Although my arrest was continued with all its strictness, I never
heard one word of my transmission before the military tribunal; and
a fortnight elapsed, during which I passed through every stage of
expectancy, doubt, and at last indifference, no tidings having ever
reached me as to what fortune lay in store for me.
The gruff old invalid that carried my daily rations seemed but
ill-disposed to afford me any information, even as to the common events
without, and seldom made any other reply to my questioning than an
erect position as if on parade, a military salute, and “Connais pas,
mon lieutenant,”--a phrase which I actually began to abhor from its
repetition. Still, his daily visits showed I was not utterly
forgotten; while from my window I had a view of all that went on in the
barrack-yard. There--for I had neither books nor newspapers--I spent my
day watching the evolutions of the soldiers: the parade at daybreak,
the relieving guards, the drill, the exercise, the very labors of the
barrack-square,--all had their interest for me; and at length I began to
know the very faces of the soldiers, and could recognize the bronzed and
weather-beaten features of the veterans of the republican armies.
It was a cuirassier regiment, and one that had seen much service; most
of the _sous-officiers_ and many of the men were decorated, and their
helmets bore the haughty device of “Dix centre un!” in memory of some
battle against the Austrians, where they repulsed and overthrew a force
of ten times their own number.
At first their heavy equipments and huge unwieldy horses seemed strange
and uncouth to my eyes, accustomed to the more elegant and trim style of
a hussar corps; but gradually I fancied there was something almost more
soldierlike about them. Their dark faces harmonized too with the great
black cuirass; and the large massive boot mounting to the middle of the
thigh, the long horsehaired helmet, the straight sword, and peculiar,
heavy, plodding step, reminded me of what I used to read of the Roman
centurion; while the horses, covered with weighty and massive trappings,
moved with a warlike bearing and a tramp as stately as their riders.
When evening came, and set the soldiers free from duty, I used to watch
them for hours long, as they sat in little groups and knots about the
barrack-yard, smoking and chatting,--occasionally singing too. Even
then, however, their distinctive character was preserved: unlike the
noisy, boisterous merriment of the hussar, the staid cuirassier deemed
such levity unbecoming the dignity of his arm of the service, and there
reigned a half-solemn feature over all their intercourse, which struck
me forcibly. I knew not then--as I have learned full well since--how
every department of the French army had its distinctive characteristic,
and that Napoleon studied and even encouraged the growth of these
singular manners to a great extent; doubtless, too, feeling a pride
in his own thorough intimacy with their most minute traits, and that
facility with which, by a single word, he could address himself to
the cherished feeling of a particular corps. And the tact by which
the monarch wins over and fascinates the nobles of his court was here
exercised in the great world of a camp,--and with far more success too;
a phrase, a name, some well-known battle, the date of a victory, would
fall from his lips as he rode along the line, and be caught up with
enthusiasm by thousands, who felt in the one word a recognition of
past services. “Thou”--he always addressed the soldiers in the second
person--“thou wert with me at Cairo,” “I remember thee at Arcole,” were
enough to reward wounds, suffering, mutilation itself; and he to whom
such was addressed became an object of veneration among his fellows.
Certain corps preserved more studiously than others the memories of
past achievements,--the heirlooms of their glory; and to these Bonaparte
always spoke with a feel ing of friendship most captivating to the
soldier's heart, and from them he selected the various regiments that
composed his “Guard.” The cuirassiers belonged to this proud force; and
even an unmilitary eye could mark, in their haughty bearing and assured
look, that they were a favored corps.
