“_my_ rank, Sir!”--At this moment he put his two hands into his side
pockets in a style that perfectly astonished the listener--“I am,
Sir--since you must know my rank--I am, Sir, MR. LEWIS, APOTHECARY
TO THE FORCES!”
“Indeed!” replied the stranger, “that rank, I presume, in taking
quarters is equivalent to a Lieutenant’s?”
“Yes, Sir, it is, Sir,” rejoined the Apothecary to the Forces; “and
now, Sir, let me ask you, Sir, what is _your_ rank, Sir?”
“The only difference between our respective ranks is this,” said
the stranger, “that you are Apothecary to the Forces;--I am
_Commander-in-Chief_ of the same forces; and now, Sir, I order you, to
be out of these quarters in half an hour!”
The tiny gentleman stared; and with the most polite and submissive
bow, (when he had recovered from the consternation into which the
explanation had thrown him,) pulled out his watch and said, “_Half
an hour?_ your lordship--_half an hour?_ that’s very short notice
indeed:--say _thirty-five_ minutes, and it shall be done.”
The Commander-in-Chief nodded assent, and laughing heartily, left the
little gentleman to take _his own time_ in removing.
THE HUSSAR AND THE COMMISSARY;
OR,
“MY COUSIN,” THE MARQUIS.
It is an even chance
That bridegrooms, after they are fairly _groom’d_,
May retrograde a little in the _dance_.
BYRON.
That “_a cobler should stick to his last_,” is a homely old saying, of
infinite worth, were men to act upon the spirit which it inculcates;
but, unfortunately, like many other wholesome things, it is too often
rejected as unpalatable, if not neglected altogether. The danger of
the infraction of this maxim, however, has been proved by men of every
grade, from the highest to the lowest--from Cobler Buonaparte down to
Cobler Cobbett--the one marched to Russia, and lost the world by it;
the other trudged to Windsor, and gained but a laugh for his pains.
Ambition is at the bottom of all this: that passion which killed alike
the Roman Cato and the London Daw. The one slew himself that he might
not witness his rival’s success; the other died of grief because
he could not bear to see his _walk_ upon the stage usurped by an
understrapper. Poor Daw had played for many years the fore leg of the
elephant in Blue Beard with _éclat_--he was the _original_ leg; and it
broke his heart to find himself thrown into the background, by being
obliged to take the _hind_,[12] instead of his foremost character. But
this is a digression; let us return to our adage--“A cobler should
stick to his last,” and proceed to an illustration of it in an affair
which happened at Lisbon, in 1813.
A Commissariat clerk was on duty in that city at this period, who
possessed a handsome wife. With his pay and allowances, amounting to
about 180_l._ a-year, he managed to live very comfortably, enjoying
the society of his brethren, and appearing, in every respect, a
gentleman. But, unfortunately for him, the British Ambassador, then at
Lisbon, (Lord Charles Stuart,) according to custom, gave periodical
balls; and what was still more unfortunate, these balls were open
to every respectable member of the army who might choose to attend.
Of this privilege the wife of the gentleman in question determined
to avail herself, and prevailed on her husband to accompany her.
Whether it required much persuasion to accomplish the consent of the
latter, is not known; but certain it is, that they both attended the
balls, and “turned out” in a style that would not have disgraced a
Commissary-general. Besides the expensive circle of acquaintance into
which this attendance at the Ambassador’s balls must necessarily
have led a _married_ man, another and greater evil soon and clearly
manifested itself. The Hussar brigade had then just arrived at
Lisbon, splendidly equipped; and, of course, its members figured as
the _lions_ of the ball-room. Amongst them was a noble Marquis, a
Captain, of elegant and insinuating manners, and remarkable for his
gallantry in the field--of Venus; for he had not yet essayed in that
of _Mars_,--and with the Commissariat gentleman’s wife the noble
Captain danced. Without entering into a philosophical examination of
the characters of women in general, let us assume, that few ladies,
who know how to properly esteem the pleasures of dancing in public,
could well have resisted the claims to admiration which a handsome
Hussar, decorated with a title, and a pair of scarlet trowsers, all
laced with gold, must have brought to his aid. The heroine of this page
proved her taste, and admired the Marquis, as every lady possessing her
susceptibility and her notions of the _beau ideal_, must have done.
