DORLANGE TO MARIE-GASTON
Arcis-sur-Aube, May 3, 1839.
Dear friend,--Last evening, before Maitre Achille Pigoult, notary of this place, the burial of Charles Dorlange took place,--that individual issuing to the world, like a butterfly from a grub, under the name and estate of Charles de Sallenauve, son of Francois-Henri-Pantaleon Dumirail, Marquis de Sallenauve.Here follows the tale of certain facts which preceded this brilliant transformation.
Leaving Paris on the evening of May 1st, I arrived at Arcis, according to my father's directions, on the following day.You can believe my surprise when I saw in the street where the diligence stopped the elusive Jacques Bricheteau, whom I had not seen since our singular meeting on the Ile Saint-Louis.This time I beheld him, instead of behaving like the dog of Jean de Nivelle, come towards me with a smile upon his lips, holding out his hand and saying:--"At last, my dear monsieur, we are almost at the end of all our mysteries, and soon, I hope, you will see that you have no cause to complain of me.Have you brought the money?""Yes," I replied, "neither lost nor stolen." And I drew from my pocket a wallet containing the two hundred and fifty thousand francs in bank notes.
"Very good!" said Jacques Bricheteau."Now let us go to the Hotel de la Poste; no doubt you know who awaits you there.""No, indeed I do not," I replied.
"You must have remarked the name and title under which that money was paid to you?""Certainly; that strange circumstance struck me forcibly, and has, Imust own, stirred my imagination."
"Well, we shall now completely lift the veil, one corner of which we were careful to raise at first, so that you might not come too abruptly to the great and fortunate event that is now before you.""Am I to see my father?"
"Yes," replied Jacques Bricheteau; "your father is awaiting you; but Imust warn you against a probable cloud on his manner of receiving you.
The marquis has suffered much; the court life which he has always led has trained him to show no outward emotions; besides, he has a horror of everything bourgeois.You must not be surprised, therefore, at the cold and dignified reception he will probably give you; at heart, he is good and kind, and you will appreciate him better when you know him.""Here," thought I, "are very comforting assurances, and as I myself am not very ardently disposed, I foresee that this interview will be at some degrees below zero."On going into the room where the Marquis awaited me, I saw a very tall, very thin, very bald man, seated at a table on which he was arranging papers.On hearing the door open, he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead, rested his hands on the arms of his chair, and looking round at us he waited.
"Monsieur le Comte de Sallenauve," said Jacques Bricheteau, announcing me with the solemnity of an usher of ambassadors or a groom of the Chambers.
But in the presence of the man to whom I owed my life the ice in me was instantly melted; I stepped forward with an eager impulse, feeling the tears rise to my eyes.He did not move.There was not the faintest trace of agitation in his face, which had that peculiar look of high dignity that used to be called "the grand air"; he merely held out his hand, limply grasped mine, and then said:
"Be seated, monsieur--for I have not yet the right to call you my son."When Jacques Bricheteau and I had taken chairs--"Then you have no objection," said this strange kind of father, "to assuming the political position we are trying to secure for you?""None at all," said I."The notion startled me at first, but I soon grew accustomed to it; and to ensure success, I have punctually carried out all the instructions that were conveyed to me.""Excellent," said the Marquis, taking up from the table a gold snuff-box which he twirled in his fingers.
Then, after a short silence, he added:
"Now I owe you certain explanations.Our good friend Jacques Bricheteau, if he will have the kindness, will lay them before you."This was equivalent to the royal formula of the old regime: "My chamberlain will tell you the rest.""To go back to the origin of everything," said Jacques Bricheteau, accepting the duty thus put upon him, "I must first tell you that you are not a legitimate Sallenauve.When Monsieur le marquis, here present, returned after the emigration, in the year 1808, he made the acquaintance of your mother, and in 1809 you were born as the fruit of their intercourse.Your birth, as you already know, cost your mother her life, and as misfortunes never come singly, Monsieur de Sallenauve was compromised in a conspiracy against the imperial power and compelled to fly the country.Brought up in Arcis with me, the marquis, wishing to give me a proof of his friendship, confided to me, on his departure to this new expatriation, the care of your childhood.
