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niece lost only a single volume of a very beautiful library. This incident does as much honor to the inhabitants of that French province as to the memory of the marshal.

A position of the most fatal kind, and far beyond the political intelligence of the brave Ney, opened under his feet an abyss into which he fell; but his glory was not buried with him. He left Paris with the firm determination to drive Napoleon far from the soil of France, because he believed that his return would light up a civil war, the name of which alone filled the hero with terror. His activity, his expressions on receiving the orders of the king, were strong and sincere. Ney changed his opinion when he saw entire populations running after the footsteps of Napoleon, and when he learned that the brother of the king and Marshal Macdonald had left Lyons, as the army refused to obey either the prince or the general. His change of conduct was confirmed when the insurgent peasants took from him ten pieces of cannon, which were all the artillery his army corps possessed. Finally, when he learned that 20,000 soldiers had united themselves to the imperial eagles under the orders of Napoleon, who had already advanced forty leagues on the road to Paris, that same horror of civil war, that same love of country, and that opinion that it was his duty to defend his country by uniting himself to that one who was its chief by the will of the land or the voice of the people, decided him to follow Napoleon and to unite with him. He joined him at Auxerre, at the hotel of the prefecture where Gamot was. There he sent to Napoleon a declaration, the first words of which were: "I am your prisoner rather than your partizan. If you continue to govern tyrannically,>> etc. M. Gamot heard the marshal read that singular protest before sending it to Napoleon. Unfortunately, he kept neither a memorandum nor a copy of it. That paper would have figured nobly in the trial of the brave man. Napoleon read it, and with the calm air that supreme power taught him so well to adopt, tore the paper into small pieces, and said simply, «The brave Ney is deranged.»

A sincerity, unwisely combined, directed all the actions of this brave man, so much to be regretted and so much regretted. His conduct would have deprived him of all favor with the emperor, and caused his fall under the Bourbons. A mind the first impulse of which had been for the republican virtues and the love of France could not bind itself to the political measures of the old government and

to the destruction of that national glory to which he had himself contributed.

These lines which I now trace have this much of interest, that they are a faithful recital of the interviews that I had with the marshal in his prison of the Conciergerie. He relied much upon the treaty of Paris, which gave pardon and immunity to military and civil misdemeanors. He deceived himself.

of the wife of Ney, who was married to M. Charles [In another place, after speaking of the sister Gamot, Mme. Campan says:]

At the first return of the king, he [Gamot] had been provided with the prefecture of the Department of Yonne, of which the residence is at Auxerre. Napoleon, upon his inconceivable and imposing return of March 20, 1815, passed through Auxerre. Anaide-de-camp preceded him, and ordered the prefect Gamot to prepare everything in his residence to receive the emperor, which he did. When Louis XVIII returned to France, Gamot was removed, and came near being proscribed and deprived of the pension granted to all the reformed prefects. He distinguished himself in his misfortunes by the touching consolation he gave to his illustrious brother-in-law in his prison at the terrible moment that deprived France of a hero so much regretted. He hastened to the fatal spot and threw himself upon the sad remains of that brave man who had fallen while sending heavenward his last patriotic cry, «Vive la France!» Gamot himself washed the bloody wounds, and rendered Ney those last duties that France in tears should have bestowed upon a hero who had so gloriously served her.


[From a recent volume entitled « Le Maréchal Ney, 1815," by Henri Melschinger, I have translated the following narrative of the execution of Ney.]

WHEN the Abbé de Pierre arrived, the marshal said to him: «Ah! M. le Curé, I understand you. I am ready.»> The Count de Rochechouart and two lieutenants of gendarmes, preceded and followed by gendarmes and grenadiers, with the clerk Cauchy, left the chamber. . . . It was Tuesday. The day was gloomy; a light rain was falling from a dense gray mist. «An abominable day,» said the marshal, with a natural smile. Then, as the Abbé de Pierre stepped aside to let him pass, «Get in, M. le Curé,» said he, gaily; «presently I will get out first.»> The two lieutenants got into the carriage

with the priest and the condemned; the gendarmes and the grenadiers surrounded the carriage doors before and behind the wheels. Then there came with the Count de Roche

chouart and the Marquis de la Rochejaquelin on horseback a company of veteran subofficers, the platoon of execution, and a picket of the National Guard. A squadron of the National Guard closed the cortège. The carriage followed the alley that lies on the left side of the palace, and the alley of the large nurseries, to the gate of the Observatory. . . . Three hundred feet from the garden gate the carriage stopped. «What, arrived so soon!» observed the marshal, who believed the execution would take place, like that of Labédoyère, in the plain of Grenelle.

