THE QUEEN'S LETTER.

AN EPISODE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

XIII.

WHEN the princess found herself alone, her first exclamation was, "Now to rejoin the queen." And she immediately descended the stairs, rushed into the street, ran towards the Tuileries, crossed the suite of apartments, and only rested when in Marie Antoinette's presence. "Madame, madame!" she cried to her, on seeing the queen, life and the king's are menaced !"

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The queen had been already informed of the crisis that was impending, and at this moment a scene was being acted at the château of which we shall only trace the outline, as, in order to reproduce it, we should be compelled to copy a history all our readers are acquainted with.

Round the king were already assembled MM. de Bougainville, d'Hervelly, d'Aubier, Lamoignon de Malesherbes, and an octogenarian marshal of France, M. de Noailles-Mouchy.

Round the queen were Madame de Tourzel, who at a later date was fated to lay down her life for her devotion and mistaken fidelity, Mesdames de Duras, de Maillé, de Luynes, de la Roche Aymon, de Maclaude Genestoux, de Soucy, and the Princess of Taranto.

The queen obstinately refused to leave the king.

"Whatever the peril may be," she said, "I will not forget my duty, my affection, or my name."

"But you will perish," they remarked to her, "and the king will not be able to survive the loss. You increase his danger by wishing to share it."

This consideration alone was sufficiently strong to conquer the queen's obstinacy, and she then shut herself up in her room with Madame de Tourzel, the Princess L, and the few ladies we have named.

While this was passing at the château, the members of the Bastile Club had rapidly reached the line of the Boulevards. Sinister rumours were flying along them: the tradesmen, as prudent then as they are now, were hurriedly closing their shops. An armed force was nowhere to be seen; the path was free; and it seemed as if the court, the national guard, and the army, had agreed on suffering the anger or the justice of the people to pass unassailed. Emile walked along with drooping head some paces behind his companions, seeming to obey mechanically a given impulse. There was such a confusion of feelings in his mind, that it would have been impossible for him to say whither he was going, and what part he desired to play in the approaching drama. By his side Renac seemed to measure his steps by the workman's, and silently observe the symptoms of agitation his countenance revealed. Their companions, tired of waiting for them, soon left them far behind.

"Wait a minute," Renac said, laying his hand on his companion's arm; "I want to speak to you."

At the sound of this voice Emile trembled, and fixed two wandering eyes on the person who addressed him.

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"Don't understand?" Renac continued; "I want to speak to you: come in here."

He pointed to a cabaret situate at the corner of the Rue Poissonniere, and which alone had remained open in the line of closed doors and shutters. The two republicans entered this cabaret, and sat down in the back room, one in front of the other.

"I trust I behaved properly," Renac said, filling the two glasses the innkeeper brought with white wine. "You do not understand me yet; wait a minute and you will see. [Here he rested his elbows on the table, and continued in a low voice, though emphasising each word:] I know the woman who was in your room just now: by naming her I could have destroyed her, but I did not do so. Don't be in a hurry, though, to thank me; if I held my tongue, it was because I had an interest in keeping quiet, and we could come to an arrangement. [Here he put his face close to Emile's.] You love the Princess Lcontinued quickly, noticing the start Emile gave; no more about it."

You love her," he "that's settled, so say

Like a man walking in darkness, under whose nose another man suddenly places a lantern, thus Emile had bounded on hearing his companion's concluding words. Human feelings nearly always require a second external shock to cause them to explode, like the igneous matter is drawn from the flint through contact with the steel. These words, "You love the princess," were the electric spark which set the whole machine in motion. To return to our first comparison, Emile saw clearly into his heart: the obscurity that had hitherto covered his rising passion was dissipated: the miracle of revelation had been accomplished. He loved the princess-he loved her with a devotion stronger than his reason, than his conscience perchance, and he did not possess the resource of hypocrisy. He did not, therefore, attempt to oppose a denial to Renac's repeated affirmations.

