Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XL. A NIGHT IN THE TUILERIES GARDENS.

  As the night wore on, I remembered that once, when a boy at thePolytechnique, I longed to penetrate one of the little enclosures whichfenced the small flower-gardens beside the Palace, and which were railedup from the public promenades by a low iron railing. The bouquets ofrich flowers that grew there, sparkling with the light dew of a littlejet d'eau that fell in raindrops over them, had often tempted my youngheart; but still in the daytime such a transgression would have beenimmediately punished. Now, with the strange caprice which so oftenprompts us in after years to do that which in youth we wished but couldnot accomplish, I wandered towards the gardens, and crossing over thelow fence, entered the parterre; each step awoke the sleeping perfume ofthe flowers, and I strolled along the velvet turf until I reached a lowbench, half covered with honeysuckle and woodbine. Here I threw myselfdown, and, wrapping my cloak around me, resolved to rest till daybreak.The stillness of all around, the balmy air, and my own musings,gradually conspired to make me drowsy, and I slept.

  My sleep could not have been long, when I was awakened by a noise closebeside me. I started up and looked about, and for some seconds I couldscarcely credit that I was not still dreaming. Not more than a dozenpaces from where I lay, and where before the dark walls of the Palacerose in unbroken blackness, was now a chamber, brilliantly lighted up byseveral wax-lights that stood on a table. At the window, which opened tothe ground and led into the garden, stood the figure of a man, but fromhis position before the light I could not remark more than that he woreepaulettes. It was the noise of the opening jalousies which awoke me;and I could see his hand stretched out, as if to ascertain whether ornot it was raining. At the table I could perceive another person, onwhose uniform the light fell strongly, displaying many a cross and star,which twinkled with every stir he made. He was busily engaged writing,and never lifted his head from the paper. The walls of the room werecovered with shelves filled with books; and on the chairs about, andeven on the floor, lay maps and drawings in every disorder; a swordand belt, as if just taken off, lay on the table among the writingmaterials, and a cocked hat beside them.

  While I noticed these details, my very heart was chill within me.The dark figure at the window, which stirred not, seemed as if turnedtowards me, and more than once I almost thought I could see his eyesbent upon me. This was, however, but the mere suggestion of my ownfears for in the shade of the seat no light whatever fell, and I wasperfectly concealed. In the deep stillness I could hear the scrapingsound of the pen on the paper, and scarcely dared to breathe lest Ishould cause discovery, when the figure retired from the window, andmoved towards the table. For some minutes he appeared to stoop over alarge map, which lay outstretched before him, and across which I could'see his finger moving rapidly.

  The Scene Shifted 425]

  Suddenly he stood erect, and in a voice which even now rings within myheart, said, "It must be so, Duroc; by any other route Bernadotte will betoo late!"

  What was the reply I know not, such terror now fell over me. It was theEmperor himself who spoke. It was he who the instant before was standingclose beside me at the window; and thus, a second time in my life, did Ibecome the unwilling eavesdropper of the man I most feared and respectedof all the world. Before I could summon resolution to withdraw, Napoleonspoke again.

  "Hardenberg," said he, in a tone of contemptuous passion, "Hardenberg isbut a Prussian! the event will satisfy his scruples. Besides, if theydo talk about invasion of territory, you can reply: the Margraves werealways open to belligerent parties; remind them of what took place in'96, and again in 1800,--though, _parbleu_, the souvenir may not be sopleasant a one. Protract the discussion, at all events, Duroc; time!time! Then," added he, after a brief pause, "let them advance, and they'll never pass the Danube. And if they wait for me, I 'll fall uponthem here,--here, between Ulm and Augsburg. You must, however, start forBerlin at once."

  At this instant a heavy hand fell upon my shoulder, and passing down myarm, seized me by the wrist. I started back, and beheld a dragoon, forso his helmet and cloak bespoke, of enormous stature, who, motioning meto silence, led me softly and with noiseless step along the flower-beds,as if fearful of attracting the Emperor's notice. My limbs totteredbeneath me as I went, for the dreadful imputation an accident might fixon me stared on me with all its awful consequences. Without a word oneither side we reached the little railing, crossed it, and regained theopen park, when the soldier, placing himself in front of me, said, in adeep, low voice,--

  "Your name; who are you?"

  "An officer of the huitieme regiment of hussars," said I, boldly.

  "We shall see that presently," replied he, in a tone of disbelief. "Howcame you here?"