He descended first, as he had said; then, turning toward the Abbé de Pierre, who followed him, he gave him a gold box, his last souvenir to the maréchale, and for the poor of the parish of St. Sulpice some louis that he had left. The Abbé de Pierre embraced him, blessed him, threw himself on his knees some distance away, and remained there in prayer until all was over. The troops were formed in a hollow square. Ney advanced in front of the platoon of execution, who held their guns in the position of ready arms. He asked the adjutant Saint-Bias how he should place himself. In compliance with the orders of l'Espinois, Saint-Bias wished to bandage his eyes and place him on his knees. The marshal repelled this as a man who for twentyeight years had seen bullets and balls flying toward him without flinching. «Do you not know, sir, that a soldier does not fear death? » he said. He then took four steps forward, "and there," says Rochechouart, who watched the execution from the back of his horse, «in an attitude that I shall never forget, it was so noble, calm, and dignified, without any nervousness, he took off his hat, and, profiting by the moment that the adjutant gave him while stepping to one side and giving the signal to fire, he pronounced these few words, which I heard very distinctly: Frenchmen, I protest against my condemnation. My honor At these last words, as he placed his hand on his heart, the shots were heard. He fell dead. He fell forward, having received eleven bullets out of the twelve: one in his right arm, one in his neck, three in his head, six in his stomach.>>

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While the body of the marshal lay exposed

upon the ground, guarded by pickets of infantry and cavalry, the clerk Cauchy prepared the following report:

minutes past nine in the morning, the underThis seventh day of December, 1815, at twenty tary of the Chamber of Peers, performing, in signed, Louis-François Cauchy, recording secrepursuance of an ordinance of the King of the 12th of November last, the functions of clerk of the said Chamber, went to the place of the Observatory designated for the execution of the sentence rendered yesterday by the Chamber of Peers against Michel Ney, marshal of France, expeer of France, more fully described in the said sentence by which he was condemned to the scribed by the decree of May 12, 1793. The penalty of death applicable in the manner preexecution has taken place in our presence and in the form prescribed. In proof of which we have signed this at Paris, the day and year aforesaid.


According to an official report two hundred persons were present at the execution. The people kept a mournful silence, or broke out into murmurs. A man came and dipped his handkerchief in the blood of the marshal.1 The wall which was in course of construction and the débris were soon covered with his blood. The eager crowd pressed forward to obtain the least traces.

After the execution the body of the marshal, by the order of General de l'Espinois, remained exposed on the ground during a quarter of an hour, while the Abbé de Pierre, still upon his knees at some paces distant, continued to pray.

The quarter-hour of exposure being ended, the body was transported to the Hospital of the Maternity, the curé of St. Sulpice walking at the head of the procession. Sisters of charity watched all night over the marshal. A great number of people of mark, says a police report, came to see the body of the marshal-peers, generals, officers, ambassadors. These peers of France, his judges, dared to mingle with strangers and a crowd, curious to contemplate their victim, to assure themselves of his death, and to enjoy his punishment. More than five hundred Englishmen came to see the dead body, says another report. A soldier of the National Guard said to them, «But, gentlemen, you must have seen him in Spain.» A veteran added, "You did not look at him like that at Waterloo.»

'From the national archives, F. 6683.

G. C. G.


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• Mrs Humphry Ward

Author of "Robert Elsmere" "The History of David Grieve"
"Marcella" etc




[ULLO! Are you come back?» The speaker was George Tressady. He was descending the steps of his club in Pall Mall, and found his arm caught by Naseby, who had just dismissed his hansom outside. «I came back last night. Are you going homeward? I'll walk across the square with you.»

The two men turned into St. James's Square, and Naseby resumed:

«Yes; we had a most lively campaign. Maxwell spoke better than I ever heard him.">

<<The speeches have been excellent reading, too. And you had good meetings?»>

«Splendid! The country is rallying, I can tell you. The North is now strong for Maxwell and the bill-or seems to be.»

«Just as we are going to kick it out in the House! It's very queer; for no one could tell a month ago how the big towns were going, and it looked as though even London were deserting them.>>

« A mere wave, I think. At least, I'll bet you anything they'll win this Stepney election. Shall we get the division on the hours clause to-morrow? »

<< They say so.">

«If you know your own interests, you'll hurry up," said Naseby, shining. «The country is going against you.»

