Love and Honour in a Time of Revolution

By Allen Hall

Love and Honour in a Time of Change relates a story of passion and betrayal during the French Revolution. Jean, a young Swiss officer becomes engaged to Laure from an ancient noble family. Before they can marry, Jean needs to restore his honour. Arriving in Paris, commissioned in the Kings Swiss Guards, he finds a revolutionary uprising pending. The evening before joining the defence of the royal palace, he is seduced by a gaming house tout, Thrse. The Swiss Guards are destroyed. Jean becomes a fugitive. Escaping arrest, he seeks refuge with Thrse. They become lovers. Jean finds comrade officers. He revenges one of them during the September massacres. Thrse is sent to a notorious female prison. It is sacked. Jean fears she has betrayed him to save her life. Forced to join the Revolutionary army opposing royalist invasion, he deserts to deliver important documents to the Kings plenipotentiary in Verdun. Hunted, he is befriended by an English general serving revolutionary France. When the invaders retreat, Jean continues to Verdun. On the way he is arrested for spying by a royalist detachment. Reluctantly, he names his fiances father to vouchsafe him. Astonished to find Laure also in Verdun, he agonises over whether to confess his betrayal. Before he can do so, he discovers Thrse has followed him. Jean cannot decide where his loyalty resides, He tells Laure he will renounce them both. Laures brother challenges him. The duel is interrupted by a revolutionary patrol, Jean left for dead. Chance enables Thrse to rescue him. She nurses him back to health, and Jean tries to overcome his jealous fears. Accompanying the advancing republican army, he sees his betrotheds family coach. Her father and mother killed by French peasants, and Laure mortally wounded. They reconcile and she dies in his arms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491878958

Book preview

Introduction

Some years ago I was involved in the clearance sale of a country house. An old chest came to light in the attics. It was identified as having once contained valuable heirlooms ‘liberated’ during the notorious pillage of the French baggage train after the battle of Vitoria in 1813. The chest was now found almost empty except for an ancient woollen shawl covering a number of notebooks. These had been passed over; especially since they were in French, the handwriting was very small, and the owners had lacked curiosity. On examination, the notebooks revealed a fictional memoir of a young Swiss officer during the French Revolution, against the background of the dramatic history of the late summer and early autumn of 1792 when the Monarchy fell and the Republic was proclaimed; events which in due course were to turn the Revolution into an engine of terror at home and plunder abroad. The narrative in the notebooks seemed to be the first part of a longer history which would encapsulate the trials and tribulations of the protagonist during the following stages of the Revolution, perhaps ending with the conquest of Italy in 1796. Although disappointed that the sequence is lacking, I believe the personal story told in the notebooks can stand by itself. Regarding the narrator’s confession that he has sought the freedom offered by an incognito, I was happy to leave the possible identity of the real narrator undisturbed bearing in mind that auto-biography is seldom free from some confection. At least in this case, the reader is left in no doubt. I set about deciphering, editing, and translating the text; seeking to respect the style and phrasing of the time, but I fear with limited success.

The author shows he is inclined towards tradition with regard to titles and forms of address. In 1790 the revolutionary government abolished all noble titles and proscribed the use of the particle ‘de’ indicating membership of the aristocracy. The polite form of address used between people of any standing of ‘Monsieur’ or ‘Madame’, literally meaning ‘my lord’ or ‘my lady,’ also offended revolutionary sensitivities. In due course, these expressions were increasingly replaced by ‘citoyen’ and ‘citoyenne,’ that is citizen and citizeness. At the end of the narration, I have placed a section containing explanatory notes on some details in the text which some readers may wish to consult. Finally, for those unfamiliar with the history of the French Revolution, I give below the briefest summary of the political situation in Paris when the narrator arrived there in early August 1792.

