CHAPTER V

ANECDOTES FROM A PRISONER OF NAPOLEON

1810-1812

John Stanhope had early evinced a desire to travel. His most youthful

venture had been a tour in Wales, whilst his next excursion, the tour to

the Hebrides already referred to, had been of a more daring nature;

indeed, a man, in those days, who had made such a journey, was looked upon

as a traveller of some experience. Not content, however, with having

acquired this reputation, young Stanhope, when not yet twenty-three years

of age, determined to extend his researches further afield.

He was anxious to investigate the antiquities of Greece, about which

little was then known, and having imbued his friend Tom Knox with his own

enthusiasm the latter decided to accompany him. On the 29th of January

1810 the two young men therefore embarked on board the ship _Vestal_,

which was carrying Mr, afterwards Sir Charles Stuart [1] as Minister, out

to Lisbon.

It was a singularly exciting time to venture upon the continent. The very

atmosphere seemed permeated with terror of Napoleon. Each country was on

the defensive, struggling openly or surreptitiously to preserve its

threatened liberty; while the one topic of conversation was the defeat or

the success of armies. Thus the correspondence of the young travellers, so

eagerly awaited and devoured by the family in Grosvenor Square, serves to

throw many interesting sidelights upon continental existence during a

period of history with regard to which interest can never wax cold. [2]

John Stanhope and his friend for some time wrote from Lisbon, where, under

the auspices of the new Minister, they mixed in the best society, and met

the most prominent civil and military residents of the day. Among others,

they saw a great deal of General, afterwards Lord, Beresford [3] and were

much struck by the discipline of the Portuguese troops under his command.

A field-marshal in the British Army, William Carr Beresford, had, in 1807,

been appointed Governor and Commander-in-Chief of the island of Madeira.

Subsequent to the Battle of Corunna, at which he was present, he was sent

back to Portugal to take command of the troops there, and at the head of

12,000 men he drove back the French. Of the difficulties, however, with

which he had to contend in his stupendous task, John Stanhope gives a

graphic description.

"At the time," he relates, "when Beresford was appointed to the command of

the Portuguese army, it was conspicuous for a lack of discipline which in

these days would hardly be credited. To say that it was the worst in

Europe would hardly give any idea of its degradation. The Portuguese

soldiers were a weak, worthless rabble, without pluck or organisation, and

practically useless for the campaign. Nor was the Government of the

country in a much better state; a long series of misgovernment had

introduced every species of corruption and deteriorated the character of

the people."

But the English general at once took a characteristic method of dealing

with a complex situation, and produced order out of chaos in the following

drastic manner.

"Lord John Russell," relates John Stanhope, "once told me an anecdote of

Beresford's first advent in Portugal, which serves so well to illustrate

his character that I cannot do better than retail it.

"Upon one of the first occasions of his taking the field with the

Portuguese troops, an officer, after having been despatched to a

particular post, came galloping back to him.

"'Why are you come here?' asked the marshal, surprised.

"'The fire was so hot,' the man exclaimed, 'that if I had remained there a

moment longer, I should certainly have been shot.'

"'_Shot_! but, to be sure, it was to be shot that I sent you there! Now, I

will give you fresh directions. I advise you to give in your resignation,

otherwise you must go back whence you came and be shot, or else be tried

by court-martial, which will come to the same thing!'

"The officer, who was of high rank, took the hint; he gave in his

resignation, and the other Portuguese officers learnt that under the

English commander it was necessary to make up their minds to be shot."

"Further," John Stanhope adds, "Beresford cashiered the field officers of

every regiment in the service. The fury that prevailed in the country at

such a measure may be better imagined than described. It was believed that

thousands of stilettoes would be raised against the tyrant Beresford. He

heard both threats and murmurs with perfect apathy, and immediately put at

the head of each regiment young officers belonging to our service,

distinguished for their spirit and decision. Raised to a rank above their

highest expectations, these young men were anxious to justify his choice

by their conduct, as well as to distinguish themselves; and gloriously did

they succeed. To content myself with mentioning one instance, I will

relate the case of Colonel Campbell, an officer whom I know well here in

Lisbon.

"Campbell was appointed to the command of one of the regiments of cavalry,

and the first breach of discipline which came under his notice was that of

a private striking an officer. Campbell determined to make a signal

example of the culprit. He was promptly warned, however, that when, upon

some previous occasion, a similar event had taken place, on the officer

then in command attempting to inflict punishment upon the delinquent, the

entire Regiment mutinied. Campbell, on hearing this, came to a quick

decision. He advanced and faced his battalion with a pistol in each hand.

He made them a brief speech in which he pointed out how glaring a breach

of discipline it was for a private to strike his superior; and he ended by

saying that he understood in a similar case the regiment had mutinied.

'I,' he concluded quietly, 'am determined that this man _shall_ be

punished; if you intend to mutiny, you must begin with me. I am perfectly

ready to receive you.' He then cocked his pistols and waited imperturbably

in expectation of the result. No one moved. Awed by his manner and his

threat, not a murmur escaped from the soldiers who confronted him, and

Campbell's influence over his men was permanently established, so that he

soon had the satisfaction of seeing them one of the best disciplined

regiments in the service.

"Marshal Beresford, who was capable of selecting his subordinates with

such perspicuity, did not fail to set them an example which roused their

emulation, so that the soldiers soon became proud of their own discipline,

and consequently attached to their officers and devoted to their marshal,

till the latter, adored by the army, is become completely dictator of

Portugal, his word is law, and the regency is little better than the

shadow of Government. Moreover, the marshal acts his part to perfection,

riding about the town in semi-regal state, surrounded by a brilliant

staff. The man who has accomplished all this may not be a genius, but he

has a right to be considered an extraordinary man, a man of the highest

courage and energy.

"To show the extent of his power and the coolness with which he exercises

it, I have only to instance the case of the embargo laid upon horses which

are private property. At the instigation of Beresford, an order was issued

for all the horses in the kingdom above a certain height to be taken for

the use of the army, the Government allowing a fixed price for each. One

of the first persons against whom the order was enforced was the Prince

Regent; his carriage, under the charge of some officers of his household,

was actually stopped in the town and the horses taken out of the vehicle,

which was left standing in the middle of the street. The Portugese at once

recognized that if the order was executed so strictly against the Regent

himself, his subjects were not likely to be treated with more

consideration, and the entire nation submitted with a good grace to the

inevitable. Portugal, in short, in the manner in which all deferred to the

dictation of Beresford, affords an extraordinary proof of how much may be

done towards regenerating a people by the hand of a vigorous ruler."

The Regent, however, if ignominiously bereft of horses, appears to have

remained the owner of innumerable unique, if useless carriages, which, on

one occasion, John Stanhope was taken to see.

"I was extremely amused," he writes, "with these curious specimens of

ancient magnificence. Some of the coaches were literally rooms on wheels.

They were extraordinarily cumbrous, covered with gilding and lined with

velvet, embroidered in gold. Many of them were decorated with pictures on

the panels and large gilt figures in front of the boxes. There were,

however, some of a more modern construction which had been built in Paris,

and one of these was pointed out to me as celebrated for having conveyed

the English generals on their entry into Lisbon after the famous

Convention of Cintra. Upon this occasion, I understand, it broke down and

became the cause of much wit among the generals as to whether it was their

personal weight or the weight of their dignity that caused their fall. Had

they been superstitious, they might have feared that it was ominous of a

yet greater fall!"

At length the two young travellers determined to journey on into Spain;

but in order to accomplish this, it was necessary first to buy horses--no

easy matter, since all that were available had been seized for the army.

After considerable delay Stanhope heard of a pretty little black

Andalusian, which belonged to a Spanish gentleman willing to sell it, and

lost no time in going to see the animal. He found that it furnished one of

the most quaint instances which he had yet come across of the intense

hatred to the French then universally cherished. "I took a great fancy to

it," he says, "from a curious trick which it had been taught; one,

however, which would have proved very inconvenient to me. _The moment it

heard anyone speak French, it put back its ears and flew at him!_ As I

wished to try this intelligent animal before I made my bargain, I returned

to give orders that my saddle should be sent to its stables; but in the

meantime, to my great disappointment, the servant in charge sold it to

another man, unknown to his master, and for a less price than I should

have been willing to give for such a remarkable animal."

At last, having procured the necessary steeds, the travellers started on

their journey, encountering many adventures and seeing many interesting

sights by the way. On one occasion they were quartered for some days upon

a poor Captain Major, whose habitation was a humble hut in a singularly

lonely district. Yet they found that he was a learned man, who had his

small but treasured library; and in the latter John Stanhope was further

astonished to find that one of the volumes which its owner considered most

priceless was a Latin translation of Young's _Night Thoughts_.

