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THE TRUE STORY OF COMMANDANT

LIÈVRE

By Molly Elliot Seawell

ILLUSTRATIONS BY L. MARCHETTI

ANK and fortune are everything. That I know, not from having them, but from the want of them. To cast a man upon the world with nothing but merit is like throwing him headlong into a den of tigers with a wooden sword to defend himself. If I knew how to use a pen as well as I know how to use a carbine, I could make this much clearer, but the plain recital of what I have done and suffered will be a convincing argument that what I say is true.

I was born in the town of Marne, while my father was there on conscript service. He was a man of sense and of spirit, and lost his life-how do you think? In a quarrel with a brother officer over a dancing dog! My mother, poor soul, soon followed him into the other country. I had a great-uncle in Marne, a notary, and I was about to say that he fed and clothed me until my sixteenth year-but let that pass. He kept me from starving, and I was never arrested for being in rags.

I think I could have stood my hard fare and thin jacket better if I had not seen at intervals the little Marquis de Ravenel the handsomest youngster imaginable, a younger and slighter boy than I, always galloping over the country on his pony, and a regular little prince thereabout, for he was the heir of the splendid château on the hill. He stood for me as the embodiment of youth and happiness. He was a fiery little fellow, and would fly into rages with his tutor and his grooms, and even his horses and dogs; and I remember seeing him one day on the highway, in a gust of temper, swearing like a pirate and wanting to fight a groom twice his size, who ran away laughing, but looked frightened too. Oh, how I longed to be like that little Marquis!

My uncle did not think I had the capacity for the profession of the long robe; and God knows if I had the capacity, I had not the taste, for I meant to be a soldier. My uncle determined to make me apprentice to an apothecary. We argued the point, and my uncle brought a clinching argument to bear on me in the end-he put me on bread and water. I stood it stoutly for exactly nine hours— but hunger is a creditor who will not be put off with promises to pay—so, next morning, I was busy at pounding drugs in a mortar. I pounded industriously for about an hour, thinking all the time what a shabby trade was drug-pounding compared with soldiering, and my reflections brought me to the point of resolving that if ever I engaged systematically in the business of killing my fellow-men, I would at least give them an equal chance with myself—in short, I concluded to run away and enlist. Having thus determined, I sneaked out of the apothecary's shop, and without going through the formality of asking my uncle's consent, I made for the high-road at the top of my speed.

Never shall I forget that day. It was at the beginning of May, and not ten thousand poets could describe its beauty, or the rapture it inspired in my breast; so, being a plain soldier, please excuse me from trying to tell of it. By hook and by crook, with the assistance of a few francs I had, I managed, next day, to reach the little town where the conscript depot was, and just as the officer in charge was about shutting up his bureau for the night, I presented myself. Now, being under eighteen, I had been wondering how I would get in the army, and had gloomily determined that it would be my fate to enlist as a drummer; but one look on the officer's part at my height and

figure showed me he meant to have me. I may say, now that I am as yellow as a kite's foot, with my face embroidered by several sabre cuts from Kabyle swords, with the rheumatism all over me, and one knee as stiff as iron, that I was a stalwart fellow at sixteen.

"Eighteen, did you say?" said the officer, taking down his book. I had said nothing, but I was put down as eighteen. The Sergeant who took me into another room and examined me, as a butcher examines a bullock, would not have let me go for a hundred francs; and so, before I slept that night, I was enlisted in the forty-third regiment of the line. So came to an end the first epoch of my life and so opened the second.

I would like to tell all that happened in the next twelve years, but I perceive that when one is writing about one's self the smallest particulars appear important, and if one put down all that appear interesting, a hundred books could be written in each life. I shall, therefore, only say that I early perceived my fate was in my own hands. The system of conscription has this advantage, that it brings one into contact with all classes of people; and the fact that there must be a separation of classes among the enlisted men, opens a door to those, like myself, who wish to make an honorable place in the world; and when my term of enlistment was up, I saw myself, at twenty-one, a sub-lieuten

ant.

Perhaps, if I had known the agonies of trying to live upon my pay, my heart might have failed at the last moment. My regiment was commonly known in the army as the Misers-there were so many poor men in it that our brother officers affected to believe that we were saving up millions. Occasionally, one of us made a good marriage; but immediately on making it the lucky man would either resign from the army altogether, or get a transfer to some other regiment. And thus we remained the Misers, that is, enduring all the penury of the miser, without his substantial gains.

