THE HEROINE IN ARMS.
The headquarters of General Hoche were established in the Commune Hall
of the burg of Ingelsheim; soldiers and under-officers of various corps
of the army, detailed as orderlies, awaited the commands of the General
in a sort of vestibule leading to the room in which Hoche himself,
together with his fellow-General Pichegru and their aides-de-camp, were
in conference with St. Just, Lebas, Randon and Lacost, the
Representatives of the people sent on special mission from the
Convention to the Armies of the Rhine and Moselle. Among the various
troopers seated about on the benches, and for the most part sleeping,
overcome by the fatigues of the day, were two, a cavalryman and a
quartermaster of the Third Hussars, who sat to one side of the folding
door in earnest conversation. The manly beauty of one of them, his light
brown complexion, the soft black down which shaded his upper lip, his
thick eyelashes, his height, the squareness of his shoulders, and the
fire and boldness of his glance, left no doubt but that it was Victoria,
the missing sister of John Lebrenn. Her companion, who could be none
other than the apprentice Oliver, seemed transfigured. His radiant
youthful features now shone with hope and martial ardor. His large
brilliant blue eyes seemed to mirror dazzling visions. One would have
said it was Mars himself in the uniform of a hussar.
"With what impatience I await the morrow," he was saying to Victoria.
"Here in my heart I feel that I shall either be killed or named
sub-lieutenant on the field of battle. Hoche, our General-in-chief, was
sub-lieutenant at twenty-two; I shall be an officer at eighteen! What a
future opens before me!"
Dreaming of his martial career, the young soldier gazed long and
silently into the golden picture it held up before him. Victoria
observed him closely. An inscrutable smile overspread her lips, when
suddenly, recalled from his revery by the recollections of love, Oliver
blushed and added: "If I am made an officer, perhaps you will at last
think me worthy of you, Victoria! Oh! what happiness! To merit the
supreme gifts of your tenderness, or to die before your eyes!"
"You yield yourself too readily to the intoxication of glory," said
Victoria, gravely reproaching him.
"Is not the glory of arms the most sublime of all?"
"Oliver, woe to those who, loving arms merely as arms, glory as glory,
give way to such enticements. Their reason becomes clouded, their spirit
becomes unsteeled, their patriotism falters. They grow ready to
sacrifice right, liberty, dignity for that glory whose brilliancy oft
conceals so much of mere low ambition, of abject servility, of shameful
appetites, and vain and childish selfishness. Military chiefs are nearly
all contemptible men, even under the republican regime."
"Victoria, how severe you are!" replied Oliver, sorrowfully. "Have I
really merited this reproach?"
"When St. Just and Lebas came here to hold council with the Generals
over to-morrow's battle, I noticed your hesitancy in giving, as
customary, the military salute."
"Yes, I felt extreme repugnance toward saluting a commissioner of the
Convention to the armies, because these people are in no way military.
If some day I become a general, I shall never consent to submit my plans
of campaign to a Representative of the people. No authority should
precede that of a general in his army. That authority should be single,
absolute, obeyed without discussion; he should be responsible to none
for his acts. His soldiers should hear but one voice: his; know but one
power: his."
"That is the language held by Dumouriez the eve of the day on which he
betrayed the Republic," answered Victoria bitterly. Just then John
Lebrenn and Duchemin entered, bringing in their prisoners.
John did not see his sister sitting with Oliver beside the door. But the
young woman, doubly surprised by meeting at once both her brother and
the Jesuit Morlet, whom she immediately recognized through his rustic
disguise, made at first a move to rush after John. But fearing lest he,
unable to master his surprise, might compromise the secret of a
transformation which she desired to guard, she checked herself, and
whispered to Oliver, who was no less stupefied than she at the sight of
his former master: "My brother has gone with that country fellow and the
little boy into the room of the aides-de-camp. Go tell the cannonier
Duchemin to meet me in the courtyard." Tossing her sword under her left
arm with military ease, the young woman started for the door; and
designating by a glance the other soldiers, she added, "I do not wish my
first interview with my brother to take place before our comrades; his
emotion would betray me."
"I obey, Victoria," sadly replied Oliver. "My surprise at meeting your
brother in the army prevents me from asking you in what I deserve the
cruel words you have but just addressed to me."
"My attachment for you, Oliver, compels me never to conceal the truth,
harsh as it may be. That is the only means of forestalling results of
which you perhaps have no premonition. We shall resume the conversation
later," she added, as she left the vestibule, the pavement of which rang
under her spurred boots.
