Marshal Vaillant -- The beginning of our acquaintance -- His
stories of the swashbucklers of the First Empire, and the beaux
of the Restauration -- Rabelaisian, but clever -- Marshal
Vaillant neither a swashbuckler nor a beau; hated both -- Never
cherished the slightest illusions about the efficiency of the
French army -- Acknowledged himself unable to effect the desired
and necessary reforms -- To do that, a minister of war must
become a fixture -- Why he stayed -- Careful of the public
moneys, and of the Emperor's also -- Napoleon III.'s lavishness
-- An instance of it -- Vaillant never dazzled by the grandeur of
court entertainments -- Not dazzled by anything -- His hatred of
wind-bags -- Prince de Canino -- Matutinal interviews -- Prince
de Canino sends his seconds -- Vaillant declines the meeting, and
gives his reason -- Vaillant abrupt at the best of times -- A
freezing reception -- A comic interview -- Attempts to shirk
military duty -- Tricks -- Mistakes -- A story in point -- More
tricks -- Sham ailments: how the marshal dealt with them -- When
the marshal was not in an amiable mood -- Another interview --
Vaillant's tactics -- "D----d annoying to be wrong" -- The
marshal fond of science -- A very interesting scientific
phenomenon himself -- Science under the later Bourbons --
Suspicion of the soldiers of the Empire -- The priesthood and the
police -- The most godless republic preferable to a continuance
of their regime -- The marshal's dog, Brusca -- Her dislike to
civilians -- Brusca's chastity -- Vaillant's objection to
insufficiently prepaid letters -- His habit of missing the train,
notwithstanding his precautions -- His objection to fuss and
public honours.
About two or three days after the ball at Versailles, I went to see
Marshal Vaillant at the War Office, to thank him for his kindness in
sending me the ticket for the review. Our acquaintance was already then
of a couple of years' standing. It had begun at Dr. Veron's, who lived,
at the time, at the corner of the Rue de Rivoli and the Rue de
Castiglione. The old soldier--he was over sixty then--had a very good
memory, and used to tell me garrison stories, love-adventures of the
handsome swashbucklers of the First Empire and of the beaux of the
Restauration. The language was frequently that of Rabelais or Moliere,
vigorous, to the point, calling a spade a spade, and, as such, not
particularly adapted to these notes, but the narrator himself was
neither a swashbuckler nor a beau; he hated the carpet-knight only one
degree more than the sabreur, and when both were combined in the same
man--not an unusual thing during the Second Empire, especially after
the Crimean and Franco-Austrian wars--he simply loathed him. He fostered
not the slightest illusions about the efficiency of the French army,
albeit that, to an alien like myself and notwithstanding his friendship
for me, he would veil his strictures. At the same time, he frankly
acknowledged himself unable to effect the desired reforms. "It wants,
first of all, a younger and abler man than I am; secondly, he must
become a fixture. No change of ministry, no political vicissitudes ought
to affect him. I do not play a political role, and never mean to play
one; and if I could find a man who would carry out the reforms at the
War Office, or, rather, reorganize the whole as it should be
reorganized, I would make room for him to-morrow. I know what you are
going to say. I derive a very comfortable income from my various
offices, and I am a pluralist. If I did not take the money, some one
else would who has not got a scrap more talent than I have. There is not
a single man who dare tell the nation that its army is rotten to the
core, that there is not a general who knows as much as a mere captain in
the Austrian and Prussian armies; and if he had the courage to tell the
nation, he would be hounded out of the country, his life would be made a
burden to him. That is one of the reasons why I am staying, because I
can do no good by going; on the contrary, I might do a good deal of
harm. Because, as you see it, the three hundred and fifty thousand
francs of my different appointments, I save them by looking after the
money of the State. Not that I can do much, but I do what I can."
