Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

‘Spy. Say the word out; its meaning conveys nothing offensive to my ears, young man. I may grieve over the corruption that requires such a system, but I do not confound the remedy with the disease.’

‘My sentiments are different, sir,’ said I resolutely, as I moved towards the door. ‘I have the honour to wish you a good-morning.’

‘Stay a moment, Tiernay,’ said he, looking for something amongst his papers; ‘there are, probably, situations where all your scruples could find accommodation, and even be serviceable, too.’

‘I would rather not place them in peril, Monsieur le Ministre.’

‘There are people in this city of Paris who would not despise my protection, young man – some of them to the full as well supplied with the gifts of fortune as Monsieur Tiernay.’

‘And, doubtless, more fitted to deserve it!’ said I sarcastically; for every moment now rendered me more courageous.

‘And, doubtless, more fitted to deserve it,’ repeated he after me, with a wave of the hand in token of adieu.

I bowed respectfully, and was retiring, when he called out in a low and gentle voice —

‘Before you go, Monsieur de Tiernay, I will thank you to restore my snuff-box.’

‘Your snuff-box, sir?’ cried I indignantly; ‘what do I know of it?’

‘In a moment of inadvertence, you may, probably, have placed it in your pocket,’ said he, smiling; ‘do me the favour to search there.’

‘This is unnecessary insult, sir,’ said I fiercely; ‘and you forget that I am a French officer!’

‘It is of more consequence that you should remember it,’ said he calmly. ‘And now, sir, do as I have told you.’

‘It is well, sir, that this scene has no witness,’ said I, boiling over with passion, ‘or, by Heaven, all the dignity of your station should not save you.’

‘Your observation is most just,’ said he, with the same coolness. ‘It is as well that we are quite alone; and for this reason I beg to repeat my request. If you persist in a refusal, and force me to ring that bell – ’

‘You would not dare to offer me such an indignity,’ said I, trembling with rage.

‘You leave me no alternative, sir,’ said he, rising, and taking the hell in his hand. ‘My honour is also engaged in this question. I have preferred a charge – ’

‘You have,’ cried I, interrupting, ‘and for whose falsehood I am resolved to hold you responsible.’

‘To prove which you must show your innocence.’

‘There, then – there are my pockets; here are the few things I possess. This is my pocket-book – my purse. Oh, heavens, what is this?’ cried I, as I drew forth the gold box, along with the other contents of my pocket; and then staggering back, I fell, overwhelmed with shame and sickness, against the wall. For some seconds I neither saw nor heard anything; a vague sense of ineffable disgrace – of some ignominy that made life a misery, was over me, and I closed my eyes with the wish never to open them more.’

‘The box has a peculiar value in my eyes, sir,’ said he – ‘it was a present from the First Consul – otherwise I might have hesitated – ’

‘Oh, sir, you cannot, you dare not, suppose me guilty of a theft. You seem bent on being my ruin; but, for mercy’s sake, let your hatred of me take some other shape than this. Involve me in what snares, what conspiracies you will, give me what share you please in any guilt, but spare me the degradation of such a shame!’

He seemed to enjoy the torments I was suffering, and actually revel in the contemplation of my misery; for he never spoke a word, but continued steadily to stare me in the face.

‘Sit down here, monsieur,’ said he, at length, while he pointed to a chair near him; ‘I wish to say a few words to you, in all seriousness, and in good faith also.’

I seated myself, and he went on.

‘The events of the last two days must have made such an impression on your mind that even the most remarkable incidents of your life could not compete with. You fancied yourself a great discoverer, and that, by the happy conjuncture of intelligence and accident, you had actually fathomed the depths of that wonderful system of police, which, more powerful than armies or councils, is the real government of France! I will not stop now to convince you that you have not wandered out of the very shallowest channels of this system. It is enough that you have been admitted to an audience with me, to suggest an opposite conviction, and give to your recital, when you repeat the tale, a species of importance. Now, sir, my counsel to you is, never to repeat it; and for this reason: nobody possessed of common powers of judgment will ever believe you! not one, sir! No one would ever believe that Monsieur Fouché had made so grave a mistake, no more than he would believe that a man of good name and birth, a French officer, could have stolen a snuff-box. You see, Monsieur de Tiernay, that I acquit you of this shameful act. Imitate my generosity, sir, and forget all that you have witnessed since Tuesday last. I have given you good advice, sir; if I find that you profit by it, we may see more of each other.’

