deputation of them: 'Go back to those who sent you, and tell them that I am not a man-eater.'

It was in the crowded and filthy prison of St. Lazare (formerly a convent), where they were herded together for four months, that André Chénier and Madame de Coigny became acquainted. It was there that he made her the subject of the beautiful ode-a masterpiece in its way-which he entitled La Jeune Captive. French poetic literature hardly contains anything of this kind of composition superior in sweetness, tenderness and poetic imaginings-except, perhaps, Malherbe's lines on the death of Mlle. du Perrier.

It is the Jeune Captive herself who is made to speak-to speak as a beautiful and guileless young girl, detained in prison and terrified at the prospect of death:

L'épi naissant mûrit de la faux respecté ;
Sans crainte du pressoir, le pampre tout l'été
Boit les doux présents de l'aurore;
Et moi, comme lui belle, et jeune comme lui,
Quoique l'heure présente ait de trouble et d'ennui,

Je ne veux pas mourir encore.

The bright illusions of youth yet dwell in her breast, in spite of the gloom of her prison; she would sing and fly with the joyous nightingale just escaped from the net of the cruel fowler; she is the brilliant flower of the garden just enjoying the rays of the morning sun, and claiming to live until evening; her journey of life has but begun, and the way is still strewn with fresh verdure and sweet flowers -why may she not continue it a little longer? Why should Death seek her out when there are so many who do not fear him, who would welcome him--the old and weary, the unfortunate, the unhappy? And again and again she raises the child-like wail: Je ne veux pas mourir encore !' But no summary, nor more ample translation, suffices to do justice to this fine composition in its original form.

Its literary merits are not, of course, affected by any mere want of agreement discoverable between the picture of La Jeune Captive as drawn by the poet and the actual person as she existed at the time. Yet one could have wished that the physical and moral difference was not so great-not quite so abysmal. Rarely has love been so blind, or poetic license so severely strained.

At the time when Madame de Coigny was made the subject of the poem she was certainly not a rosebud, a green ear of corn, a tender vine shoot, nor was she just at the pleasant beginning of the journey of life, nor an immature young girl. Oh no! She was married ten years before the Revolution-a first time-and had been subsequently divorced-a first time also-before she met Chénier. She had abandoned her married name of Fleury and resumed her maiden name of Coigny. Not many women, even of her day of almost

general immorality, had as many amatory adventures; and neither in character, conduct nor person had she anything in keeping with Chénier's idea of her as a guileless young girl untainted by gross worldly experiences. Charms of another kind she must undoubtedly have possessed, otherwise her career might have been different, and her husbands and lovers less numerous. Even in prison Chénier was not her only admirer. Another fellow-prisoner, M. Montrond, a gentleman of fortune, was a candidate for her veteran affections. The man of means triumphed over the man of mind. He secured the lady's preference, and on their release from prison they got married, but only to be divorced later on.

It cannot be charged against Madame de Coigny that she trifled with Chénier's affections or deceived him in any amatory sense. There is nothing to show that she ever encouraged him or pretended to love him-if she had much love left for anyone. She liked the young man well enough, no doubt; he was not handsome, but he was intellectual and romantic, and it was pleasant to have him worshipping at her feet and writing nice poetry about her, and about what she was not. That seemed to be about the extent of Madame's attachment for Chénier, and it was quite superficial. When he presented her with the lines on the Jeune Captive she was grateful and appreciative, though she could hardly have recognised the portrait as a good likeness. It is equally doubtful if she (though claiming to be une femme de lettres) recognised the poetic merits of the composition, or had any suspicion that it would confer immortality on her memory. At any rate she did not prize the copy sufficiently to keep it, or take much care of it after André's death, and, but for the fancy of a M. Millin, a fellow-prisoner to whom she handed it on leaving prison, the poem might have disappeared for ever. But it was preserved, and many years afterwards it came under the notice of M. de Chateaubriand, who saw at once that it was the production of a rare genius. All that could be found of Chénier's writings were collected and published (by Latouche) in a volume which appeared in 1819, and the world then first became aware of the fact that the Revolution had destroyed one of the greatest of French poets, and the only good poet of the Revolutionary epoch.

In the earlier part of the year 1794 the outrageous loi des suspects had filled to overflowing the prisons of Paris and all France. New prisons had to be constituted, and everywhere old palaces, châteaux, forts, churches, monasteries, convents, lunatic asylums-any large building, suitable or unsuitable, that could be secured-were turned into places of detention, mostly as insanitary and abominably filthy as St. Lazare, where Chénier and Madame de Coigny were confined with some eight hundred others. The Revolution had pulled down one Bastille and replaced it by a thousand-more crammed with prisoners, who were more wrongfully detained, worse accommodated,

and in far greater peril than any prisoners ever confined in the grim old fortress of the monarchy. As the numbers increased, efforts were made to diminish the overcrowding by sending prisoners wholesale to the guillotine. In two days-the 7th and 8th Thermidor-over eighty were decapitated; but (all unforeseen and unexpected) a day of more merciful general gaol delivery was at hand. Meanwhile the only chance for the individual prisoner was to keep quiet-il fallait se faire oublier ou périr (Latouche).

