There is a strange, unnatural kind of pleasure felt sometimes in the continued attacks of evil fortune: the dogged courage with which we bear up against the ills of fate, swimming more strongly as the waves grow rougher, has its own meed of consolation. It is only at such a time, perhaps, that the really independent spirit of our natures is in the ascendant, and that we can stand amid the storm, conscious of our firmness, and bid the winds “blow and crack their cheeks.” Yet, through how many sorrows must one have waded, ere he reach this point! through what trials must he have passed I how must hope have paled, and flickered, and died out I how must all self-love, all ambition, all desire itself have withered within us, till we become like the mere rock amid the breakers, against which the waves beat in vain! When that hour comes, the heart has grown cold and callous, the affections have dried up, and man looks no more upon his fellow-men as brothers.
Towards this sad condition I found myself rapidly verging; the isolation of my homeless, friendless state, the death of my hopes, the uncheered path in which I walked, all conspired to make me feel depressed, and I perceived that a half-recklessness was already stealing over me, and that in my indifference as to fortune now lay my greatest consolation. There was a time when such a rencontre as lately befell me had made me miserable till the hour came when I should meet my adversary; now, my blood boiled with no indignant passion, no current of angry vengeance stirred through my veins, a stupid sullenness was over me, and I cared nothing what might happen. And if this state became not permanent, I owe it to youth alone—the mainspring of many of our best endeavors.
We had travelled some seven or eight miles when we stopped for a few seconds at the door of a cabaret, and then I discovered for the first time that my old friend Pioche was the corporal of our little party. To my slight reproach for his not having sooner made himself known to me, the honest fellow replied that he saw I was low in spirits about something, and did not wish to obtrude upon me.
“Not but, after all, mon lieutenant, the best way is always to 'face front' against bad luck, and charge through; sapermint, that's the way we did at Marengo, when Desaix's corps was cut off from the left—But pardon, mon officier, I forgot you were not there.”
There was something so pleasant in the gruff courtesy of the hardy cuirassier, that I willingly led him on to speak of his former life,—a subject which, once entered on, he followed as fancy or memory suggested.
“I used to feel low-spirited myself, once,” said Pioche, as he smoothed down his great mustache with a complacent motion of his fingers—“I used to be very low in heart when I entered the service first, and saw all my old school-fellows and companions winning their epaulettes and becoming captains and colonels,—ay, parbleu, and marshals, too,—while, because I could not read, I was to remain all my life in the ranks; as if one could not force a palisade nor break through a square till he had stuffed his head with learning. All this made me very sad, and I would sit brooding over it for hours long. But at last I began to think my own lot was not the worst after all; my duty was easily done, and, when over, I could sleep sound till the reveil blew. I ran no danger of being scolded by the Petit Caporal, because my division was not somewhere yesterday, nor in some other place to-day. He never came with a frown to ask me why I had not captured another howitzer and taken more prisoners. No, faith! It was always,—'Well done, Pioche! bravely done, mon enfant! here's a piece of twenty francs to drink my health.' Or perhaps he'd mutter between his teeth, 'That honest fellow there would make a better general than one half of them.' Not that he was in earnest, you know; but still it was pleasant just to hear it.”
“And yet, Pioche,” said I, “it does surprise me why, seeing that this want of learning was the bar to your promotion, you did not—”
“And so I did, mon lieutenant; at least I tried to learn to read. Morbleu! it was a weary time for me. I'd rather be under arrest three days a week, than be at it again. Mademoiselle Minette—she was the vivandiére of ours—undertook to teach me; and I used to go over to the canteen every evening after drill. Many a sad heart had I over these same lessons. Saprelotte, I could learn the look of every man in a brigade before I could know the letters in the alphabet, they looked so confoundedly alike when they stood up all in a line. The only fellows I could distinguish were the big ones, that were probably the sergeants and sous-officiers; and when my eye was fixed on one column, it would stray away to another; and then mademoiselle would laugh, and that would lead to something else. Et, ma foi, the spelling-book was soon thrown aside, and lessons given up for that evening.”
“I suppose Mademoiselle Minette was pretty, Pioche?”
“Was I ay, and is, too. What! mon lieutenant, did you never see her on parade? She's the handsomest girl in the army, and rides so well,—mille cannons! She might have been a great lady before this if she 'd have left the regiment; but no, she'd die first! Her father was tambour-major with us, and killed at Groningen when she was only an infant; and we used to carry her about in our arms on the march, and hand her from one to another. I have seen her pass from the leading files to the baggage-guard, on a long summer's day; that I have. Le Petit Caporal knows her well; she gave him a gourd full of eau-de-vie at Cairo when he was so faint he could scarcely speak. It was after that he saw her in the breach at Acre; one of our fellows was lying wounded in the ruins, and mademoiselle waited till the storming party fell back, and then ran up to him with her flask in her hand. 'Whose pretty ankles are these? I think I ought to know them,' said an officer, as she passed along. 'No flattery will do with me, Monsieur,' cried Minette; 'it's hard enough to get one's living here, without giving Nantz brandy for nothing.' Saerigtif when the laugh made her turn about, she saw it was the Petit Caporal himself who spoke to her. Poor Minette! she blushed scarlet, and nearly dropped with shame; but that did not prevent her dashing up the breach towards the wounded man; not that it was of any use, though,—he was dead when she got up.”
“I should like much to see mademoiselle. Is she still with the Fourth?”
“Yes, mon lieutenant; I parted with her a few hours ago.”
A half suppressed sigh that followed these words showed that the worthy corporal was touched on the most tender key of his nature, and for some time he lapsed into a silence I could not venture to break. At length, desiring to give the conversation a turn, I asked if he knew the Capitaine Pichot.
