CHAPTER XXVII. A CHANCE MEETING.
With the good priest of Sevres I journeyed along towards the frontier ofFrance, ever selecting the least frequented paths, and such as were notlikely to be taken by the troops of soldiery which daily moved towardsBerlin. The frankness of my companion had made me soon at ease withhim; and I told him, without reserve, the story of my life, down to thedecisive moment of my leaving the army.
"You see, Father," said I, "how completely my career has failed; how,with all the ardor of a soldier, with all the devotion of a follower, Ihave adhered to the Emperor's fortunes; and yet--"
"Your ambition, however great it was, could not stifle conscience. Ican believe it well. They who go forth to the wars with high hopes andbounding hearts, who picture to their minds the glorious rewards ofgreat achievements, should blind their eyes to the horrors and injusticeof the cause they bleed for. Any sympathy with misfortune would sap thevery principle of that heroism whose essence is success. Men cannotplay the double game, even in matters of worldly ambition. Had you notlistened to the promptings of your heart, you had been greater; had younot followed the dazzling glare of your hopes, you had been happier:both you could scarcely be. Be assured of this, my son, the triumphsof a country can only be enjoyed by the child of the soil; the bravesoldier, who lends his arm to the cause, feels he has little part in theglory."
"True, indeed,--most true; I feel it."
"And were it otherwise, how unsatisfying is the thirst for that sameglory! how endless the path that leads to it! how many regrets accompanyit! how many ties broken! how many friendships forfeited! No, no; returnto your own land,--to the country of your birth; some honorable careerwill always present itself to him who seeks but independence and theintegrity of his own heart. Beneath the conquering eagles of the Emperorthere are men of every shade of political opinion; for the conscriptionis pitiless. There are Royalists, who love their king and hate theusurper; there are Jacobins, who worship freedom and detest the tyrant;there are stern Republicans--Vendeens, and followers of Moreau: but yetall are Frenchmen. 'La belle France' is the watchword that speaks toevery heart, and patriotism is the bond between thousands. _You_ haveno share in this; the delusion of national glory can never throw itsdeception around you. Return, then, to your country; and be assured,that in _her_ cause your least efforts will be more ennobling toyourself than the boldest deeds the hand of a mercenary ever achieved."
The inborn desire to revisit my native land needed but the counselsof the priest to make it all-powerful; and as, day by day, I ploddedonward, my whole thoughts turned to the chances of my escape, andthe means by which I could accomplish my freedom; for the war stillcontinued between France and England, and the blockade of the Frenchports was strictly maintained by a powerful fleet. The difficulty of thestep only increased my desire to effect it; and a hundred projects did Irevolve in my mind, without ever being able to fix on one where successseemed likely. The very resolve, however, had cheered my spirits, andgiven new courage to my heart; and an object suggested a hope,--and witha hope, life was no longer burdensome.
Each morning now I set forward with a mind more at ease, and more opento receive pleasure from the varied objects which met me as I went. Notso my poor companion; the fatigue of the journey, added to great mentalsuffering, began to prey upon his health, and brought back an ague hehad contracted in Egypt, from the effect of which his constitution hadnever perfectly recovered. At first the malady showed itself only ingreat depression of spirits, which made him silent for hours of the way.But soon it grew worse; he walked with much difficulty, took but littlenourishment, and seemed impressed with a sad foreboding that the diseasemust be fatal.
"I wanted to reach my village; my own quiet churchyard should have beenmy resting-place," said he, as he sank wearied and exhausted on alittle bank at the roadside. "But this was only a sick man's fancy. PoorAlphonse lies far away in the dreary plain of Auerstadt."
The sun was just setting of a clear day in December as we halted on alittle eminence, which commanded a distant view on every side. Behindlay the dark forest of Germany, the tree-tops presenting their massivewavy surface, over which the passing clouds threw momentary shadows;before, but still some miles away, we could trace the Rhine, its brightsilver current sparkling in the sun; beyond lay the great plains ofFrance, and upon these the sick man's eyes rested with a steadfast gaze.
"Yes!" said he, after a long silence on both sides, "the fields and themountains, the sunshine and the shade, are like those of other lands;but the feeling which attaches the heart to country is an inbornsense, and the very word 'home' brings with it the whole history of ouraffections. Even to look thus at his native country is a blessing to anexile's heart."