The French Revolution in mid-1792

By 1788 the French state faced bankruptcy. Government expenditure was persistently exceeding state revenues, and borrowing at high rates of interest was increasingly unfeasible. The French tax system was antiquated, and could not be reformed without overcoming entrenched privileges. For instance, nobles and clergy were exempt from direct taxation, while large parts of France had regional tax systems independent of central control. During the seventeen ‘eighties, various expedients were attempted to deal with the situation, but met with successful resistance or otherwise failed. Eventually, the King’s advisers persuaded Louis XVI that the only solution was to summon the Estates General, last called nearly two centuries before. This consisted of elected representatives of the three Estates of the Realm—the Clergy, the Nobles, and the Third Estate (the Commons). It was hoped that this national body would have the authority to bring about the major financial reforms required.

Representatives of the three estates, of which the Commons equalled the representation of the other two combined, met independently for deliberations at Versailles in the beginning of May 1789. The Court failed to control the agenda, and in the ‘Commons’ radical opinion rapidly gained the upper hand; determined to tear up the political past, usually referred to as the Ancien Regime. Under the leadership of the ‘Commons’ the estates decided to deliberate together, declaring themselves a National Assembly.

It used to be popularly believed that high bread prices and the misery of the poor instigated the Revolution. But economic inequalities were largely irrelevant in determining its course. The guiding impetus came from within the middle classes and some enlightened aristocrats pursuing the concept of political and social equality, motivated in no small manner by the successful example of the American Revolution against British rule, where incidentally French forces had played a major part.

The Monarchy tried to regain control of the situation by threatening military force against Paris, the centre of political agitation. On July 14th 1789 Paris rose up in revolt. The King recoiled from initiating major bloodshed and withdrew his troops. The next day he recognised the authority of the National Assembly which now made itself responsible for governing France. The King was largely reduced to the status of a functionary. Prominent opponents of the new order immediately fled abroad.

Relations between the King and the National Assembly, which controlled legislation, were strained; particularly over treatment of the Church. The King was a devout Catholic while the revolutionaries regarded the Church as a hostile institution. Moreover, the King believed he had too few powers for carrying out the administrative functions assigned to him. For instance, municipal and departmental officials were elected and the King had no direct power to dismiss them. On the other hand, Revolutionary politicians continued to fear the King might try and regain his former authority. In June 1791 the King attempted to join the French army on the northern frontier, hoping to recruit it to his cause. He was arrested before he reached his objective. Despite this, relations between the King and the Assembly were patched up, and the King signed the revolutionary Constitution in September 1791, formalising the limited powers and authority he had been exercising since the beginning of the Revolution. The first National Assembly then resigned and was replaced by a newly elected Chamber. A law had been passed prohibiting members of the first Assembly from being elected to the new. At a blow, hard earned political experience was lost. The new Assembly was soon dominated by a radical faction, which came to be called the ‘Girondins’ because a number of their leaders came from the Gironde region of South West France. Although the Girondins were in an overall minority within the Assembly; their relative political cohesion and revolutionary credentials, together with organised support from claques in the Assembly’s extensive public galleries, gave them an authority that numbers alone did not justify.

The Girondins began to canvas the idea of exporting the principles of the Revolution abroad, the Low Countries being the first target. This led them into conflict with a rival radical faction, the ‘Jacobins.’ The Jacobins had few dedicated adherents in the National Assembly, but they now dominated the influential Jacobins political club holding its sessions in the refectory of the nearby former convent of St Jacques, and which then had some 400 affiliates throughout France. The Jacobins were concerned that war would increase the influence of the army, still largely controlled by officers whose politics were moderate or royalist.

In April 1792, the Girondins compelled the King to declare war on Austria which ruled Belgium. At the same time, he was persuaded to appoint a Ministry of Girondins formed from personnel outside the National Assembly. The Constitution adhered to the political theory of the ‘separation of powers’ and ministers could not sit in the Legislature. Up to then, the King had used his constitutional authority to appoint ministers without reference to any support they might enjoy in the National Assembly.

Prussia now joined Austria in the war, while large numbers of emigrant royalist nobles were forming an army on the borders of France to restore the old form of government. In mid-June, the Girondin ministers were dismissed or resigned, thus thwarting the Girondin faction in the National Assembly. They tried to intimidate the King to reinstate their ministers. Despite the King having to face a mob within the palace over several hours, he refused to reappoint the dismissed ministers. A stalemate now ensued between the King and the Girondins, who it seems may have been trying to follow the developing British constitutional practise where the King would only appoint ministers who had the support of a Parliamentary majority, then buttressed by the discreet use of royal patronage. Louis had at his disposal considerable Civil List funds which no doubt the Girondins believed might be put to similar use. We shall never know for certain what the Girondins really intended since their entire leadership was annihilated within the next eighteen months.

