Tom Burke Of "Ours", Volume II

“What can it all mean?” said I. “Who can he be expecting here?”

“They say now,” whispered my companion, “that Davoust cannot hold the bridge of Goding, and must fall back before the Russian column; and that Napoleon has invited Alexander to a conference here to gain time to reinforce Davoust.”

“Exactly; but the Czar is too wily an enemy for that to succeed; and probably hence the delay, which appears to irritate him now.”

The supposition, more plausible than most of those I heard before, was still contradicted by the account of the Emperor Alexander’s retreat; and again was I at a loss to reconcile these discrepancies, when I beheld Napoleon, with his glass to his eye, motion with his hand for Berthier to come forward. I turned towards the road, and now could distinguish in the distance a dark object moving towards us. A few minutes after the sun shone out, and I remarked the glitter of arms, stretching in a long line; while my companion, with the aid of a glass, called out, —

“I see them plainly; they are lancers. The escort are Hungarians, and there’s a calèche, with four horses in front.”

The Emperor stood motionless, his arms folded on his breast, and his head a little leaned forward, exactly as I have seen him represented in so many pictures and statues. His eyes were thrown downwards; and as he stirred the blazing wood with his foot, one could easily perceive how intensely his mind was occupied with deep thought.

The clattering sound of cavalry now turned my attention to another quarter; and I saw, exactly in front of us, and about five hundred paces off, a regiment of Hungarian Hussars, and some squadrons of Hulans drawn up. I had little time to mark their gorgeous equipment and splendid uniform, for already the calèche had drawn up at the roadside, and Prince John of Lichtenstein, descending, took off his chapeau, and offered his arm to assist another to alight. Slowly, and, as it seemed, with effort, a tall thin figure, in the white uniform of the Austrian Guard, stepped from the carriage to the ground. The same instant the officers of the staff fell back, and I saw Napoleon advance with open arms to embrace him. The Austrian emperor – for it was Francis himself – seemed scarcely able to control the emotion he felt at this moment; and we could see that his head rested for several seconds on Napoleon’s shoulder. And what a moment must that have been! How deeply must the pride of the descendant of the Cæsars have felt the humiliation which made him thus a suppliant before one he deemed a mere Corsican adventurer! What a pang it must have cost his haughty spirit as he uttered the words, Mon frère!

As they walked side by side towards the plateau, where the fires were lighted, it was easy to mark that Napoleon was the speaker, while Francis merely bowed from time to time, or made a gesture of seeming assent.

As the Emperor arrived at the place of conference, we fell back some fifty yards; and although the air was still and frosty, and the silence was perfect around, we could not catch a word on either side. After about an hour the conversation appeared to assume a tone of gayety and good-humor, and we could hear the sovereigns laughing repeatedly.

The conference lasted for above two hours, when once more the emperors embraced, and, as we thought, with more cordiality, and separated; the Emperor of Austria returning, accompanied by Prince Lichtenstein; while Napoleon stood for some minutes beside the fire as if musing, and then, beckoning his staff to follow, he walked towards the highroad.

Scarcely had the Austrian emperor reached his carriage, when Savary, bareheaded and breathless, stood beside the door of it. He was the bearer of a message from Napoleon. The next moment the calèche started, accompanied by Savary, who, with a single aide-de-camp, took the road towards the Austrian headquarters.

As Napoleon was about to mount his horse, I saw General d’Auvergne move forward towards him. A few words passed between them; and then the general, riding up to where I stood, said, —

“Burke, you are to remain here, and if any orders arrive from General Savary, hasten with them to the headquarters of his Majesty. In twelve hours you will be relieved.”

So saying, he galloped back to the imperial staff; and soon after the squadrons defiled into the road, the cortége dashed forward, and all that remained of that memorable scene was the dying embers of the fires beside which the fate of Europe was decided.

The old mill of Holitsch had been deserted when the Austrian and Russian columns took up their position before Austerlitz. The miller and his household fled at the first news of the advance, and had not dared to return. It was a solitary spot at best: a wild heath, without shelter of any kind, stretched away for miles on all sides; but now, in its utter loneliness, it was the most miserable-looking place that can be conceived. While, therefore, I contented myself with the hope that my stay there might not be long, I resolved to do what I could to render my quarters more comfortable.

My first care was my horse, which I picketed in the kitchen, where I was happy to find an abundant supply of firewood; my next, was to explore the remainder of the concern, in which I discovered traces of its having been already occupied by the allied troops, – rude caricatures of the French army in full déroute, before terrible-looking dragoons in Austrian and Russian uniforms, ornamented the walls in many parts; whole columns of French prisoners were depicted begging their lives from a single Austrian grenadier; and one figure, which it could be easily discovered was intended for Napoleon himself, was about to be hanged upon a tree, to the very marked satisfaction, as it would seem, of a group of Russian officers, who stood by, laughing. It is easy to smile at the ridicule of which fortune has thwarted the application and so I amused myself a good while by contemplating these grotesque frescos.