It is natural to look favourably upon those who admire us. Admiration
possesses extraordinary procreative powers,--it even reproduces
itself. The Marquis and the Commissariat clerk’s wife became, on
the first night of their dancing together, familiar acquaintances;
nay, before the ball broke up, they were found to be _bona fide_
relations--absolute cousins-German, by the mother’s side! There is no
doubt--they _were_ cousins: the Marquis first traced the consanguinity,
the lady was delighted at the discovery, and the credulous husband
_believed it_! Many garrulous people, however, attempted to prove,
that this cousinship was only got up, to _cozen_ the Commissary,
between the noble dancer and the sympathetic _danseuse_.[13] Be that as
it may, both husband and wife felt highly honoured, as we have said, by
the discovery; and the former invited the Marquis, most pressingly, to
his quarters.
The noble relation became a frequent visitor, and the Commissary
spoke of his “_Cousin, the Marquis_,” to all his acquaintances with
exultation; nor was the lady backward in her civilities, for she
entertained her guest at dinner--at tea--at supper--at all things, and
at all times, within her power, in such a way, that the _cousins_ were
scarcely ever out of each other’s society.
In about three weeks after the cousinship commenced, the Hussars were
ordered up the country, to join the main body of the army, and the
Marquis remained a few days behind, for the purpose of--what? Why, of
making suitable arrangements to carry his fair _cousin_ with him to
the regiment, and away from the husband who had behaved so hospitably
towards _him_, and so indulgently to _her_!
The Marquis took her off to Santarem, where his regiment lay; but, to
the everlasting credit of that regiment, (which, by the by, has been so
roughly, and perhaps unjustly, handled by public opinion) the Marquis
was not permitted to join; for the facts of the _cozening_ had galloped
faster than the noble Captain’s horses, and the officers set their
faces against the affair. He was obliged to return to Lisbon, with
the companion of his trip; when, after some fruitless endeavours to
reconcile the disunited couple, he sent the lady to England, and thus
patched up the honour of his name with his regiment.
The unhappy husband at first took the matter to heart; but soon
overcame his feelings, and learned to despise both the wretched woman
and her paramour.
It is but fair to mention, however, that the Marquis was not so _much_
to blame as the lady in this transaction: he laid no siege for years,
nor even months, before the citadel--capitulation almost came with the
summons--the vanity of the woman was touched, and the spell awakened
all her evil passions. Her husband was a man of good sense, (although
in this instance he went “_beyond his last_;”) he possessed a good
person, agreeable manners, and an affectionate and sincere heart; yet
this wife left him for an acquaintance of an hour! Blame is always
readier to fall upon the _man_ than on the woman in affairs of this
kind, and often very unjustly,--in this case decidedly so; for although
the Marquis acted foolishly and rashly, in _taking the wife away_; yet
the woman was not worth a thought who could be thus won. However, the
only real sufferer, at present, is the unfortunate wife.
ALLEMAR AND ELLEN.
“Ah! why was ruin so attractive made?”
COLLINS.
Love is never so happy--so gay--so delightful--so fascinating, as when
he decorates himself in military trappings; and had his little godship
been consulted upon how his portrait ought to have been set forth by
the poets and the artists, I have no doubt but he would have directed
them to have pictured him in the dress of a soldier. He always has
delighted in camps and barracks; the clashing of arms sets his heart
into a glow, and the sound of the drum makes him flutter his wings like
a rising lark. Yet, with all this preference for the profession of
the sword, his happiness is seldom long-lived, and he is often--very
often, found weeping over his broken joys--or toys, as they may be--in
bitterness, as proportionately poignant as his pleasures were vivid.
For the truth of this, I appeal to the individuals of the British army
who have served with the little deity, and to those who are still
better judges--their sweethearts.
Amongst the many instances of romantic and unfortunate love which have
fallen under my observation in the service, is the case of a friend
of mine--a young officer of the **th regiment of infantry--to which
are attached circumstances so interesting, that I feel I shall not be
intruding on my readers in sketching a brief history of its light and
shade.
Without giving the real names of the parties, in doing which I should
not feel myself warranted, I will tell the story; and it will not, I
hope, lose its title to credence, by romantic substitutes. Let us then
call one Allemar, and the other Ellen.