<< I imagine Fontenoy has got his eye on the country. He's been letting the Socialists. talk nonsense till now to frighten the steadygoing old fellows on the other side, or putting up our men to mark time. But I saw yesterday there was a change.»>

«Between ourselves, has n't he been talking a good deal of nonsense on his own account? >>

Naseby threw a glance of laughing inquiry at his companion. George shrugged his shoulders in silence. It had become matter of public remark during the last few days that Fontenoy was beginning at last to show the strain of the combat-that his speeches were growing hysterical and his rule a tyranny. His most trusted followers were now to be heard grumbling in private over certain aspects of his bearing in the House. He had come into damaging collision with the Speaker on one or two occasions, and had made here and there a blunder in tactics which seemed to show a weakening of selfcommand. Tressady, indeed, knew enough to wonder that the man's nerve and coolness had maintained themselves in their fullness so long.

"So Maxwell took a party to the North? » said George, dropping the subject of Fontenoy.

«Lady Maxwell, of course, myself, Bennett, and Madeleine Penley. It was a pleasure to see Lady Maxwell. She has been dreadfully depressed in town lately. But those trade-union meetings in Lancashire and Yorkshire were magnificent enough to cheer any one up.»

George shook his head.

"I suspect they come too late to save the bill.»

«I dare say. Well, one can't help being tremendously sorry for her. I thought her looking quite thin and ill over it. It makes one doubt about women in politics. Maxwell will take it a deal more calmly, unless one Copyright, 1895, by Mrs. HUMPHRY WARD. All rights reserved.

misunderstands his cool ways. But I shouldn't wonder if she had a breakdown.»

George made no reply. Naseby talked a little more about Maxwell and the tour, the critical side of him gaining upon the sympathetic with every sentence. At the corner of King street he stopped.

<< I must go back to the club. By the way, have you heard anything of Ancoats lately?» George made a face.

«I saw him in a hansom last night, late, crossing Regent Circus with a young woman -the young woman, to the best of my belief.»

In the few moments' chat that followed Tressady found that Naseby, like Fontenoy, regarded him as the new friend who might be able to do something for a wild fellow, now that mother and old friends were alike put aside and ignored. But, as he rather impatiently declared (and was glad to declare), such a view was mere nonsense. He had tried, for the mother's sake, and could do nothing. As for him, he believed the thing was very much a piece of blague

<< Which won't prevent it from taking him to the devil,» said Naseby, coolly; «and his mother, by all accounts, will die of it. I'm sorry for her. He seems to think tremendous things of you. I thought you might perhaps have knocked it out of him.»>

George shook his head again, and they parted.

In truth, Tressady was not particularly flattered by Ancoats's fancy for him. He did not care enough about the lad in return. Yet, in response to one or two outbreaks of talk on Ancoats's part,-talks full of a stagey railing at convention, he had tried, for the mother's sake, to lecture the boy a little, to get in a word or two that might strike home. But Ancoats had merely stared a moment out of his greenish eyes, had shaken his queer mane of hair as an animal shakes off the hand that curbs it, had changed the subject at once, and had departed. Tressady had seen very little of him since.

And he had not, in truth, taken it to heart. He had neither time nor mind to think about Ancoats. Now, as he walked home to dinner, he put the subject from him impatiently. His own moral predicament absorbed him; this weird, silent way in which the whole political scene was changing in aspect and composition under his eyes-was grouping itself for him around one figure, one face.

Had he any beliefs left about the bill itself? He hardly knew. In truth, it was not his reason that was leading him. It now was

little more than a passionate, boyish longing to wrench himself free from this odious task of hurting and defeating Marcella Maxwell. The long process of political argument was, in truth, every day loosening and detaching those easy convictions of a young chauvinism that had drawn him originally to Fontenoy's side. Intellectually he was all adrift. At the same time he confessed to himself, with perfect frankness, that he could and would have served Fontenoy happily enough but for another influence-another voice.

Yet his old loyalty to Fontenoy tugged sorely at his will. And with this loyalty of course was bound up the whole question of his own personal honor and fidelity-his pledges to his constituents and his party.


Was there no rational and legitimate way out? He pondered the political situation, as he walked along, with great coolness and precision. When the division on the hours clause was over, the main struggle on the bill, as he had all along maintained, would be also at an end. If the government carried the clause, and the probability still was that they would carry it by a handful of votes, -the two great novelties of the bill would have been affirmed by the House. The home work in the scheduled trades would have been driven by law into inspected workshops, and the male workers in these same trades would have been brought under the time restrictions of the Factory Acts.

