THE DYING MAN'S PROPHECY
Most of the officers attached to Pichegru's staff were away on some
special service or reconnoissance when Charles reached headquarters.
On the following day, all the orders having been given for a speedy
departure, and each one having returned, the breakfast-table was full.
At the table, besides Colonel Macdonald, whom we have already seen, were
seated four brigadier-generals, the citizens Lieber, Boursier, Michaud
and Hermann; two staff-officers, the citizens Graume and Chaumette; and
two aides-de-camp, the citizens Doumerc and Abatucci.
Doumerc was a captain of cavalry and about twenty-two years old; he was
born in the neighborhood of Toulon, and, as far as physical excellence
went, he was one of the finest men in the army. As for his courage, in
those days bravery was not even considered a merit. He had one of those
charming characters which enlivened the calm though somewhat cold
serenity of Pichegru, who rarely took part in the conversation and who
smiled as it were with his mind only.
Abatucci was a Corsican. At the age of fifteen he had been sent to the
military school of Metz, and had become a lieutenant of artillery in
1789 and captain in 1792. It was while he held the latter rank that he
was appointed aide-de-camp to Pichegru. He was a fine young man of
twenty-two or three, and of acknowledged bravery. He was lithe and
vigorous, with a bronzed complexion, which lent to his beauty, of the
Greek type, an effect similar to that observed in the ancient medals;
and this contrasted strangely with his spontaneous, almost childlike
gayety.
Nothing could have been more enjoyable than were the meals of these
young men, although the table resembled that of Lacedæmona. Woe to him
who came late, whether detained by love or war; he found the dishes
washed and the bottles empty, and had to eat his dry bread amid the
laughter and jokes of his companions.
But not a week passed without leaving an empty place at the board. The
general, as he entered, would notice it, and, by a gesture, order the
cover of the absent one removed; he had died for his country. They drank
to his memory, and all was over.
There was something of sovereign grandeur in this carelessness of life
and forgetfulness of death.
The siege of Toulon had engaged the attention of the young men for the
last few days almost as much as if they had been actors on the scene.
Toulon, it will be remembered, had been delivered to the English by
Admiral Trogoff, whose name, we regret to say, we are not able to find
in any encyclopedia; the names of traitors should be preserved.
M. Thiers, doubtless through patriotism, said that he was a Russian.
Alas! he was a Breton.
The first news was not reassuring, and the young men, particularly those
who were cavalry officers, had laughed heartily over General Cartaux's
plan, which was embodied in the following lines:
The general body of artillery will bombard Toulon for three days;
at the end of which time I shall attack it in three columns and
take it.
Then the news came that General Dugommier had succeeded Cartaux. This
inspired a little more confidence; but as he had returned from
Martinique only two years before, and had been a general but eighteen
months, he was an unknown quantity.
The last news received was that the siege had been begun according to
all the rules of scientific warfare; that the artillery in particular
was commanded by an officer of merit, and was doing efficient service.
The natural result of all this was that the "Moniteur" was impatiently
waited for each day.
It arrived just as they had finished breakfast. The general took it from
the hands of the soldier who brought it in, and threw it across the
table to Charles, saying: "Here, citizen secretary, this is a part of
your duties; look and see if there is anything about Toulon."
Charles, blushing up to his eyes, opened the paper, and stopped at these
words:
_Letter from General Dugommier, dated at headquarters at Ollioules,
10th Frimaire, year II._
CITIZEN MINISTER--The day has been hot but fortunate. Two days ago
an important battery opened fire on Malbosquet, and has done great
damage to that post and its surroundings. This morning at five
o'clock the enemy made a vigorous sortie, by which at first they
carried all our advance posts to the left of this battery. At the
first firing we were all swiftly transferred to the left wing.
I found almost all our forces in flight. General Garnier
complained that his troops had abandoned him, and I ordered him to
rally them and to report ready to retake our battery. I took
command of the third battalion of the Iser, hoping to reach the
same battery by another way. We were fortunate enough to succeed,
and the position was soon recovered. The enemy, repulsed,
retreated on every side, leaving a large number of wounded and
dead. This sortie cost their army more than twelve hundred in
killed, wounded, and prisoners; among the latter were several
officers of superior rank, including their general-in-chief,
O'Hara, who was wounded in the right arm.
Both generals were wounded in this action. I received two severe
contusions--one in the right arm and another in the
shoulder--neither of which is dangerous. After having repulsed the
enemy, our Republicans, by a courageous but disorderly movement,
marched toward Malbosquet, covered by the formidable fire of this
fort. They captured the tents of a camp which had been abandoned
in consequence of their intrepid movement. This action, which is a
great triumph for the arms of the Republic, is an excellent augury
for future operations; for what can we not attain by a concerted
and organized attack, when we have done so well with an improvised
one?
I cannot sufficiently extol the conduct of all those who fought.
Among those who particularly distinguished themselves, and who
were of the most assistance to me in rallying the forces for the
advance, were citizens Buona Parte, commanding the artillery, and
Aréna and Cervoni, adjutant-generals.
DUGOMMIER, _General-in-Chief_.
"Buona Parte," said Pichegru; "that must be the young Corsican to whom I
was tutor, who showed such a marked talent for mathematics."
"There is a family named Buonaparte in Ajaccio," said Abatucci, "whose
head, Charles de Buonaparte, was aide in Paoli's camp; they are cousins,
these Buonapartes."
"The deuce," said Doumerc, "you are all cousins in Corsica."