  In a few words I explained how, having remained too late in the garden,I preferred to pass my night on a bench to the unpleasantness of beingbrought up before the officer on duty; adding, that it was only on thevery moment of his coming that I awoke.

  "I know that," interrupted he, in a less surly voice. "I found yousleeping, and feared to awake you suddenly, lest in the surprise a wordor a cry would escape you. One syllable had cost your head."

  In the tone of these last few words there was something I thought Icould recognize, and resolving at a bold venture in such an emergency asI found myself placed, I said at a hazard,--

  "The better fortune mine, that I fell into the hands of a kind as wellas a brave soldier,--the Corporal Pioche."

  "Sacristi! You know me then!" cried he, thunderstruck.

  "To be sure I do. Could I be an aide-de-camp to the General d'Auvergne,and not have heard of Pioche?"

  "An aide-de-camp of the general," said he, starting back, as he carriedhis hand to the salute. "Pardon, mon officier; but you know that duty--"

  "Quite true; it was all my own indiscretion. And now, Pioche, if you 'llkeep me company here till daybreak--it cannot be far off now--the lightwill soon satisfy you that my account of myself is a true one."

  "Willingly, sir," said the gruff cuirassier. "My patrol is, to watch theparterres from the pavilion to the allee yonder; and, if you please, we'll take up our quarters on this bench."

  They who know not the strange mixture of deference and familiarity ofwhich the relation between officer and soldier is made up in the Frenchservice, will perhaps wonder a the tone of almost equality in which weconversed. But such is the case: the Revolutionary armies acknowledgedno other gredations of rank than such as the service conferred, nor anydegree of superiority save that derivable from greater ability of moredaring heroism; and although the troops more implicitly obeyed thecommands of their officers, the occasion of discipline over a perfectfeeling of equality remained amongst all, whether they wore the epauletsof colones or carried a musket in the ranks. With time, and the changesthe Consulate had introduced, much of this excessive familiarity wassuppressed; still it was no uncommon thing to hear the humble rank andfile address the general of division as "thou,"--the expression ofclosest friendship, probably dating from the hours of schoolboyattachment. Nor was the officer of rank thought less of because in thehours of off-duty, he mixed freely with those who had been hiscompanions through life, and talked with them as brothers. It isprobable that in no other nation such a course could have been practisedwithout a total subversion of all respect and the ruin of all habits oforder. The Frenchman is, however, essentially military; not merelywarlike, like the inhabitants of Great Britain,--his mind ever inclinesto the details of war as an art. It is in generalship he glories, notthe mere conflict of force; and the humblest soldier in the army takesan interest in the great game of tactics, which in any other peoplewould be quite incredible. Hence he submits to the control whichotherwise he could not endure; for this, he yields to command at thehands of one, who, although his equal in all other respects, he hereacknowledges as his superior. He knows, too, that the grade of officeris open to merit alone, and he feels that the epaulette may be his ownone day. Such causes as these, constantly in operation, could no
t failto raise the morale of an army; nor can we wonder that from such asource were derived many, if not most, of the great names that formedthe marshals of France. Again, to this military spirit the French owethe perfection of their tirailleur force,--the consummate skill ofindependent parties, of which every campaign gave evidence. Napoleonfound this spirit in the nation, and spared nothing to give it itsfullest development. He quickly saw to what height of enthusiasm apeople could be brought, to whom a cross or a decoration, an epauletteor a sabre of honor, were deemed the ample rewards of every daring andof every privation; and never in any age or in any country was chivalryso universally spread over the wide surface of a people. With them, rankclaimed no exception from fatigue or suffering. The officer fared littlebetter than the soldier on a march; in a battle, he was only moreexposed to danger. By daring only could he win his way upwards; and anemulative ardor was continually maintained, which was ever giving to theworld instances of individual heroism far more brilliant than all thefamed achievements of the crusaders.

  This brief digression, unnecessary perhaps to many of my readers, mayserve to explain to others how naturally our conversation took the easytone of familiar equality; nor will they be surprised at the abruptquestion of the cuirassier, as he said,--

  "_Mille tonnerres!_ lieutenant! was it from your liking the post ofdanger you selected that bench yonder?"

  "The choice was a mere accident."

