arms of some half-starved Teutonic vagabond. The baron in question was rather noted for his propensity to the bottle than to love-making. That he was an ill-treated man was most probably untrue, for he told falsehoods magnificently, being a very hero in the art. He never

wasted the vice that was so invaluable to individuals situated as he was, who had to make his way by that means. He worked with it upon a scale which gave him a title to be a hero rather than a petty manslayer. There was something great in the dimensions of his mendacity. A tall, large, powerful man, with a curved nose, he reminded me of the cuts of the renowned Baron Munchausen. It was difficult to tell in what part of the world he had not been; but Spain, during the_war, was the stage upon which he played off most of his more remarkable exploits: upon Spain he was felicitously mendacious. Whether he acquired his love for brandy where he laid the scene of his adventures, I never learned, but that was the staple of his vitality, until life itself began to surfeit, his iron constitution gave way, and he passed into that state of existence of which in his lifetime he seemed to have thought nothing. He said he had been in the English service in Spain; I could never learn in what regiment. Most probably he had joined the guerillas on his own account, and was with the guerilla chief, Sanchez, when he captured the governor of Ciudad Rodrigo, by concealing himself in the environs of that city. On this exploit I used to tease him.

"You did not capture the governor-it was Sanchez, the guerilla leader."

"I did though-it was all my doing. I deserted into the city, got acquainted with the French officers, kept up a correspondence with my friends, pretended there was a body of English and Spanish deserters ready to come in, who feared to approach without the governor's word as a security. I got him to go out with a small escort, thirty or forty horsemen only. No enemy was suspected to be so near; they even turned the cattle out daily from the city to feed, all appeared so peaceable in the environs. Then I led VOL. XXXIV. NO. CCII.

the governor among the guerillas— can you say I did not? They were on him at once on all sides, like so many tigers. Not a Frenchman got back into the town. I was never rewarded for my services!"

"But you were not with Wellington-you were a butcher with Sanchez, not a soldier."

"I was serving your country; Sanchez was in English pay, then I was in English pay too."

"How came you away from Wellington, then, from your regiment, among Sanchez' banditti ?"

Duty; I had an understanding with Wellington."

"And you got no reward, baron ?" "Not a sous. I took Ciudad Rodrigo-I did, myself; had the governor been there it would not have been taken the English would have been beaten off. Therefore I say I took the place."

"You did not surround it, baron, did you?"

"I don't understand." "Because some of my countrymen have taken towns that way.'

"You believe nothing that I say ! -you have a very narrow conception. All I say is true; I should like to see him who will say it is not!"

"I won't, baron; I only remarked that Juan Sanchez and his guerillas robbed you of the credit."

Sir, I took the city, that is the fact. Wellington had nothing to do when his army came but to make a demonstration."

"It is unlucky, indeed, baron, that your services have been passed over."

"Else I should have been a general in your service before this time. How unfortunate!"

66

Unfortunate, indeed, baron."

He was a mysterious character this baron, whatever he had been. He had undoubtedly been in the country; he understood Spanish, and it is probable had lived there, as one circumstanced like himself might be supposed to do, somewhat as the French say, rather profanely, par la grace de Dieu. It was not at all difficult, upon any subject out of the common way, to detect his shallowness.

You have been in all parts of Spain, baron?"

66

Every place from St. Sebastian to Malaga, every town from Gibraltar to Barcelona."

II

"Did you ever see the bulls of Guisando?"

"And many other bulls, and bullfights into the bargain. A fine thing is a good bull-fight! I have rode a bull until he was tame as a lamb."

"After he was drawn out of the combat, I suppose ?"

"You do not say I have not ?" "Oh, no-not at all, baron!--but the bulls of Guisando?'

"I know the breed-those with streaked hides!-deadly fierce!"

"I thought they were a quiet breed, baron, as they have not moved for seventeen hundred years."*

"None of your mystification-I love truth. You will not believe what you do not see! I have rode a Spanish bull till he was as tame as a farmer's ass. A firm spirit and active limbs will tire a bull."

"But the bulls of Guisando, baron ?"