The courtyard in front of the Commune Hall was a spacious one. On either
side were ranged the horses of the couriers. The fog had lifted; the
stars shone overhead. In the clear air of the crisp, cold night,
Victoria soon beheld the artilleryman coming towards her. She advanced
to meet him, saying: "I desired to speak to you, citizen, for the
purpose of giving you some information upon that man and the young child
whom you and a volunteer have just brought in as prisoners."
"They are two spies of Pitt and Coburg, who fell among our pickets and
were arrested, only an hour ago, by one of our sentries, a Parisian."
"Is that Parisian named John Lebrenn?"
"What, do you know him, my brave hussar!" asked Duchemin.
"That I do. We are old friends. But here is my information: The man
under arrest is a French priest, a Jesuit, an enemy of the Republic."
"A Jesuit! Ah, double brigand and black-cap! The gallows-bird!"
"His name is Abbot Morlet. It it urgent that you go at once and inform
John Lebrenn of this circumstance; he no doubt will be a witness at the
reverend's examination, which may even now be under way. The spy should
be unmasked."
"The examiner will give the black-cap's tongue to the dogs if he answers
in the gibberish he treated us to just now, in order to throw us off the
scent."
"When he finds himself recognized, he will not be likely to persist in
that ruse. Go, then, comrade, acquaint John Lebrenn with the fact that
his prisoner is the Jesuit Morlet, whom he already knows by reputation.
Then say to him that a trooper of the Third Hussars wishes to speak with
him a moment, and awaits him here in the court."
"'Tis well. The two commissions will be fulfilled, as you request."
While awaiting her brother, Victoria paced thoughtfully up and down the
courtyard. "Dear brother," she thought, "he has kept his promise. He
would pay his debt of blood to the Republic, and here he is, a soldier.
I can now unveil to him my mystery, and the object of my conduct in
regard to Oliver."
Informed by Duchemin that a hussar of the Third wished to see him, John
soon stepped out of the Commune Hall, and descrying a cavalryman of the
designated regiment at some paces from the door, walked towards him,
saying:
"Is it you, comrade, who sent me word by an under-officer of the
artillery that you had something to say to me?"
"It is I," answered Victoria, taking two steps toward her brother. The
latter, at first taken aback by surprise at hearing a voice which he
believed he knew, now approached rapidly. Incapable of leaving him any
longer in suspense, Victoria threw herself on the volunteer's neck,
saying in a broken voice:
"Brother! Dear and tender brother! Pardon me the pain I have caused
you!"
"All is forgotten now," murmured John, weeping with joy, and straining
his sister to his breast. "At last I recover you, darling sister!"
"And soon, I hope, we shall be separated no more. My task draws to its
close. And your worthy wife?"
"I heard from her only day before yesterday. She is well, and sustains
my absence courageously. Ah, Charlotte is doubly dear to me now--for she
is about to be a mother."
"How happy she must be!"
"In the midst of all her happiness, she still thinks of you. There is
not one of her letters in which she does not mention you, and wonder at
the mystery which has enveloped you for so many months. Good heaven, to
find you here in the army, in uniform. I know not whether I am awake or
dreaming. I can hardly collect my thoughts." And then after a moment's
silence, John resumed: "Your pardon, sister. I am now calmer. I now
believe I can divine the cause which led you to emulate those many
heroines who are enlisted against the enemies of the Republic.
Oliver--doubtless--serves in the same regiment with you? You were
anxious to continue directing him, watching over him?"
"Yes, brother mine; and already, by his bravery and aptitude in war he
has scaled the lower rounds of the ladder. A brilliant future is
unrolled before him."
"Sister--" began John with some hesitancy, "the result is beyond what we
hoped--but--"
"At what price have I obtained it? is it not, John? I can read your
thoughts. I have no cause to blush for the means I have employed. The
day of his attempted suicide, Oliver pledged me, as you know, that he
would not make a second attempt within twenty-four hours. Before
daybreak I rapped at his door. He had not retired. His face was as
ominous as the evening before. 'Oliver,' I said to him, 'let us go at
once.' 'Where are we going?' 'You shall know. You have promised me to
renounce till night-fall your projects of suicide. It matters little to
you where you pass your last day, here or elsewhere. Come.' Oliver
followed me. We went to Sceaux, where I had once before spent some time,
hoping to find relief in solitude from my griefs. Perhaps you have
forgotten that when the chateau of Sceaux became national property, our
good old patriot porter in St. Honore Street became, by your
recommendation to Cambon, one of the guardians of the domain. The fine
old man occupies with his wife the ground floor of a pavilion situated
near one of the gates of the estate. The second floor is vacant, and it
was there I dwelt during my former sojourn in the place. To this abode I
conducted Oliver. I presented him to the keeper and his wife as one of
our relatives who had been ordered to the country for his health; I was
to stay to take care of him. The good people received us with joy. They
fitted up, from the relics in the furniture repository of the old
mansion, a room for Oliver, and took upon themselves the task of
preparing our meals. I had in the neighborhood of six hundred livres,
which I had saved. That sum would suffice for all our needs for quite a
while.
