THE MARRIAGE OF THE BRIGADIER
I am speaking, my friends, of days which are long gone by, when I had
scarcely begun to build up that fame which has made my name so familiar.
Among the thirty officers of the Hussars of Conflans there was nothing
to indicate that I was superior in any way to the others. I can well
imagine how surprised they would all have been had they realized that
young Lieutenant Etienne Gerard was destined for so glorious a career,
and would live to command a brigade and to receive from the Emperor's
own hands that cross which I can show you any time that you do me the
honour to visit me in my little cottage. You know, do you not, the
little white-washed cottage with the vine in front, in the field beside
the Garonne?
People have said of me that I have never known what fear was. No doubt
you have heard them say it. For many years, out of a foolish pride, I
have let the saying pass. And yet now, in my old age, I can afford to
be honest. The brave man dares to be frank. It is only the coward who
is afraid to make admissions. So I tell you now that I also am human;
that I also have felt my skin grow cold, and my hair rise; that I have
even known what it was to run away until my limbs could scarce support
me. It shocks you to hear it? Well, some day it may comfort you, when
your own courage has reached its limits, to know that even Etienne
Gerard has known what it was to be afraid. I will tell you now how this
experience befell me, and also how it brought me a wife.
For the moment France was at peace, and we, the Hussars of Conflans,
were in camp all that summer a few miles from the town of Les Andelys in
Normandy. It is not a very gay place by itself, but we of the Light
Cavalry make all places gay which we visit, and so we passed our time
very pleasantly. Many years and many scenes have dulled my remembrance,
but still the name Les Andelys brings back to me a huge ruined castle,
great orchards of apple trees, and above all, a vision of the lovely
maidens of Normandy. They were the very finest of their sex, as we may
be said to have been of ours, and so we were well met in that sweet
sunlit summer. Ah, the youth, the beauty, the valour, and then the
dull, dead years that blurr them all! There are times when the glorious
past weighs on my heart like lead. No, sir, no wine can wash away such
thoughts, for they are of the spirit and the soul. It is only the
gross body which responds to wine, but if you offer it for that, then I
will not refuse it.
Now of all the maidens who dwelt in those parts there was one who was so
superior in beauty and in charm that she seemed to be very specially
marked out for me. Her name was Marie Ravon, and her people, the
Ravons, were of yeoman stock who had farmed their own land in those
parts since the days when Duke William went to England. If I close my
eyes now, I see her as she then was, her cheeks, dusky like moss roses;
her hazel eyes, so gentle and yet so full of spirit; her hair of that
deepest black which goes most fitly with poetry and with passion; her
finger as supple as a young birch tree in the wind. Ah! how she swayed
away from me when first I laid my arm round it, for she was full of fire
and pride, ever evading, ever resisting, fighting to the last that her
surrender might be the more sweet. Out of a hundred and forty women--
But who can compare where all are so near perfection!
You will wonder why it should be, if this maiden was so beautiful, that
I should be left without a rival. There was a very good reason, my
friends, for I so arranged it that my rivals were in the hospital.
There was Hippolyte Lesoeur, he visited them for two Sundays; but if he
lives, I dare swear that he still limps from the bullet which lodges in
his knee. Poor Victor also--up to his death at Austerlitz he wore my
mark. Soon it was understood that if I could not win Marie, I should at
least have a fair field in which to try. It was said in our camp that
it was safer to charge a square of unbroken infantry than to be seen too
often at the farmhouse of the Ravons.
Now let me be precise for a moment. Did I wish to marry Marie? Ah! my
friends, marriage is not for a Hussar. Today he is in Normandy;
tomorrow he is in the hills of Spain or in the bogs of Poland.
What shall he do with a wife? Would it be fair to either of them?
Can it be right that his courage should be blunted by the thought of the
despair which his death would bring, or is it reasonable that she should
be left fearing lest every post should bring her the news of irreparable
misfortune? A Hussar can but warm himself at the fire, and then hurry
onwards, too happy if he can but pass another fire from which some
comfort may come. And Marie, did she wish to marry me? She knew well
that when our silver trumpets blew the march it would be over the grave
of our married life. Better far to hold fast to her own people and
her own soil, where she and her husband could dwell for ever amid the
rich orchards and within sight of the great Castle of Le Galliard.