In the meantime, the Jacobin faction feared the success of the Girondin manoeuvres which would reinforce their exclusion from power, and jeopardise they pretended the gains of the Revolution. To counter this situation, they gave support to a carefully planned conspiracy to gain administrative control of Paris, to dethrone the King, to humiliate the Girondin faction, and to intimidate royalist support within the capital. The brilliant success of the insurrection on 10 August 1792 transformed the French political scene, and over a hundred years later was to inspire the Bolshevik October Revolution.

Chapter One

Finding myself as a citizen captain among the troops under the orders of our commanding general citizen Bonaparte laying siege to Mantua in Brumaire (November) of Year V of the French Republic, I decided to take advantage of this moment of inaction to commence a memoir on the many trials and tribulations which have led to my present situation. But I soon learned after putting pen to paper that memory has many ways to be capricious, and where it seems not to be, there are inconveniences for oneself and others when telling the unvarnished truth like Rousseau.¹ Thus, I decided to entertain any readers by making a romance out of the personal side of my narration, where within reason I could follow the dictates of fancy, while trying to adhere to veracity regarding the tumultuous public events to which I bore witness. In adopting the incognito of Jean Dessources, I apologise if any reader feels tempted to waste time seeking to identity the inspiration fot the fictional persona.

I start my story some five years ago when I became engaged in a quest to restore my honour. The social upheaval rendered by the Revolution had allowed me to become betrothed to the daughter of a French noble family of ancient lineage.² Shortly afterwards, through no great fault of my own, I found myself disgraced and even less worthy of the alliance in which I had become engaged. Seeking to repair this damage led me to cross the Swiss frontier at Pontarlier, en route for Paris, on the last day of July 1792. Our papers were found in order and we continued on our journey after a brief stop to change horses.

I use the plural pronoun because I was accompanied by François, a stable boy recently turned seventeen, whom I had recruited as a postilion to conduct my post chaise³ on the long journey to Paris. I am now a little astonished at my rashness in employing someone so young for this task, especially on the difficult winding mountain tracks of the Jura. But he acquitted himself well, justifying my decision to employ him. We had met at a livery stable I frequented and I had been attracted by his alertness, openness, and command of proper French.⁴ But most of all by signs of having a mind capable of improvement where I could act as tutor. I intended to train him as my valet, keeping him in that capacity when we reached our destination, unless in the meantime he proved unsuitable, when I would settle his account and assist him, if he required it, in his return to Switzerland. Naturally, I had his agreement to this arrangement: he wishing to travel, and above all to see Paris. The optimism of youth together with exasperation over previous servants set in their ways, and whose practised deference failed to conceal the belief they knew better than their master, had combined to persuade me to embark on this experiment. I also sought, perhaps in acknowledgement of the changing times, a more honest relationship between master and servant, where we would treat each other with a larger degree of openness. Perhaps I was asking for the impossible. The reserve between master and servant is by nature insurmountable. But, I believe my hopes have proved not altogether unjustified since I have frequently depended upon his loyalty and initiative, and François has remained with me to this day.

I had decided not to stop at Pontarlier, a bleak, bare and gloomy place with a frowning fortress in the high Jura. Instead, we pressed on to Ornans below, where we would spend the night and wake up to more pleasant surroundings. Despite my considerable dislike for the politics of the Revolution, I could not help feeling glad to be back in France again, a cornucopia of most that is desirable in life, and was unable to resist sharing my elation.

‘Francois,’ I shouted leaning out of the window, ‘this is the first time you leave your native land. You have now become a man of the world and things will never be the same again. What do you think of that?’

‘I don’t rightly know Monsieur for now, but I reckon I shall learn as time goes by.’ I was pleased with his answer. At the age of twenty one, it is easy to be pleased by anything.

