint Maurice, which with that of the Annonciade 
 of Piedmont, are the two principal orders of the 
 Sardinian dominions. The origin of that of the 
 Annonciade is singular, and might be compared 
 to that of the Garter. 
 
 Amadeus, Sixth, surnamed the Count de Verd, 
 was a gay and gallant prince, and probably often 
 enlivened his warlike pursuits by dancing, as our 
 Edward the Third, with the fair ladies of his 
 
124 JOURNAL 
 
 court. _ One of these, touched and delighted 
 by the attentions of the graceful monarch, 
 worked a bracelet for him with her own hair, 
 and marked upon it as its device, the initials 
 of four French words, denoting that both in 
 love and arms the happy Amadeus would ever 
 be successful. The gratified prince made the 
 circumstance an occasion for establishing an or- 
 der of knighthood; but, unlike our EngUsh king, 
 he at once acknowledged in its title the favour 
 which had been shown him, and called it Les 
 Lacs d' Amour. But the pacific and pious Ama- 
 deus the Eighth was unwilling to retain a name 
 Avhich seemed to perpetuate the memory of some 
 licentious intrigue of his ancestor, and by him 
 the order of Les Lacs (T Amour was converted into 
 that of the Annonciade. 
 
 Still, however, its origin was not entirely effac- 
 ed, for the knightly badge consisted of a rich chain 
 of gold, whose links were mingled with white and 
 
OF AN EXILE. 125 
 
 red roses of enamel; but to counteract the impure 
 
 ideas which the chain and the roses might have 
 excited, the future Pope caused a golden image 
 
 of the Annunciation to be suspended from tlie 
 
 enamelled flowers. 
 
 Amadeus the Eighth died at Geneva, and 
 was buried at Lausanne ; perhaps, because he 
 might consider its church holier than that of 
 Geneva, since it is said to have possessed among 
 its reliques one of the ribs of Mary IMagdalen, 
 and a rat that had eaten the Sacramental bread. 
 
 I had been so long absent from my country, 
 and used to nothing but the mummery and showy 
 imposition of the mass, that the simple and plain 
 Calvinistic service was quite refreshing to me. 
 It was like the unpretending conversation of a 
 truly well-informed man after the pompous puffs 
 and preaching of some would-be Solomon. 
 
 When I quitted the cathedral, I strolled to the 
 terrace, from whence I had a view over the 
 
U6 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 lake, and a magnificent scene it was. The 
 day was gloomy, but the sun still asserted his 
 authority among the clouds that lay in immense 
 masses above the lake. Clouds have often 
 been compared to mountains, but the resem- 
 blance never struck me so forcibly as then ; 
 there they lay in wild terrific confusion, pre- 
 cipice and crag and yawning cavern, while, 
 to complete the noble illusion, a long dark 
 arch extended itself directly across the lake, 
 taking the appearance of some gigantic Alpine 
 bridge. 
 
 They were worthy rivals of their neighbours, 
 the true mountains, which seemed to sink into 
 nothing beside them ; — and yet these were no 
 mean ones. There were the rugged rocks, di- 
 rectly opposite, of La Meillerie hanging over 
 the town, brown and threatening ; — there was, 
 to my left, the dent de Jaman, protruding its 
 red tooth above the rest of the mountains 
 
OF AN EXILE. 127 
 
 about Iti and there was the commencement of 
 the Bernese Alps, or diablerets, as they are 
 called in the country, rearing themselves up as 
 if to look, like their inferior familiars, at the 
 beautiful lake. 
 
 But there were other points of interest which 
 lay around me, besides the magnificent one in 
 front. There was the willow-tree in Gibbon's 
 garden, where he had composed his glowing 
 History, and glowing, indeed, it must have been 
 with sucli a scene before him ; — for the man of 
 imagination and ardent mind will always write 
 better and freer, and with more fervour, amidst 
 the glories and beauties of Nature. Then there 
 was Beaulieu, where Madame de Sta'el and her 
 father had lived. The cathedral, with its singular 
 tower, stood perched upon the highest part of 
 the town, with the old turrets of the college be- 
 neath it, and the rich hills spread up above, 
 covered with little chalets; a few peasants were 
 
128 JOURNAL 
 
 passing along, with their straw peaked hats ; 
 and I could have stayed where I was till night. 
 But i was anxious to reach Vevay that day ; 
 and as my object in travelling was not to 
 lounge about towns where I knew no one, 
 and which presented nothing within themselves 
 very remarkable, I returned to my hotel, and 
 paying my bill, departed. 
 
 The road to Vevay lies along the lake, upon an 
 elevated part of the sliore. I cannot describe to 
 you, in detail, all the villages I passed, and the 
 number of miles I travelled before I reached that 
 place. I went rambling on, with the green ter- 
 races of vines above, and the noble amphithe- 
 atre of the lake before me. A few boats were 
 spread upon the waters, and I might have ima- 
 gined one of them to contain Julie and Saint 
 Preux in their excursion before the storm. I 
 was upon the shores of the lake of Leman, and 
 was satisfied. I sought not to analyse the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 129 
 
 properties of the soil, or speculate upon the 
 altitude of the mountains, or the breadth of 
 the water; it was all beautiful, and I felt, with- 
 out wishing to know what I felt. 
 
 I arrived at Vevay towards evening. I went 
 straight to the inn, which was somewhere below 
 the church. Here I found that my incognito wouid 
 serve me nothing, for the Swiss being themselves 
 a pedestrian people, they never make any differ- 
 ence between a pedestrian and a man who travels 
 in a carriage, provided he goes to the best inns. 
 I was received with as much attention as I 
 could desire, and a little more ; and, after I'e- 
 posing myself for some time, I set forth, and 
 mounted up to the church-yard of V evay. 
 
 Whenever I arrive in a village or town, one 
 of my first lions is that spot, where I have often 
 experienced much more pleasure than if T had 
 been toiling along gilded rooms or stately gar- 
 dens: — the still silence which prevails, inter- 
 rupted only by the tinkling of the sheep-bell ; 
 G 5 
 
130 
 
 JOUIINAL 
 
 the stones shining in the sun, some with their 
 ahnost effaced histories, while others arc fresh 
 and black with the pride of new mortality ; 
 the simple grief of the peasant contrasted with 
 the lengthy lamentation inscribed upon the 
 loftier tomb; all these things afford, to me 
 at least, ample room and range enough for 
 passing many an hour. 
 
 But every one who professes to admire the 
 grand scenes of Nature, must visit the church- 
 yard of Vevay. When 1 reached it, the sun had 
 ust set ; the evening was still, and the boats I 
 had seen in the afternoon were slowly making 
 their way towards Villeneuve. The lake was 
 now shut in by high projecting points, and 1 
 seemed to have penetrated into all its secrets. 
 Chillon, Clarens, looked white and silent, and 
 ^me lights began to glimmer in tlie opposite 
 little town of St. Gingoulph. Could I have 
 had Rousseau for my companion at that mo- 
 ment. I should have been content — others 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 181 
 
 might have ridiculed my feeUngs. Then, just 
 where the mountains, retreating on both sides, 
 leave a chasm, through which the infant Rhone 
 flows into the lake, rose up. Alp upon Alp, peak 
 upon peak, the august glaciers of the Valais; 
 — there they were, wrapped in their snowy man- 
 tles, standing and seeming to look at me, I 
 declare to you, that the sight of those solemn 
 forms, between which and me a great gulf was 
 fixed, made me tremble. Had I known that 
 amid their frightful depths some desperate deed 
 of wickedness was then perpetrating, I could 
 not have felt more dread than I did then in 
 looking at them. And presently the calm moon 
 came forth, and the shaggy mountains bright- 
 ened, and the lake rolled in light, and the gla- 
 ciers looked Hke the ghosts of the world, wan 
 and misty. 
 
 I remained, I know not how long, enjoying 
 this magnificent view, when I heard a noise 
 close to me. I turned, and there stood a man, 
 
132 JOURNAL 
 
 who observed to me, that I seemed to admire 
 the prospect. I replied, that I did indeed; 
 and we began to talk about the town and 
 its inhabitants, and the surrounding country. 
 " We are very happy/' said he, " our government 
 is much Hked, and we thrive well with our little 
 trade in watches. We are much better off than 
 we used to be under the Bernois, to whom 
 this Canton formerly belonged; but in the Re- 
 volution we were made independent." And here, 
 by the way, let me remark to you a circum- 
 stance which has always struck me as singular, 
 and as at once demonstrating the vast effects of 
 the French Revolution: — Upon the Continent, 
 whenever I have conversed with persons con- 
 cerning it, whether they were Italians, or Swiss, 
 or Germans, or Dutch, it is sufficient if we say, 
 in spenking of that terrible period, " the Revo- 
 lution," which is at once understood, just as an 
 inhabitant of Lisbon may be supposed to say 
 ' the Earthquake." 
 
OF AX EX1I,E. 133 
 
 Continuing the conversation witli the same 
 person, I talked of General Ludlow, wiio is 
 buried in the church of Vevay. The stern 
 republican would not lay his bones in his own 
 country, since there were kings within it again; 
 but preferred the free soil of Switzerland, the 
 country of WilHam Tell, who had freed his 
 country from tyranny, without becoming after- 
 wards its oppressor. Ludlow came over to Eng- 
 land to offer his services to William against 
 James the Second, a curious instance of animo- 
 sity towards the son of Charles the First ; and 
 not unlike the subsequent conduct of Moreau, 
 who, though as determined a republican as the 
 rest, united himself with the Allied Sovereigns, 
 against his own country. I presently wished the 
 person good night, and went to my inn. 
 
 Next morning, before leaving Vevay, I went 
 once more to the church-yard, to take a farewell 
 view of the lake I might never see again, and 
 which, if 1 ever did, I might behold with other 
 
134 JOURNAL 
 
 and colder feelings. I might be old, or harassed 
 by disease, and the enthusiasm of my youthful 
 days would perhaps, and probably, be looked 
 upon in the same contemptuous light with which 
 others may regard it now. My favourite poet 
 Beattie, in his Minstrel, alludes to this melan- 
 choly change in our tastes. 
 
 Yet, at the darken'd age, the wither'd face. 
 
 Or hoary hair, I never will repine, 
 
 But spare, OTime! whate'er of mental grace, 
 
 Of candour, love, or sympathy divine, 
 
 Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is mine. 
 
 I continued my route towards Friburg, as- 
 cending the deep gorge at the entrance of wliich 
 Vevay is placed. I will not fatigue your atten- 
 tion by recounting to you all that occurred to 
 me, in detail, during the rest of my journey. 
 
 The remembrance of that ramble is even now 
 fresh and delightful to my mind ; but the rela- 
 
OF AN KXILK. 
 
 135 
 
 tioii of it might be tedious to others, who may, 
 perhaps, not see things in the same way as my- 
 self. The singular town of Friburg, half French, 
 half German, with its rocks, banks, and its roman- 
 tic river; the Spanish-looking Berne, with its 
 long colonnaded street and its terrace, from 
 whence the magnificent chain of the German 
 Alps is distinctly seen, with the towering Yung 
 Frau, hke some mighty Amazon Queen ; and the 
 gi-aceful cap o^ ihe Bernoise women, looking like 
 a dark airy butterfly spreading its filmy wings 
 above their heads. 
 
 But let me not forget to mention the worthy 
 host at the Abbaye des Gentilhommes, where I 
 lodged. He is indefatigable in his attention, 
 and persons who travel like myself, should 
 always go to his house. The sounding title 
 need not affright them, for the charges are 
 very moderate, and there is no other house in 
 Berne where a person, who wishes to be re- 
 
156 JOURNAL 
 
 spectably, and at the same time moderately 
 lodged, can go. 
 
 The next canton to Berne is Soleure, a Ca- 
 tholic one, and the difFei'ence was striking ; 
 beggars and bigotry staring you in the face 
 in every street. Then came Basle, the capi- 
 tal of which I reached after crossing a part of 
 the Jura, called the Ober Hauenstein, which se- 
 parates the ancient bishoprick from Switzerland. 
 
 There is a curious legend attached to a clock 
 upon the bridge at Basle, which is always half 
 an hour too fast. Some plot had been laid 
 against the city, and a body of armed men 
 were to have been admitted at a certain hour of 
 the night; but the plot was discovered. This 
 clock, which was to give the signal of attack, 
 happened to be half an hour too fast, and the 
 party, that was to have been silently admitted, 
 having shewn itself before the appointed time, 
 was observed, and baffled. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 137 
 
 From Basle I passed on to Strasburgh, and 
 Baden, buried in woods and rocks, and teeming 
 with gay company and baths, witli its castle 
 perched upon the green cliffs above. Within 
 this castle there was once a terrible dungeon, 
 deep and dark, called the Virgin's Embrace; 
 above it was a trap-door, upon which if any one 
 stepped, he fell instantly down into the deadly 
 gulf. Some years ago a dog had fallen in, and 
 in extricating him, remnants of clothes and 
 bones, and instruments of torture, were found. 
 
 From Baden, where neither my health nor my 
 finances required me to stay, since the former was 
 good, but the latter rather ailing, I continued 
 my walk by llastadt, a small city where there is 
 a- great brick palace belonging to the Duke of 
 Baden, in which, I believe, he never resides. 
 From thence I proceeded to Carlsruhe, which 
 is a beautiful little toy of a capital. The streets 
 are all straight as arrows, and in their disposi- 
 tion not unlike those of Nancy, in Lorraine. 
 
138 JOOHNAL 
 
 There is a very handsome royal chateau, and 
 some pretty gardens, to which, they told me, the 
 Grand Duke himself paid particular attention. 
 The court was not then there, and I f'eh no 
 great curiosity to see the palace. 
 
 Shortly after quitting Carlsruhe, the following 
 morning, in my way to Heidelberg, I was over- 
 taken by a female peasant, who asked me her way 
 to that place. I had begun to acquire some little 
 acquaintance with the German language, but not 
 enough to pass for a German ; so she discovered 
 by my stammering, that I was a foreigner. 81 je 
 made out, however, that I was going to Heidel- 
 berg, and seemed disposed that we should conti- 
 nue our route together. She insisted on carrying 
 a small packet which I had in my hand, and 
 which had replaced the defunct knapsack. So 
 on we trudged, conversing in German, God 
 knows how ! and I thought that my friends in 
 England would smile a little, if they could see me 
 thus attended. She was an excellent walker, and 
 
OF AK EXILE. 139 
 
 when we reached Bruchsal, she told me that she 
 was going to a friend's to breakfast, and would 
 wait for me. 
 
 I had begun to be rather annoyed by the 
 acquaintance I had formed, as I saw one or two 
 persons smile, rather sarcastically I thought, as 
 they passed us ; so 1 went to an inn, deter- 
 mining, after my breakfast, to cut her, as 
 they say. 1 procured my bread and milk, 
 and after paying very moderately, I proceeded ; 
 but. to my great displeasure, I saw my friend 
 waiting for me at some distance, beyond the 
 town. 
 
 I was determined, however, to break off 
 this singular connexion ; and when I reached 
 her, told her, rather abruptly, that she had bet- 
 ter hasten on, for that I meant to linger along 
 the road, and should probably not reach Heidel- 
 berg till late. She seemed very unwilling to go, 
 but at last she did, casting occasionally some 
 kind looks at me, as she gradually disappeared. 
 
140 JOURXAL 
 
 I mention this circumstance to you to show that 
 the pedestrian is in the way of meeting with in- 
 finitely more novel circumstances, than could 
 ever possibly happen to the rich traveller in car- 
 riages. I reached Heidelberg in the afternoon, 
 and proceeded to the inn I think they call 
 the Cour de Bade. I dined at the table d'hote, 
 and there I was myself again, for I found per- 
 sons who spoke French. After dinner I mounted 
 the rock, upon which the ruins of the old Pala- 
 tine Castle stand in green and beautiful decay. 
 
 Passing along the corn-market, and ascend- 
 ing by a path winding gently up the mountain, 
 I arrived at these charming ruins; and from 
 among them enjoyed a magnificent view of the 
 Neckar, that was coming down from among the 
 rich vine-clothed hills of the valley, to pay its 
 tribute to the mighty Rhine. 
 
 The beautiful bridge that unites the two 
 banks was covered with peasants, who were 
 hastening away to some villageye^e; and beyond 
 
OF AN EXILK. 141 
 
 it, far away in the horizon, were the wide shores 
 that border the Rhine before its retreat into the 
 dark mountain of Bingen, bounded by the blue 
 Vosges mountains, which stretch into the old 
 bishoprick of Spire from xVlsace. 
 
 I entered the ruins by the gate of Elizabeth, 
 which takes its name from the unfortunate 
 daughter of James the First, who, like the rest of 
 her line, was fated to know all the miseries of de- 
 throned royalty. 
 
 A beautiful terrace, planted with flowers and 
 trees, first presents itself; and a large tower, in 
 Avhich were two niches, containing the colossal 
 and ivy-covered statues of two of the old Princes 
 Palatine, of Louis the Pacific, and of the un- 
 happy Frederick, who might have been named 
 the sufferer, wandering, as he did, with his wife 
 in almost beggary. 
 
 I rambled over the ruins till evening, and 
 supped there ; for I found that a family had 
 taken up their abode in a part of them, and I 
 
142 JOURNAL 
 
 procured some delicious milk, that was brought 
 out from the cool vaults of the castle. As I sat 
 amid the turrets and mouldering halls, I re- 
 flected upon the very different scenes that pro- 
 bably presented themselves there, before the 
 scythe of time and of war had swept over the 
 now desolate pavements. The fair Elizabeth 
 had, perhaps, presided at the costly banquet 
 that had glittered within the hall of knights, 
 whose rich front I could see from my seat, little 
 thinking that she would ever be compelled to 
 ask assistance from her father, and be denied it ; 
 and still less, that the arch and banner, which 
 spread above her, would be as now they are. 
 
 Instead of the dance and the song and the 
 tournament, that had oft been held within the 
 Ducal Castle, there were now but the low 
 murmuring of the Neckar, the warbling of the 
 birds that seemed to rejoice amid the ruins, 
 and the monotonous humming of the wheel, as 
 the woman who had given me the milk, sat 
 
OF AN EXILE. 148 
 
 spinning. The reflections which thus arose 
 within me, I ventured to throw into verse, 
 and if you will listen to them as a friend, 
 and not a critic, I will repeat them," I said, 
 " I am not one of the ^ Judex damnatur cum 
 ttocens ahsolvitur ;'' pray let me hear them ;"" and 
 he went on : — 
 
 Ye that hither come to gaze 
 
 On the pomp of vanish'd days. 
 
 Think that once these halls were gay. 
 
 Where the long grass waves to-day ; 
 
 Where the bird hath made her nest 
 
 Many an eye hath sunk to rest ; 
 
 Many a maid from turret height 
 
 Hath look'd for her long-delaying knight; 
 And the trumpet hath sounded, and call'd to the list. 
 And the warrior his gauntlet to beauty hath kiss'd ; 
 And the harper the chords of enchantment hath swept. 
 And a queen, at the ballad of sorrow, hath wept; 
 And the dance hath resounded, and minstrels have sung. 
 But mute is their melody, silent their tongue ! — 
 
144 JOURNAL 
 
 And the queen and her grandeur are low in the grave j 
 And where men ever revell'd, the trees ever wave ; 
 Then remember that ye will be passing away, 
 And forget not to-morrow the scene of to-day. 
 
 As I was returning through the garden, I saw 
 in a small retired spot, almost concealed by the 
 trees and ruins, a tea-table set out with all its 
 appurtenances, as the lawyers would say, and 
 looking just like the preparation for the same 
 feast in our country. The Germans, indeed, 
 resemble the English very much in their habits 
 of living; being as opposite to the French as 
 ourselves in the chief customs of society. In- 
 stead of all the machinery of French dishes, 
 they have generally plain solid food like our- 
 selves ; the higher families may live, per- 
 haps, in the French style, as is the case in 
 England ; but it is not among the higher 
 classes of a country that the true national 
 tastes and manners are to be sought for. We 
 
OF AN' EXILK. 145 
 
 must look for them where affectation and ex- 
 cessive refinement have not reached, as we 
 must dig deep beneath the surface of an ar- 
 tificial garden to discover the true nature of 
 the soil. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
146 JOtTRNAl. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 It was in the evening, continued my friend, 
 that I was nearly involved in the dispute which 
 I have before mentioned to you, with one of the 
 illustrious students of Heidelberg. This Univer- 
 sity is, I believe, the most ancient in Germany. 
 It was founded, I understand, by Robert, the first 
 Count Palatine of the Rhine; and its regula- 
 tions somewhat resemble those of our Univer- 
 sities. The Grand Duke of Baden, to whom 
 the Palatinate now belongs, is the Rector, The 
 direction of the University is intrusted to a Coun- 
 cil and a Senate. The first is composed only 
 of five or six persons, and the other, of all 
 the Professors, Then there are Professors who 
 are appointed to superintend the morals of 
 
OF AN EXILE. 147 
 
 the students, resembling in some degree our 
 Proctors; and a Bailiff, who has the same muni- 
 cipal authority as the Vice-Chancellors of the 
 respective Universities. 
 
 Quitting Heidelbei-g, I continued my route 
 bv Darmstadt, with its musical Duke, and Frank- 
 fort, with its unmusical merchants, to Mayence, 
 where I arrived upon the third day. There I 
 proposed embarking myself, and going dowH 
 the Rhine as far as Cologne. 
 
 Mayence is an old city, and contains an old 
 cathedral ; it is famous for hams, and that is all 
 I can tell you about it, except a curious story 
 of one of its Bishops. He was originally the son 
 of a carter, and used to drive his father's team. 
 By the turns of the wheel he became Arch- 
 bishop of Mayence ; and in order to perpetuate 
 the memory of his origin, he took for his arms 
 two cart-wheels, which are even now the arms 
 of the city. 
 
148 JuUKNAL 
 
 W'e left Maycnce early in the morning, 
 and glided slowly along between the flat banks, 
 where the river seems making an orderly re- 
 treat into the dark fastnesses. We passed Hock- 
 heim, of which I need say nothing, as you of 
 course have heard of the wines which take their 
 name from it ; and gradually floated on till 
 the dark rocks of Bingen seemed opening to re- 
 ceive us. 
 
 We swept by the rippling whirlpool, and 
 the gloomy tower of Hatton, to which is at- 
 tached a singular legend. An Abbot of Hat- 
 ton, who became afterwards Archbishop of 
 Mayence, had, they say, in a great famine, 
 refused assistance to his hungry diocesans ; 
 and when they came about his palace, he 
 would laugh, and exclaim, " Hark, how the 
 I'ats squeak !" But vengeance was to over- 
 take him ! For, some time after, like the king 
 whose miseries made Whittmgton's fortune, 
 
OF AN KXILE. 149 
 
 his palace became infested with rats to such a 
 degree, that he was obliged to fly from it, 
 and build the tower which lies below Bingen. 
 There, however, he found no refuge ; for the 
 rats pursued him, scaled his castle-walls, and 
 devoured him alive ! His spirit is said to ap- 
 pear occasionally upon the tower, in a mist. 
 
 You have doubtless read descriptions of the 
 noble scenery of the Rhine, both in poetry 
 and prose. Whatever you have read must 
 convey a very inadequate idea of its real 
 beauty, which may be truly called by a name 
 which is so often used unintelligibly — Romantic. 
 