But a more welcome sight still awaited me, in a small chamber at the top of the building, where, in large letters, written with chalk on the door, I read, “Rittmeister von Oxenhausen’s quarters.” Here, to my exceeding delight, I discovered a neatly-furnished chamber, with a bed, sofa, and, better still, a table, on which the remains of the Rittmeister’s sapper yet stood, – a goodly ham, the greater part of a capon, a loaf of wheaten bread, and an earthenware crock, with a lid of brass, containing about two bottles of Austrian red wine. This was a most agreeable surprise to me, – a pleasant exchange from the meagre meal of bread and cheese I had but time to procure from a sergeant of my troop at parting. It need not be supposed that I hesitated long about becoming the Rittmeister’s successor; and so I drew the chair to the table, and the table nearer to the fire, – for, singularly enough, the embers of a wood fire still slumbered on the hearth. Having taken the keen edge off an appetite the cold air had whetted to the sharpest, I began an inspection of my quarters, first having replenished the fire with some logs of wood.

The chamber was an octagon, with five windows in as many of the faces, a fireplace and two doors occupying the other three. One of the doors – that by which I entered, – opened from the stairs; the other led into a granary, or something of that nature, – at least, so I conjectured, from a heap of sacks which littered the floor, and filled one corner completely. As I could not discover any corn, I resolved on sharing my loaf with my horse, – a meal every campaigning steed is well accustomed to make. And now, returning to my little chamber, I resumed my supper with all the satisfaction of one who felt he had made his rounds of duty, and might enjoy repose.

As I knew the Château de Holitsch, where the Emperor Francis held his quarters, was some six leagues distant, I guessed that General Savary was not likely to return from his mission before morning at very soonest; and so it behooved me to make my arrangements for passing the night where I was. Having, then, looked to my horse, for whose bedding I made free with some dozen of the corn-sacks in the granary, I brought up to my own quarters a supply of wood; and having fastened the door, and secured the windows as well as I was able, I lit my meerschaum, and lay down before the fire in as happy a frame of mind as need be.

Indeed, I began to fancy that fortune had done tormenting, and was now about to treat me more kindly. The notice of the Emperor had relieved my heart of a load which never ceased to press on it, and I could not help feeling that a fairer prospect was opening before me. It is true, time and misfortune had both blunted the ardor of enthusiasm with which I started in life; the daring aspirations after liberty, the high-souled desire for personal distinction, had subsided into calmer hopes and less ambitious yearnings. Young as I yet was, I experienced in myself that change of sentiment and feeling which comes upon other men later on in life; and I was gradually reconciling myself to that sense of duty which teaches a man well to play his part, in whatever station he may be called to act, rather than indulge in those overweening wishes for pre-eminence, which in their accomplishment are so often disappointing, and in their failure a source of regret and unhappiness. These feelings were impressed on me more by the force of events than by any process of my own reasoning. The career in which I first started as a boy had led to nothing but misfortune. The affection I conceived for one, – the only one I ever loved, – was destined equally to end unhappily. The passion for liberty, in which all my first aspirations were centred, had met the rude shocks which my own convictions suggested; and now I perceived that I must begin life anew, endeavoring to forget the influences whose shadows darkened my early days, and carve out my destiny in a very different path from what I once intended.

These were my last waking thoughts, as my head sank on my arm, and I fell into a deep sleep. The falling of a log from the fire awoke me suddenly. I rubbed my eyes, and for a second or two could not remember where I was. At length I became clearer in mind, and looking at my watch, perceived it was but two o’clock. As the flame of the replenished fire threw its light through the room, I remarked that the door into the granary stood ajar. This struck me as strange. I thought I could remember shutting it before I went to sleep. Yes, – I recollected perfectly placing a chair against it, as the latch was bad, and a draught of cold air came in that way; and now the chair was pushed back into the room, and the door lay open. A vague feeling, half suspicion, half curiosity, kept me thinking of the circumstance, when by chance – the merest chance – my eyes fell upon the table where I had left my sabre and my pistols. What was my amazement to find that one of the latter – that which lay nearest the door – was missing!