"It is a curious thing," he remarks, "that this work, held in general in

but little estimation in England, is invariably one of those most admired

throughout the entire Continent, not only by the Portugese, but

particularly by the lively Spanish."

It was men of the rank of their host, he adds, who had given occasion to

an amusing mistake on his part upon his first arrival in the country:

"According to the Portugese pronunciation," he writes, "_Major_ sounds

like _Moor_ or _More_. The first time I met a Captain Moor, I was much

surprised at finding a man of that name in Portugal; but when at every

turn I found another Captain Moor, I could no longer refrain from

expressing my astonishment at meeting with so many of that family, _and

all Captains!_ The laugh that was raised at my expense may be imagined!"

The two young travellers at length reached Cadiz, which was then besieged

by the French army. Almost one of the first things which struck John

Stanhope with regard to the city, he records as a feat both novel and

ingenious:--

Situated as Cadiz is, almost in the midst of the sea, the constant

breaking of the waves was sufficient to endanger, not only the walls

of the city, but even the neighbouring houses. A Spanish engineer, Don

Thomas Minoz, undertook to provide a curious security against so

alarming a danger. He effected his purpose by placing, at certain

intervals, large planks extending some distance into the sea; these

intervals he filled up with stones and cemented with a peculiar

species of mortar which had the advantage of becoming hardened by the

effects of time and exposure to weather; the wall above he built in

the shape of a bow; by these means the force of the waves was

effectually broken. But he met with those difficulties that so

frequently are opposed to the efforts of men of distinguished genius.

His labours were, in the first instance, counteracted by the misguided

parsimony of his employers, and subsequently, when completed, the work

was neglected and not kept in repair, in opposition to his express

injunctions, so that a great part of the cliff has since fallen.

The morning following his arrival, young Stanhope was taken to be

introduced to Admiral Purvis, then in command of the fleet off that coast;

and, having received from him an invitation to dinner, he returned on

shore to pay his respects, in the interval, to the Minister, Mr Wellesley.

On again boarding the ship he found the Admiral occupied in studying

through a telescope a vessel then in sight, which to Stanhope's great

excitement he explained was the _Ville de Paris_ returning to England with

Lord Collingwood. Overjoyed at the unexpected prospect of seeing, not only

his kinsman, but also his brother William, young Stanhope begged to be

allowed to accompany Admiral Purvis in paying a visit to the approaching

ship. Accordingly they snatched a hurried meal and set off in a small

boat. Scarcely, however, had they embarked than they were greeted by the

tidings that the vessel which they proposed to visit bore, not the brave

Admiral returning to his native land, but his lifeless corpse, worn out

with an arduous service sustained too long.

They immediately tacked about and returned to the ship they had just

quitted, and thence young Stanhope watched the stately _Ville de Paris_ as

she approached over the shining water, while he thought sadly of the

gallant life which had thus ended, and of the grief which the news that

had thus strangely become known to him would be learnt, many weeks later,

by his family in Grosvenor Square. The following day he saw his brother

William, now a sturdy youth grown out of all recognition; then the

brothers parted once more, William eventually to return to England, his

naval career ended, and John to experience a fate which he then little

foresaw.

He, with his companion Knox, remained some time in Cadiz, taking great

interest in the operations of attack and defence, into which they were

initiated by their friend, the celebrated Lord Macduff, [4] an

exceptionally keen and gallant soldier, who, however, apparently owed his

predilection for war to a singularly horrible event in his life.

"A tragic episode," writes John Stanhope, "has rendered the excitement of

active service an absolute necessity to him. His delight in battle arises

solely from the loss of a beloved wife, and sadly calculated was the end

of the beautiful Mrs Macduff to make the most serious impression on a

husband's mind, all the more so, perhaps, in that so fully did she merit

that epithet _beautiful_ which was always attached to her name. She had a

Newfoundland dog, which one day leapt up in apparent affection, and

catching her nose, gave it a bite, which not only seemed little more than

a scratch, but as the dog had just sprung out of the water no suspicion

attached to him. After some lapse of time, however, Mrs Duff was seized

with symptoms of hydrophobia, and soon fell a victim to that dreadful

disorder. Such a death for anyone cannot be contemplated without a

shudder, but in the case of one in the full pride of youth and exceptional

beauty, it appears, if possible, more inexpressibly horrible; and her

unhappy husband has subsequently striven to find even a temporary oblivion

of it in the greatest of earthly excitements--the din of arms."

Mixing with the most interesting society of Spain, enjoying many novel

experiences and encountering many famous people, the days of the young

travellers passed pleasantly. The Spaniards at this date cherished the

most profound admiration for the English. "They," explains John Stanhope,

"consider an Englishman as something superhuman, and, indeed, are anxious

that 'George terceo' should come to reign over them." He was also much

struck by the "devotion of the entire nation to the forms of their

religion"; and he adds: "There is, perhaps, nothing more striking amongst

the numerous ceremonies of this superstitious people than the effect

produced by what is usually known as the Angelus. On a fine evening in

summer, when the Alameda is crowded with Spaniards of all classes,

enjoying the delights of a Southern sky and the pure breezes of the sea,

at one moment all is noise and animation, the eyes, the tongues, the faces

of the fair Andalusians are all in motion and the Spanish _caballeros_ all

devoted to the terrestrial object of their adoration: on a sudden, the

Angelus sounds, the whole babel stops, a profound stillness falls like a

cloud over the gay scene, and everyone remains totally absorbed in prayer

so long as the sound of the bell is heard. It is scarcely possible to

convey any adequate idea of the effect produced by the instantaneous

silence of so vast a crowd. The moment the bell ceases, each addresses a

salutation to the person whom chance has thrown near him, and the

stillness--so striking, so solemn--is as suddenly broken by the

recommencement of all the former pandemonium and a deafening noise of

eager tongues.

"Yet in Spain a religion of forms and ceremonies seems to have been

substituted for a religion of Christian purity and morality. Although the

large majority of the population are devoted to their Church, they yet

imagine that if they strictly observe her ceremonies, fast rigidly, and go

regularly to confession, they have done all that is requisite. The

consequence of this state of things is the prevalence of the greatest

profligacy, which is fostered by the innumerable herd of monks who infest

the country. Common prostitutes sell indulgences which exempt from fasting

in Lent; and by what means they have obtained possession of these it is

not difficult to conjecture."

Another great drawback which John Stanhope found to life at Cadiz at that

date was the prevalence of a condition of society which entailed that each

Spanish lady should have her cortejo, or devoted attendant. "Behind each

lady who smiles at you," he explains, "there stands--not a duenna, such a

one as is represented on our stage--but a grim, black, ugly grandee, ready

to avenge with the stiletto every glance you may chance to give to the

lady of his love."

Nevertheless, Stanhope was enveigled into a silent flirtation which he

describes thus amusingly:

"Immediately opposite to my habitation are two houses belonging to two

merchants, who are either brothers or brothers-in-law. The one has an only

daughter, who cannot boast of much beauty, the other has two daughters,

the one a very pretty girl of a style rather unusual in Spain, for she has

auburn hair, while her sister is a thorough Spaniard, a lively little

thing with Andalusian eyes.

"A general flirtation was soon established between us; the heiress made me

a sign every morning, upon which I descended into the street; she then

threw out a most beautiful rose, which I picked up, and, pressing to my

lips, returned to my balcony. This was certainly something like swearing

allegiance, but I must confess that the fair cousin with the auburn hair,

who lived next door to her, was the real object of my admiration; she was

very modest and shy, and would only favour me with an occasional smile,

but there was a sweetness in that timid, blushing smile which surpassed

that of all the roses of Andalusia. She used also to serenade me on the

piano by playing _God save the King_, to which I responded politely by

playing some of the national airs of Spain. This silent flirtation

continued for some time, when one day while I was on my balcony, I was not

a little surprised to find standing beside me the servant from the house

of the modest little lady with auburn hair. He at once accosted me in

French, and, _sans cérémonie_, asked me which of the two young ladies I

admired. "It is not _that_ one, I am sure!" said he, pointing to the lady

of the roses. "No," said I, somewhat ungratefully, and pointed to her fair

cousin. The servant instantly disappeared; a conscious smile from the

beauty rewarded me for my preference, but--no more roses!"

An episode of a very different nature is described in another letter from

Cadiz. "An extraordinary execution took place the other day," he writes;

"extraordinary both from the manner in which it was carried out and the

circumstances under which it took place. The unfortunate man was strangled

by means of a machine of a new construction. It was an iron case or collar

that was fitted round his neck and drawn closer by means of a screw till

it occasioned strangulation. I did not follow the general example and

attend the execution, as I did not feel sufficient curiosity about this

new instrument of death to tempt me to witness so distressing a sight.