Allemar was about four-and-twenty when he first saw Ellen: she was
not then quite sixteen; and although not altogether the “_angelic_”
and “_etherial_” beauty which he imagined her to be, and as which
his passionate language was wont to speak of her, yet was she a sweet
girl--such a girl as one, possessing her, would not be inclined to
change for another, although a thousand beauties were given him for
choice:--yellow-silky hair--fine expressive blue eyes--teeth like
ivory--middle size--shape like Venus herself:--gentle, yet acute in
thought; and as musical in her soul as the spheres are said to be in
their bodies. _He_ was a manly, open-hearted--and, what his companions
called--a good-looking fellow; but the ladies of his acquaintance (and
the ladies are the best judges in the world of such matters) all agreed
that he was irresistible amongst them--whether from his manliness of
person, his elegance of mind, or his suavity of manners; or whether
from the happy combination of these three qualifications, I am not
prepared to say--but certain it is that he was “the man for the ladies.”
When first he marched into the town of ***** in his light-infantry
dress, on the flank of his company, the band merrily playing, and the
sun brightly glistening on his accoutrements, _I ween_--as bards
say--he disturbed many a quiet heart, and kept many bright eyes from
sleeping so well as they before had been accustomed to do. The regiment
was covered with white dust, and the summer’s sun gave the countenances
of the men a fresh and ruddy appearance. When the officers retired to
the inn, and were lounging at its parlour windows, out of the many
beautiful females who passed and repassed, (for ladies have always a
deal of out-door work to do--such as visiting, shopping, &c.--on the
day a new regiment marches into a town,) few did not look kindly on my
friend Allemar. I witnessed their glances, and, to do the dear angelic
beings justice, they expressed their meaning in the most mistressly
manner.
However, Ellen was not amongst them; nor did Allemar meet with her
until two months after his arrival at ****. He was, however, not
unknown to _her_, although she was completely so to him: she seldom
passed a day without seeing him, and with each sight increased her
disposition to see him again. At length, they were introduced to each
other at the house of a mutual acquaintance; and from that hour they
were never happy asunder. Their opportunities of meeting were, at
first, not very frequent, owing to the prudent vigilance of her widowed
mother and a dragon of an old maiden relation, who had little else to
do but attend to Ellen’s morals: however, Allemar was fortunate enough
to attract the kind notice of this antique virgin, and therefore found
his opportunities of conversing with his beloved increase. I have
often been present when they met during a rural walk, and from what
I witnessed in the ancient lady’s manner towards my friend, I have
no doubt that she regarded him with a tenderness wholly incompatible
with their relative ages. And so changed, too, in her general
demeanour!--From a stiff, cold, sour, puritanical Duenna, she, all on a
sudden, was transformed into a giggling, foolish, taudry-dressed flirt.
Instead of an umbrella she now carried a yellow parasol; and although
seldom without clogs of a moist day before, now ambled in blue-satin
shoes. Her conversation, too, was now on the beautiful tints of the
clouds--the varieties and fragrance of the flowers--illustrating her
opinions by quotations from Darwin’s “Loves of the Plants.” She would
sigh as she spoke to Allemar of the happiness of true friendship, and
the sweets of retirement with those “we _esteemed_!”--There is no
doubt of it--she _was_ in love with him, and this love was very nigh
proving the means of depriving poor Allemar of his Ellen for ever; for
when she found that her hints, and her sighs, and her languishes, were
all thrown away upon him, and that he was not only the lover, but the
beloved of her beautiful relation, she turned out the most terrible
of all she dragons that ever opened a mouth. But enough of her, let
her go to the--the place to which all superannuated maids must go at
last:--she has nothing more to do with my story--so _adieu_!
Allemar and Ellen met, and met again;--they walked together by the
moonlight, and parted often as the day peeped over them--they loved
truly, passionately, virtuously:--they seemed made for each other;
and to have divided such would have been the scathing of all that is
divine in love--the destruction of all that such lovers value more than
existence itself.
