A True Story
by Mrs. Child.
Originally published in Bradshaw's Manchester Journal (Bradshaw & Blacklock) vol.1 #8 (19 Jun 1841).
Towards the close of the last century, about the year 1789, there occurred in France one of the most singular political convulsions of which history bears any record. The lower orders of the nation, headed by some individuals of influence, rose in arms against their sovereign, and after a long series of atrocities, succeeded in dethroning and beheading King Louis the XVII., and in completely overturning the power of the nobles, and destroying the institution of the state.
There lived about this time, in one of the northern countries of the kingdom, called the Departement des Deux Sèvres, a miller, in easy circumstances, whose name was Maturin, and who, so far from participating in the alarm and dread, which seemed to freeze the charity of his countrymen, sought every opportunity of conferring acts of kindness on the unfortunate people, who were flying from their homes, to avoid the horrors of prison or of death.
During this period, no suspicion had ever attached to him; and in the opinion of his neighbours, he passed for an excellent patriot, as the term was then understood. He contrived, however, to conceal his real feelings under an air of gaiety; and on many occasions, in order to avoid suspicion, he had even received into his mill the officers of the tyrant, and entertained them hospitably.
Toinette, his daughter, a little girl of only ten years of age, was his only confidante and companion. She was the depository of his secrets; and possessing a great deal of prudence, together with an appearance of childish innocence, she was particularly useful to her father, in aiding his efforts to deceive the cruel agents of Robespierre; and shared in all his rejoicings, when they had the good fortune to rescue any innocent sufferer from their snares.
One evening, Toinette had gone down to a fountain at some distance from the mill, in order to bring home fresh water for supper when her father should return from labour. She filled her pitcher, and placing it on the ground, by the side of the well, she seated herself on a mossy bank, under the shade of a beech tree, which grew above it. The sun was just setting,—there was not the slightest noise to disturb the calm silence which reigned around her, and leaning her head on her arm, she began to reflect on some melancholy tales of recent suffering, which her father had been relating to her in the morning. She had not remained in this position more than a few moments, when she fancied she heard the voice of some one in distress, apparently very near her. She started at an incident so unusual, and listening for a moment, heard distinctly a low faint moan, which seemed to issue from a hovel not far from the well. It had formerly been a comfortable cottage; but having been destroyed by fire about a year before, little more than the four walls and a part of the roof were now remaining.
She arose instantly, and proceeding towards the ruined hut, was about to enter the door, when she perceived the figure of a man stretched on the ground, wasted and pale, and apparently in the last struggle of death.. She drew near to him without hesitation, attempted to raise his head, and asked him some questions in a voice of pity. The unfortunate man fixed his eyes intently on the little girl, and said, in a low voice, "Give me some bread; I am perishing from hunger."
At these words, the tears came into the eyes of Toinette; she knew not what to do; she had no bread with her,—and from the exhausted state of the poor sufferer, she feared to leave him to procure any, lest on her return she should find that he had breathed his last. For a few moments she hesitated what to do,—whether to go, or remain where she was; at length, thinking she had better leave him, and fetch some food, than stay with him, and perhaps see him expire before her eyes, she gently laid his head on the floor, and had proceeded a few steps from the door of the hut on her way home, when she remembered that she had a pear and some chestnuts in her pocket. The recollection of these treasures no sooner flashed on her mind, than she ran back, and placing the head of the poor man upon her knee, she put a small piece of the pear in his mouth. He had been so long without food, that it was with some difficulty he swallowed the first morsel, but by degrees he seemed to revive, and by the time he had finished the fruit, he was so far recovered as to be able to answer the questions of the little girl.
"Tell me," said Toinette, "how long you have been in this horrible place? for your clothes are all ragged, and you cannot have been shaved for many weeks. But you shall come with me to my home: it is not far distant, and my father is kind to all who are in distress; and when you are well, he will give you employment in our mill, and every day you shall have abundance to eat, and a comfortable bed to sleep on at night."
"Alas! my child," replied Monsieur Passot (for that was the name of the unhappy man), "it is impossible for me to take advantage of the offer which you are so kind as to make me. I am unfortunately obliged to fly, and to conceal myself, far from the haunts of my fellow-creatures; but I should rather prefer to perish here, than to end my days on a scaffold. I can only thank you for your kindness, but I cannot accept of it; fetch me a little bread,—it is all that I ask; and promise me faithfully that you will not mention, even to your father, your having seen me."
Toinette did all in her power to persuade Monsieur Passot to alter his determination, and to confide in her father; but finding that she could not succeed, she promised to keep his secret inviolable; and "do not think," said she, "that I will abandon you here without assistance. Oh, no! I will procure you something to eat now, and will find the means to return to you every day, and to bring you some bread. No one shall know of your existence; and for myself, I will die rather than betray you."