"My arrangements with the keeper concluded," continued Victoria, "I led
Oliver out into the park. We had left Paris before dawn. By the time we
arrived at Sceaux, nature had donned all the fragrant beauty of new-born
day. The May morning sun cast his first radiant beams over those
enchanted vistas. We walked in silence over the velvety lawns, whose
richness was reflected in the little ponds that dotted them. Here were
vases and statues of marble niched in the green of the hedges; yonder
spouting fountains surrounded by immense rose-bushes then in full bloom.
Their scent filled the air. These details may seem childish, brother,
but they were all important."
"I can well see it; you hoped to reattach the poor boy to life by
displaying to him, in that fine spring morning, nature in her most
smiling aspect."
"Such indeed was my purpose. I observed Oliver closely. His looks, at
first lorn and somber, brightened little by little. He breathed in with
wide nostrils the morning ambrosia of the woods, the fields and the
flowers. He rapturously bent his ear to catch the chirping of the birds
nested in the foliage. His glance lost its heaviness, and again glowed
with youthful buoyancy. He took new hold of life while abandoning
himself to the sweet sensations awakened in him by the contemplation of
nature. I sought to stir the most sensitive and delicate chords of the
boy's being. My friendliness tempered what had up till then been stern
and parental in my relations with him; I spoke to him now more as sister
than as mother.
"'It would be paradise upon earth to live here,' he said.
"'Then let us settle in the village, Oliver.'
"'What! You consent to share this solitude with me?'
"'Most assuredly. Indeed, it was even with that hope that I brought you
here.'
"He beamed with happiness. But suddenly, his face clouding again, he
asked me sadly 'what I would be to him.' 'Your sister,' I told him. But
seeing him continue to lose the brightness he had just regained, I added
gaily:
"'Yesterday, my friend, I would consent to be nothing more than mother
to you. To-day I am willing to rejuvenate myself sufficiently to become
your sister. Is not that great progress?'
"'So,' he cried in a transport, 'you give me leave to hope?'
"'I give you permission to hope for what I hope myself, Oliver: that one
day I may feel for you a sentiment more tender than that of fraternity.
But it depends upon you still more than on me.'
"'What must I do?'
"'Become a man, Oliver; a man of whom I can be proud.'
"Oliver at first gave himself up with joy to this hope; but soon he
again asked, with a shade of suspicion in his voice, 'You will not make
me any promises--are you thinking, then, of forsaking me?'
"'Not at all, Oliver; and moreover, here is what I propose. We shall
remain in this charming retreat until you are completely recovered,
then we shall join the army, and enroll in the same regiment.' And in
answer to a gesture of stupefaction from Oliver, I added, 'Shall I, do
you imagine, be the first woman who shares the perils of our soldiers,
with her secret locked under her uniform? I wish to see you rise from
rank to rank. Then will come the day, perhaps soon, when some brilliant
deed will raise you to the height I dream of for you, and to our common
hope. Now, Oliver, choose between suicide and the glorious future I
present to you.'"
"All is now explained, worthy and great-hearted sister," exclaimed John
Lebrenn.
"I am now happy to note that my influence over Oliver diminishes daily.
His warlike ardor, the intoxication of his early successes, the activity
of camp life--all, according to my calculation, have combined to
overcome his passion. I foresaw that love would be fleeting in that
warlike soul, I sought above all to snatch him from suicide, from
failure. I wished by a vague hope to rekindle his dying courage,
initiate him into the career of arms, which his nature called him to,
and by watching over him like a mother and sharing his soldier's life,
to preserve him from the pitfalls that destroy so many young men. I
wished, in fine, to affirm him in the path of justice and virtue, to
develop his civic character, and to render still more fervent his love
for the fatherland and the Republic. Then, this self-imposed duty once
fulfilled, I reserve the means of casting Oliver upon the destiny which
the future seems to hold for him. Such was my project. In part it is
realized. The young man's passion for war is now his only amour.
