THE VOLTIGEUR.”
“Like most of the distinguished officers in our service—but do not, gentlemen, suppose for a moment that I include myself in the list—I am humbly born. My mother was the daughter of a vine-dresser—my father, ranger of a forest. You see that I lay no claim to ancestry—but the villagers assert that my parents were the handsomest and fondest couple in the commune. Their course of love and life was brief alike. My mother died in giving me birth—and three years afterwards my father was shot accidentally by a chasseur, while hunting in the forest of which he had the charge.
The grief felt and expressed by the Seigneur at this unfortunate occurrence was deep and lasting. At once he adopted me, and I became an inmate of the chateau. There I was brought up and educated; and having evinced an early taste for music, that talent was cultivated, and at eighteen I played on several instruments, and my singing was particularly admired.
The Seigneur had an only child, a daughter. He had been early left a widower; and naturally of retired habits and sombre disposition, he lived in comparative seclusion, dividing his time between two all-engrossing objects, the chase and his daughter’s education. Pauline was now fourteen, and of very opposite temperament to her father—sprightly, spirited, and affectionate—every action was the effect of impulse. Poor Pauline! like many in the world, she acted first, and thought of it afterwards.
With the father and the child I was equally a favourite. To the forest I accompanied the Seigneur, when he hunted: and for Pauline, I dressed her flower-garden, sang chanson d’amour, and played in the evening on the flute. How long, in that remote domain, I might have continued to dream life thus away I know not. The great event in my history occurred—I was drawn in the conscription, and the guitar was exchanged for the musket.
For three years I followed the eagles of the Emperor. Battle after battle was won, and kingdom after kingdom submitted, and was partitioned or disposed of in whatever way was pleasing to the conqueror. Europe was almost at Napoleon’s feet; and, save to England alone—that indomitable enemy to his colossal strides towards the subjugation of a world—his voice was law. After the signature of the treaty of Tilsit, there came a short and deceitful calm. Many of the soldiery obtained leave to revisit that land a Frenchman loves so dearly. I was of the number; and one sweet September evening, he who had left the chateau, half-huntsman half-troubadour, presented himself to the Seigneur and Pauline, a sous-lieutenant.
What a change three years had wrought upon us all! The Seigneur had become grey as a badger. I left Pauline a girl—I found her a woman; and the bud of beauty was now mature. On me the alteration was still more striking: and in the countenance of the dark-browned soldier, bronzed by climate, and marked with a sword-scar, it would have been difficult to recall the laughing features of the youth, whose morn was passed idly in the chase, and his evening in singing love-ditties to the moon.
The poor Seigneur knew nothing of the world. The hunter boy was a safe companion for his daughter—the soldier a dangerous one. No suspicion crossed his mind. I again took up my residence in the chateau. Pauline was more than pretty; the place was sadly remote; we were both musical—youth, loveliness, and music! Pshaw! these cleared his way, and Love slipped in.
The Seigneur was rich—and on wealth he set great value. His lineage was old; and nobody in Provence attached more importance to descent. He had began to fancy that it would soon be time to look for an alliance for his daughter; and he occasionally made sly inquiries touching the ancestry and rent-rolls of his neighbours. Great, however, was our surprise, one afternoon, when he suddenly announced that he had nearly concluded a marriage treaty between Pauline and a wealthy proprietor. This information, at first astounding, only precipitated what would have more tardily occurred. We were married secretly, the next evening; under other circumstances, we might have been dreaming of it for another fortnight.
It was fortunate for us that the Seigneur was proverbially slow in all his movements; and his intended son-in-law equally cautious. Neither would stir an inch, excepting under the especial direction of his notary. All the time, the intimation simply that a hymeneal treaty was in progress being deemed quite enough to render Pauline a consenting party. The suitor was a fool, who considered every woman would feel honoured by being allied to him; and the simple Seigneur could never comprehend, that any daughter should or could do otherwise than what her father exactly pointed ont. Poor man! while he was arranging matters to secure a son, he would have come nearer to the mark, had he been making preparations for the reception of a grandaughter.