Chapter 12

"I used to see him," he said, "walking down from Apsley House to the Chapel Royal, St. James's, in white trousers and blue frock-coat with brass buttons. Whenever he was in London on a Sunday he used to attend the early morning eight o'clock service at St. James's, and when I had any friends who wanted to see the great Duke, I used to take them to church. Frequently he, with myself and friends sitting at a good point of vantage, would be the only people there. But this by the way. Now came the winter of '54 and '55--the time of Crimea. In the spring of 1855 I was sent out as Engineering Sanitary Commissioner to the East. There is a portrait hanging there of Dr. Sutherland and myself taken in our hut in the Crimea.

"I was down in Lancashire one Saturday and came up to Euston in the evening, arriving there at ten o'clock. My wife was there with the brougham waiting for me--much to my surprise. She said, very quietly, 'I've got a note for you from Lord Shaftesbury; he's called several times to-day.' I knew what it meant--the Government wanted me to go out to the Crimea. The note read: 'Dear Rawlinson,--See me to-night if possible; if not, at eight o'clock to-morrow morning.' We drove away to Grosvenor Square at once, but Shaftesbury was dining with Palmerston. I went again at eight o'clock in the morning. He was sitting in his library.

"'Well, Rawlinson,' he said, with a gloomy expression, 'we are losing our poor army in the Crimea. I've induced Palmerston to agree to a Sanitary Commission. Dr. Sutherland and Dr. Gavin will go, but I want an engineer. Will you go?'

"The whole thing now comes vividly before me. When I learned afterwards that from December to March, out of an army of 32,000 men, 11,000 had died through starvation and climate--in three months more at the same rate there would have been no British Army!

"'I'll go, my lord,' I said.

"He embraced me like a woman.

"'You shall take such powers as men never took before,' he said, and he kept his word. The Commission sailed on the following Thursday, at the end of February, landed at Constantinople on the 6th March, and the next day we went over to the great hospitals on the Asiatic side, where the men were dying at the rate of sixty and seventy a day. The wards were full of sick and dying, there was no adequate ventilation, and the area outside of the hospitals was covered with filth and the carcasses of animals. The cleansing was heavy work. On the second day of our arrival I had the upper portion of the windows broken to let ventilation into the rooms. Armenians and Greek labourers cleared away the carcasses--for the Turks would not touch them--and subsequently the hospitals were white-washed. By mid-summer our hospitals were the cleanest in Europe--so Florence Nightingale wrote home. The mortality decreased from sixty and seventy per thousand to twelve and fourteen, and went on improving. The French did nothing, although they had some palaces on the European side for their sick. They neither drained, ventilated, nor cleansed the surroundings--men, nurses, officers and doctors went down with fever--they telegraphed home for nurses and doctors; the reply was, 'there were none to spare.' _Peace was absolutely necessary!_"

Sir Robert referred to all this very quietly, but the value of this work will never be estimated or known. Sir Colin Campbell--afterwards Lord Clyde--who led the Highland brigade at the Battle of the Alma--called him the "Inquisitor General," a compliment, indeed; and to-day the veteran field-marshal, Lord William Paulet, never meets him without gripping his hand and exclaiming: "I'm glad to see you, Rawlinson--had it not been for you I shouldn't be here to-day."

The wound from the cannon ball was the cause of Mr. Rawlinson's return home from the Crimea, but he continued to act until the end of the war. The late Emperor of Germany, Prince Bismarck, and Count Moltke have all acknowledged his services in sanitary matters. In 1864 Lord Palmerston made him a C.B., in 1885 Mr. Gladstone recommended him for Knighthood, and in 1889 Lord Salisbury for a K.C.B. Sir Robert has served on three Royal Commissions; water-works have been constructed under his directions in Hong Kong--the name Hong Kong curiously enough means 'fragrant streams'--and Singapore; and Sir Robert conceived and established a system of main sewerage which has had not a little to do with the health of the people.