I scarcely dared to interrupt the reverie which succeeded these fewwords; but when I perceived that he still remained seated, his headbetween his hands and lost in meditation, I ventured to remind him thatwe were still above a league from Heimbach, the little village where weshould pass the night, and that on a road so wild and unfrequented therewas little hope of finding shelter any nearer.
"You must lean on me, Father; the night air is fresh and bracing, andafter a little it will revive you."
The old man rose without speaking, and taking my arm, began the descentof the mountain. His steps, however, were tottering and uncertain, hisbreathing hurried and difficult, and his carriage indicated the verygreatest debility.
"I cannot do it, my son," said he, sinking upon the grassy bench whichskirted the way; "you must leave me. It matters little now where thisfrail body rests; a few hours more, and the rank grass will wave aboveit and the rain beat over it unfelt. Let us part here: an old man'sblessing for all your kindness will follow you through life, and maycheer you to think on hereafter."
"Do you then suppose I could leave you thus?" said I, reproachfully. "Isit so you think of me?"
"My minutes are few now, my child," replied he, more solemnly, "and Iwould pass the last moments of my life alone. Well, then, if you willnot,--leave me now for a little, and return to me; by that time my mindwill be calmer, and mayhap, too, my strength greater, and I may be ableto accompany you to the village."
I acceded to this proposal the more willingly, because it afforded methe hope of finding some means to convey him to Heimbach; and so, havingwrapped him carefully in my cloak, I hastened down the mountain at thetop of my speed.
The zigzag path by which I went discovered to me from time to time thelights of the little hamlet, which twinkled star-like in the valley; andas I drew nearer, the confused hum of voices reached me. I listened,and to my amazement heard the deep, hoarse bray of a trumpet. How wellI knew that sound! it was the night-call to gather in the stragglers.I stopped to listen; and now, in the stillness, could mark the tramp ofhorsemen and the clank of their equipments: again the trumpet sounded,and was answered by another at some distance. The road lay straightbelow me at some hundred yards off, and leaving the path, I dasheddirectly downwards just as the leading horsemen of a small detachmentcame slowly up. To their loud _Qui vive?_ I answered by giving anaccount of the sick man, and entreating the sergeant who commanded theparty to lend assistance to convey him to the village.
"Yes, _parbleu!_ that we will," said the honest soldier; "a priest whohas made the campaign of Egypt and Austria is worthy of all our care.Where is he?"
"About a mile from this; but the road is not practicable for ahorseman."
"Well, you shall have two of my men; they will soon bring him hither."And as he spoke, he ordered two troopers to dismount, who, quicklydisencumbering themselves of their sabres, prepared to follow me.
"We shall expect you at the bivouac," cried the sergeant, as he resumedhis way; while I, eager to return, breasted the mountain with renewedenergy.
"You belong to the Guard, my friends," said I, as I paused for breath ata turn of the path.
"The Fourth Cuirassiers of the Guard," replied the soldier I addressed;"Milhaud's brigade."
How my heart leaped a
s he said these words! They were part of thedivision General d'Auvergne once commanded; it was the regiment of poorPioche, too, before the dreadful day of Austerlitz.
"You know the Fourth, then?" rejoined the man, as he witnessed theagitation of my manner.
"Know the Fourth?" echoed his comrade, in a voice of half-indignantmeaning. "_Sacrebleu!_who does not know them? Does not all the worldknow them by this time?"
"It is the Fourth who wear the motto 'Dix contre un' on their caps,"said I, desirous to flatter the natural vanity of my companions.
"Yes, Monsieur; I see you have served also."
I answered by a nod, for already every word, every gesture, recalled tome the career I had quitted; and my regrets, so late subdued by reasonand reflection, came thronging back, and filled ray heart to bursting.
Hurrying onward now, I mounted the steep path, and soon regained thespot I sought. The poor father was sleeping; overcome by fatigue andweariness, he had fallen on the mossy bank, and lay in a deep, softslumber. Lifting him gently, the strong troopers crossed their handsbeneath, and bore him along between them. For an instant he looked up;but seeing me at his side, he merely pressed my hand, and closed hiseyes again.
"_Ma foi!_" said one of the dragoons, in a low voice, "I should not besurprised if this were the Pere Arsene, who served with the army inItaly. We used to call him 'old Scapulaire'. He was the only priest Iever saw in the van of a brigade. You knew him too, Auguste."
