MISS FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. From a Photograph.MISS FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. From a Photograph.
"I pressed him to stay, remarkinghe could go by the early train in the morning and be in good time. He remained, and left on the morrow; the train was delayed, and he lost the boat. That vessel went down. But what about the picture? We wrote over to New York so as to get the necessary documents to claim the insurance, but they replied, 'What do you mean? The picture is being exhibited!' I had sent 'The Twins' in good time to Liverpool, and the authorities there noticing the case labelled 'Valuable picture by Landseer—great care,' and having a boat then going, were just in time to get it on board. Indeed, I believe it was the last thing received on board by the captain. So the picture went before, and the agent fortunately went after, the boat that was never heard of. It now hangs in the house of Mr. Stephenson's nephew."
GRAVEYARD IN THE CRIMEA.GRAVEYARD IN THE CRIMEA.
The drawing-room walls are covered with works of art—Sidney Cooper, George Frip, Müller, J. B. Pyne (who was Müller's master), Absalon (who designed the grand curtain for Her Majesty's Theatre), and Brittan Willis are all well represented. Absalon gives "Crecy" and "Agincourt" as they are to-day. In the latter picture the mill is shown where it is said the King stood while the Black Prince won the battle. A striking portrait of Lady Blessington is by Shalon, and there are no fewer than three valuable portraits of the Queen, one of which is the chalk drawing by Winterhalter, and the other is the original picture of Her Majesty painted by Parris from the orchestra of Drury Lane Theatre, a reproduction of which was published in the third number of this Magazine, together with the story associated with it, told me by the late Mr. Henry Graves, who sat by the side of Parris when he made the sketch. Lewis is responsible for "Interior of a Harem."
"Very expensive man to buy," Sir Robert said. "A few of his pictures were to be sold, and I attended the sale. One was a little larger than this, on a similar subject, and I thought I would buy it as a companion work. But it went for eleven hundred guineas!" Over a fine cabinet are a pair of dogs in pencil, by Landseer. "Racket" was drawn when he was ten years of age and "Pincher" a year later. The Satsuma ware and Sèvres china scattered about the apartment are exceptionally choice, and the curious cloth which covers the table in the centre of the room—a table, by-the-bye, which belonged to our Ambassador to France during the great Revolution of 1793—came from the Sultan's palace at Constantinople, and is worked with His Majesty's name in silk in the centre.
But what is unquestionably the most interesting among the contents of the drawing-room is the cabinet of Japanese ivories. It contains probably the finest collectionof such Japanese handicraft in miniature in the kingdom. There is everything in ivory, from a beggar with his rosary to a beauty with painted cheeks and almond-shaped eyes. You may handle the quaintest of ideas carried out in ivory; a skeleton carrying a baboon—calculated to beat Holbein's "Dance of Death" all to pieces; skulls with cobras intertwined—indeed, the serpent is everywhere; and all with some mystic meaning.
THE DRAWING-ROOM. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.THE DRAWING-ROOM. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.
THE DRAWING-ROOM. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.THE DRAWING-ROOM. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.
"The date of the workmanship of these," said Sir Robert, "must go back for centuries."
"I should think to the very beginning!" Lady Rawlinson remarked. And amongst these curios are rare jade bowls of white and green, and shining in the midst of all—as big and almost as brilliant as the noonday sun—is the largest ball of pure rock crystal in Europe. An exquisitely-carved rhinoceros horn in the shape of a goblet might possibly come in useful, for the legend associated with it runs that should poison be put in it, and some unkind friend request you to drink, the deadly liquor would disappear of its own accord.
We looked in at the small library, and then went into the dining-room. As in the drawing-room, the walls are hidden from view by artistic works—Landseer, Frith, Phil Morris, Müller, Ansdell, Ansdell and Phillip, Hefner, Weiser, Creswick, Sant, John Wilson, Junr., Solomon, and Henry O'Neil—the latter artist's "Return of the Wanderer" being in a conspicuous position. As Sir Robert points them out, he seems to see an unwritten story on every canvas. He singles out the Müller as his greatest treasure, for it was the last and possibly the best work the artist ever chronicled with his brush, and he died eight days after its completion.
Pointing to the first study of Frith's "DollyVarden," Sir Robert said: "Frith painted three 'Dolly Vardens.' One of these was a commission from Dickens in 1844, for which he received £20. When Frith asked Dickens if he wanted the sketch, his reply was, 'No, of course I don't.' That is the sketch which Dickens refused, for which I paid the small sum of fifteen guineas. At his sale the picture, for which he gave £20, realized one thousand guineas.
"RACKET." From the Drawing by Sir Edwin Landseer."RACKET." From the Drawing by Sir Edwin Landseer.
"PINCHER." From the Drawing by Sir Edwin Landseer."PINCHER." From the Drawing by Sir Edwin Landseer.
"Those donkeys on a common are by Ansdell, R.A. I gave him an order to paint me some donkeys, and he painted them in an old churchyard with tombstones. I complained to him in a joking sort of way.