In an instant I was on my feet. Nothing can combat drowsiness like the sense of fear; and I became perfectly awake in a moment. Examining the room with caution, I found everything in the same state as I had left it, save the door and the missing pistol. The granary alone, then, could be the shelter of the invader, whoever he might be. What was to be done? I was totally unprovided with light, save what the fire afforded; and even were it otherwise, I should expose myself by carrying one, long before I could hope to detect a concealed enemy. The best plan I could hit upon seemed to secure the door once more; and then, placing myself in such a position as not to be commanded by it again, to wait for morning patiently. This then, I did at once; and having examined my remaining pistol, and found the charge and priming all safe, I drew my sabre, and sat down between the door and the window, but so that it should open against me.

Few sensations are more acutely painful than the exercise of the hearing when pushed to intensity. The unceasing effort to catch the slightest sound soon becomes fatigue, and as the organ grows weary, the mental anxiety grows more acute; and then begins a struggle between the failing sense and the excited brain. The spectral images of the eye in fever are not one half so terrible as the strange discordant tones that jar upon the tympanum in such a state as this. Each inanimate object seems endowed with its own power of voice, and whispering noises come stealing through the dead silence of midnight.

In this state of almost frenzied anxiety I sat long, – my eyes turned towards the door, which oftentimes I fancied I could perceive to move. At length the thought occurred to me, that by affecting sleep, if any one lay concealed within whose object was to enter the room, this would probably induce him.

I had not long to wait for the success of my scheme. The long-drawn breathing of my seeming slumber was not continued for more than a few minutes, when I saw the door slowly, almost imperceptibly, move. At first it stirred inch by inch; then gradually it opened wider and wider till it met the obstacle of the chair. There now came a pause of several seconds, during which it demanded all my efforts to sustain my part, – the throbbing at my throat and temples increasing almost beyond endurance, and the impulse to dash forward, and flinging wide the door, confront my enemy, being nearly too much for my resistance. Again it moved noiselessly as before; and then a hand stole out, and, laying hold of the chair, pushed it slowly backwards. The gray light of the breaking day fell upon the spot, and I could see that the cuff of the coat was laced with gold.

This time my anxiety became intense. Another second or two and I should be engaged in the conflict, – I knew not against how many. I clutched my sabre more fairly in my grasp, as my breathing grew thicker and shorter. The chair still continued to slide silently into the room, and already the arm of the man within protruded. Now was the moment, or never; and with a spring, I threw myself on it, and, pinioning the wrist in my hands, held it down upon the floor while I opposed my weight against the door.

Quick as lightning the other hand appeared, armed with a pistol; and I had but a moment to crouch my head nearly to the ground when a bullet whizzed past and smashed through the window behind me, while with a crash the frail door gave way to a strong push, and a man sprang fiercely forward to seize me by the throat. Jumping backward, I recovered my feet; but before I could raise my pistol he made a spring at me, and we both rolled together on the floor. On the pistol both our hands met, and the struggle was for the weapon.

Twice was it pointed at my heart; but my hand held the lock, and not all his efforts could unclasp it. At last I freed my right hand from the sword-knot of my sabre, and striking him with my clenched knuckles on the forehead, threw him back. His grasp relaxed at the instant, and I wrenched the pistol from his fingers, and placed the muzzle against his chest.

Another second and he would have rolled a corpse before me, when, to my horror and amazement, I saw in my antagonist my once friend, Henri de Beauvais. I flung the weapon from me, as I cried out, “De Beauvais, forgive me! forgive me!”

A deathly paleness came over his features; his eyes grew glazed and filmy, and with a low groan he fell fainting on the floor. I bathed his temples with water; I moistened his pale lips; I rubbed his clammy fingers. But it was long before he rallied; and when he did come to himself and looked up, he closed his eyes again, as though the sight of me was worse than death itself.

“Come, Henri!” said I, “a cup of wine, my friend, and you will be better presently. Thank God, this has not ended as it might.”

He raised his eyes towards me, but with a look of proud and unforgiving sternness, while he uttered not a word.

“It is unfair to blame me, De Beauvais, for this,” said I. “Once more I say, forgive me!”

His lips moved, and some sounds came forth, but I could not hear the words.

“There, there,” cried I; “it’s past and over now. Here is my hand.”

“You struck me with that hand,” said he, in a deep, distinct voice, as though every word came from the very bottom of his chest.

“And if I did, Henri, my own life was on the blow.”

“Oh that you had taken mine with it!” said he, with a bitterness I can never forget. “I am the first of my name that ever received a blow; would I were to be the last!”

“You forget, De Beauvais – ”

“No, sir; I forget nothing. Be assured, too, I never shall forget this night. With any other than yourself I should not despair of that atonement for an injury which alone can wash out such a stain; but you, – I know you well, —you will not give me this.”

“You are right, De Beauvais; I will not,” said I, calmly. “Sorry am I that even an accident should have brought us into collision. It is a mischance I feel deeply, and shall for many a day.”