“Know him!” cried Pioche, almost bounding in his saddle as he spoke. “That I do. Peste! I have good reason to know him: see there.” With that he lifted the curled mustache from his upper lip, and disclosed to my view a blue scar that marked one side of his mouth. “That was his doing.”
“Indeed! How so, pray?”
“I 'll tell you. We were in garrison at Metz, where, as you know, the great commissariat station is held,—thousands of cannon and mortars, shells and shot, and tons of powder without end. Well, the orders were very strict against smoking; any man found with a pipe in his mouth was sentenced to a week in the 'salle de police,' and I can't say what else besides. When we marched into the town, this order stared us in the face; a great placard, with big letters, which they who could read said was against smoking. Now, most of us came from Alsace, and it was pretty much like setting a fish to live on dry land, bidding us go without tobacco. As for me, I smoke just as I breathe, without knowing or thinking of it. My pipe lies in my mouth as naturally as my foot rests in the stirrup; and so, although I intended to obey the order, I knew well the time might come when, just from not thinking, I should be caught smoking away; for if I were on guard over a magazine it would be all the same,—I could not help it. So I resolved, as the only way not to be caught tripping, to leave all my pipes in a secret place, till the time came for us to leave Metz,—an hour, I need not say, we all anxiously longed for. This I did,” continued Pioche, “that same evening, and all went on favorably for some time, when one night, as I was returning to quarters, the devil, who meddles with everything in this world, made me stick my hands into the pocket of my undress jacket, and I there discovered a little bit of a pipe about the length of one joint of your thumb,—a poor scrubby thing of clay, sure enough; but there it was, and, worse still, ready filled with tobacco. Had it been a good sized meerschaum, with a tassel and an amber mouthpiece, I had resisted like a man; but the temptation came in so humble a shape, I thought I was only guilty of a small sin in transgressing, and so I lit my little friend, and went gayly along towards the barracks. Just as I passed the corner of the market-place I heard a great noise of voices and laughing in the café, and recognized the tones of our major and some of the officers, as they sat sipping their wine in the verandah. Before I could raise my hand to my mouth, Capitaine Pichot cried out, 'Halte-la!—right about face!—attention!—left wheel!—eyes front!' This I did, as if on parade, and stood stock still; when suddenly crack went a noise, and a pistol-bullet smashed the pipe in two, and grazed my lip, when a roar of laughing followed, as he called out louder than before, 'Quick march!' and I stepped out to my quarters, never turning my head right or left, not knowing what other ball practice might be in store for me. Tonnerre de Dieu! a little windage of the shot might have cost me every tooth I have in the world!”
“It was a cruel jest, Pioche, and you 're a good-humored fellow to take it so easily.”
“Not so. Lieutenant. I had no punishment afterwards, and was well content to be quit for the fright.”
With such stray memories of his campaigning days did Pioche beguile the way: now moralizing over the chances and changes of a soldier's fortune; now comforting himself with some pleasant reflection, that even in his own humble walk he had assisted at some of the greatest triumphs of the French armies. Of the future he spoke with the easy confidence of one who felt that in the Emperor's guidance there could be full trust,—both of the cause being a just one, and the result victorious. A perfect type of his class, his bravery was only to be equalled by the implicit confidence he felt in his leader. That the troops of any country, no matter how numerous and well equipped, could resist a French army was a problem he could not even entertain. The thing was too absurd; and if Napoleon did not at that moment wield undisputed sway over the whole of Europe, it was simply owing to his excess of moderation, and the willing sacrifice of his ambition to his greater love of liberty.
I confess, if I were sometimes tempted to smile at the simplicity of the honest soldier, I was more often carried away by his warm enthusiasm; so frequently, too, did he interweave in his narrative the mention of those great victories, whose fame was unquestionable, that in my assent to the facts I went a great way in my concurrence with the inferences he deduced from them. And thus we travelled on for several days in advance of the division, regulating the halting-places and the billets, according to the nature and facilities of the country. The towns and villages in our “route” presented an aspect of the most profound peace; and however strange it seemed, yet each day attested how completely ignorant the people were of the advance of that mighty army that now, in four vast columns of march, was pouring its thousands into the heart of Germany. The Princes of Baden and Darmstadt, through whose territories we passed, had not as yet given in their adherence to the Emperor; and the inhabitants of those countries seemed perplexed and confused at the intentions of their powerful neighbor, whose immense trains of ammunition and enormous parks of artillery filled every road and blocked up every village.
At length we reached Manheim, where a portion of the corps of Maréchal Davoust were in waiting to join us: and there we first learned, by the imperial bulletin, the object of the war and the destination of the troops. The document was written by Napoleon himself, and bore abundant evidence of his style. After the usual programme, attesting his sincere love for peace, and his desire for the cultivation of those happy and industrious habits which make nations more prosperous than glorious, it went on to speak of the great coalition between Russia and Austria, which, in union with the “perfide Albion,” had no other thought nor wish than the abasement and dismemberment of France. “But, soldiers!” continued he, “your Emperor is in the midst of you. France itself in all its majesty, is at your back, and you are but the advanced guard of a mighty people! There are fatigues and privations, battles, and forced marches, before you; but let them oppose to us every resistance they are able, we swear never to cry 'Halt!' till we have planted our eagles on the territory of our enemies!”
We halted two days at Manheim to permit some regiments to come up, and then marched forward to Nordlingen, which place the Emperor himself had only quitted the night before. Here the report reached us that a smart affair had taken place the previous morning between the Austrian division and a portion of Ney's advanced guard, in which we had rather the worst of it, and had lost some prisoners. The news excited considerable discontent among the troops, and increased their impatience to move forward to a very great degree. Meanwhile, the different divisions of the French army were converging towards Ulm, from the north, south, and west; and every hour brought them nearer to that devoted spot, which as yet, in the security of an enormous garrison, never dreamed of sudden attack.