Let it not be supposed that I spent all my youth in the pursuit of virtue and knowledge. Unluckily, no. But as I know that I can never bring myself to relate exactly all the faults, the follies, the

rebuffs, the disappointments I suffered, so will I pass over them in silence-but I had my share-I had my share. One, however, I will admit. I was fool enough, and found a man willing to co-operate with me in folly, to get in debt two thousand francs. When I tell you that I learned to like horse-flesh before I paid that money, perhaps it will be understood what I suffered. I was very lonely. I was too poor to have friends; even too poor to have enemies. At last my debt was paid; and on the very day that I had got my release, and was feeling as happy as a king, I fell into another snare, more terrible, more hopeless-I fell in love.

We were then stationed at St. Quentin. The town is well known. I came across an account of it written in 1783, and I own that it might be written in this year of 1845—so little has it changed—even to the promenades on the grass-grown ramparts. It was on a June evening, walking on those green ramparts, that I met Renée Dufour. She was the daughter of the new Commandant, General Dufour. From the first moment that Renée's eyes met mine, it was all up with Pierre Lièvre.

I saw her often. Her father was very kind to me, and so was her old aunt, who was supposed to act a mother's part toward Renée. And Renée was very, very kind to me.

I will not attempt to describe her, but I cannot forbear mentioning the soft splendor of her eyes and the exquisite slenderness of her figure. She was not strictly beautiful-I believe the women of overpowering fascinations never are-but I will say no more.

Once there was to be a great military ball. I had not thought of going, but Renée asked me to go, and that was enough.

It was a very magnificent ball. The night was glorious, and the moon and stars looked down on a vast illuminated place, where fountains played, and music swelled and died, and the breath of roses ascended. The coup d'œil of the ball-room was splendid. At the top of the room stood General Dufour, a soldierly man with his breast covered with decorations-none of your time-of-peace decorations, but all earned by hard knocks—and at his side stood Renée, smiling and palpitating with

pleasure. I danced with her once, and afterward I fancied her eyes followed me pretty steadily; but I dismissed the thought as one only fit for a vain fool. I stood about, scarcely knowing anyone, except my brother officers, who were busily engaged. I felt that divine elation with which every human soul greets Love, the conqueror. I saw Renée dancing with the younger officers, promenading with the older men, whom she seemed to bewitch. I had no eyes for anything but her. Finding myself close to General Dufour after awhile, he turned as if to speak to me. The next moment he seemed stricken dumb, uttered a slight groan, put his hand to his head, and fell forward. I caught him in my arms. His daughter must have seen it, for she ran forward. At the first look she turned to me and gasped : "Get a priest."

There were plenty of military surgeons at hand in a moment. I slipped out, ran to the house of a curé opposite, hauled him out of bed, and had him at the door of the ball-room in ten minutes. I looked in, and saw at the head of the room General Dufour lying on a sofa, his daughter kneeling by him on one side, a surgeon on the other. The group was directly under the gallery of the musicians, who, mute and awe-stricken as the gayly dressed crowd below, sat motionless, holding their instruments. There was a slight commotion, and the surgeon said, in a clear voice: "He wishes a priest."

I caught the surgeon's eye at that moment, and opening the door wider, he saw the curé about to enter. He whispered something to the dying man and then to the girl. Renée raised her eyes as I advanced slowly, ahead of the curé. He carried, wrapped in a veil, the sacred pyx. At the sight all present fell on their knees; and from the musicians' gallery, as if by inspiration, came the celestial thrilling of the violins in the Stabat Mater. The strains, ineffably sweet and solemn, filled the vast hall, as the curé walked, with bent head, toward the dying man. The offices were soon over, and as the curé was reading the prayer for the dying, Renée said, softly:

"He is gone."

She was a soldier's daughter, and she walked bravely and quietly out of the room

on the surgeon's arm. I followed her without my own volition. There were others with me. The General's carriage was drawn up at the bottom of the marble She turned as she reached the head of the stairs, and, looking at me, managed to say:

"I thank you all. I thank the curé and Lieutenant Lièvre."

Never shall I forget the expression of her face, as she stood for a moment, the lamplight and the starlight falling upon her bare head, in her white gown, with a white mantle dropping off her beautiful white neck.

