With whatever triumphant feelings the Emperor Napoleon may have
witnessed the glorious termination of this brief campaign, to the young
officers of the army it brought anything rather than satisfaction,
and the news of the armistice was received in the camp with gloom and
discontent. The brilliant action at Elchingen, and the great victory at
Austerlitz, were hailed as a glorious presage of future successes, for
which the high-sounding phrases of a bulletin were deemed but a poor
requital. A great proportion of the army were new levies, who had not
seen service, and felt proportionably desirous for opportunities of
distinction; and to them the promise of a triumphant return to France
was a miserable exchange for those battlefields on which they dreamed
they should win honor and fame, and from whence they hoped to date their
rise of fortune. Little did we guess, that while words of peace and
avowals of moderation were on his lips, Napoleon was at that very moment
meditating on the opening of that great campaign, which, beginning at
Jena, was to end in the most bloody and long sustained of all his wars.
Nothing, however, was now talked of but the fêtes which awaited us on
our return to Paris,--while liberal grants of money were made to all the
wounded, and no effort was spared which should mark that feeling of the
Emperor's, which so conspicuously opened his bulletin, in the emphatic
words, “Soldiers, I am content with you!”
Napoleon well understood, and indeed appeared to have anticipated, the
disappointment the army would experience at this sudden cessation
of hostilities; and endeavored now to divert the torrent of their
enthusiasm into another and a safer channel. The bulk of the army were
cantoned around Brunn and Olmutz; some picked regiments were recalled
to Vienna, where the Emperor was soon expected to establish his
headquarters; while many of those who had suffered most severely
from forced marches and fatigues were formed into corps of escort to
accompany the Russian prisoners--sixteen thousand in number--on their
way to France; and lastly, a _compagnie d'élite_, as it was called,
was selected to carry to the Senate the glorious spoils of
victory,--forty-five standards taken on the field of Austerlitz, and now
destined to grace the Palace of the Luxembourg.
I had scarcely seated myself to the humble supper of my bivouac, when an
orderly came to command me to General d'Auvergne's quarters. The little
sitting-room he occupied, in a peasant hut, was so filled with officers
that it was some time before I could approach him; and my impatience
was not lessened by more than once hearing my name mentioned aloud,--a
circumstance not a little trying to a young man in the presence of his
superiors in station.
“But here he is,” said the general, beckoning to me to come forward.
“Burke, his Majesty has most graciously permitted me to include your
name in the _compagnie d'élite_,--a testimony of his satisfaction you've
every reason to be proud of. And just at the moment I was about to
communicate the fact to you, I have received a message from Marshal
Murat, requesting that I may permit you to serve on his own staff.”
“Yes, Captain,” said an officer in the uniform of a colonel,--it was the
first time I had been addressed by my new title, and I cannot express
what a thrill of pleasure the word gave me,--“Marshal Murat witnessed
with pleasure the alacrity and steadiness of your conduct on the 2d, and
has sent me with an offer which I fancy few officers would not deem a
flattering one.”
“Unquestionably it is, Colonel,” said General d'Auvergne; “nay, more, I
will say I regard it as the making of a young man's fortune, thus early
in his career to have attracted such high notice. But I must be passive
here; Captain Burke shall decide for himself.”
“In that case, sir, I shall cause you but little delay, if you will
still permit me to serve on your own staff.”
“But stay, my boy, do not be rash in this affair. I will not insult your
better feeling by dwelling on the little power I possess, and the very
great enjoyed by Marshal Murat, of serving your interests; but I
must say, that with him, and on his personal staff, opportunities of
distinction--”
“And here I must interpose,” said the colonel, smiling courteously:
“with no officer in this army can a man expect to see service, in its
boldest and most heroic colors, rather than with General d'Auvergne.”
“I know it,--I feel it, too; and with him, if he will allow me--”
“Enough, my dear boy,” said the old man, grasping my hand in his.
“Colonel, you must explain to the marshal how stands this matter; and he
is too kind of heart and too noble of soul to think the worse of any of
us for our obstinacy. And now, my young friend, make your arrangements
to join the _compagnie d'élite_; they march to-morrow afternoon,--and
this is a service you cannot decline. Leave me to make your
acknowledgments to the marshal, and lose no more time here.”
Short as had been my absence from my quarters, when I re-entered, I
descried Tascher seated at the table, and busily employed in discussing
the last fragments of my supper.
