Kitabı oku: «Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune», sayfa 11
A long interval of stupor, a state of dreary half consciousness, now came over me, from which I aroused myself with great difficulty to write the few lines I destined for Colonel Mahon. I remember even now, long as has been the space of years since that event, full as it has been of stirring and strange incidents, I remember perfectly the thought which flashed across me, as I sat, pen in hand, before the paper. It was the notion of a certain resemblance between our actions in this world with the characters I was about to inscribe upon that paper. Written in darkness and in doubt, thought I, how shall they appear when brought to the light! Perhaps those I have deemed the best and fairest shall seem but to be the weakest or the worst! What need of kindness to forgive the errors, and of patience to endure the ignorance! At last I began: ‘Mon Colonel, – Forgive, I pray you, the errors of these lines, penned in the darkness of my cell, and the night before my death. They are written to thank you ere I go hence, and to tell you that the poor heart whose beating will soon be still, throbbed gratefully towards you to the last! I have been sentenced to death for a breach of discipline of which I was guilty. Had I failed in the achievement of my enterprise by the bullet of an enemy, they would have named me with honour; but I have had the misfortune of success, and to-morrow am I to pay its penalty. I have the satisfaction, however, of knowing that my share in that great day can neither be denied nor evaded; it is already on record, and the time may yet come when my memory will be vindicated. I know not if these lines be legible, nor if I have crossed or recrossed them. If they are blotted they are not my tears have done it, for I have a firm heart and a good courage; and when the moment comes – ’ Here my hand trembled so much, and my brain grew so dizzy, that I lost the thread of my meaning, and merely jotted down at random a few words, vague, unconnected, and unintelligible, after which, and by an effort that cost all my strength, I wrote ‘Maurice Tiernay, late Hussar of the 9th Regiment.’
A hearty burst of tears followed the conclusion of this letter; all the pent-up emotion with which my heart was charged broke out at last, and I cried bitterly. Intense passions are, happily, never of long duration, and, better still, they are always the precursors of calm. Thus, tranquil, the dawn of morn broke upon me, when the sergeant came to take my letter, and apprise me that the adjutant would appear in a few moments to read my sentence, and inform me when it was to be executed.
‘Thou’It bear up well, lad; I know thou wilt,’ said the poor fellow, with tears in his eyes. ‘Thou hast no mother, and thou ‘lt not have to grieve for her.’
‘Don’t be afraid, sergeant; I’ll not disgrace the old 9th. Tell my comrades I said so.’
‘I will. I will tell them all! Is this thy jacket, lad?’
‘Yes; what do you want it for?’
‘I must take it away with me. Thou art not to wear it more?’
‘Not wear it, nor die in it! and why not?’
‘That is the sentence, lad; I cannot help it. It’s very hard, very cruel; but so it is.’
‘Then I am to die dishonoured, sergeant; is that the sentence?’
He dropped his head, and I could see that he moved his sleeve across his eyes; and then, taking up my jacket, he came towards me.
‘Remember, lad, a stout heart; no flinching. Adieu – God bless thee.’ He kissed me on either cheek, and went out.
He had not been gone many minutes, when the tramp of marching outside apprised me of the coming of the adjutant, and the door of my cell being thrown open, I was ordered to walk forth into the court of the prison. Two squadrons of my own regiment, all who were not on duty, were drawn up, dismounted, and without arms; beside them stood a company of grenadiers and a half battalion of the line, the corps to which the other two prisoners belonged, and who now came forward, in shirtsleeves like myself, into the middle of the court.
One of my fellow-sufferers was a very old soldier, whose hair and beard were white as snow; the other was a middle-aged man, of a dark and forbidding aspect, who scowled at me angrily as I came up to his side, and seemed as if he scorned the companionship. I returned a glance, haughty and as full of defiance as his own, and never noticed him after.
The drum beat a roll, and the word was given for silence in the ranks – an order so strictly obeyed, that even the clash of a weapon was unheard, and, stepping in front of the line, the Auditeur Militaire read out the sentences. As for me, I heard but the words ‘Peine afflictive et infamante‘; all the rest became confusion, shame, and terror commingled; nor did I know that the ceremonial was over when the troops began to defile, and we were marched back again to our prison quarters.