"Let us come to an arrangement," the latter said. "The princess would give her life to recover the queen's letter, and you would give yours, or as much, to restore it to her. It's very simple; in making the princess such a present you would acquire claims to her gratitude, and every benefit deserves a recompense. Well then, behave yourself, and I will give you the queen's letter."

As if to give more weight to his words, Renac drew a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and passed it before Emile's eyes, adding, "Here's this famous letter. Will you have it ?"

"Yes," said Emile, in a hoarse voice, stretching out his hand.

"An instant," Renac said, restoring the precious document to his pocket. "I will give it you, but not to-day."

"When then ?" Emile asked.

"The day when Lucie becomes my wife. You love the princess, I love Lucie; serve my amour, I will do the same for you."

"But would Lucie ever consent to become your wife ?" Emile mur mured.

"Try to persuade her; that's your affair, not mine. I have no call to interfere. Here's your health!"

Renac raised his glass to hob-nob, but Emile did not stir; any one who saw him at this moment would have taken pity on his weakness, even while condemning it.

My God! my God!" he cried.

This was the last appeal of the honest man who bade adieu to the reminiscences of an unstained past life, and wept for his departing honour. "Lucie shall be your wife," he said, as he rose, "and you will give me the letter."

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"As truly as we are two good republicans," said Renac. These words were the commencement of Emile's chastisement. republican! He had no longer the right to assume such a title. He was no longer the Emile of yore, the disciple of the philosopher of Geneva, the ardent patriot, the devoted apostle of the doctrines of the future: at this moment his master, Rousseau, would have branded him with his contempt, and scourged him with his wrath.

A sound of drums, voices, and clanging arms interrupted these sorrowful reflections. This noise announced the approach of the popular army, whose first columns gained the Porte St. Denis, while the last were still on the Place de la Bastile.

The vanguard of this army was composed of tricoteuses: they were for the most part clothed in rags, and had tucked up the sleeves of their jackets to the elbow; with fiery eyes, dishevelled hair, naked feet, and fists planted in their sides, they uttered from time to time frightful cries, in spite of Santerre's formal orders to the contrary, who was marching at their head, accompanied by his aides-de-camp. Behind this feminine cohort came the drums; after them some veteran gardes Françaises dragged along two cannon, with lighted matches, and the declaration of the rights of man fastened to the breech. Another group of men surrounded an instrument of peculiar form-a species of platform, surmounted by a cleaver; above it floated a flag, on which might be read this inscription: "National justice for tyrants." The instrument, of which this inscription explained the use, was called a guillotine.

At the rear of these different groups, which formed a very characteristic vanguard, came another body, composed of lads, who might be easily recognised for true Parisian gamins, by the assurance of their look and the air of satisfaction which beamed on their faces. One of them, wearing a paper Phrygian cap of his own manufacture, walked in front of the beardless corps like a drum-major, and bore in his hand a lantern attached to a broomstick. We have no need to explain to our readers the meaning of this singular standard; and as for the standard-bearer, is it necessary to add he was called Citizen Panotet?

We might add other details, but fear lest we might be accused of dwelling too fondly on a popular manifestation, which, in spite of a mixture of the odious and grotesque, had not the less its character of sombre grandeur. The fact is, that the aspect of the immense mass led by Santerre was grave, silent, and almost solemn; all seemed to possess the consciousness of a duty to be performed. The drums beat, the cannons rattled, the pikes gleamed, the flags floated in the breeze, without confu

sion or disorder: a single thought, a single will animated this immense improvised army, and the 30,000 men composing it only appeared to form one single man, who was named the people, and was about to pay a visit to the king.

On passing in his turn before the cabaret, on the threshold of which Emile and Renac remained standing, Panotet perceived them, and shook his lantern in sign of recognition.

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"Are you coming?" Renac said to Emile; if you don't join your companions to-day, that will be a way of inspiring them with suspicion."

"What matter?" the workman replied, with a profoundly melancholy accent; my fate is now settled."