Scarcely appreciating the force of his parable, and thinking of nothing save the vindication of my honour, I muttered a few unmeaning words, and withdrew, glad to escape a presence which had assumed, to my terrified senses, all the diabolical subtlety of Satanic influence. Trusting that no future accident of my life should ever bring me within such precincts, I hurried from the place as though it were contaminated and plague-stricken.

CHAPTER XLVII. THE VILLAGE OP SCHWARTZ-ACH

I was destitute enough when I quitted the Temple, a few days back; but my condition now was sadder still, for, in addition to my poverty and friendlessness, I had imbibed a degree of distrust and suspicion that made me shun my fellow-men, and actually shrink from the contact of a stranger. The commonest show of courtesy, the most ordinary exercise of politeness, struck me as the secret wiles of that police whose machinations, I fancied, were still spread around me. I had conceived a most intense hatred of civilisation, or, at least, of what I rashly supposed to be the inherent vices of civilised life. I longed for what I deemed must be the glorious independence of a savage. If I could but discover this Paradise beyond seas, of which the marquise raved so much; if I only could find out that glorious land which neither knew secret intrigues nor conspiracies, I should leave France for ever, taking any condition, or braving any mischances fate might have in store for me.

There was something peculiarly offensive in the treatment I had met with. Imprisoned on suspicion, I was liberated without any amende – neither punished like a guilty man, nor absolved as an innocent one. I was sent out upon the world as though the State would not own nor acknowledge me – a dangerous practice, as I often thought, if only adopted on a large scale. It was some days before I could summon resolution to ascertain exactly my position. At last I did muster up courage, and, under pretence of wishing to address a letter to myself, I applied at the Ministry of War for the address of Lieutenant Tiernay, of the 9th Hussars. I was one of a large crowd similarly engaged, some inquiring for sons that had fallen in battle, or husbands or fathers in faraway countries. The office was only open each morning for two hours, and consequently, as the expiration of the time drew nigh, the eagerness of the inquirers became far greater, and the contrast with the cold apathy of the clerks the more strongly marked. I had given way to many, who were weaker than myself, and less able to buffet with the crowd about them; and at last, when, wearied by waiting, I was drawing nigh the table, my attention was struck by an old, a very old man, who, with a beard white as snow, and long moustaches of the same colour, was making great efforts to gain the front rank. I stretched out my hand, and caught his, and by considerable exertion at last succeeded in placing him in front of me.

He thanked me fervently, in a strange kind of German, a patois I had never heard before, and kissed my hand three or four times over in his gratitude; indeed, so absorbed was he for the time in his desire to thank me, that I had to recall him to the more pressing reason of his presence, and warn him that but a few minutes more of the hour remained free.

‘Speak up,’ cried the clerk, as the old man muttered something in a low and very indistinct voice; ‘speak up, and remember, my friend, that we do not profess to give information further back than the times of “Louis Quatorze.”’

This allusion to the years of the old man was loudly applauded by his colleagues, who drew nigh to stare at the cause of it.

‘Sacrebleu! he is talking Hebrew,’ said another, ‘and asking for a friend who fell at Ramoth-Gilead.’

‘He is speaking German,’ said I peremptorily, ‘and asking for a relative whom he believes to have embarked with the expedition to Egypt.’

‘Are you a sworn interpreter, young man?’ asked an older and more consequential-looking personage.

I was about to return a hasty reply to this impertinence, but I thought of the old man, and the few seconds that still remained for his inquiry, and I smothered my anger, and was silent.

‘What rank did he hold?’ inquired one of the clerks, who had listened with rather more patience to the old man. I translated the question for the peasant, who, in reply, confessed that he could not tell. The youth was his only son, and had left home many years before, and never written. A neighbour, however, who had travelled in foreign parts, had brought tidings that he had gone with the expedition to Egypt, and was already high in the French army.

‘You are not quite certain that he did not command the army of Egypt?’ said one of the clerks, in mockery of the old man’s story.

