Aubert Dubayet; or, The two sister republics

Front matter

CHorttpU Ititerattg BItbrarg

BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE

SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND

Chapter I

THE ABb£ VIEL and AUBERT DUBAYET — A TER- RIBLE SECRET.

In the month of November, in the year 1779, on one of those exquisite autumnal days so peculiar to Louisiana, when merely to inhale the balmy atmosphere is a feast of the senses, two men were standing on the left bank of the Mississippi, in front of Toulouse street. The sun, verging toward the western horizon, was gilding with its last rays the roofs of New Orleans and the tops of the tall moss-covered trees, which looked like gray-bearded giants, on the opposite side of the river, in the rear of several plantations then existing where the town of Algiers has since grown up. A vessel was in sight, just turning round a projecting curve, and was fast coming up with all her sails swelling under the breath of a strong breeze, which impelled her onward like a thing of life. One of those men was a youth, about twenty-one years old ; the other had reached fully double the age of his companion. The former, elegantly dressed after the fashion of the time, was Jean Baptiste Annibal Aubert Dubayet, a native of Louisiana, and a

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son of Adjutant-Major Dubayet, who had long served in the small body of troops which France had maintained in her colony of Louisiana before its cession to Spain, and who had lately died, leaving a widow and an only son — the one now before us. The young man had just returned from Europe, where he had received a complete classical education in a college of Jesuits. His companion wore the costume of an ecclesiastic, and belonged to the celebrated religious order founded by Loyola. He also was born in Louisiana. But he had in early life gone to France, and had subsequently become a teacher in the institution where Aubert Dubayet had recently graduated with distinguished honors. Conceiving for his pupil a strong attachment, he had returned with him to New Orleans. He was called Labbe Viel. The abbi was an unsurpassed Latin and Greek scholar, and was so wedded to ancient literature that he admired nothing of the modern, except the poem of Telemachus, by F6n61on. Perhaps it was because the work of the archbishop of Cambrai had been evidently inspired by Homer and Virgil, and the subject had been taken from the quarry of antiquity with all the approved, and traditional machinery of gods and goddesses. The only fault he found with that production was its being written in French and in prose. " Otherwise," he said, " it would have been a grand epic poem, ranking next to the Iliad, the Odyssey, and the Eneid." Wherefore he had translated it into Latin verse, really worthy of the Augustan age. This learned Jesuit, although a truly pious man, was, it must be confessed, more familiar with the classics than with the Bible and the writings of the fathers of the Church. He had in particular a sort of devotional attachment to

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Horace, who was his oracle and whom he quoted on every occasion. Hence, deploring that the great majority of his countrymen could not profit by the philosophical and literary principles of him whom he called " The sage of the Sabine farm," he had ventured to translate into French some of the epistles of that poet and his Ars Poetica, His Latin translation of Telemachus, published in a costly edition by the voluntary and spontaneous subscription of some of his pupils and admirers, had gained him considerable reputation, increased by his French translations of Horace, although he frequently regretted the impropriety of having travestied that author in a language so very inferior to the original, " and yet it is better," he would say, "thus to present to the ignorance of the modern world this great luminary of the ancient — pale, distorted, and obscured as its light may be by passing through the medium of an opaque and coarse glass, than not present it at all." The abbi considered as a profound ignoramus any one who did not have at his fingers' end the Latin language ; and, as to the Greek, he deeply commiserated the unfortunate man who was not acquainted with its beauties. He always carried about him, safely stowed at the bottom of his literary carpet-bag, and with as much care as his breviary, some compositions of his own, in Latin, of course, which he had decorated with the title of Miscellanea Latino Gallica — " Latino-Gallic Miscellanies." These he would occasionally read by scraps to his most intimate friends and favorite pupils. It was only when in his eightieth year, that he could be prevailed upon to overcome his modesty and to lay before the public any original production of his own mind. To the entreaties of his admirers during l6 A UBERT DUBA YET.

half a century he had constantly replied that there are few things worth publishing after the masterpieces of antiquity. " I, for one," he declared, " will not be guilty of such presumption." But, in extreme old age, a short time before he died in France at the college of Juilly, where he had been educated and where he ended his life, engaged to the last in discharging the duties of a professor, he changed his mind — the paternal fondness of the author for his literary progeny having probably so increased with years as to become irresistible.