 The Genius of Romance seems to brood over 
 the dark defile, surrounded by her ruinous towers 
 and arches, and spirit-haunted hills. Every 
 vine-clad rock has its legend ; and the boatman, 
 as we drove down with the fleet current, sung 
 me the following song, which I have written 
 down, and which I will read to you. It is 
 
150 JOURNAL 
 
 founded on a legend attached to an old castle 
 on the borders of the Rhingau, called Lorch. 
 Its Baron was very avaricious, and one night 
 refused admittance to an old man, wlio had 
 requested it, during a storm. The old man 
 was, (so says the legend,) in truth, a spirit, 
 and in revenge spirited away the Baron's 
 daughter up to a high cliff called Kedrick, 
 perfectly inaccessible. A young Knight, who 
 dwelt near, undertook to deliver her ; but was 
 returning in despair from the perpendicular pre- 
 cipice, when he was accosted by an old woman, 
 who gave him a little bell, and told him to go to 
 a cavern in the wood, where her brother lived, 
 and say that she sent him for a ladder as high as 
 the Kedrick. The Knight obtained the ladder, 
 and subsequently the lady. The boatman gave 
 to his tale the name of 
 
OF AN EXILE. 151 
 
 THE DEVIL'S LADDER. 
 
 Now list to my story, now list to my song, 
 
 As our bark it glides merrily down ; 
 And when 1 have done, for it 's passably long, 
 
 We shall anchor at Bacharach town. 
 
 Tiie Lords of the Rhingau are wealthy and great, 
 
 And their castles are lofty and bright ; 
 And they live, as they should, in their princely estate. 
 
 And their halls are a glorious sight. 
 
 For the Heidelberg tun could never contairj 
 
 The wine that flows merrily there ; 
 And the dainty wild boar, that the hunters have slain. 
 
 Will give each happy vassal his share. 
 
 But the Baron of Lorch is a cross-grain'd churl, 
 
 And his heart is as cold as his hall ; 
 For though he 's as rich as the Nassau Earl, 
 
 His cheer is the worst of all. 
 
 Now list to my story, now list to my song, 
 
 As our bark it glides merrily down ; 
 And when I have done, for it's passably long. 
 
 We shall anchor at Bacharach town. 
 
152 JOURNAL 
 
 The winds they did howl, and the trees they did rock, 
 And the night it was dismal and wild ; 
 
 And the Abbot of Hatton, by Dinger Loch, 
 Looked over the whirlpool and smiled ; — 
 
 The winds they did howl, and the trees they did rock. 
 
 And the Baron of Lorch he said. 
 Now who is the fool that so loud doth knock ? 
 
 May the thunderbolt fall on his head ! 
 
 And the Baron he look'd through the wicket gate. 
 And he thought to have seen a Knight; 
 
 But a little old man on the ground there sate. 
 With a beard both long and white ; — 
 
 And the little white man he moan'd and he wept, 
 And his face it was wrinkled and old ; 
 
 And the wind, as it whistled and over him swept. 
 Made him shiver and shake with the cold. 
 
 " Now open, now open, my Baron, so good," 
 
 The poor old man then said, 
 " And give me some warmth, and some kindly food. 
 
 Or ere morning 1 shall be dead." 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 153 
 
 But the Baron was vex'd that his sleep was broke, 
 
 And thus in wrath he cried : 
 "You may sleep in your beard, it will serve for a cloak. 
 
 And many, your betters, have died." 
 
 Then the little old man he grinn'd and he frown'd, 
 
 And his eyes they grew terribly bright. 
 And he mutter'd, as slowly he rose from the ground, 
 
 " You shall pay for your insolent spite!" 
 
 The vines they are fresh in the morning air. 
 
 And the birds they do sing so sweet. 
 And the board is spread with the scanty fare, 
 
 And the Baron hath taken his seat. 
 
 But his daughter, and eke his only child. 
 
 Obeys not the castle-bell's peal ; 
 And the Baron in mirth and in mockery smiled. 
 
 As he finish'd the whole of the meal. 
 
 Rut the day wears on, and the sun is high. 
 
 And Imogen still delays. 
 And her father begins to wonder why 
 
 In her chamber so long she stays. 
 H 5 
 
154 JOURNAL 
 
 And loudly he calls, " Come, linger no more !'' 
 
 As he stands on the castle-stair; 
 And quickly he mounts to her chamber door. 
 
 But Imogen is not there. 
 
 And the day wears on, and the sun is set. 
 And the mountains are blue and still. 
 
 But Imogen's step delayeth yet — 
 And long delay it will. 
 
 For the peasants have told to the Baron their tale : 
 
 How, as day began to break. 
 They had seen what had made their cheeks turn pale. 
 
 And their limbs with dread to quake : — 
 
 In his wither'd arms, a little old man 
 
 A fair young girl did bear ; 
 And up the Kedrick's cliff he ran. 
 
 As if it had been a stair. 
 
 Then the Baron his forehead in terror cross'd. 
 
 And thus, appall'd, he said, 
 " Now Christ be good, or my daughter's lost ! 
 
 'Twas the Spirit of Kedrick's head." 
 
OF AN EXILE. 155 
 
 And many a weary day and night 
 
 Did the desolate father pass ; 
 And his altar with many a lamp was bright, 
 
 And his priests said many a mass. 
 
 The song was so long, continued my friend, 
 that I only wrote down the most material parts. 
 Ruthelm, the Knight, returns from battle ; 
 hears of the disappearance of the Baron's daugh- 
 ter, and hastens to her rescue. In this he is as- 
 sisted by the old Fairy, w;/o sends him to the 
 carpenter, her relation, for a ladder as high as 
 the mountain where the damsel is detained. 
 
 Then his horn the little old carpenter blew, 
 
 That echoed the woods among. 
 And straight a wild and a dwarfish crew 
 
 Around began to throng. 
 
 And each little Imp had a saw and an axe. 
 Such as carpenters use, but much lessj] 
 
 And they look'd, as they straighten'd and set up their 
 backs. 
 Like mice in a masquerade dress. 
 
156 JOURNAL 
 
 Then the carpenter master he said to the knight, 
 " Hie away to your home and your bed ! 
 
 But be sure that you come by the first day-light 
 To the foot of old Kedrick Head." 
 
 And Ruthelm is sitting his castle within, 
 But he watches till morning appears ; 
 
 For his heart is awake, and the hammering din 
 Of the carpenters rings in his ears. 
 
 But soon as the stars began to go out. 
 
 And the rooks began to caw. 
 He heard no more of the carpenter rout. 
 
 And still was every saw. 
 
 And quick to old Kedrick's Head he hath leapt. 
 
 And there stood a ladder as tall 
 As the ladder which Jacob saw when he slept. 
 
 That is painted on our church-wall. 
 
 Then up young Uuthelm nimbly did creep, 
 
 And soon the top did reach. 
 And there amid flowers and silk did sleep 
 
 A maid, like a Dresden peach. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 157 
 
 And Ruthelm bends down to her cheek, and sighs. 
 
 And his breath it was burning, sure. 
 For the maiden hath open'd her deep-blue eyes. 
 
 And their beams he could scarce endure. 
 
 But a little old man on a sudden appear'd. 
 
 And he frown'd upon the knight. 
 And he mutter'd, " Who is it that thus hath dared 
 
 To scale my castle's height ? " 
 
 Then Ruthelm low to the earth did bend. 
 
 And the story he faithfully told, 
 How the little old dwarf to the wood did him send. 
 
 And made his hands so bold. 
 
 Then the little old man he laugh'd, with a wink. 
 And he said, with a cunning grin, 
 " Ho ! ho ! my fine Sir, you are modest, I think, — 
 You must labour before you can win. 
 
 " Go back, my young spark, since your love is so fast. 
 By the way you so nimbly have come ; 
 
 " And ere the last steps of the ladder you 've past 
 Your bride shall be safe in her home." 
 
158 JOUENAL 
 
 And the little old man his promise hath kept. 
 
 For safe in her home is the bride ; 
 And the Baron, that long in his hopelessness wept. 
 
 Hath forgot all his sorrow and pride. 
 
 And the old castle rings with the shouts of the cooks. 
 And there's plenty ofBacharach wine ; 
 
 And the dainty young bride, in her white veil, looks 
 As soft and as staltlich as mine. 
 
 Now there is my story, now there is my song. 
 And our bark hath gone merrily down, — 
 
 'Tis as well I have done, as 'twas passably long, 
 For we anchor at Bacharach town. 
 
 Bacharach, where we stopped to dine, is a 
 remarkable town. Its name would seem to de- 
 note a place peculiar for its excellent wines, 
 if it be indeed a corruption, as some assert, of 
 Arra Bacchi ; but that reputation is much past 
 by, and it must be content with being one of 
 the most beautifully situated of the Rhenish 
 bourgs. Its ancient walls spread along the 
 banks of the river, high mountains rise up be- 
 
OF AN EXILK. 159 
 
 hind it, and upon one of the lower heights, 
 stand the ruins of the fief of Staleck. Close 
 to it are those of the old church of Saint 
 Werner, which was consecrated to an infant 
 martyr, whom the Jews murdered, and cast into 
 the Rhine, but who floated upon its surface 
 against the current as far as Bacharach. 
 
 The view from Staleck is noble : the river seems 
 to have just escaped from its defile, and spreads 
 itself wider and slower, before forming another 
 of those magic bends which suddenly display 
 to the delighted eye fresh beauties of rock 
 and vine, and frequent feudal towers, where 
 " ruin greenly dwells." A small island lay in 
 the middle, a short distance below Bacharach, 
 with its little church, and a huge dark cUff 
 projected itself into the water just opposite. 
 After enjoying this prospect for some time, I 
 descended : our boat was ready, and we pro- 
 ceeded on our course. But why should I fa- 
 tigue you with a long detail of places which 
 
IGO 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 you never saw, and the beauty of which, it is 
 impossible for you to conceive from my descrip- 
 tion ? Echoing rocks with their Siren legends, 
 white whirlpools, majestic vine-covered heights, 
 monasteries and towers, and old towns and ca- 
 thedrals, crowning the wild and wooded banks; 
 the castled crag of Drackenfels looking out 
 upon the wide ocean-like plains of the low 
 countries, and the shattered Ehrenbreitstein 
 emulating its baronial and decaying neighbours 
 in untimely ruin. 
 
 " But peace destioy'd what war could never blight." 
 
 The river, after Bonn, becomes stale, flat, 
 and unprofitable, like some poet, who, in his 
 younger and more romantic days, teems with no- 
 ble and sublime images, but gradually subsides 
 into tameness and sluggishness. I followed 
 its course, however, as far as Cologne, where 
 I saw the famous picture of the Crucifixion 
 of St. Peter, with the head downwards. It is 
 
OK AN EXILE. 161 
 
 one that made me shudder, and ahnost feel 
 giddy. The intense torture that such a death 
 must produce, is starting and swelling in every 
 vein of the countenance. 
 
 I had always thought, till, from the inquiries 
 I made upon the subject, I found my mistake, 
 that Cologne had been under the dominion for- 
 merly of the Elector of that name ; but it would 
 appear that his authority was as much con- 
 temned and resisted by its inhabitants, as that of 
 the Bishop of Liege was by the fierce Liegois. 
 The Elector's palace and residence was at Bonn, 
 about six leagues from Cologne ; and, in spite of 
 his struggles to obtain political influence within 
 the city, I believe he never succeeded. 
 
 Cologne is a large ancient place, and is well 
 known by its legend of the Eleven Thousand Vir- 
 «yins. I quitted it the same day I arrived there, 
 and continued my route by Juliers and Aix-la- 
 Chapelle, and the huge city of Liege, where I 
 was surprised to see vines. 
 
162 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 I directed mj course towards Brussels; but my 
 old failing began now to beset me,— my funds tot- 
 tered, and my shoes signified their fatigue to me 
 by sundry gapings and yawns. I had expected 
 that they would both have lasted me out to 
 Brussels; but, like faithless friends, they were 
 now evidently become less warm and bountiful. 
 I wrote, therefore, to Boulogne, where I had a 
 credit, and requested that some money might be 
 sent to me to Brussels. I then furnished myself 
 with a pair of shoes, quitting the others with 
 as much regret as ever afflicted any antiquary at 
 the loss of his most precious relique ; and con- 
 tinued my journey in tranquillity, till within 
 a short distance of Brussels. Then, recollect- 
 ing the old maxim, — when you have no money 
 never seem to have none, but assume a rich 
 and important air, — I determined upon putting 
 myself into the diligence, and entering Brussels 
 in state; because my finances were in that 
 condition, that as some days must elapse before 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 163 
 
 my remittance could arrive, I should be obliged 
 to live at an inn, without thinking of the bill. 
 I therefore, Machiavel like, concluded that, by 
 seeming to arrive in the diligence, I should 
 blind every body as to the real condition of my 
 purse, and be a gentilhomme qui voyageoit pour 
 son plaisivy and wished to pass a few days in 
 the city where he had friends. 
 
 When I arrived at Brussels, I proceeded di- 
 rectly to a neighbouring inn, and though my 
 appearance was not very splendid, and my bag- 
 gage slight, yet I hoped, as coming by the dili- 
 gence, that the people of the house would not 
 suspect the state of my finances. 
 
 I was received very well ; and after depositing 
 my effects in my room, I descended to my din- 
 ner, which I had ordered. I finished it and the 
 best part of a bottle of wine, and strolled after- 
 wards about the town : I had been there before, 
 so, as there was nothing particularly interesting 
 to me in it, I returned and went to bed. Next 
 
164 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 morning, after breakfast, as I was lounging out of 
 the court-yard of the inn, the waiter presented 
 himself civilly enough, and presented the bill, 
 stating that it was customary for persons who had 
 little baggage, to pay daily for what they had 
 eaten. I felt myself turn pale ; but, determined 
 to put as good a face upon the matter as I could, 
 I marched into the house, and summoned the 
 landlord. When he appeared, I expressed my 
 surprise at this extraordinary mode of treating 
 persons in his house. But the man was not to 
 be daunted : he replied, " that he had lost a 
 great deal of money lately by my countrymen, — 
 proh pndor ! and that he had determined to be 
 more cautious in future." There was now no 
 parrying the adventure : — so, taking out all the 
 silver that I had left, and which did not quite 
 meet the amount of the bill, I said, " the mo- 
 ney I had expected to find here awaiting me 
 has not arrived, consequently I am unable to 
 discharge your account entirely." "Ho! ho I"" 
 
OF AX EXILE. 165 
 
 said the innkeeper, as if all his worst suspicions 
 were at once confirmed, " it's just as I thought ; 
 — this comes of your pedestrian travellers ;'' for 
 he had some how discovered my diligence 
 plot. '• John/' speaking to the waiter, ""go up 
 stairs and bring down the gentleman's bag- 
 gage," laying a particular and sarcastic stress 
 upon the latter word. John departed, and re- 
 turned bearing my two shirts, my guide-book, 
 my razors, my journal, and two or three other 
 trifles. The innkeeper laid his hand upon them, 
 and said, " These I shall keep as pledges, for 
 the payment of the rest of your account."" I 
 made him no reply, but immediately quitted the 
 house, with nothing in my pocket except a col- 
 lection of Views in Switzerland, that I had 
 luckily put there before. 
 
 My situation was singular : I was a perfect 
 stranger in a foreign city, without the only use- 
 ful passport, money. I wandered about the 
 whole of the day, and towards evening contrived 
 
166 JOURNAL 
 
 to dispose of my Swiss Views to a print-seller, 
 for a small sum. with which I hoped to hold out 
 till my money arrived, I passed the night in a 
 small inn, and the next day breakfasted there. 
 The people of the house were, notwithstanding 
 the indifference of my toilet, extremely respect- 
 ful to me; and the woman, I recollect, would 
 insist that I had only come there by way of a 
 frolic, and that I was Homebody. She did not, 
 however, give me any credit for my quality, as 
 I was obliged punctually to pay for all I had, 
 before quitting the house. 
 
 Three days more passed in this way. I was 
 obliged to give up my breakfasts of coffee, as 
 the delay about my money was so extraordinary, 
 that I began to fear it had miscarried, and that 
 the term of my perplexities would be indefinite : 
 and at last, the night preceding its arrival, I was 
 obliged to give up my bed, and I passed the 
 night in roaming about the city, and, when it 
 came on to rain, sheltered myself beneath the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 167 
 
 porch of the church, in the Place Royale, from 
 whence I could see the windows of the Hotel 
 Bellevue, where a year before I had lodged 
 comme iin Seigneur. Yet amidst the cold and 
 rain that were about me, I thought of Waterloo, 
 and murmured not. I thought of the night 
 when so many of my brave and useful country- 
 men were " mounting in hot haste," and called 
 away from beauty and music to slaughter and 
 hardship ! Was I then to complain of my paltry 
 inconveniences, when the rich and titled soldier 
 had suffered far worse? To be sure, I had not 
 the rich banks of the Saone to sleep among, nor 
 the nightingale's song to while away the night ; 
 but I was young and healthy, and the next 
 morning was myself, that is to say, le Geiitil- 
 homvie again. 
 
 I proceeded on directly to Boulogne, where I 
 arrived on the second day. I had friends there, 
 having stayed a few days in that town before ; so 
 I proceeded to my old quarters, the house of a 
 
168 JOURNAL 
 
 very respectable and worthy Bourgeois, where I 
 boarded. They were all happy to see me, and 
 the recital of my past miseries made them smile. 
 I then set forth to search for a friend who I 
 knew resided in the town ; and making inquiry of 
 a Frenchman who was standing near the custom- 
 house, he civilly informed me that my friend 
 was at the Hotel (VAnfrleterre. Straightway I 
 proceeded into the Rue de I'Ecu, which is the 
 longest street, leading down to the harbour ; and 
 entering the court-yard of the Hotel cV ./Ingleterie, 
 temie par veuve Parker^ I asked for my friend. 
 He was not there, and never had been. What 
 could this mean .? I quitted the house, and see- 
 ing the same Frenchman again, I repeated to 
 him my question, but he still persisted in his 
 account. It was very strange that this man 
 should be so positive ; and I was going back to 
 the Veuve ParTcer^ when an Englishman passed 
 me accompanied by two men, that 1 concluded 
 to be commissioners, conducting him to his 
 
OF AN EXILE. 169 
 
 hotel. As they passed, I saw two or three 
 Frenchmen smile, and heard them say, " Ma 
 fox ! r autre Hotel d'Angleterre va Men mainte 
 nant, voild une nouvelle arrivee.'"' Ho ! ho ! said 1 
 to myself, we are quite safe. The Veuve Parker, 
 it seems, has an opponent, there's the secret ; and 
 I followed the three persons. The new arrival 
 I concluded to be an arrival of consequence, for 
 every body, as he parsed, turned round to look 
 at him. It was, perhaps, our Ambassador, who 
 wished to patronize the new hotel. Its situation 
 however seemed inconvenient, as we were as- 
 cending to the higher town, which stands upon 
 a steep eminence, and is surrounded with ram- 
 parts. But as the noblesse and better families 
 were supposed to reside there, the new hotel, 
 probably, was under their protection. We con- 
 tinued to ascend ; and after passing through the 
 old gate and across some streets, we stopped at 
 a long wall, and close to a wooden door. It 
 was a singular position for an inn, but as the, 
 
 VOL. II. I 
 
170 JOURNAL 
 
 noblesse like to live in houses shut in by walls, 
 I concluded that the inn had been built upon 
 the same plan. A sentinel stood near the door, 
 out of respect, perhaps, to the distinguished 
 individual I was following. One of the men 
 knocked at the door, which was immediately 
 opened by a little dark man that somehow look- 
 ed very unlike a waiter, and the three persons 
 entered. I was proceeding to follow them, when 
 I was stopped by the httle dark waiter, as still 
 he must be, I thought, and asked whom I 
 wanted. I mentioned my friend's name, and 
 was directly admitted into a little court, on one 
 side of which was the porter's lodge, and straight 
 before me a large sohd door. I had not time 
 to speculate much upon the strange appearance 
 of the hotel, for the httle dark waiter opened 
 the huge door that was locked, too, and admitted 
 me into a court-yard. The scene that suddenly 
 met my eyes there completely confounded me. 
 Instead of a collection of persons of distinction. 
 
OF AS EXILE. 171 
 
 assembled probably in the gardens of the new 
 Hotel (TAngleterre^ I beheld a square yardi 
 along the right side of which ran a low building, 
 looking very like a parcel of cow-sheds. In one 
 corner of the court sat upon the ground two 
 wretched-looking men, half naked, at least with 
 nothing but trowsers, and torn shirts like sacks » 
 and they were devouring vnxh avidity some 
 worse than Spartan bread, and looked even 
 more degraded than Helots. Some persons, 
 whom I immediately recognized as Englishmen, 
 were walking backwards and forwards, seeming 
 as restless and unquiet as mice in their revolving 
 cages. Looking to my left, I perceived a kind 
 of garden surrounding an arbour, through the 
 trees of which I saw a small table and two or 
 three men sitting round it. I began now to 
 conjecture where I was. My friend had been 
 doing like so many others — hving at other peo- 
 ple's expense, and was now paying the necessary 
 penalty. He had observed me from the arbour 
 I 2 
 
172 JOURNAL 
 
 where he was sitting, and came out in consi- 
 derable confusion. We shook hands, and he ex- 
 plained to me the circumstances which had led 
 to his arrest ; but they were nothing but what 
 every body may guess. He did not ask me to 
 stay, nor did I feel very anxious to do so ; I 
 therefore quitted the Hotel d'Angleterre, struck 
 with mortification, and even grief, to find that 
 mv countrymen had, by their undignified and 
 dissolute conduct, brought this disgraceful stig- 
 ma upon the English name, and caused such a 
 significant title to be given to ihe prison civile 
 of Boulogne. 
 
 I continued to reside for some time at Bou- 
 logne. The family with whom I boarded was 
 extremely kind to me, and lived in the most 
 patriarchal and simple way. I was present at 
 all their fetes ; I partook of all their dainties, 
 not omitting the famous gateau de Mazarine, 
 which may have derived its title from the beau- 
 tiful duchess of that name, who was niece to 
 
OF AN EXILE. 173 
 
 Cardinal Mazarin. I liad accompanied a young 
 man, the son of my host, one day to the church 
 of Saint Nicholas, in the market-place, to see 
 the ceremony of the annual service for the un- 
 fortunate Louis the Sixteenth. When we were 
 returning, we met a lady whom the young 
 man knew, and to whom he introduced me. I 
 formed an intimacy with that lady ; and some 
 time after I happened to advert to the funeral 
 service at which I had been present, and to say 
 that I considered its celebration as impolitic and 
 dangerous ; since it might be considered as a 
 sort of perpetual reproof to the nation. " I am 
 rather of your opinion," replied the lady, " and 
 think that it would be better for all the crimes 
 and horrors of the terrible Revolution to be, if 
 possible, forgotten. I am sure I try to forget 
 all in which I was myself particularly concerned ; 
 and though I see daily some of the actors in 
 those dreadful scenes, I endeavour to avoid be- 
 traying any signs of disgust or recollection." 
 
174 JOURNAL 
 
 I felt anxious to know to what circumstances 
 my friend alluded, and told her so. 
 
 *' If you will come and take your coffee with 
 me to-morrow morning," said she, " I will re- 
 late to you the share which I had in the suffer- 
 ings which we all, I believe, more or less, un- 
 derwent." 
 
 The next day, accordingly, I was punctual 
 to my engagement ; and as we sat near the win- 
 dow of her house, which commanded a view of 
 the market-place in the high town, my friend 
 commenced her story. 
 