The corps of Soult was now pushed forward to Augsburg, and, extended by a line of communication to Meiningen, the only channel of communication which remained open to the enemy. The quartier-général of the Emperor was established at Zummerhausen; Ney was at Guntzburg: Marmont threatened in the west; and Bernadotte, arriving by forced marches from Prussia, hovered in the north.—so that Ulm was invested in every direction at one blow, and that in a space of time almost inconceivable.
While these immense combinations were being effected,—requiring as they did an enormous extent of circumference to march over before the fortress could be thus enclosed, as it were, within our grasp,—our astonishment increased daily that the Austrians delayed to give battle; but, as if terror-stricken, they waited on day after day while the measures for their ruin were accomplishing. At length a desperate sortie was made from the garrison; and a large body of troops, escaping by the left bank of the Danube, directed their course towards Bohemia; while another corps, in the opposite direction, forced back Ney's advanced guard, and took the road towards Nordlingen. Having directed a strong detachment in pursuit of this latter corps, which was commanded by the Archduke Frederick himself, the Emperor closed in around Ulm, and forcing the passage of the river at Elchingen, prepared for the final attack.
While these dispositions were being effected, the cavalry brigade, under General d'Auvergne, consisting of three regiments of heavy dragoons, the Fourth Cuirassiers, and Eighth Hussars, continued to descend the left bank of the Danube in pursuit of a part of the Austrian garrison which had taken that line in retreat towards Vienna. We followed as far as Guntzburg without coming up with them; and there the news of the capitulation of Meiningen, with its garrison of six thousand men, to Marechal Soult, reached us, along with an order to return to Ulm.
Up to this time all I had seen of war was forced marches, bivouacs hastily broken up, hurried movements in advance and retreat, the fatigue of night parties, and a continual alert. At first the hourly expectation of coming in sight of the enemy kept up our spirits; but when day after day passed, and the same pursuit followed, where the pursued never appeared, the younger soldiers grumbled loudly at fatigues undertaken without object, and, as it seemed to them, by mistake.
On the night of the 17th of October we bivouacked within a league of Ulm. Scarcely were the pickets formed for the night, when orders came for the whole brigade to assemble under arms at daybreak. A thousand rumors were abroad as to the meaning of the order, but none came near the true solution; indeed, the difficulty was increased by the added command, that the regiments should appear en grande tenue, or in full dress.
I saw that my old commander made a point of keeping me in suspense as to the morrow, and affected as much as possible an air of indifference on the subject. He had himself arrived late from Ulm, where he had seen the Emperor; and amused me by mentioning the surprise of an Austrian aide-de-camp, who, sent to deliver a letter, found his Majesty sitting with his boots off, and stretched before a bivouac fire. “Yes,” said Napoleon, divining at once his astonishment, “it is even so. Your master wished to remind me of my old trade, and I hope that the imperial purple has not made me forget its lessons.”
By daybreak the next morning our brigade was in the saddle, and in motion towards the quartier-général,—a gently rising ground, surmounted by a farmhouse, where the Emperor had fixed his quarters. As we mounted the hill we came in sight of the whole army drawn up in battle array. They stood in columns of divisions, with artillery and cavalry between them, the bands of the various regiments in front. The day was a brilliant one, and heightened the effect of the scene. Beyond us lay Ulm,—silent as if untenanted: not a sentinel appeared on the walls; the very flag had disappeared from the battlements. Our surprise was great at this; but how was it increased as the rumor fled from mouth to mouth,—“Ulm has capitulated; thirty-five thousand men have become prisoners of war!”
Ere the first moments of wonder had ceased, the staff of the Emperor was seen passing along the line, and finally taking up its station on the hill, while the regimental bands burst forth into one crash the most spirit-stirring and exciting. The proud notes swelled and filled the air, as the sun, bursting forth with increased brilliancy, tipped every helmet and banner, and displayed the mighty hosts in all the splendor of their pageantry. Beneath the hill stretched a vast plain in the direction of Neuburg; and here we at first supposed it was the Emperor's intention to review the troops. But a very different scene was destined to pass on that spot.
Suddenly a single gun boom, out; and as the lazy smoke moved heavily along the earth, the gates of Ulm opened, and the head of an Austrian column appeared. Not with beat of drum or colors flying did they advance; but slow in step, with arms reversed, and their heads downcast, they marched on towards the mound. Defiling beneath this, they moved into the plain, and, corps by corps, piled their arms and resumed their “route,” the white line serpentining along the vast plain, and stretching away into the dim distance. Never was a sight so sad as this! All that war can present of suffering and bloodshed, all that the battlefield can show of dead and dying, were nothing to the miserable abasement of those thousands, who from daybreak till noon poured on their unceasing tide!
On the hill beside the Emperor stood several officers in white uniform, whose sad faces and suffering looks attested the misery of their hearts. “Better a thousand deaths than such humiliation!” was the muttered cry of every man about me; while in very sorrow at such a scene, the tears coursed down the hardy cheeks of many a bronzed soldier, and some turned away their heads, unable to behold the spectacle.
Seventy pieces of cannon, with a long train of ammunition wagons, and four thousand cavalry horses, brought up the rear of this melancholy procession,—the spoils of the capitulation of Ulm. Truly, if that day were, as the imperial bulletin announced it, “one of the most glorious for France,” it was also the darkest in the history of Austria,—when thirty-two regiments of infantry and fifteen of cavalry, with artillery and siege defences of every kind, laid down their arms and surrendered themselves prisoners.