Such was the individual who, on the day and at the hour I have mentioned, stood with Aubert Dubayet on the bank of the Mississippi, and watched with keen interest the rapid approach of the vessel which I have described, and which sported conspicuously the white flag of France. It was a large merchant ship from Bordeaux. Pointing to her with his index, " News, news from France, from our beloved France ! " exclaimed the abbi, joyfully. " This navis jactantibus aiistris, this tempest-beaten ship, will rejoice our hearts. Let us go on board." By this time the ship had dropped her anchor near the bank of the river,* but not so near as to permit communication with her without the assistance of a boat. Labbe Viel and Aubert Dubayet, throwing themselves into one, were soon on deck, and exchanging warm greetings with the captain, whom they knew well and with whom they had once crossed the Atlantic.

" Ha, ha ! " exclaimed the learned Jesuit, patting the broad chest of the rugged captain, " ilU robur, & as triplex circa pectus erat, qui fragilem truci commisit pelago ratem primus."

"Still spouting your confounded lingo, which I don't understand," said the captain, smiling goodhumoredly. " I take it for granted that you are asking me in Latin for a bottle of claret. Let us go down for it. Besides, I have for you in my cabin a package of letters. Follow me ; I lead the way."

" Agreed," said the incorrigible abbe, " recepto duke mihi furere est amico, which means, captain, that I hope to drink your health many a time before you are drowned in that villainous element on which you live."

When they were below deck, " Pray, be seated on this sofa, gentlemen," said the captain. " Steward, bring glasses and our oldest claret." The order was soon obeyed, and pledges of good wishes exchanged over the ruby-looking liquid. " Now," continued the captain, drawing a package from his desk and handing it over to the abbe, " here are letters for you both. I must on deck to give orders, whilst you commune with your distant friends. Break the seals open without ceremony. Make yourselves at home and comfortable. The claret will remain before you and at hand," and, bowing to his guests, he ran up the steep steps by which they had come down, and his voice of command was heard above, giving orders to his crew.

The two men were soon immersed in the reading of their letters. " O, how happy I feel, father ! " exclaimed Aubert Dubayet, addressing the ecclesiastic. " Here is a letter from Augustin Calandrano, and one from Joseph Lakanal, my chums at college and your favorite pupils. Both are provided for. Augustin Calandrano, or rather Tintin Calandro, as we used to call him by abbreviation, is chief musician of the princess de Lamballe's chapel, with a good salary and an occupation suited to his taste and peculiar nature, and ig A UBERT DUBA YET.

Joseph Lakanal, who has entered the holy orders, to which he was inclined at school, has obtained, through the influence of the princess, at the solicitation of Tintin, the situation of professor of belles-lettres in the academy of the city of Toulouse.

"I rejoice at it with all my heart," replied V abbi Viel. " O fons BlandusicB, non sine floribus, aras donaberis hcedo, cui frons turgida cornibus pritnis, which means that, to-morrow, when saying mass, I shall offer special thanks for these news. But night comes apace, my son ; let us retire. I can no longer read even the superscription of this letter. Before we go, however, as our news are so cheering, let us make a libation to the gods. Per Bacchum, this wine is excellent. Nunc est bibendum, Horace would certainly have said on such an occasion. Fill up, boy ; here is a bumper to the prosperity of the gentle Calandro and of the oak -ribbed Joseph Lakanal, for they are very unlike, although intimate friends. May they ever remain so ! " Down went the glorious liquid, titillating the throat of the good-natured scholar-priest, who smacked his lips after the operation was over. The abbe was temperate, but he knew how to enjoy a generous cup of unadulterated wine. After the third glass he used to say on convivial occasions : " Jam satis est, enough ; it is enough." At that moment the captain, returning from the deck above, joined them and called for another bottle.