"Yes, that I did," replied the other soldier. "I saw him at Elkankah,where one of ours was unhorsed by a Mameluke, spring forward, andseizing a pistol at the holster, shoot the Turk through the head, andthen kneel down beside the dying man he was with before, and go on withhis prayers. _Ventrebleu!_ that's what I call discipline."
"Where was that, Comrade?"
"At Elkankah."
"At Quoreyn, rather, my friend, two leagues to the southward," whispereda low voice.
"_Tonnerre de ciel!_" cried the two soldiers in a breath, "it ishimself;" for the words were spoken by the priest, who was no other thanthe Pere Arsene they spoke of.
The effort of speech and memory was, however, a mere passing one; forto all their questions he was now deaf, and lay apparently unconsciousbetween them. On me, therefore, they turned their inquiries, but withlittle more of success; and thus we descended the mountain, eager toreach some place of succor for the good father.
As we approached the village, I was soon made aware of the objects ofthe party who occupied it. The little street was crowded with cattle,bullocks, and sheep, fast wedged up amid huge wagons of forage and cartsof corn; mounted dragoons urging on the jaded animals, regardless ofthe angry menaces or the impatient appeals incessantly making by thepeasantry, who in great numbers had followed their stock from theirfarms.
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The soldiers, who were detachments of different corps, were alsoquarrelling among themselves for their share of the spoil; and thesealtercations, in which more than once I saw a sabre flash, added tothe discord. It was, indeed, a scene of tumult and confusion almostinconceivable. Here were a party of cuirassiers, carbine in hand,protecting a drove of sheep; around which the country people werestanding, seemingly irresolute whether they should essay an attack,--amovement often prompted by the other soldiers, who hoped in the _melee_to seize a part of the prey. Many of the oxen were bestrode by hussarsor lancers, whose gay trappings formed a strange contrast with thebeasts they rode on; while more than one stately horseman held a sheepbefore him on the saddle, for whose protection a cocked pistol seemed noineffectual guarantee.
The task of penetrating this dense and turbulent mob seemed to me almostimpossible, and I expressed my fears to the soldiers. But they repliedthat there were too many _braves_ of Egypt there not to remember thePere Arsene; saying which, one of the soldiers, whispering a word tohis companion, laid the priest gently upon the ground, and then mountingrapidly on a forage-cart, he shouted, in a voice heard above the din,--
"Comrades of the Fourth, we have found an old companion; the PereScapulaire is here. Place for the good father! place there!"
A hundred loud _vivas_ welcomed this announcement; for the name was wellknown to many who never had seen the priest, and cheer after cheer forthe _bon pere_ now rang through this motley assemblage.
To the wild confusion of a moment before the regularity of disciplineat once succeeded, and a lane was quickly formed for the soldiers toadvance with the priest between them, each horseman saluting as hepassed as if to his general on parade.
"To the Trauben,--the Trauben!" cried several voices, as we wentalong; and this I learned was the little inn of the village, where thenon-commissioned officers in charge of the several parties were seatedin council to arrange the subdivision of the booty.
Had not a feeling stronger than mere personal consideration occupied me,I would have now left the good priest among his old comrades, withwhom he was certain to meet kindness and protection. But I could not soreadily part with one whom, even in the few hours of our intercourse, Ihad learned to like; and therefore, enduring as well as I was ablethe rugged insubordination of a soldiery free from the restraint ofdiscipline, I followed on, and soon found myself at the door of theTrauben.
A dismounted dragoon, with drawn sword, guarded the entrance, aroundwhich a group of angry peasants were gathered, loudly protesting againstthe robbery of their flocks and farmyards. It was with great difficultyI could persuade the sentry to suffer me to enter; and when I at lastsucceeded, I found none willing to pay any attention to my requestregarding a billet for the priest, for unhappily his name and characterwere unknown to those to whom I addressed myself. In this dilemma I wasdeliberating what step to take, when one of the soldiers, who with suchzealous devotion had never left us, came up to say that his corporalhad just given up his own quarters for the good father's use; and this,happily, was a small summer-house in the garden at the back of the inn.
"He cannot come with us himself," said the soldier, "for he is engagedwith the forage rations, but I have got his leave to take the quarters."