‘It is not unlikely,’ said the peasant gravely; ‘he was a brave and a bold youth, and could have lifted two such as you with one hand, and hurled you out of that window.’

‘Let us hear his name once more,’ said the elder clerk – ‘it is worth remembering.’

‘I have told you already. It was Karl Kléher.’

‘The General – General Kléher!’ cried three or four in a breath.

‘Mayhap,’ was all the reply.

‘And are you the father of the great general of Egypt?’ asked the elder, with an air of deep respect.

‘Kléher is my son; and so that he is alive and well, I care little if a general or simple soldier.’

Not a word was said in answer to this speech, and each seemed to feel reluctant to tell the sad tidings. At last the elder clerk said, ‘You have lost a good son, and France one of her greatest captains. The General Kléher is dead.’

‘Dead!’ said the old man slowly.

‘In the very moment of his greatest glory, too, when he had won the country of the Pyramids, and made Egypt a colony of France.’

‘When did he die?’ said the peasant.

‘The last accounts from the East brought the news; and this very day the Council of State has accorded a pension to his family of ten thousand livres.’

‘They may keep their money. I am all that remains, and have no want of it; and I should be poorer still before I’d take it.’

These words he uttered in a low, harsh tone, and pushed his way back through the crowd.

One moment more was enough for my inquiry.

‘Maurice Tiernay, of the 9th —destitué,’ was the short and stunning answer I received.

‘Is there any reason alleged – is there any charge imputed to him?’ asked I timidly.

‘Ma foi! you must go to the Minister of War with that question. Perhaps he was paymaster, and embezzled the funds of the regiment; perhaps he liked Royalist gold better than Republican silver; or perhaps he preferred the company of the baggage-train and the ambulances, when he should have been at the head of his squadron.’

I did not care to listen longer to this impertinence, and making my way out I gained the street. The old peasant was still standing there, like one stunned and overwhelmed by some great shock, and neither heeding the crowd that passed, nor the groups that halted occasionally to stare at him.

‘Come along with me,’ said I, taking his hand in mine. ‘Your calamity is a heavy one, but mine is harder to bear up against.’

He suffered himself to be led away like a child, and never spoke a word as we walked along towards the barrière, beyond which, at a short distance, was a little ordinary, where I used to dine. There we had our dinner together, and as the evening wore on, the old man rallied enough to tell me of his son’s early life, and his departure for the army. Of his great career I could speak freely, for Kléber’s name was, in soldier esteem, scarcely second to that of Bonaparte himself. Not all the praises I could bestow, however, were sufficient to turn the old man from his stern conviction, that a peasant in the ‘Lech Thai’ was a more noble and independent man than the greatest general that ever marched to victory.

‘We have been some centuries there,’ said he, ‘and none of our name has incurred a shadow of disgrace. Why should not Karl have lived like his ancestors?’

It was useless to appeal to the glory his son had gained – the noble reputation he had left behind him. The peasant saw in the soldier but one who hired out his courage and his blood, and deemed the calling a low and unworthy one. I suppose I was not the first who, in the effort to convince another, found himself shaken in his own convictions; for I own before I lay down that night many of the old man’s arguments assumed a force and power that I could not resist, and held possession of my mind even after I fell asleep. In my dreams I was once more beside the American lake, and that little colony of simple people, where I had seen all that was best of my life, and learned the few lessons I had ever received of charity and good-nature.

From what the peasant said, the primitive habits of the Lech Thai must be almost alike those of that little colony, and I willingly assented to his offer to accompany him in his journey homeward. He seemed to feel a kind of satisfaction in turning my thoughts away from a career that he held so cheaply, and talked enthusiastically of the tranquil life of the Bregenzerwald.

