Tom Burke Of "Ours", Volume I
It was thus I viewed my joyless fortune, – with such depressing reflections I thought over the past. What mattered it now how my career might turn? There lived not one to care whether rank or honor, disgrace or death, were to be my portion. The glorious path I often longed to tread opened for me now without exciting one spark of enthusiasm. So is it even in our most selfish desires, we live less for ourselves than others.
If my road in life seemed to present few features to hang hopes on, he who sat beside me appeared still more depressed. Seldom speaking, and then but in monosyllables, he remained sunk in reverie.
And thus passed the days of our journey, when on the third evening we came in sight of Coblentz. Then indeed there burst upon my astonished gaze one of those scenes which once seen are never forgotten. From the gentle declivity which we were now descending, the view extended several miles in every direction. Beneath us lay the city of Coblentz, its spires and domes shining like gilded bronze as the rays of the setting sun fell upon them; the Moselle swept along one side of the town till it mingled its eddies with the broad Rhine, now one sheet of liquid gold; the long pontoon bridge, against whose dark cutwaters the bright stream broke in sparkling circles, trembled beneath the dull roll of artillery and baggage-wagons, which might be seen issuing from the town, and serpentining their course along the river’s edge for miles, till they were lost in the narrow glen by which the Lahn flows into the Rhine. Beyond rose the great precipice of rock, with its crowning fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, along whose battlemented walls, almost lost in the heavy clouds of evening, might be seen dark specks moving from place to place, – the soldiers of the garrison looking down from their eyrie on the war-tide that flowed beneath. Lower down the river many boats were crossing, in which, as the sunlight shone, one could mark the glancing of arms and the glitter of uniforms; while farther again, and in deep shadow, rose the solitary towers of the ruined castle of Lahneck, its shattered walls and grass-grown battlements standing clearly out against the evening sky.
Far as we were oif, every breeze that stirred bore towards us the softened swell of military music, which, even when too faint to trace, made the air tremulous with its martial sounds. Along the ramparts of the city were crowds of townspeople, gazing with anxious wonderment at the spectacle; for none knew, save the generals in command of divisions, the destination of that mighty force, the greatest Europe had ever seen up to that period. Such indeed were the measures taken to ensure secrecy, that none were permitted to cross the frontier without a special authority from the Minister for Foreign Affairs; the letters in the various post-offices were detained, and even travellers were denied post-horses on the great roads to the eastward, lest intelligence might be conveyed to Germany of the movement in progress. Meanwhile, at Manheim, at Spire, at Strasburg, and at Coblentz, the long columns streamed forth whose eagles were soon destined to meet in the great plains of Southern Germany.
Such was the gorgeous spectacle that each moment grew more palpable to our astonished senses, – more brilliant far than anything painting could realize, – more spirit-stirring than the grandest words that poet ever sang.
“The cuirassiers and the dragoons of the Guard are yonder,” said the general, as he directed his glass to a large square of the town where a vast mass of dismounted cavalry were standing. “You see how punctual they are; we are but two hours behind our time, and they are awaiting our arrival.”
“And do we move forward to-night, General?” asked I, in some surprise.
“Yes, and every night. The marches are to be made fourteen hours each day. There go the Lancers of Berg; you see their scarlet dolmans, don’t you? And yonder, in the three large boats beyond the point, there are the sappers of the Guard. What are the shouts I hear? Whence comes that cheering? Oh, I see! it’s a vivandière; her horse has backed into the river. See, see! she is going to swim him over! Look how the current takes him down! Bravely done, faith! She heads him to the stream; it won’t do, though; she must be carried down.”
Just at this critical moment a boat shoots out from under the cliff; a few strokes of the oars and they are alongside. There’s a splash and a shout, and the skiff moves on.
“And now I see they have given her a rope, and are towing her and her horse across. See how the old spirit comes back with the first blast of the trumpet,” said the old general, as his eyes flashed with enthusiasm. “That damsel there, – I ‘ll warrant ye, she ‘d have thought twice about stepping over a rivulet in the streets of Paris yesterday; and look at her now! Well done! gallantly done! See how she spurs him up the bank! Ma foi! Mademoiselle, you ‘ll have no lack of lovers for that achievement.”
A few minutes more and we entered the town, whose streets were thronged with soldiers hurrying on to their different corps, and eager townsfolk asking a hundred questions, to which, of course, few waited to reply.
“This way, General,” said an officer in undress, who recognized General d’Auvergne. “The cavalry of the third division is stationed on the square.”
Driving through a narrow street, through which the calèche had barely room to pass, we now found ourselves in the Place, – a handsome space surrounded with a double row of trees, under which the dragoons were lying, holding the bridles of their horses.
The general had scarcely put foot to ground when the trumpets sounded the call. The superior officers came running forward to greet him. Taking the arm of a short man in the uniform of the cuirassiers, the general entered a café near, while I became the centre of some dozen officers, all eagerly asking the news from Paris, and whether the Emperor had yet left the capital. It was not without considerable astonishment I then perceived how totally ignorant they all were of the destination of the army; many alleging it was designed for Russia, and others equally positive that the Prussians were the object of attack, – the arguments in support of each opinion being wonderfully ingenious, and only deficient in one respect, having not a particle of fact for their foundation.