When she had gone, Monsieur Passot found himself much more composed and tranquil: he was thankful for the interest which Toinette had taken in his welfare, and he considered it as an especial interference of Providence, to preserve his life. He could now keep himself concealed as long as he chose, since his little friend had undertaken to provide him with food; and he hoped to be enabled by this means to elude his enemies, till his name should be forgotten, or a new order of things in France would permit his return to his home and his family.
In a few minutes Toinette was again by his side, with some bread, and a little cup of milk, from which the poor sufferer eagerly drank, and seemed much refreshed. Toinette would have been very glad to have stayed to learn the particulars of Monsieur Passot's escape; but fearing that her father would miss her, and inquire the cause of her absence, she took a reluctant leave of her protégé; and hastening to the well, she took up her pitcher and returned to the mill, rejoicing in having had it in her power thus to save the life of a fellow-creature.
The little girl, faithful to her promise, continued to supply her pensioner, at stated periods, with bread, to which she occasionally added some vegetables or cheese. Monsieur Passot took great pleasure in her intelligent and child-like conversation; and on her part, Toinette was so pleased with her friend, that she was never in a hurry to leave him and return to the mill. At the same time she was grieved to see that he had no other covering or shelter than the wretched hovel where he lay, and which was in fact more adapted for the retreat of a wild beast than that of a human being. In vain she renewed, from time to time, her entreaties that he would confide in the protection of her father, and remove to the mill: he was too generous to endanger, by his presence, the safety of honest Maturin; and preferred enduring all the horrors of his present situation, from a conviction that to their kindness he was chiefly indebted for concealment and security.
One morning, when Toinette and he were deeply engaged in conversation, they were horrified by the approach of a third person, who started suddenly from amongst the trees, and struck them with terror by his presence. Toinette, however, soon recovered her confidence, when she recognised her father; and turning to Monsieur Passot, she entreated him not to suspect her of having told Maturin of his living in the forest.
"Ask himself," said the little girl eagerly, "and he will assure you that I have not."
Her father, thus appealed to, replied, "It is very true, my child, that you never have; but how could you suppose that I could be so blind as not to observe your frequent absence, or that I should not feel uneasy when I was alone at home, whilst you have been here chatting to Monsieur. The quantities of bread, too, which you have been in the habit of carrying off, have excited my suspicions; but, Toinette, how could you think of permitting this gentleman to remain here so long in the midst of so much misery? Had you told me of his being here, I would at once have found him an equally safe and more commodious retreat."
"My good Sir," interrupted Monsieur Passot, with great emotion, "it was not the fault of this dear child, for I have uniformly resisted her entreaties to be permitted to do so, through the fear of bringing you into difficulty or danger. I have suffered so much, that, God knows! I would not willingly bring another into similar trouble."
"If that be all you fear," replied the miller, with a smile, "you may set your mind at rest. I shall run no risk; and even if I did, I have at most but one life to lose, and that I shall gladly endanger to serve my suffering fellow-creatures. No: you must not stay here. This evening, at dusk, Toinette shall come for you. A few days ago, I was obliged to dismiss my assistant, who was an idle fellow; you shall take his place, and do his work when you are able; but we will first rid you of this long beard, which would make you look more like a Capuchin friar than a miller's man; and having arrayed you in one of my dresses, all suspicion will be lulled, and by the assistance of Providence, all will go on securely and well. But I must leave you now,—farewell, for the present, and at night-fall I shall expect to see you at the mill."
So saying, Maturin took the hand of his daughter, and both went away together, leaving the heart of Monsieur Passot swelling with gratitude to Heaven, and to them, as the agents of its bounty.
At night Toinette arrived, according to promise, at the forest. She was delighted at the thought of her friend being no longer exposed to the inclemency of the weather, or deprived of the necessaries of life. They left the ruined cottage together, traversed the paths of the wood in silence, and at last arrived, without having been seen, at the mill. Here Monsieur Passot was immediately shaved, and being dressed in a suit of the miller's clothes, obtained the new name of "Nicholas," and took his seat at the table between Maturin and his daughter. A few glasses of good wine recruited his spirits, and he had soon the pleasure of stretching his weary limbs on a comfortable bed, after lying for six weeks exposed to the dew and the rain, upon the cold, damp floor of the ruined cottage.
