Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 64, No.394, August, 1848

It is quite natural that Mr Rellstab, whose youthful predilections were so strongly military, who himself wore the uniform during his first six years of manhood, and who was contemporary, at the age when impressions are strongest, of the gigantic wars waged by Napoleon in Spain, Germany, and Russia, should recall with peculiar pleasure, at a later period of his life, the martial deeds with which in his boyhood all men's mouths were filled; that he should select them as a subject for his pen, dwell willingly upon their details, and bestow the utmost pains upon their illustration. His original plan of an historical romance was far more comprehensive than the one to which he finally adhered. He proposed employing as a stage for his actors all the European countries then the theatre of war. This bold plan gave great scope for contrast, allowing him to exhibit his personages, chiefly military men, engaged alternately with the Cossack and the Guerilla – alternately broiling under the sun of Castile, and frozen in Muscovy's snows. But the project was more easily formed than executed; and Mr Rellstab soon found (to use his own words) that he had taken Hercules' club for a plaything. The mass was too ponderous to wield; to interweave the entire military history of so busy a period with the plot of a romance, entailed an army of characters and a series of complications difficult to manage; and that might have ended by wearying the reader. Convinced that his design was too ambitious, he reduced it; limiting himself to the Russian campaign – itself no trifle to grapple with. This plan he successfully carried out. He had hoped to do so, he says, in three volumes, but was compelled to extend his limits, and fill four. The necessity is not obvious. In our opinion, "1812" would gain by compression (especially of the first half) within the limits originally proposed. Although some well-drawn and well-sustained characters are early introduced, and although the reader obtains, in the very first chapter, a mystery to ruminate, whilst of incident there is certainly an abundance, the real fascination of the book resides in the account of the advance to Moscow, of the conflagration of the city, and the subsequent retreat. The great power and truthfulness with which these events are depicted, convey the impression that the writer was an eyewitness of the scenes he so well describes. As this was not the case, we cannot doubt that Mr Rellstab obtained much information from some who made that terrible campaign. He acknowledges his great obligation to Count Segur's remarkable history.

As regards Mr Rellstab's plot, its ingenuity is undeniable, and, in fact, excessive. More ingenious than probable, the coincidences are too numerous and striking; the artist's hand is too visible. The characters are too obliging in their exits and entrances; ever vanishing and reappearing just at the right moment, and meeting each other in the most unexpected and extraordinary manner. It is difficult to lose sight of the wires; the movements of the puppets are manifestly strained for the exhibitor's convenience. One never feels sure who is the hero of the book; the young German most prominent in its earlier portion, and who is intended for the principal character, is a tame youth, and cuts quite a secondary figure in the latter volumes. His friend Bernard, a joyous artist, whom circumstances convert into a private soldier, and his commander the Polish Colonel Rasinski, a worthy comrade of the heroic Poniatowsky, are much more lifelike and interesting. The mysteries of the tale, and the difficulties which of course beset the paths of the various pairs of lovers, are pretty well cleared up and dispelled at the end of the third volume. The fourth, which includes the worst portion of the retreat, is perhaps the most interesting; partly for the very reason that we have got rid of the private entanglements of the principal personages, who are seen grouped together, and, including a lady, struggling against the frightful hardships and dangers of that unparalleled military disaster. It will give an idea of the tangled nature of Mr Rellstab's plot and under-plots (all finally unravelled with considerable cleverness) to state, that in the foremost row stand five gentlemen and three ladies; that each of the ladies is beloved, at one period or other of the story, by at least two of the gentlemen, who, on the other hand, are all five bosom friends, and, in this capacity, make the most magnanimous sacrifices of love to friendship. Manifestly, the only way of getting out of such a fix, is to kill freely, which Mr Rellstab accordingly does, the retreat from Moscow affording him fine opportunities, whereof he unsparingly avails himself. The closing chapter shows us the very numerous dramatis personæ reduced to two happy couples, dwelling, turtle-dove fashion, in a garden near Dresden, and to an elderly Polish lady, on the wing for America. Having thus told the end – a matter of very slight importance to the interest of the book – we will take a glance at the commencement.