We left Paris the following morning, and, partly by diligence, partly on foot, reached Strasbourg in a few days; thence we proceeded by Kehl to Freyburg, and, crossing the Lake of Constance at Rorschach, we entered the Bregenzerwald on the twelfth morning of our journey. I suppose that most men preserve fresher memory of the stirring and turbulent scenes of their lives than of the more peaceful and tranquil ones, and I shall not be deemed singular when I say that some years passed over me in this quiet spot, and seemed as but a few weeks. The old peasant was the Vorsteher, or ruler of the village, by whom all disputes were settled, and all litigation of a humble kind decided – a species of voluntary jurisdiction maintained to this very day in that primitive region. My occupation there was as a species of secretary to the court, an office quite new to the villagers, but which served to impress them more reverentially than ever in favour of this rude justice. My legal duties over, I became a vine-dresser, a wood-cutter, or a deer-stalker, as season and weather dictated – my evenings being always devoted to the task of schoolmaster. A curious seminary was it, too, embracing every class from childhood to advanced age, all eager for knowledge, and all submitting to the most patient discipline to attain it. There was much to make me happy in that humble lot. I had the love and esteem of all around me; there was neither a harassing doubt for the future, nor the rich man’s contumely to oppress me; my life was made up of occupations which alternately engaged mind and body, and, above all and worth all besides, I had a sense of duty, a feeling that I was doing that which was useful to my fellow-men; and however great may be a man’s station in life, if it want this element, the humblest peasant that rises to his daily toil has a nobler and a better part.

As I trace these lines, how many memories of the spot are rising before me! – scenes I had long forgotten – faces I had ceased to remember! And now I see the little wooden bridge – a giant tree, guarded by a single rail, that crossed the torrent in front of our cottage; and I behold once more the little waxen image of the Virgin over the door, in whose glass shrine at nightfall a candle ever burned! and I hear the low hum of the villagers’ prayer as the ‘Angelus’ is singing, and see on every crag or cliff the homebound hunter kneeling in his deep devotion!

Happy people, and not less good than happy! Your bold and barren mountains have been the safeguard of your virtue and your innocence! Long may they prove so, and long may the waves of the world’s ambition be stayed at their rocky feet!

I was beginning to forget all that I had seen of life, or, if not forget, at least to regard it as a wild and troubled dream, when an accident, one of those things we always regard as the merest chances, once more opened the floodgates of memory, and sent the whole past in a strong current through my brain.

In this mountain region the transition from winter to summer is effected in a few days. Some hours of a scorching sun and south wind swell the torrents with melted snow; the icebergs fall thundering from cliff and crag, and the sporting waterfall once more dashes over the precipice. The trees burst into leaf, and the grass springs up green and fresh from its wintry covering; and from the dreary aspect of snow-capped hills and leaden clouds. Nature changes to fertile plains and hills, and a sky of almost unbroken blue.

It was on a glorious evening in April, when all these changes were passing, that I was descending the mountain above our village after a hard day’s chamois-hunting. Anxious to reach the plain before nightfall, I could not, however, help stopping from time to time to watch the golden and ruby tints of the sun upon the snow, or see the turquoise blue which occasionally marked the course of a rivulet through the glaciers. The Alp-horn was sounding from every cliff and height, and the lowing of the cattle swelled into a rich and mellow chorus. It was a beautiful picture, realising in every tint and hue, in every sound and cadence, all that one can fancy of romantic simplicity, and I surveyed it with a swelling and a grateful heart.

As I turned to resume my way, I was struck by the sound of voices speaking, as I fancied, in French, and before I could settle the doubt with myself, I saw in front of me a party of some six or seven soldiers, who, with their muskets slung behind them, were descending the steep path by the aid of sticks.

Weary-looking and footsore as they were, their dress, their bearing, and their soldierlike air, struck me forcibly, and sent into my heart a thrill I had not known for many a day before. I came up quickly behind them, and could overhear their complaints at having mistaken the road, and their maledictions, uttered in no gentle spirit, on the stupid mountaineers who could not understand French.

‘Here comes another fellow, let us try him,’ said one, as he turned and saw me near. ‘Schwartz-Ach, Schwartz-Ach,’ added he, addressing me, and reading the name from a slip of paper in his hand.

‘I am going to the village,’ said I in French, ‘and will show the way with pleasure.’

‘How! what! are you a Frenchman, then?’ cried the corporal, in amazement.

‘Even so,’ said I.

‘Then by what chance are you living in this wild spot? How, in the name of wonder, can you exist here?’

‘With venison like this,’ said I, pointing to a chamois buck on my shoulder, ‘and the red wine of the Lech Thai, a man may manage to forget Veray’s and the “Dragon Vert,” particularly as they are not associated with a bill and a waiter!’