 "You see," said she, "that priest passing across 
 the market-place with the holy sacrament ; mark 
 how some of those fishwomen rise as he passes, 
 and cross themselves. I can remember the time 
 when the sight of such a man would have been 
 enough to make some of these very women howl 
 and rage like furies. That market-place, too, 
 which now looks so cheerful, filled as it is with 
 your countrymen, who now live here unmolested. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 175 
 
 was once the scene of blood and horror ! and I 
 myself, that am pointing it out to you, wonder 
 that I am alive to do so. The circumstances 
 which you have expressed a desire to hear, I 
 last night put down upon paper, and I will 
 now read them to you/' 
 
176 JOUKNAL 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " I WAS Still almost a child, when our dreadful 
 Revolution commenced. The first event which 
 I can recollect as having particularly impressed 
 itself upon my memory, is this: — Boulogne had 
 become, at the time to which I allude, a prey to 
 the wildest and most desperate of its inhabitants ; 
 and all religion and order were at an end. I 
 was then about sixteen, and at a school in a 
 street not far from where we are now. One day 
 there was a loud knocking at the gate of the 
 house, and presently one of the men that I had 
 been told was particularly active in the revolu- 
 tionary Committee, which was established in 
 Boulogne, came into the school-room, where we 
 all were. He was a shoemaker, and had been 
 employed by my father. He walked directly up 
 
OF AN EXILE. 177 
 
 tt) the schoolmistress, and said, " Citoyenric, the 
 Committee of PubUc Safety has sent me to signify 
 to you their commands, that your school be all 
 jjresent tomorrow at the burning of those Aris- 
 tocratic Saints, and at the^e^^ of Reason. We 
 are going to make a glorious bonfire of the old 
 puppets; and I hope the smell of them will 
 reach as far as the Austrians' prison; — that'^s what 
 1 call odour of sanctity ;*" and he burst into a 
 loud laugh. We were all too much alarmed at 
 the bold appearance of the man to betray any 
 signs of attention to what he was saying ; ijut 
 he came straight up to me, and took the book 
 which I had in my hands from me. " Ah ! ce.st 
 bien, ma petite^'*'' said he, pointing to the page of 
 the history that we happened to be reading. 
 " Read it attentively, and you will see how the 
 people can take off' a king's head as well as his 
 crown, when both are troublesome." I saw the 
 schoolmistress turn pale ; and as the man le- 
 turned me the book, I glanced over it, and pcr- 
 I 5 
 
178 JOURNAL 
 
 ceived that we happened just to have x-eached 
 the reign of your King Charles the First. " I 
 have become a very learned citizen lately,*" conti- 
 nued the man ; *' I have left my shop to my son. 
 Mafoi ! politics are the best trade : I had rather 
 make a constitution than a shoe any day. But 
 I must be off. Don't forget, citizen, to-morrow, 
 n)ark !"" and away he went humming 
 
 A 9a ira, 9a ira, tous les Aristocrats a la lanterne, 
 A 9a ira, 9a ira, les Aristocrats on les pendra ! 
 
 As soon as the last echoes of his voice had died 
 away, our mistress rose, and coming to each of us 
 separately, explained what the man meant, and 
 told us to pray all that night that our presence 
 at the wicked sacrilege might not make us sin- 
 ful. In those days, you know, Sir, we had much 
 more respect for such things than now; — a 
 great deal of nonsense was swept away with the 
 good and real ceremonies of our church ; and we 
 have recovered the latter without being anxious 
 
OF AN EXILE. 179 
 
 about the former. We all obeyed our mistress's 
 directions, however; and I remember now that 
 it was a curious sight to me, to see us all kneel- 
 ing, with our books, in the little chapel that was 
 close to the school, and which was just lighted 
 by a single lamp. There was something even 
 awful to me in this unusual circumstance ; and 
 it seemed as if we were all endeavouring to avert 
 some terrible calamity by our entreaties. 
 
 As soon as it was light, we heard the druD)s 
 of the National Guard rolling through the gates 
 of the town, and the bell of the Hotel ik 
 Ville, which is supposed to be prodigiously old, 
 and certainly, old as it was, never had tolled 
 for such a sight as was preparing. Presently 
 the terrible « ^a ira echoed under our win- 
 dows, and two or three of the fishwomen came 
 screaming by, and bawling out, '' A/lons ! allons! 
 citoyennes ! citoyemies ! the devil's mass is going 
 to begin ; and the Virgin will soon be a little 
 warmer than she was when stuck up in the old 
 
180 JOURNAL 
 
 cathedral ; allons ! allons /" and they beat with 
 their fists against the shutters. We dared not 
 delay any longer; so dressed in white frocks 
 and tri-coloured sashes, and preceded by our 
 mistress, we directed our steps towards that 
 very place which you are now looking upon. 
 When we reached it, Guche, the shoemaker, 
 was standing close to the door of the Hotel de 
 Ville, which we passed as we came upon the 
 place, surrounded by a mob of the most despe- 
 rate rabble of the town. 
 
 " Stand back !" said one of the wretches, that 
 seemed from his red cap and bare arms to be a 
 butcher ; " stand back there ! and let the aristo- 
 cratic lambs pass. There, my pretty one," said 
 the man to my companion, " you shall give me a 
 kiss for picking up your glove,"" and the dread- 
 ful wretch actually put his lips to her cheek. 
 My friend almost fainted, and the butcher, as 
 he perceived her disgust, growled out "■ D'lahle ! 
 what a mighty fuss about nothing; what will 
 
OF AN KXILE. 181 
 
 you cio if I choose you for my wife?" Guchc, 
 however, who still considered himself under 
 some obligations to my father, seeing that my 
 friend and myself were thus molested, called 
 from the steps on which he was standing, " Come, 
 come, Constant, let them alone now ; they are 
 not ready yet ; I will not forget you when we 
 divide the flock. But to business, to business ! 
 move on, move on there ! and take your seats, 
 girls." We passed on, and were conducted to a 
 large gallery, that was erected on one side of 
 the Hotel de Vilh, where we found all the other 
 schools of the town collected. In the middle of 
 the place was a great pile of wood, surrounded 
 by a railing, and encircled by a few of the Na- 
 tional Guard. Some of the firemen were sta- 
 tioned at a short distance, with their little engine ; 
 and upon the top of the pile of wood was fast- 
 ened a pole, surmounted by the tri-coloured flag 
 and the red cap. A great crowd of persons was 
 assembled all over the place, and extended down 
 
182 JOURNAL 
 
 through the gate as far as the Esplanade, which 
 you probably well know. We remained look- 
 ing at their preparations a short time, till our 
 attention was called to the approach of some 
 heavily-laden cart or carriage. The sound of 
 its creaking wheels gradually came nearer ; and 
 presently, amidst the shouts and yells of the 
 mob, a waggon slowly made its appearance, 
 drawn by four horses, decorated with tri- 
 coloured ribands, and escorted by a party of 
 the National Guard, We all hastily looked to- 
 wards our mistress as it turned the corner and 
 drew up near the pile, who made us a sign of 
 caution. And it was necessary, for, young and 
 innocent as we were then, the sight that met 
 our eyes was enough to have made children 
 like us weep ! Piled up in vast heaps, like 
 useless lumber, were all the pictures and images 
 and reliques that we had so long been accus- 
 tomed to reverence ; while upon the very top 
 of all was that famous effigy of the Virgin Mary, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 18S 
 
 that is said to have worked so many miracles. 
 What would her friend Louis the Eleventh 
 have said (he that dedicated our whole county 
 to her) if he hud seen her in that desperate si- 
 tuation ? But really, at that time, I myself was 
 much distressed ; and when I saw the whole wag- 
 gon-load thrown upon the pile, I felt a kind of 
 terrible presentiment of evil. The yells increased 
 as the wooden boxes and pieces of bone and bot- 
 tles and beads and pictures clattered down upon 
 the logs, and many of the mob commenced a 
 dance round the pile, as it began to send up 
 its smoke, and spread a strong smell around, 
 arising from the pitch, with which the saints 
 were covered, shouting, " There 's odour of sanc- 
 tity for you !" and singing that parody upon our 
 national air of Henri Quatre, which begins thus : 
 
 Aristocrats, 
 
 Vous voilii bien fichus, 
 Les Democrats 
 Vous meltent le pied au c — 1 
 Aristocrats. 
 
184 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 I could have wished my friend to continue the 
 song, but she had forgotten the rest; and, in- 
 deed, from the nature of its commencement, I 
 suspected that slie had chosen to do so ; as, 
 though Frenchwomen are not very particular 
 about the songs they sing, yet this was proba- 
 bly something that was too much even for them. 
 
 Guche, who appeared to take the lead in the 
 ceremony, (she continued,) now mounted upon a 
 scaifolding that was raised at a little distance 
 from the flaming pile, accompanied by a priest, 
 upon whose head was the red cap. He made 
 signals for silence, and having at last succeeded 
 in obtaining it, called out, " Ecouiez, citoyens ! 
 void un hon pr'itre, and a man that knows as 
 well how to patch souls as I shoes ; he will give 
 you a little bit of a sermon, and I warrant he 
 knows how to do it as he ought, else his new 
 wife won't save him from Madame la Guillotine." 
 
 I will not offend you by repeating the im- 
 pious ribaldry that this apostate uttered. I 
 
OF AX EXILE. 185 
 
 am no bigot, but cannot regard the man who 
 acts in direct opposition to the principles of 
 his rehgion, without contempt. This man was 
 one who had thus acted : — terrified by the 
 threats of the Committee, he had abjured his 
 former cehbacy, had married, and continued to 
 preach, but in derision and insult of his pre- 
 vious doctrines. 
 
 When he had finished his speech, he was sa- 
 luted with loud cries of '^ Bravo! bravo! Mon- 
 sieur le Cure; encore! encore! Monsieur le 
 Pridicateur ! your sermon is worth fifty speeches 
 of the quack doctor that 's standing down on the 
 place of Saint Nicholas ; haven't you got some 
 boxes of salve too for a sore conscience?" 
 "Who's that talks of sore consciences.^" bel- 
 lowed the butcher Constant. " Where are the 
 aristocratic rascals that think of such things as 
 that ? Sore consciences indeed ! such ones de- 
 serve to have sore necks !" 
 
 The confusion and tumult of the scene was 
 
1 86 JOURNAL 
 
 terrible, and seemed not likely to subside; for 
 we suddenly heard, as the mob beneath us had 
 paused for an instant to breathe, other and still 
 more outrageous clamours, that seemed to come 
 from the direction of the Grande Rue ; and, 
 as they came nearer, we could distinctly hear 
 the words, " Vive la belle Deesse ! O le 
 beau ApolloJi ! A bas les Pretres ! Vive la 
 Raison /" 
 
 My schoolfellows and myself sat trembling, 
 and anxiously wondering what this fresh uproar 
 could announce ; and we would gladly have had 
 the most difficult embroidery to finish before din- 
 ner, rather than stay where we were. 
 
 But our curiosity, however, counterbalanced 
 in some degree our terror; and the spectacle 
 which we saw advancing through the dark gate, 
 was sufficient to make us forget both that and 
 the hunger which had for some time annoyed us. 
 The crowd, too, beneath us seemed to be as much 
 struck by the approaching sight as ourselves, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 187 
 
 for they all stood gazing in silence ; and Guche, 
 clapping the priest on the shoulder, who was 
 quietly retreating down the steps of the scaffold- 
 ing, said in a loud fierce voice, " Come, come, 
 my friend, none of your blinking ! we '11 see 
 which can make the best use of their tongues, 
 you, or our worthy Apollo there. You still pre- 
 tend to be a bit of a Saint ; so let 's try if you 
 can work a miracle, and teach that Goddess yon- 
 der to say her paternoster." 
 
 In the mean time the God and Goddess 
 alluded to, were fast coming on ; and we, who 
 had never heard of, or seen such things, except 
 in our histories, were almost frightened when 
 we saw the strange figures which presented 
 themselves. 
 
 First came a party of fishermen, in their large . 
 sea-boots and check shirts, bearing the heads of 
 some of those immense conger eels, which you 
 may have seen lying in the fish-market, fastened 
 upon long poles. After them came a man. 
 
188 JOURNAL 
 
 dressed in a large black robe, painted all over 
 with devils, and his face covered with a mask of 
 the same colour, carrying a wooden representa- 
 tion of the guillotine. Next marched seven or 
 eight persons, some in the habit of friars, and 
 others grotesquely dizened out in faded laced 
 coats, with large cocked hats, which contrasted 
 oddly with the miserable appearance of the rest 
 of their dress. These men continued to sing a 
 couplet of the revolutionary air Cadet Roussel : 
 
 " Cadet Roussel a un habit 
 Tout double de papier gris ; 
 11 ne le met que quand il gele. 
 Que direz vous de Cadet Roussel ? 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! oui vraitnent 
 Cadet Roussel estun bon enfant." 
 
 Then succeeded some extraordinary-looking 
 personages, attired in the most singular costume. 
 One of them had a quantity of artificial vine- 
 leaves sewed about his body, mixed with some 
 
OF AN EXILE. 189 
 
 black-looking lumps that were probably meant 
 for grapes ; and as he passed yelled out — 
 
 " Le boa Bourgeois, le dos au feu, 
 Le devant a la table, 
 Caressant sa bouteille, 
 Et puis sa d<^moiselle." 
 
 Ten or eleven others followed in pairs, just as 
 strangely dressed, one like a huge bear in shaggy 
 skins, another covered with an old piece of flow- 
 ered tapestry, a third as white with flour as a 
 miller, and another in a dingy cloak with some 
 holes in it, through which some glittering pieces 
 of tin were occasionally seen. 
 
 Immediately after these followed half a dozen 
 men in the habit of friars, bearing upon their 
 shoulders an arm-chair, in which sat a woman. 
 Round her head was twined a garland of arti- 
 ficial roses: she was dressed in a white robe 
 covered with silver spangles ; in one hand she 
 held the branch of a tree ; in the other, what, 
 
igO JOURNAL 
 
 from its appearance at that distance, seemed to 
 be the mass-book. Round the chair jumped 
 and danced the fishwomen with their children, 
 screaming, Vive la Deesse ! Oh ! la belle 
 Deesse r which applause the woman appeared 
 to receive with much satisfaction. 
 
 Close behind this last personage, and mounted 
 on a small horse, that had a sort of wings fastened 
 to his sides, rode another comic figure, dressed 
 in fiery-coloured clothes, with a large gilded sun 
 fastened upon his breast, and holding in his 
 hands a guitar, from which he occasionally at- 
 tempted to draw some sounds. His head was 
 encircled by leaves, and he smiled and bowed to 
 the rabble that threw up their caps about him, 
 shouting, Voyez douce le swperhe Apollon ! Voyez 
 douce sonjoli cheval aux ailles. 
 
 As this extraordinary procession slowly came 
 through the arched gate, and mounted the little 
 ascent that leads upon the place, a party of 
 drummers that were stationed just below our gal- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 191 
 
 lery, began to beat as they were used to do at 
 tlie appearance of the Holy Sacrament ; and the 
 unanimous crowd burst into the — to us unintelH- 
 giblc, cry of Vive la Raison ! a bus les Egliscs ! 
 Vive notice bon pretre ApoUon ! 
 
 The pile was still blazing and crackling, and 
 as it rose above the motley assemblage, I recol- 
 lect that it put me in mind of the sacrifices that 
 we used to read of in our Ancient History. 
 Guche, who had remained with the priest 
 standing upon the scaffolding, now held up his 
 hand ; and the procession, which had continued 
 to advance and had come as near as it could to 
 his post, stopped. Silence! silence! was roared 
 by a host of voices ; and at length was -procured. 
 Guche then, taking off his cap, and making a low 
 bow towards the spot where the goddess sat, 
 called in a loud tone, " Most high and mighty 
 Princess, great Goddess of Reason ! we thy true 
 and loyal subjects are hither met to do thee 
 homage, and to ask of thee if thou wilt suffer us 
 
192 JOURNAL 
 
 to eat our own bread and wear our own shoes. 
 Thy trusty Priests and Barons there, we see, 
 look hungry, and their feet as if they had run 
 many a mile ; but, great Princess, we trust that 
 thou wilt not take from us oOr goods to give to 
 them, when thou hast so many good things in 
 thine own shop." And as he concluded, he 
 burst into a hearty laugh, which was echoed by 
 the crowd, and certainly by the Butcher Con- 
 stant, for I saw him grinning and rubbing his 
 bare arms with pleasure. 
 
 But the business was not yet finished ; for the 
 figure that was mounted upon the little winged 
 horse now rode forward, and made his way 
 through the crowd up to the scaffolding. — 
 " Great Prince of Poets !"" cried Guche to 
 him, " thou art doubtless come to claim thy 
 destined victim ; but ere we yield him to thy 
 power, he must be heard ;" and turning to the 
 Priest, who now stood trembling by his side, 
 " Come, most holy man," said he, " confound 
 
OF AN KXILE. 19^ 
 
 the wicked God and Goddess with thy heavenly 
 words ; tell tliena that a good fat priest is worth 
 an Apollo any day in the year, except Sunday, 
 and then he 's worth more, for he drinks and 
 sings more than any Apollo ever did in his life." 
 The trembling Priest beg-an to mutter something 
 which we could not hear ; but he was interrupt- 
 ed by the mob, who shouted '* A song! a song ! 
 let 's have a song from the Cardinal de I'igno- 
 minie. Guche, make him sing the Reveille ;''' 
 and the terrified man was compelled to sing that 
 military air, while the crowd accompanied him. 
 and Apollo made a show of touching his guitar. 
 We were all obliged to join in the chorus of 
 Aux arrnes, Citoyens ! and as the people threw 
 up their caps, and the butcher brandished his 
 instrument of slaughter, the blazing pile sank 
 in with a crash, and, throwing its sparks and 
 glare over their hard features, made thera look 
 like some of the figures that we had seen repre- 
 sentetl as suffering in purgatory. 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
194 JOUllNAL 
 
 Presently the drums began to roll, and the 
 rest of the Committee of Safety came to the whi- 
 dovvs of the Hotel de Ville, with the red caps 
 upon their heads, and were saluted with cries ot 
 Vive le Comite ! Vive le regne de la Raison ! a 
 has la Cathedrale ! 
 
 The flames now began to die away and ex- 
 pire, and thick volumes of black smoke spread 
 themselves over the place, almost blinding and 
 choking the persons there collected. The crowd 
 seemed about to disperse, and the procession 
 was thrown into complete disorder. The gro- 
 tesque figures that composed it, were mixed 
 among the rest of the people ; and the white 
 nian that was intended to represent the month 
 Nivose of our new calendar, got many a curse 
 from those upon whom his snow fell. Guche came 
 up to the gallery and called out to us, " Now 
 vou may go and learn your catechisms, my 
 pretty virgins ; you '11 say them all the better 
 after hearing such a capital sermon from our 
 
OF AN EXILK. 195 
 
 good Cure here," giving the Priest, whom lie 
 held by the arms, a push — " Eh ! my holy one, 
 what do you think of those sweet little bird> 
 there ? Would not you like to have one of 
 them to serve the mass for you ?" The man 
 tried to laugh ; but terror was evidently strug- 
 tyUnsr with the smile that he assumed, and he 
 seemed to be entreating his tormentor to let 
 him depart. 
 
 We, as you may suppose, lost no time in 
 making use of Guche's permission ; and, after 
 suffering some more insults and annoyance, we 
 reached our house. 
 
 The noise and tumult still continued till late 
 in the night ; and next morning we were told 
 that our beautiful cathedral had been pulled to 
 i.ieces by a desperate set of the worst of our in- 
 habitants, whom the sight of the burning images 
 had, no doubt, instigated to the act. It was a 
 great loss to the town, since our present churches 
 arc but very indifferent ones. Many of our 
 
196 JOURNAL 
 
 Kino-s had made vows of golden hearts within 
 it upon their accession ; and some of our bigots 
 here, asserted that the unhappy Louis the Six- 
 teenth had perhaps suffered for his neglect of 
 that duty. Well, Boulogne seemed tranquil for 
 a few days after the scene I have just been de- 
 scribing to you, except that now and then we 
 heard the execrations of the people as the car- 
 riages that were conveying some suspected in- 
 dividuals to Arras passed across the place. 
 
 One day, however, about a week afterwards 
 we heard cries of Bravo ! bravo ! in the street, 
 and listening we could distinguish the words 
 
 '• La Lome Autrichienne 
 La Louve de V ienne 
 La Louve Autrichienne 
 Est morte et enterre," 
 
 sunff to our old air of Marlbrook. Our mistress 
 told us to lay down our work and follow her ; 
 and we went into the chapel ; there she told us 
 
OF AN EXILE. 197 
 
 that our innocent Queen had been wickedly put 
 to death, and that we must all pray for her 
 soul. 
 
 When we came back from the chapel, a ser- 
 vant of my father arrived, who had attended hiiri 
 to Paris, whither he had gone to the Convention, 
 of which he was member, but a very unwillinj^ 
 one, I may say. Still, by being so, he was enabled 
 to be of use to many of our friends, and he had 
 hitherto escaped any suspicions of aristocratic 
 tendency, lie was a very good kind of man, 
 and acted so evidently from the best motives, 
 that even in those bloody days he was much 
 respected. The servant informed me (my fa- 
 ther had not ventured to write) that Paris was 
 in a dreadful state, that the Queen had ju.st 
 been executed, and that he was endeavouring to 
 arrange matters so that he might come down to 
 Boulogne without rendering himself obnoxious. 
 He succeeded, poor man ! and about a week 
 after I had the delight to embrace him. 
 
198 JOURNAL 
 
 We had a house at Outreau, a village which 
 you may have remarked standing upon the hills 
 above the port, and commanding an extensive 
 view over the sea and country. We retired 
 thither; and under the protection of Guche, 
 whom my father had once saved from going to 
 prison, we were allowed to live undisturbed. 
 Our only society was the excellent Cure of the 
 village, who was much beloved by the country 
 people, and who had been still allowed to remain 
 in his house. But the love of the simple vil- 
 lagers could avail him nothing ; he was too near 
 the horrible place in which nothing but suspicion 
 and cruelty prevailed. 
 
 After we had lived quietly for about six 
 months, we were one evening alarmed by the 
 heavy sound of the bell from the Hotel de Ville, 
 that was never rung at that hour, and portended 
 consequently some fi-esh scene of confusion. 
 We went out upon a rising ground, a little way 
 from the village, whence we could see the 
 
OF AN EXII-E. 199 
 
 <iuays and the town ; it was growing dark, but 
 there was still light enough for us to distin- 
 guish a crowd of persons collected near the old 
 custom-house. Presently we heard the drums 
 of the national guard beating to arms, and, as 
 the darkness increased, we saw lights moving 
 about on the quay, some of which seemed to 
 descend down the ladders which were fastened 
 to its sides as the means of communication with 
 the boats at low tide. They rapidly passed 
 across the nov/ dry bed of the harbour, and we 
 then lost sight of them. 
 
 My father and myself proceeded to the re- 
 spectable Cure^ whom we found in considerable 
 agitation. We mentioned what we had seen ; 
 but his manner was unusually hurried and ab- 
 rupt, as he asked how long it was since we 
 had seen the lights pass across the port. " About 
 half an hour,"' replied my father : " we merely 
 returned to our house to conclude our collation, 
 and then came here." 
 
200 JOLTHNAL 
 
 The old man turned paJe ; and so did we, for 
 we suddenly heard the well-known threatening- 
 cry of " J7i / lesceUrat! ah! le traitre! We'll 
 show him how to write to the Emigres ; — we '11 
 give him ink, plenty of red ink." And a mob 
 of horrid-looking wretches rushed up to the 
 Cure's house, and into the room where we were, 
 headed by Guche and the butcher Constant. 
 " Good night, citizens," said Guche to us ; " we 
 have a little business with the worthy priest here, 
 and perhaps (but I should be sorry for that) 
 with you too. Eh ! my clever clerk, do you 
 know this bit of paper.?' and he held up to the 
 Ctire a torn scrap of a letter. The excellent 
 Butiaux, perceiving that it was useless to de- 
 ny what spoke but too strongly against him, 
 calmly replied, "Yes, I wrote it."" — "That's 
 right," said the butcher grinning, '' nothing can 
 get him off now ; this M'ill be glorious work 
 for me;" and he began with his hands to imi- 
 tate the descent of the guillotining axe. 
 
