The following anecdote, borrowed from a French source,[4] will illustrate how serious the consequences may be when letters are not clearly and intelligibly addressed, and by what slight accidents such missives sometimes go far from their right course.
About the year 1837 there was garrisoned at a small town in the Department of the Pas-de-Calais an honest soldier named Goraud, who had served with the colours a term of seven years. Though he had conducted himself well, and was favourably thought of by his superiors, he had never been able to rise above the grade of full private. He liked his profession, but being unable either to read or write, the avenues to promotion remained closed against him.
Goraud came from an obscure village in Provence, where his poor old mother, a woman of over sixty, lived, and where also resided a married brother, younger than himself, who was surrounded by a rising family of children. The soldier received from time to time letters from his mother, which, on being read to him, affected him deeply, sometimes even to tears. There were, besides, other friends in his native place of whom he entertained kindly recollections, and with whom he kept up intercourse through his family; especially a young woman towards whom he had formerly had very tender feelings, which, though not now so strong, time and distance had not as yet effaced.
Becoming home-sick, and having no bright prospect before him in the army, Goraud yearned to be set free, so that he might spend the rest of his days "in the midst of those he so much loved," as is expressed on the tomb of the great Napoleon. He had already, as has been before stated, served seven years; he had been of good conduct; and now he had but to demand his discharge in order to accomplish his fondest wish.
But just as he was about to make the necessary request, and to realise the dream which he had been cherishing, a letter from his brother changed all his plans. His joy was turned to sorrow. This letter informed him that his mother was seriously ill, and, moreover, that some distemper had assailed his brother's stock, carrying many of them off; in fact, misery stared in the face those among whom he had hoped to live happily, and to eke out the remainder of his days in comfort. The poor fellow was sadly cast down; the phantom of pleasure had passed from his view; he shed bitter tears of disappointment, and was at his wits' end. Dejection and irresolution did not, however, last. He soon regained command of himself, and filial affection suggested to him the course which he should pursue.
Next day he proceeded to the office of an agent whose business it was to procure substitutes for individuals desirous of avoiding service in the army; and in a few days thereafter he engaged to serve his country for seven years more, receiving in return a payment down of 1500 francs. It may be guessed what was the next step taken by the worthy soldier. He remitted the 1500 francs to his mother, in a letter directed to the care of his brother; and at the same time he intimated that he was to start at once for Algeria, there to join the new regiment to which he had been posted.
Three months passed, and as yet no acknowledgment for the money came to hand. This to Goraud, after the sacrifice he had made, was sadly disappointing; but he did not at first feel alarmed. The idea occurred to him that his mother might be a trifle worse, or that something might have delayed the reply. He decided to write again. He related what he had done, explained the cause he had for uneasiness, and begged that an early answer might be sent to him. This was not long in coming. It stated that the old mother was again well, that the brother had had a hard struggle, and that though he hoped to pull through, it might prove necessary for him to quit the place. In regard to the alleged remittance, it was briefly added that no money had been received.
This latter statement created a most painful impression upon the soldier. His brother's letter appeared to breathe a tone which was not usual; he imagined that, under the guise of calculated frigidity, was to be perceived an insinuation that no money had been sent: and, smarting under the sting of such reflections, the blush of offended virtue rose to his cheek. His feelings ran over the whole gamut of wounded sentiment. He saw himself an injured man, and felt deeply hurt; his money had gone unacknowledged, and he became roused to anger; and then, revolving the whole circumstances in his mind, suspicion took possession of him. Recollecting that the money-letter had been sent as an ordinary letter by post, and that the reply had not seemed quite right, he now suspected that his brother had received the remittance, appropriated it to his own use, and denied the receipt of his letter. In this frame of mind, he had a communication penned to his brother full of denunciations and reproaches, and couched in such terms of violence, that he would not allow the epistle when written to be read over to him. Next day he started with a distant expedition on active service.
Gloomy, cast down, and above all irate, he was ready to fight with the wind or his own shadow. In the first brush with the enemy he threw himself into their midst with fury, and fought desperately for several hours, as if to provoke the end which he now longed for. Instead of meeting his death, however, he gained the hero's prize—the cross of honour. One month previously he would have hailed this distinction with delight; now everything was dull and indifferent to him—even glory!
About a year after this event Goraud accompanied his regiment to Paris. As he was leaving the barracks one day a voice hailed him with the question, "Is not your name Goraud?" "Yes, major," was the soldier's reply. "Very good," says the other, "here is a letter for you. There are several Gorauds in the regiment, and the letter has already been opened. I see you are wanted at the Dead-letter office of the Post-office about some business which concerns you."