Too Strange not to be True. A tale

Introduction

. In the following tale, the scene of which is laid in countries, and amidst persons, whose language was not our own, there has been no attempt to adopt the phraseology of the epoch over which these events extend. There did not seem any particular object in rendering the thoughts and conversations of German and French people in the English of the eighteenth, rather than of the nineteenth, century. Truth and fiction are closely blended in this tale, and in the Appendix will be found the materials whence some of its incidents have been drawn — as also the narrative which has furnished its groundwork. Those who are sometimes glad to turn away for a while from the beaten roads of history, and to tread the byeways of romance — who love truth which re sembles fiction, and fiction which follows closely in the foot steps of truth — may, perhaps, find some little interest in this story of the last century. Full of hope, and yet of heart-break ; Of the here, and the hereafter. Legeno of Hiawatha. a

Part I. Chapter

I. The woods ! O solemn are the boundless woods Of the great western world when day declines ; And louder sounds the roll of distant floods, More deep the rustling of the ancient pines, "When dimness gathers on the stilly air, And mystery seems on every leaf to brood : Awful it is for human heart to bear The weight and burthen of the solitude. Mrs. Ilemans. White she is as Lily of June, And lieauteous as the silver moon, When out of sight the clouds are driven, And she is left alone in heaven. * * * * I did not speak — I saw her face : Her face ! it was enough for me ! I turned about, and heard her cry, ' 0 misery ! 0 misery ! ' Wordsworth. In the earlier part of the last century, through one of the primeval forests of the New World, northward of the region which the French colonists called the Eden of Louisiana, a man was walking one evening with his gun on his shoulder, followed by two dogs of European breed, a spaniel aud a bloodhound.

The rays of the setting sun were gilding the vast sea of flowers lying to his right beyond the limits of the wood through which he was making his way, impeded every moment by the cords of the blender liana and entangled garlands of Spanish moss. The firmness of his step, the i± briskness of his movements, the vigour of his frame, his keen eye and manly bearing, and above all the steady perseverance with which he pursued the path he had chosen, and forced his way through all obstacles, indicated a physical and moral temperament well fitted to cope with the many difficulties inherent to the life of a settler in the Nouvelle France. Henri d'Auban had been a dweller in many lands — had lived in camps and in courts, and held intercourse with persons of every rank in most of the great cities of Europe.

He was thirty-five years of age at the time this story opens, and had been in America about four years. Brittany was his native country ; his parental home, a small castle on the edge of a cliff overlooking one of the wildest shores of that rude coast. The sea-beach had been his playground ; its weeds, its shells, its breaking waves, his toys ; the boundless expanse of the ocean and its great ceaseless voice, the endless theme of his secret musings ; and the pious legends of the Armorican race, the nursery tales he had heard from his mother's lips. Brittany, like Scotland, is 'a meet nurse for a poetic child,' and her bold peasantry have retained to this day very much of the religious spirit of their forefathers. Early in life Henri d'Auban lost both his parents — the small-pox, the plague of that epoch in France, having carried them both off within a few days of each other.

He saw them buried in the little churchyard of Eeir Anna, and was placed soon after by s ome of his relations at the college of Vannes, where he remained several years. On leaving it, he began life with many friends, much youthfid ambition, and very little fortune. Through the interest of a great uncle, who had been a distinguished officer in Marshal Turenne's army, he was appointed military attache to the French Embassy at Vienna, and served as volunteer in some of the Austrian campaigns against the Turks. He visited also in the Ambassador's service several of the smaller courts of Germany, and was sent on a secret mission to Italy. On his way through Switzerland he accidentally made acquaintance with General Lefort, the Czar of Muscovy's confidential friend and admirer. That able man was not long in discovering the more than ordinary abilities of the young Breton gentilhomme.

By his advice, and through his interest, Henry d'Auban entered the Russian service, advanced rapidly from post to post, and was often favourably noticed by Peter the Great. He seemed as likely to attain a high position at that monarch's court as any foreigner in his service. His know ledge of military science, and particularly of engineering, having attracted the sovereign's attention on several occasions when he had accompanied General Lefort on visits of military inspection, the command of a regiment and the title of Colonel were bestowed upon him. But just as his prospects appeared most brilliant, and his favour with the Emperor was visibly increasing, he secretly left Russia and returned to France. Secrecy was a necessary condition of departure in the case of foreigners in the Czar's service.