Among those with whose faces I had now grown familiar there was one whom
I regarded with unusual interest; he seemed to me the very type of his
class. He was a man of gigantic size, towering by half a head above the
very tallest of his fellows, while his enormous breadth of chest and
shoulder actually seemed to detract from his great height. The lower
part of his face was entirely concealed by a beard of bright red hair
that fell in a huge mass over the breast of his cuirass, and seemed by
its trim and fashion to be an object of no common pride to the wearer;
his nose was marked by a sabre-cut that extended across one entire
cheek, leaving a deep blue welt in its track. But saving these traits,
wild and savage enough, the countenance was singularly mild and
pleasing. He had large and liquid blue eyes, soft and lustrous as any
girl's,--the lashes, too, were long and falling; and his forehead, which
was high and open, was white as snow. I was not long in remarking
the strange influence this man seemed to possess over the rest,--an
ascendency not in any way attributable to the mark on his sleeve which
proclaimed him a corporal. It seemed as though his slightest word, his
least gesture, was attended to; and though evidently taciturn and quiet,
when he spoke I could detect in his manner an air of promptitude and
command that marked him as one born to be above his fellows. If he
seemed such in the idle hours, on parade he was the beau ideal of
a cuirassier. His great warhorse, seemingly small for the immense
proportions of the heavy rider, bounded with each movement of his wrist,
as if instinct with the horseman's wishes.
I waited with some impatience for the invalid's arrival, to ask who this
remarkable soldier was, certain that I should hear of no common man. He
came soon after, and as I pointed out the object of my curiosity, the
old fellow drew himself up with pride, and while a grim effort at a
smile crossed his features, replied,--
“That 's Pioche,--le gros Pioche!”
“Pioche!” said I, repeating the name aloud, and endeavoring to remember
why it seemed well known to me.
“Yes,--Pioche,” rejoined he, gruffly. “If monsieur had ever been in
Egypt, the name would scarcely sound so strange in his ears.” And with
this sarcasm he hobbled from the room and closed the door, while I could
hear him grumbling along the entire corridor, in evident anger at the
ignorance that did not know “Pioche!”
Twenty times did I repeat the name aloud, before it flashed across me as
the same Madame Lefebvre mentioned at the soiree in the Palace. It
was Pioche who shouldered the brass fieldpiece, and passed before the
general on parade. The gigantic size, the powerful strength, the strange
name,--all could belong to no other; and I felt as though at once I had
found an old acquaintance in the great cuirassier of the Guard.
If the prisoner in his lonely cell has few incidents to charm his
solitary hours, in return he is enabled by some happy gift to make these
the sources of many thoughts. The gleam of light that falls upon the
floor, broken by the iron gratings of his window, comes laden with
storied fancies of other lands,--of far distant countries where men
are dwelling in their native mountains free and happy. Forgetful of his
prison, the captive wanders in his fancy through valleys he has seen
in boyhood, and with friends to be met no more. He turns gladly to the
past, of whose pleasures no adverse fortune can deprive him, and lives
over again the happy hours of his youth; and thinks, with a melancholy
not devoid of its own pleasure, of what they would feel who loved him
could they but see him now. He pictures their sympathy and their sorrow,
and his heart feels lighter, though his eyes drop tears.
In this way the great cuirassier became an object for my thoughts by day
and my dreams by night. I fancied a hundred stories of which he was the
hero; and these imaginings served to while away many a tedious hour,
and gave me an interest in watching the little spot of earth that was
visible from my barred window.
It was in one of these reveries I sat one evening, when I heard the
sounds of feet approaching along the corridor that led to my room;
the clank of a sabre and the jingle of spurs sounded not like my gruff
visitor. My door was opened before I had time for much conjecture, and
Greneral d'Auvergne stood before me.
“Ah! mon lieutenant,” cried he, gayly, “you have been thinking
very hardly of me since we met last, I 'm sure; charging me with
forgetfulness, and accusing me of great neglect.”
“Pardon me, General,” said I, hurriedly; “your former kindness, for
which I never can be grateful enough, has been always before my mind. I
have not yet forgotten that you saved my life; more still,--you rescued
my name from dishonor.”