The sufferer was one of the principal judges in Madrid, and had rendered

himself peculiarly odious by the severity which he had exercised towards

the patriots, many of whom he had condemned to death. The guerrillas had,

in consequence, signalled him out as their victim, and nothing can perhaps

better illustrate the extraordinary state of Spain at this moment and the

power of the guerrillas than the daring nature of their attempt and the

success with which it was attended.

Having received information that the judge was to be present at a ball

given on the occasion of the marriage of one of his servants at a village

a short distance from Madrid, a guerrilla chief determined to take

advantage of the opportunity which this offered. He accordingly made his

appearance at the ball, and accosting the judge, requested him to come at

once to the door of the house, as he had something important to

communicate to him. No sooner had the judge reached the door than he was

seized, placed upon horseback, and hurried off. From the actual vicinity

of the capital, in a part of the country thickly occupied by troops, he

was thus carried away, and finally brought to Cadiz, where he was

condemned to atone for his treachery by his death. Previous to his

execution, he acknowledged the justice of his sentence, but declared that

there are now in Cadiz many men far more deserving of punishment than

himself, some of whom are actually in the employ of the Government."

At length John Stanhope decided that, in June, he would embark for

Gibraltar, intending to proceed thence to Carthagena, Valencia and

Majorca. At this juncture, however, Tom Knox, reluctantly listened to the

persuasions of his family, who feared his inability to stand a hot

climate, and decided to return home. How fortunate it was for himself that

he decided to do so, events were subsequently to prove.

John Stanhope, in company with some other friends, next made an agreement

with an English merchant to take them to Gibraltar. The man, however,

played them false, and sailed without them; whereupon they took passage on

board a wretched boat called the _Liverpool Hero_, on which they endured

extreme discomfort. One of Stanhope's greatest wishes had been to set foot

on the coast of Africa, but owing to the unseaworthy nature of the vessel

on which they found themselves, combined with the extreme roughness of the

weather, they were driven from the coast, and only after a most dangerous

passage did they eventually arrive at Gibraltar. As they entered the bay,

the first object which met their eyes was the ship in which they had

originally intended taking their passage. She had only just dropped her

anchor, and as they passed she hailed them. "On going on board," relates

John Stanhope, "the captain gave us a detailed account of a most

melancholy occurrence which had marked their voyage. Their few hours'

advantage in starting had enabled them to effect what we had in vain

attempted--the weathering Cape Espartel. There were on board the actual

passengers who had cut us out of our berths. They had felt as anxious as I

had done to plant their feet upon the coast of Africa. They accordingly

got into a boat and landed. They were amusing themselves with walking a

little way into the interior when a party of Moors, who had apparently

been watching them, stole gently through the brushwood with which the

coast was covered, and, getting between them and the coast, cut off their

retreat. The Moors killed two of them, one being a boy, to whose head they

deliberately put a gun and blew his brains out. The third they carried

away captive.

"We could not help shuddering at the thoughts of our narrow escape. Had we

fulfilled our original intention and occupied the berths which we had

actually taken on board that vessel we should undoubtedly have been in the

place of these unfortunate men, and should have experienced the horrible

fate which befell them."

A strange illustration of the fluctuations of fortune peculiar to those

days next came under the notice of young Stanhope, on his way to

Carthagena. "We passed," he writes, "the house of a Spaniard whose history

is singular enough. He was originally a poor peasant, but during the last

war with England he happened to be upon an island near the coast, in

company with one of his friends, when they observed two sailors land from

an English vessel. They promptly concealed themselves so that they might

observe the proceedings of these men without themselves being seen. The

sailors whom they watched dug a hole, put something carefully into it, and

then covered it over; after which they re-embarked.

"No sooner were they out of sight, than the two Spaniards came out from

their place of hiding, and hastened to the spot, eager to ascertain what

it could be that had been so mysteriously buried. Great was their delight

when they dug up what proved to be a treasure of great value, a heavy bag

of gold. They divided the spoil, and returned home wealthy men.

Subsequently, however, one of them, either feeling scruples with regard to

the possession of the booty or else in the due order of confession,

unburdened himself to his priest, who at once impressed upon him the

sinfulness of retaining the stolen treasure and the obligation of

endeavouring to find the rightful owners and restoring it to them. The

penitent, therefore, went to explain these views to his fellow-thief, who

appearing fully convinced by such reasoning, at once promised to undertake

on behalf of both himself and his friend the researches necessary for the

restoration of the stolen property. Believing this assurance, the

repentant man at once gave up to his friend his own share of the treasure,

only to discover, when too late, that his less scrupulous comrade had not

an intention of carrying out any such obligation, but having thus got

possession of the whole of the gold, he kept it, and is now one of the

richest and most influential men in this part of the country, while his

more honest dupe is still a poverty-stricken peasant."

In short, as John Stanhope was soon to find to his cost, it was not an age

when a sense of honour dictated the actions of the majority of men. It

happened soon afterwards that, unable to procure a satisfactory passage to

Majorca, Stanhope was constrained to embark upon a small vessel, the

appearance of which was singularly unprepossessing. But untrustworthy as

was the boat, its captain proved to him a greater source of danger.

Ignoring the undertaking he had given to the young Englishman, he

traitorously sailed for Barcelona, where he delivered up his passenger to

the French authorities, and John Stanhope thus unexpectedly found himself

doomed to the fate which Esther Acklom had so ingeniously escaped, that of

being a prisoner of Napoleon.

After various vicissitudes, and having been for eight weeks confined in a

dungeon in hourly expectation of death, he was at length ordered with

other prisoners of war to the dépôt at Verdun. Part of the journey thither

was accomplished on foot, part driving in a diligence. The weather was

bitterly cold, and the windows of the vehicle, which on this account were

perforce closed, were chiefly of wood, so that not only was the view

excluded, but the greater part of the journey was passed in darkness.

During part of the time, his only _compagnon de voyage_ was a French

soldier, who had just obtained his _congé_ and was returning home after a

long period of foreign service. "Poor fellow," writes John Stanhope, "his

happiness was unbounded! He could think and talk of nothing but the moment

of his first arrival at home, amusing himself with discussing the various

modes in which he might surprise his family. At length that which he

seemed inclined to adopt was to apply for a billet upon his own people; to

enter the house with all the swagger of a soldier quartered on strangers--

in short, to enact the part which he had often played in Germany and so

many other countries, and after having well tormented and frightened the

whole household, to throw himself into his father's arms with--"Mon père,

embrassez votre fils!" I enjoyed the thought of the _dénouement_--so truly

French--but with envious feelings; not to draw a contrast between our

relative situations was impossible, and I kept thinking, When--if ever--

shall I be able to surprise my family with my unexpected return?"

At another period of his journey one of Stanhope's fellow-travellers was a

certain Captain Reid, who had been aide-de-camp to General Reding, [5] and

had been taken prisoner. He told Stanhope the following curious story,

"which," the latter suggests, "Walter Scott would probably hail as an

additional proof of the reality of the art of divination. Captain Reid's

mother, many years ago, having heard of the fame of some fortune-teller,

resolved, out of pure frolic, to have her fortune told. She therefore

disguised herself as her own maid and went to see the woman. She was at

that date a wife and the mother of five children. The fortune-teller

informed her that she would have, in all, fifteen children; that, out of

those, two only would survive their infancy, and of those two, she would

only have comfort from one. The predicted number of children were born.

Reid and his sister alone lived to grow up, and 'what the future may

produce, I know not,' Reid concluded, 'but as I am a prisoner in a foreign

land, she certainly has no comfort in me."

With many anecdotes of General Reding did Captain Reid likewise regale his

fellow-prisoner: "--that distinguished but unfortunate officer," says John

Stanhope, "who at length fell victim to anxiety of mind arising from the

difficulties with which he had to struggle and disappointment at finding

that he commanded men who were not brave like himself. One day when Reding

was about to engage the French (I rather think it was to make an attack on

Barcelona) he sent his aide-de-camp, Reid, to a Spanish general, with

imperative orders to be at a certain post, at a certain time, with his

division. Just as Reding was on the point of moving forward to commence

the projected attack he perceived the Spanish general riding leisurely

towards him. 'What, _you_ here!' he exclaimed, horror-stricken, 'Why are

you not at your post?' 'I have received no orders,' was the reply. 'Reid!'

shouted the Swiss general in an overpowering fury and raising his sabre

over the head of his aide-de-camp, 'why did you not give my orders to the

Spaniard?' Reid, knowing his General's irritable temper, thought that

instant death was before him. 'I did!' he asserted emphatically; 'there

stands his aide-de-camp who was present at the time--let him deny it if he

dare!' Fortunately the aide-de-camp was too much a man of honour to deny

the truth. Reid was acquitted in his General's eyes; but the old Swiss

turned away heart-broken at the recognition that all his schemes at this

important juncture had been defeated by this act of treachery or cowardice

on the part of the Spaniard, and, in unconcealed disgust, he gave the

order for a retreat.