However, they were obliged to separate; but not without a hope of
meeting again. Allemar’s regiment was ordered to march for Portugal;
and as Ellen’s friends were not disposed to let her marry at that
time--even had Allemar received the consent of his--it was agreed upon
between the lovers, that they should wait a more favourable opportunity
of uniting in matrimony: at the same time, pledging each other to
eternal faith in love.
It was in May the regiment received the route; and Allemar passed the
night previous to marching in sweet converse with his beloved Ellen.
What a romantic night! Let the reasoner say what he will--let the
philosopher prate with his cold tongue--there is nothing of more real
worth to the heart than the sweets of early love;--and the hour of
parting between two true and virtuous lovers is a melancholy pleasure,
perhaps equalling in tender delight their happiest meeting. It was a
beautiful night--there was not a breath of wind; and the moon, shining
brightly down, threw a fairy light over the whole scene.
On this night, as the clock struck twelve, the enthusiastic and
romantic Allemar stood under Ellen’s window, in the orchard which
was beneath it, and with his enchanting voice, accompanied by an old
harper--such as we read of in romance--and a “_second_” from me,
serenaded his Beloved. The harp was a small one, but well-toned;--the
harper was a fine bass singer--a man whose pupil in music Allemar
was--and I, although but an indifferent vocalist, made up the trio. The
scene--the time--the music--the circumstance of parting--all conspired
to impress me with an idea of a romantic dream, the memory of which can
never leave me. These are the words of the
SERENADE.
I.
LOVER.
(_Two Voices._)
Sweet maid, arise!--
Yon high bright moon,
Love’s light, alone,
Shines like thy beauty in the deep blue skies.
The winds are gone to rest;
The heavens all silent watch for thee--
This hour--this hour is blest--
Oh! haste--come down to me!
HARPER.
(_Bass--One Voice._)
I see the light, and the lattice moves,
And her dark eye looks for the youth she loves--
Sing on--sing on!
Though the harper’s old, yet the harp he bears
Has the fire of youth, for the lovers’ prayers--
Sing on--sing on--sing on!
TRIO.
Sweet love, arise!--
Yon high bright moon,
Love’s light, alone,
Shines like thy beauty in the deep blue skies.
II.
LOVER.
(_Two Voices._)
Far, far away,
Yon high bright moon
Soon, sweetest, soon
Shall gaze down between us, o’er the wide wide sea.
She waits our fond farewell,
That when I’m miles and miles from thee,
She many a night may tell
Of this sweet hour to me.
HARPER.
(_Bass--One Voice._)
Didst see the maid, and her hand so white,
As she kissed it to thee, in the soft moonlight?
Good night--good night!
She comes--she comes!--and I hear her tread--
Oh, happiest youth!--oh, happiest maid!
Good night! good night! good night!
TRIO.
Far, far away,
Yon high bright moon
Soon, sweetest, soon
Shall gaze down between us, o’er the wide wide sea.
The regiment marched at sunrise; and my friend with it. He went
to Portugal, but returned at the end of the year on sick leave
(_love_-sick leave, no doubt), and was happily married to his Ellen.
They lived together for six months; when Allemar was obliged to join
his regiment, then stationed before Bayonne; and as every body expected
an immediate peace, the friends of Ellen wished her to remain at home,
hoping that when the war was at an end, her husband’s regiment would
be ordered back to England. However, when Allemar had been but a month
gone, the mother of Ellen died. As soon as her feelings for the loss of
her beloved parent had subsided into calm, she determined to proceed
to join her husband--the only being now in whose society she could be
happy. For this purpose, she wrote to him, and having arranged every
thing for her departure, she, and a female servant, were provided with
a passage on board a commodious transport for St. Jean De Luz, and
sailed with a fair wind for the Bay of Biscay.
The letter she wrote to apprize her husband of her intention, breathed
for him the most passionate affection; and it was certainly not thrown
away upon Allemar: his love for her was, if possible, greater than
hers for him. He was like a moping hypochondriac at Bayonne, before
he received this letter; but immediately on its receipt, became the
most lively, spirited, and pleasant officer in the corps. He and I
have often walked along the beach, looking out for the expected ship
and the scenes of happiness which he anticipated formed the subject
generally of our conversation--he talked of going on half-pay if peace
should take place, and to live a rural life--then he would describe,
in glowing terms, the happiness of contentment and retirement, in
comparison with the ambition, toil, and peril, of a soldier’s life.
