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.
[Illustration: Tom masters the “Maitre d'Armes”]
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--”
[Illustration: Minnet_and_Pioche]
“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.