“You see, my dear friend,” said he, speaking with his mouth full,--“you
see what it is to have a _salmi_ for supper. I sat eating a confounded
mess of black bread, and blacker veal, for fifteen minutes, when the
breeze brought me the odor of your delicious _plat_. It was in vain I
summoned all my virtue to resist it; if there ever was a dish made to
seduce a subaltern on service, it is this. But, I say, won't you eat
something?”
“I fear not,” said I, half angrily.
“And why?” replied he. “See what a capital wing that is,--a little bare,
to be sure; and there's the back of a pigeon. _Ma foi!_ you have no
reason to complain. I say, is it true you are named among the _compagnie
d'élite_?”
I nodded, and ate on.
“_Diable!_ there never was such fortune. What a glorious exchange
for this confounded swamp, with its everlasting drill from morning to
night,--shivering under arms for four hours, and shaking with the ague
the rest of the day after,--marching, mid-leg in water, half frozen, and
trying quick movements, when the very blood is in icicles! And then
you 'll be enjoying Paris,--delightful Paris!--dining at the 'Rocher,'
supping at the 'Cadran,' lounging into the _salons_, at the very time we
shall be hiding ourselves amidst the straw of our bivouacs. I go mad to
think of it. And, what's worse than all, there you sit, as little
elated as if the whole thing were only the most natural in the world. I
believe, on my word, you 'd not condescend to be surprised if you were
gazetted Maréchal de France in to-morrow's gazette.”
“When I can bear, without testifying too much astonishment, to see my
supper eaten by the man who does nothing but rate me into the bargain,
perhaps I may plume myself on some equanimity of temper.”
“Confound your equanimity! It's very easy to be satisfied when one has
everything his own way.”
“And so, Tascher, you deem me such a fortunate fellow?”
“That I do,” replied he, quickly. “You have had more good luck, and made
less of it, than any one I ever knew. What a career you had before you
when we met first! There was that pretty girl at the Tuileries quite
ready to fall in love with you; I know it, because she rather took an
air of coldness with me. Well, you let her be carried off by an old
general, with a white head and a queue,--unquestionably a bit of pique
on her part. Then, somehow or other, you contrived to pink the best
swordsman of the army, little François there; and I never heard that the
circumstance gained you a single conquest.”
“Quite true, my friend,” said I, laughing; “I confess it all. And, what
is far worse, I acknowledge that until this moment I did not even know
the advantages I was wilfully wasting.”
“And even now,” continued he, not minding my interruption,--“even now,
you are about to return to Paris as one of the _élite_. Well, I 'll
wager twenty Naps that the only civil speeches you 'll hear will be from
some musty old senators at the Luxembourg. Oh dear! if my amiable aunt,
the Empress, would only induce my most benevolent uncle, the Emperor,
to put me on that same list, depend upon it you 'd hear of Lieutenant
Tascher in the 'Faubourg St. Honoré.'”
“But you seem to forget,” said I, half piqued at last by the
impertinence of his tone, “that I have neither friends nor
acquaintances; that, although a Frenchman by service, I am not so by
birth.”
“And I,--what am I?” interrupted he. “A Creole, come from Heaven knows
what far-away place beyond seas; that there never was a man with
more expensive tastes, and smaller means to supply them,--with worse
prospects, and better connections; in short, a kind of live antithesis.
And yet, with all that, exchange places with me now, and see if, before
a fortnight elapse, I have not more dinner invitations than any officer
of the same grade within the Boulevards; watch if the prettiest girl
at Paris is not at my side in the Opera. But here comes your official
appointment, I take it.”
As he said this, an orderly of the “Garde” delivered a sealed packet
into my hands, which, on opening, I discovered was a letter from General
Duroc, wherein I read, that “it was the wish of his Majesty, Emperor and
King, that I, his well-beloved Thomas Burke, in conformity with certain
instructions to be afterwards made known to me, should proceed with the
_compagnie d'élite_ to Paris, then and there--”
As I read thus far aloud, Tascher interrupted me, snatching the paper
from my hands, and continued thus:--
“Then and there to mope, muse, and be _ennuyé_ until such time as active
service may again recall him to the army. My dear Burke, I am really
sorry for you. Wars and campaigning may be--indeed they are--very fine
things; but as the means, not the end. His Majesty, my uncle,--whom may
Heaven preserve and soften his heart to his relations!--loves them for
their own sake; but we,--you and I, for instance,--what possible reason
can we have for risking our bones, and getting our flesh mangled, save
the hope of promotion? And to what end that same promotion, if not for
a wider sphere of pleasure and enjoyment? Think what a career a colonel,
at our age, would have in Paris!”