However high in his favour, and indeed by reason of that favour they were no longer free agents— his most valued servants being only privileged serfs, bound to his dominions by laws which could only be evaded by flight— permission was hardly ever obtained for a withdrawal, which was considered as a sort of treason. Colonel d'Auban's abandonment of the Russian service excited the surprise of his friends. Some painful thoughts seemed to he connected with the resolution which had cut short his career. He disliked to be questioned on the subject, and evasive answers generally put a stop to such enquiries. He had, however, reached an age when it is difficult to enter on a new career; when old associations on the one hand, and youthful competitors on the other, stand in the way of a fresh start in life.

After six or seven years' absence from his country, he scarcely felt at home in France. His acquaintances thought him changed. The eager ambitious youth had become a quiet thoughtful man. But if the enthusiasm of his character was subdued, its energy was in no wise impaired. Youthful enthusiasm, in some natures, simply evaporates, and leaves nothing behind it but frivolity ; in others, it condenses and becomes earnestness. ■ At this turning moment one of the insignificant circumstances which often influence a person's whole destiny directed Colonel d'Auban's thoughts to the New World. In Europe, and especially b2 in France, a perfect fever of excitement was raging on the subject of colonisation. The rich territories on the banks of the Mississippi seemed a promised land to speculators of all classes and nations.

The eagerness with which Law's system was hailed in Paris, and the avidity which sought to secure a share in the fabulous pro spects of wealth held out to settlers in the New France, had never known a parallel. This fever was at its height when one day the ex-favourite of the Czar happened to meet in the Luxembourg- Gardens an old schoolfellow, who, the instant he recognised his comrade at Vannes, threw himself into his arms, and poured forth a torrent of joyful exclamations. This was the Vicomte de Harlay, a wealthy, good-natured eccentric Parisian, who had employed his time, his wit, and his means, since he had come of age, in com mitting follies, wasting money, and doing kindnesses. He had already managed to get rid of one large fortune ; but Fortune seemed to have a fancy for this spendthrift son of hers, and had recently bestowed upon him, through the death of a relative, a large estate, which he seemed bent upon running through with equal speed. - My dear d'Auban !

I am delighted to see you ! Are you come on a mission from the polar bears ? or has the Czar named you his ambassador in Paris ? ' 'I have left the Russian service.' ' You don't say so ! Why, people declared you were going to cut out Lefort and Gordon. Have you made your fortune, dear friend P ' D'Auban smiled and shook his head. ' A rolling stone gathera no moss.' ' Do you wish to make your fortune ? ' ' I should have no objection.' ' What are you doing, or wishing to do ? ' ' I am looking out for some employment. A small diplomatic post was offered to me some time ago, but it would not have suited me at all. I wish I could get a consulship. I want hard work, and plenty of it. What an extraordinary being you must think me ! ' ' Have you anything else in view at present ? ' enquired De Ilarlay, too eagerly bent on an idea of his own to notice his friend's last observation. ' No. When a person has thrown himself out of the beaten track, and then not pursued the path he had struck out, it is no easy matter to retrace his steps.

Every road seems shut to him.' ' But don't return to the beaten track — to the old road. Come with me to the New France. My cousin M. d'Artagnan is com mandant of the troops at New Orleans, and has unbounded influence with the governor, M. Perrier, and with the Company. I will introduce you to him. I know he wants men like you to come out and redeem the character of the colony, which is overrun with scamps of every description.' 'Amongst whom one might easily run the risk of being reckoned,' said d'Auban, laughing. ' Nonsense ! ' cried his friend. ' I am turning emigrant myself, and have just obtained a magnificent concession in the neighbourhood of Fort St. Louis, and the village of St. Francois.' ' You ! And what on earth can have put such a fancy in your head ? ' ' My dear friend, I am weary of civilisation — tired to death of Paris — worn out with the importunities of my relations, who want me to marry.

I cannot picture to myself anything more delightful than to turn one's back, for a few years, on the world, and oneself into a hermit, especially with so agreeable a companion as M. le Colonel d'Auban. But, really, I am quite in earnest. What could you do better than emigrate ? A man of your philosophical turn of mind would be interested in studying the aspect of the New World. If the worst came to the worst, you might return at the end of a year and write a book of travels. I assure you it is not a bad offer I make you. I have considerable interest in the Rue Quincampoix. I was invited to little Mdlle. Law's ball the other day, and had the honour of dancing a minuet with her. I shall write a placet to the young lady, begging of her to obtain from Monsieur son Pere a concession for a friend of mine.