A small wicket beside the inn led us into a large, wildly-grown orchard,through which a broad path led to the summer-house in question; atleast such we guessed to be the little building from whose windows theregleamed the bright glare of a cheerful fire.
The door lay open into a little hall, from which two doors ledinto different chambers. Over one of these was marked in chalk"quartier-general," in imitation of the title assigned to a general'squarters, and this the soldiers pronounced must belong to the corporal.I opened it accordingly and entered. The room was small and neatlyfurnished, and with the blazing wood upon the hearth, looked mostcomfortable and inviting.
"Yes, we are all right here; I know his helmet,--this is it," said thedragoon. "So here we must leave you. You'll tell the good father it wastwo troopers of the Fourth who carried him hither, won't ye? Ay, and sayAuguste Prevot was one of them; he 'll know the name,--he nursed me in afever I had in Italy."
"I wish he were able to give me his blessing again," said the other; "Ihad it before that affair at Brescia, and there were four of my comradeskilled about me, and never a shot touched me. But good-night, Comrade;goodnight." And so saying, having left the father at his length upon acouch, they made their military salute and departed.
A rude-looking flagon of beer which stood on the table was the onlything I could discover in the chamber, save a canvas bag of tobaccoand some pipes. I filled a goblet with the liquor and placed it to thepriest's lips. He swallowed a little of it, and then opening his eyes,slowly looked around him, while he murmured to my question a faint soundof "Better,--much better." I knew enough of such matters to be awarethat perfect rest and repose were the greatest aids to his recovery;and so, replenishing the fire, I threw myself down on the large dragooncloak which lay on the floor, and prepared to pass my night where I was.
The long-drawn breathings of the sleeping man, the perfect quiet andstillness of all around,--for though not
far distant from the village,the thick wood of trees intercepted every sound from that quarter,--andmy fatigue combined, soon brought on drowsiness.
I struggled, so long as I was able, against the tendency; but a hummingsound filled my ears, the objects grew fainter before my vision, and Isank into that half-dreamy state when consciousness remains, but cloudedand indistinct in all its perceptions. Twice the door was opened andsome persons entered; but though they spoke loudly, I heard not theirwords, nor could I recognize their appearance. To this succeeded a deep,sound sleep, the recompense of great fatigue.
The falling of a piece of firewood on the hearth awoke me. I opened myeyes and looked about. The room had no other light than from the embersof the wood fire and the piece of blazing pine which had just fallen;but even by that uncertain glare I could see enough to amaze and confuseme.
On the couch where I had left the priest sleeping, the old man was nowseated, his head uncovered, and a scarf of light blue silk across hisshoulders and falling to his feet. Before him, and kneeling, was afigure, of which for some minutes I in vain endeavored to ascertain thetraits; for while in the military air of the dress there was somethingto mark the soldier, a waving mass of hair loosely falling on the backbespoke another sex. While I yet doubted, the flickering flame burstforth and showed me the small and beautiful shaped foot which frombeneath a loose trouser peeped forth, and in the neat boot andtastefully ornamented spur I recognized in an instant it was avivandiere of the army,--one of those who, amid all the reckless abandonof the life of camps and battlefields, can yet preserve some vestige ofcoquetry and feminine grace.
So strange the sight, so complete the heavy stupor of my faculties, thatagain and again I doubted whether the whole might not be the creation ofa dream; but the well-known tones of the old man's voice soon reassuredme, as I heard him say,--
"I know it too, my child; I have followed too long the fortunes of anarmy not to feel and to sorrow for these things. But be comforted."
A passionate burst of tears from her who knelt at his feet interruptedhim here; nor did it seem that all he could speak of consolation wasable to assuage the deep sorrow of the poor girl, whose trembling framebespoke her agony.
By degrees, however, she grew calmer. A deep sob or a long-drawnsigh alone would be heard, as the venerable father, with impassionedeloquence, depicted the happiness of those who sought the blessings ofreligion, and could tear themselves from the world and its ambitions.Warming with his theme, he descanted on the lives of those saintson earth whose every minute was an offering of heavenly love; andcontrasted the holy calm of a convent with the wild revelry of the camp,or the more revolting carnage of the battlefield.
"Speak not of these things, Father; your own voice trembles with proudemotion at the mention of glorious war. Tell me, oh! tell me that I mayhave hope, and yet leave not all that makes life endurable."
The old man spoke again; but his tones were low, and his words seemed areproof, for she bowed her head between her hands and sobbed heavily.