Then as we sat together by the window opening on to the green lawn we talked of many a famous man Sir Robert had known. He spoke of the blunt ways of Garibaldi--rough, uncouth, though not lacking in the heartiness, however, inseparable from a sailor. Then of Lord Shaftesbury, Carlyle, and many more.

"I remember a little incident that happened one day when I was staying with Lord Shaftesbury," said Sir Robert. "We were walking together in the grounds when a gardener approached him, and asked for a gun and packet of cartridges to shoot the blackbirds and thrushes which were ruining the fruit trees.

"'No,' said Shaftesbury. 'You may get nets if you like and cover the fruit, or hire a boy to keep the birds away, or sit up yourself; but if you shoot a bird in my gardens you must go about your business.'

"Next day I was standing with him on the steps. A gun went off.

"'Shooting?' I said.

"'Yes,' he replied; 'that's the keeper shooting your dinner.'

"'Well,' I said, 'if I have to come again into this world I'd be a blackbird or a thrush; I wouldn't be a pheasant or a partridge!'

"I can only hope he forgave me.

"Carlyle? Well, from about 1865, and on to near his death, at the request of the Sage of Chelsea, I spent many pleasant evenings with him. He usually sat on a low seat leaning against the side of the fire, smoking a long clay pipe up the drawing-room chimney. I sat on a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. I do not remember that we ever had any form of drinkable refreshments during the couple of hours I might be with him in the evening.

"One night I questioned him about the destruction of the manuscript of a volume of his 'French Revolution.' I asked, 'Is it true that an entire volume of the manuscript was lost or destroyed?' when he replied in a tone of distress, 'Yes, yes; it is ower true. I lent it to a friend, and never saw it again.' I said, 'I can hardly comprehend how you got over it.' He replied, 'For two days and nights I could neither eat nor sleep.' I then said, 'Well, but you did get over it, some way?' 'Well, yes,' he replied. 'I just went into the country, and for several weeks did nothing but read Marryat's novels.' Bursting into a loud laugh, the thought of this time seemed now to amuse him. 'Well,' I said, 'and what did you do then?' When he replied, with a deep sigh, 'I just came back and wrote it all over again.' Then he further said, solemnly, 'I dinna think it's the same; no, I dinna think it's the same!'

"On other evenings we had conversations on various matters, as for instance, modern portrait statuary in London, which I said upon the whole was not satisfactory, in which he agreed. I ended the discussion by saying that if our portrait statuary became much worse, when some monster murderer had been tried and found guilty, the judge, putting on the black cap, should say, 'Prisoner at the bar, a jury of your countrymen having found you guilty of a most atrocious crime, you must be hanged until you are dead, and then a statue shall be erected to perpetuate your memory, and God help your soul.' Carlyle assented, but not in any hearty manner. No doubt I had ventured a little out of my bearings.

"On another occasion I brought on the subject of the attack of Mrs. Beecher Stowe on the memory of Lord Byron. I said there might be something in Byron's separation from his wife neither agreeable nor pleasant, but that I could not believe there was much of truth in the abominable scandals; and that, even if some of it was true, it did not justify Mrs. Beecher Stowe either to make or meddle. I further said that Byron, in his lone death, evinced more feeling for his wife than we have any evidence she ever did for him. In his dying moments he wished Fletcher, his servant, to convey a message to Lady Byron; with his last breath Byron muttered, 'You will be sure and tell Lady Byron.' Fletcher replied, 'I have not heard one word that you have said,' when Byron with an exclamation, 'Ah, my God!' fell back dead."

"You met Mrs. Carlyle, Sir Robert?" I asked, as we opened the veranda door to examine the bushes in the garden and watch what progress spring was making.

"No, never!"

"But do you know if it is true that Carlyle used to wear an expression of 'Silence, woman,' whenever she was in the room?"

"Well, you know," Sir Robert replied, "Carlyle lived in a house that stood on Thames gravel. Perhaps that accounted for his dyspepsia and her headaches. But I can tell you this: One day Mrs. Carlyle sent a message, saying she wanted to see me particularly. But I was not to go until she sent for me, and that would be when Thomas was away, for if he was at home when I called, she wouldn't be able to get a word in edgeways!"