“Come, Tascher, I will not believe you in all this. If there were
not something higher to reward one for the fatigues and dangers of a
campaign than the mere sensual delights you allude to, I, for one, would
soon doff the epaulettes.”
“You are impracticable,” said he, half angrily; “but it is as much from
the isolation in which you have lived as any conviction on the subject.
You must let me introduce you to some relatives of mine in Paris. They
will be delighted to know you; for, as one of the _compagnie d'élite_,
you might figure as a very respectable 'lion' for two, nay, three entire
evenings. And you will have the _entrée_ to the pleasantest house in
Paris; they receive every evening, and all the best people resort there.
I only exact one condition.”
“And that is--”
“You must not make love to Pauline. That you will fall in love with her
yourself is a fact I can't help,--nor you either. But no advance on your
part; promise me that.”
“In such case, Tascher, it were best for all parties I should not know
the lady. I have no fancy, believe me, for being smitten whether I will
or no.”
“I see, Master Burke, there is a bit of impertinence in all this. You
sneer at my warnings about _la belle cousine_; now, I am determined
you shall see her at least. Besides, you must do me a service with the
countess I have had the bad luck to be for some time out of favor with
my aunt Josephine,--some trumpery debts of mine they make a work
about at the Tuileries. Well, perhaps you could persuade Madame de
Lacostellerie to take up my cause; she has great influence with the
Empress, and can make her do what she pleases. And, if I must confess
it, it was this brought me over to your quarters tonight; and I ate
your supper just to pass away time till you came back again. You 'll not
refuse me?”
“Certainly not. But reflect for a moment, Tascher, and you will see that
no man was ever less intended for a diplomate. It is only a few minutes
since you laughed at my solitary habits and hermit propensities.”
“I've thought of all that, Burke, and am not a whit discouraged. On the
contrary, you are the more likely to think of my affairs because you
have none of your own; and I don't know any one but yourself I should
fancy to meet Pauline frequently and on terms of intimacy.”
“This, at least, is not a compliment,” said I, laughing.
He shrugged his shoulders, and threw up his eyebrows with a French
expression, as though to say, it can't be helped; and then continued:--
“And now remember, Burke, I count on you. Get me out of this confounded
place; I 'd rather be back at Toulon again, if need be. And as I shall
not see you again before you leave, farewell. I 'll send the letter for
the countess early to-morrow.”
We shook hands warmly and parted: he to return to his quarters; and I
to sit down beside my fire, and muse over the events that had just
occurred, and think of Tascher himself, whose character had never been
so plainly exposed to me before.
If De Beauvais, with his hot-headed impetuosity, his mad devotion to the
cause of the Legitimists, was a type of the followers of the Bourbons;
so, in all the easy indifference and quiet selfishness of his nature,
was Tascher a specimen of another class of his countrymen,--a class
which, wrapped up in its own circle of egotistical enjoyments, believed
Paris the only habitable spot of the whole globe. Without any striking
traits of character, or any very decided vices, they led a life of
pleasure and amusement, rendering every one and everything around them,
so far as they were able, subservient to their own plane and wishes;
and perfectly unconscious the while how glaring their selfishness
had become, and how palpable, even to the least observant, was the
self-indulgence they practised on every occasion. Without cleverness
or tact enough to conceal their failings, they believed they imposed
on others because they imposed on themselves,--just as the child deems
himself unseen when he closes his eyes.
Josephine's followers were, many of them, like this, and formed a
striking contrast to the young men of the Napoleonite party, who,
infatuated by the glorious successes of their chief, deemed the
career of arms alone honorable. St. Cyr and the Polytechnique were the
nurseries of these,--the principles instilled there were perpetuated
in after life; and however exaggerated their ideas of France and her
destiny, their undoubted heroism and devotion might well have palliated
even heavier errors.