Thus in fifteen days from the passing of the Rhine was the campaign begun and ended, and the Austrian Empire prostrate at the feet of Napoleon.
The Emperor returned that night to Elchingen, accompanied by a numerous staff, among whom was the General d'Auvergne. I remember well the toilsome ascent of the steep town, which, built on a cliff above the Danube, was now little better than a heap of ruins, from the assault of Ney's division two days before. Scrambling our way over fallen houses and massive fragments of masonry, we reached the square that forms the highest point of the city; from thence we looked down upon the great plain, with the majestic Danube winding along for miles. In the valley lay Ulm, now sad and silent: no watch-fires blazed along its deserted ramparts, and through its open gates there streamed the idle tide of soldiers and camp followers, curious to see the place which once they had deemed almost impregnable. The quartier-général was established here, and the different staffs disposed of themselves, as well as they were able, throughout the houses near: most of these, indeed, had been deserted by their inhabitants, whose dread of the French was a feeling ministered to by every artifice in the power of the Austrian Government. As for me, I was but a young campaigner, and might from sheer ignorance have passed my night in the open air, when by good fortune I caught sight of my old companion, Pioche, hurrying along a narrow street, carrying a basket well stored with bottles on his arm.
“Ah, mon lieutenant, you here! and not supped yet, I 'd wager a crown?”
“You'd win it too, Pioche; nor do I see very great chance of my doing so.”
“Come along with me, sir; Mademoiselle Minette has just opened her canteen in the flower-market. Such it was once, they tell me; but there is little odor left there now, save such as contract powder gives. But no matter you 'll have a roast capon and sausages, and some of the Austrian wine; I have just secured half a dozen bottles here.”
I need scarcely say that this was an invitation there was no declining, and I joined the corporal at once, and hurried on to mademoiselle's quarters. We had not proceeded far, when the noise of voices speaking and singing in a loud tone announced that we were approaching the canteen.
“You hear them, mon lieutenant!” said Pioche, with a look of delight; “you hear the rogues. Par Saint Jaaques, they know where to make themselves merry. Good wine for drinking, lodging for nothing, fire for the trouble of lighting it, are brave inducements to enjoy life.”
“But it 's a canteen; surely mademoiselle is paid?”
“Not the first night of a campaign, I suppose,” said he, with a voice of rebuke. “Parbleu! that would be a pretty affair! No, no; each man brings what he can find, drinks what he is able, and leaves the rest; which, after all, is a very fair stock-in-trade to begin with. And so now, mon lieutenant, to commence operations regularly, just sling this ham on your sabre over your shoulder, and take this turkey carelessly in your hand,—that 's it. Here we are; follow me.”
Passing through an arched gateway, we entered a little courtyard where several horses were picketed, the ground about them being strewn with straw knee-deep; cavalry saddles, holsters, and sheepskins lay confusedly on every side, along with sabres and carbines; a great lamp, detached from its position over the street entrance, was suspended from a lance out of a window, and threw its light over the scene. Stepping cautiously through this chaotic heap, we reached a glass door, from within which the riotous sounds were most audibly issuing. Pioche pushed it open, and we entered a large room, full fifty feet in length, at one end of which, under a species of canopy, formed by two old regimental colors, sat Mademoiselle Minette,—for so I guessed to be a very pretty brunette, with a most decidedly Parisian look about her air and toilette; a table, covered with a snow-white napkin, was in front of her, on which lay a large bouquet and an open book, in which she appeared to be writing as we came in. The room on either side was filled by small tables, around which sat parties drinking, card-playing, singing or quarrelling as it might be, with a degree of energy and vociferation only campaigning can give an idea of.
The first thing which surprised me was, that all ranks in the service seemed confusedly mixed up together, there being no distinction of class whatever; captains and corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, colonels, and tambourmajors, were inextricably commingled, hobnobbing, handshaking, and even kissing in turn, that most fraternal and familiar “tu” of dearest friendship being heard on every side.
Resisting a hundred invitations to join some party or other as he passed up the room, Pioche led me forward towards Mademoiselle Minette, to present me in due form ere I took my place.
The honest corporal, who would have charged a square without blinking, seemed actually to tremble as he came near the pretty vivandiére; and when, with a roguish twinkle of her dark eye, and a half smile on her saucy lip, she said, “Ah, c'est toi, gros Pioche?” the poor fellow could only mutter a “Oui, Mademoiselle,” in a voice scarce loud enough to be heard.
“And monsieur,” said she, “whom I have the honor to see?”
“Is my lieutenant. Mademoiselle; or he is aide-de-camp of my general, which comes to the same thing.”
With a few words of gracious civility, well and neatly expressed mademoiselle welcomed me to the canteen, which, she said, had often been graced by the presence of General d'Auvergne himself.
“Yes, by Saint Denis!” cried Pioche, with energy; “Prince Murat, and Maréchal Davoust, too, have been here.”
Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added something that called a faint blush to mademoiselle's cheek as she replied, “You think so, do you?” Then, turning to me, asked if I were not disposed to sup.
“Yes, that he is,” interrupted Pioche; “and here is the materiel;”—with which he displayed his pannier of bottles, and pointed to the spoils which, following his directions, I carried in my hands.
The corporal having despatched the fowls to the kitchen, proceeded to arrange a little table at a short distance from where mademoiselle sat,—an arrangement, I could perceive, which called forth some rather angry looks from those around the room, and I could overhear more than one muttered Sacre! as to the ambitious pretensions of the “gros Pioche.”
He himself paid little if any attention to these signs of discontent, but seemed wholly occupied in perfecting the table arrangements, which he did with the skill and despatch of a tavern waiter.