These and such were the dreams of fancy, in which we used to indulge,
when wandering by the sea-side.
About a fortnight after he had received the letter announcing his
wife’s resolution to join him, the weather became very stormy; and
one morning, after breakfast, Allemar came to me with an expression of
anxiety in his face, which he could not disguise: he seemed cold, and
was endeavouring to check, by internal efforts, a certain trembling
which was evident all over his frame. I asked him what was the matter.
He replied, that a fleet of transports were in sight, and as it blew
so violently, great fear was entertained by the pilots, with whom he
had spoken, that many of them would be driven on shore; for in such
weather, to make the port was impossible. I saw how things were, but I
consoled my friend as much as I possibly could, by seeming to laugh at
the idea of such danger.
We hastened down to the beach, and there joined a group of navy
officers, French pilots, fishermen, &c., whose remarks upon the
vessels in the offing were such as to give rise to the most serious
apprehensions in me for the safety of my friend’s wife, should she
be so unfortunate as to have come on board one of the ships then
struggling with an increasing tempest on a lee-shore. I pitied my
friend from my heart, when I looked at his face and saw the workings
of his feelings there so strongly depicted.
He would not move from the beach the whole day, except occasionally
to make inquiries in the town of St. Jean de Luz, as to the means
of assistance to be rendered the vessels in case of necessity. By
his field-glass he often fancied he saw the letters which marked the
transport in which his Ellen sailed, and was as often set right by
me. The vessel in which she took her passage, was marked A. Z. T., in
letters of two feet in length; and the glass nearly dropped from my
hand, when I perceived the identical letters on the quarter of a brig
which had been all the morning nearly out of sight, but now approached
the land. I could not tell my friend of what I saw; but he too soon
confirmed my discovery, and clasping his hands in the most intense
agony of mind, cried out, “It _is_ the ship--O God, protect her!”
We hastened to the port, where my friend, half distracted, called on
the boatmen to go out; but the answer was, that they did not think any
of the ships would go aground; and also that the sea was too rough for
boats. However, by the means of gold, he persuaded a couple of hardy
and brave French fishermen to attempt the assistance of the ship, in
which he believed his wife then to be. The boat in which they were to
put off for the transport was as large as the Deal boats, and with
Deal smugglers on board, might “live” through any sea: great hopes,
therefore, were entertained that the fisherman would be successful.
My friend insisted on going along with them, and when he was about to
step into the boat he handed me his keys; then shaking me heartily by
the hand, gave me to understand what he dared not speak--nor, indeed,
could I have heard--without exhibiting a woman’s weakness. As it was,
we were not far from it--a word would have unmanned us.
The boat bounded away from the harbour over the high surges, shaping
her course well for her object; and considering that she had to beat
to windward, she made wonderful progress: however, it was four o’clock
ere she got within half a mile of the vessel. The tempest was now
increasing frightfully--the worn out transports seemed as if they were
giving up the ghost to the overwhelming storm--none carried more
canvass than topsails close reefed, and the opinion of every one on the
beach was, that all would be wrecked if the weather did not change.
It was getting dark: I saw the boat labouring amidst the hills of
foaming water, and the ship was within hail of her. It darkened:--we
could see no more of either boat or ships; and could only ascertain
what direction they were in by the flashes of the occasional guns of
distress which some of them fired. It was a sickening sight. I knew not
what to do:--I _could_ do nothing--except, indeed, offer up my prayers
for the safety of the poor souls that were hurling over the frightful
abyss of horrors.[14]
Guns were repeated and repeated; but no assistance could those on shore
render the ships. I was bewildered;--I wandered home--back again--lay
down--arose restless--watched the daylight; and then was the horrid
reality:--the ship had gone to pieces; so had the boat--my dear
friend, and all his dream of happiness, gone! Not a being either in the
ship or boat was saved, and the bodies of Allemar and Ellen were washed
on shore about a mile below St. Jean de Luz.
This catastrophe has since caused me many painful reflections. The
manner in which the lovers met and died in the tempest, was before my
eyes night and day for a long time after it happened: indulging in
these melancholy thoughts, I drew the following imaginative picture of
their fate:--