OF AN EXILK. 201 
 
 ^'- Alhns! allojis!" shouted all the rest of the 
 party, "don't let us stop here: let ""s have them 
 all away to the committee — ay, this young wolf 
 and all," seizing me by the arm. My father 
 appealed to Guche for his protection, that we 
 might not be carried off that night; but the 
 man was incapable of preventing the gang from 
 following their own bent, even if he had wished. 
 '•It is impossible, citizen," said Guche; "'the 
 committee would have my head off if I left you 
 here after finding you with this traitor ; so, 
 come along ; and as for you, M. Ecriva'my you 
 may just say good-b'ye to your hens and your 
 servant there, that we ought to have made you 
 marry, for you '11 sleep somewhere else very 
 shortly." We were all accordingly hurried down 
 to Boulogne, and confined in the prison. 
 
 The next morning Guche came to conduct us 
 to the town-hall, where the committee were sit- 
 ting. Our trial was short, and the unfortunate 
 Butiaux was condemned to die ; as it appeared 
 K 5 
 
202 JOURNAL 
 
 that a person whom he had intrusted with a let- 
 ter for one of his brother Cures^ who had emi- 
 grated, had been apprehended as he was making 
 his way from the port, having just returned 
 from Outreau. The president of the committee, 
 when he sentenced him to the guillotine, said 
 to him with a sneer, " This room is a little al- 
 tered now from what it was when your noble 
 friends the Seneschals used to sit and drain 
 the poor peasants of their money." "Yes," 
 answered the venerable man, " this is the place 
 where innocence formerly sat in judgment on 
 crime, but where criminals now condemn the in- 
 nocent." I thought the wretches that filled the 
 hall would have torn him to pieces; but Con- 
 stant, the butcher, darted forward, and laying his 
 bare arms upon the unshrinking Cure, bellowed 
 out, " Let my ox alone, I say ; what ! would you 
 pretend to know how to kill him better than 
 myself?" And the people with a loud laugh 
 shouted, " Well done, my boy ! we hope you'll 
 
OF AN EXILE. 208 
 
 never want such fat Easter oxen to slaughter, as 
 long as you live." 
 
 In the midst of this frightful uproar, Guche 
 had succeeded in obtaining our liberty, as 
 nothing had appeared to implicate us in the un- 
 happy Butiaux' proceedings; and we were, 
 towards evening, allowed to return to Outreau. 
 
 Four or five days passed on, and as the town 
 had been tolerably quiet every day, we hoped 
 that the execution would not take place, for we 
 knew very well that we should be compelled to 
 attend it. But one morning: the dreaded bell 
 from the Hotel de Ville began to toll, the drums 
 <?choed over the harbour, and up to our village, 
 and we could see from the rising ground, to 
 which we had hastened, the quays covered with 
 people hurrying into the streets. When we re- 
 turned to our house, we found Guche waiting 
 for us. He told us that the Cure was to be s-uil- 
 lotined immediately ; that the guillotine, which 
 had been purposely sent from Arras, had arrived 
 
204 JOURNAL 
 
 the preceding night ; and that we must follow 
 him down to the town. " I have some gratitude 
 in me," said the man, " and if I could, I'd let 
 you stay, for it's an awkward sight after all ; but 
 my own safety is the first thing, — so come along." 
 When we got to the Place Saint Nicholas^ we 
 found it covered with the furious people, who 
 had been dragging their victim about the streets, 
 and displaying him to the town, preparatory to 
 his being sacrificed. They had tied up the few 
 white hairs that were scattered upon his fore- 
 head into a knot, with a piece of tri-coloured 
 riband, and were singing another couplet of the 
 same air, Cadet Roussel, that I alluded to before. 
 It was this : 
 
 " Cadet Roussel a trois cheveux. 
 Deux pour la tete et une pour la queue, 
 Et quand il va voir sa maitresse 
 I! les met tous les trois en tresse. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! oui vraiment 
 Cadet Roussel est un bon enfant.'' 
 
OF AN EXILE. 205 
 
 And they danced around him. His beard had 
 been suffered to grow, for, poor man ! he had 
 probably passed the last few days in prayer and 
 preparation for his death ; and one of the mob 
 pointing to it, said with a wide grin, '•' Monsieur 
 /e Cure has not shaved himself this morning for 
 the mass, but the national razor will do it nicely 
 for him !" This was an allusion to the guillo- 
 tine, which had acquired that name. The butcher 
 was of course there ; but he had assumed an air 
 of mock gravity, and stood near poor Butiaux, 
 who seemed quite unmoved amid the horrors that 
 surrounded him. The butcher had a large tri- 
 t:oloured scarf round his body, and shouted, 
 " Gently, gently, citizens ! don't you see I 'm 
 one of the committee.?" pointing to his scarf; 
 " the good gentleman is under my protection. 
 I 'm appointed inspector of public works ; and if 
 he will do me the honour of accompanying me, I 
 will shew him a very pretty one I have just 
 
206 JOURNAL 
 
 finished in the place up in the high town," bow- 
 ing to the C^ire. 
 
 The crowd began to ascend up the high 
 street ; but I was luckily spared the rest of the 
 miserable spectacle, for I was so shocked and 
 terrified by the screams and yells of the mob, 
 that I fainted. When I recovered, I found 
 myself with my father at a house upon the 
 l^lace Saint Nicholas; and as soon as I was 
 able, we returned to Outreau. 
 
 " Mais apropos,''' said the French lady, " I 
 am obliged to go out to Ostrohove this after- 
 noon ; so we will postpone the rest of my story 
 till to-morrow, if you will do me the honour of 
 dining with me." 
 
 I passed the afternoon in wandering about 
 the country round Boulogne, and proceeded 
 as far as the column, which was commenced 
 when the grand army were encamped in the 
 neighbourhood. Its erection was for some time 
 discontinued ; but Louis the Eighteenth has 
 
OF AN EXILE. 207 
 
 ordered that it should proceed. The following 
 account of its foundation may, perhaps, not be 
 uninteresting to you. 
 
 Upon the day appointed for this ceremony, 
 Marshal Soult, accompanied by all the superior 
 officers of the army, proceeded to the elevated 
 ground where the column was to be placed. 
 'J'hen, after distributing several crosses of the 
 legion of honour, the Marshal, assisted by a 
 grenadier of each of the regiments which were 
 drawn up around, placed in the foundation a 
 block of granite brought from Marquise, a 
 small town between Calais and Boulogne, where 
 there are quarries. Upon this block of stone 
 was the following inscription : — 
 
 " Premiere pierre 
 
 Du monument decerne 
 
 Par I'Armee exp^ditionaire de Boulogne 
 
 Et la Flotille 
 
 A I'Empereur NAPOLEON 
 
 Pos^e par le Marechal Soult, Commandant en chef, 
 
 18 Brumaire An 13 (9 Novembre 1804) 
 
 Anniversaire de la regeneration de la France." 
 
208 JOUIINAL 
 
 This column was intended to commemorate the 
 triumph of tlie army of England. But it is 
 now to serve a very different purpose, namely, 
 that of celebrating the restoration of the Bour- 
 bon family. A statue of the great man was to 
 have been placed upon the top of it ; but it is 
 now to be surmounted by the fleui- de lis. 
 
 Continuing my walk as far as Wimille, a 
 pretty village buried in a valley about two 
 miles Irom Boulogne, I visited the monument 
 of the unfortunate Pi/atre de Rosier^ who was 
 killed in endeavouring to cross from Calais to 
 England in a balloon. His balloon took fire, 
 and he fell like another Phaeton. 
 
 On my return I walked upon the ramparts, 
 from which a very pretty view presents itself. 
 The small river Liane, which forms the harbour, 
 is remarkably picturesque when full, winding 
 away with its serpentine bends as mysteriously 
 as more important rivers. The country is irre- 
 gular, with a few villages scattered along the tops 
 
OF AN EXILE. 209 
 
 of ihe downs; and in the distance the brown 
 sands of Etaples overtopping the hills about 
 them. Outreau, the village where my friend 
 had lived, was opposite to me, and the bell of 
 its church was ringing. The high street, which 
 is remarkably steep, and may be seen in its 
 whole length from the ramparts, was crowded 
 with persons coming to the fair, which covered 
 the Esplanade, an open space before the prefec- 
 ture and beneath the ramparts. Vast numbers 
 of English were lounging among the booths, 
 and making purchases at the boutiques a dix 
 sous et a vingt. Some of the fishwomen, with 
 their red petticoats and long golden ear-rings, 
 were clattering about the crowd ; and just be- 
 neath me was a man with a sort of shed, in 
 which he was making ganffres, or thin cakes 
 of flour, milk, and sugar baked and eaten 
 hot. " Voyez ! voijcz ! Messieurs et Dames, 
 toutes cfiaudes, toutes chaudes,''' was the cry, 
 mixed with the drums of the .shows, and the 
 
210 JOUKKAL 
 
 proclamation of " Tout a dix — la boutiqiie a 
 cinq." 
 
 Wliile I was looking down upon this scene, 
 an old wlnte-headed man upon crutches placed 
 himself near me. He did not bejj ; but there 
 was no doubt of his profession. I spoke to him 
 and said, it was a pity that so old and infirm a 
 man should be obliged to ask charity. " Jh ! 
 Monsieur," said he, " que voulez vous ? I 
 cannot work, I am obliged to pay high for 
 my little room, and I have nothing but what 
 I get from the goodness of a few kind per- 
 sons. There is one family here that give me 
 a glass of wine every Sunday from their win- 
 dows which look upon the ramparts, and the 
 young ladies are all very good to me, — mais c'est 
 line pmivj'e affaire." I gave the old man 
 something, who, as I departed, uncovered his 
 white head, and made me a low bow. 
 
 " But," said my friend the pedestrian, " as it 
 grows late, I will defer the rest I have to tell 
 you till to-morrow." 
 
W AN EXILE. 
 
 9.U 
 
 CHAPTER XXir. 
 
 This morning, according to agreement, my 
 friend and I met again after breakfast, and lie 
 thus continued his narrative. 
 
 "The day following I proceeded to my friend 
 the lady's house. I met there a Frenchman, who 
 amused me much. He was a pompous sounding- 
 man, looking uncommonly like a shoulder of mut- 
 ton, the lower part of his body was so much 
 broader than the upper, and tapered up to his 
 neck, which was longand slender. He was a great 
 epicure ; for though he was not in his own house, 
 I heard him particularly instructing the servant 
 as to the dinner ; and he ended his suggestions 
 with this earnest admonition, " Surtout, que le 
 caje. Ho'it cliaud?'' He v/ent away soon after we 
 had dined, and my friend mentioned to me a 
 
212 JOUKNAL 
 
 little anecdote of him which establishes his repu- 
 tation as an ingenious gourmand. He has two 
 houses belonging to him, which he lets, the one 
 to a pastrycook, the other to a butcher. From 
 these he derives a considerable rent in mo- 
 ney ; but he has also established the system 
 of feudal service or relief within them, receiving 
 from his pastrycook and butcher vassals, every 
 Sunday, the homage of three petits pates and un 
 gigot de mouton. 
 
 When we had concluded our dessert, my 
 friend said to me, " Let us walk up to the ram- 
 parts, we shall find seats, there, and while we 
 enjoy this fine evening, I will conclude my 
 story." We accordingly ascended by a flight of 
 steps at the side of a fountain, representing a 
 Cupid, and called Puits d' Amour ; and after 
 walking a little, we sat down upon a stone 
 bench that commanded a view of the country 
 and the sea. 
 
 '* It was on a fine evening hke this," she began, 
 
01" AN EXILE. 213 
 
 " and some time after the events 1 have before 
 read to you, I was walking upon the heights 
 which you see extending towards the sea. The 
 town had continued tranquil since the execution 
 of poor Butiaux, and we had remained unmo- 
 lested. I had reached the brink of the rock 
 which hangs over the beach, and was amusing 
 myself with looking upon the view, which is 
 much more extensive than what we now enjoy. 
 The whole line of coast, as far as the point of 
 land called Grinez on one side, is discovered ; 
 and the white cliffs of your country are distinctly 
 seen, with the castle of Dover. Our fishing- 
 boats were waiting for the flowing of the tide to 
 come into the harbour ; and a large party of the 
 women you may have observed gathering mus- 
 cles among the rocks, were returning along the 
 shore, and singing some of their favourite songs. 
 The tide now began to murmur towards the 
 wide range of sands at the harbour's mouth, and 
 soon came swelling into the port. The fishing- 
 
214 JOL'ilXAJ. 
 
 boats one after the other swept in, and were 
 hailed by their wives, who ran along the quay 
 with their baskets to receive the fish. 
 
 It grew dark, and I was turning to go home, 
 when I observed a small boat come cautiously 
 round a point of land at some distance, and 
 steal in towards the shore. There were two 
 persons in it, and, as soon as it had grounded 
 upon the beach, one of them, after looking 
 carefully in every direction, stepped out, and 
 walking hastily on, disappeared from my sight. 
 He had apparently turned into a road which 
 leads up from that part of the sands towards 
 the town. The other man remained with the 
 boat, and sat humming the fa ira. 
 
 The manner in which these persons had ap- 
 proached struck me as singular ; but, as it was 
 now late, I did not think it proper to satisfy 
 my curiosity by staying any longer. I returned 
 home; but my father was not in the room where 
 we usually sat, and I heard voices in low con- 
 
OK AX EXILE. 215 
 
 versation in the apartment above. I was alarm- 
 ed, as any thing unusual in those times was 
 enough to agitate me ; and I remained in an 
 uncomfortable state of suspense for some time. 
 I was, however, presently relieved from this, 
 for my father came into the room accompanied 
 by a stranger, whose appearance struck me as 
 very like that of the person I iiad seen leave 
 the boat. 
 
 " You must procure us some supper, Mar- 
 guerite," said my father to me ; " I have sent 
 t)ur maid down to the town ; and as she has got 
 some of iier friends there from Neufchatel, she 
 j^aid, I told her she might remain all night." 
 
 I was surprised at this, as my father \vas ge- 
 nerally very strict about the servant, and would 
 scarcely ever allow her to go to Boulogne. I 
 could not help connecting this circumstance with 
 the' arrival of the stranger; but I immediately 
 went out and got the supper ready. ^Vhen we 
 •A ere seated, my father, pouring out a large 
 
216 JOURNAL 
 
 glaas of wine for tlie stranger, and another tor 
 me, said, " Come, let us drink success to our 
 cause ! and you, girl, drink with us. We have 
 been too long slaves to that bloody convention ; 
 any mild form of government will be better than 
 its terrible reign. Come ;" and we all, (I per- 
 plexed and frightened,) drank success to the 
 patriots. 
 
 The stranger then said, ^-Mais^ Monsieur^ we 
 have much to do in Paris ; we are scarcely or- 
 ganized yet, and the money which we expected 
 from Coblentz is not arrived. Things go on 
 but badly in La Vendee. Charetle has sepa- 
 rated himself from the rest ; and the Republi- 
 can Rousillon has beaten part of our friends at 
 Doue. We must hasten our measures." 
 
 My heart now began to sink. I foresaw some 
 of those dreadful scenes I had only heard of at 
 Boulogne ; and my father, it seemed, was to be 
 engaged in them. I looked attentively at the 
 speaker, whom I had not before closely exa- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 217 
 
 mined, and perceived that he was evidently 
 in a disguise, and wore a dress somewhat re- 
 sembling that of the fishermen of Normandy. 
 
 He continued, " I have had great difficulty 
 in getting here ; we are too well known to have 
 ventured upon coming through the provinces, 
 where every body is now stopped and examined ; 
 and I therefore, with one of our party, have 
 crept along the coast protected by this dress. 
 We procured our boat at the mouth of the 
 Seine at Havre, where we have friends, and have 
 succeeded in our commission. But we must not 
 delay ; the tide will be falling, and I had rather 
 keep clear of the other fishing-boats when they 
 go to sea. Wc may depend, then, upon your 
 joining us ?'"' 
 
 " Certainly,"' said my father; " in a very few 
 davs you will see me in Paris, unless the people 
 here refuse to allow me to depart." 
 
 " And that, 1 fear, is very likely," said the 
 stranger, " in the present state of affairs." 
 
 VOL. TI. L 
 
218 JOURNAL 
 
 ^' J ttendez," said my father; "this girl here 
 shall aid us in our just conspiracy. Marguerite, 
 my dear, you have seen to what wretches our 
 country is a prey ; you have seen our unfor- 
 tunate friend the Cure Butiaux dragged away 
 to death by them ; will you not assist us, then, 
 in ridding France of such pests ?" 
 
 I was perplexed, and looked at him without 
 replying. 
 
 " Ce n'est pas g^raitd chose,'"' continued my 
 father, smihng; "but you must turn cheat, and 
 feign yourself afflicted with some severe illness, 
 and I will persuade Guche to let us go to Paris 
 to consult Choppart. That man is not so bad 
 as he is obliged to appear ; and I think he will 
 do what he can for us. What do you think of 
 our plan.?" concluded he, turning to the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Possible enough;' replied he, "and if you 
 can get away from this place, you may make 
 pretty sure of reaching Paris, for they let every 
 
OF AN EXILE. 219 
 
 body in ; but, when once in, it is not quite so easy 
 to get out. But I dare not delay : I shall then 
 tell the general that he may immediately ex- 
 pect you."" 
 
 " Certainly," said my father. The stranger 
 then grasped his hand, and bowing to me, after 
 looking out, hastily disappeared. 
 
 My father then explained to me that Paris 
 was at present upon the eve of insurrection, that 
 the Convention had become so obnoxious to many 
 of the people as to have made them resolve 
 upon rising against their tyrants, and that a 
 general who had commanded in La Vendee was 
 to head them. " You know, my child," said my 
 father, " that I sat in that Convention ; but 
 when its career became so bloody, I was fortu- 
 nate enough to be able to retire and live tran- 
 quilly with you. But the moment is now come 
 for action ; and as I have many friends in Paris, 
 my influence may do some good. We must 
 therefore go thither. I grieve to carry thee to 
 L 2 
 
220 JOURNAL 
 
 that dangerous place ; but where could I leave 
 thee?^' 
 
 " Oh man PereT I replied, " let me share all 
 your dangers ; I should be miserable if you were 
 to be again absent from me, and exposed to all 
 the horrors I have heard of." 
 
 " Well," said my father, " we have now about 
 a month before us. You must gradually fall 
 sick and complain of lameness and debility, and 
 leave the rest to me.''' 
 
 Accordingly, a few days after the event I have 
 related to you, I tiid so; and, being naturally 
 pale and delicate, I succeeded, by remaining in 
 the house and eating little, in giving myself the 
 appearance of an invalid. My father distressed 
 himself perpetually at the penance he was in- 
 flicting upon me ; but I told him that I was as 
 anxious for the happiness of France as himself, 
 and that I had read of Roman women who had 
 undergone greater hardships than mine for the 
 benefit of their country. My father embraced 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 221 
 
 me ; and in about a week afterwards procured 
 permission for us to set out ; but not till we had 
 received a visit from Guche, who called me 
 pauvre petite, and said, that I had better stay 
 in the fresh sea-air, than go to that gloomy 
 capital . 
 
 We quitted Boulogne about the middle of 
 September. I had never travelled before, and, 
 in spite of the dangerous business we were going 
 upon, the novelty of all I saw delighted me. 
 
 We passed Beauvais, which was once saved 
 from a siege, you recollect, by a woman. My 
 father mentioned to me a singular custom, a 
 privilege as they then thought it, attached to 
 the butchers of that town. Upon some particular 
 day, I think Mardi Gras, they used to present 
 to the King at Paris a sheep decorated with 
 flowers and ribands ; but I do not know if his 
 present Majesty keeps up the ceremony.* 
 
 * This resembles the old custom which formerly 
 existed in Yorkshire, and which gave the name to the 
 
222 JOURNAL 
 
 Upon quitting Beauvais, I saw for the first 
 time the vines which are scattered about it: the 
 grapes were all ripening, and our postilion dis- 
 mounting went and gathered a bunch, which he 
 brought to us. I had never tasted grapes fresh 
 plucked from a vineyard before, and they seemed 
 the better to me; — but I was young, and dis- 
 posed to find pleasure in every thing. The rich 
 country we passed before reaching Paris made 
 me anticipate seeing a magnificent city ; and I 
 continued to look impatiently from the windows 
 of our chaise. But I was disappointed, for it 
 grew dark as we passed through St. Denis, and 
 I saw nothing of the city from a distance. 
 
 When we reached the barrier we were stop- 
 ped ; our chaise was closely searched, but, as I 
 counterfeited extreme indisposition, we were not 
 
 festival of Lammas. The tenants who held of York Min- 
 ster or Monastery, were obliged upon a certain day to 
 present to their priestly lords a lamb, decorated with 
 flowers, as a feudal homage. 
 
OF AK EXILE. 22t'5 
 
 ^detained any longer, as our passports were in 
 proper form. But now commenced our diffi- 
 culties ; for had the Convention known, which 
 they certainly would in the course of the fol- 
 lowing day from our passports which had been 
 left at the gate, that my father was in Paris, he 
 would have been immediately arrested. We 
 drove to the hotel which we had given as our 
 address at the barrier ; and terribly disappointed 
 I was at the dark narrow-looking streets we 
 passed through. The Boulevards, however, 
 which we crossed, struck me much ; the Cafes 
 were filled with people whom I could see in 
 violent debate ; and vast crowds were walking 
 under the trees. Several ragged desperate-look- 
 ing men and women came close up to the chaise- 
 window and looked in, calling Vive la Conven- 
 tion ! but they did not offer us any farther mo- 
 lestation ; and we reached the hotel. 
 
 But my father had no sooner discharged the 
 chaise, than taking me under his arm and un- 
 
2U 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 perceived by the people of the house, who were 
 engaged in attending to a diligence which had 
 arrived at the same time as ourselves, he hurried 
 rae along from the Rue Saint Honore, where 
 we had stopped, down upon a quay, and across 
 a long bridge, from whence I saw the river co- 
 vered with barges, and dark high houses and 
 towers rising all round me. We hastened on, 
 and turning to the right after we had crossed the 
 bridge, presently reached a gateway, at which my 
 father knocked, A voice from within called out, 
 '■'Eh bien, citoyen, que veux-tu?''' — '' Le Mon- 
 sieur de numero cinq, est il Id f' said my father. 
 " Oui! Old! il estld,^' replied the same voice, 
 and we heard the heavy bolts of the gate drawn 
 back to admit us. 
 
 When we entered the court, a man stood 
 there, who immediately shut and bolted the gate 
 behind us. He then, after looking steadily at 
 my father, said to him, " lis sent en haut ;" 
 and pointed to a staircase a litUe way from the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 225 
 
 place where we were. My father and myself as- 
 cended that staircase, and on the first etaffe found 
 a person standing with a gun upon his shoulder, 
 and who instantly called out, ^^ Qiii va laf 
 " Numero cinq," said my father. " Passez^'"' re- 
 plied the sentinel, pointing to a door behind him, 
 through which we passed into a large room. 
 
 At the upper end of the apartment we had 
 just entered sat three or four persons in the na- 
 tional uniform, with apparently a large map be- 
 fore them. One of them seeing us enter, im- 
 mediately rose and came forward. "Welcome 
 to Paris," said he to my father ; " I wish I 
 could give you and this young lady," bowing to 
 me, " a better reception ; but I trust that ere a 
 'iQ'ff days be past, we shall have turned those 
 rogues out of the Tuileries, and then I tliink I 
 can promise you both a more commodious lodg- 
 ing than you will have now." 
 
 " Oh general," said my father to him, " as to 
 this girl, she does not deserve to be better treated 
 L 5 
 
226 JOURNAL 
 
 than the Convention ; — she has been making a 
 false constitution too ;" and he laughingly ex- 
 plained the circumstance of our departure from 
 Boulogne. 
 
 The rest of the persons, who were at the other 
 end of the room, now came up, and were intro- 
 duced to us, " A propos. General,'"' said one 
 of them (whom I recognised as the person I had 
 seen at Boulogne) to our first acquaintance, " I 
 see by the plan, that if we can get possession of 
 the quays, and secure the gate of the Tuileries, 
 where the Convention now assemble, we shall 
 spread such a panic among our enemies, that 
 our success will be assured." 
 