It was in ruminating thus over the different characters of the few I
had ever known intimately, that I came to think seriously on my own
condition, which, for many a day before, I had rather avoided than
sought to reflect on. I felt,--as how many must have done!--that the
bond of a common country, the inborn patriotism of the native of the
soil, is the great resource on which men fall back when they devote
themselves to the career of arms; that the alien's position, disguise it
how he will, is that of the mere mercenary. How can he identify himself
with interests on which he is but half-informed, or feel attachment to
a land wherein he has neither hearth nor home? In the very glory he wins
he can scarce participate. In a word, his is a false position, which no
events nor accidents of fortune can turn to good account, and he must
rest satisfied with a life of isolation and estrangement.
I felt how readily, if I had been a Frenchman born, I could have excused
and palliated to my conscience many things which now were matters of
reproach. Aggressive war had lost its horrors in the glory of enlarged
dominions; the greatness of France and the honor of her arms had made
me readily forget the miseries entailed on other nations by her lust of
conquest. But I--the stranger, the alien--had no part in the inheritance
of glory; and personal ambition,--what means it, save to stand high
amongst those we once looked up to as superiors? For me there were
no traditions of a childhood passed amid great names, revered and
worshipped; no early teachings of illustrious examples beside the
paternal hearth. And yet there was one, although lost to me forever,
before whose eyes I would gladly seem to hold a high place. Yes! could
I but think that she had not forgotten me,--would hear my name with
interest, or feel one throb of pleasure if I were spoken of with
honor,--I asked no more!
“A letter, Monsieur le Capitaine,” said my servant, as he deposited
a package on my table. Supposing it was the epistle of which Tascher
spoke, I paid but slight attention to it, when by chance I remarked it
was in General d'Auvergne's handwriting. I opened it at once, and read
as follows:--
Bivouac, 11 o'clock.
My dear Burke,--No one ever set off for Paris without being
troubled with commissions for his country friends, and you
must not escape the ills of common humanity. Happily for
you, however, the debt is easily acquitted; I have neither
undiscovered shades of silk to be matched, nor impossible
bargains to be effected. I shall simply beg of you to
deliver with your own hand the enclosed letter to its
address at the Tuileries; adding, if you think fit, the
civil attentions of a visit.
We shall both, in all likelihood, be much hurried when we
meet to-morrow,--for I also have received orders to march,--
so that I take the present opportunity to enclose you a
check on Paris for a trifle in advance of your pay;
remembering too well, in my own aide-de-camp days, the
dilatory habits of the War Office with new captains.
Yours ever, dear Burke,
D'Auvergne, Lieut-General.
The letter of which he spoke had fallen on the table, where I now read
the address,--“À Madame la Comtesse d'Auvergne, née Comtesse de Meudon,
dame d'honneur de S. M. l'Impératrice.” As I read these lines, I felt my
face grow burning hot, my cheeks flushed up, and I could scarcely have
been more excited were I actually in her presence to whom the letter
was destined. The poor general's kind note, his check for eight thousand
francs, lay there: I forgot them both, and sat still, spelling over
the letters of that name so woven in my destiny. I thought of the first
night I had ever heard it, when, a mere boy, I wept over her sorrows,
and grieved for her whose fate was so soon to throw its shadow over my
own. But in a moment all gave way before the one thought,--I should see
her again, speak to her and hear her voice. It is true, she was the wife
of another: but as Marie de Meudon, our destinies were as wide apart;
under no circumstances could she have been mine, nor did I ever dare
to hope it. My love to her--for it was such, ardent and passionate--was
more the devotion of some worshipper at a shrine than an affection that
sought return. The friendless soldier of fortune, poor, unknown, uncared
for,--how could he raise his thoughts to one for whose hand the noblest
and the bravest were suitors in vain? Yet, with all this, how my heart
throbbed to think that we should meet again! Nor was the thought less
stirring that I felt, that even in the short interval of absence I had
won praise from him for whom her admiration was equal to my own. With
all the turmoil of my hopes and fears I felt a rush of pleasure at my
heart; and when I slept, it was to dream of happy days to come, and a
future far brighter than the past.
My first thought when morning broke was to ride over to Beygern, to
learn the fate of my wounded friends. On my way thither I fell in with
several officers bound on a similar errand, for already the convent had
become the great hospital to which the sufferers were brought from every
part of the camp. As we went along, I was much struck by the depression
of spirit so remarkable everywhere. The battle over, all the martial
enthusiasm seemed to have evaporated: many grumbled at the tiresome
prospect of a winter in country quarters, or cantoned in the field; some
regretted the briefness of the campaign; while others again complained
that to return to France after so little of active service would only
expose them to ridicule from their companions who had seen Italy and
Egypt.