HARRY HOW.

_Beauties:--Children._

THE ADJUTANT'S LOVE-STORY

FROM THE FRENCH OF LE COMTE ALFRED DE VIGNY.

I.

I was brought up in the village of Montreuil, by the curé of the place. The happiest period of my life was that time when I was a choir-boy, with plump, rosy cheeks, a clear voice, and fair hair, wearing blouse and sabots. As I had given evidence of possessing a musical ear, the good father, who had himself been in former days a notable singer and choir-master at Notre Dame, kindly taught me my notes.

"Listen, Mathurin," he said to me one day: "you are only a peasant's son, but you know well your catechism and sol-fa, and some day, perhaps, if you are good and industrious, you may become a great musician."

This speech filled me with pleasure and pride, and I twanged more frequently and vigorously than ever upon my teacher's shrill and discordant old harp.

The favourite recreation of my leisure hours was to walk to the farther end of the park of Montreuil, and to eat my dinner there with the workmen who were building, in the avenue of Versailles, a little music pavilion, by order of the Queen. It was a charming spot.

I used to take with me upon these excursions a little girl of my own age, named Pierrette, who, because she had such a pretty voice, was also taught to sing by the curé. In her hand she would carry a large slice of bread-and-butter, with which her mother, who was the curé's housekeeper, had provided her. Together we watched with great interest the growth of the pretty little house.

Pierrette and I were at that time about thirteen years of age. She was already so beautiful that strangers would pause by the way to pay her compliments, and I have seen grand ladies descend from their carriages in order to caress her. She loved me as a brother.

From our infancy we had walked always hand-in-hand, and this grew into such a settled habit that in all her life I cannot remember once giving her my arm. Our visits to our favourite spot won for us the friendship of a young stone-cutter, some eight or ten years older than ourselves. He was a gentle-natured fellow, sometimes, but not often, mildly gay. While he worked, we would sit beside him upon a stone or on the ground. He had made a little song about the stones that he cut, in which he said that they were harder than the heart of Pierrette, and he played in a hundred ways upon the words Pierre, Pierrette, Pierrerie, and Pierrot, to our endless amusement and delight. For our new friend was a poet. His father had been an architect, but in some way (I know not how) had come to ruin, and it fell to Michel to retrieve the family fortune. With his rule and hammer he supported a mother and two little brothers. He worked bravely at his stones, making couplets all the time; with each large block he would begin a new poem. His full name was Michel Jean Sedaine.

II.

My parents I had never known, for they had died in my infancy, both about the same time, of the small-pox. But the curé had been a good father to me. At the age of sixteen I was wild and foolish, but I knew a little Latin and much about music, and was, moreover, a fairly skilful gardener. My life was a very happy one, for it was passed at the side of Pierrette.

One day, as I was engaged in lopping off the branches of one of the beeches in the park and tying them together into a small bundle, Pierrette suddenly exclaimed:--

"Oh, Mathurin! I am so frightened! Look at those fine ladies coming towards us through the alley? What can they be going to do?"

Looking in the direction she indicated, I saw two young women, who were walking at a rapid pace over the dead leaves. One, who was a trifle taller than the other, wore a gown of rose-coloured silk. She ran rather than walked, and her companion kept just a little behind. Like the poor peasant lad I was, I was seized with a kind of instinctive panic, and said to Pierrette:--

"Let us hide ourselves!"

But for that there was now no time, and my terror was redoubled when I saw the rose-coloured lady making signs to my blushing Pierrette, who remained as if rooted to the spot, grasping my hand tightly. I pulled off my cap, and stood leaning against the tree.

This lady came straight up to Pierrette, and, touching her under the chin, as if to show her to her friend, said:--

"Was I not right? Is this not the very thing for my milkmaid's costume on Thursday? What a pretty little girl it is! My child, will you give all your clothes, just as they are now, to the servants whom I will send for them? I will send you mine in exchange."

"Oh, madame!" was all that Pierrette could say.

