HOLY ORDERS.
“O! Father, must I then confess?”
They say that “a frank confession is good for the soul,” but who ever said it was good for a military body? Even the confessors themselves, enthusiastic as they may be about the salvation of souls, through the means of contrition and atonement, show but little disposition to trouble the army, or expect that the army will ever trouble them by kneeling at their confessionals. However, the military in France are subject to the civil laws; and, as a holy order has been issued from the Court of Charles X., imposing the necessity of confession as a preparatory step to the celebration of marriage, the soldier who wishes to enter into the bonds of Hymen, must, like his civil brethren, confess his naughty doings to his pastor. Without a certificate of having duly done this, he must be contented with single cursedness.
A Colonel who fought for France in the days of her triumph—a pupil of that revolutionary school which gave its best moral lesson in its downfall—presented himself at the house of the Priest who held the sacerdotal command of the town in which the militaire was quartered, and informed him that he was desirous of entering into the married state next day; adding, that he wished to give his reverence the preference in the performance of the ceremony. Monsieur le Prêtre bowed, and thanked the Colonel for the honour conferred upon him, and the hour was appointed for the marriage. The Colonel, not aware that anything more was officially required of him, than to present himself with his intended cara esposa, before the altar on the following day, was about to take his leave, when the Priest informed him that he must confess before he could be eligible to the dignity of wearing the matrimonial collar.—Only fancy a tall, bony, mustachioed Colonel of French Infantry, about forty-five years of age—a sort of half devil, half republican,—with ear-rings and bald temples—a ruddy brown face, that spoke of many a hot sun and strong vintage—with an eye like Mars, and an air like Robin Hood:—only fancy such a man called upon by a Priest, to kneel down and confess his sins in an audible voice, that he might be qualified to enter into the holy state of marriage;—and then fancy his gaze of astonishment at the holy man’s summons! For such a rough personage as this was the Colonel;—a fellow who, during his military life, had little to do with priests, except to lay them under contribution, and knew no more about the merits of confession than he did about the Evidences of Christianity, or the Decalogue itself.
“Sacre!” replied the Colonel; “What’s the meaning of this? Confession! what have I to do with confession?”
The Priest, who was a man as liberal as might be, consistent with his office, informed the Colonel that by a late law, no marriage could be celebrated in France between Catholics, unless the parties had first obtained a certificate of confession; but gave him to understand that he would make it easy to him.
“Eh bien!—very well, very well,” said the Colonel; “but what am I to do?”
“Very little, very little. Merely sit down, and tell me what sins you have committed in your life-time.”
“Parbleu!” replied the Colonel; “How am I to do that? I don’t know that I ever did any great harm.”
“Well then,” returned the Priest, “merely speak to the best of your recollection.”
Here he gave the Colonel his benediction.
“I never injured any one in my life—except, perhaps, running a few dozen Prussians and Spaniards through the body.—I have killed a few Englishmen too.”
“Ce n’est rien! that’s nothing.”
“I assisted in pillaging several towns, and burnt one or two villages.”
“Ce n’est rien! that’s nothing at all.”
“I have sometimes had an affair with the ladies.”
“Oh, pour cela, ce n’est rien—ce n’est rien! All in the way of your profession. Did you ever kill a priest?”
“No!—I—a—a—don’t think I ever killed one.”
“Very well—very well! Did you ever assault a nun?”
“O never,—no necessity! Always found the nuns very agreeable women.”
“You never robbed a church, Colonel?”
“We melted down the golden candlesticks, and removed a few of the pictures; but this was by our General’s orders.”
“You did not rob anybody?”
“Never—except the Spaniards and Portuguese.—O—yes, we did a little amongst the Prussians.”
“Ah! that was, as I said before, merely in the way of your profession. Very good—very good, Colonel, I think that will do. Now I will give you absolution, and your certificate of purity.”
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 180l. 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.