MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN.

PART XVII.

Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the sea, puft up with wind,
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And Heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in the pitched battle heard

Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang?"

No

SHAKSPEARE.

THE speech of the Opposition fresh and flower-breathing from the leader decided the question. walks, the stars shone in their lustre, man on his side would venture be- and I felt all the power of nature to yond the line which he had drawn; soothe the troubled spirit. Some of and the resolutions of Government the fashionable inhabitants of the surwere triumphantly carried, after a rounding houses had been induced by brief appeal from me to the loyalty the fineness of the night to prolong and manliness of the House. I their promenade; and the light laugh, placed before them the undeniable in- and the sound of pleasant voices, tention of the cabinet to promote the added to the touching and simple public prosperity, the immeasurable charm of the scene. A group had value of unanimity in the parliament stopped round a player on the guitar, to produce confidence in the people, with which he made a tolerable acand the magnitude of the stake for companiment to some foreign songs. which England and Ireland were con- My ear was caught by a chorus which I tending with the enemy of Europe. had often heard among the French Those sentiments were received with peasantry, and I joined in the aploud approval-my language was con- plause. The minstrel was ragged tinually echoed during the debate, and pale, and had evidently met with I was congratulated on all sides; and no small share of the buffets of forthis night of expectancy and alarm tune; but, cheered by our approval, closed in a success which relieved me he volunteered to sing the masterpiece from all future anxiety for the fate of of his collection-" The Rising of the the Government. Vendée"-the rallying-song of the insurrection, a performance chanted by the Vendéan army in the field, by the Vendéan peasant in his cottage, and which he now gave us with all the enthusiasm of one who had fought and suffered in the cause.

The House broke up earlier than usual; and, to cool the fever which the events of the night had produced in my veins, I rambled into one of the spacious squares which add so much to the ornament of that fine city. The night was serene, the air blew

THE RISING OF THE VENDÉE.

It was a Sabbath morning, and sweet the summer air,
And brightly shone the summer sun upon the day of prayer;
And silver-sweet the village bells o'er mount and valley toll'd,
And in the church of St Florènt were gather'd young and old.
When rushing down the woodland hill, in fiery haste was seen,
With panting steed and bloody spur, a noble Angevin.

And bounding on the sacred floor, he gave his fearful cry,-
Up, up for France! the time is come, for France to live or die.

66

"Your Queen is in the dungeon; your King is in his gore;
On Paris waves the flag of death, the fiery Tricolor;
Your nobles in their ancient halls are hunted down and slain,
In convent cells and holy shrines the blood is pour'd like rain.

The peasant's vine is rooted up, his cottage given to flame,
His son is to the scaffold sent, his daughter sent to shame;
With torch in hand, and hate in heart, the rebel host is nigh.
Up, up for France! the time is come, for France to live or die."

That livelong night the horn was heard, from Orleans to Anjou,
And pour'd from all their quiet fields our shepherds bold and true;
Along the pleasant banks of Loire shot up the beacon-fires,

And many a torch was blazing bright on Lucon's stately spires;
The midnight cloud was flush'd with flame that hung o'er Parthenaye,
The blaze that shone o'er proud Brissac was like the breaking day;
Till east and west, and north and south, the loyal beacons shone,
Like shooting-stars, from haughty Nantz to sea-begirt Olonne.

And through the night, on foot and horse, the sleepless summons flew,
And morning saw the Lily-flag wide waving o'er Poitou;
And many an ancient musketoon was taken from the wall,
And many a jovial hunter's steed was harness'd in the stall;
And many a noble's armoury gave up the sword and spear,
And many a bride, and many a babe, was left with kiss and tear;
And many a homely peasant bade "farewell" to his old "dame;"
As in the days, when France's king unfurl'd the Oriflame.

There, leading his bold marksmen, rode the eagle-eyed Lescure,
And dark Stofflet, who flies to fight as falcon to the lure;
And fearless as the lion roused, but gentle as the lamb,
Came, marching at his people's head, the brave and good Bonchamps.
Charette, where honour was the prize, the hero sure to win;
And there, with Henri Quatre's plume, the young Rochejaquelin.
And there, in peasant speech and garb-the terror of the foe,
A noble made by Heaven's own hand, the great Cathelineau.

We march'd by tens of thousands, we march'd through day and night,
The Lily standard in our front, like Israel's holy light.
Around us rush'd the rebels, as the wolf upon the sheep,

We burst upon their columns, as the lion roused from sleep;
We tore the bayonets from their hands, we slew them at their guns,
Their boasted horsemen flew like chaff before our forest-sons;
That eve we heap'd their baggage high their lines of dead between,
And in the centre blazed to heaven their blood-dyed Guillotine!