 " Are the Sections disposed to rise which you 
 have visited ?" said the person who had been ad- 
 dressed as General ; " can we depend upon the 
 Fauxbourg Saint Germain, and the quarter of 
 Le Peletier?" 
 
 " I think we may," replied the other ; *' we 
 have even secured the assistance of Hebert and 
 
OF AN EXILE. 227 
 
 the Cordeliers ; bad conipaiiions to l)e sure, but 
 if we succeed, we shall soon be able to rid our- 
 selves of them." 
 
 " But we must be breaking up,'" interrupted 
 the General, "and I fear," turning to my father, 
 "that you cannot remain here with your daughter. 
 This house has been lately watched and sus- 
 pected, and it may possibly be searched. But 
 the young lady will be perfectly safe, since it 
 belongs to a concealed patriot, and the old 
 woman that takes care of it, will pay her every 
 attention." 
 
 My father acquiesced, though reluctantly; 
 and when they all left the house, we both felt 
 our separation deeply. "But cheer up, my 
 daughter!" said my father, " in a very few days 
 I trust that we shall meet again at the Tui- 
 leries." 
 
 Several days passed away in suspense and agi- 
 tation. From the window of my room I could 
 see the whole length of the quay, with the dis- 
 
228 JOURNAL 
 
 tant Pont Neuf, and the river covered with its 
 galleries of washerwomen below. They went on 
 rubbing and beating their linen, as industri- 
 ously and careless to what was passing about 
 them, as if they were washing the shirts of the 
 gardes du corps in the king's time. But the rest 
 of the populace of Paris seemed to act very dif- 
 ferently ; for I could perceive frequently parties 
 of women and men standing in various quarters 
 of the quay, and appearing in violent dispute, 
 while many shouted, Vive la Nation! and A has 
 Pitt ! round some man wlio was addressing them 
 from a bench. And other sights, too, at times 
 'presented themselves, which made me shudder 
 and fly from the window. 
 
 I saw the virtuous Malesherbes pass along the 
 opposite side of the river to his execution ; and 
 the old woman who was standing by me at the 
 time, and who had told me who he was, said, 
 " Voila ! Mademoiselle^ voila ! that is the great 
 lawyer that spoke up for the king when he was at 
 
OF AN EXILE. 229 
 
 his trial, as they called it — the murderers ! Look, 
 he is going to the same fate as the poor Louis ! 
 Buc we shall see, we shall see presently, whether 
 that Satan Robespierre can sit upon the tumbrel 
 as calmly as that good man does now ? Shame ! 
 shame ! upon those wicked women that are howl- 
 ing and hooting at him ;" pointing to a number 
 of the Poissardes, who were among the crowd 
 which covered the quay. 
 
 Well, as I told you, some days passed on, 
 and I was beginning to feel great alarm and 
 perplexity, when one night, I think the 5th of 
 October, I was suddenly awakened by a great 
 noise. I instantly got up and went to the win- 
 dow. I heard the tocsin ringing, and the drums 
 rolling; and opening the window, I saw the 
 opposite bank covered with people extending 
 away towards the Pont Neuf, and their shouts 
 of A has le tyranl echoed over the river. 
 Many of them had torches, which they waved 
 about, and occasionally shewed me several offi- 
 
230 JOURNAL 
 
 cers in the national uniform among the crowd. 
 They all seemed to be pouring towards the gate 
 of the Tuileries ; but at that moment I saw a 
 body of cavalry, with two or three pieces of 
 artillery, and some infantry, advance from with- 
 in the palace. The insurgents, as I now con- 
 cluded them to be, appeared surprised and 
 alarmed at this event, and stopped. But soon 
 fresh cries rose of " Aux armes ! aux amies ! 
 Citoi/ens I" and they rushed on. The tumult 
 and confusion then became dreadful ; I heard 
 the cannon and musquetry rolling along the 
 river, and at intervals the shouts, and the quick 
 ringing of the tocsin. A party of cavalry gal- 
 loped past beneath my window, pursuing a 
 number of the people, who fled, crying " Trea- 
 son ! treason !" And when I bent forwards 
 from my window, to look at something in the 
 river which had attracted my attention, I per- 
 ceived several persons struggling among the 
 barges, and grappling with one another. This 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 231 
 
 alarming uproar continued for some time. But 
 I soon heard the discharges of artillery grow 
 fainter ; and when the smoke cleared away a lit- 
 tle, I saw the cavalry in full possession of the 
 opposite quay. 
 
 The old woman, who had been looking on 
 with me, now cried out, " Mon Dieu I Us soiit 
 perdus ! Those bloody wretches have got the 
 upper hand." Her exclamation made me trem- 
 ble ; and good reason I had to do so. For the 
 next morning when she went out she brought 
 me back the intelligence that the insurrection 
 had entirely failed, and that some of its leaders 
 bad been discovered, and would be that day 
 sent to the guillotine. I was struck with hor- 
 ror ; my fadier might be among them. But 
 the old woman again told me, that he certainly 
 was not one of the arrested persons, but tliat 
 they were in search of him. 
 
 I waited in dreadful anxiety for some days, 
 in complete ignorance of his fate, when I re- 
 
S33 JOURNAL 
 
 ceived a letter from a friend at Boulogne, stating 
 that my father had been detected there endea- 
 vouring to escape to England, and imprisoned. 
 I immediately went out, disguised as a peasant, 
 in some clothes furnished me by the old woman, 
 and hastened to the barrier Saint Denis; then, 
 telling the sentinel a lamentable story of my 
 being shut in from my home and my sick mother, 
 he allowed me to pass for a kiss, which I was 
 compelled to grant him. Mais vraiment, if he 
 were to see me now, I am afraid he would have 
 little pity for me. 
 
 I made my way as well as I could down to 
 Boulogne, and went directly to the prison. I 
 found my father in terrible alarm about me. 
 " Thank God ! my daughter," said he, when he 
 saw me, " you are safe. I had trusted to our 
 friend, to whom the house where you were be- 
 longs, that he would protect you, till I was safe 
 in England ; but he, too, has been thrown into 
 prison in the department of Plsere. But you 
 
OF AN EXILE. 233 
 
 are with me again, aud I am relieved from a 
 great weight." 
 
 The next day Guche came to inform us that 
 my father was to be conveyed to Arras, with 
 another gentleman, there to be tried. " I am 
 sorry," said he to my father, " for your sake 
 and the Citoyenne here ; but all the others 
 would have it so, et je Hens a la vie, nioi, 
 comrne de la cire^' 
 
 Accordingly, the same afternoon we left Bou- 
 logne ; Guche having obtained permission for 
 me to accompany my father. ^^ ith us was ano- 
 ther inhabitant of Boulogne, who seemed terri- 
 bly affected by his situation. The next after- 
 noon we arrived at Arras, and, as we came 
 upon the Grande Place, the guillotine stood 
 there surrounded by a crowd, and just perform- 
 ing its terrible office. Our companion looked 
 once at it, and then, uttering a loud exclama- 
 tion of affright, sunk back upon the seat of the 
 conveyance we were in. We thought he had 
 
S34 JOURNAL 
 
 fainted, but to our astonishment and dismay, we 
 found that he was dead ! — terror having antici- 
 pated what the axe would have performed. 
 
 This circumstance added to the confusion and 
 misery of my mind, and I had well nigh faint- 
 ed myself; but I endeavoured to hold up for 
 the sake of my father, and succeeded. We 
 were lodged that night in the prison, amidst a 
 vast collection of prisoners of all descriptions ; 
 and a dreadful night we passed. 
 
 The next morning we were carried before the 
 Revolutionary Commission, which was then pre- 
 sided by the execrable Joseph le Bon. When 
 we were led up to the table at which they sat, 
 the monster called out to the guard who was 
 retiring, " Hollo there! you may have your 
 prisoner again in a moment ; I see guillotine 
 marked on his neck. And you, citoyenne," look- 
 ing at me, " do you want to save useless ex- 
 pense in head dresses ? Come, come ! you have 
 not been long enough in a situation to wish for 
 
OF AN EX ILK. 235 
 
 death ; but we will make you see how we shave 
 your father here ; the barber at Boulogne could 
 not do it neater." 
 
 One or two of the other persons who were at 
 the table said something about trial ; but Le Bon, 
 bursting into a laugh, said, " Tried ! let the 
 Bourreau try him : he '11 see plenty of witnesses 
 from the little window," which was another name 
 for the guillotine. Then calling to the guard, 
 " Here 's a head to be chopped off without 
 mercy; and be sure you shew this citoyenne 
 here how nicely our Arras cooks can make 
 aristocratic sauce.*"* 
 
 * An anecdote is related of this Joseph le Bon 
 which shews his character fully. He was one night 
 returning home through the streets of Arras, when he 
 heard a female voice singing and the tones of a guitar. 
 He had not proceeded far from the house from whence 
 these sounds had issued, when he received the intelli- 
 gence of a defeat which the republican army had sus- 
 tained. "What!" cried Joseph, "music! singing! 
 
236 JOURNAL 
 
 We were both immediately hurried away to 
 the Grand Place. I had no time to think or 
 speak or communicate with my father. The 
 whole scene had been so horrible and instanta- 
 neous, that I was bewildered, and did not re- 
 cover any sort of capability to see what was 
 passing, till I found myself upon the scaffolding 
 near my father. But, my God ! what a mo- 
 ment that was ! I saw an immense crowd yell- 
 ing and shaking their fists at us, the dark ar- 
 cades of the place shutting them in all round ; 
 my father with his neck bare close to me, and a 
 horrid-looking man all bloody at his side. I 
 fell at his feet, I screamed with agony ; I saw 
 them drag him away; I heard a heavy blow, 
 and remember nothing more till I found myself 
 in the house of a friend we had at Arras. 
 
 and the enemy at our gates!" And the next morning 
 the young lady, who had been singing and playing, 
 perished on the scaffold with her mother. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 237 
 
 Some time after, I was allowed to return to 
 Boulogne, where I have lived ever since. But 
 that dreadful sight never entirely leaves me; 
 and every time I hear Arras named, my blood 
 runs cold, and a shuddering ague comes over 
 ine. 
 
 I expressed my thanks to my friend for the 
 trouble she had given herself to relate her story 
 to me, and took my leave. And, added my 
 friend the pedestrian, I must now do the same, 
 for I have an appointment with ray German 
 master, as I am endeavouring to guarantee my- 
 self against any future unlucky ignorance of that 
 language. We accordingly separated. 
 
238 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 I HAD not seen my friend for some days, but 
 this morning, as I was strolling towards the vil- 
 lage of St. Canat, I met him returning from an 
 excursion he had been making among the moun- 
 tains. He seemed fatigued, and we proceeded 
 together to my house, where he refreshed him- 
 self with some grapes. He was then preparing 
 to go away, when I said to him, " You afforded 
 me so much amusement the last time you were 
 here, that I should be much gratified if you 
 would endeavour to recollect any other circum- 
 stances which may have occurred to you." 
 
 " I am very happy," replied he, " that I 
 have been able to entertain you, as it was en- 
 tirely for that reason that I ventured to tell 
 you so much about myself. I have little else. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 239 
 
 however, to mention, except the following short 
 anecdote : 
 
 A few days after I had heard the story I 
 last related to you, I happened to find myself 
 in company with an officer of a French regi- 
 ment which had been disbanded. I was men- 
 tioning to him my having gone to visit the co- 
 lumn, and could not help insinuating that our 
 preparations to resist the threatened invasion by 
 the Army of England had been such as to have 
 rendered its success impossible. Like a true 
 Frenchman and soldier, he vehemently main- 
 tained the contrary. 
 
 " If you had seen our superb army," said he, 
 " you would have said otherwise. Ma foil I 
 think we should have eaten many a beef-steak 
 in London.'*" He then added in a lower tone 
 " If we had such a general now as we had then, 
 parbleu! you would see." 
 
 I did not choose to pursue our argument fur- 
 ther, as it would either have ended in nothing. 
 
240 JOURXAL 
 
 or a duel, so I turned the conversation upon 
 the sudden departure of the army for Germany. 
 " That Avas a very unexpected circumstance," 
 said I. 
 
 '* Ojii, Old! I beheve we may thank England 
 for it,"" replied the Officer. " However, that 
 campaign made me an officer out of a serjeant- 
 major." 
 
 " Then you have no reason to regret it, "' said 
 I ; " but pray, might I ask what the circum- 
 stance was to which you allude ?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied the Officer, " you seem 
 un Monsieur bien honnete, and I will relate them 
 to you. Let us adjourn to the Caft Veyez, and 
 take some refreshment." 
 
 We did so, and as we sipped our petit verre, my 
 new acquaintance said, " It appears very strange 
 to me to see so many English residing here. 
 Some years ago, we should as soon have thought 
 of seeing the devil as an Englishman in Boulogne, 
 except when our privateers had taken some pri- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 241 
 
 soners. But at the period to which more parti- 
 cularly I allude, certainly an Englishman would 
 have been in no easy situation among our troops. 
 We were all encamped on the heights above the 
 town, and in daily expectation of crossing La 
 Manche. We used to see your cruisers come 
 dodging about ; and we often pointed out to 
 each other the Castle of Dover, and longed to 
 be garrisoning it. The Emperor was with us, 
 and I have often seen him standing upon a bat- 
 tery that was to the right of the harbour on the 
 cliff, and watching the motions of your frigates ; 
 and when your admiral Sir Sidney Smith at- 
 tacked our flotilla, the Emperor was himself in 
 a Uttle boat at the mouth of the harbour, encou- 
 raging the sailors. 
 
 " But what I have to tell you about myself is 
 this. We had just proclaimed Napoleon Em- 
 peror, and we were all ordered to assemble in 
 grand parade on the heights, at the right 
 camp, to take the oath of fidelity. — Mafoi ! we 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
242 JOURNAL 
 
 liad no occasion to take an oath for that,"" (this 
 was said in a lower tone) ; " so on the morning 
 of the twenty-eighth of August, while the can- 
 non of all the forts were announcing the ftte 
 Saint Napoleon to the surrounding country, the 
 whole army formed themselves into brigades, 
 in a semicircle round the Emperor's throne, 
 which was raised upon a platform and deco- 
 rated with trophies and flags. Our generals 
 placed themselves at the head of their respective 
 divisions; and to the right and left of the 
 throne stood all the bands of the different regi- 
 ments. We waited under arms till about twelve 
 o'clock, and then we heard the cannon begin to 
 roll again; and shortly after the Emperor, at- 
 tended by all his staff and ministers and great 
 officers of state, came upon the ground. He ad- 
 vanced slowly up to the throne, while the music 
 struck up, Ou peut-on etre mieuxf one of 
 our national songs that is a little out of fashion 
 now. When the Emperor had reached his 
 
OF AN EXILK. 243 
 
 throne, he sat down for an instant, while all the 
 Marshals and Princes ranged themselves round. 
 I was a youngster then, and as I looked at them 
 all, I said to myself, — Why should not I be a 
 Marshal and a Duke one of these days ? — the 
 Emperor himself was not much more than I am, 
 once. So while the Emperor was sitting down, 
 the Grand Chancellor pronounced a discourse to 
 us, which none of us heard or cared about ; we 
 wanted to hear Napoleon. As soon as the 
 Chancellor had finished, the drums and trum- 
 pets struck up, and the Emperor rose. We were 
 all as silent as mice ; the ensigns stood a little 
 in advance of the line, and the whole army pre- 
 sented arms. Napoleon then deliberately pro- 
 nounced these words : ' Soldiers, swear that 
 you will always be faithful and obedient to your 
 Country and your Emperor.' Instantly, Novs 
 le jurons ! was shouted by thousands of voices ; 
 the music again burst out, and the whole 
 flotilla and artillery along the coast fired an 
 M 2 
 
244 JOURNAL 
 
 unanimous salute. I was thinking then that 
 if the gentlemen of the Thames, pardon, Mon- 
 sieiir,'" (I smiled) "could hear us, they would 
 be locking up their shops and hiding their gui- 
 neas. As soon as the oath had been taken, we 
 all marched by the throne, and the Emperor 
 spoke to some of us. I looked, I remember, 
 very hard at him, and he called out, ' Attentian ! 
 attention !' and advancing a little, he said, ' Com- 
 ment done, tu es Serjeant Major 9 tu es bienjeune 
 de Vetre.' — ' Et tu es bien plus jeune d'^etre Em- 
 pereur^ I suddenly replied, without hesitation 
 or reflection. I did not know that I had said 
 any thing singular, but I saw the Princes glance 
 at one another and turn pale. Napoleon looked 
 hastily round, and then said smiling, ' Mafoi, 
 Messieurs, il ni'a bien pai/e ; qu'en pensez-vous ?' 
 They all smiled too, and bowed. ' Tiens, Mon- 
 sieur avec la risposte en main,'' said he to me ; 
 ' here is the cross for you, and let me see you 
 as sharp in the field, as you have just now been 
 
OF AN EXILE. 245 
 
 in reply. — ' Marchez /' he then called out to our 
 company, which had halted, and on we passed. 
 My comrades all shook hands with me after the 
 parade, and said I was a lucky young dog ; and 
 proud enough T was of my cross. 
 
 "But I wanted to be moNnng, and we were all 
 wondering why we were not embarked on board 
 the flat-bottomed boats which were ready for 
 us. One morning, however, about three o'clock 
 in September, the genet ale beat to arms, the 
 whole army was in motion, and by eight o'clock 
 we were all on board. The Emperor came down 
 and inspected us, and we were in high spirits, 
 and thinking we should in a day or two be at 
 Cantorberi ; when the very same afternoon down 
 came an express from Paris, and in t^vo days 
 we were on our march for Germany. We were 
 sorry to leave Boulogne: we had been very 
 happy there, and had had our little gardens 
 about our tents, where we used to work and 
 look down upon the port, and amuse ourselves 
 
246 JOURNAL 
 
 with keeping rabbits and poultry ; and one of 
 our officers made a song about our going, which, 
 as there is no one now in the cafe, I will sing to 
 you." The officer then sung, or rather mur- 
 mured, the following verses : — 
 
 " Le lambour bat, il faul partir, 
 
 Ailleurs on nous appelle ; 
 
 Oui, de lauriers il va s'ouvrir 
 
 Une moisson nouvelle. 
 Si la-bas ils sont assez fous 
 
 Pour troubler rAllemagne, 
 Tant pis pour eux, tant mieux pour nous, 
 Allons vite en campagne. 
 
 La par ses exploits ^clatans 
 On connoit notre arm^e, 
 C'est la qu'elle est depiiis long temps 
 
 A vaincre accoutum^e ; 
 C'est la que nos braves guerriers 
 
 Vont triompher; 
 C'est la que pour nous les lauriers 
 Sont en coupe r^gl^e. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 247 
 
 II faut<juitter ce camp charmanl, 
 
 De bons enfans I'asile, 
 Dont nous avions fait si gaiement 
 
 Une petite ville ; 
 Si des murs, inalgr^ nos soins, 
 
 La forme est peu correcle. 
 Nous n'avons pas ^t^ du nioins 
 
 Tromp^s par TArchitecte. 
 
 Adieu, mon cher petit jardin. 
 
 Ma baraque jolie, 
 Toi que j'ai plant^ de ma main 
 
 Et toi que j'ai batie : 
 Puisqu'il faut prendre mon mousquet, 
 
 Et laisse ma chaumiere, 
 Je m'en vais planter le piquei 
 
 Par de la Frontiere. 
 
 Adieu, poules, pigeons, lapins, 
 
 Et ma chatte gentille, 
 Autour de m.oi tous les matins 
 
 Rassembl^s en famille. 
 Toi, mon chien, ne me quitte pas, 
 
 Compagnon de ma gloire ; 
 Partout tu dois suivre mes pas. 
 
 Ton nom est la Victoire. 
 
248 JOURNAL 
 
 Adieu, peniches et plats bateaux. 
 
 Frames et cannonieres ; 
 Qui deviez porter sur les eaux 
 
 Nos vaillans militaires. 
 Vous ne soyez pas si contens. 
 
 Messieurs de laTamise, 
 Seulement pour quelques instans 
 
 La partie est remise. 
 
 Nous aurons souvenir de vous, 
 
 Habitans de Bolougne, 
 Mais, pour le retour gardez-nous 
 
 Du Bordeaux, du Bourgogne : 
 Nous songerons a vos appas, 
 
 Gentiiles Boulognaises, 
 Les Allemandes ne font pas 
 
 Oublier les Fran^aises." 
 
 The song amused me, and I requested that 
 my acquaintance would have the goodness to 
 favour me with a copy. " Certainly," he re- 
 plied, and a day or two afterwards, when I met 
 him, presented me with one. The rest of his 
 
OF AN EXILE. 249 
 
 Story was simply, that he had subsequently been 
 taken considerable notice of by Bonaparte, and, 
 having distinguished himself at the battle of Aus- 
 terlitz, had been raised from the ranks. 
 
 When we left the cafe we strolled up toge- 
 ther to the High Town, upon the place of which 
 stood what is called in France Le Carcan. — 
 This is a species of pillory, in which criminals 
 are exposed when their sentence includes this 
 preliminary proceeding. The man who was 
 then standing in this instrument had been found 
 guilty of a robbery, and was to be imprisoned 
 for five years. A few persons were standing 
 round, but did not appear particularly interested 
 by the spectacle. 
 
 " These are no new sights to you," said my 
 companion to me: " I have been in London my- 
 self, and I am weU acquainted with the English 
 taste for sights of this kind ; ma foi! even your 
 women seemed to me to be as fond of them as 
 the men." 
 
 M 5 
 
250 JOURNAL 
 
 I endeavoured as well as I could to parry this 
 attack, by assuring him that as to the latter part 
 of what he had said, he must have been misin- 
 formed. 
 
 " Parbleu, nonT he replied ; " why, I saw it 
 with my own eyes. I was one morning going 
 to what you call the city, I suppose because it 
 is an island. When I was arrived at the corner 
 of a little street which turns out of your Rue 
 de Flotte^ I perceived a great crowd of persons 
 all down the rue^ and raised above them a scaf- 
 folding. Several ladies, tres comme iljaut, pressed 
 by me; and one said, ' We shall be too late, how 
 unfortunate !' As I wish to see the spectacles of 
 the countries I visit, I went into the street, where 
 I expected to see, perhaps, les Jongleurs In- 
 dietis faire des tours. Mais Je fus frappe. A 
 man was just struggling upon the potence in 
 the agonies of death, while the v.'indows of the 
 houses all round were filled with women. CW 
 tout-a-fait unique^ I said to myself, and hastened 
 
OF AN EXILE. 261 
 
 away ; but the rest of all that day I was much 
 surprised to see men running about through the 
 streets with a paper fastened to their hats, re- 
 presenting the hanging man and uttering loud 
 cries, who, I concluded, were his accomplices, 
 that had thus been branded, and were compelled 
 to make a public confession of their guilt."" 
 
 I was silenced and mortified: but, in order 
 to have my blow too, I said ; "At all events, I 
 doubt if such instances of credulity and folly 
 would be found in England as this very town 
 lately exhibited. A friend told me that he 
 happened to be at a banker's one day, about 
 the period that Thistlewood" — ' Oest lui-m^me,' 
 cried my companion, ' que fai 'ou' I con- 
 tinued — " that Thistlewood was condemned to 
 die. Some wag had spread a report that the 
 convicted person had offered a reward of twenty 
 thousand pounds each to three persons who 
 would consent to draw lots to take his place, 
 and an additional ten thousand to him upon 
 
252 JOURNAL 
 
 whom the performance of the condition might 
 fall ; and several peasants positively came into 
 the banker's, requesting to know if he were not 
 the person employed to pay the money, saying, 
 Oest line triste chose que la mort, mais, diable ! 
 je pourrais gagner deux cent mille francs^ 
 
 " O est possible que cela^ said the officer when 
 I concluded, " mais des dames se plaire a voir 
 pendre - You must avow that such a taste is 
 parfaitement Enghsh."" I had nothing to reply, 
 and we parted rather upon bad terms. 
 