“And I, sir,” cried he, as, starting up, his eyes flashed with passion and his cheek grew scarlet, – “and I, sir! – what are to be my feelings? Think you, that because I am an exile and an outcast, – forced by misfortune to wear the livery of one who is not my rightful sovereign, – that my sense of personal honor is the less, and that the mark of an insult is not as blood-stained on my conscience as ever it was?”

“Nothing but passion could blind you to the fact that there can be no insult where no intention could exist.”

“Spare me your casuistry, sir,” replied he, with an insolent wave of his hand, while he sank into a chair, and laid his head upon the table.

For an instant my temper, provoked beyond endurance, was about to give way, when I perceived that a handkerchief was bound tightly around his leg above the knee, where a great stain of blood marked his trouser. The thought of his being wounded banished every particle of resentment, and laying my hand on his shoulder, I said, —

“De Beauvais, I know not one but yourself to whom I would three times say, forgive me. But we were friends once, when we were both happier. For the sake of him who is no more, – poor Charles de Meudon – ”

“A traitor, sir, – a base traitor to the king of his fathers!”

“This I will not endure!” said I, passionately. “No one shall dare – ”

“Dare!”

“Ay, dare, sir! – such was the word. To asperse the memory of one like him is to dare that which no man can, with truth and honor.”

“Come, sir, I’m ready,” said Be Beauvais, rising, and pointing to the door, “Sortons!”

No one who has not heard that one word pronounced by the lips of a Frenchman can conceive how much of savage enmity and deadly purpose it implies. It is the challenge which, if unaccepted, stamps cowardice forever on the man who declines it: from that hour all equality ceases between those whom a combat had placed on the same footing.

“Sortons!” The word rang in my ears, and tingled through my very heart, while a host of different impulses swayed me, – shame, sorrow, wounded pride, all struggling for the mastery: but above them all, a better and a higher spirit, – the firm resolve, come what would, to suffer no provocation De Beauvais could offer, to make me stand opposite to him as an enemy.

“What am I to think, sir?” said he, with a voice scarcely articulate from passion, – “what am I to think of your hesitation? or why do you stand inactive here? Is it that you are meditating what new insult can be added to those you have heaped on me?”

“No, sir,” I replied, firmly; “so far from thinking of offence, I am but too sorry for the words I have already spoken. I should have remembered, and remembering, should have made allowance for, the strength of partisan feelings, which have their origin in a noble, but, as I believe, a mistaken source.”

“Indeed!” interrupted he, in mockery. “Is it, then, come to this? Am I, a Frenchman born, to be lectured on my loyalty and allegiance by a foreign mercenary?”

“Not even that taunt, De Beauvais, shall avail you anything. I am firm in my resolve.”

“Pardieu! then,” cried he, with savage energy, “there remains but this!”

As he spoke, he leaped from his chair, and sprang towards me. In so doing, however, his knee struck the table, and with a groan of agony, he reeled back and fell on the floor, while from his reopened wound a torrent of blood gushed out and deluged the room.

For a second or two he motioned me away with his hand; but as his weakness increased, he lay passive and unresisting, and suffered me to arrest the bleeding by such means as I was able to practise.

It was a long time ere I could stanch the gaping orifice, which had been inflicted by a sabre, and cut clean through the high boot and deep into the thigh. Fortunately for his recovery, he had himself succeeded in getting off the boot before, and the wound lay open to my surgical skill. Lifting him cautiously in my arms, I laid him on the bed, and moistened his lips with a little wine. Still the debility continued, – no signs of returning strength were there; but his features, pale and fallen, were glazed with a cold sweat that hung in heavy drops upon his brow and forehead.

Never was agony like mine. I saw his life was ebbing fast; the respiration was growing fainter and more irregular; his pulse could scarce be felt; yet dare I not leave my post to seek for assistance. A hundred thoughts whirled through my puzzled brain, and among the rest, the self-accusing one that I was the cause of his death. “Yes,” thought I, “better far to have stood before his pistol, at all the hazard of my life, than see him thus.”

In an instant all his angry speeches and his insulting gestures were forgotten. He looked so like what I once knew him, that my mind was wandering back again to former scenes and times, and all resentment was lost in the flood of memory. Poor fellow! what a sad destiny was his! fighting against the arms of his country, – a mourner over the triumphs of his native land! Alien that I was, this pang at least was spared me.

As these thoughts crossed my mind, I felt him press my hand. Overjoyed, I knelt down and whispered some words in his ear.

“No, no,” muttered he, in a low, plaintive tone; “not all lost, – not all! La Vendee yet remains!” He was dreaming.