That was very true: he was very careful of the public moneys, and of the
resources of the Emperor also, entrusted to him by virtue of his
position as Grand-Marechal du Palais; it was equally true that he could
not do much. Napoleon was, by nature, lavish and soft-hearted; as a
consequence, he became the butt of every impostor who could get a letter
conveyed to him. His civil list of over a million and a half sterling
was never sufficient. He himself was simple enough in his tastes, but he
knew that pomp and state were dear to the heart of Frenchmen, and he
indulged them accordingly. But his charity was a personal matter. He
could have no more done without it than without his eternal cigarette.
He called the latter "safety-valve of the brain; the former the
safety-valve of pride." I remember an anecdote which was told to me by
some one who was in his immediate entourage when he was only President.
It was on the eve of a journey to some provincial town, and at the
termination of a cabinet council. While talking to some of his
ministers, he took a couple of five-franc pieces from his waistcoat, and
spun them English fashion. "C'est tout ce qui me reste pour mon voyage
de demain, messieurs," he said, smiling. One of them, M. Ferdinand
Barrot, saw that he was in earnest, and borrowed ten thousand francs,
which the President found on his dressing-table when retiring for the
night. Four and twenty hours after, Napoleon had not even his two
five-franc pieces: they and M. Barrot's loan had disappeared in
subscriptions to local charities. Among the papers found at the
Tuileries after the Emperor's flight, there were over two thousand
begging letters, all dated within a twelvemonth, and all marked with
their answer in the corner--that is, with the amount sent in reply. That
sum amounted to not less than sixty thousand francs. And be it
remembered that these were the petitions the Emperor had not entrusted
to his secretaries or ministers as coming within their domain. The words
of Marshal Vaillant, spoken many years before, "I cannot do much, but I
do what I can," are sufficiently explained.
On the day alluded to above, the marshal was seriously complaining of
the Emperor's extravagance. He did not hold with entertaining so many
sovereigns. "I do not say this," he added, "with regard to yours, for
her hospitality deserved such return as the Emperor gave her; but with
regard to the others who will come, you may be sure, if we last long
enough. Well, we'll see; perhaps you'll remember my words."
In fact, the old soldier was never much dazzled by the grandeur of those
entertainments, nor did he foster many illusions with regard to their
true value in cementing international friendships. The marshal was not
dazzled by anything; and though deferential enough to the members of the
emperor's family, he never scrupled to tell them his mind. The Emperor's
cousin (Plon-Plon) could tell some curious stories to that effect. The
marshal had a hatred of long-winded people, and especially of what
Carlyle calls wind-bags. Another of Louis-Napoleon's cousins came
decidedly under the latter description: I allude to the Prince de
Canino. In order to get rid as much as possible of wordy visitors,
Vaillant had hit upon the method of granting them their interviews at a
_very_, _very_ early hour in the morning; in the summer at 6.30 in the
morning, in the winter at 7.15. "People do not like getting out of bed
at that time, unless they have something serious to communicate," he
said; and would not relax his rule, even for the softer sex. The old
warrior, who had probably been an early riser all his life, found the
arrangement work so well, that he determined at last not to make any
exceptions. "I get the day to myself," he laughed. Now, it so happened
that the Prince de Canino asked him for an interview; and, as a matter
of course, Vaillant appointed the usual hour. Next morning, to
Vaillant's great surprise, instead of the Prince, came two of his
friends. The latter came to ask satisfaction of Vaillant for having
dared to disturb a personage of the Prince's importance at so early an
hour. "Mais je ne l'ai pas derange du tout: il n'avait qu'a ne pas
venir, ce que du reste, il a fait," said Vaillant; then he added, "Mais,
meme, si je consentais a donner raison au prince de mon offense
imaginaire, je ne me battrai pas a quatre heures de l'apres-midi; donc,
il aurait a se deranger; il vaut mieux qu'il reste dans son lit. Je vous
salue, messieurs." With which he bowed them out. When the Emperor heard
of it, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and Napoleon did
not laugh outright very often or easily.