 " And now," said my friend the pedestrian, 
 '* I am afraid I must take my leave of you. I 
 propose setting out to-morrow for Nice, on my 
 way to Venice, where I am going." 
 
 This communication was unexpected and un- 
 welcome to me, as I felt that I should probably 
 relapse into my former depression and misery. 
 It is great weakness for a man to yield utterly 
 to these in common cases ; and even in my sin- 
 gular and melancholy one, I have struggled 
 
OF AN EXILE. '25'-i 
 
 hard, but tlie labour is witli me so hopeless as 
 to this world— it is so like that of the slave com- 
 pelled to work in order to save a sinking vessel, 
 that when I have no companion, and such I find 
 it difficult to find, my heart sinks, and I give 
 up the contest. I requested my friend to favour 
 me with his correspondence, which he promised, 
 and we parted towards evening in mutual regret. 
 
254 JOURNAL 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 April 10th. — I have written nothing here for 
 some time past. I became indolent and indiffer- 
 ent after my friend's departure, and have not 
 once entered the city. The spring has rapidly 
 advanced, the heat of the sun is becoming in- 
 tense, the vines begin to freshen, and the almond- 
 trees are all in blossom. I may exclaim with 
 Surrey, 
 
 " And thus I see, among these pleasant thuigs. 
 Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs ;" 
 
 every thing feels the reviving approach of the 
 new life of nature but myself. Once I could 
 welcome it with all the pure joy and transport 
 which it communicates to the artless and happy : 
 the green springing corn, the opening bud, the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 255 
 
 triumphant skylark floating and singing at 
 Heaven's gates above me, used to make my blood 
 flow faster, and my heart beat with the anticipa- 
 tion of warmth, and perfumed gardens, and dark 
 woods and shining rivers, where I might ramble 
 and roam " one long summer's day of indolence 
 and ease." I thought not of the world as a 
 struggle and temptation ; I saw not, knew not 
 the real world. While others sought for em- 
 ployments and ambitious distinctions, while they 
 fluttered and danced and trifled in promenades 
 and balls, my pleasure was to wander away 
 among shady lanes and meadows and babbling 
 streams. I remember I used to fly from the 
 bustle and gaieties of Leamington, where I once 
 was, and hasten to the decayed turrets of Kenil- 
 worth, which lay near ; and there my imagination 
 peopled the grass-gi'own halls and chambers with 
 many a knightly form. But my humour was 
 misunderstood : when I was only shy, I was con- 
 sidered sullen ; and when my heart was full of 
 
256 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 affection and disposition to do well, I was be- 
 lieved selfish, unfeeling, and cold. I was wil- 
 ful, because I loved what was natural in prefer- 
 ence to the artificial enjoyments amidst which I 
 was placed, and sighed for the ties of affection 
 and social life. But enough of this, and let me 
 walk forth. 
 
 I returned much fatigued from my morning's 
 expedition. I ascended the rock which lies at the 
 mouth of the harbour, and visited the chapel and 
 fort of Notre Dame. The path to it was steep 
 and stony; and had not one of those mists which 
 sometimes hang about the sun shaded me, I 
 should have found the ascent at mid-day impos- 
 sible. The fort is small, and without any can- 
 non. Upon its gate is painted a sentinel, and 
 the importance of the post has been thus de- 
 scribed by a French poet ; 
 
OF AN EXILE. 257 
 
 Gouvernemenl commode et bcau» 
 A qui sufiit pour toute garde 
 Un Suisse avcc sa hallebarde 
 Peint a la porte du Chateau. 
 
 The chapel which I entered is small, and hung 
 round with numerous votive offerings and paint- 
 ings, — models of ships, whose originals had been 
 preserved from wreck by the assistance of the 
 Virgin ; pictures of persons dying and consoled 
 by angels ; of a man delivered from some im- 
 minent danger, while the Saviour or saint ap- 
 pears in a cloud above. 
 
 Some of the Catalans were kneeling there, and 
 perhaps making some vow. These Catalans, 
 whom I have mentioned before, are a distinct 
 and peculiar race. They are the fishermen of 
 Marseilles. They live on the outside of the 
 walls upon the coast, in a long collection of 
 houses enclosed within a gate, and entirely se- 
 parated from the other inhabitants of the neigh- 
 
258 JOURNAL 
 
 bourhood. They have courts of their own, in 
 which one of the most respectable of the patrons 
 or master fishermen presides, and is called PrucC- 
 homme (an abridgement of Prudent homme.) 
 This court is only, however, for the trial of 
 disputes among themselves, and its decision is 
 announced in these simple words by the Prud' 
 homme, " La ley vous couiidano.'''' It is usually 
 upon Sunday afternoon, and a fee of two sous 
 is paid by the plaintiff and defendant. 
 
 Coming out of the chapel, I stood gazing 
 upon the various objects which there pre- 
 sent themselves : — The harbour, the old black 
 town, the graceful and fair modern city looking 
 down with refined contempt and superciliousness 
 upon her unpolished neighbour, the scorched 
 smoking mountains in the distance shutting in 
 the myriads of bastides, with their endless walls, 
 and their scattered fig-trees, and closed shutters. 
 Then spreading before me, the wide Mediter- 
 ranean, with the Quarantine Islands, whose 
 
OF AN EXILE. 259 
 
 anchored ships looked like some of those dark 
 and fatal vessels which used to convey devoted 
 victims to the monster, or the fire, while the 
 white and sparkling sails of those which con- 
 tained no sin flitted along the horizon like 
 summer insects. 
 
 Upon the quays beneath, six or seven of the 
 Atlantaean porters of Marseilles were nodding 
 along with their huge burthen, — a vast trunk of 
 a tree. These men are peculiar to Provence, and 
 I never saw any who might compete with them, 
 except perhaps the Titan draymen of London. 
 Yet their nourishment is very slight, — a bunch 
 of grapes, some bread, and a little wine, being 
 sufficient to recruit the strength of their enor- 
 mous hmbs. As they bear along their load, 
 slung by ropes between them, divided in two 
 lines, each man lays his hand upon the shoulder 
 of him on the other side of the trunk, who places 
 his in the same manner. Then the wild cries 
 of the sailors as they were heaving the merchan- 
 
260 JOURNAL 
 
 disc from their vessels, echoed up to the rock, 
 and brought to my recollection the time when I 
 had heard them in the midst of tempest and the 
 dark Biscay. 
 
 It was an animated varied scene. Stern 
 rocks, white bastides, freshening gardens, a 
 noble city, a crowded harbour, fishermen, sol- 
 diers, priests, merchants, mingled together; 
 while as the noon came on, shouts of ptre, pere, 
 tutte caude, tutte caude, — poires, poires, toutes 
 chaudes, proceeding from the true Proven^ale 
 women that were issuing out of the narrow 
 defiles of the old town. And on the other side 
 the silent sea, waiting in deceitful and crouching 
 stillness for some of its destined prey: for 
 that smooth polished surface, that looked as if 
 it could bear the trusting foot, might ere long 
 be broken into yawning abysses, and swallowing 
 up whole navies. 
 
 The gradual approach of a storm is indeed 
 an awful and mysterious sight. "We behold the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 261 
 
 effect produced by an unseen agent, we see in- 
 nocence and tranquillity transformed into de- 
 structiveness and fury. Let the materialist, 
 the man who says he has no soul, but that 
 his thoughts, words, and deeds, are the mere 
 effects of mechanism and matter, — let him stand 
 upon the lofty mountain, and from thence let 
 him look out upon the world of waters ; let him 
 see them sleeping quietly and placidly, harmless 
 and beautiful : then let him behold them rearing 
 themselves in dark and gloomy ridges, whiten- 
 ing and roaring, crashing together, and leaping 
 up against the cliff upon which he stands, and 
 scattering their foam and spray along the sandy 
 shore. Then ask him what it is that has caused 
 this mighty change ; if it be merely the opera- 
 tion of chance and necessary change from one 
 extreme to the other, or if there be not " a wind 
 that bloweth where it listeth, though no man 
 can tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth :" 
 and if he acknowledge that there is, but looks 
 
262 JOURNAL 
 
 upon the scene before him as a simile to, and 
 not an illustration of himself, then leave him to 
 enjoy his mechanism as he may. 
 
 12th. — I have this morning received a letter 
 from my friend, dated from Turin. He seems 
 in high spirits, and speaks in raptures of his 
 journey. " I set out from Chambery," he says, 
 " on foot. I had gone thither in the public 
 carriage; but as you know that my funds 
 require management and that I prefer at all 
 times walking, I determined upon going as far 
 as this city in that way. I had a delicious ram- 
 ble along the rich winding valley of La Mau- 
 rienne, living chiefly upon milk which I procured 
 in the cabins of the poor goitreuse Savoyards. 
 Shut up within their narrow defiles, with no 
 noise or tumult to disturb them, but the 
 rushing of the Arque or mountain torrent which 
 rolls through the valley, or the blowing of the 
 wintry wind, they pass their lives in innocence 
 and ignorance, with no riches but their goats, 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 263 
 
 and no ambition but that of having the best 
 milk. 
 
 " You will be induced to think from my 
 passionate description of this mountain life, that 
 my date is a false one, and that I am imitating 
 your friend the hermit. But I am afraid that 
 though in speculation I may admire the simple 
 life of these Savoyards, from comparing it with 
 my own restless and wandering one, yet were I 
 to practise it, I much fear that its charms would 
 vanish away ; for I am just as delighted \vith 
 this gay bustling city, as I was with the valley 
 of La Maurienne. 
 
 " I arrived here four days ago. I crossed the 
 Mount Cenis on foot, but ascended by a wild 
 rugged path with a muleteer, who was driving 
 his mules to Susa. By the by, I must tell you 
 that I was wonderfully amused to find a little 
 English woman in the Inn at Lanslebourg, 
 which is a village at the base of the Alps, where 
 formerly asses were employed to transport the 
 
264 JOURNAL 
 
 baggage of travellers, and thence it derives its 
 name Les ordes aiies h Bourg, The English 
 woman is married to the master of the inn, 
 and is just as active and landlady like, as if she 
 were upon the Great North Road. 
 
 To return to my muleteer. — Giving his mules 
 two or three smart lashes with his whip, they 
 scrambled and stumbled up the stony rock like 
 goats, while we followed them a little more cau- 
 tiously. The man told me that he had been 
 employed once to ramasser Bonaparte; and I 
 asked him how he felt while they were gliding 
 down. " I felt," said the man, "as if I were 
 the plus grand homme de mon pai/s, car f avals 
 le plus grand homme du monde sous ma garde.'''' 
 And indeed, it was certain, that any false ma- 
 noeuvre of this ramasseur might have precipi- 
 tated the second Hannibal from his Alpine cha- 
 riot, and preserved the world from fields of 
 carnage, and himself from future moral ruin, 
 and headlong descent. The road across the 
 
OF AN EXILE. 265 
 
 mountain which he made, is a glorious memo- 
 rial of him. Indeed, all who travel on the 
 Continent may exclaim with the Scotch inscrip- 
 tion, 
 " Had you seen these roads before they were made. 
 You'd lift up your hands, and bless General Wade," 
 — or Buonaparte. For he has done wonders ; 
 the Alps, the Mountains of Tarar, in the Lyon- 
 nois, the beautiful road along the banks of the 
 Rhine, and the unfinished and magnificent one 
 over the Genoese Alps, from Nice to Genoa, 
 all attest his vast and enterprising genius. But 
 the particular work which I have just passed is 
 perfect. Avalanches checked, precipices avoided 
 or guarded against, a road as wide as any mode- 
 rate-sized one in the plains beneath, regulations 
 established by him, and kept up by the King of 
 Sardinia, for its safety and that of the traveller, 
 — such are the benefits which he who crosses 
 the Mont Cenis must acknowledge. There ar6 
 about twenty-five huts in different stations along 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
266 JOURNAL 
 
 the road, which may afford refuge during the 
 snow-storms. There is Hkewise a company of 
 Cantonniers, commanded by an oflficer, who 
 are constantly employed during the winter in 
 clearing away the snow ; and strong tall posts 
 are fixed at intervals all along, to mark the di- 
 rection of the road, when concealed by a recent 
 heavy fall of it. There are two small inns upon 
 the summit : I dined at one of them, upon some 
 of the trout of the lake, which was still frozen 
 over. The road proceeds along the plateau of 
 the mountain. At the hamlet of La Grande 
 Croix, it begins to descend, and winds down 
 sometimes upon the brink of the most terrific 
 precipices, which are furnished with a stone 
 parapet . 
 
 Just before entering Piedmont, one catches 
 the first glimpse of Italy. To the left of tii? 
 descent, the Valley of the Cenise is seen as far 
 as Susa. I could have shouted with the Tro- 
 jans, " Italia^ Italia P' When I first looked to- 
 
OF AN KXILE. 
 
 267 
 
 wards the distant Paradise, the afternoon was 
 still and warm ; and as I slowly dropped down 
 the mountain, I indulged in those luxurious 
 visions. I was then, at last, upon the point of 
 setting my feet upon the birth-place of Cato, of 
 Cicero, of Camillus ; and I exclaimed, as the 
 plain opened itself upon me, and I could see as 
 far as the Superga, which stands above the Po, 
 " SaUe, magna parens frugum, Saturiiia tellus, 
 Magna virum :'" 
 I reached Susa about five in the evening ; and 
 after visiting a Roman arch, which is in excel- 
 lent preservation, strolled into the church : it 
 was the eve of Good Friday, and I entered just 
 as a procession which had been making the tour 
 of the town had returned. The Virgin, whom 
 they had been carrying about, was in grand cos- 
 tume, all flowers and beads and gilding, as fine 
 as a tragedy queen at a fair; but there was 
 something intoxicating in the warm glow of the 
 sky which fell upon the group within the church, 
 N 2 
 
268 JOURNAL 
 
 as with their veils and hoods thrown back they 
 chaunted some hymn, and glanced occasionally 
 with their black Italian eyes upon the English 
 strangers, of whom there were several looking 
 upon the ceremony besides myself. 
 
 There are, perhaps, no two contrasts so strong 
 as those which France and England present, the 
 moment one has passed the sea, and Savoy and 
 Italy, when the traveller descends into the val- 
 lev of Susa. The two barriers which are the 
 causes of this striking difference, are alike sel- 
 dom passed by the peasantry ; there is no gra- 
 dual mingling and blending of the manners of 
 one country into another; all is abrupt and 
 isolated. This sudden change more particularly 
 struck me while I was within the church of Susa, 
 and afterwards, as I paced along its streets, sur- 
 rounded by painted walls, rich Madonna faces, 
 green and flowery gardens, a softer dialect, a 
 more graceful air ; in fine, the characteristics of 
 the land of poets and painters. But a few hours 
 
OF AN EXILE. 269 
 
 before, I was among rude wooden huts, squalid 
 people, bleak mountains overhanging dark and 
 barren defiles, a French patois, coarse food, and 
 all the marks of a poor and unfavoured country. 
 " I dined in the evening at the table d'hote 
 of the Inn, where I found the other English 
 travellers. Some of them had arrived in their 
 travelling carriages, and some by the diligence. 
 Diligence ! I think I hear you exclaim,— diligence 
 among the Alps ! Even so, my friend ; and the 
 old blunder of the schoolboy could now be ve- 
 rified, for Hannibal certainly might pass these 
 monies prcerupta summa diligentid — upon the 
 top of the diligence. 
 
 Our dinner was amusing, as it afforded me an 
 opportunity of observing the different charac- 
 ters present. The real Milords, who had con- 
 descended to dine at the same table with the 
 stage-coach people, sat retired apart, and whis- 
 pered together in the most gentlemanly manner. 
 They had their Cottj/ Rotty, as one of them 
 
270 JOURNAL 
 
 called it, that is Cote Rotie, and looked round 
 with as much contempt upon us and our inferior 
 wines, as a man does at a tavern when he is 
 beginning his dinner with salmon, while his 
 neighbour evidently intends to allow himself 
 nothing but a beef-steak. 
 
 ** There was near me, however, one Enghsh- 
 nian who had come in the diligence, and who as- 
 sumed that sort of air which a person who con- 
 siders himself a considerable traveller often does. 
 He shook his head at the soup, slowly savoured 
 the wine, earnestly recommended some pigeons 
 a la Crapandine which stood near him, and in- 
 stituted a comparison between the long pipes of 
 bread which one finds upon entering Piedmont, 
 and the petits pains au lait of Paris. He then 
 commenced a political argument with a dark 
 whiskered Frenchman opposite to him, and, 
 intending to pay the compliment of a citizen of 
 the world to his opponent, he said, " Mais tout 
 corps faut doute mains dire que la Angkterre et 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 •271 
 
 la France sont les deux plus grandes Potences de 
 la Europe.'''' There was a general tendency to 
 break out into a roar of laughter among those 
 who heard him ; and the explosion took place 
 with stunning violence, when the Frenchman 
 gravely replied, that " En verite, la potence d'J/i- 
 gletcrre allait toujours bien, mats celle de France 
 was a Httle less flourishing since the unhappy 
 days of the guillotine." The poor discomfited 
 Englishman, who had by this time discovered 
 his mistake, said no more, and took the first 
 opportunity of retreating from tiie room. 
 
 " I passed the night at the Inn, during which 
 I heai'd some of the tourmentes rumbling and 
 rushing in the mountains above ; and the next 
 morning continued my route towards Turin, 
 passing by two or three villages with ruined 
 chateaux above them, and Rivoli, the castle oi 
 which once served as a prison of an abdicated 
 king of Sardinia, Amadeus the Second, who was 
 confined there by his son. Abdication seems to 
 
272 JOURNAL 
 
 be very fashionable among these princes ; I think 
 history mentions three or four who have descended 
 from their thrones, besides the late instance. 
 
 " From Rivoli the road runs in a straight 
 line to Turin, the baby capital of the Sardinian 
 dominions. I entered it as a procession was 
 passing along ; and besides the priests, and ta- 
 pers, and canopies, there was a train of young 
 girls with long white veils, who were educated 
 by the Government, each carrying a white wax 
 cierge, and looking like fair nuns performing 
 their noviciate. 
 
 " I was too much fatigued to roam about the 
 city that evening, so I remained at the Buona 
 Fama, as the Italians call the Bonne Femme, one 
 of the inns of Turin. 
 
 " The next morning I strolled about, and 
 from the Piazza del Castello enjoyed the singu- 
 lar appearance which the rectangular correctness 
 of the streets presents, and the tall bastions of Ita- 
 ly, standing sternly at the end of the long view 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 •273 
 
 from the gate of the Doria. There is another 
 noble place here, that of Saint Charles, and a 
 beautiful chapel dedicated to Saint Seraine. The 
 theatre is one of the finest in Italy : I believe, 
 indeed, it is the third ; La Seal a at Milan and 
 that of San Carlos at Naples ranking the two 
 first. It is unfortiinately closed ; but I have been 
 at a Uttle theatre called del Principe Carignano, 
 where some of Goldoni's pieces are very well 
 represented. There is another house where 
 Operas are now performed — I was there last 
 night. We had an Opera Bnfa called La Fo- 
 resfa di Hermanstad, the music of which is by 
 Coccia. It was prettily done, and seemed well 
 attended ; but the Court is at Genoa now. 
 
 " I have been likewise to see the Church of 
 the Superga, which stands upon a high hill on 
 the right bank of the river Po. There is a 
 liffht elegant bridge over this river, built by the 
 indefatigable Buonaparte. The Superga is a 
 very beautiful structure, and contains the tombs 
 N 5 
 
274 JOURNAL 
 
 of the Kings of Piedmont, who seem to wish to 
 take heaven by storm, so high are their bones 
 laid. The man who attended me through them 
 pointed out to my attention the chamber of the 
 family Carignano ; and this made me say, — 
 ' But where is the Prince now ? ^ as you will 
 recollect that he was implicated in the late Re- 
 volution. ' Si dice,'' repHed the man, ' che fa 
 viaggio per la sua sanitd;'' and I thought the 
 answer could not have been more appropriate 
 to his situation, if my guide had intended to say 
 something sharp. The Prince is, I believe, en- 
 deavouring to restore his health at Florence; 
 he is married to a daughter of the Grand Duke 
 of Tuscany. 
 
 " I was much pleased with the Superga, but 
 infinitely more so witli the beautiful prospect 
 from its terrace : the rich plains of Lombardy, 
 with the FUiviorutn Rex Eridamis, and the 
 Alpine Doria, the green-wooded banks, the city 
 with its cupolas and surrounding chateaux, and 
 
OF AN KXILE. 275 
 
 the white villages scattered away even to thr 
 Alps, which spread themselves along the boun- 
 dary of the plain like giant sentinels suddenly 
 petrified into snow and stillness. And, indeed, 
 they have but ill kept the watch which Nature 
 would seem to have assigned to them. First, 
 Hannibal passed them, while the avalanches 
 and tourmentes spared the bold Africans, t)f 
 whom it might have been said, as of the fallen 
 Angels, that they 
 
 " Raised impious war in Heaven, and battle proud 
 With vain attempt." 
 But the attempt was not always to be vain ; 
 Transalpine armies, one after the other, have 
 scaled the once impregnable fortress ; and the 
 very church upon whose terrace I stood, had 
 been erected to commemorate a defeat which 
 the French or Gauls had sustained under the 
 walls of Turin. Poor Italy ! — nothing now re- 
 mains of thy boasted Republics, but 
 
 " Towns unmann'd and lords without a slave !" 
 
276 JOURNAL 
 
 Emigration, oppression, and a foreign yoke, have 
 defaced and degraded " this most replenished 
 sweet work of Nature" into petty principali- 
 ties and subject provinces. But, concludes my 
 friend, I fear you will find my letter already too 
 long, — so, till my next, adieu." 
 
OF AK EXII-E. 
 
 '211 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 April 30th.— I made a little excursion as far 
 as Aix the other day. This city lies at about 
 fifteen miles distance from Marseilles, in the cen- 
 tre of a valley, through which a small river called 
 the Arc runs. I was curious to visit it, as its 
 name has been often mentioned in the accounts 
 of the Troubadours which I have occasionally 
 met with. 
 
 I arrived there about the middle of the day ; 
 and, having taken a slight dinner, rambled over 
 the town. The first object which strikes the 
 stranger, is the magnificent entrance into the 
 city. A rich screen of iron railing and gateway 
 separates the Orbitelle, or Cours, which the tra- 
 veller first meets with as he comes from the 
 North, from the high road. Upon the outside 
 
278 JOURNAL 
 
 of this gateway, at some distance, and in a con- 
 spicuous position, is placed a tall crucifix, with an 
 image of the suffering Saviour nailed upon it, 
 and an inscription is placed beneath it, comme- 
 morating the pious care of the missionaries under 
 whose superintendence it was erected. The 
 more devout and humble peasants, as they pass 
 it on their way to the market, uncover themselves, 
 and, making the usual sign of the cross, murmur 
 a short prayer. 
 
 Passing through the railing, four avenues of 
 the Orhitelle present themselves. This noble 
 promenade derives its name from the following 
 circumstance : — A Cardinal Mazarin, brother to 
 the cardinal of that name, was archbishop of the 
 diocese of Aix, at a time when the houses which 
 line each side of the Cours were being con- 
 structed. One day, as he was going in solemn 
 procession^ attended by his priests, to lay the 
 first stone of one of the gates of the city, near the 
 new buildings, the sudden springing of a mine 
 
OF AN EXILE. 2T9 
 
 burst open and rent the rocks which were near 
 the holy train, who fled probably in supersti- 
 tious alarm. The populace, who, however bi- 
 goted and subservient they may be to their 
 spiritual guides, never let any occasion of sar- 
 casm and merriment pass unnoticed, immediately 
 exclaimed, that the archbishop's enterprise had 
 failed like his father"'s at Orbitello, a town in 
 Italy, the siege of which he had been obliged to 
 raise. Since that period, its present name of 
 Orbitelle has always been attached to it and the 
 surrounding quarter. 
 