“Well, well; that's all past and gone now. Your reputation stands clear
at last. De Beauvais has surrendered himself to the authorities at
Rouen, and made a full confession of everything, exculpating you
completely in every particular; save the indiscretion of your
intercourse with Mehée de la Touche, or, as you know him better, the
Abbé, d'Ervan.”
“And poor De Beauvais, what is to become of him?” said I, eagerly.
“Have no fears on his account,” said he, with something like confusion
in his manner. “She (that is, Madame Bonaparte) has kindly interested
herself in his behalf, and he is to sail for Guadaloupe in a few
days,--his own proposition and wish.”
“And does General Bonaparte know now that I was guiltless?” cried I,
with enthusiasm.
“My dear young man,” said he, with a bland smile, “I very much fear that
the general has little time at this moment to give the matter much
of his attention. Great events have happened,--are happening while we
speak. War is threatening on the side of Austria. Yes, it is true: the
camp of Boulogne has received orders to break up; troops are once more
on their march to the Rhine; all France is arming.”
“Oh, when shall I be free?”
“You are free!” cried he, clapping me gayly on the shoulder. “An
amnesty against all untried prisoners for state of offences has been
proclaimed. At such a moment of national joy--”
“What do you mean?”
“What! and have I not told you my great news? The Senate have presented
to Bonaparte an address, praying his acceptance of the throne of France;
or, in their very words, to make his authority eternal.”
“And he?” said I, breathless with impatience to know the result.
“He,” continued the general, “has replied as became him, desiring them
to state clearly their views,--by what steps they propose to consolidate
the acquired liberties of the nation. And while avowing that no higher
honor or dignity can await him than such as he has already received at
the hands of the people, 'Yet,' added he, 'when the hour arrives that
I can see such to be the will of France,--when one voice proclaims it
from Alsace to the Ocean, from Lisle to the Pyrenees,--then shall I be
ready to accept the throne of France.'”
The general entered minutely into all the circumstances of the great
political change, and detailed the effect which the late conspiracy had
had on the minds of the people, and with what terror they contemplated
the social disorders that must accrue from the death of their great
ruler; how nothing short of a Government based on a Monarchy, with the
right of succession established, could withstand such a terrific crisis.
As he spoke, the words I had heard in the Temple crossed my mind, and I
remembered that such was the anticipation of the prisoners, as they said
among themselves, “When the guillotine has done its work, they 'll patch
up the timbers into a throne.”
“And George Cadoudal, and the others?” said I.
“They are no more. Betrayed by their own party, they met death like
brave men, and as worthy of a better cause. But let us not turn to so
sad a theme. The order for your liberation will be here to-morrow; and
as I am appointed to a brigade on active service, I have come to offer
you the post of aide-de-camp.”
I could not speak; my heart was too full for words. I knew how great the
risk of showing any favor to one who stood in such a position as I did;
and I could but look my gratitude, while the tears ran down my cheeks.
“Well,” cried he, as he took my hand in his, “so much is settled. Now to
another point, and one in which my frankness must cause you no offence.
You are not rich,--neither am I; but Bonaparte always gives us
opportunities to gather our epaulettes,--ay, and find the bullion to
make them, too. Meanwhile, you may want money--”
“No, Général,” cried I, eagerly; “here are three thousand francs some
kind friend sent me. I know not whence they came; and even if I wanted,
did not dare to spend them. But now--”
The old man paused, and appeared confused, while he leaned his finger on
his forehead, and seemed endeavoring to recall some passing thought.
“Did they come from you, sir?” said I, timidly.
“No, not from me,” repeated he, slowly. “You say you never found out the
donor?”
“Never,” said I, while a sense of shame prevented my adding what rose to
my mind,--Could they not be from Mademoiselle de Meudon?
“Well, well,” said he, at length, “be it so. And now till to-morrow: I
shall be here at noon, and bring the minister's order with me. And so,
good-by.”
“Good-by,” said I, as I stood overcome with happiness. “Let what will
come of it, this is a moment worth living for.”