There are a great many stories about this objection of Marshal Vaillant
to be troubled for nothing; and, as usual, they overshoot the mark. He
is supposed to have acted very cavalierly with highly placed personages,
and even with ladies in very high society. Of course, I was never
present at interviews of that kind, but during my long acquaintance with
him, I was often seated at his side when less exalted visitors were
admitted. At the best of times his manner was abrupt, though rarely
rude, unless there was a reason for it, albeit that the outsider might
fail to fathom it at the first blush. I remember being with him in his
private room, somewhere about the sixties, when his attendant brought
him a card.
"Show the gentleman in," said Vaillant, after having looked at it.
_Enter_, a tall, well-dressed individual, the rosette of the Legion of
Honour in his button-hole, evidently a retired officer.
"What is it you want with me?" asked the marshal, who had remained
seated with his back towards the visitor.
"Being in Paris for the Christmas and New Year's holidays, your
excellency, I thought it my duty to pay my respects to you."
"Is that all you want with me?" asked the marshal.
"That is all, your excellency," stammered the visitor.
"Very well: then I'll wish you good morning."
I suppose I must have looked somewhat shocked at this very unceremonious
proceeding, for, when the door was closed, the marshal explained.
"You need not think that I have done him an injustice. When fellows like
this present their respects it always means that they want me to present
them with something else; that is why I cut them short."
Sometimes these interviews took a comical turn, for the marshal could be
very witty when he liked. In the land of "equality," everybody is always
on the look-out for greater privileges than his fellows, and in no case
were and are favours more indiscriminately requested than with the view
of avoiding military service. A thousand various pretexts, most of them
utterly ridiculous, were brought forward by the parents to preserve
their precious sons from the hated barrack life. In many instances, a
few years of soldiering would have done those young hopefuls a great
deal of good, because those who clamoured loudest for exemption were
only spending their time in idleness and mischief. In the provinces
there was a chance of influencing the _conseil de revision_ by means of
the prefet, if the parents were known to be favourable to the
government; by means of the bishops, if they still had a hankering after
the former dynasties; and, not to mince matters, if they were simply
rich, by means of bribery. In Paris the matter was somewhat more
difficult; the members of the council were frequently changed at the
last moment, and at all times the recruits to be examined were too
numerous for a parent to trust to the memory of those members. The
military authorities had introduced a new rule, to the effect that the
names of the recruits to be examined should not be called out until
their examination was finished; and, with the best will in the world, it
is often difficult to distinguish between un fils de famille and a
downright plebeian if both happen to come before you "as God made them."
Consequently, notwithstanding the considerable ingenuity of the parties
interested to let the examining surgeon-major known "who was who,"
mistakes frequently occurred; the young artisan, who had no more the
matter with him than the young wealthy bourgeois, was dismissed as
unfit for the service, while the latter was pronounced apt in every
respect.
Apropos of this, I know a good story, for the truth of which I can
vouch, because it happened to a member of the family with which I became
connected by marriage afterwards. He had a son who was of the same age
as his coachman's. Both the lads went to draw at the same time, both
drew low numbers. The substitute system was still in force, but, just at
that moment, there was a war-scare--not without foundation--and
substitutes reached high prices. It would not have mattered much to the
rich man. Unfortunately, he was tight-fisted, and the mother pleaded in
vain. The wife was just as extravagant as the husband was mean; she had
no savings, and she cudgelled her brain to find the means of preserving
her darling from the vile contact of his social inferiors without
putting her hand in her pocket--which, moreover, was empty. She went a
great deal into society, was very handsome, clever, and fascinating. By
dint of ferreting, she got to know the probable composition of the
conseil de revision--barring accidents. History does not say how, but
she wheedled the surgeon-major into giving her a distinct promise to do
his best for her dear son. Of course, in order to do some good, the
surgeon had to see the young fellow first; and there was the difficulty,
because madame had made the acquaintance of the officer under peculiar
circumstances, and could not very well introduce him to her home:
besides, just on account of the war-scare, the authorities had become
very strict, the practices of many officers were suspected, and it would
never have done for the gentleman to give his superiors as much as a
loophole for their suspicion by visiting the lady. Time was getting
short; the acquaintance had ripened into friendship very quickly,
because, three days before the time appointed for the sitting of the
council, madame had never seen the surgeon, and on the eve of that
sitting the final arrangement had been concluded. It was to this effect:
that madame's son would pretend to have hurt his hand, and appear with a
black silk bandage round his wrist. The thing is scarcely credible, but
the coachman's son, an engine-fitter, had hurt his wrist, and put a
strip of black ribbon round it. The coachman's family name began with a
_B_, the lady's name with a _C_. The coachman's son was taken for the
other, and declared unfit for military service by reason of his chest,
to his great surprise and joy, as may be imagined. But the surprise,
though not the joy, of the examining officer was greater still when, in
the next batch, another young fellow appeared with a strip of black
ribbon round his wrist. To ask his name was an impossibility. The
surgeon was afraid that he had been betrayed, or that his secret had
leaked out, and, without a moment's hesitation, declared the real Simon
Pure sound in lungs and limb.