"Reding while on active service usually drank three bottles of wine a day,

and never slept for more than three hours; he and his men were always in

motion, yet Reid, though pursuing the same _regimen_, declared that, in

common with his General, he was never in better health or happier at any

time of his life."

Of another famous general, Stanhope also records some interesting

observations. Arrived at Dijon, which was a dépôt for Spanish prisoners,

he went to call on an English fellow-prisoner, and found him having

breakfast in company with two Anglo-Spanish officers, both of whom had

served at Saragossa. "I therefore," he relates, "felt great interest in

talking over with them the events of that memorable siege, in which they

had acted an important part. Of course, to judge from their own account,

to them and to other Hibernian-Spanish officers was due the honour of

having conducted the defence of Saragossa; but what was indeed of interest

was to find that of Palafox [6] they spoke but slightingly, and seemed to

consider him merely as the nominal commander. All this was so new, so

incredible to me, that I could not help openly expressing my doubts on the

subject; these, however, were met by an argument to which it was

impossible not to attach considerable weight--that Palafox was at that

moment on parole in a town in France. 'Do you really think,' asked they,

'that if he were the powerful man he is represented to be he would be left

in comparative liberty? No; the Emperor is too wise for that! If Palafox

were what he has been supposed to be, _Napoleon would consider that no

prison in France is strong enough to hold him!_'"

At length young Stanhope arrived at Verdun and entered upon a period of

detention there to which he could foresee no prospective conclusion.

"There was no positive suffering of which to complain," he wrote

afterwards, "yet there is a weariness, an utter hopelessness in the life

of an exile which none can understand who have not experienced its

intensity." The patriotism which had gilded the voluntary exile of

Collingwood was perforce absent from the imprisonment of John Stanhope. No

glory of martyrdom dignified his forcible detention; he was merely the

victim of mischance. And the outlook was singularly hopeless. "The

negotiation for the exchange of prisoners has totally failed," he writes.

"The hope of the conclusion of the war appears to be more distant than

ever. Whilst the Emperor lives, peace seems to be impossible, and he may

live twenty years without the least diminution of his energy or his

ambition ... there is but one source from which we can any of us derive

the slightest consolation, and that is from the character of Napoleon

himself. His insatiable ambition, after having prompted him to the

execution of everything that is practicable, may finally urge him to

attempt impossibilities. Alexander wept because he could find no more

worlds to conquer; Napoleon may find there are too many worlds for him.

Universal dominion is not now so easy an acquisition. 'Give him rope

enough and he will hang himself!' is in all our mouths!"

With this slender consolation the luckless prisoners endeavoured to cheer

themselves; but meanwhile, as Stanhope points out, they existed "a

thousand people of different characters, ranks and habits collected

together in one town, without any occupation to divert the tedium of their

lives." Nor were there wanting additions to their society of an

undesirable character, men who had voluntarily fled across the Channel to

escape the consequence of nefarious dealings in horse-racing and gambling.

One of these, indeed, was described by the French Minister of War as "the

worst monster which England in her wrath has yet vomited across the

Channel"; and the enforced idleness to which the prisoners were subjected,

rendered them for the most part ready victims to the designs of such

unscrupulous villains, while it tended to make the life of the town

peculiarly demoralising. One source of satisfaction alone did Stanhope

find in his altered conditions. His family, who for many months had

believed him to be dead, were now overjoyed to hear of his safety, and to

find themselves once more able to communicate with him; none the less it

was impossible to ignore the constant danger to which his position still

exposed him. At any moment he or his fellow _détenus_ might be sacrificed

to the vindictiveness of Napoleon or to the exigencies of some political

situation, and he had not been long at Verdun before a recognition of this

fact was unpleasantly brought home to him.

Lord Blayney, [7] an Irish friend of his, was suddenly arrested one day in

the streets of Verdun and hurried off to the citadel. There he was

informed that by order of the French Government he was to answer with his

life for the safety of a French prisoner in England, who, having been

detected in some treasonable intrigue, was condemned to close confinement

and likely to be shot. Thus for a long time subsequently Lord Blayney

remained a prisoner in hourly peril of instant death.

There were also other evils to be reckoned with. The governors in whose

charge the prisoners were placed were too often unscrupulous men, who, so

long as they were secure from detection, did not hesitate to employ

tyranny or fraud in the endeavour to further their own advancement, either

by the pretended discovery of imaginary plots, thus giving a fictitious

impression of their own zeal to the ministers, or by extorting money

through terrorism from their defenceless victims.

A story in this latter connection is told by John Stanhope. It appears

that a certain General Wirion, who had at one time been attached to

Moreau's party, had succeeded in getting into favour with Napoleon, who

made him Governor of Verdun. Forthwith, the General's principal object was

to devise some means of extracting money from the prisoners resident

there, towards whom his conduct, on all occasions, was peculiarly

atrocious.

Among the _détenus_ he soon observed a young man of more fortune than wit,

whom he at once recognised as a victim ready to his hand. He accordingly

sent for this youth one morning, and informed him that he would give him

leave to reside in a village a little way beyond the limits, for so the

imaginary boundary was always designated within which the prisoners were

confined by their parole. Although surprised at a permission for which he

had not even applied, the young _détenu_ naturally was delighted, and,

utterly devoid of suspicion, he lost no time in availing himself of his

increased liberty.

Shortly afterwards, the Governor caused a bogus order to be posted in the

office in Verdun to which the prisoners went at fixed periods to sign

their names. It announced that the Minister of War had issued a decree

commanding that all prisoners found out of the limits should be shot.

This notice the young prisoner in question either did not see, or ignored,

thinking that in view of his having received special permission for his

departure from the Governor, it could not apply to his individual case.

From this false security, however, he was suddenly awakened one morning by

the appearance of a detachment of _gendarmerie_, who, without any

circumlocution, presented him with a copy of the order, and informed him

that, as he had been found out of the limits, he was included in the

number of those to whom the decrees applied, and that their orders were to

carry the sentence into immediate execution.

So sudden, so unexpected an announcement of instant death might well have

shaken a man of stronger nerve. As it was, the condition of the poor youth

was pitiable. In vain he protested his ignorance of the notice and his

innocence of any intentional disobedience to the Government; to all such

representations his captors turned a deaf ear. Still more, no means were

neglected by them, no note of preparation omitted, that could tend to

increase the agony of his terror.

At last, at the very moment when not a hope of life remained to him, a

Gallo-Irishman, the chosen confidant of the Governor, made his appearance,

as if by accident. At the sight of this man, one last chance of escape

presented itself to the miserable youth, and he entreated the fellow to

save him. The Irishman replied decisively that he could hold out no hope;

the orders of the Minister of War had been imperative, and any chance of

eluding them was impossible.

"But I have the General's permission to reside beyond the limits!" pleaded

the youth eagerly.

"True, but the General exceeded his powers in giving you that permission;

you cannot expect him to sacrifice himself for you. It is unfortunate, but

you must be the victim!"

"Is there no possibility of your doing anything? You are so intimate with

him, cannot you save me?"

"I fear not."

"But at least make _one_ effort!"

"It is a hopeless case!" the Irishman assured him. Then, after

consideration, he said: "Well, I will _try_, but upon one condition, and

one only."

"Name it!" was the eager reply.

"That you give me _carte-blanche_ to act as I see fit!"

The condemned man did not hesitate. He agreed readily to all the Irishman

suggested; and the villain having given orders to the _gendarmes_ to await

his return, departed triumphantly. After an interval which appeared

sufficiently long for him to have journeyed to Verdun and back, he

reappeared and informed the poor youth, who meanwhile had been awaiting

his verdict in a state of indescribable anxiety, that the mission had been

successful. This had not, however, he explained, been accomplished without

the greatest difficulty, as General Wirion trembled at the serious

responsibility which he was about to incur in disobeying the Minister's

express orders; nevertheless, the Governor would consent to spare the

Englishman's life on condition of his paying down immediately the sum of

£5000. The young man was startled by the largeness of the amount, but in

the position in which he was placed, it required few arguments to convince

him of the worthlessness of money when his existence was at stake. He

accordingly consented to the proposal, signed a draft for the specified

amount, and was set at liberty. When, however, in a calmer frame of mind

he came to consider the transaction and to discuss it with his friends, he

felt convinced that some trickery had been employed towards him. He

thereupon wrote to his banker, cancelling the order for the money. But

this only made matters worse for him; for the General, furious at such an

attempt to defeat his machinations, enforced payment, not merely of the

£5000 originally demanded, but of an additional £200, under pretext of

having incurred that latter expense in trying to substantiate his lawful

claim to the larger sum!