"'Oh!' he replied, 'I thought a churchyard was just the place for a sanitary commissioner!'
"There is another canvas by Ansdell and Phillip, R.A.—a Spanish scene. Ansdell painted the mule and surrounding landscape, whilst Phillip put in the two figures. The young girl on the mule is Ansdell's daughter. That is Sant's own little girl in the picture called 'The Fairy Tale,' and 'The Gossips' is by Solomon, to which a story was written by Miss Power, the nieceof Lady Blessington. Whilst Solomon was painting 'The Gossips' for me, he was engaged on a portrait of Jenny Lind, who, by the way, used to live here in The Boltons. Solomon told me of some of the great singer's odd expressions which she made use of whilst her portrait was in progress of being painted.
THE LIBRARY. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.THE LIBRARY. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.
"'No, no,' she would cry, 'it's not like me! You haven't made my nose big enough. Don't you see my nose is all over my face? Oh! and look at my hair. It isn't green enough!'
"'Not green enough?' Solomon exclaimed.
"'No; don't you see that my hair is the colour of what you call hay before it is made?'"
So, brimful of these stories, we sat down together by the fire. I heard of a most useful life—a successful career, conceived and carried out by the man who related it. Whatever success has fallen to Sir Robert Rawlinson's lot has been honestly laboured for. Sir Robert to-day is a real example, a personified definition of—Industry. He refers to it all very quietly—there is not a tittle of over-estimated powers about his speech. He started life with a purpose—he has lived it with a will. Born at Bristol on the 28th February, 1810—his father, Thomas Rawlinson, of Chorley, Lancashire, was a mason and builder, his mother a Devonshire woman. Sir Robert barely went to school—he frankly declares that his education only cost three-halfpence a week. He worked at his father's business at Chorley, and before he was twenty-one he was a stone-mason, bricklayer, millwright, carpenter, sawyer, and even a navvy, and all with a view of grounding himself in everything of a practical nature which would tend to make him an engineer—a profession on which his heart was set.
"When I was one-and-twenty," he said, as he contemplatively turned over the past pages of his life in his mind, "I was residing at Liverpool and entered the Dock office under Jesse Hartley, the greatest dock engineer the world has seen. I remained there for five years, for the last three of which I was Hartley's confidential draughtsman and adviser. Then I went on to the London and Birmingham Railway, the Blisworth contract, under Robert Stephenson. Stephenson was remarkably considerate and indeed a gentleman, and treated me with almost brotherly kindness. I was in charge of the masonry. The railway was in a cutting about two miles long and sixty feet deep through rock, with an intervening bed of clay, which had to be cut out and then filled in with masonry. I was then twenty-six."
Mr. Rawlinson completed the work successfully. At the age of thirty, he once more went to Liverpool, filling the post of Assistant Surveyor to the Corporation. He remained there for two and a half years, when, on the recommendation of his first employer—Jesse Hartley—he was appointed engineer to the celebrated Bridgwater Canal. Then I listened to the story of how he came to design and complete the wonderful hollow brick ceiling over St. George's Hall, Liverpool; the lightest work of its kind, probably, in the world.
"Whilst I was in Liverpool," Sir Robert said, "I met young Harvey Lonsdale Elmes, the architect of St. George's Hall. He wasabout twenty-four years of age, yet he captured 1,500 guineas, being the three premiums offered for designs for St. George's Hall, the New Law Courts, and the New Collegiate Institute. We often met and talked together. I assisted him in getting out the plan for the foundation, and I laid the first brick of St. George's Hall. Elmes was consumptive. He went for a time to the Isle of Wight. He became worse, and the doctors ordered him to winter in Kingston, Jamaica. One day, before leaving England, he sent for me.
"'Rawlinson,' he said, 'if anything would give me a chance of coming back with my life, it would be to see my building in your hands!'
"What could I say? I undertook the task until I handed it over to the great London architect, Mr. Cockerel, who completed it."
Now came an important epoch in Mr. Rawlinson's career. In 1848 the Public Health Act was passed and he was appointed the first engineer superintendent inspector. He made the first inquiry and wrote the first report on Dover—he subsequently inspected and reported on the state and condition of towns and villages from Berwick-on-Tweed to Land's End, from Liverpool to Hull.
THE DINING-ROOM. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.THE DINING-ROOM. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.
"The Commission of Inquiry lived until 1854," continued Sir Robert. "It met with such violent opposition in Parliament that it had to be broken up, though it was immediately revived by Lord Palmerston, under the chairmanship of Sir Benjamin Hall. I was at this time engineer to the Birmingham and Wolverhampton Waterworks." The lad who had been stone-mason and bricklayer, sawyer and carpenter, was earning £5,000 a year. It was at this point in our conversation that Sir Robert referred to the Duke of Wellington.
"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 poorarmy 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 RAWLINSON. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.SIR ROBERT RAWLINSON. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.
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 hadknown. 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!'
DR. SUTHERLAND. MR. RAWLINSON. "IN THE CRIMEA." From a Painting.DR. SUTHERLAND. MR. RAWLINSON. "IN THE CRIMEA." From a Painting.