Next morning a great piece of good fortune befell me. I was ordered, with a part of my regiment, to Algiers. I call it good fortune, for I could have no peace near Renée Dufour, and it was a thousand times better for me to be far away from her, where I could neither see her nor hear her name. Before I left St. Quentin for good, I wrote her a very respectful note; and after some weeks, when I was at Toulon, I got a reply from her. It was brief-but just the kind of sweet, sincere thing that she might be expected to write. Like a fool, I imagined something in it—a word or two which indicated a continuing interest in me; but I soon saw the folly of such vain imaginings. That very night, at mess, General Dufour's death being mentioned, Captain Duval-Choisy, a steady, reliable fellow, said he supposed that Mademoiselle Dufour's marriage with the Marquis de Ravenel would follow soon. He had heard on good authority that the Marquis, a handsome, dashing young man, with nothing against him but a rather hasty temper, was always with her now, with the consent of her relations. This gave me a great deal of pleasure. What a fitting match for her! Youth, love-for she had no fortune-rank, and wealth. And de Ravenel must be a fine fellow; a hasty temper was nothing. I was in such spirits with this news that I ordered champagne, and laughed and talked more gayly than ever before in my life. I even tried to sing, and I have no more voice than a crow. I took my gayety with me to my quarters, and sat up looking at a black and starless sky, and listening to a restless night-wind until near daylight, all

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the time rejoicing at Renée's good fortune. What a thing it was for a man to be well born and rich! I was neither.

It was in May, 1830, that with a part of my regiment-the Misers-I was ordered to embark on board the Diadème, ship of the line, at Toulon. There were in round numbers thirty-five thousand men engaged in that first great African expedition. I remember that everything was done to inspire us with enthusiasm, but it was not in the Bourbons to inspire soldiers. And when the poor old Duc d'Angoulême came down to review ussuch a melancholy, cadaverous, croaking, tongue-tied, lantern-jawed, megrim-haunted creature never was seen - the men laughed at him, and the officers swore at him, under the rose. It was frightfully depressing when he undertook to make us a speech. There was Marshal Marmont -I happened to see him in the Duc's suite when that speech was made and I thought the old soldier would have died of disgust. The Duc told us that none of us would come back, advised us to settle our worldly affairs, and make our peace with Heaven. The men looked

VOL. XXII.-19

quite blue when they were marched back to their quarters, and the officers felt bluer still. It is a very terrible thing to begin a campaign in bad spirits. Soldiers are apt to die when they are in bad spirits. Some of us remembered what the Emperor had said concerning the Duc's wife-she was "the only man in the family "--but we dared not speak of this, for any mention of the Emperor always affected the army deeply, and the authorities, very properly, ordered us to keep silent on the subject of Napoleon. The Bourbons were in a bad way with the army after the Revolution. They might forbid us to talk of Napoleon, but we only thought of him the more-and we forced them to bring his ashes back to us before many years.

We were to embark on May 11th, and ten days beforehand two of our sub-lieutenants were obliged to be sent to the hospital-one to have his leg cut off, the other raving with fever. Two more had to be drafted into our battalion immediately, and one was the Marquis de Ravenel, from a crack lancers regiment. Although myself only a few grades ahead of him in rank, I happened to be the senior officer present

when he reported. The others all had wives and families to say farewell to I, alas! had no one.

He was as handsome, as dashing, as ever. How admirably would he suit with Renée Dufour! We had a very pleasant conversation, and the next morning, when the battalion was about to be paraded before me, I admired him more than ever. The men were drawn up under some trees on the edge of the town-we were encamped instead of being in barracks-and I was they certainly appeared very well. about to compliment de Ravenel upon the smart appearance of his men, when, as he approached, I saw that he was pale with rage he looked as he did that day, so many years before, when I had seen him raving with the groom in the high-road. And this is what he said to me-his superior officer:

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He spoke in a low voice, and I, staggered for a moment, replied in the same low tone:

"M. le Marquis, return to your quarters and consider yourself under arrest."

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As quick as a flash he raised his sword, and gave me a swinging blow over my head with the hilt, and I knew no more. I did not know anything for several days. When I recovered consciousness I was in a hospital ward, and Duval-Choisy was sitting by me. I said to him, with an effort: Do you think de Ravenel will be shot?" "He is shot already," answered DuvalChoisy, bluntly, "and by his own pistol, too-that is to say, it is so given out-but let me tell you, my dear Lièvre, although de Ravenel's body and the smoking pistol were smuggled out, I have grave doubts whether he is not just as much alive as you or I. His family are powerful at court, and royalists are not shot nowadays-there are not enough of them to be rashly disposed of. So don't trouble yourself about de Ravenel."

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General Dufour lying on a sofa, his daughter kneeling by him on one side, a surgeon

on the other.-Page 184.

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