" No, no," said the abbL " Non ego te, candide Bassareu, invitum quatiam, nee variis obsita frondib'us sub divum rapiam, which means, my sea-faring friend : I will not abuse thy gifts, O Bacchus, nor shall I, by taking off my wig in a fit of inebriation, uncover the nakedness of my bald head, which ought to remain

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hid." The abbe, as we see, had rather an original and eccentric way of translating his favorite author, .when in a familiar mood, for the benefit of his unlearned friends.

At the corner of Bourbon and St. Philip streets stood the dwelling house of the Dubayet family. It had, at the time our story begins, only three inmates, widow Dubayet, Aubert Dubayet, her son, and the abbe, Viel. In the week following the arrival of the French vessel, on a certain evening, widow Dubayet, a lofty-looking dame, dressed in mourning weeds and still retaining considerable traces of faded beauty, was .reclining in a large arm-chair in front of a chimney where blazed a cheerful fire. She looked sad and in bad health, sighing occasionally, particularly when she looked at an oil portrait hung over the mantelpiece ; it represented an officer in full regimentals, and wearing on his breast the decoration of the Cross of St. Louis. There was such a strong likeness between that portrait and young Dubayet, that it was easy to guess what had been the relationship existing between the two persons. It was a remarkably handsome face, with an expression of great decision of character stamped upon it. The lady had her eyes fixed on those features still living on the canvas before her and in her fond recollection, when her son entered in full ball costume. He approached his mother respectfully, and imprinted a kiss on her forehead. " His image ! " muttered the widow to herself, as she gazed at him admiringly, and said :

" Where are you going, Aubert ? "

"To an entertainment, mother, at the house of Olivier de Maison Rouge."

The widow grew deadly pale and carried her hand to her heart, as if a sudden pang had shot through it. " My son," she said with a tremulous voice, " I thought I had requested you not to frequent that house."

" I tried to obey you, mother," replied the youth. " God knows what efforts I made. It happened, however, to be too late when you spoke. My own affections I might have controlled for your sake. But when I discovered that I had secured the heart of Emilie de Maison Rouge, I knew of no satisfactory reason why I should crush it."

" Can you believe, Aubert, that there was none satisfactory to your mother when she addressed such a request to you?"

" Your reasons, whatever they may be, you have not been pleased to make known to me. For me, therefore, they do not exist, and perhaps it is better now that they should not be communicated, for I may as well, mother, avail myself of this opportunity to inform you that I am engaged to. Emilie de Maison Rouge."

" Engaged ! affianced ! " shrieked the widow, as she rose from her seat and advanced toward her son witha face which was the very picture of horror and despair. " You," she said, " you, Aubert Dubayet, marry Emilie de Maison Rouge ! Never, never ! "

So shocked and astonished was Aubert at the condition in which he saw his mother that he could only stammer out: " Mother, what is the matter? What is the cause of this terrible excitement ? What can be said against the Maison Rouges ? They are fully our equals ; they rank among our best families, and the breath of scandal has never attacked them. I have long been aware of your personal dislike to them

But on what is it founded? And should any such thing, or any unaccountable prejudice, be in the way of your son's happiness and honor ? I say honor, for my honor is pledged. How could I break my engagement? Ask for my life, but not for more. I can not consent to disgrace my father's name."

" Boy," exclaimed the lady impetuously, " dare not interrogate me. I forbid that marriage in God's name, whatever may be the consequences. That is enough. It can not, it shall not ever take place."

" Madam," replied Aubert, respectfully, but firmly, " I am of age to-morrow, and although it will' grieve me much to displease you, that marriage shall take place in due time, unless you give me the most satisfactory reasons why it should not "; and, bowing low to his mother, he walked out.

Widow Dubayet stood motionless for awhile in the middle of the room, and appeared to have assumed the rigidity of a statue. But at last, coming to herself as it were, she dropped on her knees and prayed fervently. Then she rose, and rang a little bell which she took from a table near her arm-chair. A black servant answered the summons. " Is L'abbe Viel in his room ? " she inquired.

" Yes, madam."

" Tell him that I beg the favor of his coming to me instantly."