I am afraid I have drifted a little bit from Marshal Vaillant's comical
interviews, but am coming back to them in a roundabout way. The common,
or garden trick to get those young fellows exempted, where bribery was
impossible or private influence out of the question, was to make them
sham short-sightedness, or deafness, or impediment in the speech. We
have heard before now of professors who cure people of stammering: it is
a well-known fact that in those days there was a professor who taught
people to stammer; while, personally, I know an optician on the
Boulevard des Italians whose father made a not inconsiderable fortune by
spoiling young fellows' sights--that is, by training them, for a
twelvemonth before the drawing of lots, to wear very powerful lenses. Of
course, this had to be done gradually, and his fee was a thousand
francs. I have known him to have as many as twenty or thirty pupils at a
time. No doubt the authorities were perfectly aware of this, but they
had no power to interfere. The process for "teaching deafness" was even
a more complicated one, but it did succeed for a time in imposing upon
the experts, until, by a ministerial decree, it was resolved to draft
all these clever stammerers, and even those who were really suffering
from the complaints the others simulated, into the transport and medical
services.
It was then that Marshal Vaillant was overwhelmed with visits from
anxious matrons who wanted to save their sons, and that the comical
interviews took place.
"But, excellency, my son is really as deaf as a post," one would
exclaim.
"All the better, madame: he won't be frightened at the first sound of
serious firing. Nearly all young recruits are terror-stricken at the
first whizzing of the bullets around them. I was, myself, I assure you.
He'll make an admirable soldier."
"But he won't be able to hear the word of command."
"Not necessary, madame; he'll only have to watch the others, and do as
they do. Besides, we'll draft him into the cavalry: it is really the
charger that obeys the signals, not the trooper. It will be an advantage
to him to be deaf in the barrack-room, for there are many things said
there that would bring a blush to his nice innocent cheeks; and, upon
the whole, it is best he should not hear them. I have the honour to wish
you good morning, madame."
And though the woman knew that the old soldier was mercilessly chaffing
her and her milksop son, the thing was done so politely and so
apparently seriously on the marshal's part, that she was fain to take no
for an answer.
On one occasion, it appears--for the marshal liked to tell these tales,
and he was not a bad mimic--he had just dismissed a lady similarly
afflicted with a deaf son, when another entered whose offspring suffered
from an impediment in his speech. "Madame," the marshal said, without
moving a muscle, "your son will realize the type of the soldier
immortalized by M. Scribe in 'Les Huguenots.' You know what Marcel
sings." And, striking a theatrical attitude, he trolled--
"'Un vieux soldat sait souffrir et se taire
Sans murmurer.'
With this additional advantage," he went on, "that your son will be a
young one. I can, however, promise you another comfort. A lady has just
left me whose son is as deaf as a post. I'll not only see that your son
is drafted into the same company, but I'll make it my special business
to have their beds placed side by side. The young fellow can go on
stammering as long as he likes, it won't offend his comrade's hearing."
