CHAPTER XVIII.
Marshal Vaillant — The beginning of our acquaintance — His stories of the swashbucklers of the First Empire, and the beaux of the Restauration — Rabelaisian, but clever — Marshal Vaillant neither a swashbuckler nor a beau; hated both — Never cherished the slightest illusions about the efficiency of the French army — Acknowledged himself unable to effect the desired and necessary reforms — To do that, a minister of war must become a fixture — Why he stayed — Careful of the public moneys, and of the Emperor's also — Napoléon III.'s lavishness — An instance of it — Vaillant never dazzled by the grandeur of court entertainments — Not dazzled by anything — His hatred of wind-bags — Prince de Canino — Matutinal interviews — Prince de Canino sends his seconds — Vaillant declines the meeting, and gives his reason — Vaillant abrupt at the best of times — A freezing reception — A comic interview — Attempts to shirk military duty — Tricks — Mistakes — A story in point — More tricks — Sham ailments: how the marshal dealt with them — When the marshal was not in an amiable mood — Another interview — Vaillant's tactics — "D——d annoying to be wrong" — The marshal fond of science — A very interesting scientific phenomenon himself — Science under the later Bourbons — Suspicion of the soldiers of the Empire — The priesthood and the police — The most godless republic preferable to a continuance of their régime — The marshal's dog, Brusca — Her dislike to civilians — Brusca's chastity — Vaillant's objection to insufficiently prepaid letters — His habit of missing the train, notwithstanding his precautions — His objection to fuss and public honours.
About two or three days after the ball at Versailles, I went to see Marshal Vaillant at the War Office, to thank him for his kindness in sending me the ticket for the review. Our acquaintance was already then of a couple of years' standing. It had begun at Dr. Véron's, who lived, at the time, at the corner of the Rue de Rivoli and the Rue de Castiglione. The old soldier—he was over sixty then—had a very good memory, and used to tell me garrison stories, love-adventures of the handsome swashbucklers of the First Empire and of the beaux of the Restauration. The language was frequently that of Rabelais or Molière, vigorous, to the point, calling a spade a spade, and, as such, not particularly adapted to these notes, but the narrator himself was neither a swashbuckler nor a beau; he hated the carpet-knight only one degree more than the sabreur, and when both were combined in the same man—not an unusual thing during the Second Empire, especially after the Crimean and Franco-Austrian wars—he simply loathed him. He fostered not the slightest illusions about the efficiency of the French army, albeit that, to an alien like myself and notwithstanding his friendship for me, he would veil his strictures. At the same time, he frankly acknowledged himself unable to effect the desired reforms. "It wants, first of all, a younger and abler man than I am; secondly, he must become a fixture. No change of ministry, no political vicissitudes ought to affect him. I do not play a political rôle, and never mean to play one; and if I could find a man who would carry out the reforms at the War Office, or, rather, reorganize the whole as it should be reorganized, I would make room for him to-morrow. I know what you are going to say. I derive a very comfortable income from my various offices, and I am a pluralist. If I did not take the money, some one else would who has not got a scrap more talent than I have. There is not a single man who dare tell the nation that its army is rotten to the core, that there is not a general who knows as much as a mere captain in the Austrian and Prussian armies; and if he had the courage to tell the nation, he would be hounded out of the country, his life would be made a burden to him. That is one of the reasons why I am staying, because I can do no good by going; on the contrary, I might do a good deal of harm. Because, as you see it, the three hundred and fifty thousand francs of my different appointments, I save them by looking after the money of the State. Not that I can do much, but I do what I can."