The abbe soon made his appearance, and widow Dubayet, advancing toward him with hurried steps, said : " Excuse my disturbing you at this late hour, father, but I shall not detain you long. I am much agitated, as you see, and need repose and solitude for the present. All I want to say is, that I must see you in the confessional at church to-morrow, at seven in the morning. I am sworn to a fearful secret, but I must break my oath. On that point I wish to consult you, and now, good-night."

The good abbi saw that this was not the moment to ask for any explanation, and retired in great surprise, without addressing one word to the lady, and without trying to soothe her evident anguish. But as he walked back slowly to his room through a dimlylighted passage, he kept muttering to himself : " What earthquake is this ? What is in the wind ? There is a storm brewing surely. How shall I prepare for it ? The omens are not favorable. Is it prmgnans cams, aut ab agro rava decurrens lupce Lanuvino, foetaque vulfes f But, dog or wolf, I must conjure down the evil fiend. Ego cui timebo, providus auspex ; antequam stantes repetat paludes imbrium divina avis immenentum, oscinem corvum precesuscitabo solis ab ortu. That is to say, I will, before going to bed, read two odes of Horace, two chapters of St. John, and repeat twice my evening prayers, adding a special one to St. Peter and St. Paul."

The next day when Aubert came to breakfast at the regular hour, he was astonished at being told that» his mother had gone out, and, when she left the house, had given strict orders that the morning meal should not be delayed on her account, because it was more than probable that she could not return in time for it; As to Labbi Viel, he had also risen very early, had gone out with Madam Dubayet, and came back alone, looking as if he were insane, crossing himself, and jabbering Latin with such gesticulations as to frighten all the servants, who thought that he must have met the devil, or some other awful apparition. " Tell Aubert, if he should inquire for me," ha,d the abbi said

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to one of the sable menials, " that I wish to be left undisturbed in my room until dinner-time, and that he must excuse my not joining him at the breakfast table to-day." This increased Aubert's surprise, and a presentiment of evil came over him. He hardly tasted the repast which had been spread before him, and retired to a room of which he had made a library — a sanctum for the abbe, and himself. There they used to have their familiar daily chats — the abbi, of course, leading the conversation, which seldom ended without his carrying his pupil back to his former studies of classical lore when on the benches of the school. Aubert was listlessly holding a book in his hand, and trying in vain to fix his attention on what he was attempting to read, when his mother entered. He was painfully struck with the evidence of deep suffering which he observed in her face. She looked almost livid. Aubert rose, took her hand, which shook like an aspen leaf, kissed it reverently, and led her to a seat. She remained silent, striving, as it were, to nerve herself, while one or two slight spasmodic contractions of the lips showed some deep agony at work in the heart's core. After a pause which appeared to Aubert to last an age, she said : " My son, are you still irrevocably bent on that marriage ?"

" How can it be otherwise, dearest mother, unless, as I told you yesterday, you give me the most satisfactory reason for not keeping my plighted faith — a reason which I can communicate to E;nilie de Maison Rouge, and which may free me from my obligations without disgrace, although it may break my heart ? "

" O my son, my son ! " exclaimed the lady. " What have you done, and what are you compelling me to

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do ! But, since it must be, let it be. O God ! O God ! How dreadful are the consequences of sin ! " She drew from her bosom a letter which she presented to her son, saying : " This is a communication from Madam de Maison Rouge to your father. It accidentally, and I now say providentially, came to my hand — providentially, because it will prevent the perpetration of a crime. It destroyed my happiness, Aubert, but I long ago forgave your father, and promised him on oath never to divulge the secret to any human being. My son, Emilie de Maison Rouge is your sister."

Aubert leaped from his seat, uttered a wild, piercing cry, and fell senseless on the floor.