CHAPTER XIV. A SURPRISE AND AN ESCAPE
It is a very common subject of remark in newspapers, and as invariably repeated with astonishment by the readers, how well and soundly such a criminal slept on the night before his execution. It reads like a wonderful evidence of composure, or some not less surprising proof of apathy or indifference. I really believe it has as little relation to one feeling as to the other, and is simply the natural consequence of faculties overstrained, and a brain surcharged with blood; sleep being induced by causes purely physical in their nature. For myself, I can say that I was by no means indifferent to life, nor had I any contempt for the form of death that awaited me. As localities which have failed to inspire a strong attachment become endowed with a certain degree of interest when we are about to part from them for ever, I never held life so desirable as now that I was going to leave it; and yet, with all this, I fell into a sleep so heavy and profound, that I never awoke till late in the evening. Twice was I shaken by the shoulder ere I could throw off the heavy weight of slumber; and even when I looked up, and saw the armed figures around me, I could have lain down once more and composed myself to another sleep.
The first thing which thoroughly aroused me, and at once brightened up my slumbering senses, was missing my jacket, for which I searched every corner of my cell, forgetting that it had been taken away, as the nature of my sentence was declared infamante. The next shock was still greater, when two sapeurs came forward to tie my wrists together behind my back; I neither spoke nor resisted, but in silent submission complied with each order given me.
All preliminaries being completed, I was led forward, preceded by a pioneer, and guarded on either side by two sapeurs of ‘the guard’; a muffled drum, ten paces in advance, keeping up a low monotonous rumble as we went.
Our way led along the ramparts, beside which ran a row of little gardens, in which the children of the officers were at play. They ceased their childish gambols as we drew near, and came closer up to watch us. I could mark the terror and pity in their little faces as they gazed at me; I could see the traits of compassion with which they pointed me out to each other, and my heart swelled with gratitude for even so slight a sympathy. It was with difficulty I could restrain the emotion of that moment, but with a great effort I did subdue it, and marched on, to all seeming, unmoved. A little farther on, as we turned the angle of the wall, I looked back to catch one last look at them. Would that I had never done so! They had quitted the railings, and were now standing in a group, in the act of performing a mimic execution. One, without his jacket, was kneeling on the grass. But I could not bear the sight, and in scornful anger I closed my eyes, and saw no more.
A low whispering conversation was kept up by the soldiers around me. They were grumbling at the long distance they had to march, as the ‘affair’ might just as well have taken place on the glacis as two miles away. How different were my feelings – how dear to me was now every minute, every second of existence; how my heart leaped at each turn of the way, as I still saw a space to traverse and some little interval longer to live!
‘And mayhap after all,’ muttered one dark-faced fellow, ‘we shall have come all this way for nothing. There can be no fusillade without the general’s signature, so I heard the adjutant say; and who’s to promise that he ‘ll be at his quarters?’
‘Very true,’ said another; ‘he may be absent, or at table.’
‘At table!’ cried two or three together; ‘and what if he were?’
‘If he be,’ rejoined the former speaker, ‘we may go back again for our pains! I ought to know him well; I was his orderly for eight months, when I served in the “Légers,” and can tell you, my lads, I wouldn’t be the officer who would bring him a report or a return to sign when once he had opened out his napkin on his knee; and it’s not very far from his dinner-hour now.’
What a sudden thrill of hope ran through me! Perhaps I should be spared for another day.
‘No, no we’re all in time,’ exclaimed the sergeant; ‘I can see the general’s tent from this; and there he stands, with all his staff around him.’
‘Yes; and there go the other escorts – they will be up before us if we don’t make haste; quick-time, lads. Come along, mon cher,’ said he, addressing me – ‘thou’rt not tired, I hope?’
‘Not tired!’ replied I; ‘but remember, sergeant, what a long journey I have before me.’
‘Pardi! I don’t believe all that rhodomontade about another world,’ said he gruffly; ‘the Republic settled that question.’
I made no reply, for such words, at such a moment, were the most terrible of tortures to me. And now we moved on at a brisker pace, and crossing a little wooden bridge, entered a kind of esplanade of closely shaven turf, at one corner of which stood the capacious tent of the Commander-in-chief, for such, in Moreau’s absence, was General Berthier. Numbers of staff-officers were riding about on duty, and a large travelling-carriage, from which the horses seemed recently detached, stood before the tent.
We halted as we crossed the bridge, while the adjutant advanced to obtain the signature to the sentence. My eyes followed him till they swam with rising tears, and I could not wipe them away, as my hands were fettered. How rapidly did my thoughts travel during those few moments. The good old Père Michel came back to me in memory, and I tried to think of the consolation his presence would have afforded me; but I could do no more than think of them.
‘Which is the prisoner Tiernay?’ cried a young aide-decamp, cantering up to where I was standing.
‘Here, sir,’ replied the sergeant, pushing me forward.
‘So,’ rejoined the officer angrily, ‘this fellow has been writing letters, it would seem, reflecting upon the justice of his sentence, and arraigning the conduct of his judges. Your epistolary tastes are like to cost you dearly, my lad; it had been better for you if writing had been omitted in your education. Reconduct the others, sergeant, they are respited; this fellow alone is to undergo his sentence.’