Here a friend present could not conceal his laughter any longer. Fearing if he undeceived the baron, the latter might pick a quarrel, I made a pretence of following him, and put an end to our joking. To his last hour the baron never knew how deeply he had displayed his ignorance through his besetting sin, and thus provoked our ridicule. One of his extraordinary feats was riding from the Isla at Cadiz to Gibraltar, in one forenoon, to eat hot lobsters with the officers of the garrison. The sin of which he was guilty was, no doubt, lessened by the consideration that he deceived nobody, and, according to casuists, it is in this that the mortal part of the sin consists. The baron died a few months afterwards, the victim of too copious draughts of his favourite beverage.

The variety of character then in Paris, drawn from all parts of Europe, was an amusing study for persons of observation and leisure. It must be remembered, too, that there was at that time the utmost freedom of intercourse existing, and, all circumstances considered, a good deal of civility. A long period must pass away before a similar crisis can again occur, to bring such a motley ex

hibition of human kind into one focus.

I had returned to my Hôtel Vivienne, Rue Vivienne, one day from the excellent Beaune of the Kew vicar, when I found a card, "Le Commandeur de Sodre, Hôtel Boston." I knew of no such personage, and naturally felt my curiosity aroused to know something about the person who had thus left his address. On the following morning a darkcomplexioned, rather thick-set personage, of the middle height, called upon me. He was dressed in a green coat, spoke English well, and seemed to feel quite at home while informing me that he had left his card the day before, at the recommendation of Mr. L, a friend of mine. I inquired his pleasure, and he told me he wished take my advice upon a public affair. He was so importu. nate that he prevailed upon me to see him the next day at the Hôtel Boston.

I went to my appointment about noon, and found an excellent déjeuné à la fourchette laid out, of which he insisted I should partake. While breakfasting he told me, with some self-sufficiency, that he had been the Portuguese secretary of the Duke of Wellington during the Peninsular campaigns; that he was constantly with the Duke at head-quarters, from the nature of his duties.

I then began to marvel yet more what this Commandeur could want of me. He did not leave me long in suspense, but producing The Times newspaper, inquired whether I had read the reflections it contained upon the conduct of Portugal respecting Monte Video. Saying that I had, he put into my hands an ill-concocted reply. I soon gathered that his object was to get me to look it over, and alter it for him in those places where the arguments were too feeble. I promised I would examine it; and I did so. As I was coming to England, he requested me to hand it to some newspaper for insertion. I gave it to Mr. Perry, of the Morning Chronicle, who made a charge of twenty guineas for the insertion of each communication, which was paid

by the Chevalier AC, an agent of the Portuguese government in London, through my hands. As I had some trouble in the affair, and had business of my own to attend upon, I did not call upon De Sodre on my going back to Paris. I had done enough to oblige the friend who had introduced the Commandeur to me; and our time is private merchandise, on which no unscrupulous stranger has any just claim. Besides, I did not much like the man. It happened that, sitting under Tortoni's window at sunset, to enjoy the coolness after a hot Paris dayand they who know what a hot Paris day is in July, do not easily forget it the Commandeur espied me, though the sitting company were three deep, and I was in the rearmost rank, devouring rather than eating an ice. He expressed surprise at not having seen me since my return; and as before, with a sort of diplomatic finesse, turned the conversation upon himself and his private affairs. I had given him an opinion upon some public business, would I advise him on another very important matter? I suffered myself to be prevailed upon; and at the time appointed he produced a heap of MS. written in Portuguese.

"This," said he, "is a history of the private as well as public life of the Duke of Wellington, from the commencement of the Peninsular war to the Treaty of Paris. I kept a journal of every thing pro or con, and I think of publishing it." I took the papers, opened them, and collected the substance of some passages here and there, in a very loose way, not being a Portuguese scholar. I quickly saw that there must be some latent motive for printing such a work at that moment. Englishmen of every party felt that any thing which might raise a prejudice against the Duke, true or false, in the eyes of foreigners, assumed the appearance of a personal reflection upon himself. The Army of Occupation was in the country. The Duke of Wellington passed through the streets of Paris without insult, disliked as the conqueror, but as the man treated with courtesy. Such was the conduct of the Parisians who belonged to the Bonapartean generations now passed away; and such, it may be

added, was not the conduct of the Parisians of a later era.