We descended into the peaceful wooded valley of the Loue and entered Ornans when dusk was falling, looking for the Grospain Inn where I intended to seek accommodation. But our arrival was not unnoticed and in a short while a crowd had collected, eyeing my carriage suspiciously. It rapidly became apparent that my decision to travel as befitting a gentleman of means lacked wisdom. I was suspected of being an aristocrat making my way to join the Army of the Princes beyond the northern frontier, and poised to invade France with the Prussians and Austrians.⁵ ‘Down with the aristocrat,’ shouted the crowd. ‘He should be punished by being thrown into the river for wanting to desert the Nation,’ they clamoured. I was more angry than alarmed; all too painfully reminded of the humiliating event I had suffered a few months back at Aix-en-Provence.⁶ Nevertheless, this was not the time to dwell on that dishonourable episode, if I wished to avoid a disagreeable experience and safely join my new regiment in Paris.

‘My friends,’ I said, ‘I am on my way to Paris. I am Swiss and have a commission in my pocket to join the Swiss Guards in French pay.⁷ It is on the authority of the National Assembly,’ I hastened to add, flourishing the document from my pocket, hoping they would not demand to see it. Most of the crowd looked illiterate workmen and peasants, but I discerned a few clerks and shopkeepers among them. My document was actually signed and sealed by comte d’Affry, colonel of the Regiment of Swiss Guards, and referred to the wishes of the King as Head of Executive Power⁸ under the Constitution. But there was no mention in it of the Legislature, which I had to confess was now considered the only real power in France, and worshipped by the common people.

‘Swear that you honour the ‘Nation,’’ they cried using the revolutionary expression for France embodying a free people. I then heartily detested much of what this new political entity stood for, mostly controlled as it was by a riff-raff of self-important lawyers and journalists. But discretion required I temporise and obfuscate.

‘All good citizens must love and honour the Nation,’ I said. ‘My regiment has served France for a hundred and fifty years. We Swiss have shed our blood for her on many occasions. We shall not cease serving her now that she is in danger. Long live the French nation and the Swiss,’ I shouted enthusiastically, hoping the French admiration for a ‘generous’ spirit, by which they mean an effusive display of feelings, would obscure any prevarication in my words. Indeed, I allowed myself to be carried away; with little difficulty since emotion comes easily to me. ‘Long live France,’ I continued stretching my right arm outwards in the revolutionary manner.⁹ The crowd I am glad to say failed to notice that the Nation they acclaimed and the former France I would have wished to serve were not the same thing. I could see I was making headway until one person remarked that I was not wearing the revolutionary tricolour cockade. Cries were renewed to cast me into the river. Since I had last been in France, wearing the tricolour cockade had become essential, most especially for people of obvious quality whose appearance made them suspected enemies of the Revolution. There was a person in the front rank of my persecutors who was wearing one and I pointed to him. ‘As I have told you, I have just arrived from Switzerland, where it is not our colours. But now I am here, I will be honoured to sport yours. May I offer five livres?’¹⁰ This was a good price, especially as the rosette he was wearing, as far as I could discern in the dim light, seemed to be of cheap material and coarsely made. I calculated that my offer had to be high enough to excite his cupidity, but not so high as to evoke derision, or worse hint at desperation.

‘One does not sell the colours of the Nation for money,’ he growled.

‘Naturally they are beyond price,’ I replied, ‘but I only intended that you should offer your cockade to me as a gift. The five livres were purely to recompense you for the trouble and inconvenience of obtaining another. Of course, I respect your fine feelings.’ Finding this reply satisfactory, my interlocutor hastened to consent in case I withdrew my generous offer of compensation. This interchange seemed to impress the audience and I was adjudged an honest man, the term habitually applied to those who supported the Revolution. There were even some cheers and cries of bravo for the young Swiss. Thus, we were able to pass a peaceful night.