The other two prisoners gave a short and simultaneous cry of joy as they fell back, and I stood alone in front of the escort.
‘Parbleu! he has forgotten the signature,’ said the adjutant, casting his eye over the paper: ‘he was chattering and laughing all the time, with the pen in his hand, and I suppose fancied that he had signed it.’
‘Nathalie was there, perhaps,’ said the aide-de-camp significantly.
‘She was, and I never saw her looking better. It’s something like eight years since I saw her last; and I vow she seems not only handsomer but fresher, and more youthful, to-day than then.’
‘Where is she going? – have you heard?’
‘Who can tell? Her passport is like a firman – she may travel where she pleases. The rumour of the day says Italy.’
‘I thought she looked provoked at Moreau’s absence; it seemed like want of attention on his part, a lack of courtesy she’s not used to.’
‘Very true; and her reception of Berthier was anything but gracious, although he certainly displayed all his civilities in her behalf.’
‘Strange days we live in!’ sighed the other; ‘when a man’s promotion hangs upon the favourable word of a – ’
‘Hush! – take care! – be cautious!’ whispered the other. ‘Let us not forget this poor fellow’s business. How are you to settle it? Is the signature of any consequence? The whole sentence is all right and regular.’
‘I shouldn’t like to omit the signature,’ said the other cautiously; ‘it looks like carelessness, and might involve us in trouble hereafter.’
‘Then we must wait some time, for I see they are gone to dinner.’
‘So I perceive,’ replied the former, as he lighted his cigar, and seated himself on a bank. ‘You may let the prisoner sit down, sergeant, and leave his hands free; he looks wearied and exhausted.’
I was too weak to speak, but I looked my gratitude; and sitting down upon the grass, covered my face and wept heartily.
Although quite close to where the officers sat together chatting and jesting, I heard little or nothing of what they said. Already the things of life had ceased to have any hold upon me; and I could have heard of the greatest victory, or listened to a story of the most fatal defeat, without the slightest interest or emotion. An occasional word or a name would strike upon my ear, but leave no impression nor any memory behind it.
The military band was performing various marches and opera airs before the tent where the general dined, and in the melody, softened by distance, I felt a kind of calm and sleepy repose that lulled me into a species of ecstasy.
At last the music ceased to play, and the adjutant, starting hurriedly up, called on the sergeant to move forward.
‘By Jove!’ cried he, ‘they seem preparing for a promenade, and we shall get into a scrape if Berthier sees us here. Keep your party yonder, sergeant, out of sight, till I obtain the signature.’
And so saying, away he went towards the tent at a sharp gallop.
A few seconds, and I watched him crossing the esplanade; he dismounted and disappeared. A terrible choking sensation was over me, and I scarcely was conscious that they were again tying my hands. The adjutant came out again, and made a sign with his sword.
‘We are to move on!’ said the sergeant, half in doubt.
‘Not at all,’ broke in the aide-de-camp; ‘he is making a sign for you to bring up the prisoner! There, he is repeating the signal – lead him forward.’
I knew very little of how – less still of why – but we moved on in the direction of the tent, and in a few minutes stood before it. The sounds of revelry and laughter – the hum of voices, and the clink of glasses-together with the hoarse bray of a brass band, which again struck up – all were commingled in my brain, as, taking me by the arm, I was led forward within the tent, and found myself at the foot of a table covered with all the gorgeousness of silver plate, and glowing with bouquets of flowers and fruits. In the one hasty glance I gave, before my lids fell over my swimming eyes, I could see the splendid uniforms of the guests as they sat around the board, and the magnificent costume of a lady in the place of honour next the head.
Several of those who sat at the lower end of the table drew back their seats as I came forward, and seemed as if desirous to give the general a better view of me.
Overwhelmed by the misery of my fate, as I stood awaiting my death, I felt as though a mere word, a look, would have crushed me but one moment back; but now, as I stood there before that group of gazers, whose eyes scanned me with looks of insolent disdain, or still more insulting curiosity, a sense of proud defiance seized me, to confront and dare them with glances haughty and scornful as their own. It seemed to me so base and unworthy a part to summon a poor wretch before them, as if to whet their new appetite for enjoyment by the aspect of his misery, that an indignant anger took possession of me, and I drew myself up to my full height, and stared at them calm and steadily.
‘So, then!’ cried a deep soldierlike voice from the far end of the table, which I at once recognised as the general-in-chief s – ‘so, then, gentlemen, we have now the honour of seeing amongst us the hero of the Rhine! This is the distinguished individual by whose prowess the passage of the river was effected, and the Swabian infantry cut off in their retreat! Is it not true, sir?’ said he, addressing me with a savage scowl.