In vain they hid their heads in walls; we rush'd on stout Thouar,-
What cared we for its shot or shell, for battlement or bar?
We burst its gates; then, like the wind, we rush'd on Fontenaye-
We saw its flag at morning's light, 'twas ours by setting day.
We crush'd, like ripen'd grapes, Montreuil, we tore down old Vetier-
We charged them with our naked breasts, and took them with a cheer.
We'll hunt the robbers through the land, from Seine to sparkling Rhone.
Now, “Here's a health to all we love. Our King shall have his own."

This song had an interest for me, independent of the spirit of the performer. It revived recollections of the noblest scene of popular attachment and faithful fortitude since the days of chivalry. I heard in it the names of all the great leaders of the Royalist army-names which nothing but the deepest national ingratitude

VOL. LVII. NO. CCCLVI.

will ever suffer France to forget; and it gave a glance at the succession of those gallant exploits by which the heroic peasantry and gentlemen of Anjou and Poitou had gained their imperishable distinction.

But the streets of a capital, itself almost in a state of siege, were not the scene for indulging in romance 2 z

690

Marston; or, the Memoirs of a Statesman. Part XVII.

by starlight; and one of the patrols of soldiery, then going its rounds, suddenly ordered the group to disperse.

more.

The Frenchman, unluckily, attempted to apologise for his own appearance on the spot; and the attempt perplexed the matter still The times were suspicious, and a foreigner, and of all foreigners a Gaul, caught under cover of night singing songs of which the sergeant could not comprehend a syllable, was a personage in every way formed for the guard-house. The startled Frenchman's exclamations and wrath at discovering this purpose, only made the sergeant more positive; and he was marched off as a traitor convicted of guitar-playing and other traitorous qualities.

I interposed, but my interposition My person was unwas in vain. known to the man in authority; and I was evidently, from the frown of the sergeant, regarded as little better than an accomplice. My only resource was to follow the party to the guard-house, and see the officer of the night. But he was absent; and halflaughing at the singular effect of the report in the morning, that I had been arrested as the fellow-conspirator of a French mendicant, I called for pen, ink, and paper, to explain my position by a message to the next magistrate. But this request only thickened the perplexity. As I approached the desk to write, the prisoner bounded towards me with a wild outcry, flung his arms round my neck, and plunging his hand into the deepest recesses of his very wayworn costume, at length drew out a large letter, which he held forth to me with a gesture of triumph. The sergeant looked graver still; his responsibility was more heavily involved by the despatch, which he intercepted on the spot, and proceeded to examine, at least so far as the envelope was concerned. He and his guard pored over it in succession. Still it was unintelligible. It was a mysterious affair altogether. The Frenchman and I begged equally in vain to be allowed to interpret. Impossible. At length the subaltern on duty was found; and on his arrival I was released, with all due apologies, and carried

[June,

off the captive and his despatch
together.

The letter was addressed to me, in
French, and in a hand with which I
was unacquainted. To obtain any
knowledge of its contents on my way
home, and from its bearer, was out
of the question, until, with a hundred
circumlocutions, I had heard the full
and entire hair-breadth 'scapes of Mon-
sieur Hannibal Auguste Dindon. He
had been the domestic of Madame la
Maréchale de Tourville, and had at-
tended her and the countess to Eng-
land in the emigration; in England
On the reduc-
he had seen me.
tion of the Maréchale's, household he
had returned to his own country, and
taken service with the Royalist army
in the Vendée. There, too, he had
suffered that "fortune de la guerre"
which is ill-luck with every body but
the elastic Frenchman. He had been
taken prisoner, and was on the point
of being shot, when he saw the coun-
tess, a prisoner also in the Republican
hands, who interceded for his safety,
and gave him this letter, to be delivered
to me if he should escape. After fol-
lowing the march of the armies, a
defeat scattered the Republican divi-
sion along with which they were car-
ried; he procured a conveyance to
the coast of Britanny, and they em-
barked in one of the fishing vessels
for England. Again illuck came;
a storm caught them in the Channel,
swept them the crew knew not where,
and finally threw them on the iron-
bound shore of the west of Ireland.
Clotilde was now actually in the
capital, on her way to England!

If ever there was wild joy in the heart of man, it was in mine at that intelligence. It was a flash, bright, bewildering, overwhelming!

I longed to be alone, to hear no sound of the human tongue, to indulge in the deep and silent delight But M. of the overladen heart. Hannibal was not a personage to be disappointed of his share of interest; and, to avoid throwing the honest prattler into absolute despair, I was forced to listen to his adventures, until the blaze of the lamps in the viceroyal residence, and the challenge of the sentries, reminded him, and me too, that there were other things in