I was, from what I have said about the scanty gleaning of the language of the MS., added to the character of the writing, ill able to make out more than isolated passages, upon which I at once formed an opinion decidedly inimical to the publication. I felt the spirit of my country move within me. I could not but be sensible that it was not proper the moment of public triumph should be clouded by the slightest disparagement, or a display of private weakness, in which one man cuts no better figure than another; it was my impression that such weaknesses were not spared in the MS. I felt that the question put to me could originate in no high or just feeling, considering who the party had been with whom I was conversing.

"Why do you wish such a work to be published, and just now, too? Such memoirs of distinguished men seldom appear until they are no more. The Duke of Wellington must have been your friend and patron. I should feel attached to one who had achieved so much, and having been myself present, and in his confidence to a certain extent, I should have esteemed his character as dearly as my own."

With an upright mind where all was right, I conceived it could not be otherwise; but my host reasoned in the way of the world.

"The Duke has not used me well." "How so ?"

Here the Commandeur put into my hands a statement in French, printed on three or four sides of letter paper, which I had in my possession until very recently, but I find I have mislaid it. The contents of that paper, and the Commandeur's communication, were in substance as follows: "The Duke has not treated me well. He refuses to render me a most important piece of service. Some

little time ago I fell in love here in Paris, with a charming girl, who returned my passion. She was resident with her mother, and under age. Her father was an officer in the French army, at that time stationed in Corsica; and might not have consented to my addressing his daughter. Without parental consent a girl under age cannot in any

way dispose of herself. I obtained her consent to go off with me to Portugal, if her mother could be got to agree to her elopement. The mother was avaricious, and was prevailed upon to consent provided I signed a bond to pay her four or five thousand francs a-year for life." (I forget the exact sum.) "The bond was duly executed, my mistress and I set off for Portugal by way of Madrid. It happened unluckily for us, that about the time we approached Bayonne, upon our way to Portugal, her father arrived in Paris from Corsica, on leave of absence. His first inquiry was for his daughter. By threats and other means he learned the truth. He applied instantly to the minister of police for an exempt to pursue and bring back the fugitive. The police, of course, had no authority beyond the Pyrenees, which we had crossed. We had travelled as far on our journey as the Spanish capital before the exempt overtook

us.

In Madrid he applied to the Duke de Montmorency, the French ambassador, telling his errand, and the Duke applied to the Spanish minister. The young lady was arrested and conveyed back to Paris. Not content with this, the Duke de Montmorency wrote to Lisbon, and got a sequestration placed upon my property in Portugal, to abide the result of any legal proceedings that it might at any time be thought proper to institute against me there. I could not, therefore, proceed home, owing to this gratuitous and unjust interference. I had no resource left but to return to Paris, recover the bond from the mother by an appeal to the law, bring an action against the police for exceeding its authority, and

against the Duke de Montmorency for his illegal conduct respecting my Lisbon property. I have recovered the bond and costs from the mother; the other proceedings are still pending. Now one line from the Duke of Wellington to the Lisbon authorities will remove the unjust sequestration from my property in Portugal. The Duke will not interfere for me in a point so clear, that can no way compromise him. It is using me ill."

"Then you would avenge yourself on the Duke by publishing these private memoirs ?"

it."

"I wish to have your advice about

I inquired if the Duke knew of the existence of the MS. The Commandeur said he did not. “Well, then, let the Duke know it, and that you are about to publish; this knowledge may make him change his mind-that is all the advice I can give upon the subject."

I thought that by this step the appearance of a publication, a good deal of which might, perhaps, be of the same nature as those that, too often proceeding from memoir-writers, dealing largely in all but facts, would be stayed. I from that hour never heard either of the MS. which I thus inspected at the Hôtel de Boston, or of the writer. Of the last I had no inclination to know more, he is possibly departed, where his only memoir is an epitaph. I learned afterwards in England, that he was really what he stated he had been, in relation to the Duke during the Peninsular campaigns. There were some curious statements in that manuscript.

VARON.