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 — NapolÉon 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 rÉgime — 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. VÉron'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 MoliÈre, 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 rÔle, 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-MarÉchal du Palais; it was equally true that he could not do much. NapolÉon 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, NapolÉon 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-NapolÉon'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 dÉrangÉ du tout: il n'avait qu'À ne pas venir, ce que du reste, il a fait," said Vaillant; then he added, "Mais, mÊme, si je consentais À donner raison au prince de mon offense imaginaire, je ne me battrai pas À quatre heures de l'aprÈs-midi; donc, il aurait À se dÉranger; 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 NapolÉon 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 rÉvision by means of the prÉfet, 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 rÉvision—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 AcadÉmie, 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 rÉgime 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 stigmatisÉ. 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'AngoulÊme 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 pÉkin 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 qualitÉs de son genre, elle n'a mÊme pas les vices de son sexe. Elle m'aime tellement bien qu'elle ne veut Être distraite par aucun autre amour. Elle vit dans le plus rigoureux cÉlibat. 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 tournÉ, mais que voulez-vous, je ne vais pas l'abandonner." And when the crisis was over: "Son incartade ne lui a pas portÉ bonheur. EspÉrons que la leÇon 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 prÈs de lui, c'est que je le mÉrite.
RÊvez mon sort brilliant; rÊvez, ambitieux!
Du bien de mon maÎtre en ami je profite,
J'aimerais son pain noir s'il Était 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 HÔtel 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 marÉchal, on aurait cru vous manquer de respect en vous Éveillant. AprÈs tout, vous n'Êtes 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 marÉchal Vaillant est un grand homme, il n'y a pas de doute; tout le monde est d'accord sur ce chapitre lÀ, 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 marÉchal?" 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 MarÉchal 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.