The opening scene introduces us to a young German, who, after twelve months passed in Italy at the conclusion of his academical studies, is on his way back to his native land. The entrance of Napoleon's armies is once more converting Northern Germany into a vast camp, and Ludwig Rosen is hurrying homewards to the protection of his sister and widowed mother, then living in retirement at Dresden. Upon his journey to Italy, a year previously, he had encountered in the valley of Aosta a party of travellers, to one of whom, a young and very lovely woman, he restored a bracelet she had dropped upon the highway. Although this led to no acquaintance or intercourse beyond the exchange of a few sentences, the beauty of the foreigner (for such she certainly was, although of what country it was hard to decide,) had left a very strong impression upon the young man's memory and imagination. During his residence in Italy he sought her every where, but in vain. He could not trace her route; ignorant of her name, he knew not for whom to inquire. Once more upon the threshold of Italy, about to quit the romantic land where her image had so often filled his daydreams, he pauses at the outskirts of Duomo d' Ossola, the last Italian town, to take a fond and final look at the paradise he is on the point of leaving. Travelling on foot, his motions depend but on his own caprice, and he leaves the high-road to ascend an adjacent hillock, commanding a fine view. The blast of a post-horn and crack of whips break in upon his meditations, and an open travelling carriage rolls rapidly along the causeway. In one of two women who occupy it, Rosen thinks he recognises his incognita, but before he can reach the road, the vehicle is in the town. It is evening, and Rosen, persuaded the travellers will halt for the night at Duomo d' Ossola, hurries after them to the open square where the guardhouse and the principal inn are situated. The carriage stands at the door of the latter, but fresh horses are being harnessed, and the youth's hopes of passing the night under the same roof with the lady of his thoughts, and of improving his very slight acquaintance with her, begin to vanish in vapour. An unexpected incident again gives them consistence: —

"A large circle of idlers had collected round the travellers. An officer, issuing from the guardhouse, a paper in his hand, made his way through the crowd and approached the carriage-door: on his appearance the young lady got out, and took a few steps to meet him. The officer bowed and addressed her with great courtesy; but his manner, and the deprecating shrug of his shoulders, indicated inability to comply with some wish she had expressed. Ludwig drew nearer; but as the lady – of whose identity with her he sought he grew each moment more convinced – had her face turned from him, he made the circuit of the crowd to obtain a sight of her countenance. Heavens, it was herself! Her features were paler and more anxious than at their last meeting, and a tear trembled in her beauteous blue eye. Yielding to an irresistible impulse, Ludwig approached her, resolved, at risk of offence, to greet the lovely being whose apparition had gladdened his entrance into the glorious land he now was quitting, and to remind her of the moment of their first meeting and too speedy separation. He was encouraged to this step by beholding her unaccompanied, save by an old servant seated upon the box, and by an elderly woman, to all appearance an attendant, or humble companion. He hastily stepped forward out of the crowd, which had fallen a little back. As he did so, the lady's glance met his, and so sudden and joyful a glow over-spread her features, that he could not for an instant doubt her recognition of him. He was about to salute and address her, when, with startling haste, she exclaimed in French, 'Here is my brother!' and hurried to meet him. Before Ludwig, astounded at what he took for an extraordinary mistake, had time to utter a word, she continued in Italian, and in a loud tone, so that all around might hear and understand, 'Thank God, brother, you are come at last!' Then, in a rapid whisper, and in German, 'I am lost,' she said, 'if you deny me.' With prompt decision, she turned to the officer, took the paper from his hand and presented it to Ludwig. 'This gentleman would not admit the regularity of our passport because you were not present,' said she, reverting to the French language. 'See what trouble you give us, dear brother, by your romantic partiality for byways! You are Count Wallersheim,' she whispered in German.