Needless to say, robberies of this description were perpetrated without

the knowledge of the Ministers; but a rumour of some disgraceful

transaction on the part of Wirion having at last reached them, he was

summoned to Paris to undergo examination before a court of inquiry. In

consequence of what then came to light, upon the next public occasion at

which he was present, the Emperor turned his back upon the General. The

latter understood the hint. He left the presence of Napoleon, got into a

hackney coach, drove to the Bois de Boulogne, and there shot himself.

Occasionally, however, Napoleon himself was outwitted by the cunning of

the villains in his employment. Wirion's successor at Verdun, Colonel

Courcelles, a less daring but more clever scoundrel, found favour with the

Emperor by a very simple expedient. He had lost one of his legs in _partie

de chasse_, a loss which gave him the valuable air of a gallant veteran,

and of which he knew how to take the best advantage. Passing through

Verdun to join his army, the Emperor spied the apparently maimed hero, and

at once honoured him with a special notice. "_Monsieur le Colonel_" he

inquired with a note of respect, "_où avez-vous perdu la jambe?_"

Courcelles, sufficiently quick-witted to convey the impression he desired

without risking the utterance of any lie, replied truthfully: "_Sire,

j'étais à la bataille de Marengo!_"

Courcelles succeeded in robbing the prisoners who were in his charge in a

more cautious manner than his predecessor; he, in short, contrived to

subtract something for himself from any remittances which reached them,

and paid them francs for livres. But if in many instances the prisoners

suffered at the hands of the French authorities, on one occasion the

position was reversed, and a French commandant became the victim of a

prisoner's cunning.

The hero of this incident was Lord Blayney, the Irishman before referred

to. A certain General Cox, formerly Governor of Almeida, owned a very nice

little Andalusian horse, Sancho, which had distinguished itself as one of

the first racers in Verdun. Lord Blayney offered a challenge for Sancho to

run against a horse which he promised to produce for the event, and his

bet was accepted with alacrity. He thereupon sent to an Englishman who was

in young Talleyrand's service, and who was a recognised connoisseur in

horseflesh, instructing this man to send him a particular English race-

horse which had formerly figured at Verdun, and in the capabilities of

which Lord Blayney still apparently had confidence, although it was now

pretty well advanced in years.

Nevertheless, when the animal reached Lord Blayney's stables, sundry

alterations were made in its appearance which would prevent its being

recognised as an old acquaintance by those who had seen it formerly; and

thus when the date for the race arrived, an unknown beast entered the

lists against Sancho.

It was soon patent to all that the age of this competitor made its chance

of success but small; and, in fact, General Cox's fleet little horse won

in a canter. Everyone laughed loudly at Lord Blayney's folly in imagining

that so obviously incompetent an animal could run against the beautiful

little racer Sancho; only Lord Blayney himself seemed stupidly surprised

at his own failure. None the less, he bore his loss with amiability, and

as he had previously invited his antagonists to dine with him that night

he did not omit to make them welcome.

General Cox and the backers of Sancho were, not unnaturally, in the

highest spirits that evening; and when wine had loosened their tongues,

they expressed their triumph rather incautiously in loud praises of their

favourite horse. Lord Blayney likewise appeared to drink heavily, and at

last, seemingly elated by this fact, or stung past endurance by the

taunting remarks of his adversaries, he swore that he would again match

his horse against Sancho and for a yet larger sum of money. Cox,

delighted, instantly closed with the offer, and Lord Blayney shortly

afterwards, as though overcome by the wine he had drunk, fell asleep.

His guests sat on drinking till at length their host awoke, when it became

evident to them that, sobered by his nap, he was ready to view matters in

a more cautious light. "Cox" he observed anxiously, "I will give you a

good sum down to be off the bet I made just now." "Oh, no! no!" cried

General Cox. "It is too late to withdraw it--you cannot show the white

feather." "Well, then," shouted Lord Blayney, with apparent angry

recklessness, "I'll double the first bet!" "Done!" cried the General,

enchanted at the certainty of extracting a still larger sum from the

pockets of the foolish peer. So delighted was he, in fact, that he

generously arranged for several of his most intimate friends to share his

prospective good fortune, and seeing an unparalleled opportunity for

currying favour with the Commandant, he invited the latter to participate

in such exceptional luck.

One man alone saw through the whole transaction. This was a certain friend

of Lord Blayney's who is mentioned in John Stanhope's letters by his

nickname of "Paddy Boyle," [8] which had apparently been conferred upon

him on account of his exhibiting certain characteristics which are more

usually illustrative of an Irish than a Scottish nationality. Lord Boyle

went to Lord Blayney with the unwelcome announcement: "By Jove, my Lord,

I'll tell of you!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" rejoined Lord Blayney; "I'll give you a

hundred pounds to hold your tongue!" The bargain was struck and the secret

was kept.

The eventful day arrived. So large a bet had attracted universal

attention. "I will not attempt to describe," writes John Stanhope, "the

intense interest felt by all present at the commencement of the race, nor

the confusion and dismay of the Cox party when they saw the previously

incompetent animal now cantering away from Sancho with all the ease and

style of a true English racehorse; nor will I attempt to give the

crimination and recrimination that followed. I will content myself with

transcribing the observation with which the poor Commandant consoled

himself for his loss. '_Les Anglais prétendent que Lord Blayney est fou;

je reconnais à mes dépens qu'il est plus fin que les autres!_'"

With regard to Lord Boyle, who so intelligently fathomed the intended ruse

in this instance, Stanhope subsequently relates some amusing anecdotes.

"During the time of our races," he writes, "Lord Blayney had invited a

large party to dine with him on the race ground. Instead of putting myself

in the path of the prospective host, as did most of my friends, I

studiously avoided him, and thus escaped an invitation, as I was anxious

to do, for I had little doubt that there would be a profusion of wine

which would lead to its inevitable consequences at Verdun--a good deal of

quarrelling. I rode to the course with Lord Boyle, who congratulated me on

my prudence. I never heard a man talk more reasonably or eloquently than

he did upon the state of the society at Verdun, and particularly upon the

reprehensible consequences which invariably arose from successive

drinking. The first thing I heard next morning was that Paddy Boyle had,

after dinner, _insulted every man at the table but one_, uttering sarcasms

founded doubtless upon truth, but as biting as they were clever. _From

every individual except the one who had escaped his attacks he had just

received a challenge_, which he had been forced to meet by sending round a

circular apology. He had thus given a pretty practical illustration of the

truth of the remarks with which he had favoured me on the previous

evening!"

Subsequently Lord Boyle afforded another illustration of his "strange

admixture of shrewdness and muddle-headedness." On an occasion when, it

must be emphasized, he was entirely sober, he was discovered going out

into the garden at twelve o'clock at night with a hand-candle in order to

ascertain what was the correct time by the sun-dial!

But in a society which comprised men of so many different types and

varying calibre, there were not wanting some of the survivals of a France

which was rapidly becoming extinct An inhabitant of Verdun frequently

referred to by Stanhope was the Chevalier de la Lance, an aristocrat of

the _ancien régime_, who piqued himself upon possessing the peculiar grace

of manner belonging to a bygone day, and which he carried to such a point

of exaggeration as often to render himself ridiculous. "He is nevertheless

a kind-hearted, gentlemanlike and amiable old man. Like most others of his

rank who are still alive, he emigrated at the beginning of the Revolution.

He retired to Germany, where he lived for some time under the assumed

character of a humble music-master. He tells me that one of his most

pleasant experiences was the surprise of his various pupils when, upon

leaving the place of exile, he sent them back all the tickets for lessons

which they had given him, and for which he no longer required payment He

did not, however, return to France alone; in the country-house of some of

his pupils he had met a lady whose heart was touched by the misfortunes of

the exile. She was related to one of the leading families of the Austrian

Empire, but had learnt to feel compassion for the unfortunate emigrant,

and as compassion is akin to love, it soon grew into a warmer sentiment,

and she at length agreed to unite her destiny to his."

On an occasion, destined to be momentous in the life of another friend of

Stanhope, did the Chevalier have an opportunity of displaying his

exquisite manners to the full. One day young Stanhope was walking through

the streets of Verdun with a friend of his, Captain Strachey, [9] when

they met a young Frenchman of their acquaintance, "one, indeed," he

remarks, "of the few _ancienne noblesse_ of Verdun."

'Ah, Monsieur Stanhope,' said the Frenchman, 'you must go to the

Cathedral, my cousin is the Quêteuse [10] to-day; you must give her a

Napoleon at least!' Strachey announced that he would like to go with me,

and together accordingly we went.

