Chapter II (3)

The Colonel received the paper, and was about to depart, when the Priest informed him that there was something more to be done:--A small fee was necessary. The Colonel cheerfully put his hand in his pocket, and presented the clergyman with two Napoleons, one of which his reverence returned, observing that he was amply remunerated for his trouble by the other. “Yet,” said he, “there is something more to be done: you must have a mass celebrated, to complete the marriage and render it legal.”

“_Parbleu!_ mass!” exclaimed the Colonel, “what is the use of mass to me?”

He was again told that it was necessary, and he agreed to have it performed; “But,” said he, “what is the expense?”

“You can have it done in a superior manner--full high-mass--for two hundred francs.”

“_Ah, mon Dieu!_ two hundred francs! what!--for a mass?”

“Yes; but, Colonel, you can have it done so low as ten francs.”

“Can I?” said the Colonel, “and is the ten franc-mass equally good in point of law, with that for two hundred?”

“Yes, Colonel; but not so respectable.”

“_Sacre!_ never mind the respectability of the matter; I’l have ten francs worth of mass--that will do for me.”

The marriage was accordingly celebrated next day in due form, the Colonel having purchased the confessor’s certificate and ten francs worth of mass; and he solemnly declared, on the day after his wedding, that he could not have felt more happy, even if he had purchased the highest priced mass in France.[11]

A LITTLE CONSEQUENCE;

OR, A

SMALL DIFFERENCE IN RIGHT TO QUARTERS.

My consequence--my consequence--my consequence!

MUNDEN’s _Sir Anthony Absolute_

A certain little gentleman attached to the army of Lord Wellington, while on the march in Portugal, once took up his quarters in the best house he could find, and having seen his horses well put up in the rear of it, retired to the best apartment to indulge himself in a cup of coffee; which luxury, with many others, he was, from the nature of his situation, enabled to carry with him, while others, his superiors, were obliged to put up with what they could procure _en passant_. Scarcely had his _rapaz_ drawn off his boots and re-covered his feet with slippers, when it was announced to him, that an officer was below examining the stables, and had ordered his horses to be put up in them--that the officer’s baggage was already unloading at the door of the house--and that the officer himself had selected the quarters in preference to any other in the village.

The slippered possessor, in all the consequence of his _grade_, immediately determined that no man should turn him out of his quarters, unless he could establish fully a claim to a rank superior to his own--and that too pretty clearly; in which resolution he began to stride across the chamber with becoming dignity. At this moment the officer in question entered the apartment, and proceeded to inspect its conveniencies without observing the occupier, who with three formidable strides approached the intruder, and demanded what he wanted: which question was answered by the officer’s saying, that he wished to have the quarters in which he then stood.

“You shall _not_ have them, Sir,” replied the little gentleman; (he was about four feet four inches in height; but a very respectable and dapper member of the army.) “You shall not have them, Sir--I am determined on that.”

“Pray Sir,” demanded the stranger with astonishment, “may I be permitted to inquire what is your _rank_ in the army?”

“_My_ rank, Sir,” replied the little disputant, considerably irritated; “_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.