"Startled and confounded as Ludwig was by this strange adventure, he retained sufficient presence of mind to understand that it was in his power to render important service to the beautiful woman who stood anxious and tearful before him. Readily taking his cue, his reply was prompt. 'Be not uneasy, dear sister,' he said, 'I will explain to the gentleman.' He turned to the Frenchman, and in order to gain time and some insight into the circumstances of the case, 'I must beg you, sir,' he said 'to repeat your objections to our passport. Ladies have little experience in such matters.' 'I have now,' replied the officer 'not the slightest objection to make. You are set down in the passport as the companion of the countess your sister and yet you were not with her. The passport was, consequently, not in order. The countess certainly told me you had left her only for a short time, to ramble on foot, and that you would rejoin her beyond the town; but at frontier places, like Duomo d' Ossola, our orders are so strict that I should have been compelled to detain the young lady till you made your appearance. Rest assured, however, count, that I should, have held it my duty to have had you sought upon the road to Sempione, to inform you of the obstacle to your sister's progress. I strongly advise you to remain with the countess so long as you are in this district, or you will inevitably encounter delay and annoyance. Once over the Swiss frontier, you are out of our jurisdiction, and travelling is easier.'

"Ludwig stood mute with astonishment, whilst the old servant got off the box, – took from him, without observation, the light travelling pouch that hung on his shoulder, – laid it in the carriage, and asked him if he would be pleased to get in. Scarce conscious of what he said, he gave the officer his hand, and uttered a few polite words. The servant put down the carriage steps, – the gallant Frenchman assisted the lady, who had muffled herself in her veil, to ascend them, – bowed low, and repeated his wishes for their pleasant journey. Ludwig, almost without knowing what he was about, took his place by the side of the enigmatical fair one, whose duenna had discreetly transferred herself to the opposite seat, and the carriage rattled through the streets."

Once out of town, the mysterious stranger greets Ludwig as her deliverer; and, before they cross the frontier, she has confided to him as much as she proposes at that time to reveal of her exceptional position. This does not, however, amount to a disclosure of her family, name, or even of her country. She bids him call her Bianca, – but with that he must rest content; and he is unable to conjecture, from the slight accent with which she speaks German, or from the language, to him unknown, in which she converses with her companions, to what nation she belongs. She intimates that her destiny is connected with the political events of the period, – that more than her own life is in peril, – and accepts his enthusiastic offer to sustain his assumed character, and to escort her, as her brother, to Germany. Her companions are her gouvernante and an old trusty servant, and she would travel in safety were they the sole sharers of her secret. But, unfortunately, a fourth person possesses it, who accompanied her as far as Milan, under the name of Count Wallersheim, – endeavoured to abuse the fraternal intimacy to which he was admitted, and was indignantly repulsed. Bianca took an opportunity to leave him behind, and is well assured that out of revenge he turned traitor. The pursuers must already be upon her track, – each moment an order for her arrest may overtake her. And she does not conceal from Ludwig that, by accompanying her, he runs a heavy risk. This the enamoured youth despises, – insists on acting as her champion and defender, and keeps his seat in her carriage. That night they encounter various perils on the Simplon; and, finally, are locked up by an avalanche in a mountain gallery, whence they are not extricated till morning. In the course of the night's adventures, Ludwig obtains ground to suspect the existence of nearer ties between his two female companions than those of mistress and servant. The excitement and anxiety of the time, however, prevent his dwelling upon this suspicion: the carriage is patched up, and the party reach Brieg, in the Valais, where they are compelled to pause whilst their vehicle is put in better repair. Whilst Bianca reposes, Ludwig strolls out of the town. At about a mile from it, on his return, he is overtaken by a horseman at full gallop, followed, at an interval of a few hundred yards, by a second cavalier, and by a carriage at a pace nearly as rapid. This headlong speed strikes Ludwig as remarkable. Before he has time to reflect on its possible cause, he is addressed, in French, by the first horseman.

"'Do you belong to Brieg, sir?'

"'No,' replied Ludwig. 'I am a traveller, and have just rambled out of the town.'

"'Can you tell us if a carriage and four, with two ladies and a gentleman, and a servant on the box, has arrived there?'

"Ludwig was on the point of answering No, when the post-chaise came up and stopped. It contained a civilian and a French officer. The former leaned out of the window, and repeated the horseman's question. This gave Ludwig, who could not doubt the inquiries had reference to Bianca, time to devise a safe answer. He remembered that the post-house was at the commencement of the town, and that persons in haste would be likely to change horses there without going to the inn at all. This decided his reply.