‘And perhaps you are a Royalist,’ cried another, ‘and don’t like how matters are going on at home?’

‘I have not that excuse for my exile,’ said I coldly.

‘Have you served, then?’

I nodded.

‘Ah, I see,’ said the corporal, ‘you grew weary of parade and guard mounting.’

‘If you mean that I deserted,’ said I, ‘you are wrong there also; and now let it be my turn to ask a few questions. What is France about? Is the Republic still as great and victorious as ever?’

‘Sacrebleu, man, what are you thinking of? We are an Empire some years back, and Napoleon has made as many kings as he has got brothers and cousins to crown.’

‘And the army, where is it?’

‘Ask for some half-dozen armies, and you’ll still be short of the mark. We have one in Hamburg, and another in the far North, holding the Russians in check; we have garrisons in every fortress of Prussia and the Rhine Land; we have some eighty thousand fellows in Poland and Galicia – double as many more in Spain. Italy is our own, and so will he Austria ere many days go over.’

Boastfully as all this was spoken, I found it to be not far from truth, and learned, as we walked along, that the Emperor was, at that very moment, on the march to meet the Archduke Charles, who, with a numerous army, was advancing on Ratishon, the little party of soldiers being portion of a force despatched to explore the passes of the ‘Vorarlberg,’ and report on how far they might be practicable for the transmission of troops to act on the left flank and rear of the Austrian army. Their success had up to this time been very slight, and the corporal was making for Schwartz-Ach, as a spot where he hoped to rendezvous with some of his comrades. They were much disappointed on my telling them that I had quitted the village that morning, and that not a soldier had been seen there. There was, however, no other spot to pass the night in, and they willingly accepted the offer I made them of a shelter and a supper in our cottage.

CHAPTER XLVIII. A VILLAGE ‘SYNDICUS’

I SAT up all night listening to the soldiers’ stories of war and campaigning. Some had served with Soult’s army in the Asturias; some made part of Davout’s corps in the north of Europe; one had just returned from Friedland, and amused us with describing the celebrated conference at Tilsit, where he had been a sentinel on the river-side, and presented arms to the two emperors as they passed. It will seem strange, but it is a fact, that this slight incident attracted towards him a greater share of his comrades’ admiration than was accorded to those who had seen half the battlefields of modern war.

He described the dress, the air, the general bearing of the emperors, remarking that although Alexander was taller, and handsomer, and even more soldierlike than our own emperor, there was a something of calm dignity and conscious majesty in Napoleon that made him appear immeasurably the superior. Alexander wore the uniform of the Russian guard, one of the most splendid it is possible to conceive. The only thing simple about him was his sword, which was a plain sabre with a tarnished gilt scabbard, and a very dirty sword-knot; and yet every moment he used to look down at it and handle it with great apparent admiration; ‘and well might he,’ added the soldier – ‘Napoleon had given it to him but the day before.’

To listen even to such meagre details as these was to light up again in my heart the fire that was only smouldering, and that no life of peasant labour or obscurity could ever extinguish. My companions quickly saw the interest I took in their narratives, and certainly did their utmost to feed the passion – now with some sketch of a Spanish marauding party, as full of adventure as a romance; now with a description of northern warfare, where artillery thundered on the ice, and men fought behind intrenchments of deep snow.

From the North Sea to the Adriatic, all Europe was now in arms. Great armies were marching in every direction – some along the deep valley of the Danube, others from the rich plains of Poland and Silesia; some were passing the Alps into Italy, and some again were pouring down for the Tyrol ‘Jochs,’ to defend the rocky passes of their native land against the invader. Patriotism and glory, the spirit of chivalry and conquest, all were abroad, and his must indeed have been a cold heart which could find within it no response to the stirring sounds around. To the intense feeling of shame which I at first felt at my own life of obscure inactivity, there now succeeded a feverish desire to be somewhere and do something to dispel this worse than lethargy. I had not resolution to tell my comrades that I had served – I felt reluctant to speak of a career so abortive and unsuccessful; and yet I blushed at the half-pitying expressions they bestowed upon my life of inglorious adventure.