"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 whichhe 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."
LADY RAWLINSON. From a Photo. by Fall Baker Street. W.LADY RAWLINSON. From a Photo. by Fall Baker Street. W.
"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.
Harry How.
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 hadmade 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.
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, butshewas 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.
"THE OTHER LADY NOW CAME FORWARD.""THE OTHER LADY NOW CAME FORWARD."
"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.
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 powderedqueuefalling 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 toomuch ambition and pride. Would you not like someone to buy you out, so that you might return to marry Pierrette?"
"BELIEVE ME, YOU ARE UNWISE.""BELIEVE ME, YOU ARE UNWISE."
"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 Queenmustknow 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 herdot?"
"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."
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 veryhigh chair, where she sat with her pretty feet dangling.
"SHE SAW A GORGEOUS CARRIAGE.""SHE SAW A GORGEOUS CARRIAGE."
"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 youcansing. 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 isRoseherself!" replied Sedaine.
"A single note, madame," said the other, M. Grévey, "and I shall know if she be as perfectly Monsigny'sRoseas 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 herdot!"
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.
While awaiting the Queen's arrival, I overheard a conversation between M. de Grévey and the manager of the theatre. The latterseemed anxious concerning the qualifications of Mademoiselle Colombe, who, apparently, was quite unknown to him, while the other reassured him upon that point, and conveyed to him Her Majesty's guarantee that a sum equal to the half of the night's receipts should be paid to him for the use of his theatre. Evidently, the whole affair had been got up by the Queen.
"I OVERHEARD A CONVERSATION.""I OVERHEARD A CONVERSATION."
Their dialogue was interrupted by a sudden bustle and commotion, and the Queen entered so quickly that I had barely time to present arms. With her was the other young lady whom I had seen at Montreuil.
The performance commenced at once. All the time that 'Irene' was going on, the Queen laughed and chattered, but as soon as the operetta began, she was all attention, her example, of course, being followed by everyone in her box.
Suddenly I heard a woman's voice which thrilled me to the heart, and set me trembling so that I could scarcely hold my gun. Surely there was but one voice like that in all the world!
Through the gauze curtain drawn across the tiny window of the box, I got a glimpse of the performers. It was a little lady who was singing:—
Once a birdie,Grey as a mouse,Built for his childrenA tiny house.
Once a birdie,Grey as a mouse,Built for his childrenA tiny house.
Why! this charmingRosewas just like Pierrette! She had her figure, her red and blue frock, her white petticoat, her pretty simple manner, her small shoes with the silver buckles, her red and blue stockings!
"Dear me!" said I to myself, "these actresses must be clever indeed to be able to make themselves look so much like other folks! Here is this famous Mademoiselle Colombe, who, no doubt, lives in a fine house, has several men-servants, and goes about in Paris dressed like a duchess, and she is exactly like Pierrette! But my poor little girl could not sing so well, although her voice may be quite as pretty."
I was so fascinated that I could not turn my head away from the glass, and presently the door of the box struck me in the face. Someone had opened it, because Her Majesty complained of the heat. I heard her say:—
"I am perfectly satisfied. My first gentleman-in-waiting may tell Mademoiselle Colombe that she will not repent having left to me the management of this affair. Ah! it amuses me so much!"
"There is no doubt, madame," said the Princess de Lamballe, "that your good deed is a complete success. Everyone is here. See, all the good townsfolk of Orleans are enchanted with this splendid singer, and the whole court is ready to applaud her."
She gave the signal for applause, and the audience, who, according to custom, had hitherto remained silent out of respect for the Queen, gave full vent to their enthusiasm. From that moment, scarcely a word ofRose'swas allowed to pass without tremendous clapping. The Queen was delighted.
At the end of the piece the ladies threw their bouquets toRose.
"Where is the real lover?" inquired the Queen of the Duc de Lauzun, who thereupon left the box, and beckoned to my captain in the corridor.
Again the nervous trembling seized me,for I felt that something—I could not guess what—was about to happen to me.
My captain bowed respectfully, and conversed in a low tone with M. de Lauzun. Marie Antoinette was looking atme! I leaned against the wall to keep myself from falling. There were footsteps upon the staircase, and I saw Michel Sedaine, followed by Grévey and the podgy and pompous manager; and they were bringing Pierrette, the real Pierrette,myPierrette, to me—my sister, my wife, my Pierrette of Montreuil!
The manager was exclaiming joyfully:—
"Here is a good night's work! Eighteen thousand francs!"
The Queen now came forward, and, taking Pierrette's hand, said in her gay, kindly manner:—
"You see, my child, there was no other way in which you could honourably earn yourdotin a single hour. To-morrow I shall take you back to the curé of Montreuil, who will, I trust, absolve us both. He will forgive you for playing in a comedy once in your life."
Here the Queen, with a gracious bow, turned to me. To poor, bewildered, stupidme!
"I hope," said she, "that M. Mathurin will deign to accept Pierrette's fortune. I have added nothing to it; she has earned it all herself!"