"'Certainly,' said he quickly, 'such a carriage arrived some hours ago with a broken axle, I believe, which was mended here. But about a quarter of an hour back, just as I left the town, the strangers resumed their journey.'

"'The devil!' exclaimed the man in the carriage: 'which road did they take?'

"'The only one they could take, by Sion to Geneva,' replied Ludwig. 'You see it yonder, following the bank of the Rhone.'

"'Can we not cut across?' inquired the traveller hastily.

"'To be sure,' said the postilion, answering for Ludwig; 'just below this we can turn sharp to the left; and if your Excellencies are not afraid to ford the Rhone, even though the water should come into the carriage a little, we avoid the town altogether, and save a good half-hour. If your Excellencies allow me to take that road, never fear but I will overtake the travellers. They must now just be passing through yonder wood, otherwise we should see their carriage on the highway.'

"'Is the cross-road dangerous?'

"'Not a bit. Only a little rough. In an hour at most we will catch them, if your Excellencies will bear me harmless for passing the post station.'

"'That will I,' replied the officer in the carriage; 'and what is more, you shall have the twenty gold napoleons I promised you if you caught the fugitives before they reached Brieg. Now on, and at speed.'

"The carriage dashed forward, the horsemen galloping on either side."

The above short extracts contain what may be termed the root of the story, whence arise and branch forth a host of subsequent adventures. The misdirection given by Ludwig to Bianca's pursuers, exercises, especially, an extraordinary influence on his subsequent fortunes. In the first instance, however, it gives the lady time to escape on foot from the inn. Her two attendants, who are in fact her father and mother, Russian nobles in disguise, join her at a place appointed without the town, and Ludwig is to do the same, but misses his way, and is unable to find the fugitives. Already deeply in love with the interesting stranger, he is in despair at thus losing her; the more so as he is still ignorant of her name, and his chances of tracing her are even smaller than a year previously. After long but fruitless search, he pursues his journey northwards in company with three Polish officers, Rasinski, Jaromir, and Boleslaw, with whom he becomes acquainted at an inn, and is soon very intimate. The Poles are on their way to Dresden, to join Napoleon, then daily expected there, to open the Russian campaign. The new friends travel for some time in company. At Heidelberg an acquaintance puts a newspaper into Ludwig's hand, and calls his attention to a singular advertisement. It is a letter from Bianca to her unknown deliverer, couched in terms intelligible to him alone, thanking him, expressing regret at their sudden departure, and a wish that they may again meet, but giving no clue by which to find her. More deeply in love than ever, he proceeds to Dresden, where his invalid mother, and his beautiful sister Marie, an enthusiast for German nationality and freedom, welcome the wanderer with delight. There he also meets his friend Bernard, just returned from a tour in England and northern Europe. On a pleasure excursion with a party of ladies and Polish officers, Ludwig is seen and recognised by the man whom he had misdirected in the Valais. This is a Frenchman, named Beaucaire, formerly secretary to Bianca's father, now the confidant and tool of Baron de St Luces, one of Napoleon's most trusted agents, – half diplomatist, half policeman, with a dash of the spy. Beaucaire has Ludwig arrested; Bernard and one of the Poles rescue him by the strong hand from the gensdarmes, who are taking him to prison. But although at liberty he is still in the greatest peril. The police seek him every where. It appears that Bianca's father is a most important secret agent of Russia; that when flying from Italy he had with him papers of the greatest weight and value, and that death is the doom of Ludwig for aiding his escape. Bernard, who has become implicated by the vigorous assistance he rendered his friend, is liable to the same severe punishment. They apply to Colonel Rasinski for advice and succour. The best he is able to do for them is to enlist them in his regiment of Polish lancers, and pack them off to the depot at Warsaw. Under assumed names, and in the ranks of an army of six hundred thousand men, disguised also in the coarse garb of private dragoons, detection appears all but impossible. To console them as much as may be for this separation from friends and country, to share in a campaign with which they as Germans cannot sympathise, and to the cheerful endurance of whose hardships they are stimulated neither by patriotism nor ambition, Rasinski attaches the two friends to his person as orderlies; and throughout their whole period of service they associate, when off duty, on terms of perfect equality and intimacy, with him and the captains Jaromir and Boleslaw. The incident of the enlistment is rather forced. There is no apparent reason why Rasinski should detain his friends in his regiment after its uniform had served the purpose of escape from Dresden. Once smuggled out of the city, it was most natural to let them resume their civilian character, and seek concealment in a foreign country, if necessary, till the danger was over, and till they and their offences had been forgotten in the stirring events and perpetual changes of the times. This of course would not have answered Mr Rellstab's purpose; but he should have given more cogent reasons for the continuance in the service of two men, one of whom declares that he holds the gallows or the galleys as agreeable alternatives as the life of a private sentinel.

