“‘Not all the romance that ever was written could equal in interest the plain narration of some of the adventures which, in after life, befel my fellow-students. Some perished beneath the revolutionary axe, voluntary martyrs—others were found in the ranks of Napoleon’s army, wearing the epaulettes and moustaches of his avant garde, or caracoling among his voltigeurs. There still live some few who occupy posts of honour and of trust, which the government of Louis Dixhuit bestowed in utter ignorance of antecedents, while many of those who had mourned their bondage the most bitterly, lived to regret it, with yearning for the quiet which it yielded, and which they have lost for ever.
“‘One of the most striking examples of the vanity of human wishes may be found in the history of Eugène de B——, who had been my fellow salver-bearer at the visit of the Bishop of Bordeaux to St. Sulpice. This was considered an office of honour, and bestowed upon the two best wranglers of the season. My companion was one of the handsomest young men I ever beheld; tall and dark, with all the fire of the south in his black eye and swarthy complexion, and the impress of high descent stamped upon his features. He was the natural son of a nobleman holding a high office about the court, and might hope through this channel to rise to the loftiest dignity and honour in the church. It was not known who his mother was, but it was whispered amongst us that she must have been either Jewess or Bohemian—a belief to which his singular eye and chiselled features gave rise. He was of a proud, impassioned character, violent and indomitable; one with whom his teachers and those in authority were obliged to pause before they ventured to rush into open warfare. Neither penitence nor reprimand had ever been able to tame his violent, irascible nature, and, on more than one occasion, had it not been for the great honour which his learning and acquirements conferred on the establishment, he would have been expelled.
“‘His fiery soul revolted at the idea of entering the Church. I have seen him shudder with disgust as he donned the black serge dress which denoted his calling, and absolutely refuse to walk in his rank in the processions, which, at certain festivals, formed part of the ceremonies of the day. His dreams were all of a military life and military glory. He told me himself, that, proud as he was, he had knelt to his father to beg him to suffer him to embrace the profession of arms. He would have been a Knight of Malta—a volunteer—even a private soldier—anything, so long as he might be permitted to follow the bent of his inclination, and join the army; but his father had said coldly, that his interest in the army was all swallowed up by his other sons, and, besides, that he disapproved greatly of this clashing of interests between young men of the same name, who yet bore it under circumstances so different; that he would not countenance any change of profession; that he might rely on his protection so long as he continued obedient to his commands, and that a fortune, such as would satisfy his most ardent ambition, awaited him on the completion of his studies, if he would remain content in the calling which his relatives had chosen for him.
“‘From such reasoning there was no appeal, and poor Eugène remained at the Séminaire, cursing his fate, and nursing his bitterness against the existing order of things, which thus left him helpless and without defence, the slave of another’s will, to follow the very calling he so much despised. You will readily believe that, with these sentiments, he was one of those who yielded the most readily to the influence of the new doctrines which the philosophers of that day had begun to preach with so much success. He had frequently been severely reprimanded, and sometimes even harshly punished for his undisguised approval of the new tenets, for among his class-fellows, he sought not to conceal his sentiments, but proclaimed aloud his contempt of the aristocracy, his hatred of the oppressors of the people, his opinion that the king would one day be taken to task for his weak administration; and, above all, his tongue waged loudest war against the queen, poor Marie Antoinette, ‘Autrichienne,’ l’étrangère, the ‘cruel she-wolf,’ the heartless dissipator of the deniers du peuple.
“‘He left the Séminaire with these feelings still existing; he was much younger than myself, and I lost sight of him for some time; I only heard accidentally that he had been appointed to serve one of the chapels of Notre Dame, merely while awaiting a vacancy to occur in some rich prebend or fat abbaye, to which his father might have credit to get him appointed. Meanwhile, the revolution broke out, and Eugène stood free to take the path from which he had been forcibly driven while dependent on his father’s will. Of course, after what I knew of his character, it did not in the least surprise me to learn that he had thrown his frock aux orties, or that he had chosen to enter the army; but what really did surprise me to a great degree was the astounding information which was given me by his brother, the Marquis de B——, that he had attached himself to the broken remnants of the gardes-du-corps; that he had followed them most pertinaciously as a volunteer; that he had twice been severely wounded in defending the queen from the fury of the mob; and that he was the individual who had carried the dauphin, at the very risk and peril of his life, across the Allée des Feuillans, on the day of the memorable attack!
“‘And what became of him after this?’ inquired I of his brother, already in my own mind anticipating the answer, for there were but few of those who had made themselves the least conspicuous in the like manner who escaped.
“‘Why, he was of course arrested,’ replied the marquis, ‘and thrown into prison, but was discharged on suspicion of madness, although he was no more mad than I am. He remained in Paris without seeking concealment during the hottest period of the terreur, and by a most extraordinary chance, was suffered to go unharmed, doubtless protected by the same suspicion of insanity. My father and myself had joined the armée de Condé, and would then have been glad of the acquisition of such a bold, brave spirit, to the cause. With the view of his passing the frontier, we succeeded, by dint of the greatest privations, in raising a sum of money which we had conveyed to him. He thanked us sincerely, but said he could not desert his post nor join us till his task was fulfilled! With alarm we heard of him again at the execution of the queen, when he made himself remarkable by his conduct at the scaffold. It appears that he threw himself beneath the wheels of the cart in which that unfortunate princess was transported to her doom, and narrowly escaped being torn to pieces by the infuriated poissardes for his loud and outrageous vituperations at their cruelty. He escaped, however, by his extreme good fortune once again, and we were once more appealed to for money to “procure him a passage out of this horrid country,” wrote he, “where neither innocence nor beauty could find favour in the sight of men more savage and cruel than the beasts of the field.” He refused to tell us in what manner he had disposed of the immense sum we had already, at great risk and inconvenience, sent him for the same purpose. Nevertheless, so great was our anxiety for his safety, and so great the desire that was felt throughout the whole armée de Condé for the acquisition of so valuable a member to its ranks, that a subscription was raised among us, poor as we were, and once more was the sum required despatched to this enfant prodigue, while we awaited in terror his safe arrival.’
“The marquis paused in his narrative, and then added, ‘And, from that hour to this, I have never beheld him, although he was living, until lately, not far from my own château in Bretagne.’
“‘Why, then, came he not to join you?’ said I. ‘Did he escape from the country?’
“‘He did.’