“Here, mon lieutenant, this is your place,” said he, with a bow, as he placed a chair for me at the head of the board; and then, with a polite obeisance to the lady, he added, “Avec permission, Mademoiselle,” and took his own seat at the side.
A very appetizing dish made its appearance at this moment; and notwithstanding my curiosity to watch the proceedings of the party, and my admiration for mademoiselle herself, hunger carried the day, and I was soon too deeply engaged in the discussion of my supper to pay much attention to aught else. It was just then that, forgetting where I was, and unmindful that I was not enjoying the regular fare of an inn, I called out, as if to the waiter, for “bread.” A roar of laughter ran through the room at my mistake, when a dark-whiskered little fellow, in an undress frock, stuck his small sword into a loaf, and handed it to me from the table where he sat.
There was something in the act which rather puzzled me, and might have continued longer to do so, had not Pioche whispered me in a low voice, “Take it, take it.”
I reached out my hand for the purpose, when, just as I had caught the loaf, with a slight motion of his wrist he disengaged the point of the weapon, and gave me a scratch on the back of my hand. The gesture I made called forth a renewed peal of laughing; and I now perceived, from the little man's triumphant look at his companions, that the whole thing was intended as an insult. Resolving, however, to go quietly in the matter, I held out my hand when it was still bleeding, and said,—
“You perceive, sir?”
“Ah, an accident, morbleu!, said he, with a careless shrug of his shoulders, and a half leer of impertinent indifference.
“So is this also,” replied I, as, springing up, I seized the sword he was returning to its scabbard, and smashed the blade across my knee.
“Well done, well done!” cried twenty voices in a breath; while the whole room rose in a confused manlier to take one side or other in the contest, several crowding around the little man, whose voice had suddenly lost its tone of easy impertinence, and was now heard swearing away, with the most guttural intonation.
“What kind of swordsman are you?” whispered Pioche, in my ear.
“Sufficiently expert to care little for an enemy of his caliber.”
“Ah, you don't know that,” replied he; “it's François, the maïtre d'armes of the Fourth.”
“You must not fight him, Monsieur,” said mademoiselle, as she laid her hand on mine, and looked up into my face with a most expressive glance.
“They are waiting for you without, mon lieutenant,” said an old sergeant-major, touching his cap as he spoke.
“Come along,” said Pioche, with a deeply-muttered oath; “and, by the blood of Saint Louis, it shall be the last time Maitre Francois shows his skill in fence, if I cost them the fire of a platoon to-morrow.”
I was hurried along by the crowd to the court, a hundred different advisers whispering their various counsels in my ears as I went.
“Take care of his lunge in tierce,—mind that,” cried one.
“Push him outside the arm,—outside, remember; take my advice, young man,” said an old sous-officier,—“close on him at once, take his point where he gives it, and make sure of your own weapon.”
“No bad plan either,” cried two or three. “Monsieur Auguste is right; Francois can't bear the cold steel, and if he sees it close, he loses his head altogether.”
The courtyard was already cleared for action; the horses picketed in one corner, the straw removed, and a blaze of light from all the lamps and candles of the supper-room showed the ground as clearly as at noonday. While my antagonist was taking off his coat and vest,—an operation I did not choose to imitate,—I took a rapid survey of the scene, and notwithstanding the rush of advisers around me, was sufficiently collected to decide on my mode of acting.
“Come, mon lieutenant, off with your frock,” said an officer at my side; “even if you don't care for the advantage of a free sword-arm, those fellows yonder won't believe it all fair, if you do not strip.”
“Yes, yes, take it off,” said a fellow in the crowd, “your fine epaulettes may as well escape tarnishing; and that new coat, too, will be all the better without a hole in it.”
I hastily threw off my coat and waistcoat, when the crowd fell back, and the maitre d'armes advancing into the open space with a light and nimble step, cried out, “En garde, Monsieur!” I stood my ground, and crossed my sword with his.
For a few seconds I contented myself with merely observing my adversary, who handled his weapon not only with all the skill of an accomplished swordsman, but with a dexterity that showed me he was playing off his art before his companions.
As if to measure his distance, he made two or three slight passes over the guard of my sword, and then grating his blade against mine with that peculiar motion which bodes attack, he fixed his eyes on mine, to draw off my attention from his intended thrust. The quickness and facility with which his weapon changed from side to side of mine, the easy motion of his wrist, and the rigid firm ness of his arm, all showed me I was no match for him,—although one of the best of my day at the military school,—and I did not venture to proceed beyond mere defence. He saw this, and by many a trick endeavored to induce an attack,—now dropping his point carelessly, to address a monosyllable to a friend near; now throwing open his guard, as if from negligence.
At length, as if tired with waiting, he called out, “Que cela finisse!” and rushed in on me.
The rapidity of the assault, for a second or so, completely overcame me; and though I defended myself mechanically, I could neither follow his weapon with my eye nor anticipate his intended thrust. Twice his point touched my sword-arm above the wrist, and by a slight wound there, saved my lungs from being pierced. At last, after a desperate rally, in which he broke in on my guard, he made a fearful lunge at my chest. I bent forward, and received his blade in the muscles of my back, when, with a wheel round, I smashed the sword in me, and buried my own up to the hilt in his body. He fell bathed in blood; and I, staggering backwards, was caught in Pioche's arms at the moment when all consciousness was fast leaving me.
A few minutes after I came to myself, and found that I was lying on a heap of straw in the yard, while two regimental surgeons were most industriously engaged in trying to stop the hemorrhage of my wounds.
With little interest in my own fate, I could not help feeling anxious about my antagonist. They shook their heads mournfully in reply to my question, and desired me to be as calm as possible, for my life hung on a very thread. The dressing completed, I was carried into the house, and laid on a bed in a small, neat-looking chamber, which I heard, as they carried me along, mademoiselle had kindly placed at my disposal. She herself assisted to place the pillow beneath my head, and then with noiseless gesture closed the curtains of the window, and took her seat at the bedside.