  "An accident, _morbleu!_" said he, with a low laugh. "That waswhat Lasalle called it at the Adige, when the wheel came off theeight-pounder in the charge, and the enemy carried off the gun. 'Anaccident!' said the Petit Caporal to him,--I was close by when he saidit,--'will your friends in Paris call it an accident if the "ordre dujour" to-morrow condemn you to be shot?' I know him well," continuedPioche; "that I do. I was second bombardier with him at Toulon,--ay, atCairo too. I mind well the evening he came to our quarters; poorenough we were at the time,--no clothes, no rations: I was cook to ourdivision; but somehow there was little duty in my department, till oneday the vivandiere's ass, (a brave beast he was too, before provisionsfell short),--a spent shot took him in the flank, and killed him on thespot.

  "Sacristi!" what damage it did! All the canteens were smashed to atoms;horn goblets and platters knocked to pieces; but worst of all, a keg oftrue Nantz was broached, and every drop lost. Poor Madame Gougon! sheloved that ass as if he had been one of the regiment; and though weall offered her assignats on our pay, for a month each, to give us thecarcass, she wouldn't do it. No, faith! she would have him buried, andwith funeral honors! _Parbleu!_ it was a whim; but the poor thing wasin grief, and we could not refuse her. I commanded the party," continuedPioche, "and a long distance we had to march, lest the shots might beheard in the quartier-general. Well, we had some trouble in getting thepoor soul away from the grave. _Sacristi!_ she took it so much to heart,I thought she 'd have masses said for him. But we did succeed at last,and before dawn we were all within the camp as if nothing had happened.The whole of that day, however, the ass was never out of our minds. Itwas not grief; no, no! don't think that. We were all thinking of what asin it was to have him buried there,--such a fine beast as he was,--andnot a pound of meat to be had if you were to offer a nine-pounder gunfor it. 'He is never the worse for his funeral,' said I; 'remember,boys, how well preserved he was in brandy before he was buried: let'shave him up again!' No sooner was night come, than we set off forthe place where we laid him, and in less than two hours I was busilyemployed in making a delicious salmi of his haunch. _Mille bommbes!_ Ithink I have the smell of it before me; it was gibier, and the gravywas like a purie. We were all pleasantly seated round the fire, watchingevery turn of the roast, when--crack!--I heard the noise of the patrolbringing his gun to the present, and before we had time to jump up, thePetit Caporal was upon us; he was mounted on a little dark Arab, anddressed in his gray surtout.

  "'What 's all this here?' cried he, pulling up short, while the barbsniffed the air, just as if he guessed what the meat was. 'Who hasstolen this sheep?'

  "'It is not a sheep, General,' said I, stepping forward, and trying tohide the long ladle I was basting with.

  The "Big Pioche" Indulging in Delicacies 430]

  "'Not a sheep; then it is an ox, mayhap, or a calf," said he again, withan angry look.

  "'Neither, General,' said I; 'it was a--a--a beast of our division.'

  "'A beast of your division! What does that mean? No trifling, mind! outwith it at once. What's this? Where did it come from?'

  "'An ass, may it please you, sir,' said I, trembling all over, for I sawhe was in a rare passion. And as he repeated the word after me, I toldhim the whole story, and how we could not suffer such capital prog to beeaten by any other than good citizens of the Republic.

  "While I was telling him so much, the rest stood round terrified; theycould not even turn the joint, though it was burning; and, to say truth,I thought myself we were all in a bad way, when suddenly he burst into afit of laughing, and said,--

  "'What part of France do these fellows come from?'

  "'Alsace, mon general,' was the answer from every one.

  "'I thought so, I thought so,' said he; 'Sybarites, all.'

  "'No, mon general, grenadiers of the Fourth. Milhaud's brigade,' said I.And with that he turned away, and we could hear him laughing long afterhe galloped off. I saw he mistook us," said Pioche, "and that he couldnot be angry with the old Fourth."

  "You must have seen a great deal of hardship, Pioche," said I, ashe came to a pause, and wishing to draw him on to speak more of hiscampaigns.

  "_Ma foi!_ there were few who saw service from '92 to '97 had not theirshare of it. But they were brave times, too; every battle had its dayof promotion afterwards. Le Petit Caporal would ride down the rankswith his staff, looking for this one, and asking for that. 'Where 's theadjutant of the Sixth?' 'Dead, mon general.' 'Where 's the colonel ofthe Voltigeurs?' 'Badly wounded.' 'Carry him this sabre of honor.' 'Whofell over the Austrian standard, and carried away the fragment of thedrapeau?' 'One of my fellows. General; here he is.' 'And what is yourname, my brave fellow?'"