In the morning François and I rose early, intending to stop next at Besançon, which we hoped to reach by the early afternoon, having been tipped off that arriving at Ornans when night was falling had made us doubly suspected. Moreover, coming to the town with many hours of daylight remaining would enable me to do some sketching, since I had promised my sister to provide her with mementos of the journey. Why not also for my betrothed who had actually been its inspiration, the beautiful Laure de Velleron?¹¹ It was not mere infatuation which causes me to describe her thus. Few would have denied her this epithet if they had had the pleasure to behold her, and even more if they had had the good fortune to be received when she was wearing her peignoir displaying her Titian coloured hair cascading in waves down to her enchanting waist.

Reverting to the reason why I did not intend to provide Laure with examples of my art, I admit my respect for her was such that I feared to woo her with a display of mean and inferior accomplishments. She, herself a talented water colourist, deserved only the best, which I felt was beyond me to offer. Likewise, I had eschewed composing sentimental verse in her praise, as lovers have done since time immemorial, in case its feebleness offended her own well developed poetic appreciation. The one exception was my skill with the violin, since I regarded music to be an expression so akin to nature as to be free from the stigma of artifice. And here, I could act the tutor, because although she loved music, she lacked the proper ear to reproduce it. But altogether, I must confess I was rather in awe of her intellect, and felt it best to show my devotion by seemly diffidence, restrained wit, and good manners which would please her sense of decorum. To this comportment, I added benevolent actions which I knew would appeal to her charitable nature. When expressing this diffidence in my wooing, I accept I may be partly admitting to a lack of confidence in mixing with the highest society. I could not remain unconscious of the social distance between us, and that in the opinion of many I was making a match beyond my desserts. But, I would not wish to suggest that there was anything cold and calculating in my courtship. My feelings were genuine, and I am sure so were hers. Laughter and serious debate chimed together. Nor were we afraid of silences when a fond look or a dreamy gaze may match a thousand words. The reader can see that even after some years, thoughts of Laure have left me confused and caused me to digress from my narrative. I will describe shortly how I came to be betrothed to this paragon.

This was my first visit to Besançon, ancient capital of the Franche Comté. It lies within a loop of the river Doubs and has something in common with my native principality of Neuchâtel, that is being renowned for watch making. We found a comfortable inn and arranged for fresh horses early the next the morning. I was eager to investigate the city in order to find a suitable subject for sketching, as I have mentioned. After considering the Quai Vauban with its fine row of houses built in the previous century and the Pont Battant in the distance; I decided that the Porte Noire, a Roman triumphal arch from the time of Marcus Aurelius, with the bell tower of the cathedral of St. Jean looming up behind, was a more appropriate subject after allowing for the limited time at my disposal. My principle then was to treat only part of a subject in detail and to leave the rest of the drawing in outline. This foible led a few to complain that I was too idle to finish what I had begun. This was not the case. My method of sketching was intended to intrigue the viewer over why only certain aspects of the subject had been selected for detailed treatment, and allow him or her to imagine how the rest might have been filled out from the outline provided. My vanity also played a role. I wished to give the impression of a gentleman amateur who only needs to hint at mastering his subject, since he has no professional need to demonstrate his triumph over it; even less to sell a completed work.

I returned to the inn and summoned François to unpack my sketching materials. They were nowhere to be found. I looked hard at my servant considering some reproof. He anticipated me.

‘I’m used to dealing with horses, not packing things, Monsieur,’ he said with a little more spirit than I liked. I opened my mouth and shut it again, as I became aware I could not be certain that I had actually laid out my sketching materials for his attention. If I wrongly accused him, he would bear a grudge. It was better to place him under an obligation by promptly accepting responsibility myself.

‘I must have forgotten to give them to you,’ I said. ‘It will be easy to replace them when we reach Paris.’ Of course, it might have been possible to find someone in Besançon offering artists’ supplies, but this check had dampened my enthusiasm and my sister would have to make do with sketches of Paris when I was properly settled there. Instead of exercising my art, I took my servant on a thorough exploration of the town, being glad to have the opportunity to stretch my legs properly after three days in my carriage.