Compared with these two great reforms, or revolutions, the remaining clause--the landlords clause-touched, as he had already said to Fontenoy, questions of secondary rank, of mere machinery. Might not a man thereupon

might not he, George Tressady-review and reconsider his whole position?

He had told Fontenoy that his vote was safe; but must that pledge extend to more than the vital stuff, the main proposals of the bill? The hours clause? Yes. But after it?

Fontenoy, no doubt, would carry on the fight to the bitter end, counting on a final and hard-wrung victory. The sanguine confidence which had possessed him about the time of the second reading was gone. He did not, Tressady knew, reckon with any certainty on turning out the government in this coming division. The miserable majority with which they had carried the workshops clause would fall again; it would hardly be altogether effaced. That final wiping-out would come-if, indeed, it were attained-in the last contest of all, to which Fontenoy was already heartening and urging on his followers.

Of course Fontenoy's position in the matter was clear. It was that of the leader and the irreconcilable.

But for the private member, who had seen cause to modify some of his opinions during the course of debate, who had voted loyally with his party up till now, might not the division on the hours clause be said to mark a new stage in the bill-a stage which restored him his freedom?

The House would have pronounced on the main points of the bill; the country was rallying to the government; might it not be fairly argued that the war had been carried far enough?

He already, indeed, saw signs of that backing down of opposition which he had prophesied to Fontenoy. The key to the whole matter lay, he believed, in the hands of the Old Liberals, that remnant of a once great host, who were now charging the Conservative government with new and damaging concessions to the Socialist tyranny. These men kept a watchful eye on the country; they had maintained all along that the country had not spoken. George had already perceived a certain weakening among them. And now this campaign of Maxwell's, this new enthusiasm in the industrial North-no doubt they would have their effect.

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He walked on, closely pondering the whole matter, prey to a strange and mingled excitement. Meanwhile the streets through which he walked had the empty, listless air which marks a stage from which the actors have departed. It was nearing the middle of August, and society had fled.

All the same, as he reflected with a relief which was not without its sting, he and Letty would not be alone at dinner. Some political friends were coming, stranded like themselves in this West End, which had by now covered up its furniture and shut its shutters. What a number of smart invitations had been showering upon them during the last weeks of the season, and were now still pursuing them, for the country-house autumn! The expansion of their social circle had of late often filled George with astonishment. No doubt, he said to himself, though with a curious doubtfulness, Letty was very successful; still, the recent rush of attentions from big people who had taken no notice of them on their marriage was rather puzzling. It had affected her far more than himself; for he had been hard pressed by Parliament and the strike, and she had gone about a good deal alone-appearing, indeed, to prefer it.

«COME out with me on the terrace,» said Marcella to Betty Leven; «I had rather not wait here. Aldous, will you take us through? »

She and Betty were standing in the inner lobby of the House of Commons. The division had just been called and the galleries cleared. Members were still crowding into the House from the library, the terrace, and the smoking-rooms, and all the approaches to the Chamber itself were filled with a throng about equally divided between the eagerness of victory and the anxieties of defeat.

Maxwell took the ladies to the terrace and left them there, while he himself went back to the House. Marcella took a seat by the parapet, leaned both hands upon it, and looked absently at the river and the clouds. It was a cloudy August night, with a broken, fleecy sky, and gusts of hot wind from the river. A few figures and groups were moving about the terrace in the flickering light and shade-waiting, like themselves.

<< Will you be very sad if it goes wrong?» said Betty, in a low voice, as she took her friend's hand in hers.

«Yes,» said Marcella. «It will be all the harder after this time in the North. Everything will have come too late.>>

There was a silence; then Betty said, not without sheepishness, «Frank 's all right.»>

Marcella smiled. She knew that little Betty had been much troubled by Frank's tempers of late, and had been haunted by some quite serious qualms about his loyalty to Maxwell and the bill. Marcella had never shared them. Frank Leven had not grit enough to make a scandal and desert a chief. But Betty's ambition had forced the boy into a life that was not his; had divided him from the streams and fields, from the country gentleman's duties and pleasures, that were his natural sphere. In this hot town game of politics, this contest of brains and ambitions, he was out of place-was, in fact, wasting both time and capacity. Betty would have to give way, or the comedy of a lovers' quarrel might grow to something ill-matched with the young grace and mirth of such a pair of handsome children.

Marcella meant to tell her friend all this in due time. Now she could only wait in silence, listening for every sound, Betty's soft fingers clasping her own, the wind as it blew from the bridge cooling her hot brow. «Here they are!» said Betty.

They turned to the open doorway of the House. A rush of feet and voices approached, and the various groups on the terrace hurried to meet it.

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