The moment the others had left the room, I turned to ask for' the maitre d'armes. But she could only say that his companions of the Fourth had carried him away to the ambulance, refusing all offers of aid except from the surgeons of their own corps.
“They say,” added she, with a naïve simplicity, “that François is not made like other folk, and that the only doctors who understand him are in the Fourth Regiment. However that may be, it will puzzle them sadly this time; you have given him his coup de congé.”
“I hope not, sincerely,” said I, with a shudder.
“And why not?” cried mademoiselle, in astonishment. “Is it not a good service you render to the whole brigade? Would not the division be all the happier if such as he, and Pichot, and the rest of them—”
“Pichot,—Amédée Pichot?”
“Yes, Amédée Pichot, to be sure. But what's that knocking outside? Ah, there 's Pioche at the window!”
Mademoiselle arose and walked towards the door; but before she reached it, it was opened, and General d'Auvergne entered the room.
“Is he here?” asked he, in a low voice.
“Yes, General,” said mademoiselle, with a courtesy, as she placed the chair for him to sit down. “He is much better. I 'll wait outside till you want me,” added she, as she left the room and closed the door.
“Come, come, my boy,” said the kind old man, as he took my hand in his, “don't give way thus. I have made many inquiries about this affair, and they all tend to exculpate you. This fellow François is the mauvaise tete of the regiment, and I only wish his chastisement had come from some other hand than yours.”
“Will he live. General?” asked I, with a smothering fulness in my throat as I uttered the words.
“Not if he be mortal, I believe. The sword pierced his chest from side to side.”
I groaned heavily as I heard these words; and burying my head beneath the clothes, became absorbed in my grief. What would I not have endured then of insult and contumely, rather than suffer the terrible load upon my conscience of a fellow-creature's blood, shed in passion and revenge! How willingly would I have accepted the most despised position among men to be void of this crime!
“It matters not,” cried I, in my despair—“it matters not how I guide my path, misfortunes beset me at every turn of the way—”
“Speak not thus,” said the general, sternly. “The career you have embarked in is a stormy and a rough one. Other men have fared worse than you have in it,—and without repining too. You knew of one such yourself, who in all the saddest bereavements of his hopes cherished a soldier's heart and a soldier's courage.”
The allusion to my poor friend, Charles de Meudon, brought the tears to my eyes, and I felt that all my sufferings were little compared with his.
“Let your first care be to get well as soon as you can: happily your name may escape the Emperor's notice in this affair by appearing in the list of wounded; our friend the maitre d'armes is not likely to discover on you. The campaign is begun, however, and you must try to take your share of it. The Emperor's staff starts for Munich to-morrow. I must accompany them; but I leave you in good hands here, and this detachment will occupy Elchingen at least ten days longer.”
Scarcely had the general left me when mademoiselle re-entered the room.
“So Monsieur,” said she, smiling archly, “you have been left in my care, it seems. Morbleu! it's well the vivandiére of the regiment is not a prude, or I should scarcely know how to act. Well, well, one can only do one's best. And now, shall I read for you, or shall I leave you quiet for an hour or two?”
“Just so; leave him alone for a little while,” said a gruff voice from the end of the bed, at the same time that the huge beard and red mustache of Pioche appeared peeping above the curtain.
“Is he not stupid, that great animal of a cuirassier?” said mademoiselle, starting at the voice so unexpectedly heard. “I say, mon caporal, right face,—march. Do you hear, sir? You 've got the feuille de route; what do you stay for?”
“Ah, Mademoiselle!” said the poor fellow, as he smoothed down his hair on his forehead, and looked the very impersonation of sheepish admiration.
“Well?” replied she, as if not understanding his appeal to her feelings—“well?”
A look of total embarrassment, an expression of complete bewilderment, was his only reply; while his eyes wandered round the room till they met mine; and then, as if suddenly conscious that a third party was present, he blushed deeply, and said,—
“Too true, mon lieutenant; she does with me what she will.”
“Don't believe him. Monsieur,” interposed she, quickly. “I told him to get knocked on the head a dozen times, and he 's never done so.”
“I would though, and right soon too, if you were only in earnest,” said he, with a vehemence that bespoke the truth of the assertion.
“There, there,” said she, with a smile, as she held out her hand to him; “we are friends.”
The poor fellow pressed it to his lips with the respectful devotion of a Bayard; and with a muttered “This evening,” left the room.
“It is no small triumph, Mademoiselle,” said I, “that you have inspired such a passion in the hardy breast of the cuirassier.”
A saucy shake of the head, as though she did not like the compliment, was the only reply. She bent her head down over her work, and seemed absorbed in its details; while I, reverting to my own cares, became silent also.
“And so, Monsieur,” said she, after a long pause—“and so you deem this conquest of mine a very wonderful thing?”
“You mistake me,” said I, eagerly,—“you mistake me much. My surprise was rather that one like Pioche, good-hearted, simple fellow as he is, should possess the refinement of feeling—”
“A clever flank movement of yours. Lieutenant,” interposed she, with a pleasant laugh; “and I'll not attack you again. And, after all, I am a little proud of my conquest.”
“The confession is a flattering one, from one who doubtless has had a great many to boast of.”
“A great many, indeed!” replied she, naïvely; “so many, that I can't reckon them,—not to boast of, however, as you term it. Par bleu! some of them had little of that—But here comes the doctor, and I must not let him see us talking. Ma foi, they little think when their backs are turned how seldom we mind their directions!”