We started early again next morning and continued on our way, my post chaise attracting interest from the baser sort of people. Stones, and other missiles more malodorous, were launched in its direction. Most of them went awry, no doubt many deliberately since property was still respected; and in fact continued to be so, however much life itself came to be held cheap. But by the time we reached Vitteaux, my carriage was beginning to show signs of ill use. Outside Avalon, a piece of horse dung went through the open window and landed on my britches. This was no situation for a gentleman. Moreover, there seemed increasing likelihood that by the time I reached Paris my carriage might be unsaleable. It had been my intention to dispose of it once we had arrived there. Instead, on reaching Auxerre, I sought out a lawyer and arranged for it to be put up for sale, hoping forlornly not to make too great a loss on the transaction.

We made the rest of our journey on horseback, having given instructions for my baggage to be forwarded to Paris by the regular water coach service which travelled down the Yonne; this river joining the Seine a little to the east of the capital. One may ask why we did not take advantage of this excellent service ourselves, a journey of only two days. It would certainly have been much cheaper. But as a gentleman, with a particle to my name, I wanted to enter Paris in style, if not in my own carriage, at least astride a horse; and not to creep in among a flock of bourgeois and peasants. For, I then looked forward to my first entry into the Continent’s greatest and most cultivated city with the utmost anticipation. As a memorable experience to be richly recollected and savoured in the years to come on the path to glory of which young men, especially soldiers, dream. Events were to make light of my pretensions.

Chapter Two

The last time I had seen Paris, albeit from the exterior, was in July 1789. My view was from the desolate quarry strewn eminence of the Buttes-Chaumont where D’Ernst’s Regiment, in the service of France, was encamped. Swiss mercenary regiments were generally proprietary enterprises, named after the family or individual who had established them, and were officially licensed by the Canton concerned. The D’Ernsts was one of the ruling patrician families of the powerful canton of Berne. This German speaking canton bordered on our principality of Neuchâtel,¹ and it controlled the neighbouring Vaud which like Neuchâtel spoke the French tongue, and from where many of the soldiers and officers of the Regiment von Ernst were recruited. Thus, it was with this regiment that approaching my eighteenth year I decided to start my military career. Since our constitutional ruling prince, the distant King of Prussia, had formally accorded our family a patent of nobility some fifteen years back, a military calling went naturally with the new status and should not be denied. There was no financial need or family tradition for taking up the service of arms; although I confess I hoped to establish the latter.

I had only been a few months with the regiment as an ensign when the Revolution broke out in the summer of 1789. We and other foreign mercenary troops had been concentrated around Paris by the middle of July under the overall command of the Swiss baron de Besenval. The King and his advisors believed French national troops could no longer be relied upon to restore order, so quickly and universally had disaffection spread after the meeting of the Estates General with its demand for political change. Our position was just beyond Ledoux’s Customs’ Wall, with its fifty seven toll gates hemming in Paris’s six hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. We had a fine view of the city towards the west and clearly heard the cannon fire when the Bastille² was under attack on the 14th July. The next day the Royal government capitulated to the agitation for major reforms and our regiment, alongside over twenty thousand other troops, was withdrawn. After an interval we were stationed in Provence, which is a pleasant enough part of France.

We were not called upon during the countryside disturbances of the summer of 1789 when the peasants in many areas were largely allowed a free hand to sack the châteaux of unpopular landlords. The situation seemed to settle down from that autumn onwards and our duties in support of the civil authorities were relatively trivial. The year of 1790 was quiet for us, and so was most of 1791 until the election of a new National Assembly⁴ in the autumn began to produce a sharp shift to extremer politics. This period of inactivity left ample time for us unmarried officers to dream of the delights provided by the fair sex. Army life is hardly conducive to virtuous thoughts, living as one does to some extent apart from civil society, and having plenty of opportunity to roister with convivial comrades. Frequent were the lively discussions about banishing the tedium of celibacy and welcoming the siren calls of nature. Some advocated frequenting filles de joie. There was no need to present them with a calling card which later might lead to unwelcome importunities. On the other hand, they might leave their own unless one was provided with protection.³ To avoid these inconveniences, we debated the pros and cons of seducing a susceptible member of the inferior classes and setting her up as a mistress. It was agreed this could prove a protracted process, and there were significant costs and moral complications to consider. A liaison with a married woman had many advantages if the husband condoned the situation, but take guard if he did not. Most agreed that a financially independent young widow who wished to retain her freedom was the best solution, but such jewels were difficult to find.