"At the appointed time the Quêteuse made her appearance. She proved to be

a most lovely girl, dressed in black silk, with a garland of snow-white

marguerites on her head. As a mark of particular attention from the

ecclesiastical authorities, she was permitted the escort of the Chevalier

de la Lance, who, thoroughly enjoying the situation, held the tips of her

fingers and conducted her with all the airs and graces of the olden time

through the crowd assembled in the church. At length, preceded by the

beadle in full costume, she approached the place where we were standing.

The graceful simplicity of her manners formed an admirable contrast to the

affectation of the old chevalier. With a low courtsey, and with a smile

which united the sweetest expression to the most perfect modesty, she

presented her purse to each of us in our turn. I was no longer at the

happy age when the heart is carried away by every sweet glance; but I own

that, for the moment, I was bewildered by the beautiful sight which the

young girl presented, as, engaged in so holy a cause, and with her

extraordinary loveliness framed by the picturesque surrounding of Gothic

arches, she might well have been mistaken for the vision of an angel. All

the money in my pocket was at once transferred to the little silk purse of

the fair petitioner; but to Captain Strachey's peace that smile was far

more fatal. It was decisive of the destiny of his life. A copy of French

verses which he penned to the beautiful Quêteuse was the first proof of

the impression produced upon his heart. Many were the obstacles with which

he had to contend; but at length the lovely Mlle, de la Roche became the

bride of the English prisoner."

There was, however, but little intercourse between the English and the

French families at Verdun. "There is one set," Stanhope writes, "who keep

themselves very select and consider themselves _par excellence_ the

society of the town. Almost the only English admitted into their circle

are the Marine officers. It is said that they obtained this preference by

persuading the French that they are distinguished by the title of _Royal_

Marines entirely because they rank highest in the British service!"

Only a certain Mr and Mrs S. who belonged to the class of _détenus_ were

allowed, on sufferance, occasionally to mingle with the French families;

and in this connection Stanhope relates one more story.

"My fair countrywoman, who is sharing the captivity of her husband,

formerly an officer in the army, is singularly attractive. If her features

were not too pronounced and her form much too thin, she would be a very

pretty woman. As it is, there is something remarkably airy and graceful in

her figure, and very lively in her countenance. Still more lively is she

in her manners. She is, indeed, one of the cleverest and most sarcastic

women I ever knew, very agreeable when you are not yourself the object of

her satire. In order to preserve her character for wit, she is not very

scrupulous in her language; and in consequence of this an Englishman once

ventured to make her an insulting proposal, upon which she very quietly

caught up the poker and knocked him down, thus establishing her reputation

in such a forcible manner that, whatever she has subsequently been bold

enough to say, she is quite certain of being considered a perfect Diana.

"An adventure occurred to her which would be amusing if I could tell it in

her own language. On one of the coldest nights of a severe winter she left

her apartments to go to one of our Verdun balls. Her husband pleaded a

severe headache as an excuse for not accompanying her; and, that her

amusement might not be disturbed by any disagreeable suspicions, he

actually retired to bed and enacted the part of a sick man so well that he

eluded even her penetrating glance. No sooner, however, had the carriage

driven off which conveyed her to the ball, than up jumped the sick man,

dressed himself and set off to the club in order to indulge his darling

passion for play. At an hour rather earlier than he had calculated upon,

his wife left the ball, doubtless anxious to look after her invalid

husband. She was driven home by a friend, and in order to inconvenience

the latter as little as possible, she got out of the carriage without

waiting for the house-door to be opened, and allowed her friend to drive

away. It was a piercingly cold night, the ground was covered with snow,

and she picked her way carefully up the steps and then felt in her pocket

for her _passe-partout_. To her horror she discovered it was not there,

she had forgotten to take it out with her! She used all her efforts to

rouse her sleeping husband or some of the inmates, but in vain. No

resource remained but for her to walk, quarterdeck, in her satin shoes and

ball dress, the bodice of which, to make matters worse, was generally very

décolleté.

"While engaged in this truly miserable occupation, who should come up but

her husband, returning from his club! Had he had the key in his pocket

much might have been forgiven him, but he, too, had forgotten it. He was

obliged, therefore, to join his wife's promenade before the door of their

lodgings, and submit to a snowy curtain-lecture, till dawn broke, and the

miserable, shivering couple were at last able to make themselves heard by

the inmates of the house."

Many years afterwards John Stanhope related a yet more extraordinary

meeting which occurred to this same couple.

"When the allied troops entered France, the hope of that liberty of which

he had so long been deprived was again kindled in the breast of Captain

S., and at length rose to such a pitch as to overpower all other

considerations, till he made his escape _en garçon_ from the _dépôt_. The

unpleasant situation of his wife when she found herself thus abandoned in

the midst of a foreign land may be imagined; but she was not the type of

woman to give herself up to despair. After some time had elapsed she set

off with the intention of making her solitary way to England. During her

journey she encountered a detachment of the Russian army, and on finding

herself surrounded by troops, nothing daunted, she demanded to be taken to

the General commanding them. She was conducted to his presence and was

received by him and his aide-de-camp, who stood beside him. Something in

the appearance of the latter attracted her attention--she looked again and

again--did her eyes deceive her, or was that figure in a Russian uniform,

with an order at his button-hole and his face partly concealed by heavy

moustachios, indeed her husband? Another look converted her doubts into

certainty, and she was in her husband's arms. He had directed his course

towards the Russian army, been of great service to the General--probably

by giving him information on the state of the country--and had been

rewarded by the situation he now held.

"He subsequently re-entered the English army, having obtained a commission

in the Horse Guards. Later, I often saw the fair heroine of this story

riding in Hyde Park, in a costume which resembled the uniform of her

husband's regiment, and accompanied by a daughter whose grace as an

equestrian was set off by her personal beauty, whilst an orderly enacting

the part of a groom completed the singular appearance of the group."

Meanwhile, amongst the men of all nationalities who were to be found among

the prisoners, certain of these, like Captain S., from time to time

succeeded in effecting their escape. One brazenly went as a courier

carrying despatches to the _grande armeé_; another cleverly passed himself

off as a Custom House officer and actually accompanied a battalion of

French soldiers, during the whole time receiving the utmost civility from

the unsuspecting officers and men. But all studiously avoided Naval

disguises, for the French believed that there was some peculiar

predisposition in English blood to the Naval Service; indeed, on this

account, all English foundlings were sent to Marseilles or Toulon to be

brought up as sailors!

Once, during John Stanhope's residence at Verdun, did Napoleon pass

through the town. When this occurred, the young _détenu_ made his way so

close to the carriage and inspected its occupant with such determined

scrutiny that, he adds with satisfaction, "I can boast that I made

Napoleon himself draw back!" His description, entered in his journal, of

the Man of Destiny, then approaching the reverse of his fortunes, is of

peculiar interest.

"How shall I describe him? He was in a coloured nightcap, not a very

Imperial, nor, at any time, a becoming costume; he had travelled all

night, which, also, is neither calculated to improve a man's beauty, nor

to shed a ray of good-humour over his countenance. His face looked

swollen, his complexion sallow and livid; his eyes--but it is impossible

to describe the expression of those eyes; I need only say that they were

the true index of his character. There was in them a depth of reflection,

a power of intention (if I may so call it) of seeing into the souls of

men; there was a murkiness, a dark scowl, that made me exclaim-' Nothing

in the world would tempt me to go one hour in that carriage with that

man!' I could understand the power of that eye, under the glance of which

the proudest heart in France shrank abashed; but still the whole

countenance rather brought to my memory the early impressions I had formed

of a moody schoolmaster, than those of a Caesar or an Alexander." [11]

The days were then long past, however, when Napoleon's assumption of regal

magnificence had provoked merriment among those as yet unfamiliar with it.

In 1804 Lady Louisa Stuart had recorded how the unaccustomed deference

with which the first consul elected to be treated was viewed in the nature

of a farce by those surrounding him. Everyone of any rank who employed the

titles by which the parvenu monarch desired to be called, did so as a

recognised jest. "_Sa Majesté Impériale et puis du rire_!" But if that

phase had now gone by and the boldest in France had learnt to quail before

the piercing glance of the usurper, there remained apparently a few stout

English hearts in whom he still failed to inspire awe. John Stanhope

relates:--

"An incident occurred during Napoleon's passage through Verdun, which,

however difficult to describe with full effect, is yet too good to be

omitted. An old British merchant captain went up to the window and

presented a petition. This the Emperor refused to receive, observing--'I

take no petitions from the English.' 'Then--d----n your eyes, you b----y

son of a ----!' exclaimed the old sailor with engaging frankness, as,

turning on his heels, he strode disgustedly away. Napoleon did not appear

to understand this comment, but probably he had some shrewd suspicion of

its nature."