"But my son is very short-sighted, as blind as a bat, your excellency;
he won't be able to distinguish the friend from the foe," expostulated a
third lady.
"Don't let that trouble you, madame," was the answer; "we'll put him in
the infantry: he has only got to blaze away, he is sure to hit some one
or something."
These were the scenes when the marshal was in an amiable mood; when he
was not, he would scarcely suffer the slightest remark; but, if the
remark was ventured upon, it had to be effectual, to be couched in
language as abrupt as his. "Soft-sawder" he hated above all things; and
even when he was wrong, he would not admit it to any one who whined or
spoke prettily. On the other hand, when the visitor or petitioner became
as violent as he was himself, he often reversed his decision. One day,
while waiting for the marshal, I met in the anteroom an individual who,
by his surly looks, was far from pleased. After striding up and down for
a while, he began to bang on the table, and to shout at the top of his
voice, calling the old soldier all kinds of names. Out came the marshal
in his shirt-sleeves--the moment the lady-visitors were gone he always
took off his coat. "Come back, monsieur," he said to the individual. In
a few moments, the latter came out of the marshal's private room, his
face beaming with joy. Then I went in, and found the marshal rubbing his
hands with glee. "A capital fellow, after all, a capital fellow," he
kept on saying.
"He may be a capital fellow," I remarked, "but he is not very choice in
his language."
"That's only his way; he does not like to be refused things, but he is a
capital fellow for all that, and that's why I granted his request. If he
had whined about it, I should not have done so, though I think he is
entitled to what he came for."
Strategical skill, in the sense the Germans have taught us since to
attach to the word, Marshal Vaillant had little or none. Most of his
contemporaries, even the younger generals, were scarcely better endowed
than their official chief. They were all good soldiers when it came to
straightforward fighting, as they had been obliged to do in Africa, but
there was not a great leader, scarcely an ordinary tactician, among
them. As I have already shown, among the men most painfully aware of
this was the marshal himself; nevertheless, when he once made up his
mind to a course of action, it was almost impossible to dissuade him
from it. He had set his heart upon Marshal Niel occupying the Aland
island during the winter of '54-55, in the event of Bomarsund falling
into French hands. He did not for a moment consider that the fourteen
thousand troops were too few to hold it, if the Russians cared to
contest its possession,--too many, if they merely confined themselves to
intercepting the supplies, which they could have done without much
difficulty. A clever young diplomatist, who knew more about those parts
than the whole of the intelligence department at the Ministry for War,
at last made him abandon his decision. I came in as he went out; the
marshal was as surly as a bear with a sore head. "Clever fellow this,"
he growled, "very clever fellow." And then, in short jerky sentences, he
told me the whole of the story, asking my opinion as to who was right
and who was wrong. I told him frankly that I thought that the young
diplomatist was right. "That's what I think," he spluttered; "but you'll
admit that it is d----d annoying to be wrong."
It would be wrong to infer that the marshal, though deficient as a
strategist, was the rough-and-ready soldier, indifferent to more
cultured pursuits, as so many of his fellow-officers were. He was very
fond of certain branches of science, and rarely missed a meeting of the
scientific section of the Academie, of which he was a member. What
attracted him most, however, was astronomy; next to that came entomology
and botany. Still, though an enthusiast, and often risking a cold to
observe an astral phenomenon, he objected to wasting thousands of pounds
for a similar purpose; in fact, when it came to disbursing government
money for a scientific or other vaguely defined purpose, his economic
tendencies got the better of him. "I am a very interesting scientific
phenomenon myself," he used to say, "or, at any rate, I was; and yet no
one spent any money to come and see me."
He was alluding to a fact which he often told me himself, and afterwards
narrated in his "memoirs."
"For a long while, especially from 1818 to 1830, when the weather
happened to be very dry and cold, and when I returned to my grateless,
humble room, after having spent the day in heated apartments, I was both
the spectator and the medium of strange electrical phenomena.