One month after this event, Emilie de Maison Rouge, reduced to despair by the inexplicable desertion of Aubert, who could not divulge to her the secret communicated to him by his mother, had entered the convent of the Ursulines with the intention of taking the veil, and L'abbe, Viel had been ordered by his Superior in the province to accomplish a certain mission in the fertile, but almost uncultivated prairies of Attakapas, and to ascertain by what means the sparse population of that extensive district, consisting of whites, blacks, and Indians, could be best and most speedily educated and civilized. As to Aubert Dubayet, he had departed for France in that very ship which, with the abbe, Viel, he had visited on her arrival, and which had brought him welcomed letters from Calandro and Lakanal. There are times when, for individuals as for nations, changes and revolutions chase each other with the fleetness of a race-horse. What was the day before, is not to be found, or recognized, on the next morning ; something has passed over it by which it is obliterated or transformed; events are often accelerated in their march and crowded together, as if fate itself was in a hurry to accomplish its decrees, and was subject to fits of impatience and precipitation.

Aubert Dubayet reached safely the shores of France. Without a moment's delay he went to Versailles, and asked for an audience of the Minister of War, Marshal Rochambeau, to whom he was distantly related, and to whom he had a letter of introduction. The marshal received him kindly, and inquired whether he could do anything for his service. " Much," replied Dubayet, gloomily. " I wish for the opportunity of being killed. Send me to the battle-field, and you will have done for me what I most desire."

The marshal looked at him fixedly, and, taking his hand, which he pressed, said in a tone not devoid of sympathy, although a slight smile was perceptible on his lips : " Bah ! nonsense ! What misfortune could, on the threshold of life, have been so serious and so irreparable as to make it hateful to you ? You have not lived and suffered enough, to have the right and the wish to die so soon. Your adolescent grief, on whose chin beard has not had time to grow, will pass off like a spell of fever. Stir up, stir up, put spurs on your heels, serve your king and country, and do not mope like an owl in a corner. All that you need is occupation for mind and body — a purpose — an object in life — a career — action — action ! Well, let me be your physician, and I shall cure you. The king sends a body of troops to the assistance of the North Americans, who are struggling for independence against Great Britain. The expedition will sail from Brest in six days. I advise you to join it.

If you consent, I offer you a commission of second lieutenant in the regiment of Ag^nois, commanded by the marquis of Autichamp, a brave officer."

" I accept with gratitude," replied Dubayet.

" Very well," said the marshal, " I compliment you on your decision." After having signed the commission and handed it to the new lieutenant, he added : " When we meet again I expect, young man, to see you with a higher grade." Aubert shook his head with an expression of profound dejection.

" Pshaw, pshaw ! " said the marshal. " You mean that you will seek death. That is the very reason why you will not meet it. We know that, we veterans, who have faced it so often. Death and Dame Fortune are very capricious. That's one thing which they have in common. Be of good cheer ; you may yet rise to be what I am. I remember that I, too, was once inconsolable. But gun-powder is an excellent cordial. It soon exhilarated and cured me; it will have the same effect on you. Good-bye, and success to your maiden sword. I will not lose sight of you, and I expect from your colonel a favorable report of your gallantry at the first battle that shall be fought in America."

Chapter II

THE CONCERT GIVEN TO ROYALTY — THE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE — IS THERE ANYTHING IN OMENS, PRESAGES, AND PRESENTIMENTS ?

On his leaving the marshal de Rochambeau, Dubayet hastened to look for Augustin Calandrano. The meeting of the two friends was warm and genial. Tintin Calandro (to call him by the name under which he was generally better known) was found in a state of intense excitement. There was to be, on the evening of that very day, at the Hotel de Toulouse, where resided the princess de Lamballe, a great concert, and the king and queen were to honor it with their presence. Tintin being the chief of the musicians of the princess, the whole responsibility of the entertainment rested on him. " I want you there," he said to Dubayet. " I will have a seat for you in the orchestra, not to admire my music, of course, but to enjoy the brilliancy of the audience. You will see our good and excellent king, our lovely Queen Marie Antoinette, the worthy daughter of the Czesars, and above all, you will see the princess de Lamballe, the gem of the illustrious house of Savoy, the paragon of all the excellencies of which the earth is susceptible."

" Take care," said Dubayet, smiling. " You talk like a Romeo and betray your love."