It woidd be hard if I could not help a friend to a fortune, when Laplace, my valet — you remember him, don't you ? — has made such good use of our visits to the Paris Eldorado that the rogue has set up his carriage. He was good enough when he met me trudging along in the mud on a rainy day to offer me a lift. It is evident the world is turned upside down, on this side of the globe at least, and we may as well go and take a look at the revers de la medaille. Well, what do you say to my proposal ? ' ' That it is an exceedingly kind one, De Harlay. But I have no wish to speculate or, I will own the truth, to be considered as an adventurer. That you, with your wealth, and in your position, should emigrate, can he considered at the worst but as an act of folly. It would be different with me.' ' Well, I do not see why the new France is to be made over to the refuse of the old one.

I see in your scruples, my dear friend, vestiges of that impracticability for which you were noted at college. But just think over the question. Nobody asks you to speculate. For a sum not worth speaking of you can obtain a grant of land in a desert, and it will depend on your own ability or activity whether it brings you wealth or not. There is nothing in this, I shoidd think, that can offend the most scrupulous delicacy.' ' Can you allow me time to reflect ? ' ' Certainly. I do not sail for six weeks. It is amusing in the meantime to hear the ladies lamenting over my departure, and shuddering at the dangers I am to run in those wild regions, where, poor dears, they are dying to go themselves ; and I fancy some of them believe that golden apples hang on the trees, and might be had for the trouble of gathering them, if only le bon Monsieur Laio would let them into the secret.

Have you seen the line of carriages up to his house ? It is the very Court of Mammon. Duchesses and marchionesses jostle each other and quarrel on the staircase for shares, that is when they are happy enough to get in, which is not always the case. Madame de la Fere ordered her coachman to drive her chariot into the gutter and overturn it opposite to his door.* Then she screamed with all her might, hoping the divinity would appear. But the wilv Scotchman was up to the trick, and ate his breakfast without * A fact. stirring. We who were in his room almost died of laughing. Well, good-bye, my dear Colonel. When you have made up your mind, let me know, that I may bespeak for you in time a berth in the Jean Bart and a concession in the New World.' The Vicomte de Harlay walked away, and d'Auban paced for a long time the alleys of the Luxembourg, revolving in his mind the ideas suggested by this conversation. ' After so many doubts, so many projects which have ended in nothing, how singular it would be,' he said to himself, 'if a casual meeting with this scatter brained friend of mine should end in determining the future course of my life ! ' He had never thought of emigrating to the New World, but when he came to consider it there was much in the proposal which harmonised with his inclinations.

The scope it afforded for enterprise and individual exertion was congenial to his temper of mind. Above all, it was something definite to look to, and only those who have experienced it know what a relief to some natures is the substitution of a definite prospect for a wearying uncertainty. In the evening of that day he called at one of the few houses at which he visited — -that of M. d'Orgeville. He was distantly related to this gentleman, who held a high position amongst what was called the parliamentary nobility. His wife received every night a chosen number of friends : men of learning and of letters, members of the haide magistrature, dignitaries of the Church, and women gifted with the talents for conversation which the ladies of that epoch so often possessed, frequented the 3alon of the Hotel d'Orgeville, and formed a society little inferior in agreeableness to the most celebrated circles of that day.

Does it not often happen, unaccountably often, that when the mind is full of a particular subject, what we read or what we hear tallies so strangely with what has occupied us, that it seems as if a mysterious answer were given to our secret thoughts ? When d'Auban took his place that evening in the circle which surrounded the mistress of the house, he almost started with surprise at hearing M. de Mesme, a distinguished lawyer and scholar, say — ' I maintain that only two sorts of persons go to America, at least to Louisiana — adventurers and missionaries : you would not find in the whole colony a man who is not either an official, a priest, a soldier, or a scamp.' 'A sweeping assertion indeed,' observed Madame d'Orgeville. ' Can no one here bring forward an instance to the contrary ? ' ' The Vicomte de Harlay has turned concessionist, and is about to sail for New Orleans.

In which of the four classes he has mentioned would M. de Mesme include him ? ' This was said by a young man who was sitting next to d'Auban. ' Exceptions prove the rule. M. de Harlay's eccentricities are so well known that they baffle all calculation.' ' For my part,' said M. d'Orgeville, ' I cannot understand why men of character and ability do not take more interest in these new colonies, and that the objects of a settler in that distant part of the world should not be considered worthy the attention of persons who have at heart not only the making of money, but also the advancement of civilisation.' ' Civilisation ! ' ejaculated M. de Mesme, with a sarcastic smile. ' What a glorious idea the natives must conceive of our civilisation from the specimens we send them from France ! ' ' Surely,' exclaimed young Blancmenil, d'Auban's neighbour, ' M. Perrier, M. d'Artagnan, the Pere Souel and his companions, are not contemptible specimens of French merit ? ' ' Officials, soldiers, priests, every one of them,' retorted M. de Mesme. ' What I have not yet heard of is a concessionist a planter, an habitant who is not a mere speculator or a needy adventurer.