"The moment I had undressed and stood in my shirt, the latter began to
crackle and became absolutely luminous, emitting a lot of sparks; the
tails stuck together, and remained like that for some time."
I asked him, on one occasion, whether he had ever communicated all this
to scientific authorities. His answer, though not a direct one to my
question, was not only very characteristic of the mental and moral
attitude of the soldiers of the Empire towards the Bourbons, but, to a
great extent, of the attitude of the Bourbons themselves towards
everybody and everything that was not absolutely in accordance with the
policy, sociology, and religious tenets of their adherents, whether
laymen or priests.
"You must remember, my dear fellow," he replied, "the regime under which
we lived when I was subject to those electrical manifestations; you must
further remember that I had fought at Ligny and at Waterloo, and, though
not absolutely put on the retired list in 1815, I and the rest of the
Emperor's soldiers were watched, and our most innocent acts construed
into so many small attempts at conspiracy. You have not the slightest
idea what the police were like under the Restauration, let alone the
priesthood. If I couple these two, I am not speaking at random. If I had
communicated the things I told you of, to no matter what savant, he
would necessarily have published the result of his observations and
experiments, and do you know what would have happened? I should have
been tried, and perhaps condemned, for witchcraft--yes, for
witchcraft,--or else I should have been taken hold of by the priests,
not as a scientific phenomenon, but as a religious one, a kind of
_stigmatise_. They would have made it out to their satisfaction that I
was either half a saint, or a whole devil, and in either case my life
would have become a burden to me. Only those who have lived under the
Bourbons can form an idea of the terrorizing to which they lent
themselves. People may tell you that they were kind and charitable, and
this, that, and the other. There never were greater tyrants than they
were at heart; and if the Duc d'Angouleme or the Comte de Chambord had
come to the throne, France would have sunk to the intellectual level of
Spain. I would sooner see the most godless republic than a return of
that state of things, and I need not tell you that I firmly believe that
not a sparrow falls to the earth without God's will. No, I held my
tongue about my electrical sensations; if I had not, you would not now
be talking to Marshal Vaillant--I should have become a jabbering idiot,
if I had lived long enough." It is the longest speech I have ever heard
the marshal make.
The marshal's own rooms were simply crammed with cases full of
beetles, butterflies, etc. The space not taken up by these was devoted
to herbariums; and in the midst of the most interesting
conversation--interesting to the listener especially, for the old
soldier was an inexhaustible mine of anecdote--he, the listener, would
be invited to look at a bit of withered grass or a wriggling
caterpillar.
After the Franco-Austrian war, there was an addition to the marshal's
household--I might say family, for the old man became as fond of Brusca
as if she had been a human being. The story went that she had been
bequeathed to him at Solferino by her former master, an Austrian
general; and the marshal did not deny it. At any rate, he found Brusca
sitting by the dying man, and licking the blood oozing from his wounds.
Brusca was not much to look at, and you might safely have defied a
committee of the most eminent authorities on canine breeds to determine
hers, but she was very intelligent, and of a most affectionate
disposition. Nevertheless, she was always more or less distant with
civilians: it took me many years to worm myself into her good graces,
and I am almost certain that I was the only _pekin_ thus favoured. The
very word made her prick up her ears, show her teeth, and straighten her
tail as far as she could. For the appendage did not lend itself readily
to the effort; it was in texture like that of a colley or Pomeranian,
and twisted like that of a pug. Curiously enough, her objection to
civilians did not extend to the female portion, but the sight of a
blouse drove her frantic with rage. On such occasions, she had to be
chained up. As a rule, however, Brusca's manifestations, whether of
pleasure or the reverse, were uttered in a minor key and unaccompanied
by any change of position on her part. She mostly lay at the marshal's
feet, if she was not perched on the back of his chair, for Brusca was
not a large dog. She accompanied the marshal in his walks and drives,
she sat by his side at table, she slept on a rug at the foot of his bed.