 This anecdote brings to my recollection ano- 
 ther of the same description, which is related to 
 have happened at Marseilles. During the siege 
 of that city by the Constable of Bourbon, who, 
 like Coriolanus, commanded the armies of the 
 enemies of his country, the Imperial troops were 
 encouraged in their tedious blockade by Bour- 
 bon, who openly boasted that the Consuls of the 
 city would presently bring him the keys. No- 
 
280 JOURNAL 
 
 thing of the sort, however, seemed hkely to hap- 
 pen ; and the Constable's promises became the 
 subject of ridicule in the camp. Pescara, who 
 commanded jointly with Bourbon, was engaged 
 in examining the works of the besieged place at 
 a distance, when a battery, which he had not 
 observed, opened its fire upon him and his at- 
 tendants, and killed one of them. Upon which 
 the Spanish general ordered some of his train 
 to collect two of the balls, and, having covered 
 them with a cloth, to present them with great 
 solemnity and state to Bourbon, informing him 
 at the same time, that they were the keys of 
 Marseilles, which the Consuls humbly desired 
 his acceptance of. The siege was shortly after 
 raised. 
 
 The Cows is planted with four rows of noble 
 elms, and lined on either side by some of the 
 finest houses in the town. About the centre of 
 it stands a fountain of warm water, which rises 
 probably from the same source as that which 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 2S1 
 
 supplies the baths, which were formerly very fa- 
 mous, and, having been particularly attended to 
 by a Roman governor called Sextius, gave the 
 name of Aqua' Sextiae to the city, which is now 
 modernised into Aix. Some years ago, the pro- 
 prietor of some ground near this fountain sunk 
 a well in his soil, which produced cold water, 
 but the warm spring immediately failed. The 
 inhabitants, to whom its waters were a great 
 convenience and even saving, were much annoyed 
 by this circumstance, and agreed to pay this 
 inconvenient neighbour a sum of money to fill 
 up his well ; and, upon this being done, the good 
 Boui-geoises of Aix had the pleasure of seeing 
 their buckets full of smoking water again. 
 
 The Orbitelle is the great mall of fashion ; 
 several cafes are among the houses at the side, 
 from whence on a Sunday evening pour out 
 troops of idlers. But, as a person remarked to 
 me, whom I happened to speak to, I should have 
 seen this promenade before the Revolution, when 
 
282 JOURNAL 
 
 Aix had its own parliament. More than a hun- 
 dred splendid equipages used to parade slowly 
 along the stately avenues, filled with the descen- 
 dants of all the most illustrious families of Pro- 
 vence. Madame de Grignon, too, was among 
 them, the immortalized daughter of Madame de 
 Sevigne ; for Monsieur de Grignon was governor 
 of Provence. But Aix suffered like the rest of the 
 fair cities of France in thegreat moral earthquake; 
 her parliament disappeared, her nobles and prin- 
 ces .perished upon the scaffold or wandered over 
 foreign countries, her monuments of poetry and 
 beauty were defaced and destroyed, and nothing 
 now graces the Orbitelle on the Dimanchet but 
 a few old Counts on foot, the rumbling chest of a 
 coach of some ancient dame who has contrived 
 to retain a part of her demesnes, a number of 
 English characters en pension in the families of 
 the noblesse, and a host of students belonging to 
 the University of Law, there being one there. 
 I happened to have arrived on Sunday, and 
 
OP AK EXILE. 283 
 
 continuing my walk through the town, 1 entered 
 the cathedral church of St. Sauveur. Mass was 
 being performed, and the Archbishop sat en- 
 throned in archiepiscopal state at the upper end 
 of the choir, on the right end of the altar. At 
 certain periods of the service he rose and made 
 some low bows to the altar, upon which the 
 priests bowed, and the little assistants bowed, 
 and the Pontiff's footmen who stood close to the 
 throne bowed, and the tall moustachioed halle- 
 barde man, and the people ; — in short, it was 
 something like the Court of the Chinese Em- 
 peror Ching. Now, in Paris, this mummery 
 would have excited ridicule among the great 
 mass of the congregation; for it occurred so 
 often that it became quite ludicrous to me, who 
 am generally disposed to look upon all the ce- 
 remonies of religion with respect. But among 
 the Provencals the spirit of devotion is much 
 stronger than that of the northern parts of 
 France ; their Saints are more numerous, their 
 
284 JOURNAL 
 
 fetes more splendid, and they have, in spite of 
 the purifying fan of the Revokition, retained or 
 recovered all their ancient veneration for reliques 
 and holy things. Indeed it is in general found 
 that the people of warm countries are more 
 wedded to the mysterious superstitions of their 
 religion than those of northern regions. 
 
 All religion is intimately connected with 
 poetry, at least in its origin. The first prayers 
 were songs either of thanksgiving or lamentation ; 
 and the glowing imagination, and " Souls made 
 of fire of the Children of the Sun," prompted 
 them to pour out their penitence or joy in all 
 the imagery and imaginative language of the 
 East. Now, since the Muses were cradled and 
 nourished in Greece, and since from thence is 
 derived the system of Pagan Mythology, which 
 abounds in Gods, and temples, and hymns, and 
 all the pomp of sacrifice ; and as the people of 
 Provence are descended from Greeks, and were 
 the first poets of France, — it is not surprising to 
 
OF AN EXILE. 285 
 
 find among them so many legends which partake 
 partly of a Pagan and partly of a Christian cha- 
 racter, and which assist in keeping alive the 
 flame which their own burning skies never cease 
 to feed. All their passions, all their feelings, are 
 stronger than those of colder people ; the very 
 simple circumstance of taking off the hat and 
 repeating a prayer as the southern peasant 
 passes the Christ crucified, is a striking instance 
 of this imaginative devotion. 
 
 The church of St. Sauveur is, like all other 
 cathedrals, cold, solemn, and abounding in 
 traces of the Republican hostility, during the 
 reign of reason, to statues and tombs. But 
 nmch of this devastation is gradually disappear- 
 ing under the pious care of the Archbishop, and 
 the attention of some of the respectable inhabit- 
 ants of Aix. It contains a monument which 
 has lately been put up to Peiresc, who was born 
 in Provence and died at Aix. He was a liberal 
 and enlightened patron of the arts, and his ca- 
 
286 JOUENAL 
 
 binet of medals was reckoned one of the finest 
 in the world. Peiresc was buried in the church 
 of the Dominicans ; but the unsparing hand of 
 anarchy overthrew the white marble tomb which 
 had been erected above his ashes. At his death 
 the Academy of Rome caused a funeral oration 
 in his praise to be pronounced^ aad his memory 
 will be ever honoured by the antiquary. 
 
 As I was returning from the cathedral, the 
 Archbishop passed me in his carriage. He was 
 going out to visit a college which he has esta- 
 bUshed near the city, or at least which he princi- 
 pally supports with his revenues. These amount 
 to about two thousand pounds ; but little for so 
 high an ecclesiastical dignity, when compared 
 with the incomes of the English bishops. But 
 indeed the French clergy of the present day 
 are by no means rich: the days when bishops 
 were courtiers, and paraded through the streets 
 of Paris in splendid equipages, are past ; both 
 they and the Cures are now lessened, as well in 
 
OF AK rxii.K. 287 
 
 importance as in wealtli, and are obliged to live 
 cautiously and correctly, in order to stem the 
 general tendency in France to despise them. 
 
 I passed the night at a small inn kept by an 
 old woman, who, seeing that I was in bad health, 
 treated me as if I were her own son. I had my 
 fire of olive-wood, as the evening had become 
 cold ; an old book written by Nostradamus, which 
 she brought forth from a dark chest ; and even 
 some tea. My old hostess had lived through 
 the Revolution ; and mournfully did she talk 
 of the former splendour of Aix. She showed 
 me two dragon-footed chairs covered with rich 
 faded tapestry, that she said had formerly be- 
 longed to Monsieur de la Tour du Pin, one 
 of the noblest families of Dauphine. " I re- 
 member well," said she, " that the poor lady 
 was concealed in my house after the destruction 
 of the chateau ; and when the Marseillois used 
 to come in and drink death to all the aristo- 
 crats, I used to tremble so; for if they had 
 
288 JOURNAL 
 
 known there was one in the house, they would 
 have hanged us all up by the lamp among 
 the trees.'^ — " And was she preserved ?" said I. 
 
 "O yes, God be praised!" replied the old 
 woman ; " she disguised herself as a servant, 
 and, as her person was not known at Marseilles, 
 she went and lived there ; and some time after, 
 when matters came round again, she recovered 
 some of her property, and now resides in Paris.'"* 
 
 I began to be rather tired, however, of the 
 garrulous old lady, which she, no doubt, per- 
 ceived, for she soon left me to myself. I turned 
 over the pages of the book, which contained 
 some curious old prophecies. Nostradamus was 
 a great favourite with Henry the Second, who 
 sent for him to Paris, and gave him two hun- 
 dred golden crowns for his pay. Stephen Jo- 
 delle, a contemporary poet with the prophet, 
 made this satirical distich upon him, — 
 
 Nostra damuf, cum falsa damus, nam fallere nostrum 
 
 est, 
 El cum falsa damus, nil nisi nostra damns. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 289 
 
 Nostradamus was born at Salon in Provence, 
 and buried there. He was supposed to have 
 predicted the fate of Cinq Mars, in the reign of 
 Louis the Thirteenth, in these lines: — 
 
 " Quaiid robe rouge aura passe fenetre 
 Fort nialingreux, inais iion pas de la tousse, 
 A quarante onces on tranchera la tele, 
 Et de trop pres le suivra de Thou." 
 
 The Cardinal Richeheu was, at the time of 
 the conspiracy of Cinq Mars, ill, and carried in 
 a litter in the King's suite : his bed was intro- 
 duced into the hotels through the window. 
 Forty ounces make five marks, or Cinq Mars, 
 and De Thou v. as beheaded shortly after Cinq 
 Mars. This De Thou was the son of the famou> 
 President De Thou ; and it was said that the tru« 
 reason which made Cardinal Richelieu bring hiru 
 to the block, was not because he had concealed 
 Cinq Mars's conspiracy, which had been coni- 
 
 VOL. II. o 
 
^90 JOURKAt 
 
 municated to him, but because the president, in 
 his account of the plot of Amboise, speaking of 
 a great uncle of the Cardinal, had thus charac- 
 terized him. " Antonius Plessiacus Richelius, 
 vulgo dictus monachus, quod earn vitam pro- 
 fessus fuisset^ dein voto ejurato, omni Ucentice 
 ac libidinis genere contaminassety And that 
 Richelieu, like the wolf in the fable, made the 
 son suffer for the father's offence. 
 
 I retired to bed early, and was amused to ob- 
 serve a black crucifix, with a Uttle benetier for 
 holy water, fastened above my pillow against 
 the wall. The next morning, after breakfasting 
 upon coffee and some of the nice bread of Aix, 
 I strolled toward the Public Library. 
 
 I was anxious to discover something about the 
 Troubadours ; and, upon entering, proceeded 
 up to the Librarian, and asked him some ques- 
 tions respecting their poetry. He seemed a 
 arreat enthusiast in all which related to the old 
 rroven9al language; and showed me a poem 
 
OF AN EXILE. 291 
 
 which he had written in praise of silk-worms, or 
 Magnans, as they are called in Provencal. 
 These precious insects appear to have furnished 
 frequent occasion to the poets of these warm 
 provinces for description : among others, Anto 
 nios Alena, a native of the country round Tou- 
 lon, has composed a sort of Georgic upon them, 
 giving directions how they should be treated, 
 and relating their manners, as Virgil did those 
 of the bees. 
 
 The Librarian shewed me a collection of old 
 Troubadour songs, and annals relating to the 
 courts of love, which used to be held at Aix. 
 The courts were presided by the Princess or 
 Countess of Provence ; and among others, 
 Beatrix of Savoy, the wife of Raymond Beren- 
 ger the Fifth, the last Count of Provence, is 
 particularly handed down as a patroness of song, 
 and a poetess. They were attended by all the 
 brightest and noblest ladies of the principality, 
 who sat as judges upon all disputes concerning 
 o 2 
 
292 Journal 
 
 love and beauty : — as, for instance, if two 
 knights were at issue respecting the comparative 
 brightness of the eyes or richness of the com- 
 plexion of their respective mistresses, they both 
 came into the court, and in alternate verses, as 
 the shepherds of Virgil, contended each for the 
 superiority. The decisions of the fair and 
 learned judges were always given according to 
 the common law of gallantry and chivalry ; and 
 they have been reported, in a poem entitled 
 Les Arrets d^ Amour, by Martial of Paris, or 
 Auvergne, as he is indifferently styled. In 
 examhiing the collection which the Librarian 
 had put into my hand, I met with the follow- 
 ing curious suit at love. 
 
 Savari de Manleau, a noble of Poitou, loved 
 a fair dame of Gascony. Savari imagined that 
 the lady was as fond as himself ; but the fraudu- 
 lent Viscountess had wilfully and maliciously in- 
 spired hopes into two other Knights ; and upon 
 one occasion, when they were all three present 
 
OF AN EXILE. ^9'i 
 
 before her, coquetted with every one. They, 
 as the report states, did not perceive this, till, 
 upon quitting the coquette's apartment, two of 
 them boasted of the kind words and glances 
 which had just been bestowed upon them. The 
 third, (Savari,) astonished and displeased at this 
 unexpected language, proceeded directly to con- 
 sult his two professional men, Hugo of Bache- 
 leri and Gaucelin Faidet ; and laid before them 
 his case in the following manner : 
 
 Gaucelin tres jocz enamoratz 
 Partix a vos et a d'Ugo 
 E quascus prendetz lo plus bo, 
 E laysatz me qual que us vulhatz ; 
 Qu' una dame a tres preyadors, 
 E destrenh la tan los amors. 
 Que, quan tug trey li son denan, 
 A quascun fai d'amor sembian ; 
 L'un es grand amorosamen, 
 L' autr' estrenh la man doussamen. 
 AI tertz caussing a '1 pe rizen, 
 Diguatz al qual pus aissies 
 Fai maior amor de tug tres. 
 
294 JOURNAL 
 
 Which may be thus translated ; 
 
 Gaucelin, three youths whom love doth grieve. 
 
 Of learned Hugo ask, and thee. 
 
 To name the fairest of the three. 
 
 And as ye will the others leave. 
 
 We all to one bright Princess kneel. 
 
 But she her choice doth so conceal — 
 
 Smiling on all — accepting none — 
 
 She seems to love us every one. 
 
 The first's a Saint, and talks of masses ; 
 
 The next her hand so softly presses ; 
 
 The third with sonnets her addresses. 
 
 Now, gentle Gaucelin, pryth-ie say, 
 
 Whose skill should bear the prize away ? 
 
 The two poets, Hugo and Gaucelin, accord- 
 ingly, having been thus retained, conducted the 
 case with great ingenuity ; but I do not find 
 judgment thereon reported. It was perhaps 
 delayed, and leave given to imparl. 
 
 These singular contests were called tourney- 
 amens, and probably gave their name to the 
 chivalrous onset in the list. For the Provencal 
 
OP AK EXILE. 295 
 
 Troubadours were certainly the founders of that 
 spirit of romance and enterprising devotion to 
 the fair sex, which was the great characteristic 
 of the Knightly Creed ; or rather, they first 
 spread its influence through Europe. For it 
 appears that we derive that species of poetry 
 and imagination from the Arabs. 
 
 It would seem indeed that the two great foun- 
 tains of song sprang up in the North and the 
 East. The ancient Scandinavians, as they 
 quaffed their dark juice of the pine in the Hall 
 of Skulls, chanted the praises of the warlike 
 God Odin ; and their descendants, among whom 
 we may reckon the English, have retained the 
 peculiar tone of composition which distinguished 
 the northern nations ; — for it was not till consi- 
 derably after the Norman conquest, that our 
 poets became acquainted with the lyrical and 
 gentle style of the Troubadours, who had been 
 first introduced into Provence upon the marriage 
 of Raymond Berenger, Count of Barcelona 
 
296 JOURNAL 
 
 with Douce, one of the two daughters of GilU- 
 bert, Count of Provence, who died without 
 male heirs. Raymond introduced into his new 
 dominions the arts and sciences which the Arabs 
 had spread through Spain ; and the warm skies 
 and fiery blood of Provence easily adopted the 
 glowing language and imagery of the East. But 
 the compositions of the new minstrels were 
 chiefly amatory ; they had neither taste nor in- 
 clination for epic poetry : and while, in England 
 and the northern nations, the monks, amidst the 
 gloom of the cloister, wrote annals in verse, 
 while the early English poets sung the praises of 
 rude kings and their banquets, who " women ne 
 kept oV the Troubadour thought only of love 
 and ladies, and celebrated the feats of gallantry 
 which he himself had performed, and the yield- 
 ing tenderness of some bright beauty. But 
 Chaucer first, by translating much of the old 
 French poetry into English, introduced, or en- 
 grafted upon the northern plant, the sweet bios- 
 
OF A>I EXILE. 297 
 
 9ora of the east; and thus is it that while 
 France has continued, as it were, to feel the in- 
 fluence of her ancient prevailing taste for light 
 and amatory song, that being her chief poetic 
 excellence, England has produced poems both 
 epic and lyric, both stately and tender, which 
 place her upon the highest pinnacle of Parnassus. 
 I have been unexpectedly led into these 
 thoughts concerning the origin of modern poetry, 
 which have often presented themselves to my 
 mind, but which I had never before followed up. 
 Let me return to what my memory may yet re- 
 tain of Aix. 
 
 When I quitted the library, I walked out be- 
 yond the city into the country. There was a 
 • mist about the sun, and its heat was thus soft- 
 ened. The ohve-trees were putting out their 
 leaves but slowly, for they were much injured 
 last winter ; numbers of them were killed by a 
 frost severer than had been known to have visited 
 these countries for years. 
 o 5 
 
298 JOURNAL 
 
 As I strolled along, a peasant passed me driv- 
 ing an ass, and he frequently called out " Anda, 
 AmbroTif anda ;" and thus brought to my recol- 
 lection the defeat which the Ambrones and 
 Cimbri are said to have sustained in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Aix. Tliey were routed by Marius, 
 and so great was the slaughter, that the district 
 where the battle is supposed to have taken place 
 is still called Mcdoosse, which is probably a cor- 
 ruption of Mala ossa. Upon the summit of a 
 lofty mountain, which looks down upon Aix, was 
 erected a temple, that, in its object like the Super- 
 ga, mentioned in my friend's letter, was destined 
 to commemorate this remarkable victory. It Avas 
 the Temple of Victory, and was seen at a great 
 distance at sea by mariners, who, the moment 
 they espied it, saluted it with shouts of " Lou 
 deloubrou de la victoire r delouhrouy in the old 
 language of Provence, meaning temple. 
 
 The country about Aix is rich and agreeable, 
 and there are a few really pretty chateaux^ not bar- 
 
OF AN EXILE. 299 
 
 s^en and bare as those about Marseilles, but sur- 
 rounded by verdure, and frequently water. The 
 river Arc, which runs through the valley, and is 
 wild and overhung by steep rugged banks, flows 
 into the Durance ; which latter river is at a very 
 inconsiderable distance from the city. From the 
 heights around, Aix presents a very interesting 
 appearance : the tower of the church of Saint John 
 is a beautiful object, shooting up into the calm 
 clear sky, dark and Gothic, above the white 
 streets and the trees of the Cours. 
 
 Rene, who was Count of Provence, in the 
 fifteenth century, resided at Aix; and instituted 
 that extraordinary procession which takes place 
 upon the Fete Dieu, or rather la fete du Saint 
 Sacrement. Thisye^e was originally established 
 on account of the following circumstance. In the 
 thirteenth century, about 1208, a pious sister 
 of the Order of Saint John of Mount Cornillon, 
 at Liege, beheld, in a dream, the moon with a 
 large chasm, or rent in it, during two successive 
 
300 JOURNAL 
 
 years ; and much did it perplex her. At last, 
 however, she discovered that the Holy Sacra- 
 ment was typified by the moon, and that the 
 rent signified the sad deficiency in the ritual 
 which prescribed no express festival for its pub- 
 lic celebration. She however, as we are told, 
 kept this secret for twenty years, and never dis- 
 covered it till she was sure that her superior pe- 
 netration could not impede her advancement ; 
 namely, till she became Lady Prioress of the 
 Convent of Mount Cornillon. Then indeed she 
 made it known ; and a Bishop of Liege, in 1 246, 
 established a fete du Saint Sacrement, which 
 was not, however, introduced into France till 
 1318. 
 
 The procession to which I allude was esta- 
 blished by Rene, as a religious and instructive 
 lesson to the people. It consists of a long train 
 of heathen Gods and Goddesses, and the Devil 
 is also introduced, who parade through the 
 streets upon the evening preceding the fete, but 
 
or AN EXILE. 801 
 
 who are all supposed to be put to flight by the 
 approach of the following holy day ; upon which 
 the same individuals appear again in solemn show, 
 but dressed as Saints and Apostles. This cere- 
 mony bears some resemblance to the Fete des 
 Anes, which was established at Sens, and to 
 those which took place in Scotland even, during 
 the dominion of the Roman Catholic religion. 
 They were first invented by the Priests, to dis- 
 countenance theatrical shows and amusements ; 
 and it is singular that these very ceremonies of 
 their own establishment should have tended 
 eventually to throw additional ridicule and con- 
 tempt upon themselves, — since they were fre- 
 quently the vehicles of Presbyterian triumph. 
 And as to the hymns which were sung at them, 
 their music was afterwards applied to songs of a 
 very different description. But it is curious that 
 during the wars of the League, the amorous 
 adventures of the Duke d'Epernon were chant- 
 ed in the cathedral church of Saint Sauveur at 
 
S02 JOURNAL 
 
 Aix ; and during that period, and considerably- 
 after, subjects of the most profane kind were 
 introduced into sermons. One of the most sin- 
 gular discourses which I ever remember to have 
 heard or read is the following, in which a Priest 
 announced the death of Pic de la Mirandola : 
 
 " lo vi voglio rivelare un secreto, che a qui 
 non ho voluto dirlo, perche non ho avuto tanta 
 certezza come ho avuto da diece hora in qua. 
 Ciascuno di voi credo che conoscete il Conte 
 Giovanni della Mirandola, che stava qui in 
 Fiorenze, ed e morto pochi giorni sono. Dicovi 
 che r anima sua per le orazioni dei Frati, ed anche 
 per alcune sue buone opere che fece in questa 
 vita e per altre cagioni, e nel purgatorio. Orate 
 pro eo !" 
 
OF AN EXILE. 303 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Upon my return from Aix, I found a letter 
 awaiting me from my friend the pedestrian, 
 dated Venice. After enquiring kindly after my 
 health and spirits, he thus continues : — 
 
 I think that the old proverb of " Fede Napoli 
 epoi morP might be just as correctly applied 
 to the city from whence I now write : there is 
 no other like it ; and, when others hurry to Rome, 
 Naples, and Florence, as the only objects of in- 
 terest, they neglect the most singular and beau- 
 tiful city which Italy contains. Let me give you 
 a short account of my journey hither. 
 
 I quitted Turin about a week ago wllh one 
 of the Vetturini : our party consisted of an 
 officer of the royal regiment of Savoy, who was 
 
304 JOUUNAL 
 
 going to Novara ; a ditto of the Austrian Sani- 
 tary troops stationed at Vercelli ; a young 
 Frenchman ; a ditto Frenchwoman, and my 
 humble self, Tlie Savoyard and the Austrian 
 curled their whiskers at each other frequently, 
 and seemed very unlikely to form any holy 
 alliance together. But I was a good deal sur- 
 prised when I lieard the former speak. He had 
 a strong English accent, and made as many true 
 English blunders as if he had been born on the 
 other side of the French Sleeve. 
 