Let her remember her Hussar in her dreams, but let her waking days be
spent in the world as she finds it. Meanwhile we pushed such thoughts
from our minds, and gave ourselves up to a sweet companionship, each day
complete in itself with never a thought of the morrow. It is true that
there were times when her father, a stout old gentleman with a face like
one of his own apples, and her mother, a thin anxious woman of the
country, gave me hints that they would wish to be clearer as to my
intentions; but in their hearts they each knew well that Etienne Gerard
was a man of honour, and that their daughter was very safe as well as
very happy in his keeping. So the matter stood until the night of which
I speak.
It was the Sunday evening, and I had ridden over from the camp.
There were several of our fellows who were visiting the village, and we
all left our horses at the inn. Thence I had to walk to the Ravons,
which was only separated by a single very large field extending to the
very door. I was about to start when the landlord ran after me.
"Excuse me, lieutenant," said he, "it is farther by the road, and yet I
should advise you to take it."
"It is a mile or more out of my way."
"I know it. But I think that it would be wiser," and he smiled as he
spoke.
"And why?" I asked.
"Because," said he, "the English bull is loose in the field."
If it were not for that odious smile, I might have considered it.
But to hold a danger over me and then to smile in such a fashion was
more than my proud temper could bear. I indicated by a gesture
what I thought of the English bull.
"I will go by the shortest way," said I.
I had no sooner set my foot in the field than I felt that my spirit had
betrayed me into rashness. It was a very large square field, and as I
came further out into it I felt like the cockle-shell which ventures
out from land and sees no port save that from which it has issued.
There was a wall on every side of the field save that from which I had
come. In front of me was the farmhouse of the Ravons, with wall
extending to right and left. A back door opened upon the field, and
there were several windows, but all were barred, as is usual in the
Norman farms. I pushed on rapidly to the door, as being the only
harbour of safety, walking with dignity as befits a soldier, and yet
with such speed as I could summon. From the waist upwards I was
unconcerned and even debonnaire. Below, I was swift and alert.
I had nearly reached the middle of the field when I perceived the
creature. He was rooting about with his fore feet under a large beech
tree which lay upon my right hand. I did not turn my head, nor would
the bystander have detected that I took notice of him, but my eye was
watching him with anxiety. It may have been that he was in a contented
mood, or it may have been that he was arrested by the nonchalance of my
bearing, but he made no movement in my direction. Reassured, I fixed my
eyes upon the open window of Marie's bed-chamber, which was immediately
over the back door, in the hope that those dear, tender, dark eyes, were
surveying me from behind the curtains. I flourished my little cane,
loitered to pick a primrose, and sang one of our devil-may-care choruses
in order to insult this English beast, and to show my love how little
I cared for danger when it stood between her and me. The creature was
abashed by my fearlessness, and so, pushing open the back door, I was
able to enter the farmhouse in safety and in honour.
And was it not worth the danger? Had all the bulls of Castile guarded
the entrance, would it not still have been worth it? Ah, the hours, the
sunny hours, which can never come back, when our youthful feet seemed
scarce to touch the ground, and we lived in a sweet dreamland of our own
creation! She honoured my courage, and she loved me for it. As she lay
with her flushed cheek pillowed against the silk of my dolman, looking
up at me with her wondering eyes, shining with love and admiration,
she marvelled at the stories in which I gave her some pictures of the
true character of her lover.
"Has your heart never failed you? Have you never known the feeling of
fear?" she asked. I laughed at such a thought. What place could fear
have in the mind of a Hussar? Young as I was, I had given my proofs.
I told her how I had led my squadron into a square of Hungarian
Grenadiers. She shuddered as she embraced me. I told her also how I
had swum my horse over the Danube at night with a message for Davoust.
To be frank, it was not the Danube, nor was it so deep that I was
compelled to swim, but when one is twenty and in love, one tells a story
as best one can. Many such stories I told her, while her dear eyes grew
more and more amazed.