Now and then she took a gentle stroll through the apartment, carefully
examining the dried plants and beetles. But one day, or rather one
evening, there was a complete change in her behaviour: it was at one of
the marshal's receptions, on the occasion of Emperor Francis-Joseph's
visit to Paris. Some of the officers of his Majesty's suite had been
invited, and at the sight of the, to her, once familiar uniforms her
delight knew no bounds. She was standing at the top of the landing when
she caught sight of them, and all those present thought for a moment
that the creature was going mad. As a matter of course, Brusca was not
allowed to come into the reception-rooms, but on that night there was no
keeping her out. Locked up in the marshal's bedroom, she made the place
ring with her barks and yells, and they had to let her out. With one
bound she was in the drawing-rooms, and for three hours she did not
leave the side of the Austrian officers. When they took their
departure, Brusca was perfectly ready, nay eager, to abandon her home
and her fond master for their sake, and had to be forcibly prevented
from doing so. The marshal did not know whether to cry or to laugh, but
in the end he felt ready to forgive Brusca for her contemplated
desertion of him in favour of her countrymen. Some one who objected to
the term got the snub direct. "Je maintiens ce que j'ai dit,
compatriotes; et je serais rudement fier d'avoir une compatriote comme
elle."
If possible, Brusca from that moment rose in the marshal's estimation;
she was a perfect paragon. "Cette chienne n'a pas seulement toutes les
qualites de son genre, elle n'a meme pas les vices de son sexe. Elle
m'aime tellement bien qu'elle ne veut etre distraite par aucun autre
amour. Elle vit dans le plus rigoureux celibat. La malheureuse," he said
every now and then, "elle a failli se compromettre."
In spite of the marshal's boast about Brusca's morals, he was one day
compelled to admit a faux pas on her part, and for some weeks the "vet"
had an anxious time for it. "Elle a mal tourne, mais que voulez-vous, je
ne vais pas l'abandonner." And when the crisis was over: "Son incartade
ne lui a pas porte bonheur. Esperons que la lecon lui profitera."
Brusca had her portrait painted by the "Michael-Angelo of dogs," Jadin,
and when it was finished the visitors were given an opportunity of
admiring it in the drawing-room, where it was on view for several
consecutive Tuesdays. After that, a great many of the marshal's
familiars, supposed to be capable of doing justice to Brusca's character
in verse, were appealed to, to write her panegyric, but though several
Academicians tried their hands, their lucubrations were not deemed
worthy to be inscribed on the frame of Brusca's portrait, albeit that
one or two--the first in Greek--were engrossed on vellum, and adorned
the drawing-room table. The effusion that did eventually adorn the frame
was by an anonymous author--it was shrewdly suspected that it was by the
marshal himself, and ran as follows:--
"Si je suis pres de lui, c'est que je le merite.
Revez mon sort brilliant; revez, ambitieux!
Du bien de mon maitre en ami je profite,
J'aimerais son pain noir s'il etait malheureux."
Another peculiarity of Marshal Vaillant was never to accept a letter not
prepaid or insufficiently paid. The rule was so strictly enforced, both
in his private and official capacity, that many a valuable report was
ruthlessly refused, and had to be traced afterwards through the various
post-offices of Europe.
Seven times out of ten the marshal, when travelling by himself, missed
his train. This would lead one to infer that he was unpunctual; on the
contrary, he was the spirit of punctuality. Unfortunately, he over-did
the thing. He generally reached the station half an hour or
three-quarters before the time, seated himself down in a corner, dozed
off, and did not wake up until it was too late. The marshal was a native
of Dyon; and at Nuits, situated between the former town and Beaune,
there lived a middle-aged spinster cousin whom he often went to visit.