To the long and impassioned appeal of the priest there now succeeded asilence, only broken by the deep-drawn sighs of her who knelt in sadnessand penitence before him.
"And his name?" said the father; "you have not told his name."
A pause followed, in which not even a breathing was heard; then a low,murmuring sound came, and it seemed to meas though I heard my own nameuttered. I started at the sound, and with the noise the vivandieresprang to her feet.
"I heard a noise there," said she, resolutely.
"It is my companion of the journey," said the priest. "Poor fellow! heis tired and weary; he sleeps soundly."
"I did not know you had a fellow-traveller, Father."
"Yes; we met in the Creutz Mountains, and since that" have wended ourway together. A soldier--"
"A soldier! Is he wounded, then?"
"No, my child; he is leaving the army."
"Leaving the army, and not wounded! He is old and disabled, perhaps."
"Neither; he is both young and vigorous."
"Shame on him, then, that he turn his back on fame and fortune, andleave the path that brave men tread! He never was a soldier! No, Father;he in whose heart the noble passion once has lived can never forget it."
"Hush, child, hush!" said the priest, motioning with his hand to her tobe silent.
"Let me look on him!" said the vivandiere, as she stooped down and tookfrom the hearth a piece of lighted wood; "let me see this man, and learnthe features of one who can be so craven of spirit, so poor of heart, asto fly the field, while thousands are flocking towards it."
Burning with shame and indignation, I arose, just as she approached me.The pine-branch threw its red gleam over her bright uniform, and thenupon her face.
"Minette! Minette!" I exclaimed. But with a wild shriek she let fall theburning wood, and fell senseless to the ground.
It was some time before, with all our care, she recovered consciousness;and even then, in her wild, excited glance, one might read the strugglesof her mind to credit what had occurred. A few broken, unconnectedphrases would escape her at intervals; and she seemed laboring to regainthe lost clew to her recollections, when again she turned her eyestowards me. At the same instant, the trumpet sounded without for the_reveil_, and was answered by many a call from other parties around.With a steadfast gaze of wonderment she fixed her look on me; and twicepassed her hands across her eyes, as though she doubted the evidence ofher senses.
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"Minette, hear me! let me speak but one word." "There it is again,"cried she, as the blast rang out a second time, and the clatter ofhorsemen resounded from the street. "Adieu, sir; our roads lie nottogether. Father, your blessing; if your good counsel this night hasnot made its way to my heart, the lesson has come elsewhere. Good-by!good-by!" She pressed the old man's hand to her lips, and darted fromthe room.
Stunned, and like one spell-bound, I could not move for a few seconds;and then, with a wild cry, I bounded after her through the garden.The wicket, however, was fastened on the outside, and it was some timebefore I could scale the wall and reach the street.
The day was just breaking, but already the village was thronged withsoldiers, who were preparing for the march, and arranging their partiesto conduct the wagons. Hurrying on through the crowded and confusedmass, I looked on every side for the vivandiere; but in vain. Groupsof different regiments passed and repassed me; but to my questions theyreturned either a jeering reply, or a mere laugh of derision. "But a fewdays ago," thought I, "and these fellows had scarce dared to address me;and now--" Oh, the blighting misery of that thought! I was no longer asoldier; the meanest horseman of his troop was my superior.
I passed through the village, and reached the highroad. Before me was aparty of dragoons, escorting a drove of cattle; I hastened after them,but on coming near, discovered they were a light cavalry detachment.Sick at heart, I leaned against a tree at the wayside, when againI heard the tramp of horses approaching. I looked, and saw the tallhelmets of the Fourth, who were coming slowly along, conducting somelarge wagons, drawn by eight or ten horses. In front of the detachmentrode a man, whose enormous stature made him at once remarkable, as wellas the air of soldierly bearing he displayed. Beside him was Minette;the reins had fallen on her horse's neck, and her face was buried in herhands.
"Ah! if I had thought that priest would have made thee so sad,Mademoiselle, I'd have let him spend his night beneath a wagon ratherthan in my quarters," said a deep, hollow voice I at once recognizedas that of Pioche. "But the morning air will revive thee; so let usforward: by threes--open order--trot."
The word was obeyed; the heavy tramp of the horses, with the dull rollof the wagons, drowned all other sounds The cortege moved on, and I wasalone.
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