Accordingly, I will soon be able to leave him."
At this point in their conversation the brother and sister saw Jesuit
Morlet and little Rodin file out of the Commune Hall, escorted by
several soldiers. One of these carried a lantern. The artilleryman
Duchemin brought up the rear.
"Hey, comrade!" called John Lebrenn to the quartermaster, as he
approached him, while Victoria remained behind, "I have something to ask
you."
"Speak, citizen."
"Do you know what they have decided about this doubly-dangerous spy,
this minion of the Society of Jesus?"
"According to what I just heard, the black-cap will be shot to-morrow
morning. They are taking him to the quarters of the Grand Provost of the
army, who has charge of the execution; and as my battery is established
near the Provost's quarters, I am acting as conduct to the agent of Pitt
and Coburg."
One of Hoche's aides-de-camp now stepped precipitately out of the
Commune Hall, hastened across the court, and ran in the direction of the
General's quarters. A company of grenadiers stationed there at once
caught up their arms and fell in line, drum at the right, officers at
the head, and soon the four Representatives of the people, St. Just and
Lebas, commissioners in extraordinary from the Convention to Strasburg,
and Lacoste and Randon, commissioners to the Army of the Rhine and
Moselle, descended the steps of the Commune Hall, preceded by several
officers furnished with lanterns, and followed by Generals Hoche and
Pichegru, and the superior officers of the divisions. The
Representatives of the people wore hats, one side of which, turned up,
was surmounted with a tricolor plume; their uniform coats were blue,
with large unbroidered lapels, and crossed with a scarf in the national
colors; over their trousers, which were blue like their coats, they had
on heavy spurred boots, and cavalry sabers hung by their sides. St. Just
walked before the others. He was of almost the same age as Hoche, about
twenty-four. The two conversed in low tones, some steps ahead of the
other Generals and Representatives. The features and attitudes of Hoche
and St. Just, as revealed by the light of the lanterns, contrasted
sharply. The republican General, of robust stature and with a bluff
countenance, intelligent and resolute, which a glorious scar rendered
all the more martial, displayed an insistence almost supplicating, as he
addressed St. Just. The latter, of only medium height, with a high and
proud forehead, accorded to the pleadings of Hoche a silent attention.
His pale and firm-set features, set off by his long straight hair, gave
to the man an air of sculptured impassivity. His life, his feeling,
seemed concentrated in his burning glances.
"Brother, do you remark Oliver's countenance?" said Victoria. "Pride
possesses it. He seems to regard as acts of servility the marks of
respect shown by the officers to the Representatives of the people."
"Oliver's expression is indeed significant," replied John.
"Halloa! Courier of the Third Hussars!" one of the under-officers cried
at that moment from the doorway, holding up a sealed packet. "To horse!
A despatch to carry to Sultz."
"Present!" called back Victoria; then she continued in a voice filled
with emotion, as she held out her hand to John,
"Adieu, brother, till to-morrow. Perchance the order of battle or the
fortunes of war will bring us near each other."
"I hope--and fear it, sister," answered John, his eyes moist with tears,
lest this should be the last time he was to see Victoria. "You have
shown yourself valiant, devoted and generous in your conduct towards
Oliver. Till to-morrow."
"Adieu, brother!" And Victoria hastened to receive the despatch, while
John returned to the bivouac of the Paris Volunteers.
The despatch which Victoria carried to Sultz had been written by Hoche
that very evening, and addressed to Citizen Bouchotte, Minister of War.
It read:
Ingelsheim, 6th Nivose, year II, 1 A. M.
I hasten to inform you, Citizen Minister, that the Representatives
of the people have just placed me in command of the two armies of
the Rhine and Moselle, to march to the succor of Landau.
No prayer or pleading on my part could change the resolution of the
Representatives of the people. Judge me. With nothing but courage,
how will I be able to carry such a burden? Nevertheless, I shall do
my best in the service of the Republic.
Greetings and brotherhood,
HOCHE.[15]
This letter of Hoche's, in which the great captain reveals the modesty
that in him equalled his military genius, illustrates also his anxieties
on the score of the responsibility which had just fallen upon
him--anxieties his noble and touching expression of which was unable to
shake the will of St. Just.