The surgeon's visit was a matter of a few seconds; he contented himself with feeling my pulse and reiterating his advice as to quiet.
“You have got the best nurse in the army. Monsieur,” said he, as he took his leave. “I have only one caution to give you,—take care if an affection of the heart be not a worse affair than a thrust of a small sword. I have known such a termination of an illness before now.”
Mademoiselle made no reply save an arch look of half anger, and left the room; and I, wearied and exhausted, sank into a heavy slumber.
Von three entire weeks my wound confined me to the limits of mY chamber; and Yet, were it not for my impatience to be up and stirring, mY life was not devoid of happiness.
Every movement of the army, in its most minute detail, was daily reported to me by Mademoiselle Minette. The bulletins of the Emperor, the promotions, the on dits of the bivouac and the march, brought by the various battalions, as they moved on towards the east, were all related by her with such knowledge of military phrase and soldiers' style as to amuse me, equally by her manner as by what she told.
The cuirassiers marched soon after I received my wound, and though attached to the corps, she remained behind at Elchingen, having pledged herself, as she said, to the general, to restore me safe and sound before she left me. The little window beside my bed offered a widely-extended view over the great plain beneath; and there I have sat the entire day, watching the columns of cavalry and infantry as they poured along, seemingly without ceasing, towards the Lower Danube. Sometimes the faint sounds of the soldiers' songs would reach me,—the rude chorus of a regiment timing their step to some warrior's chant,—and set my heart a beating to be with them once more; sometimes my eye would rest upon the slow train of wagons, surmounted with a white flag, that wound their way heavily in the rear, and my spirit sank as I thought over the poor wounded fellows that were thus borne onward with the tide of war, as the crushed serpent trails his wounded folds behind him.
Mademoiselle seldom left me. Seated at her work, often for hours without speaking, she would follow the train of her own thoughts, and when by chance she gave a passing glance through the window at the scene beneath, some single word would escape her as to the regiments or their officers, few of which were unknown to her, at least by reputation.
I could not but mark, that within the last twelve or fourteen days she seemed more sad and depressed than before; the lively gayety of her character had given place to a meek and suffering melancholy, which I could not help attributing to the circumstances in which she was placed, away from all her ordinary pursuits and the companions of her daily life. I hinted as much one day, and was about to insist on her leaving me, when she suddenly interrupted me, saying,—
“It is all true. I am sad, and know not why, for I never felt happier; yet, if you wished me to be gay as I used to be, I could not for the world. It is not because I am far from those I have learned to look on as my brothers; not so, my changeful fortune has often placed me thus. Perhaps it's your fault, mon lieutenant,” said she, suddenly, turning her eyes full upon me.
“Mine, Minette,—mine!” said I, in amazement.
She blushed deeply, and held down her head, while her bosom heaved several times convulsively; and then, while a deathly paleness spread over her cheek, she said, in a low, broken voice,—
“Perhaps it is because I am an orphan, and never knew what it was to have those whose dispositions I should imitate, and whose tastes I should study; but somehow I feel even as though I could not help becoming like those I am near to,—following them, ay, and outstripping them, in all their likings and dislikings.”
“And so, as you seem sad and sorrowful, it is more than probable that you took the color of my thoughts. I should feel sorry, Minette, to think it were thus; I should ill repay all your kindness to me. I must try and wear a happier countenance.”
“Do so, and mine will soon reflect it,” said she, laughing. “But, perhaps, you have cause for sorrow,” added she, as she stole a glance at me beneath her eyelashes.
“You know, Minette, that I am an orphan like yourself,” said I, half evading the question.
“Ah!” cried she, passionately, “if I had been a man, I should like to be such a one as Murat there. See how his black eyes sparkle, and his proud lip curls, when the roll of artillery or the clattering of a platoon is heard! how his whole soul is in the fight! I remember once—it was at the Iser—his brigade was stationed beneath the hill, and had no orders to move forward for several hours. He used to get off his horse and walk about, and endeavor, by pushing the smoke away, thus, with his hand, and almost kneeling to the ground, to catch a view of the battle; and then he would spring into the saddle, and for sheer passion dash the spurs into his horse's flank, till he reared and plunged again. I watched him thus for hours. I loved to look on him, chafing and fretting like his own mettled charger, he was so handsome! 'A drink, Minette! Something to cool my lips, for Heaven's sake,' said he, at last, as he saw me standing near him. I filled the little cup you see here with wine, and handed it to him. Scarcely had he raised it to his lips, when an aide-decamp galloped up, and whispered some words in haste.
“'Ha, ha!' cried he, with a shout of joy; 'they want us, then! The squadrons will advance by sections, and charge!—charge!' And with that he flung the goblet from him to the ground; and when I took it up I found that with the grasp of his strong fingers he had crushed it nearly together: see here! I never would let it be changed; it is just as at the time he clasped it, and I kept it as a souvenir of the prince.”
She took from a little shelf the cup, as she spoke, and held it up before me with the devoted admiration with which some worshipper would regard a holy relic.
“And that,” said Minette, as she pressed to her lips a faded cockade, whose time-worn tints still showed the tricolored emblems of the Republic—“that do I value above the cross of the Legion itself.”
“Whose was it, Minette? Some brave soldier's, I'm sure.”
“And you may be sure. That was the cockade of Le Premier Grenadier de la France,—La Tour d'Auvergne, the cousin of your own general.”
Seeing that I had not heard before of him, she paused for a few seconds in amazement, and then muttered, “A brave school to train the youth of France it must be where the name of La Tour d' Auvergne was never mentioned!”