The other young lady now came forward, and, laying her hand upon Pierrette's bare arm, encouraged her with gentle words, telling her that, this lady was one whom everybody obeyed. Then Madame Rose-colour spoke again:--

"Be sure that you alter nothing in your costume, little one," said she, shaking at the girl her dainty Malacca cane. "See! Here is a handsome fellow who will be a soldier, and to whom I will marry you."

So beautiful was she that I almost went on my knees to her. She had the appearance of a little, good fairy.

She talked fast and gaily. Bestowing a playful pat upon Pierrette's cheek, she turned and tripped away, followed by her companion. Hand-in-hand, according to our custom, we returned home, in silence, but with happy hearts.

I went straight to the curé, and said to him: "_Monsieur le curé_, I wish to be a soldier."

The good man was astounded.

"How is it, my dear child," said he, "that you desire to leave me? Do you no longer love me? Do you no longer love Pierrette? What have we done to you that you have grown tired of us? And is all the education I have given you to be thrown away? Answer, you naughty boy!" he commanded, with a shake of my arm.

With my eyes fixed upon my shoes, I repeated:--

"I wish to be a soldier."

Pierrette's mother, who had brought in a glassful of water to cool the curé's agitation, began to cry. Pierrette wept also, but _she_ was not angry with me, for she knew well it was in order to marry her that I wished to go away.

At this moment appeared two tall, powdered lackeys and a lady's-maid, who inquired whether the little girl had got ready the costume asked for by the Queen and the Princess de Lamballe.

When these visitors had gone, and the commotion they caused had subsided, I was left alone with the curé, Pierrette and her mother having withdrawn in great excitement to "try on" the contents of the box which the Queen had sent in exchange for the little girl's frock and cap.

My guardian then requested me to relate to him the occurrences of the morning, which I did, somewhat more briefly than I have told them here.

"And it is for this you would leave us, my son?" said my old friend, when I had ended my recital, holding my hands in his. For a long time he pleaded earnestly with me, setting forth the numerous hardships, perils, and temptations of a soldier's life, which, said he, would unfit me for becoming the husband of such a good, pure little being as Pierrette.

To all which I replied, doggedly:--

"I wish to be a soldier."

I had my way.

III.

I enlisted into the noble corps of the Royal Auvergne. My training began, and I was promised that, if I behaved well, I should be admitted by-and-by into the first company of Grenadiers. I soon had a powdered _queue_ falling in an imposing fashion over my white vest, but I no longer had Pierrette, or her mother, or the curé of Montreuil, and I made no more music.

One fine day, when I, confined to the barracks, was undergoing some absurd little punishment for having made three errors in the management of my arms, I received a visit from Michel.

"Ah, Mathurin!" he said to me, "you are well punished for having left Montreuil. You enjoy no longer the counsel and instruction of the good curé, and you are fast forgetting the music which you used to love so well."

"No matter," said I; "I have my wish."

"You no longer tend the fruit trees and gather the peaches of Montreuil with your Pierrette, who is as fresh and sweet as they."

"No matter," said I; "I have my wish."

"You will have to work hard for a very long time before you can become even a corporal."

"No matter," said I, again; "when I am a sergeant, I will marry Pierrette."

"Ah, Mathurin!" continued my friend; "believe me, you are unwise. You have too much ambition and pride. Would you not like someone to buy you out, so that you might return to marry Pierrette?"

"Michel! Michel!" I cried; "have you not often told me yourself, 'Each one must make his own lot'? I do not choose to marry Pierrette with the money of others, and I am making my own lot, as you see. Besides, it was the Queen who put this idea into my head, and the Queen _must_ know best. She said: 'He will be a soldier, and I will marry you to him.' She did not say, 'He will return after having been a soldier.'"

"But suppose," said Michel, "the Queen were to provide you with the means of marrying, would you not accept her bounty?"

"No, Michel! Even if such an unlikely thing were to happen, I would not take her money."

"And if Pierrette herself earned her _dot_?"

"Then, Michel, I would marry her at once."

"Well!" returned he, "I will tell that to the Queen."