He nearly always returned by the last train to Dyon, where he had his
quarters at the Hotel de la Cloche; and although often in the midst of a
pleasant family party, insisted upon leaving long before it was
necessary. As a matter of course, the station was in semi-darkness--for
Nuits is not a large place--and the booking-office was not open. One
night, it being very warm, he stretched himself leisurely on a grass
plot, instead of on the hard seat, and there he was found at six in the
morning; several trains had come and gone, but no one had dared to wake
him. "Mais, monsieur le marechal, on aurait cru vous manquer de respect
en vous eveillant. Apres tout, vous n'etes pas tout le monde, il y des
distinctions," said the stationmaster apologetically. "La mort et le
sommeil, monsieur," was the answer, "font table rase de toute
distinction." It was a French version of our "Death levels all:" the
marshal was fond of paraphrasing quotations, especially from the
English, of which he had a very fair knowledge, having translated some
military works many years before. However, from that day forth,
instructions were given to take no heed of his rank, and to awaken him
like any other mortal, rather than have him miss his train.
In fact, the marshal did not like to be constantly reminded of his rank;
if anything, he was rather proud of his very humble origin, and, instead
of hiding his pedigree like a good many parvenus, he took delight in
publishing it. I have seen a letter of his to some one who inquired on
the subject, not from sheer curiosity. "My grandfather was a silkmercer
in a small way on the place St. Vincent, at Dyon. His father had been a
coppersmith. I am unable to trace back further than that; my quarters of
nobility stop there. Let me add, at the same time, that there is no more
silly proverb than the one 'Like father like son.' My father died poor,
and respected by every one. I do not believe that he had a single enemy.
His friends called him Christ, he was so good and kind to everybody. I
am not the least like him. He was short and slim, I am rather tall and
stout; he was gentle, and people say that I am abrupt and harsh. In
short, he had as many virtues as I am supposed to have faults, and I am
afraid the world is not at all mistaken in that respect."
I, who knew him as well as most people, am afraid that the world was
very much mistaken. As a matter of course, the old soldier had many
faults, but his good qualities far outweighed the latter. He was modest
to a degree, and the flatteries to which men in his position are
naturally exposed produced not the slightest effect upon him. When in an
amiable mood, he used to cut them short with a "Oui, oui; le marechal
Vaillant est un grand homme, il n'y a pas de doute; tout le monde est
d'accord sur ce chapitre la, donc, n'en parlons plus." When not in an
amiable mood, he showed them the door, saying, "Monsieur, si je suis
aussi grand homme que vous le dites, je suis trop grand pour m'occuper
de vos petites affaires. J'ai l'honneur de vous saluer."
He was fond of his native town, one of whose streets bore or still bears
his name, though, according to all authorities, it never smelt sweet by
whatsoever appellation it went. But he objected to being lionized, so he
never stayed with the prefect, the maire, or the general commanding the
district, and simply took up his quarters at the hotel, insisting on
being treated like any other visitor. The maire respected his wishes;
the population did not, which was a sore point with the marshal.
Nevertheless, when, in 1858, during their Exhibition, they wanted him to
distribute the prizes, he consented to do so, on condition that his
reception should be of the simplest. The Dyonnais promised, and to a
certain extent kept their word. Next morning the prefect, accompanied by
the authorities, fetched him in his carriage. The ceremony was to take
place in the park itself, and at the entrance was posted General Picard,
accompanied by his staff, and at the head of several battalions. The
moment the marshal set foot to the ground, the general saluted, the
drums rolled, and the bands played. The marshal felt wroth, and at the
conclusion of the distribution sent for the general, whom, not to mince
matters, he roundly bullied.
General Picard did not interrupt him. "Have you finished, monsieur le
marechal?" he asked at last.
"Of course, I have finished."
"Very well; the next time you come out as a simple bourgeois, you had
better leave the grand cordon of the Legion of Honour at home. If I had
not saluted you as I did, I should have had the reprimand of the
minister of war, and of the chancellor of the Legion of Honour. After
all, I prefer yours."
"But I am the minister for war."
"I know nothing about that. I only saw an old gentleman with the grand
cordon. If you are the minister for war, perhaps you will be good enough
to tell Marechal Vaillant, when you see him, that he must not tempt old
soldiers like myself to forget their duty."
"You are right, general. But what a hot fiery lot these Dyonnais are,
aren't they?" Picard was a native of Dyon also.