"Never in my dreams, Etienne," said she, "did I believe that so brave a
man existed. Lucky France that has such a soldier, lucky Marie that has
such a lover!"
You can think how I flung myself at her feet as I murmured that I was
the luckiest of all--I who had found some one who could appreciate and
understand.
It was a charming relationship, too infinitely sweet and delicate for
the interference of coarser minds. But you can understand that the
parents imagined that they also had their duty to do. I played dominoes
with the old man, and I wound wool for his wife, and yet they could not
be led to believe that it was from love of them that I came thrice a
week to their farm. For some time an explanation was inevitable, and
that night it came. Marie, in delightful mutiny, was packed off to her
room, and I faced the old people in the parlour as they plied me with
questions upon my prospects and my intentions.
"One way or the other," they said, in their blunt country fashion.
"Let us hear that you are betrothed to Marie, or let us never see your
face again."
I spoke of my honour, my hopes, and my future, but they remained
immovable upon the present. I pleaded my career, but they in their
selfish way would think of nothing but their daughter. It was indeed
a difficult position in which I found myself. On the one hand, I could
not forsake my Marie; on the other, what would a young Hussar do with
marriage? At last, hard pressed, I begged them to leave the matter, if
it were only for a day.
"I will see Marie," said I, "I will see her without delay. It is her
heart and her happiness which come before all else."
They were not satisfied, these grumbling old people, but they could say
no more. They bade me a short good night and I departed, full of
perplexity, for the inn. I came out by the same door which I had
entered, and I heard them lock and bar it behind me.
I walked across the field lost in thought, with my mind entirely filled
with the arguments of the old people and the skilful replies which I had
made to them. What should I do? I had promised to see Marie without
delay. What should I say to her when I did see her? Would I surrender
to her beauty and turn my back upon my profession? If Etienne Gerard's
sword were turned to a scythe, then indeed it was a bad day for the
Emperor and France. Or should I harden my heart and turn away from
Marie? Or was it not possible that all might be reconciled; that I
might be a happy husband in Normandy but a brave soldier elsewhere?
All these thoughts were buzzing in my head, when a sudden noise made me
look up. The moon had come from behind a cloud, and there was the bull
before me.
He had seemed a large animal beneath the beech tree, but now he appeared
enormous. He was black in colour. His head was held down, and the moon
shone upon two menacing and bloodshot eyes. His tail switched swiftly
from side to side, and his fore feet dug into the earth. A more
horrible-looking monster was never seen in a nightmare. He was
moving slowly and stealthily in my direction.
I glanced behind me, and I found that in my distraction I had come a
very long way from the edge of the field. I was more than half-way
across it. My nearest refuge was the inn, but the bull was between me
and it. Perhaps if the creature understood how little I feared him, he
would make way for me. I shrugged my shoulders and made a gesture of
contempt. I even whistled. The creature thought I called it, for he
approached with alacrity. I kept my face boldly towards him, but I
walked swiftly backwards. When one is young and active, one can almost
run backwards and yet keep a brave and smiling face to the enemy. As I
ran I menaced the animal with my cane. Perhaps it would have been wiser
had I restrained my spirit. He regarded it as a challenge--which,
indeed, was the last thing in my mind. It was a misunderstanding, but a
fatal one. With a snort he raised his tail and charged.
Have you ever seen a bull charge, my friends? It is a strange sight.
You think, perhaps, that he trots, or even that he gallops. No, it is
worse than this. It is a succession of bounds by which he advances,
each more menacing than the last. I have no fear of anything which man
can do. When I deal with man, I feel that the nobility of my own
attitude, the gallant ease with which I face him, will in itself go far
to disarm him. What he can do, I can do, so why should I fear him?
But when it is a ton of enraged beef with which you contend, it is
another matter. You cannot hope to argue, to soften, to conciliate.
There is no resistance possible. My proud assurance was all wasted upon
the creature. In an instant my ready wit had weighed every possible
course, and had determined that no one, not the Emperor himself, could
hold his ground. There was but one course--to fly.