 I took an opportunity, some time after, of 
 hinting to him that I thought he had been in 
 England ; and added, that I was a native of that 
 country, as my good French had made every 
 body take me for a Frenchman. Upon which 
 he instantly shook me heartily by the hand, and 
 exclaimed in good English, " Why we are half 
 countrymen ; for I was carried m hen a child by 
 my father, who emigrated, into England, and I 
 served as a midshipman in the English navy." 
 
OV AN EXILE. 305 
 
 We became very good friends consequently, 
 and he was of some use to me upon the road. 
 
 Another singular occurrence took place. We 
 had stopped at Cigliano, a small town, about six 
 posts from Turin, to dinner ; another carriage 
 like our own had likewise arrived, and the two 
 parties met in the same room. We sat down to 
 our risotto, a thick soup of rice, for which I 
 have the greatest veneration, on account of its 
 connexion, as they say, with one of the most 
 beautiful airs Rossini ever composed. While 
 we were discussing this, an old blind man was 
 led in, who immediately struck up a very cu- 
 rious song, in which all the peculiarities of dia- 
 lect and habits of the different people of Italy 
 were characterised. It finished with a descrip- 
 tion of the Frenchman, who has endeavoured to 
 estabUsh himself in every country, in these 
 words : 
 
 " Salta fori un Franchese, 
 
 Ben conflto in queste contesc. 
 
306 JOURNAL 
 
 Qu' un Tarquino piu amoroso, 
 
 E qu' un Orlando piu furioso ; 
 
 E la puo cantar dolcemente — 
 
 E qui grida terribilmente, 
 Halte la Monsieur ! que faites vous ? 
 Kestez tranquille ou je vous coupe le cou." 
 
 There was of course a general laugh at this 
 conclusion ; and the young Frenchman, who was 
 of our party, seemed rather nettled ; but one of 
 the travellers in the other carriage, who, it ap- 
 peared, was also a Frenchman, called out to 
 the old blind man to get out of the room, or 
 else to sing something against the English hulks, 
 les pontons, as he called them. " Mon Dieu P" 
 vociferated our Frenchman, "I ought to know that 
 voice ;" and jumping up, he hastened towards his 
 compatriot. Their recognition was then complete 
 and mutual ; but a long time had elapsed since 
 they had met, for they had never seen one 
 another since they had both been prisoners to- 
 gether at Chatham on board the detested pon- 
 tons, a period of seven years. They had both 
 
OF AN EXILE. 307 
 
 served on board privateers, and had been taken 
 prisoners about the same time. 
 
 After dinner we continued our route through 
 the rich plains of Piedmont, and slept at Vercelli, 
 or, as the French call it, Verceil, and which 
 place an Englishman once mistook for Versailles 
 near Paris. In the treasury of the cathedral 
 of this town is a manuscript of the fourth cen- 
 tury, which contains the Gospel of Saint Mark 
 in Latin ; and some zealots pretend that it is 
 written with the Apostle's own hand. 
 
 The next morning we proceeded through wide 
 fields ,of rice to Novara. This is an old town 
 with a few fine palaces, and is remarkable as 
 having been the place where the Swiss defeated 
 Louis de la Tremouille, who commanded the 
 French army in the time of Louis the Twelfth, 
 and drove him out of the Milanese. It is also 
 since known, as having witnessed the breaking 
 up of the Piedmontese revolution, an engage- 
 ment having taken place beneath its walls, be- 
 
Sk)8 JOURNAL 
 
 tween the Austrian troops and those of the new 
 constitutionalists, which was a second journte 
 des Eperons. 
 
 We arrived at Milan on Svinday evening, 
 and the streets were all filled with loungers. 
 The graceful tuft of hair, Annding about the 
 bright pin which the Lombard female peasants 
 wear, now gave way to the black hoods of the 
 city dames, which could not, however, conceal 
 the bright flashing of their eyes. The French- 
 man, with whom I had had some conversation, 
 invited me to accompany him to his family, who 
 lived in the city ; which invitation I accepted. 
 I dined with them ; they were civil, decent 
 people, and were engaged in the silk trade ; 
 my young acquaintance acting as their Commis 
 Foyageur. 
 
 The next morning I received the following 
 note from the Police. 
 
 " I. R. Direzione Generale della Milano. 
 
 " S'interessa la compiacenza del Signor , 
 
 Gentiluomo, a voler recarsi a questa I. R. 
 
OF AK EXILE. 309 
 
 Direzione nella contrada di S. Margherita, 
 dirigendosi al sotto scritto, in quell' ora d''ufficio 
 clie gli tornera piu a grado, nel giorno di domani 
 all mezzo giorno. 
 
 MORELLI." 
 
 I was rather alarmed at this summons, as I 
 had heard strange stories about the Austrian 
 Police. But my acquaintance told me that he 
 knew Signor Morelli very well ; and that, if I 
 had any difficulty about my passport, he could 
 a.ssist me ; which, in fact, he afterwards did. 
 
 You who have read much will not expect me to 
 enter into a long account of this city, its churches 
 and promenades. You have, of course, often 
 heard of its wondrous cathedral ; that marble 
 mountain, as it has been called, which had re- 
 mained for a long time in an unfinished state ; 
 but which Buonaparte, that indefatigable builder 
 up and destroyer, caused to be completed. 
 
 I have neither time to detail, nor would you 
 perhaps have inclination to listen to, the various 
 circumstances which occurred to me till I ar- 
 
310 JOURNAL 
 
 rived here. I passed in safety the robber-haunted 
 shores of the Lake Dezenzano, which was quite 
 calm and bright, and prevented my exclaiming 
 in due form and ceremony : — 
 
 " Fluctibus elfremitu adsurgens Benace marino." 
 
 I had heard accounts of numerous assassina- 
 tions and robberies having been committed upon 
 these shores ; and I confess that, as the even- 
 ing drew on, I was not quite sure whether we 
 might not suddenly hear the terrible " Fermate 
 Card di viaggiatori.'" But we reached the little 
 town safely, I and my companion, who was a 
 Brescian, and the only person with me, for all 
 the others had remained at Milan; and this 
 man had there joined me. 
 
 But let me hasten to Venice, which, after 
 passing through Verona, " birthplace of sweet 
 love," Vicenza with its beautiful covered portico 
 or arcade two miles long, which leads up to the 
 church of La Madonna del Monte, and 
 Padua, which once contained Petrarch and 
 
OF AN EXILE 311 
 
 Galileo, and near which the former lies buried, 
 I reached in impatient anticipation. 
 
 I embarked at night upon the Brenta. The 
 moon shone brightly, and as we gently glided 
 down, I sat upon the deck listening to the songs of 
 the men who guided our boat, and gazing upon 
 the white palaces of Palladio, which line the 
 banks of the river, and form a magnificent 
 avenue to the Queen of the Isles. As the morn- 
 ing broke, we gradually came out upon the 
 Adriatic ; and then I saw the fairy domes and 
 spires of Venice glittering in the I'ising sun, and 
 looking like those of some magic city which had 
 risen from the waters and was peopled by 
 Tritons and Nereids, who had deserted their 
 coral gi'ottoes for its floating halls. Sanna- 
 zarius has thus described Venice — 
 
 Viderat Adriacis Venetain Neptunus in undis 
 Stare urbem, et toto dicere jura mari. 
 
 Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumvis Jupiter arces, 
 Objice, et ilia tui moenia Martis, ait; 
 
312 JOURNAL 
 
 Si pelago Tibrim prasfers, urbem aspice utramque, 
 111am homines dices, banc posuisse deos. 
 
 The black mysterious-looking gondolas soon 
 came hovering around us; and I hired one, 
 that conveyed me up the grand canal to my 
 hotel, which was the Lion Blanc, and whose 
 windows commanded a view of that noble 
 watery street. I only allowed myself time to 
 engage my room, and change my dress, and I 
 then hurried away to the Place Saint Mark. I 
 was not disappointed, and that is saying much, 
 for it has frequently been my fate to be so upon 
 these occasions. 
 
 The first object which struck me was the 
 mosque-looking church which gives its name to 
 the place. Immediately before it stand the three 
 lofty bronze staves, which were first placed there 
 in 1505, when Loredano was Doge, and from 
 which the ancient standard of the Repubhc used 
 to wave upon days of state. Then, as I ad- 
 vanced, the famous horses, pawing and snuffing 
 the air, next presented themselves. They had 
 
OF AN EXILE. ^ 313 
 
 returned from their northern wanderings ; but 
 to whom and to what ? — To the Austrians, and to 
 an enslaved and degraded city. 
 
 So much has been already said concerning 
 these steeds, that I should only be repeating 
 uselessly what you have probably read, did I 
 enter into their history. But let me give you 
 a little anecdote which was told me at Paris, 
 concerning Buonaparte. The Venetian horses 
 had been placed upon the triumphal arch of Le 
 Carousel, and a chariot was attached to them, 
 in which it was intended to place a figure of the 
 great Napoleon ; and the general remark was, 
 " Le char Vatlend.'''' 
 
 The rich overloaded front of the church 
 delayed me a few minutes, and I then entered 
 it. It is as ornamented and glittering within as 
 without ; and its Mosaic pavement has long 
 been famous. It is full of animals, and, among 
 others, there are two cocks bearing a fox, 
 wliich are supposed to represent Charles the 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
314 JOUUNAL 
 
 Eighth and Louis the Twelfth of France, who 
 dispossessed Ludovic Sforza of the Milanese, 
 whose cunning is characterised hy the fox. 
 
 I continued to ramble over the city, and 
 visited some of the palaces and churches; in 
 one, the name of which I have forgotten, hes 
 buried the poet Aretino, so well known for his 
 impiety, and whose epitaph is sufficiently cha- 
 racteristic : 
 
 Qui giace I'Aretin Poeta Tosco, 
 Che disse mai d'ognuu fuorche il Dio, 
 Scusandosi dicendo no'l conobbe. 
 
 I then hired a gondola, and crossed to some 
 of the islands ; to Murano, famous for its glass- 
 works, and to the Isle of Saint George, with its 
 beautiful church, the work of Palladio. Within 
 it lies buried the Doge Ziani, during whose 
 government Pope Alexander the Third took 
 refuge in Venice from the Emperor Barbarossa, 
 who had acknowledged the Antipope, Victor IV. 
 Alexander, during his residence here, bestowed 
 
OF AN EXILE. 
 
 315 
 
 upon Venice the dominion of the sea in the 
 following words, addressed to Ziani : giving him 
 a ring, he said, " Receive this, O Ziani, with 
 which thou and thy successors must annually 
 espouse the sea, in order that posterity may know 
 that the empire of the sea, acquired by thee of 
 old and by right of war, is thine, and that the 
 waters are subject to thy power as a wife to her 
 husband." 
 
 Upon the peace which was made between the 
 Pope and the Emperor, a splendid ceremony 
 took place at Venice, which was represented in 
 a painting and hung up in the Papal Palace at 
 Rome. Urban the Eighth removed it, upon 
 some pique against the Venetians ; but it was 
 replaced by Innocent the Tenth, which gave 
 rise to the following remark, " Quod Urbanus 
 inurbane deleverat, Innocentius innocente re- 
 stituit." 
 
 Upon my return from the Island, I saw upon 
 the quay an unfortunate young man exposed 
 p 2 
 
316 JOURNAL 
 
 upon the care an ; and upon his breast was at- 
 tached a label containing his sentence, which 
 was Al prigione solitario per la vita. Dreadful 
 fate ! he was taking his last look of the bright 
 sun and skies which were around him, — a sort 
 of conscious death, such as a man that should 
 be buried alive might undergo as the earth rat- 
 tled fast upon his straining eye-balls. 
 
 There are many objects which I must omit, 
 all equally interesting ; for I must hasten to 
 mention a singular circumstance which happen- 
 ed to me. I had been taking my coffee in one 
 of the houses for that purpose, upon the Place 
 Saint Mark, where I was much amused by a 
 party of Venetians who were conversing with 
 great animation. Among them was a very 
 pretty woman, with lively black eyes and white 
 teeth, and an uncommonly soft sweet voice. I 
 sipped my Mocha coffee in silence. It was ex- 
 cellent ; and I recollected the anecdote respect- 
 ing it, which my friend the Frenchman had 
 told me on the road. When the news arrived 
 
OF AN EXILE. 317 
 
 of Buonaparte's death, upon the whisper which 
 arose of his having been poisoned, it was asked 
 how ? — By coffee, was the reply. — Was it the 
 Mocha coffee ? — Oh rion, c'ttoit du cafe Bourbo/i. 
 After I had finished it, I returned to my 
 hotel, and stood upon the steps, which were 
 bathed by the waters of the Grand Canal. 
 The night drew on, and I was looking upon 
 the fast fading palaces, and the distant 
 Rialto, and the gondolas, only discoverable 
 by their little bright lamp, darting and shoot- 
 ing about the canal like winged glow-worms. 
 The gondoliers, as they passed, were sing- 
 ing, as I chose to imagine, some of their 
 favourite Tasso ; and I could occasionally hear 
 a guitar tinkling and a shout echoing along, as 
 some of the gondolas were turning sharply 
 round a corner, to warn others of its approach. 
 Presently I saw one of these dark boats move 
 towards the terrace where I stood, and come 
 directly up to it. A man immediately stepped 
 out, and asked me if I were not the English 
 
318 JOURNAL 
 
 gentleman who had been that afternoon taking 
 
 my coffee." But I must conclude my friend's 
 
 account another time, as my servant has just 
 brought me a letter from England which I am 
 anxious to read. 
 
 [From the unconnected and illegible papers 
 which form almost all the remaining part of the 
 Journal, it would appear that it must have been 
 about this time that the change in the life and 
 habits of the Journalist, alluded to by the pea- 
 sant, must have taken place. The letter which 
 he was anxious to read was probably the cause 
 of this, as the following imconnected reflections 
 would seem to indicate.] 
 
 It is enough ! I have long deceived myself: I 
 thought I was calm, that I could have heard of 
 this with resignation ; but no, no, resignation ! 
 My God, if I could have been spared this last blow ! 
 
or AN EXILE. 319 
 
 * # • 
 
 * 41= # 
 
 Forgotten, desolate man, thy hour is come — 
 thy real hajipiness was all past long since ; and 
 now that the being who was the idol of thy ima- 
 gination — the bright star which still seemed to 
 go before thee, and lead thee on to other hopes, 
 is taken from thee, now indeed thou canst not 
 wish to Uve ! 
 
 July. — I grow weaker and weaker ; my visits 
 
 to the hermitage are over ; but yet I would fix 
 
 my last look upon the sea which flows towards 
 
 England, where now * * 
 
 • • • 
 
 I have made my will ; they may bury me as 
 they please, all places here are the same to me. 
 But I have begged them to lay my Prayer-book 
 by my side, in which are those features that I 
 may perhaps see again in heaven, for on earth I 
 
320 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 now could not wish to look upon them — smil- 
 ing upon others. 
 
 I saw a little infant to-day that they were 
 burying. There it lay soft and still, as if it 
 were asleep, with its little white fingers clasped 
 over its breast, and its silky lashes gently 
 closed over those eyes that had not yet learned to 
 weep with this world's woe. Innocent, peaceful 
 creature ! when the trumpet shall sound, how 
 many would give crowns and sceptres to be as 
 that child ! how many would give their earthly 
 kingdoms for its heavenly inheritance ! 
 
 How mysterious are the ways of Providence ! 
 I, that could have lived happily in my own coun- 
 try, am about to die miserably here : strange I 
 when I look back upon the past. 
 
OF AN EXILE. .'5i?l 
 
 The inid-day sun is beating fiercely down. 
 
 The Vista's dusty length is glaring white. 
 
 The walls are hot in yon sepulchral town. 
 
 And the faint peasants pant and wish for night; 
 
 But the cool winds, that mingle with the light 
 
 Of starry skies, breathe o'er my burning brain 
 
 Unfelt and heedless, mocking as in spite. 
 
 Like to the Phrygian Chief's consuming pain. 
 
 Whose endless thirst was slaked by neither fount nor rain. 
 
 It is not that the stings of gloomy guilt 
 
 Awake the pangs that through my veins do creep ; 
 
 It is not that some fairy castle built 
 
 On sandy shores is swallow'd in the deep; 
 
 It is not that the lover's dreamy sleep. 
 
 When all but fancy's syren voice is hush'd. 
 
 Hath promised smoothly what it will not keep. 
 
 And left me like a ruin'd garden crush'd, 
 
 Where once the bee rejoiced and Persian roses blushVI ! 
 
 1 1 is that deep and desolating woe 
 \\'hich springs from utter hoi)elessness of fate, 
 Wl;ca all ihat we can ever feel or know 
 Cati only come and counsel us too late, 
 p5 
 
322 JOURNAL 
 
 When we behold the world we cannot hate. 
 
 Such as it seems to sober solemn truth. 
 
 And think upon our own degraded state, 
 
 When we have done, in first and foolish youth. 
 
 Some deed that gnaws our hearts with unappeased tooth. 
 
 To know that we have never tasted life. 
 Such as it is to others, and to all 
 Who dream not of the restless bosom's strife. 
 And are too cold and feelingless to fall : 
 Better it were that plume and velvet pall 
 Had borne our infant bodies to the grave. 
 Than to be left thus reptile-like to crawl 
 Amid the flowers and fruits that o'er us wave. 
 Or as the madman waked in double torment rave. 
 
 Come, let me think and ponder o'er the past. 
 And see how rose this edifice of man. 
 And try if time will any shadow cast 
 To aid me in its measurement and span ; 
 In sooth 1 little thought, when once I ran 
 In truant childhood to escape from school. 
 Mocking at tasks and toil and future ban, 
 That thus so gravely 1 should talk of rule. 
 As erst the dreaded voice from Pedagoguic stool. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 323 
 
 1 was a wayward, strange, and timid child ; 
 My very sports were not as other boys' ; 
 And when the rest in mirth and riot wild 
 Made the wide playground echo with their noise, 
 I shrunk from all their ruder games and joys. 
 And wander'd lonely through the cloisier'd aisle. 
 With some soft book or vision for my toys ; 
 And oft I'd sit beneath the sacred pile. 
 And at the jesting tomb in artless wonder smile : 
 
 But when the organ's loud tempestuous peal 
 
 Swept like the whirlwind through the Gothic choir, 
 
 Then I was happy, and could inly feel 
 
 The solitary joys those tones inspire ; 
 
 For 1 have worshipp'd music, as the fire 
 
 That cheer'd and warm'd my soul, and, when despair 
 
 Had left me nought to cling to or desire. 
 
 Its perfumed breath hath almost still'd my care. 
 
 As the Camelion feeds on thin and filmy air. 
 
 But years crept on, and other thoughts arose, 
 
 And the first buds of youth began to blow 
 
 E'en as the young and lender mossy rose 
 
 That knows not of the thorns which round it grow ; 
 
324 JOURNAL 
 
 And soon to statelier halls I then did go. 
 
 Where the proud boy, disfranchised from his chain, 
 
 Is cast a prey to that most deadly foe, 
 
 His own free will, and there in lawless reign 
 
 He works unto himself long lingering years of pain. 
 
 Yet was 1 not as other youths, who spent 
 
 Their precious hours in idleness or vice. 
 
 Who every morn to hunting parties went. 
 
 And pass'd their nights amid the deadly dice, — 
 
 Of first and tempting class 1 knew the price : 
 
 But all my study was a thing of nought. 
 
 Aimless and barren as some weak device ; 
 
 For I could never read the books I ought. 
 
 But only such as pleased my wandering turn of th;ju;u:lit. 
 
 My heated brain with many a story teem'd 
 
 Of wild romance and all their desperate woes. 
 
 And the true world a blank and desert seem'd. 
 
 While all around my magic castles rose ; 
 
 And thus 1 lived, amid the light that throws 
 
 Its rainbow colours o'er the misty plain. 
 
 And all its fields in prismy glitter shows. 
 
 Till the bright sun, that taught the clouds to feign. 
 
 Speeds on to other worlds to smile and cheat again. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 325 
 
 Then, I created out of dust and clay 
 An Idol which embodied all my dreams, 
 And charm'd it with the warm Promethean ray, 
 Thai from the mystic lamp of fancy streams ; 
 And, as the fond enthusiast madly deems 
 The statue he hath fonu'd from lifeless stone 
 Endued with power to love, so fair it seems, 
 1 worshipp'd in my blindness what alone 
 Such restless hearts as mine could e'er have form'd or 
 known. 
 
 But like the weak Sicilian, who did frame 
 
 The brazen instrument of tyrant hate. 
 
 And perish'd by his own ingenious flame. 
 
 Cursing his cunning handy-work too late — 
 
 So was I doom'd to feel the burning weight 
 
 Of grim repentance, scowling as in scorn, 
 
 While on my palsied breast it darkly sate, 
 
 E'en as the dreaded night-mare, that is born 
 
 Of feverish thoughts and blood, yet melts away by morn. 
 
 And then i wander'd forth I cared not where. 
 For all the world was still the same to me. 
 Since in the land that gave me being — there 
 1 could not, as my nature prompted, be. 
 
326 JOURNAL 
 
 Nor the soft smiles and eyes unmoved see 
 Of her who knew not of my charmed days : 
 Like to the wretch, when 1 would bend the knee, 
 To Demons sold, who all their bonds do raise 
 And laugh in fiendish mirth as hopelessly he prays. 
 
 But now, the very wish for change is gone ; 
 
 The only star that still did bless my eyes 
 
 Hath left me with my darkness all alone. 
 
 And never, as it rose before, can rise : 
 
 For it hath fled its own unspotted skies. 
 
 And gone to cheer and shine on other lands. 
 
 While my sad heart in dust and ruin lies. 
 
 As the cleft arch where Thebes in silence stands. 
 
 Rearing her broken halls mid hot Egyptian sands. 
 
 And now farewell to all ! to thee farewell. 
 
 My distant Country ! though I left thee, still 
 
 I loved thee, as these burning tears can tell. 
 
 But my stern fate was stronger than ray will. 
 
 I did cling to thy parent bosom, till 
 
 Thou wouldst no longer hush my wild alarms. 
 
 Nor my hot mouth with syrup moisture fill. 
 
 But cast me from thy cold and careless arms. 
 
 As the young Mother Bride that fears to taint her charms. 
 
OF AN EXILE. 327 
 
 I could have wish'd that tliis decaying flesh 
 
 Had slept beneath (hat village church-yard ground, 
 
 Where I beheld that vision sweet and fresh 
 
 Spreading its holy influence around ; 
 
 And that its evening bells, v/'wh pensive sound, 
 
 Had flung their music o'er my quiet grave. 
 
 Where I at last a resting-place had found : 
 
 But this, as other things, I cannot have — 
 
 Of disappointed hopes the ever baffled slave. 
 
 And now, my thoughts to other regions turn. 
 
 Where the parch'd tongue of grief forgets its thirst. 
 
 Where the hot temples cease to throb and burn. 
 
 And on the wakening ear Hosannahs burst. 
 
 Oh ! that my longing soul could rise, as erst 
 
 The Tishbite Prophet in his fiery car; 
 
 Or as the flattering tale of him the first 
 
 Imperial Cassar, mount my chariot star. 
 
 Speed through the M ilky Way, and dwell where Spirits are. 
 
 But 1 have finish'd : all my race is run ; 
 I feel my heart beat feebler, and the voice 
 Of coming Death its sighing hath begun. 
 As the soft breeze that bids the night rejoice ; 
 
328 JOURNAL. 
 
 For between sleep and pain is now my choice. 
 And thus my wilful course is told, and 1 
 Have shewn in song of unblesi deeds the price. 
 E'en as the pining swan, that ere he die 
 Pours out his latest breath in funeral melody." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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