accomplished; and in an instant the blow was struck,
and the roof of my stronghold dropped upon
me.

GRAND GODARD.

THE constant reader will remember that, at
the closing scene of poor Jean Gigon's career*
there unexpectedly came forward an extraordinary
figure, the tallest, and at that moment
the leanest and the palest—he had just come
out of hospital—of the whole regiment of
Chasseurs d'Afrique—Jean Gigon's intimate
friend and confidant, enveloped in a long white
mantle, the skirt of which, thrown over the left
shoulder, concealed the funereal black-waxed
bottle of claret which the deceased had requested
should serve as his pillow when laid in the
grave.

* See All the Year Round, No. 54.

The narrator of Jean Gigon's Thirty-two
Duels, Monsieur Antoine Gandon, encouraged
by the literary and dramatic success of the
biography, which is now attracting crowds to the
Théâtre de la Gaìté, has given us another military
portrait, and has fixed in interesting black
and white the remarkable phantom who has just
been alluded to. We now have, for calm and
leisurely perusal, "Le Grand Godard," the
history of a strong man; and the author himself is
scarcely less remarkable a person than his hero,
an old Chasseur d'Afrique, who has seen plenty of
active service, who has lived the life of garrisons
and camps, he is still not ashamed to
confess that he has never neglected to say his
prayers. The pen, for which he has exchanged
his sword, is bright and brilliant; sharp enough,
it wounds nobody: better still, it wearies
nobody. There is not a living story-teller who
writes more agreeable gossip, or more clear and
readable French. In his narratives there is
found amalgamated a very considerable proportion
of romance—romance both of action and of
sentiment—every word of which, I suppose, is
true; but if it is not, it is of no great
consequence; for it no more shocks your sense of
truth than do facts like these: "A naughty
boy went out to seek his fortune; but before he
was half way there, a wolf came out of the wood,
and ate him up. A good boy went out on the
same errand, after dutifully bidding his parents
good-by; and before he had set half a dozen
steps, he was met by a most beautiful fairy
who ——" Therefore we do not care to ask
M. Gandon his authority for all his episodes:
Whether the Grand Godard ever really existed
in the flesh, and whether a visitor would have
to drive to the "pretty town situated several
myriametres' distance from Paris," or to No.
10,000, Fairyland. But even if M. Gandon has
given to airy nothing a local habitation and a
name, it is to be hoped that Grand Godard, his
wife, and family, are nevertheless in the enjoyment
of excellent health.

The author, too, has the merit of inventing a
novel mode of disarming criticism. Instead of
sending by the post, or a commissionaire, copies
of a new work to the newspapers and literary
journals, he delivers every copy with his own
hand, not allowing himself to be repulsed if the
person to whom it is addressed is not at home,
but returning at his hour, and, moreover, never
having to complain of an uncivil reception.
This gives him an opportunity of explaining to
the reviewer that he really is an old African
and writes of things with which he is familiar.
Consequently, M. Gandon frankly acknowledges
what he believes to be his obligations to his
literary brethren; the reader must not think,
however, that his own proper merit has been
without its weight. Let it be added, that M.
Gandon's little books are "livres honnêtes,"
books of respectability, which may be read without
blushing by respectable people—a remark
that cannot be made respecting sundry small
volumes which are published, and become highly
popular, in Paris.

Grand Godard is neither Godard the Grand,
nor Godard the Great, but only Godard the
Tall. Whether he was tall from his birth
upwards, is not recorded. His comrades gave him
the name for two reasons. First, everything
about him was on a grand scale, both physically
and morally; lofty stature, large head, thick
neck, long arms, great hands, stout body, long
legs, great feet, and above all a great heart.
Secondly, there was another Godard in the
regiment, with whom we need not trouble ourselves
further than to state that he was exactly the
opposite of the former one.

Grand Godard was never taught any trade or
profession. Sent to a grammar-school at ten
years of age, he left it at eighteen, to lose his
father and mother, one after the other, within
six months. After holding for twenty years a
very important commercial position in a provincial
town, they were ruined by an uninterrupted
series of unexpected misfortunes, amongst
which was the failure of several considerable
houses with whom they did business. The
orphan lad, knowing nothing about commerce,
and having no other family than very distant
relations, hailed as a relief to his loneliness the
day when he would have to draw for the
conscription. Chance favoured him, and he drew
what is called a good number, i.e. one which
would exempt him; but instead of taking
advantage of it, he enlisted in a cavalry regiment,
in order to exchange to Africa afterwards. He
thought that during his time of service the
affairs of his inheritance might be arranged by
the family notary; but it was a long and
complicated piece of business. At the end of seven
years, the lawyer's fees amounted to eight or ten
thousand francs, and young Godard received the
balance—one hundred francs, or four pounds,
which was all the paternal fortune that ever
reached him.

"Decidedly," he said, when he went to verify
the voluminous bundle of stamped papers that
was presented to him, "it is a pity that my poor
father did not article me to a notary; I should
then at least have made a profit out of proving