" Betray ! I am ready to proclaim it on the housetops," replied Tintin. " Why should not a man open-

\y worship the star that twinkles in the distant firmament? What can be more harmless? I love the princess as I love all that is most exquisite in the fine arts ; I love her as I love beauty, eloquence, heroism, the royalty of intellect, the royalty of birth, and the rarest endowments of the heart and soul. I love all these things united in the embodiment of what may be' deemed by others ideal perfection, but which to me is actual reality. My love is the love of seraphic innocence, that kind of love which must be the allpervading fluid of paradise and the music of the celestial spheres. I lose sight of earth, my friend, when I look at the princess, and nothing of earth remains in me. I will introduce you to her, and you will understand my feelings, when you shall witness the halo which encircles her brow."

" I shall hardly have time," said Dubayet, " to avail myself of the honor which you offer to me, in utter forgetfulness of what I have already told you — that I depart the day after to-morrow for Brest, with the grade of lieutenant, to join an expedition which sails for the shores of the colonies of Great Britain in North America."

" True, I had forgotten it. But, nevertheless, you shall at least see the princess this evening, although at a distance. The effulgence which beams from her person will reach you, and will be sufficient to warm your heart. I'll take no refusal. You will sup with me after the concert, and to-morrow we shall have Lakanal to dine with us. I will write him an invitation to that effect, for he has recently come to Paris from Toulouse, in whose academy he is a professor, as you know. These are vacation times for him, and he makes the most of it in Paris and Versailles, rubbing off, as he says, his provincial rust, and sharpening himself on the grinding-stone of civilization."

" Very well," said Dubayet, " I consent, with pleasure, to all you desire. Adieu, to meet again soon. In the meantime, I must be preparing and packing for my departure the day after to-morrow."

Dubayet, according to his engagement, attended the concert to which he had been invited by Tintin Calandro, and, mingling with the musicians, witnessed from among them the brilliant display made on that occasion by the most refined court in Europe. It exceeded all the glorious dreams in which his imagination had ever indulged. Here stood royalty in all its antique and hereditary splendor, and radiant with the proud consciousness of its secure duration. Here was the cherished incarnation of a traditional principle; and, to defend it, if threatened, who then doubted that the loyal sword of France would leap from its scabbard? Here the most polished gentlemen of Christendom, whose breasts glittered with stars, and whose heroic names had for a thousand years brightened the pages of history, were eagerly pressing round the queen. Surrounded by the most beautiful and elegant women of the kingdom, who courted her smiles, she herself seemed the representation of enthroned happiness.

A piece of music had been composed for the occasion by Tintin Calandro. At the end of the performance, the example being given by Louis, a whirlwind of applause rose from an audience composed of the gods of the earth, who were over-fastidious in their taste, and not prone to manifestations of enthusiasm. This time these exclamations could be heard bursting from the ambrosia-fed lips of the highest in high

Olympus : " How wonderful ! What is this ? There never was anything like it. How new! How original, how eccentric ! But what genius in that eccentricity ! " Tintin was summoned to the presence of the king, who complimented him graciously, and decorated him with the cross of St. Louis, as one of the most distinguished artists of France. The queen was profuse in her praises, and encircling a magnificent bouquet she held in her hand with a heavy chain bracelet of gold studded with diamonds, which she detached from her arm, presented it to the astonished musician. The princess de Lamballe, delighted with the success of the entertainment she had given to royalty, approached Tintin Calandro in her turn, and, in the sweetest tones of her silvery voice, expressed her acknowledgments to him. " My Orpheus," she said, " it would ill befit me to compete with the Majesties of France, who have to-day so munificently and openly honored you with testimonials of their appreciation. I shall, therefore, content myself with presenting a mere trifle to your acceptance. I am sitting for my portrait to a young artist, a man of genius like yourself. It shall be sent to you as soon as finished." Tintin had received with self-possession the compliments of the king and queen ; but, on being thus addressed by the princess de Lamballe, his agitation was such that it could not be concealed from those who happened to have their eyes fixed on him. He bowed to the ground without being able to reply, and, when attempting to withdraw from her presence, seemed so exhausted from the excess of his emotion, that one of his colleagues of the orchestra stepped forward, and offering his arm, led him away.