The merest outline, the most skeleton-like sketch of the plots and under-plots of "1812" would fill a long article, and prove, upon the whole, dry and of small interest. Nor is it, we have already said, by any means our opinion that the plot is the best part of Mr Rellstab's romance. By giving its details, we should be doing less to exhibit his talent, and to interest our readers, than by proceeding at once to the extraction and translation of one or two of its many remarkable scenes and passages.

During the advance of the French army into Russia, when the French Emperor, eager to engage the enemy, had the mortification of seeing them constantly recede on his approach, steadily avoiding an action, Polish Jews were frequently employed as spies, and sent forward to watch and report the movements of a foe whose plan of campaign even Napoleon's genius was unable to penetrate. The invasion of Russia, and anticipated triumph of the French host, were hailed with delight by the great mass of the Polish nation, who considered their liberation from the Muscovite yoke, and the re-establishment of Polish nationality, to be quite certain when once Napoleon took the field on their behalf. But these feelings of patriotic exultation were not partaken by the Jews of Poland, at least not to an extent that rendered them proof against the allurements of Russian gold. As usual, the guileless Israelites were at the service of the best bidder. Russian rubles and French crowns were equally welcome to their insatiable souls and fathomless pockets.

After crossing the Dnieper, Count Rasinski, whose knowledge of the people, language, and country, caused him to be frequently consulted by the Emperor, sent forward a Lithuanian Jew to ascertain if the enemy were concentrating their forces, and likely to make a stand.

"Towards three in the morning, and in profound darkness, the spy reappeared in the bivouac. Bernard had just awakened and stirred up the fire, when the strange figure of the Israelite, stealing noiselessly along, (wariness and caution had become his second nature,) entered the circle of light cast by the flames. Like a prowling and mischievous sorcerer, he suddenly stood before Bernard, who started at this strange and unexpected apparition. A black robe, confined at the waist by a leathern girdle, draped his meagre person; a red and pointed beard descended low upon his breast; his pale, wizened countenance peered forth from out a mass of tangled hair; his gray eyes had a cunning and malicious twinkle. A constrained smile distorted his lips, as he accosted Bernard in Jewish dialect.

"'Young gentleman! Tell me quick where my lord colonel sleeps. I am in haste to speak with him, young gentleman!'

"'The fellow looks like the devil changed into a fox,' muttered Bernard to himself. 'So they have not hanged you, eh, Isaac?'

"'Father Abraham! what is that for a question, young gentleman? D'ye think old Isaac would have lived so long, had he not known to keep his neck out of a coil of hemp? But take me to my lord colonel: it's in great haste!'

"'Come, son of Abraham,' said Bernard, parodying the Jewish mode of speaking; 'set thy shoe-soles upon the tracks of my feet, so shalt thou come to the presence of him whose gold thou covetest. Forward!' And, winding his way through the groups of weary soldiers who lay sleeping round the watch-fires, he guided the old spy to the spot where Rasinski, wrapped in his cloak, reposed upon a little straw. The colonel's watchful ear warned him of the approach of strange footsteps; he was roused in an instant, and looked keenly into the surrounding darkness.

"'Ha, friend Isaac!' he cried; 'well, what news? Are they of weight?'

"The Jew nodded mysteriously, and drew the count aside. Bernard would have returned to his fire, but Rasinski signed to him to remain. The count spoke long and low with his Hebrew emissary, and listened with the strongest interest, as it seemed, to the report of the latter. The spy's countenance each moment assumed a more important expression, and was lighted up, even at shorter intervals, by his false and repulsive smile, as he saw that Rasinski appeared satisfied with the intelligence he brought.