I appeal to you, M. Maret. Does not your brother write that the conversion of the Indians would be comparatively easy did not the colonists, by their selfish grasping conduct and the scandal of their immoral lives, throw the greatest obstacles in the w*ay of the missionaries ? Did he not add that a few honest intelligent laymen would prove most useful auxiliaries in evangelising the natives ? ' ' Your memory is faithful, M. de Mesme. I cannot deny that you quote correctly my brother's w-ords. But his letters do not quite bear out .your sweeping condemnation of the French settlers. If I remember rightly, he speaks in the highest terms of M. Eoh and M. de Buisson.' ' Is it the Pere Maret that Monsieur is speaking of ? ' asked d'Auhan of Madame d'Orgeville. ' Yes, he is his brother, and the missionary priest at St. Francois des Blinois.

M. Maret is Monsigneur le Prince de Conde's private secretary. Let me introduce you to him. Perhaps you may have seen his brother at St. Petersburg before the expulsion of the Jesuits? ' ' I knew him very well, and wished much to know where he had been sent.' ' It may then, perhaps, interest you, sir, to read the last letter I have received from my brother ; it contains no family secrets,' M. Maret said with a smile. This letter was dated from the Bhnois. It did not give a very attractive picture of the country where d'Auban had already tra velled in imagination since the morning. It made it evident that Europe sent out the scum of her population to people the New World ; and that if good was to be done in those remote regions, it must be by an unusual amount of patience, courage, and perse verance.

But what would have disheartened some men proved to d'Auban a stimulus. There were, he perceived, two sides to the question of emigration ; the material one of profit — the higher one well worthy of the attention of a Christian. It seemed to him a singular coincidence that, on the same day on which it had been pro posed to him to emigrate to America, a letter should be put into his hands, written from that country by a man for whom he had a profound respect and attachment. He found in it the following passage : — ' The excellence of the climate, the beauty of the scenery, the easy navigation of the river on the shore of which our mission is situated, and which flows a little below it into the Mississippi, the extreme fertility of the soil, the ease with which European pro ductions grow and European animals thrive here, make this village quite a favoured spot, and one peculiarly adapted for the purposes of French colonisation.

But whether such establishments would be an advantage to our mission, is extremely doubtful. If these emigrants were like some few I have known, men of religious principles and moral lives, nothing could be better for our Indians, or a greater consolation to us, than that they should settle in our neighbourhood ; but if they are to resemble those who, unfor tunately, have of late years been pouring into Louisiana — adventurers, libertines, and scoffers — our peaceful and edifying Indian community would be speedily ruined. The Indians are very like children. Their powers of reasoning are not strong. What they see has an unbounded influence over them. They would quickly discover that men calling themselves Christians, and whom they would look upon as wiser than themselves, set at nought the principles of the Gospel, and, in spite of all the missionaries might say or do, the effect wotdd be fatal.

From such an evil as that I pray that we may be preserved.' * When the visitors had taken their leave that night, and d'Auban remained alone with his friends, he opened his mind to them and asked their advice. M. d'Orgeville hesitated. His wife, a shrewd httle woman, who understood character more readily than her excellent husband, fixed her dark penetrating eyes on Colonel d'Auban, and said, ' My dear friend, my opinion is that you will do well to go to the New World. I say it with regret, for we shall miss you very much. If, indeed, you had accepted the heiress I proposed to you, and advanced your interests by means of her connections, it might have been different ; but a man who at thirty years of age refuses to marry an heiress foolish enough to be in love with him, because, forsooth, he is not in love with her — who does not accept a place offered to him because it would happen to break another man's heart not to get it, and who will not make him self agreeable to the Regent's friends because he thinks them, and because they are, a set of despicable scoundrels — my dear- Colonel, such a man has no business here.

He had better pack up his trunks and go off to the New World, or to any world but this. Tenderness of heart, unswerving principles, the temper of Lafon taine's oak, which breaks and does not bend, do not answer in a * From the Lettres Uifiantes. country where everyone is scrambling up the slippery ascent to fortune holding on by another's coat.' 'And yet,' answered d'Auban, ' there are men in France whose noble truthfulness and unshaken integrity none venture to call in question ;' and as he spoke he glanced at M. d'Orgeville. ' True,' quickly answered his wife, laying her hand on her hus band's embroidered coat-sleeve ; ' but remember this, such men have not their fortunes to make. They are at the top of the lad der, not at the bottom, and that makes all the difference. It is always better to look matters in the face.

