Tales of Two Countries

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, on 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 on 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 on 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.

"Presently his men were seen on the heights, and already the people around the Emperor were shouting 'Victoire!'

"'It is an hour too late,' answered Napoleon.

"As he now saw that the Marshal in his new position was suffering much from the enemy's fire, he determined to go to his assistance, and, at the same time, to try to crush Wellington at one blow. He chose for the execution of this plan, Kellermann's famous dragoons and the heavy cavalry of the guard. Now comes one of the crucial moments of the fight; you must come out here on the battle-field!"

Cousin Hans at once rose from the bench and took the position the captain pointed out to him.

"Now you are Wellington!" Cousin Hans drew himself up. "You are standing there on the plain with the greater part of the English infantry. Here comes the whole of the French cavalry rushing down on you. Milhaud has joined Kellermann; they form an illimitable multitude of horses, breastplates, plumes and shining weapons. Surround yourself with a square!"

Cousin Hans stood for a moment bewildered; but presently he understood the captain's meaning. He hastily drew a square of deep strokes around him in the sand.

"Right!" cried the captain, beaming, "Now the Frenchmen cut into the square; the ranks break, but join again, the cavalry wheels away and gathers for a fresh attack. Wellington has at every moment to surround himself with a new square.

"The French cavalry fight like lions: the proud memories of the Emperor's campaigns fill them with that confidence of victory which made his armies invincible. They fight for victory, for glory, for the French eagles, and for the little cold man who, they know, stands on the height behind them; whose eye follows every single man, who sees all, and forgets nothing.

"But to-day they have an enemy who is not easy to deal with. They stand where they stand, these Englishmen, and if they are forced a step backwards, they regain their position the next moment. They have no eagles and no Emperor; when they fight they think neither of military glory nor of revenge; but they think of home. The thought of never seeing again the oak-trees of Old England is the most melancholy an Englishman knows. Ah, no, there is one which is still worse: that of coming home dishonored. And when they think that the proud fleet, which they know is lying to the northward waiting for them, would deny them the honor of a salute, and that Old England would not recognize her sons--then they grip their muskets tighter, they forget their wounds and their flowing blood; silent and grim, they clinch their teeth, and hold their post, and die like men."

Twenty times were the squares broken and reformed, and twelve thousand brave Englishmen fell. Cousin Hans could understand how Wellington wept, when he said, "Night or Blücher!"

The captain had in the mean time left Belle-Alliance, and was spying around in the grass behind the bench, while he continued his exposition which grew more and more vivid: "Wellington was now in reality beaten and a total defeat was inevitable," cried the captain, in a sombre voice, "when this fellow appeared on the scene!" And as he said this, he kicked the stone which Cousin Hans had seen him concealing, so that it rolled in on the field of battle.

"Now or never," thought Cousin Hans.

"Blücher!" he cried.

"Exactly!" answered the captain, "it's the old werewolf Blücher, who comes marching on the field with his Prussians."

So Grouchy never came; there was Napoleon, deprived of his whole right wing, and facing 150,000 men. But with never failing coolness he gives his orders for a great change of front.

But it was too late, and the odds were too vast.

Wellington, who, by Blücher's arrival, was enabled to bring his reserve into play, now ordered his whole army to advance. And yet once more the Allies were forced to pause for a moment by a furious charge led by Ney--the lion of the day.

"Do you see him there!" cried the captain, his eyes flashing.

And Cousin Hans saw him, the romantic hero, Duke of Elchingen, Prince of Moskwa, son of a cooper in Saarlouis, Marshal and Peer of France. He saw him rush onward at the head of his battalions--five horses had been shot under him with his sword in his hand, his uniform torn to shreds, hatless, and with the blood streaming down his face.

And the battalions rallied and swept ahead; they followed their Prince of Moskwa, their savior at the Beresina, into the hopeless struggle for the Emperor and for France. Little did they dream that, six months later, the King of France would have their dear prince shot as a traitor to his country in the gardens of the Luxembourg.

There he rushed around, rallying and directing his troops, until there was nothing more for the general to do; then he plied his sword like a common soldier until all was over, and he was carried away in the rout. For the French army fled.

The Emperor threw himself into the throng; but the terrible hubbub drowned his voice, and in the twilight no one knew the little man on the white horse.

Then he took his stand in a little square of his Old Guard, which still held out on the plain; he would fain have ended his life on his last battlefield. But his generals flocked around him, and the old grenadiers shouted: "Withdraw, Sire! Death will not have you."

They did not know that it was because the Emperor had forfeited his right to die as a French soldier. They led him half-resisting from the field; and, unknown in his own army, he rode away into the darkness of the night, having lost everything. "So ended the battle of Waterloo," said the captain, as he seated himself on the bench and arranged his neck-cloth.--Cousin Hans thought with indignation of Uncle Frederick, who had spoken of Captain Schrappe in such a tone of superiority. He was, at least, a far more interesting personage than an old official mill-horse like Uncle Frederick.

Hans now went about and gathered up the gloves and other small objects which the generals, in the heat of the fight, had scattered over the battle-field to mark the positions; and, as he did so, he stumbled on old Blücher. He picked him up and examined him carefully.

He was a hard lump of granite, knubbly as sugar-candy, which almost seemed to bear a personal resemblance to "Feldtmarschall Vorwärts." Hans turned to the captain with a polite bow.

"Will you allow me, captain, to keep this stone. It will be the best possible memento of this interesting and instructive conversation, for which I am really most grateful to you." And thereupon he put Blücher into his coat-tail pocket.

The captain assured him that it had been a real pleasure to him to observe the interest with which his young friend had followed the exposition. And this was nothing but the truth, for he was positively enraptured with Cousin Hans.

"Come and sit down now, young man. We deserve a little rest after a ten-hours' battle," he added, smiling.

Cousin Hans seated himself on the bench and felt his collar with some anxiety. Before coming out, he had put on the most fascinating one his wardrobe afforded. Fortunately, it had retained its stiffness; but he felt the force of Wellington's words: "Night or Blücher"--for it would not have held out much longer.

It was fortunate, too, that the warm afternoon sun had kept strollers away from the esplanade. Otherwise a considerable audience would probably have gathered around these two gentlemen, who went on gesticulating with their arms, and now and then prancing around.