During the few succeeding days, wholesome and plentiful food, and above all, the tranquillity of his mind, served to recruit the strength of the stranger; and one morning he informed his good host of his previous adventures, and his melancholy story. He had been denounced, he said, and condemned to death, without being permitted to speak, or even asked for a defence, by the revolutionary committee of the town of Bressuire, where he resided. A friend, who knew his danger, and to whom he had once shown a trifling kindness, gave him information of his impending fate, in time to permit him to make his escape, under the disguise of a beggar. During his flight, he traversed each night the high roads of the Department, and during the day, lay concealed in the woods among the lonely hills, where he happened to find himself. By these means he had reached the forest near the mill, and had hidden himself in the ruins where Toinette first discovered him. But even here," continued he, "I should soon have perished from cold and exhaustion, had it not been for the arrival of your dear child; since the terror of falling into the hands of my enemies seldom permitted me to go beyond the walls of my retreat, and I was fast sinking under the pains of hunger, when Toinette came in time to render me assistance, and to save my life."
One morning, soon after this conversation had taken place, Toinette came running in, out of breath, to say that four soldiers, armed with sabres and muskets, and of a very ferocious appearance, were approaching the mill from the high-road. Mohsieur Passot eagerly inquired where he could hide himself.
"That would be impossible," said Maturin, "for if they search the mill, as it is likely they will, they would be sure to find you, and your fate would be inevitable. You must now put a bold face on the matter; summon up all your hardihood, and leave it to me to deceive them."
Two minutes after, the soldiers entered the mill. "Good morrow, citizen," said they, striking Maturin on the shoulder,—"here we are, four worthy fellows, sadly fatigued with following an aristocrat, (the name given by the revolutionists to those who support the party of the government and the nobility) who has unfortunately eluded our pursuit. Come, what can you give us to eat?"
"The best in my house, to be sure," replied the miller.—"Go, Toinette, put a clean napkin on the table, fetch down that piece of ham which was left from yesterday's dinner; and you, Nicholas, off to the cellar, and bring up four bottles of the primest Burgundy for these worthy citizens:—quick, blockhead!" he added, pushing him rudely by the shoulder; and Monsieur Passot hastened to do as he was directed. It took some minutes to perform his errand, and on his re-appearance with the wine, Maturin again seemed very angry with Nicholas for presuming to make them wait so long. He appeared, in fact, ready to strike him, and in such a passion, that the solders interfered to appease him, and observed that Nicholas seemed really an honest sort of a fellow, though somewhat too much of a simpleton.
The miller seated himself at table beside them, pressed them again and again to do honour to his provisions, and supplied them plentifully with wine, and then inquired what was passing in the world, or what news they were charged with.
"War," said they, "goes on against all who oppose the progress of the Revolution. The prisons are still overflowing with criminals, in spite of the daily execution of thousands, and we are at this moment in pursuit of one of the most decided aristocrats in France,—a man called Passot who lived at Bressuire, and was condemned by the tribunal; some traitor gave notice of his sentence, and he escaped from the city; but we know that he is at this moment not far distant from the spot where we sit, and we are in hope of soon having him in our custody. There are five hundred crowns proclaimed as a reward for him, which we are determined to earn, if possible." They then asked for another bottle of wine, and when they had finished it, they proposed searching the mill. To this proceeding, the miller offered no resistance; but, on the contrary, ordered Nicholas to go for the keys, and to throw open all the doors in the house.
When this was done, Toinette took the hand of her father, accompanied him through the mill; every door was opened, and the soldiers, having inspected every corner, were about to retire, when one of them recollected that they had not searched the cellar, where, he said, a dozen of traitors might be concealed. Nicholas was accordingly again summoned, and the cellar was visited in due form. On coming up, they expressed themselves perfectly satisfied; they then drank another glass of wine, to the health of Robespierre, and departed well pleased with the reception they had met with from the miller, his daughter, and the stupid Nicholas.
Maturin, however, began to fear that he could not long continue to shelter Monsieur Passot with equal security. He knew that such visits as this would be frequent; and in some one of them he might be surprised and discovered. He accordingly pretended that he was going a journey of fifty leagues into the country, and obtained a passport for himself and his servant. He set off in a few days; and the miller conducted his friend in safety to the house of one of his brothers, who lived at some distance from Bressuire, and leaving him under his protection, returned home to Toinette.
Here Monsieur Passot lived securely, till the termination of the Revolution, when it was not difficult for him to prove his innocence, and reclaim his property.
In his prosperity, however, he did not forget his former benefactors. He returned to visit Maturin the miller, and justly regarding Toinette as the preserver of his life, he undertook to have her educated at one of the best schools in Paris, supplied her with masters of every description, and finally, on the sudden death of her father, adopted her as his own child, and took upon himself the charge of establishing her in the world.