‘I have had my share in the achievement,’ said I, with the cool air of defiance.
‘Parbleu! you are modest, sir. So had every drummer-boy that beat his tattoo! But yours was the part of a great leader, if I err not?’
I made no answer, but stood firm and unmoved.
‘How do you call the island which you have immortalised by your valour?’
‘The Fels Insel, sir.’
‘Gentlemen, let us drink to the hero of the Fels Insel,’ said he, holding up his glass for the servant to fill it. ‘A bumper – a full, a flowing bumper! And let him also pledge a toast in which his interest must be so brief. Give him a glass, Contard.’
The order was obeyed in a second; and I, summoning up all my courage to seem as easy and indifferent as they were, lifted the glass to my lips, and drained it off.
‘Another glass now to the health of this fair lady, through whose intercession we owe the pleasure of your company,’ said the general.
‘Willingly,’ said I; ‘and may one so beautiful seldom find herself in a society so unworthy of her!’
A perfect roar of laughter succeeded the insolence of this speech; amid which I was half pushed, half dragged, up to the end of the table where the general sat.
‘How so, coquin; do you dare to insult a French general at the head of his own staff!’
‘If I did, sir, it were quite as brave as to mock a poor criminal on his way to his execution!’
‘That is the boy! – I know him now! – the very same lad!’ cried the lady, as, stooping behind Berthier’s chair, she stretched out her hand towards me. ‘Come here; are you not Colonel Mahon’s godson?’
I looked her full in the face; and whether her own thoughts gave the impulse, or that something in my stare suggested it, she blushed till her cheeks grew crimson.
‘Poor Charles was so fond of him!’ whispered she in Berthier’s ear; and as she spoke, the expression of her face at once recalled where I had seen her, and I now perceived that she was the same person I had seen at table with Colonel Mahon, and whom I believed to be his wife.
A low whispering conversation now ensued between the general and her, at the close of which he turned to me and said —
‘Madame Merlancourt has deigned to take an interest in you – you are pardoned. Remember, sir, to whom you owe your life, and be grateful to her for it.’
I took the hand she extended towards me, and pressed it to my lips.
‘Madame,’ said I, ‘there is but one favour more I would ask in this world, and with it I could think myself happy.’
‘But can I grant it, mon cher?’ said she, smiling.
‘If I am to judge from the influence I have seen you wield, madame, here and elsewhere, this petition will easily be accorded.’
A slight flush coloured the lady’s cheek, while that of the general became dyed red with anger. I saw that I had committed some terrible blunder, but how, or in what, I knew not.
‘Well, sir,’ said Madame Merlancourt, addressing me with a stately coldness of manner, very different from her former tone, ‘let us hear what you ask, for we are already taking up a vast deal of time that our host would prefer devoting to his friends – what is it you wish?’
‘My discharge from a service, madame, where zeal and enthusiasm are rewarded with infamy and disgrace; my freedom to be anything but a French soldier.’
‘You are resolved, sir, that I am not to be proud of my protégé,’ said she haughtily; ‘what words are these to speak in presence of a general and his officers?’
‘I am bold, madame, as you say, but I am wronged.’
‘How so, sir – in what have you been injured?’ cried the general hastily, ‘except in the excessive condescension which has stimulated your presumption. But we are really two indulgent in this long parley. Madame, permit me to offer you some coffee under the trees. Contardo, tell the band to follow us. Gentlemen, we expect the pleasure of your society.’
And so’ saying, Berthier presented his arm to the lady, who swept proudly past without deigning to notice me. In a few minutes the tent was cleared of all, except the servants occupied in removing the remains of the dessert, and I fell back, unremarked and unobserved, to take my way homeward to the barracks, more indifferent to life than ever I had been afraid of death.
As I am not likely to recur at any length to the somewhat famous person to whom I owed my life, I may as well state that her name has since occupied no inconsiderable share of attention in France, and her history, under the title of Mémoires d’une Contemporaine, excited a degree of interest and anxiety in quarters which one might have fancied far above the reach of her revelations. At the time I speak of, I little knew the character of the age in which such influences were all powerful, nor how destinies very different from mine hung upon the favouritism of ‘La belle Nathalie.’ Had I known these things, and, still more, had I known the sad fate to which she brought my poor friend, Colonel Mahon, I might have scrupled to accept my life at such hands, or involved myself in a debt of gratitude to one for whom I was subsequently to feel nothing but hatred and aversion. It was indeed a terrible period, and in nothing more so than the fact that acts of benevolence and charity were blended up with features of falsehood, treachery, and baseness, which made one despair of humanity, and think the very worst of their species.