Having thus vented her indignation, she proceeded to tell me of her hero, who, though descended from one of the most distinguished families of France, yet persisted in carrying his musket in the ranks of the Republican army, never attaining to a higher grade, nor known by any other title than the “Premier Grenadier de la France.” Foremost in every post of danger, the volunteer at every emergency of more than ordinary peril, he refused every proffer of advancement, and lived among his comrades the simple life of a soldier.
“He fell at Neuburg,” said mademoiselle, “scarce a day's march from here; they buried him on the field, and placed him dead, as he had been ever while living, with his face towards the enemy. And you never heard of him? Juste Ciel! it is almost incredible. You never brigaded with the Forty-fifth of the line; that 's certain.”
“And why so?”
“Because they call his name at every parade muster as though he were still alive and well. The first man called is La Tour d' Auvergne, and the first soldier answers, 'Mort sur le champ de bataille.' That 's a prouder monument than your statues and tombstones—is it not?”
“Indeed it is,” said I, to whom the anecdote was then new, though I afterwards lived to hear it corroborated in every respect.
With many such traits of the service did mademoiselle beguile the time,—now telling of the pleasant life of the cantonment; now of the wild scenes of the battlefield. Young as she was, she had seen much of both, and learned around the bivouac fires the old traditions of the Revolutionary armies, and the brave deeds of the first veterans of France. In such narratives, too, her own enthusiastic nature burst forth in all its vehemence: her eyes would sparkle, and her words come rapidly, as she described some fierce attack or headlong charge; and it was impossible to listen without catching up a portion of her ardor, so wrapped up did she herself become in the excitement of her story.
Thus one evening, while describing the passage of the Adige, after detailing most circumstantially the position and strength of the attacking columns, and describing how each successive advance was repulsed by the murderous fire of the artillery, she proceeded to relate the plan of a flank movement, effected by some light infantry regiment thrown across the river a considerable distance up the stream.
“We came along,” said she, “under the shade of some willows, and at last reached the ford. The leading companies halted; two officers sounded the river, and found that it was passable. I was close by at the time. It was the Colonel Lajolais who commanded the brigade, and he asked me for a goutte.
“'It may be the last you 'll ever give me, Minette,' said he; 'I don't expect to see you again.'
“'Are you going to remain at this side, Colonel?' said I.
“'No, parbleu!' said he, 'not when the Twenty-second cross to the other.'
“'Neither am I, then,' said I; 'my place is with the head of the battalion.'
“Well, well; they all pressed me to stay back; they said a thousand kind things too. But that only decided me the more to go on; and as the signal rocket was fired, the word was given, and on we went. For the first eight or ten paces it was mere wading; but suddenly a grenadier in the front called out, Gare! lift your muskets; it's deep here.' And so it was. With one plunge down I went; but they seized me by the arms and carried me along, and some way or other we reached the bank. Morbleu! I felt half drowned. But there was little time to think over these things, for scarcely had the column formed when the cry of 'Cavalry!' was given, and down came the lancers with a swoop. But we were all ready. The flank companies fell back, and formed in square, and a tremendous volley sent them off faster than they came.
“'Now, then, push forward double quick!' said the old colonel; 'the pas de charge!, Alas! the poor little drummer was lying dead at his feet. The thought suddenly seized me; I sprang forward, unstrung his drum, threw the strap over my shoulder, and beat the pas de charge! A cheer ran along the whole battalion, and on we went. Mort de ceil! I was never so near the fire before. There was the enemy, scarce two hundred yards off,—two great columns, with artillery between,—waiting for us. 'Keep her back! keep back, Minette, brave fille!' I heard no more; a shot came whizzing past, and struck me here.”
She pulled down her dress as she spoke, and disclosed the scar of a bullet's track on her white shoulder; then, as if suddenly recollecting, she blushed deeply, drew her kerchief closely around her, and muttered in a low voice,—
“Ma foi, how these things make one forget to be a woman!” And with that she hung down her head, and despite all I could say would not utter another word.
Such was the vivandière of the Fourth: blending in her character the woman's weakness and the soldier's ardor; the delicacy of feeling, which not even the life of camps and bivouacs could eradicate, with the wild enthusiasm for glory,—the passion of her nation. It needed not her dark eyes, shaded with their long black fringe; her oval face, whose freckles but displayed the transparent skin beneath; her graceful figure and her elastic step,—to make her an object of attraction in the regiment. Nor could I be surprised to learn, as I did, how many a high offer of marriage had been made to her by those soldiers of fortune whose gallantry and daring had won them honors in the service.
To value at their real price such attractions, one should meet them far away, and remote from the ordinary habits of the world: in the wild, reckless career of the camp; on the long march; beside the weary watchfire; ay, on the very field of battle,—amid the din, the clamor, and the smoke,—the cheers, the cries of carnage. Then, indeed, such an apparition had something magical in it. To see that tender girl tripping along fearlessly from rank to rank as though she had a charmed life, now saluting with her hand some brave soldier as he rode by to the charge, now stooping beside the wounded, and holding to his bloodless lips the longed-for cup; to watch her as she rode gracefully at the head of the regiment, or lay beside the fire of the bivouac, relating with a woman's grace some story of the campaign, while the gray-bearded veteran and the raw youth hung on each word, and wondered how the scenes in which they mingled and acted could bear such interest when told by rosy lips,—who would wonder if she had many lovers? Who would not rather be surprised at those who remained coldly indifferent to such charms as hers?
Let my confession, then, excite neither astonishment nor suspicion, when I acknowledge, that in such companionship the days slipped rapidly over. I never wearied of hearing her tell of the scenes she had witnessed, nor did she of recounting them; and although a sense of reproach used now and then to cross me for the life of inactivity and indolence I was leading. Mademoiselle Minette promised me many a brave opportunity of distinction to come, and campaigns of as great glory as even those of Italy and Egypt.
END OF VOL. I.