Up till then I had kept myself celibate, save for a youthful lapse with a servant girl at my lodgings in Heidelberg when I was sixteen and studying at the university, and later, just after the Revolution, the attempt of a salt tax collector’s wife to exploit my youthful inexperience.⁶ Overall, my upbringing together with the fear of contracting a disease associated with the votaries of Venus had deterred me from explorations that others happily engaged upon. But by 1791, reaching the age of twenty, abstinence was becoming an unacceptable burden. Having convinced myself that true love and honour must govern relations with the opposite sex, I concluded that the best course open to me was marriage. I should add that such a decision was unavailable to many of my comrades who would have to wait for their inheritance before they could afford to take a wife and raise a family. My parents, on the other hand, had ample means to fund my married state without sacrificing in any way their own ease. Thus, I approached my commanding officer in May that year with a request for six months leave to return to my home town. This was granted, to commence in August provided the demand for our regiment’s services allowed it. Accordingly, I wrote home to my parents stating my desire to be married, and asking them to make enquiries for a suitable match. In due course, they put forward certain candidates already known to me, none of which I regret to say gained my approval since I had the most ambitious hopes for my future wife. I instructed my parents to seek fresh faces.

Arriving back in Neuchâtel, I submitted myself to a choreographed programme of social engagements when I met prospective brides. But the vital spark I was hoping for eluded me. I saw defects that modest aspirations would have ignored or easily pardoned, but the quest for passionate love is more demanding. One by one, I let pass by the young ladies selected for my gaze. Custom decrees that in seeking marriage the male first chooses and the female then accepts or refuses, although I found this is not the whole truth of the matter. My overall concern was to avoid embarrassment for all parties including myself. Naturally, my failure to make a choice could not be concealed. This was of small importance for those who had little or no interest in marrying me. Some, however, had shown signs that they would have accepted my suit with alacrity, if I had cared to pursue it. Of course, I treated them all with every consideration and respect, but I believed this was insufficient in one case. I regret to say I succumbed to subterfuge by telling her in confidence that my parents were insisting that I settle down and marry, while I resolutely wished to keep my freedom and remain single. I asked her to keep this a secret since I told her I had no wish to be seen openly defying my mother and father to whom I owed so much. Being disposed to humour me, she was prepared to abate her own interests for sake of preserving my bachelorhood. I was so touched by this devotion that I seriously considered ignoring certain features I felt would limit our happiness together. Weeks passed, and I was beginning to wonder whether I had set my expectations too high, when my quest suddenly ended. I had found the treasure I had been seeking.

As a devoted amateur of the violin, I took every opportunity to hear chamber music featuring that instrument. It was six weeks into my leave when I went to a benefit concert for Boccherini⁵ who was Chamber-Composer to our constitutional prince, the King of Prussia. It was there that I first saw my future betrothed, Laure, the second daughter of the marquis de Velleron. She bewitched my eyes, smiting me instantly by her exquisite form and supple and graceful carriage, displaying an unsettling but pleasing combination of decorum and sensuousness. This ambiguity extended to her physiognomy. When aroused by some idea or active sentiment, her normal chaste expression was transformed by flashing eyes and parted lips. Her father had recognised her intelligence and she had received a liberal education from private tutors, which led to a passionate interest in the new beliefs and advances in knowledge typical of our age of reason. I believe it was mutual love at first sight, and thereafter our only intention was to please each other. I can certainly vouch for it in my case, and Laure admitted the same when, to anticipate, we plighted our troth three months later. She confessed that it was only the modesty expected of her sex that had restrained her from expressing her true feelings right from the outset.

To continue, after our chance first encounter, I arranged for Laure and her family to be invited to a reception, confiding my hopes to my mother. She gave them her approval, not least because of social ambition, a trait I confess I have inherited, although there is not now much opportunity to nourish it in our Revolutionary times. Subject naturally to the proprieties, other rendezvous followed, each seeming to increase the