Tales of Two Countries
“Does he get impatient, then, if you don’t understand?” asked Cousin
Hans.
“No, quite the contrary; but if you show that you’re not following, he
begins at the beginning again, you see! The crucial point in the sham
fight,” continued his uncle, “is the movement made by the captain
himself, in spite of the general’s orders, which equally embarrassed
both friends and foes. It was this stroke of genius, between ourselves,
which forced them to give him the Order of the Sword, to induce him to
retire. So when you come to this point, you must nod violently, and say:
‘Of course--the only reasonable move--the key to the position.’ Remember
that--the key.”
“The key,” repeated Cousin Hans.
“But,” said his uncle, looking at him with anticipatory compassion, “if,
in your youthful love of adventure, you should bring on yourself the
long story, the one about Waterloo, you must either keep quite silent
or have all your wits about you. I once had to swallow the whole
description over again, only because, in my eagerness to show how
thoroughly I understood the situation, I happened to move Kellermann’s
dragoons instead of Milhaud’s cuirassiers!”
“What do you mean by moving the dragoons, uncle?” asked Cousin Hans.
“Oh, you’ll understand well enough, if you come in for the long one.
But,” added Uncle Frederick, in a solemn tone, “beware, I warn you,
beware of Blücher!”
“Blücher?” said Cousin Hans.
“I won’t say anything more. But what makes you wish to know about this
old original? What on earth do you want with him.”
“Does he walk there every forenoon?” asked Hans.
“Every forenoon, from eleven to one, and every afternoon, from five to
seven. But what interest--?”
“Has he many children?” interrupted Hans.
“Only one daughter; but what the deuce--?”
“Good-bye, uncle! I must get home to my books.”
“Stop a bit! Aren’t you going to Aunt Maren’s this evening? She asked me
to invite you.”
“No, thanks, I haven’t time,” shouted Cousin Hans, who was already
several paces away.
“There’s to be a ladies’ party--young ladies!” bawled Uncle Frederick;
for he did not know what had come over his nephew.
But Hans shook his head with a peculiar energetic contempt, and
disappeared round the corner.
“The deuce is in it,” thought Uncle Frederick, “the boy is crazy,
or--oh, I have it!--he’s in love! He was standing here, babbling about
love, when I found him--outside No. 34. And then his interest in old
Schrappe! Can he be in love with Miss Betty? Oh, no,” thought Uncle
Frederick, shaking his head, as he, too, continued on his way, “I don’t
believe he has sense enough for that.”
II.
Cousin Hans did not eat much dinner that day. People in love never eat
much, and, besides, he did not care for rissoles.
At last five o’clock struck. He had already taken up his position on the
ramparts, whence he could survey the whole esplanade. Quite right: there
came the black frock-coat, the light trousers, and the well-brushed hat.
Cousin Hans felt his heart palpitate a little. At first he attributed
this to a sense of shame in thus craftily setting a trap for the good
old captain. But he soon discovered that it was the sight of the beloved
one’s father that set his blood in a ferment. Thus reassured, he began,
in accordance with Uncle Frederick’s advice, to draw strokes and angles
in the sand, attentively fixing his eyes, from time to time, upon the
Castle of Akerhuus.
The whole esplanade was quiet and deserted. Cousin Hans could hear the
captain’s firm steps approaching; they came right up to him and stopped.
Hans did not look up; the captain advanced two more paces and coughed.
Hans drew a long and profoundly significant stroke with his stick, and
then the old fellow could contain himself no longer.
“Aha, young gentleman,” he said, in a friendly tone, taking off his hat,
“are you making a plan of our fortifications?”
Cousin Hans assumed the look of one who is awakened from deep
contemplation, and, bowing politely, he answered with some
embarrassment: “No, it’s only a sort of habit I have of trying to take
my bearings wherever I may be.”
“An excellent habit, a most excellent habit,” the captain exclaimed with
warmth.
“It strengthens the memory,” Cousin Hans remarked, modestly.
“Certainly, certainly, sir!” answered the captain, who was beginning to
be much pleased by this modest young man.
“Especially in situations of any complexity,” continued the modest young
man, rubbing out his strokes with his foot.
“Just what I was going to say!” exclaimed the captain, delighted. “And,
as you may well believe, drawings and plans are especially indispensable
in military science. Look at a battle-field, for example.”
“Ah, battles are altogether too intricate for me,” Cousin Hans
interrupted, with a smile of humility.
“Don’t say that, sir!” answered the kindly old man. “When once you have
a bird’s-eye view of the ground and of the positions of the armies, even
a tolerably complicated battle can be made quite comprehensible.--This
sand, now, that we have before us here, could very well be made to give
us an idea, in miniature, of, for example, the battle of Waterloo.”
“I have come in for the long one,” thought Cousin Hans, “but never mind!
[Note: In English in the original.] I love her.”
“Be so good as to take a seat on the bench here,” continued the captain,
whose heart was rejoiced at the thought of so intelligent a hearer, “and
I shall try to give you in short outline a picture of that momentous and
remarkable battle--if it interests you?”
“Many thanks, sir,” answered Cousin Hans, “nothing could interest me
more. But I’m afraid you’ll find it terribly hard work to make it clear
to a poor, ignorant civilian.”