"Are you crazy?" I said to him, "or are you now a servant in her house?"

"Neither the one nor the other, Mathurin, although I no longer cut stone."

"What do you cut, then?" asked I.

"I cut pieces, out of paper and ink."

"Is it possible?"

"Yes, my boy; I write simple little plays, easy to be understood. Some day, perhaps, you shall see one."

IV.

Meanwhile, my faithful Pierrette did not forget me. And one day a wonderful thing happened to her. She told me all about it afterwards.

It was Easter Monday. Pierrette was sitting before the curé's door, working and singing, when she saw a gorgeous carriage, drawn by six horses, coming through the avenue. It rolled right up to the curé's house, and then stopped. Pierrette now saw that the carriage was empty. As she was gazing with all her eyes, the equerry, taking off his hat with great politeness, begged her to enter the vehicle.

Pierrette had too much good sense to make any needless fuss. She simply slipped off her sabots, put on her shoes with the silver buckles, folded her work, and, assisted by the footman's arm, stepped into the carriage as if to the manner born.

Soon she found herself at Trianon, where she was conducted through gilded apartments into the Queen's presence. With the Queen was Madame de Lamballe, seated in an embrasure of a window, before an easel.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Queen, gaily, "here she is!" And she ran up to Pierrette, and took both her hands in her own. "How pretty she is!" she went on; "what a dear little model she will be for you! Sit there, my child."

With these words, Marie Antoinette gently pushed the bewildered Pierrette into a very high chair, where she sat with her pretty feet dangling.

"Now listen to me, little one," continued the Queen. "Two gentlemen will shortly be coming here. Whether you do or do not recognise one of them is no matter, but whatever they tell you, that you must do. You will have to sing; I know that you _can_ sing. Whenever they tell you to enter or to depart, to go or to come, you will obey them exactly. Do you understand me? All this will be for your good. This lady and I will help the gentlemen to teach you, and all that we ask in return for our pains is that, for one hour every day, you will sit for madame. You will not consider that any great hardship?"

Pierrette was so much more than satisfied with the bargain that she could have embraced the Queen in the exuberance of her gratitude.

As she was posing for Madame de Lamballe two men entered the room. One was stout, the other tall. At sight of the tall one she exclaimed: "Why! it is----" then stopped herself.

"Well, gentlemen," said Marie Antoinette, "what do you think of her? Was I not right?"

"It is _Rose_ herself!" replied Sedaine.

"A single note, madame," said the other, M. Grévey, "and I shall know if she be as perfectly Monsigny's _Rose_ as she is Sedaine's."

Then, turning to Pierrette, he said to her:--

"Sing the scale after me thus: _Ut_, _Re_, _Mi_, _Fa_, _Sol_."

The girl repeated his notes.

"She has a divine voice, madame!" was his verdict.

The Queen clapped her hands and jumped for joy, as she exclaimed:--

"She will gain her _dot_!"

V.

Of all these gay proceedings I, of course, was ignorant. Ever since Michel's visit I had felt very wretched. I had no further tidings of my friends at Montreuil, and began to think that Pierrette must have quite forgotten me. The regiment remained at Orleans three months, and I had a bad fit of home-sickness which affected my physical health.

One day, in the street, an officer of our company called me to him, and pointing to a huge play-bill, said:--

"Read that, Mathurin."

This is what I read:--

"By order.

"On Monday next will be given a special performance of 'Irene,' the new work of M. de Voltaire, to be followed by 'Rose and Colas,' an operetta by M. Sedaine and M. de Monsigny, for the benefit of Mademoiselle Colombe, of the Comédie Italienne, who will appear in the second piece. Her Majesty the Queen has graciously promised to be present."

"What has that to do with me, my Captain?" inquired I.

"You are a good-looking fellow," said the officer. "I will get you powdered and frizzed out a bit, and station you at the door of the Royal box."

Thus it came to pass that the night of the performance found me in the theatre, resplendent in full uniform, standing upon a blue carpet, and surrounded on all sides by flowers and festoons.