That was very true: he was very careful of the public moneys, and of the resources of the Emperor also, entrusted to him by virtue of his position as Grand-Maréchal du Palais; it was equally true that he could not do much. Napoléon was, by nature, lavish and soft-hearted; as a consequence, he became the butt of every impostor who could get a letter conveyed to him. His civil list of over a million and a half sterling was never sufficient. He himself was simple enough in his tastes, but he knew that pomp and state were dear to the heart of Frenchmen, and he indulged them accordingly. But his charity was a personal matter. He could have no more done without it than without his eternal cigarette. He called the latter "safety-valve of the brain; the former the safety-valve of pride." I remember an anecdote which was told to me by some one who was in his immediate entourage when he was only President. It was on the eve of a journey to some provincial town, and at the termination of a cabinet council. While talking to some of his ministers, he took a couple of five-franc pieces from his waistcoat, and spun them English fashion. "C'est tout ce qui me reste pour mon voyage de demain, messieurs," he said, smiling. One of them, M. Ferdinand Barrot, saw that he was in earnest, and borrowed ten thousand francs, which the President found on his dressing-table when retiring for the night. Four and twenty hours after, Napoléon had not even his two five-franc pieces: they and M. Barrot's loan had disappeared in subscriptions to local charities. Among the papers found at the Tuileries after the Emperor's flight, there were over two thousand begging letters, all dated within a twelvemonth, and all marked with their answer in the corner—that is, with the amount sent in reply. That sum amounted to not less than sixty thousand francs. And be it remembered that these were the petitions the Emperor had not entrusted to his secretaries or ministers as coming within their domain. The words of Marshal Vaillant, spoken many years before, "I cannot do much, but I do what I can," are sufficiently explained.
On the day alluded to above, the marshal was seriously complaining of the Emperor's extravagance. He did not hold with entertaining so many sovereigns. "I do not say this," he added, "with regard to yours, for her hospitality deserved such return as the Emperor gave her; but with regard to the others who will come, you may be sure, if we last long enough. Well, we'll see; perhaps you'll remember my words."
In fact, the old soldier was never much dazzled by the grandeur of those entertainments, nor did he foster many illusions with regard to their true value in cementing international friendships. The marshal was not dazzled by anything; and though deferential enough to the members of the emperor's family, he never scrupled to tell them his mind. The Emperor's cousin (Plon-Plon) could tell some curious stories to that effect. The marshal had a hatred of long-winded people, and especially of what Carlyle calls wind-bags. Another of Louis-Napoléon's cousins came decidedly under the latter description: I allude to the Prince de Canino. In order to get rid as much as possible of wordy visitors, Vaillant had hit upon the method of granting them their interviews at a very, very early hour in the morning; in the summer at 6.30 in the morning, in the winter at 7.15. "People do not like getting out of bed at that time, unless they have something serious to communicate," he said; and would not relax his rule, even for the softer sex. The old warrior, who had probably been an early riser all his life, found the arrangement work so well, that he determined at last not to make any exceptions. "I get the day to myself," he laughed. Now, it so happened that the Prince de Canino asked him for an interview; and, as a matter of course, Vaillant appointed the usual hour. Next morning, to Vaillant's great surprise, instead of the Prince, came two of his friends. The latter came to ask satisfaction of Vaillant for having dared to disturb a personage of the Prince's importance at so early an hour. "Mais je ne l'ai pas dérangé du tout: il n'avait qu'à ne pas venir, ce que du reste, il a fait," said Vaillant; then he added, "Mais, même, si je consentais à donner raison au prince de mon offense imaginaire, je ne me battrai pas à quatre heures de l'après-midi; donc, il aurait à se déranger; il vaut mieux qu'il reste dans son lit. Je vous salue, messieurs." With which he bowed them out. When the Emperor heard of it, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and Napoléon did not laugh outright very often or easily.
There are a great many stories about this objection of Marshal Vaillant to be troubled for nothing; and, as usual, they overshoot the mark. He is supposed to have acted very cavalierly with highly placed personages, and even with ladies in very high society. Of course, I was never present at interviews of that kind, but during my long acquaintance with him, I was often seated at his side when less exalted visitors were admitted. At the best of times his manner was abrupt, though rarely rude, unless there was a reason for it, albeit that the outsider might fail to fathom it at the first blush. I remember being with him in his private room, somewhere about the sixties, when his attendant brought him a card.
"Show the gentleman in," said Vaillant, after having looked at it.
Enter, a tall, well-dressed individual, the rosette of the Legion of Honour in his button-hole, evidently a retired officer.
"What is it you want with me?" asked the marshal, who had remained seated with his back towards the visitor.