“By no means; the whole thing is quite simple and easy, if only you
are first familiar with the lay of the land,” the amiable old gentleman
assured him, as he took his seat at Hans’s side, and cast an inquiring
glance around.
While they were thus seated, Cousin Hans examined the captain more
closely, and he could not but admit that in spite of his sixty years,
Captain Schrappe was still a handsome man. He wore his short, iron-gray
mustaches a little turned up at the ends, which gave him a certain air
of youthfulness. On the whole, he bore a strong resemblance to King
Oscar the First on the old sixpenny-pieces.
And as the captain rose and began his dissertation, Cousin Hans decided
in his own mind that he had every reason to be satisfied with his future
father-in-law’s exterior.
The captain took up a position in a corner of the ramparts, a few paces
from the bench, whence he could point all around him with a stick.
Cousin Hans followed what he said, closely, and took all possible
trouble to ingratiate himself with his future father-in-law.
“We will suppose, then, that I am standing here at the farm of
Belle-Alliance, where the Emperor has his headquarters; and to the
north-fourteen miles from Waterloo--we have Brussels, that is to say,
just about at the corner of the gymnastic-school.
“The road there along the rampart is the highway leading to Brussels,
and here,” the captain rushed over the plain of Waterloo, “here in the
grass we have the Forest of Soignies. On the highway to Brussels, and
in front of the forest, the English are stationed--you must imagine the
northern part of the battle-field somewhat higher than it is here. On
Wellington’s left wing, that is to say, to the eastward--here in the
grass--we have the Château of Hougoumont; that must be marked,” said the
captain, looking about him.
The serviceable Cousin Hans at once found a stick, which was fixed in
the ground at this important point.
“Excellent!” cried the captain, who saw that he had found an interested
and imaginative listener. “You see it’s from this side that we have to
expect the Prussians.”
Cousin Hans noticed that the captain picked up a stone and placed it in
the grass with an air of mystery.
“Here at Hougoumont,” the old man continued, “the battle began. It was
Jerome who made the first attack. He took the wood; but the château held
out, garrisoned by Wellington’s best troops.
“In the mean time Napoleon, here at Belle-Alliance, was on the point of
giving Marshal Ney orders to commence the main attack upon Wellington’s
centre, when he observed a column of troops approaching from the east,
behind the bench, over there by tree.”
Cousin Hans looked round, and began to feel uneasy: could Blücher be
here already?
“Blü--Blü--” he murmured, tentatively.
“It was Bülow,” the captain fortunately went on, “who approached with
thirty thousand Prussians. Napoleon made his arrangements hastily to
meet this new enemy, never doubting that Grouchy, at any rate, was
following close on the Prussians’ heels.
“You see, the Emperor had on the previous day detached Marshal Grouchy
with the whole right wing of the army, about fifty thousand men, to
hold Blücher and Bülow in check. But Grouchy--but of course all this is
familiar to you--” the captain broke off.
Cousin Hans nodded reassuringly.
“Ney, accordingly, began the attack with his usual intrepidity. But the
English cavalry hurled themselves upon the Frenchmen, broke their ranks,
and forced them back with the loss of two eagles and several cannons.
Milhaud rushes to the rescue with his cuirassiers, and the Emperor
himself, seeing the danger, puts spurs to his horse and gallops down the
incline of Belle-Alliance.”
Away rushed the captain, prancing like a horse, in his eagerness to show
how the Emperor rode through thick and thin, rallied Ney’s troops, and
sent them forward to a fresh attack.
Whether it was that there lurked a bit of the poet in Cousin Hans, or
that the captain’s representation was really very vivid, or that--and
this is probably the true explanation--he was in love with the captain’s
daughter, certain it is that Cousin Hans was quite carried away by the
situation.
He no longer saw a queer old captain prancing sideways; he saw, through
the cloud of smoke, the Emperor himself on his white horse with the
black eyes, as we know it from the engravings. He tore away over hedge
and ditch, over meadow and garden, his staff with difficulty keeping
up with him. Cool and calm, he sat firmly in his saddle, with his
half-unbuttoned gray coat, his white breeches, and his little hat,
crosswise on his head. His face expressed neither weariness nor anxiety;
smooth and pale as marble, it gave to the whole figure in the simple
uniform on the white horse an exalted, almost a spectral, aspect.
Thus he swept on his course, this sanguinary little monster, who in
three days had fought three battles. All hastened to clear the way for
him, flying peasants, troops in reserve or advancing--aye, even the
wounded and dying dragged themselves aside, and looked up at him with
a mixture of terror and admiration, as he tore past them like a cold
thunderbolt.
Scarcely had he shown himself among the soldiers before they all fell
into order as though by magic, and a moment afterwards the undaunted Ney
could once more vault into the saddle to renew the attack. And this time
he bore down the English and established himself in the farm-house of La
Haie-Sainte.
Napoleon is once more at Belle-Alliance.
“And now here comes Bülow from the east--under the bench here, you
see--and the Emperor sends General Mouton to meet him. At half-past four
(the battle had begun at one o’clock) Wellington attempts to drive Ney
out of La Haie-Sainte. But Ney, who now saw that everything depended on
obtaining possession of the ground in front of the wood--the sand here
by the border of the grass,” the captain threw his glove over to the
spot indicated, “Ney, you see, calls up the reserve brigade of Milhaud’s
cuirassiers and hurls himself at the enemy.