Here you have — some people say wantonly — I am persuaded for some good reason — but anyhow you have turned your back upon Fortune in a most affront ing manner, and the fickle goddess is not likely, I am afraid, to give you in a hurry another opportunity of insulting her. I really think you would be wrong to refuse M. de Ilarlay's proposal. You see, my dear friend, you are not a practical man.' ' Well, I will not urge you to define that word,' said d'Auban with a smile ; ' but if your accusation is just, how can you believe that I shaU triumph over the difficulties of a settler's life ? ' ' Oh, that is quite a different affair. What I call a practical man in Europe, is one who bends before the blast, and slips through the meshes of a net. In the desert, and among savages, the tem per of the oak may find its use, and stern self-reliance its element.' ' I am afraid she is right,' said M. d'Orgeville, with a sigh ; ' though I would fain not think so.' 'At any rate, you will not be in a hurry to come to a conclusion on this important question; and if you do emigrate, all I can say is, that you will be a glorious instance of the sort of settler M. de 3Iesme does not believe in.' A few weeks after this conversation had taken place, M. de Har lay and Henri d'Auban were watching the receding coasts of France from the deck of the Jean Bart, and four or five years later the latter was crossing the forest, on his way back to the Mission of St. Francis, after a visit to an Indian village, the chiefs of which had smoked the pipe of peace with their French neighbours.

He had leamt the language and successfully cultivated the acquaintance of many of the native tribes, and was at the head of a flourish ing plantation. Madame d'Orgeville had proved right. The peculiarities of character which had stood in the way of a poor gentil homme seeking to better his fortunes in France, favoured the successful issue of his transatlantic undertakings. M. de Harlay had fulfilled his promise by obtaining from the Company a grant of land for his friend adjacent to his own concession, and he had worked it to good purpose. His small fortune was employed in the purchase of stock, of instruments of labour, and, it must be owned, of negroes at New Orleans. But it was a happy day for the poor creatures in the slave-market of that city, when they be came the property of a man whose principles and disposition dif fered so widely from those of the generality of colonists.

He ennan-ed also as labourers Christian Indians of the Mission, and a few ruined emigrants, too happy to find employment in a country where, from want of capital or ability, their own spectdations had failed. It was no easy task to govern a number of men of various races and characters, to watch over their health, to stimu late their activity, to maintain peace amongst them, and, above all, to improve their morals. The Indians needed to be confirmed in their recently-acquired faith, the negroes to be instructed, and the Europeans, with some few exceptions, recalled to the practice of it. He laboured indefatigably, and on the whole successfully, for these ends. His courage in enduring privations, his generosity, perhaps even more his strict justice, his kindness to the sick and suffering, endeared him to his dependants.

He seemed formed for command. His outward person was in keeping with his moral qualities. He hunteJ, fished, and rode better than any other man in the Mission or the tribe. In physical strength and stature he surpassed them all. This secured the respect of those unable to appreciate mental superiority. It was not extraordinary, under these circumstances, that his concession thrived, that fortune once more smiled upou him. He was glad of it, not only from a natural pleasure in success, but also from the consciousness that, as his wealth increased, so would his means of usefulness. He became deeply attached to the land which was bountifully bestowing its treasures upon him, and dis playing every day before his eyes the grand spectacle of its incomparable natural beauties. His heart warmed towards the children of the soil, and he took a lively interest in the evangelisation of the Indian race, and the labours of the missionaries, especially those of his old friend Father Maret, whose church and the village which surrounded it stood on the opposite bank of the stream on the side of which his own house w-as built.

If his life had not been one of incessant labour, he must have suffered from its loneliness. But he had scarcely had time during those busy years to feel the want of companionship. Month after month had elapsed in the midst of engrossing occupations. On the whole, he was happy— happier than most men are — much happier, certainly, than his poor friend M. de Harlay, who wasted a large sum of money in building an habitation, as the houses of the French settlers were called, totally out of keeping with the habits and requirements of the mode of life he had adopted. For one whole year he tried to persuade himself that he enjoyed that kind of existence ; it was only at the close of the second year of his residence in America that he acknowledged to his companion that he was bored to death with the whole thing, and willing to spend as large a sum to get rid of his concession as he had already expended upon it.