Marie-Joseph Chénier, André's brother, was aware of this, and strongly advised the family to make no effort on André's behalf, so as not to direct attention to him. Marie-Joseph, who was in friendly relation with some of the Terrorists, had no doubt reasons for thinking that a great change would shortly take place in the government, and that a few days' delay would make a vast difference in the fate of the mass of prisoners. It did so in fact.

But the distracted father of the brothers could not keep still. He presented petitions and memorials in favour of André's release, and exhausted his own influence and that of his friends in individual appeals to those in authority. He could not have done worse. His feverish anxiety had the effect of reminding the revolutionary commissioners that André Chénier was in existence, and of suggesting that his case had better be settled out of hand. It was settled by his condemnation and death.

When the father heard the dreadful news of his son's condemnation he flew to the house of Barère, forced a way to his presence, threw himself on his knees, and besought him to order the name of André to be erased from the death list. Barère remained for a time silent and impassive, but at last made answer: Ton fils sortira dans trois jours.' Was this a practical joke-inconceivably inhuman-played upon the afflicted father, or was there sincerity in the promise? The Revolution had brought to the surface a set of wretches who were quite capable of such brutal pleasantry, and there is no good reason for thinking that Barère was not one of the kind. But it is not impossible, and it may be hoped, that he spoke in good faith but was obliged to be oracular. Like Marie-Joseph he probably 'knew something,' and had reason to think that all the remaining suspects' would be released within three days. He and Tallien and others were conspiring for Robespierre's overthrow. It is conceivable then that he desired to comfort the distracted father with a positive assurance without compromising himself, or taking the old man into dangerous confidence. Such confidence would, moreover, be needless, for the kind purpose (if it existed) would be sufficiently served by the solemn assurance: Your son will come out in three days.' But the expected counter-revolution was retarded, and though Chénier came out of his prison within the three days, it was only to go to the guillotine-on the 7th Thermidor (25th of July, 1794); on the

9th the carnival of blood came to an end. Another day's delay would have saved him!

Meanwhile la Jeune Captive had been more fortunate. Her other prison lover, Montrond, had made a timely and judicious distribution of a hundred pieces of gold, whereby he procured the erasion of his own and her name from the list of victims ordered for execution. In this way they gained a respite of some days, and saved their lives. In that way, too, the life of Chénier might well have been saved if the Jeune Captive had only thought of it, and was willing to part with the money.

Marriage to Montrond, and then divorce, quickly followed her release from prison. Any slight restraints which matrimony might have imposed on her were removed by the divorce, and elle eut ensuite une existence assez orageuse, as one of her biographers delicately puts it. In the course of that stormy life she further augmented the list of her many lovers, amongst the new additions being the English Lord Malmesbury; the last of them was M. Bruno de Boisgelin. She died in 1820, not much over fifty years of age, and to the end (as the same polite biographer says) the 'Captive of love.' She will ever be remembered-perhaps with some amusement-as the inciting cause of poor Chénier's beautiful ode, and for nothing else.

DOMINICK DALY.

THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE EXPERIMENT AND SOME
LESSONS OF IT

1. THE United Kingdom cannot afford to maintain a Regular Army sufficiently numerous to meet all possible, or even probable, emergencies. Compulsory service, although involving a considerable saving in the rates of pay, would not meet the case, because the troops required for oversea garrisons must in any case be enlisted by voluntary methods, and their numbers do not now greatly exceed the necessary minimum, after providing a reasonable margin for 'small wars and for immediate use on the outbreak of more serious conflicts. Compulsory service prescribes very short service, and consequently the training of very large numbers annually-at great cost. A shortservice Regular Army maintained in addition to the necessary establishment of long-service troops would, therefore, involve an increase of the Estimates, against which no reduction of the long-service branch which could safely be made could furnish an appreciable set-off.

2. Great powers of expansion, on mobilisation, could be given to the British Regular Army, as at present constituted, only by means of a multiplicity of very weak cadres at home. That is to say, by the adoption of a system identical with or very similar to that advocated by Mr. Arnold-Forster, who proposed to convert seventy-one battalions of the Line and of the Militia into 'short-service' units, through which comparatively large numbers of men, after two years' training with the colours, would be passed into the Reserve. This proposal, although in itself a perfectly sound one, is, nevertheless, unsuitable to our particular case, because the British recruit is usually a boy, only nominally eighteen years of age, whereas the Continental recruit is actually twenty years old when he joins. In the latter circumstances, therefore,

The basis of this article is a series of memoranda which I had compiled for the purposes of a lecture to be delivered at the Senior Officers' Conference,' at the Staff College, arranged to take place during the early part of January. Owing to a necessity having arisen to overhaul the drains at the Staff College, the Conference has been postponed sine die.-A. W. A. P.