"If it is the Buonaparte I mean," said Pichegru, "he is a young man five
feet one or two inches tall, with straight hair plastered down at the
temples, who did not know a word of French when he came to Brienne; he
was of a misanthropic solitary turn of mind, strongly opposed to the
union of Corsica with France, and a great admirer of Paoli. In two or
three years he learned all that Father Patrault--by the way, Charles, he
was the protector of your friend Euloge Schneider--could teach."
"Only," continued Abatucci, "they do not write the name as the
'Moniteur' has it, cut in two in the middle--it is simply Buonaparte."
A loud noise was heard at this point of the conversation, and every one
hastened to the window overlooking the Rue de Strasbourg.
They were so near the enemy that they expected a surprise at every
moment. They all seized their swords. Doumerc, who was nearer the window
than the others, not only picked up his sword, but sprang out of the
window, and rushed up the street to a turning where he could see the
whole length of the road. But when he reached it, he shrugged his
shoulders in token of disappointment, and returned to his companions
with slow steps, and bent head.
"What is it?" asked Pichegru.
"Nothing, general, except the unfortunate Eisemberg and his staff on
their way to the guillotine."
"But," said Pichegru, "are they not going straight to the citadel? We
have always been spared this sight hitherto."
"That is true, general, but they have resolved to strike a blow this
time that will send terror to the hearts of the soldiers. The execution
of a general and his staff is such a good example for all the other
generals and their staffs, that it has been judged advisable to have us
all present at the spectacle."
"But," hazarded Charles timidly, "those were not sounds of sorrow but
bursts of laughter that I heard."
A soldier coming from the same direction as the procession chanced to
pass at this moment; the general recognized in him a man from the
village of Arbois. He was a chasseur in the eighth regiment named Falou.
The general called him by name.
The chasseur stopped short, looked to see who had called him, turned on
his heel, and saluted.
"Come here," said the general.
The chasseur approached him.
"What is the cause of this laughter?" asked Pichegru. "The people are
not insulting the condemned men, are they?"
"Quite on the contrary, general, they are pitying them."
"But what is the meaning of those bursts of laughter then?"
"It is not their fault, general; he would make a mile-stone laugh!"
"Who?"
"The surgeon Figeac, who is to be guillotined; he is cracking so many
jokes from the top of the cart that even the condemned men are convulsed
with laughter."
The general and his companions looked at each other.
"The time seems to me rather ill-chosen for mirth," said Pichegru.
"Well, he seems to have found a laughable side to death."
Just then the advance-guard of the procession came in sight, the men
laughing heartily--not with a savage and insulting laugh, but with one
that was natural and hearty. The immense cart, which was carrying
twenty-two prisoners, bound two and two, to the execution, came in sight
almost immediately. Pichegru stepped back, but Eisemberg called to him
in a loud voice.
Pichegru paused.
Figeac, seeing that Eisemberg wished to speak, was silent, and the
laughter ceased almost immediately. Eisemberg moved forward, dragging
the man to whom he was bound with him, and standing up, said: "Pichegru,
listen to me."
Those of the young men who had their caps or their hats on their heads
removed them; Falou stood close to the window saluting.
"Pichegru," said the unhappy general, "I am going to die, and I shall
gladly leave you the honors which your courage will bring you. I know
that you do justice to my loyalty, that has been betrayed by the fate of
war, and that you have secretly pitied me in my misfortune. I should
like to predict a better end for you than mine, but you may not hope for
it. Houchard and Custine are dead, I am to die, Beauharnais will die,
and you will die like us. The people to whom you have devoted your sword
are not sparing of the blood of their defenders, and if the hostile
bullets spare you, you will not escape the executioner. Farewell,
Pichegru! May Heaven preserve you from the jealousy of tyrants and the
false justice of assassins. Farewell, my friend! Go on, now, you."
Pichegru greeted him with his hand, shut the window, and entered his
room with his head bent and his arms folded, as if Eisemberg's words
weighed heavy on his mind.
Then, suddenly raising his head, and addressing the young men who were
looking at him in silence, he said: "Who among you knows Greek! I will
give my best Cummer pipe to the one who can tell me the name of the
Greek author who speaks of the prophecies of dying men."
"I know a little Greek, general," said Charles, "but I do not smoke at
all."
"Well, then I will give you something that will please you more than a
pipe."
"Well, general," said Charles, "it is Aristophanes, in a passage which
may be translated somewhat as follows: 'Dying Hoary-heads have the souls
of Sybils.'"
"Bravo," said Pichegru, patting his cheek, "to-morrow, or the day after,
you shall have what I promised you." Then, turning to his aides-de-camp,
he said, "Come, children, I am tired of these butcheries; we will leave
Auenheim in two hours, and try to reach Drusenheim with our
advance-posts. Death is but a trifle anywhere, and it becomes a pleasure
on the battlefield. Therefore let us fight."
Just then a government despatch was handed to Pichegru. It contained an
order to join the Army of the Moselle, and to consider Hoche, who was
commanding it, as his superior officer. The two armies, once this union
had been effected, were to attack ceaselessly until the lines of
Wissembourg had been retaken.
It was not necessary to change the orders already given. Pichegru put
the despatch in his pocket, and knowing that the spy, Stephan, was
waiting for him in his cabinet, he went in there, saying as he did so:
"Citizens, hold yourselves in readiness to start at the first sound of
the trumpet and the first roll of the drum."