  The corporal paused here, and drew a deep breath; and after a fewseconds' pause, added in altered tone, "_Sacristi!_ they were finetimes!"

  "But what did he say to the soldier that took the colors?" asked I,impatiently. "Who was he?"

  "It was I," replied Pioche himself, in a deep voice, where pride anddevotion struggled powerfully together.

  "You, Pioche! indeed! Well, what said the general when he saw you?"

  "'Ah, Pioche,' said he, gayly, 'my old friend of Toulouse!'

  "'Yes, General,' said I, 'we 've had some warm work together.'

  "'True, Pioche, and may again perhaps. But you've been made a corporalsince that; what am I to do for you now?'

  "This was a puzzling question, and I did not know how to answer it, andhe repeated it before I could make up my mind.

  "'Is there nothing, then, in which I can be of use to Corporal Pioche?'

  "'Yes, mon general,' said I, 'there is.'

  "'Speak it out, man, then; what is it?'

  "'I wish, then, you 'd rate the commissary-general of our division forone blunder he's ever making. The powder they serve us out is alwayswet, and our bread is as hard as _mitraille_. Neither bayonets nor teethwill last forever, you know, General.' And he burst out a-laughingbefore I finished.

  "'Rest assured, Pioche, I'll look to this,' said he; and he kept hisword."

  "But why didn't you ask for promotion?" said I. "What folly, was it not,to throw away such a chance? You might have been an officer ere this."

  "No," replied he, with a sorrowful shake of the head; "that wasimpossible."

  "But why so? Bonaparte knew you well; he often noticed you."

  "True; all true," said he, more sadly than before. "But then--"

  "What, then?" asked I, with more of interest than delicacy at themoment.

  "I never learned to read," said Pioche, in a low voice, which trembl
edwith agitation, while he drew his swarthy hand across his eyes, and wassilent.

  The few words so spoken thrilled most powerfully within me. I saw that Ihad awakened the saddest thoughts of the poor fellow's heart, and wouldhave given worlds to be able to recall my question. Here, then, was thecorroding sorrow of his life,--the grief that left its impress on hisstern features, and tinged with care the open brow of the brave soldier.Each moment our silence was prolonged made it still more poignant, but Imade an effort to break it, and happily with success.

  "After all, Pioche," said I, laying my hand on his arm, "I wouldwillingly exchange my epaulettes for these stripes on your sleeve,to have had Bonaparte speak to me as he has spoken to you; that was aprouder distinction than any other, and will be a fonder recollection,too, hereafter."

  "Do you think so, mon lieutenant?" said the poor fellow, turning roundquickly, as a faint smile played about his features--"do you think so?_Sacristi!_ I have said as much to myself sometimes, when I've beenalone. And then I 've almost thought I could hear his kind, soft voiceringing in my ears; for it is kind and soft as a woman's, whenhe pleases, though, parbleu! it can call like a trumpet at othertimes,--ay, and tingle within your heart till it sets your blood boilingand makes your hands twitch. I mind well the campaign in the Valais; thewords keep dinning in my ears to this hour."

  "What was that, Pioche?" said I, pleased to see him turn from theremembrance of his own regrets.

  "It is a good while past now,--I forget the year exactly,--but we weremarching on Italy, and it was in spring. Still, the ground was coveredwith snow; every night came on with a hailstorm that lasted till nighdaybreak, and when we arose from the bivouac we were so stiff and frozenwe could not move. They said at the time something went wrong with thecommissariat; but when did it ever go right, I wonder? Ammunition andprovisions were always late; and though the general used to drive away acommissary every week or ten days for misconduct, the new ones thatcame turned out just as bad. The Petit Caporal kept sending them word toParis not to send down any more 'savants,' but a good, honest man, withcommon sense and active habits. But, _parbleu_, birds of that feathermust have been rare just then, for we never could catch one of them.Whatever was the cause, we never were so ill off; our shakos were likewet paper, and took any shape; and out of ridicule we used to come uponparade with them fashioned into three-cocked hats, and pointed caps, andslouched beavers. The officers couldn't say a word, you know, allthis time; it was not our fault if we were in such misery. Then, as toshoes,--a few could boast of the upper leathers, but a sole or a heelwas not to be found in a company. Our coats were actually in rags, anda pivot sentry looked for all the world like a flagstaff, as he stoodfluttering in the wind.