But one may fly in many ways. One may fly with dignity or one may fly
in panic. I fled, I trust, like a soldier. My bearing was superb
though my legs moved rapidly. My whole appearance was a protest against
the position in which I was placed. I smiled as I ran--the bitter smile
of the brave man who mocks his own fate. Had all my comrades surrounded
the field, they could not have thought the less of me when they saw the
disdain with which I avoided the bull.
But here it is that I must make my confession. When once flight
commences, though it be ever so soldierly, panic follows hard upon it.
Was it not so with the Guard at Waterloo? So it was that night with
Etienne Gerard. After all, there was no one to note my bearing--no one
save this accursed bull. If for a minute I forgot my dignity, who would
be the wiser? Every moment the thunder of the hoofs and the horrible
snorts of the monster drew nearer to my heels. Horror filled me at the
thought of so ignoble a death. The brutal rage of the creature sent a
chill to my heart. In an instant everything was forgotten. There were
in the world but two creatures, the bull and I--he trying to kill
me, I striving to escape. I put down my head and I ran--I ran for my
life.
It was for the house of the Ravons that I raced. But even as I reached
it, it flashed into my mind that there was no refuge for me there.
The door was locked. The lower windows were barred. The wall was high
upon either side. And the bull was nearer me with every stride.
But oh, my friends, it is at that supreme moment of danger that Etienne
Gerard has ever risen to his height. There was one path to safety, and
in an instant I had chosen it.
I have said that the window of Marie's bedroom was above the door.
The curtains were closed, but the folding sides were thrown open, and a
lamp burned in the room. Young and active, I felt that I could spring
high enough to reach the edge of the window sill and to draw myself out
of danger. The monster was within touch of me as I sprang. Had I been
unaided, I should have done what I had planned. But even as in a superb
effort I rose from the earth he butted me into the air. I shot through
the curtains as if I had been fired from a gun, and I dropped upon my
hands and knees in the centre of the room.
There was, as it appears, a bed in the window, but I had passed over it
in safety. As I staggered to my feet I turned towards it in
consternation, but it was empty. My Marie sat in a low chair in the
corner of the room, and her flushed cheeks showed that she had been
weeping. No doubt her parents had given her some account of what had
passed between us. She was too amazed to move, and could only sit
looking at me with her mouth open.
"Etienne!" she gasped. "Etienne!"
In an instant I was as full of resource as ever. There was but one
course for a gentleman, and I took it.
"Marie," I cried, "forgive, oh forgive the abruptness of my return!
Marie, I have seen your parents tonight. I could not return to the camp
without asking you whether you will make me for ever happy by promising
to be my wife?"
It was long before she could speak, so great was her amazement.
Then every emotion was swept away in the one great flood of her
admiration.
"Oh, Etienne! my wonderful Etienne!" she cried, her arms round my neck.
"Was ever such love! Was ever such a man! As you stand there, white
and trembling with passion, you seem to me the very hero of my dreams.
How hard you breathe, my love, and what a spring it must have been which
brought you to my arms! At the instant that you came, I heard the tramp
of your war-horse without."
There was nothing more to explain, and when one is newly betrothed, one
finds other uses for one's lips. But there was a scurry in the passage
and a pounding at the panels. At the crash of my arrival the old folk
had rushed to the cellar to see if the great cider cask had toppled off
the trestles, but now they were back and eager for admittance. I flung
open the door, and stood with Marie's hand in mine.
"Behold your son!" I said.
Ah, the joy which I had brought to that humble household! It warms my
heart still when I think of it. It did not seem too strange to them
that I should fly in through the window, for who should be a hot-headed
suitor if it is not a gallant Hussar? And if the door be locked, then
what way is there but the window? Once more we assembled all four in
the parlour, while the cobwebbed bottle was brought up and the ancient
glories of the House of Ravon were unrolled before me. Once more I see
the heavy-raftered room, the two old smiling faces, the golden circle of
the lamp-light, and she, my Marie, the bride of my youth, won so
strangely, and kept for so short a time.
It was late when we parted. The old man came with me into the hall.
"You can go by the front door or the back," said he. "The back way is
the shorter."
"I think that I will take the front way," I answered. "It may be a bit
longer, but it will give me the more time to think of Marie."