So profound a sensation, however, did the countenance of the Emperor make

upon John Stanhope that he could never afterwards recall it without a

shudder. That sense of an all-dominant will, of a boundless egoism, of a

villainy which refused to be limited and could not be gauged by any of the

ordinary restrictions applicable to normal humanity, was never

subsequently erased from his recollections. It must be emphasised,

moreover, that John Stanhope was by temperament and training singularly

cosmopolitan in his outlook, and free from insular prejudice even with

regard to his country's foe, so much so that, when he again had an

opportunity of observing Napoleon, he readily acknowledged the strange

magnetism of the man whose personality yet filled him with such

instinctive repugnance.

On this latter occasion Bonaparte was already past the meridian of his

glory, and had met with reverses which enforced a more careful cultivation

of his popularity with the masses. "He was," relates John Stanhope, "most

gracious in his manner to the surrounding crowd, greeting them with a

smile; and that smile was strikingly beautiful; there was a fascination

about it, which, even in spite of my previous impressions, I could not

resist."

Still more, he records with obvious pleasure an instance of the Emperor's

magnanimity:--

"It would not be doing justice to Napoleon to omit the case of Captain

Fane. That gallant officer had been taken prisoner in an attack that he

had made upon some town on the coast of Spain. He had landed with the

greater part of his crew, and carried the place with great bravery; but

success was fatal to the discipline of his force. Unaccustomed as they

were to fighting on shore, not all the efforts of Captain Fane could keep

them together. They dispersed in all directions, plundering, and looking

for wine. The French who had watched the whole proceedings from the

heights, sent a force down, which, unobserved, got between them and the

sea, cut off their retreat and took the whole party prisoners.

"Captain Fane, who was a true English sailor, had some dispute with the

officer into whose hands he was committed on the French frontier. The

latter thereupon refused to accept his parole, so that Fane was conducted

to Verdun by the _gendarmes_, treated with considerable harshness, and

lodged in prison at the end of each day's march. This treatment was not

calculated to produce a favourable impression on his already prejudiced

mind, and not unnaturally there was not in the whole depôt a more violent

anti-Gallican than was Captain Fane.

"But his residence at Verdun was not long. A circumstance had occurred in

the earlier part of his career which his friends justly thought likely to

be of service to him in the unfortunate situation in which he now found

himself. At the time of the Egyptian campaign, he had been midshipman on

board a man-o'-war employed on the coast of Egypt. One day some French

prisoners had been in danger of being drowned, when Fane jumped overboard

and saved their lives at the risk of his own. The circumstance had at the

time come to the knowledge of General Bonaparte, and he had expressed his

high sense of the bravery of the young English officer.

"Now under the changed circumstances in which Captain Fane found himself,

his friends did but justice to the Emperor in believing that if the

occurrence were but recalled to the memory of Bonaparte, coupled with the

knowledge that that once gallant midshipman was now a prisoner in his

dominions, it would at least militate in favour of the captive. The

information, of which Captain Fane himself would have scorned to make use,

was therefore conveyed to Bonaparte, and not a moment did the Emperor

hesitate. He at once ordered Captain Fane's unconditional liberation.--It

is with great pleasure that I record this trait of magnanimity in

Napoleon; similar instances of which more than once came under my notice."

Of Jerome Bonaparte, on the contrary, John Stanhope gives a very different

description. He was one morning for a considerable time in the same room

with the King of Westphalia, in fact, for over an hour, while the latter

was occupied with the consumption of a lengthy breakfast, and his

impression of the man whom he thus watched closely is summed up briefly:-

"A more insignificant personage," he says, "I have never yet beheld!"

After which he dismisses Jerome as undeserving of further comment.

After a long and dreary residence at Verdun, John Stanhope heard by chance

that a French lady was desirous of having any English prisoners of

undoubted respectability _en pension_ at her Château de D., near Ligny. He

therefore applied to the commandant for permission to pass there what was

termed _la belle saison_; and this was granted on condition that he

reported himself at Verdun at the end of the month. Much delighted at the

prospect of such a change in his surroundings, he therefore set out for

Ligny, with his gig, two horses, and an old field captain, who attended

him in the capacity of servant. His experiences are not without interest

while thus resident in a French country family who were singularly typical

of the period in which they lived.

The family, of whom he purposely suppresses the names, consisted of

Monsieur V., a kind-hearted man, about fifty years of age. Madame V., whom

he describes as "one of the most singular specimens of a French woman that

it ever was my lot to meet with"; and her son-in-law and married daughter,

Monsieur and Madame M.

"Madame V.," he wrote long after, "was a thorough _intrigante_, never

quiet for a moment, but always with some project in her head, a constant

prey to all sorts of sharpers, who flattered her, fed upon her and

converted her schemes into an abundant source of profit to themselves. The

great object of her ambition at this moment was to obtain the post of

governess to the King of Rome. _Madame!_--I have only to represent to

myself that little round figure, nearly as large as it was long and much

the shape of a ball, with her Parisian graces grafted on to her pretension

to the manners of the _vieille Cour_, to enjoy, even now, a hearty laugh

at her vanity in supposing that it was in her power to supersede and

triumph over a Montesquieu. "As it may seem extraordinary that people in

the position of the V.s should have admitted English prisoners _en

pension_, I ought to mention that it was entirely a _galanterie_ on the

part of Monsieur. He stipulated it should be no expense to him, excepting

in the article of wine, which he would freely give; that whatever benefit

arose from the money paid by us, should belong entirely to Madame V.; and

a considerable profit she must undoubtedly have made, as little was the

addition on our account to their domestic expenditure.

"The daughter of this couple was married to a man of talent, who, however,

had a brusquerie of manner which rendered him rather forbidding. He seemed

to aim rather at the rough independence of Revolutionary France than at

the _politesse_ which marked the _vieille Cour_ of which Madame was an

exponent. He treated me, however, with the utmost kindness and attention.

Originally he had been but clerk to Monsieur V. and lived in the house. As

is not unusually the case under such circumstances, an attachment grew up

between him and Mlle. V.; but when did the course of true love run

smoothly? Madame V. had other designs for her daughter; she destined her

to the arms of one of Napoleon's generals, and had already opened

negotiations with a view of carrying these intentions into effect. The

father, unable to resist the daughter's tears, joined with her in

endeavouring to extort from Madame V. a reluctant consent; but the latter

remained inflexible. After all other arguments had been exhausted in vain,

Monsieur M., her daughter and even her husband threw themselves on their

knees before her in tears, and entreated her to yield to their wishes.

Such a scene was too much for a Frenchwoman. She yielded, and abandoning

her ambitious project, gave her daughter to Monsieur M.!

"Monsieur V. thereupon built a nice house for the young couple at the

extremity of the garden, so that his daughter had the advantage of being

perfectly independent, and yet of living as much as she chose with her

father and mother. In general they formed but one family, and great was

their contentment, though this was not, in reality, increased by the

circumstance of Monsieur M. having recently been raised to the dignity of

Mayor of D. and Secretary to the Prefect of the Department, a situation

which gave him considerable power, and made him a person of greater

consequence than his father-in-law.

"Our life was very uniform. At eight o'clock punctually we met at a little

building at the end of the garden which Madame had dignified by the title

of _La Ferme_, though it had not a pretension of any sort to such a

denomination. It was in fact a small cottage consisting of a kitchen

fitted up in cottage style, a small pantry, two bedrooms above, furnished

with all the luxury of modern refinement--so much for the cottage. From

what books Madame V. had drawn her ideas of rural felicity I know not, but

she deemed it more sentimental to breakfast in the cottage than to enjoy

that meal comfortably in her dining-room, so to the _ferme_ we were to go,

and, whether the weather was hot or cold, to sit near the blazing fire in

the little kitchen and enjoy the rural felicity of making our own toast.

At one we dined, took a ride or walk in the afternoon, and at eight sat

down to supper.

"The house was not an uncomfortable, though somewhat singular one.

Monsieur V. having been called away from home during the time that he was

building it, Madame took advantage of his absence to take care of herself,

and, in so doing, to spoil the house. She had a fancy that she could only

breathe freely in a large room; she therefore constructed out of the body

of the house an enormous bedroom for herself. It was square, with a

dressing-room at each angle. Her husband, upon his return home, found his

house completely spoilt, as this room occupied the main part of the first

floor. However, as the mischief was done, he bore it with the greatest

philosophy, venting his feelings with his usual exclamation on such

occasions--'_Oh, ma femme! ma femme!_'

"The drawing-room was a pleasant and well-furnished room, it opened by a

door, partly of glass, on to a flight of steps which served also as a

bridge over a rivulet which ran close to the walls of the house. These

steps led to the flower garden which was laid out in the old-fashioned

style. In the centre was a fountain, round which there were beds of

flowers. At the extremity of the garden there was a large orangery which

had no pretentions to architectural beauty, but contained a magnificent

collection of orange trees. During the warm weather, these ornamented the

garden, and at a more wintry period, being ranged in rows in the orangery,

afforded us an agreeable promenade.