  "We bore up, however, as well as we could, for some time, grumblingoccasionally over our condition, and sometimes laughing at it when wehad the heart; till at last, when we saw the new convoy arrive, andall the biscuits distributed among the young regiments and the newconscripts, we could endure it no longer, and a terrible outcry aroseamong the troops. We were all drawn up on parade,--it was an inspection;for, _parbleu!_ though we were as ragged as scarecrows, they would haveus out twice a week to review us, and put us through the manoeuvres.Scarcely had the general--it was Bonaparte himself--got halfway downthe line, when a shout ran from rank to rank: 'Bread! shoes! caps!biscuits!'

  "'What do I hear?' said Bonaparte, standing up in his stirrups, andfrowning at the line. 'Who are the malcontents that dare to cry out onparade? Let them stand out; let me see them.'

  "And at once more than half the regiment of grenadiers sprang forward,and shouted louder than before, 'Bread! bread! let us have food andclothing! If we are to fight, let us not die of hunger!'

  "'Grenadiers of the Fourth,' cried he, in a terrible voice, 'to yourranks! Second division, and third!' shouted he, with his hand up, 'formin square!--carry arms!--present arms! front rank, kneel! Kneel!' saidhe, again louder; for you know we never did that in those days. However,every word was obeyed, and down dropped the leading files on theirknees; and there we were rooted to the ground. Not a man spoke; allsilent as death.

  "He then advanced to the front of the staff, and pointing his hand to aconvoy of wagons that could just be seen turning the angle of theroad, with white flags flying, to show what they were, called out,'Commissary-general, distribute full rations and half ammunition to theyoung regiments; half rations and full ammunition to the veterans ofEgypt!' A shout of applause burst out; but he cried louder thanbefore, 'Silence in the ranks!' Then, taking off his chapeau, he stoodbareheaded before us; and in a voice like the bugle that blows thecharge, he read from a large paper in his hand, 'In the name of theFrench Republic, one and indivisible. The Directory of the nationdecrees, that the thanks of the Government be given to the Grenadiersof the Fourth, who have deserved well of their country. Vive laRepublique!'

  "'Vive la Republique!' shouted the whole square in a roar, like the seaitself. Who thought more of hardships or hunger then? Our only desirewas when we were to meet the enemy; and many a jest and many a laughwent round as we loaded our pouches with the new ammunition.

  "'Who's that fellow yonder?' said Bonaparte, as he rode slowly down theline. 'I should know him, I think. Is n't that Pioche?'

  "'Yes, mon general,' said I, saluting him; 'it is what remains of poorPioche,--_parbleu!_ very little more than half, though.'

  "'Ah, glutton!' said he, laughing, 'I ought to have guessed you werehere; one such gourmand is enough to corrupt a whole brigade.'

  "'Pioche is a good soldier, citizen-general, 'said my captain, who wasan old schoolfellow of mine.

  "'I know it, Captain,' said the general.

  "'You were in Excelmans's dragoons, Pioche, if mistake not?'

  "Two years and ten months, citizen-general.'

  "'Why did you leave them, and when?'

  "'At Monte Bello, with the colonel's permission.'

  "'And the reason?'

  "'_Morbleu!_ it was a fancy I had. They killed two horses under me thatday, and I saw I was not destined for the cavalry.'

  "'Ha, ha!' said he, with a sly laugh; 'had they been asses, the thingmight have been different, eh?'

  "'Yes, mon general,' said I, growing red, for I knew what he meant.

  "'Come, Pioche, you must go back again to your old corps; they wantone or two like you,--though, _parbleu!_ you 'll ruin the Republic inremounts.'

  "'As you please it, General.'

  "'Well, what shall I do for you besides? Any more commissaries to row,eh? Methinks no bad time to gratify you in that way.'

  "'Ah, mon general if you would only hang up one now and then.'

  "'So I intend, the next time I hear of any of my soldiers beingobliged to eat the asses of the vivandieres.' And with that he rode on,laughing, though none, save myself, knew what he alluded to; and, _mafoi_, I was not disposed to turn the laugh against myself by telling.But there goes the _reveil_, and I must leave you, mon lieutenant; thegates will be open in a few minutes."

  "Good-by, Pioche," said I, "and many thanks for your pleasant company. Ihope we shall meet again, and soon."

  "I hope so, mon lieutenant; and if it be at a bivouac fire, all thebetter."

  The gallant corporal made his military salute, wheeled about, stiffas if on parade, and departed; while I, throwing my cloak over my arm,turned into the broad alley and left the garden.