“Spare your sorrows on that score, my young friends,” said a colonel,
who listened patiently to the complaints around him; “we shall not
see the dome of the Invalides for some time yet. Except the _compagnie
d'élite_, I fancy few of us will figure on the Boulevards.”
“There, again,” cried another: “I never heard anything so unfair as that
_compagnie d'élite_; they have been, with two solitary exceptions, taken
from the cavalry. Austerlitz was to be the day of honor for the infantry
of France, said the bulletin.”
“And so it was,” interrupted a little dark-eyed major; “and I suppose
his Majesty thought we had enough of it on the field, and did not wish
to surfeit us with glory. But I ask pardon,” said he, turning towards
me; “monsieur is, if I mistake not, named one of the _élite_?”
As I replied in the affirmative, I observed all eyes turned towards me;
but not with any kindly expression,--far from it. I saw that there was a
deliberate canvass of me, as though to see by my outward man how I could
possibly deserve such a favor.
“Can you explain to us, Monsieur,” said the little major to me, “on what
principle the _élite_ were chosen? For we have a thousand contradictory
reports in the camp: some say by ballot; some, that it was only those
who never soiled their jackets in the affair of the other day, and
looked fresh and smart.”
A burst of laughter from the rest interrupted the major's speech, for
its impertinence was quite sufficient to secure it many admirers.
“I believe, sir,” said I, angrily, “I can show you some reasons against
the selection of certain persons.”
As I got thus far, an officer whispered something into the major's ear,
who, with a roar of laughing, exclaimed,--
“A thousand pardons! ten thousand, _parbleu!_ I did n't know you. It was
monsieur pinked François, the maître d'armes? Yes, yes; don't deny it,”
said he, as I made no reply whatever to a question I believed quite
irrelevant to the occasion,--“don't deny it. That lunge over the guard
was a thing to be proud of; and, by Jove! you shall not practise it at
my expense.”
This speech excited great amusement among the party, who seemed to
coincide perfectly with the reasoning of the speaker; while I myself
remained silent, unable to decide whether I ought to be annoyed or the
reverse.
“Come, Monsieur,” resumed the major, addressing me with courtesy, “I
ask-pardon for the liberty of my speech. By Saint Denis! if all the
_compagnie d'élite_ have the same skill of fence, I 'll not question
their appointment.”
The candor of the avowal was too much for my gravity, and I now joined
in the mirth of his companions.
If I have mentioned so trivial an incident as this here, it is because I
wish to mark, even thus passingly, a trait of French military life. The
singular confession of a man who regretted his impertinence because he
discovered his adversary was a better swordsman, would, under any other
code or in any other country, have argued poltroonery. Not so here;
no one for a moment suspected his comrade's courage, nor could any
circumstance arise to make it doubtful save an actual instance of
cowardice. The inequality of the combat was reason enough for not
engaging in it: the odds were unfair, because duelling was like a game
where each party was to have an equal chance; and hence no shame was
felt at declining a contest where this inequality existed.
Such a system, it is obvious, could not have prevailed in communities
where duelling was only resorted to in extreme cases; but here it was
an every-day occurrence, and often formed but a brief interval, scarce
interrupting the current of an old friendship. Any resentful spirit,
any long-continued dislike to the party with whom you once fought, would
have been denounced as unofficer-like and ungenerous; and every day saw
men walking arm-inarm in closest intimacy, who but the morning before
stood opposed to each other's weapons. I now perceived the truth of
what Minette had once said, and which at the time I but imperfectly
comprehended. “Maître François will be less troublesome in future; and
you, Lieutenant, will have an easier life also.”
“Halt there!” shouted a sentry, as we approached the narrow causeway
that led up to the convent. We now discovered, that by a general order
no one was permitted to approach the hospital save such as were provided
with a leave from the medical staff. A bulletin of the deaths was daily
published on the guard-house, except which no other information was
afforded of the condition of the wounded; and to this we turned eagerly,
and with anxious hearts, lest we might read the name of some friend
lost forever. I ran over with a rapid glance the list, where neither St.
Hilaire nor poor Pioche occurred; and then, setting spurs to my horse,
hurried back to my quarters at the top of my speed. When I arrived, the
preparations for the departure of the _élite_ were already in progress,
and I had but time to make my few arrangements for the road when the
order came to join my comrades.