"The gardens extended a considerable distance. They included on one side a

kitchen garden and a vineyard, and on the other, to give the effect of

what the French call an English garden, a wood had been considered a

necessary requisite. It was cut out in walks, one of which led to the

_ferme_ and another to the hermitage, so that the garden may be said to

have possessed every requisite for a perfect garden. But absurd as this

reunion of _bois_, hermitage and _ferme_, may sound, the gardens were

really pretty, and the connecting of the kitchen garden and the vineyard

with the pleasure ground not only added to its extent, but its variety. I

have often thought that our English kitchen gardens, by a little more

variety in their form and by an intermixture of shrubbery, might be

converted into an ornamental instead of a formal addition to our country

houses.

"Adjoining the drawing-room was a room, prettily furnished, in which I

slept, and which also formed a not uncomfortable sitting-room when I

wished to be alone. Behind the drawing-room was the dining-room, which,

like all French dining-rooms, had the appearance of an anteroom. It opened

into the library where there was a good collection of books and also of

minerals, indeed, there was hardly anything of which there was _not_ a

collection.

"On one occasion I incurred Madame V.'s serious displeasure. A hornet's

nest had been discovered, and, as it was voted a great curiosity, was

placed by Madame's orders among the other specimens of Natural history in

the library. Warmed into life by the heat of the room, some of the hornets

began to show signs of activity. The prospect was far from pleasant, and,

alarmed at the disagreeable interruption about to be offered to my

studies, I secretly commissioned a servant to throw the hornet's nest into

the water. Boundless was the indignation of Madame V, on finding that I

had deprived her museum of so great a treasure; and it was a considerable

time before an act of such temerity on my part was forgiven.

"We sometimes took advantage of a fine evening to form a party in the

woods. On an occasion when the Chevalier de la Lance was staying with us

accompanied by his fifteen-year-old daughter, one of the prettiest of our

Verdun belles, we had one of these excursions to the forest. After dinner

some of the most musical of our party were requested by the young belle to

enliven the evening by music. Madame M., my hostess's daughter, had a most

beautiful voice, and had, of course, enjoyed all the advantages to be

derived from Parisian masters. Whilst she was singing, we all observed

that a nightingale perched upon one of the neighbouring trees continued

silent; the moment she stopped, he began to warble forth his 'wood-notes

wild.' This occurred not once, but repeatedly. He was far, however, from

showing the same attention to the chevalier. Apparently not entertaining

an equally good opinion of the old man's musical talents, from the moment

that gentleman began to take up the song, the nightingale began also, and

evidently did all in his power to drown the chevalier's voice!"

Another diversion at Ligny was _la chasse_. Monsieur M. was a great

sportsman and very fond of shooting; he kept a small pack of hounds and

seldom went out with them without inviting young Stanhope to accompany

him. "One day," relates John Stanhope, "we were out fox-hunting on foot,

our business being to head the fox and--_horresco referens_--to shoot

him! The hounds were running, and all of a sudden came to a check and

ceased giving tongue. At that moment Lord Boyle, who was out with us, and

who was not far from me, levelled his gun and took, as it proved, a deadly

aim. I looked at him in some astonishment, at a loss to imagine what game

he could have seen when the hounds were not running. He fired, and then

throwing up his arms in horror, cried out, at the same time stamping and

raving, 'Oh! Monsieur M., I have killed your best dog!' Vexed as I was at

such a disaster, I could not help laughing at the gesticulations of my

friend, and at Paddy, with eyes quick enough for anything, having mistaken

a _dog for a fox_. It was quite a practical Bull. No one could have

behaved better than Monsieur M. He concealed his regret and said

everything in his power to reassure and recompose the distracted culprit."

There was, Stanhope remarks, not much game in the neighbourhood of Ligny,

though there could not be a country better adapted to it, as the house was

situated between two forests, both of which abounded in wolves. "However,"

writes Stanhope, "I was only out one day at _la chasse aux loups_. I had

been so long deprived of the amusements of a sportsman that an invitation

from Monsieur M., to accompany him on the following morning produced so

much excitement in my mind that I lay awake half the night ... and I was

not too late for the appointed hour of six o'clock. Monsieur M., another

sportsman and myself, proceeded to a distant part of the forest. We were

all stationed, in advance, at different posts where it was thought likely

that the wolf might cross the path. The hounds were soon in full cry. My

heart beat high as I heard them approach me, but, alas! instead of the

_grand gibier_ I expected, a poor little hare stole quietly by! It was a

terrible falling off, and no wolf crossed our path that morning.

"Yet at the time of which I am speaking, we had pretty good proof of their

being in our immediate vicinity, for one morning, when I was out walking,

I heard, close to the house, a piercing yell. I ran to ascertain what was

the matter and found that a favourite setter of Monsieur M., itself as big

as a wolf, had just been carried off by one of these ferocious animals.

Poor M. could hardly be consoled for the loss of another favourite dog,

and was some days before he recovered his usual spirits. After I left

Ligny, Lord Blayney and some other Verdunites killed six or seven wolves

in one day's sport."

The warfare against both wolves and foxes at Ligny was, however, very

essential, in view of the fact that Madame V., in order to further her

favourite project of becoming Governess to the King of Rome, had resorted

to a singular plan to ensure her popularity at Court.

Napoleon was exceedingly anxious to promote the progress of agriculture in

France, and as a first step in that direction to introduce the breed of

Merino sheep into the country. "Madame V. therefore determined to have her

flock of Merinos. But as the pure breed could only be procured at a

considerable cost, she resolved to arrive at the completion of her purpose

in a more economical manner. She succeeded in purchasing some rams of the

Merino breed, and she calculated that by crossing the sheep of the country

with them she would in eight years succeed in establishing a flock of

perfectly pure blood. She did not trouble herself about the evil results

attributed by agriculturists to breeding in and in. Her speculation was

the more extraordinary from the circumstance of her having no farm, nor

any land upon which to keep her sheep; but for this difficulty she found

an easy remedy. She sent out her flock under the guidance of a shepherd

boy, to feed wherever food they could find, but principally in the

Imperial forests.

"In order to give a greater _éclat_ to her favourite hobby, she built a

magnificent sheep-shed which was finished whilst I was there. But before

the sheep were introduced to their new abode, the priest was sent for to

give it his blessing. This he did in due form by sprinkling holy water in

all directions and consecrating it with as much solemnity as if he had

been dedicating a church to the service of God. Further, to celebrate the

event with yet greater pomp, she had likewise promised to give a ball;

but, to the disappointment of the prisoners resident with her, she finally

decided that the religious ceremony must suffice, and the Merinos were

allowed to enter upon their new career with no secular demonstration to

succeed the ecclesiastical."

Various indeed were the methods employed by the ambitious in order to

attract the attention and win the coveted favour of Napoleon. "A person of

great distinction," writes Stanhope, "the Maréchal Oudinot, who resides in

the town of Bar, has built a large manufactory for the purpose of making

sugar from beetroot. He does not appear to entertain any sanguine

expectations of profit, for upon General Cox asking him one day, when he

was dining at Bar, what had been the success of his manufactory, the

Maréchal replied with rather more honesty than discretion, 'Ce n'est que

pour plaire à l'Empereur!' Certainly in this point of view it was a

magnificent piece of flattery!

"That this Maréchal is a _nouveau riche_ the appearance of his house at

Bar sufficiently indicates. It stands in the middle of the town, and is

surrounded by a high wall, upon the top of which a range of shells and

bombs are represented in stone. At the entrance door stand two sentinels--

two wooden grenadiers painted in full uniform and as large as life, which

certainly cannot be considered as any _preuves de noblesse_, or marks of a

refined taste. One day Madame M. grievously offended this important

person. Gazing at his mansion and its surrounding tokens of magnificence,

she enthusiastically gave vent to a compliment which, however clever she

might think it, was not calculated to flatter the pride of a _parvenu_.

'Ah! Monsieur le Maréchal!' she exclaimed indiscreetly, 'vous montez, nous

descendons!'

"Indeed, what the Maréchal's origin may be, I know not; but I am told

that, till quite recently, he conducted himself with the best possible

feeling towards his old friends and relations, and was universally praised

for the kindness and condescension of his manners. A great change,

however, has lately been observed, perhaps because he has married a young

and pretty girl belonging to the _ancienne noblesse_. His old friends are

now treated with the greatest _hauteur_; he even requires the company at

his parties to remain standing in a circle round him, and he appears to

feel the regal coronet already budding upon his brows.

"Singular times, in truth, are these, when a man of the very lowest birth

may indulge in such _rêveries_ without the faintest absurdity!"