In the midst of these conjecturings came a new subject for discussion; for one of the group, who had just received a letter from his brother, a page at the Tuileries, was reading the contents aloud for the benefit of the rest: —
“Jules says that they are all astray as to the Emperor’s movements. Duroc has left Paris suddenly, but no one knows for where; the only thing certain is, a hot campaign is to open somewhere. One hundred and eighty thousand men – ”
“Bah!” said an old, white-mustached major, with a look of evident unbelief; “we never had forty with the army of the Sambre.”
“And what then?” said another, fiercely. “Do you compare your army of the Sambre, your sans-culottes Republicans, with the Imperial troops?”
The old major’s face became deeply crimsoned, and with a muttered À demain he walked away.
“Go after him, Amédée,” said another; “you had no right to say that.”
“Not I, faith,” said the other, carelessly. “There is a grudge between us these three weeks past, and we may as well have it out. Go on with the letter, Henri.”
“Oh, it is filled with Court gossip,” said the reader, negligently. “Ha! what is this, though? – the postscript: —
“‘I have just time to tell you the strangest bit of news we have chanced upon for some time past. The Emperor has this moment married old General d’Auvergne to the very handsomest girl in the Empress’s suite, – Mademoiselle de Meudon. There is a rumor afloat about the old man having made her his heir, and desiring to confer her hand on some young fellow of his own choosing. But this passion to make Court matches, which has seized his Majesty lately, stops at nothing; and it is whispered that old Madame d’Orvalle is actually terrified at every levee lest she should be disposed of to one of the new marshals. I must say that the general looks considerably put out by the arrangement, – not unnaturally, perhaps, as he is likely to pass the honeymoon in the field; while his aide-de-camp, a certain Monsieur Burke, whose name you may remember figuring in the affair of Pichegru and George – ‘”
“Perhaps it were as well, sir,” said I, quietly, “that I should tell you the person alluded to is myself. I have no desire to learn how your correspondent speaks of me; nor, I take it for granted, do these gentlemen desire to canvass me in my own hearing. With your leave, then, I shall withdraw.”
“A word. Monsieur; one word, first,” said the officer, whose insolent taunt had already offended the veteran major. “We are most of us here staff-officers, and I need not say accustomed to live pretty much together. Will you favor us, then, with a little explanation as to the manner in which you escaped a trial in that business. Your name, if I mistake not, did not figure before the tribunal after the first day?”
“Well, sir; and then?”
“And then? Why, there is one only explanation in such a circumstance.”
“And that is? if I may be so bold – ”
“That the mouchard fares better than his victim.”
“I believe, sir,” said I, “I comprehend your meaning; I hope there will be no fear of your mistaking mine.”
With that I drew off the long gauntlet glove I wore, and struck him across the face.
Every man sprang backwards as I did so, as though a shell had fallen in the midst of us; while a deep voice called out from behind, “Le Capitaine Amédée Pichot is under arrest.”
I turned, and beheld the provost-marshal with his guard approach, and take my adversary’s sword from him.
“What charge is this, Marshal?” said he, as a livid color spread over his cheek.
“Your duel of yesterday, Capitaine; you seem to forget all about it already.”
“Whenever and wherever you please, sir,” said I, passing close beside him, and speaking in a whisper.
He nodded without uttering a word in reply, and moved after the guard, while the others dispersed silently, and left me standing alone in the Place.
What would I not have given at that moment for but one friend to counsel and advise me; and yet, save the general, to whom I dared not speak on such a subject, I had not one in the whole world. It was, indeed, but too true, that life had little value for me; yet never did I contemplate a duel with more abhorrence. The insult I had inflicted, however, could have no other result. While I reasoned thus, the door of the café, opened, and the general appeared.
“Burke,” cried he, “come in here, and make a hasty supper; you must be in the saddle in half an hour.”
“Quite ready, sir.”
“I know it, my lad. Your orders are there: ride forward to Ettingen, and prepare the billets for the fourth demi-brigade, which will reach that village by to-morrow evening; you’ll have time for something to eat, and a glass of wine, before the orderly arrives. This piece of duty is put on you, because a certain Captain Pichot, the only one of the commissaries’ department who can speak German, has just been put under arrest for a duel he fought yesterday. I wish the court-marshal would shoot the fellow, with all my heart and soul; he’s a perfect curse to the whole division. In any case, if he escape this time, I’ll keep my eye on him, and he’ll scarce get clear through my hands, I’ll warrant him.”
It may be supposed that I heard these words with no common emotion, bearing as they did so closely on my own circumstances at the moment. But I hung down my head and affected to eat, while the old general walked hastily up and down the salon muttering half aloud heavy denunciations on the practice of duelling, which at any cost of life he resolved to put down in his command.
“Done already! Why, man, you’ve eaten nothing. Well, then, I see the orderly without; you’ve got a capital moonlight for your ride. And so, au revoir.”
“Good-by, sir,” said I, as I sprang into the saddle. “And now for Ettingen.”
CHAPTER XLIII. THE MARCH ON THE DANUBE
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.