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And while Renac went to swell the ranks of the petitioners, he remained motionless, regarding the crowd that defiled before him. At the expiration of a few moments he was, however, compelled to decide: in every rank he had friends, and those who noticed him cried to him as they passed:

"Come with us, comrade; come and say good day to M. Veto and his family."

To cut these successive appeals short, which revived in him remorse for his weakness, Emile went through by-streets to his home, shut himself up in his room, and, deaf to the sounds which arose in proportion as the mob drew nearer the Tuileries, he passed the remainder of the day in writing the following letter, addressed, as we may easily imagine, to the Princess L- -:

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"MADAME,-To speak of your affairs first: the queen's letter can be restored to you, but Renac will not give it to me before the day Lucie becomes his wife. You know Lucie, madame; she has often spoken to me of a great lady who saved her from misery, and I have every reason to believe this lady is no other than yourself. You can then, better than any one else, determine Lucie on making the sacrifice demanded of her, and risk without disgrace a marriage proposal which would be odious from my lips. I have commenced the work, you must complete it. "Now do me the favour of listening to me. In consequence I have done for you, my fate is fixed. If I remain in Paris, I shall not long survive. My friends, my brothers whom I have betrayed, will pursue me and find me wherever I conceal myself; they will kill me, and act justly in doing so: every traitor deserves death, and God is my witness that death will not be my most cruel chastisement. Thus you see, madame, after sullying my conscience for you, I am ready to yield my life for you. I have then, allow me to say it, some claims to your gratitude, and still, madame, were we living in ordinary times, I should never have the courage to speak to you as I am now doing; I should remember the distance God has set between you and me, and be silent But, madame, in the present day, is this distance real? I am uncertain of my future, but are you more certain of yours ? Do you not perceive that events are hurrying to a crisis, and that your foot is upon a volcano? Believe me, the soil of France is ready to open, and will swallow you up to-morrow, if you do not quit it to-day. Fly then, madame, or rather

let us fly together. To-morrow you will possess neither title nor fortune; you will be poor and proscribed like myself; we shall then be equal: we are so already, for I hear from this spot 30,000 voices crying beneath the windows of the Tuileries, Down with kings!' Down with nobles!' Let us fly, madame; let us fly, I repeat. Do not refuse to lean upon an arm which will defend you, and, if need be, support you. Let us fly, and I will strive to teach you to forget, by the strength of my devotion, all the property you have lost, all the vain pleasures which will abandon you, if you are not the first to abandon them. Fly! this is the cry of my reason and of my heart. Is it not true that love can replace fortune and even our country? I love you; let us fly, madame!"

Emile paused, in terror at his own audacity, after writing the last lines. Not being able to resolve on effacing them, he wished at least to soften their energy by means of some additional phrases, but his rebellious imagination could not find a single word after those "I love you;" he only remembered the German motto the princess had taught him on the previous evening, and he wrote at the bottom of the page, in the fashion of a signature:

"Bis in den Tod."

Terrible motto! and which, on the 20th of June, 1792, possessed a meaning it will never again have.

When his letter was finished, Emile did not dream of sending it the same day. It would have run the hazard of being intercepted by the mob that had already invaded the Tuileries. He therefore decided on awaiting the morrow, and when evening came, fell asleep to dream of the sole happiness which can afford consolation in exile-requited love.

FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON'S INTERMENT.

Ir has been said by a German author, we think Goethe, that "in Death there is a kind of resurrection, even upon Earth." 'Tis now twelve months since the hero of a "hundred battles" was lowered into a vault in St. Paul's, and yet his memory is as much alive in men's minds as he was when the victories of Salamanca and Waterloo were trumpeted through Europe.

All the historic events of the late Duke's life have been made so repeatedly familiar to us all, that it would be superfluous to recapitulate or even to allude to them, albeit the public is far from being weary of their repetition. But the character of the man, impressed as it is upon the English mind, has not yet been (till since his death at least) at all faithfully pictured in print. This, therefore, we shall essay to do as briefly and rapidly as possible, though we are well aware that to do justice to