The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.

      “A SHORT TIME AFTER my father was executed, my mother, who had fallen ill upon hearing of his death, also died.

      “I was unable to send my brother Léon word about this new misfortune because we’d had no news of him since the Battle of Berchem. But I wrote to my brother Charles in Avignon, and immediately he rushed back to Besançon.

      “All that we knew about the Battle of Berchem and my brother’s fate came from the Prince de Condé himself. In her worry, my ailing mother had sent a messenger to him, but the messenger failed to return before my mother died. He arrived, in fact, on the same day as my brother did from Avignon.

      “So we learned that on December 4, 1793, the Prince de Condé was headquartered in Berchem, where twice Pichegru launched an attack, but he was unable to hold the village after driving the prince out. When the émigrés retook the village, Léon performed extraordinary feats. Indeed, he was the first to enter the village, but then he disappeared and even the companions following close behind him had no idea where. They searched among the dead but did not find him. The general opinion was that, having advanced too rapidly in pursuit of the Republicans, he had been taken prisoner. Which was no better than death, since every prisoner who’d borne weapons was formally charged before the council of war and then shot.

      “In the absence of news we had accepted that painful explanation when we were visited by a young man from Besançon who had been with the Rhine army. I say young man, but he was really just a child, scarcely fourteen years old, the son of one of my father’s former friends. He was only a year younger than I; we had been raised together. His name was Charles N.

      “I was the first to see him. As I knew that he had been with General Pichegru for three months, I ran up to him, shouting: ‘Charles! Is that you? Have you any news of my brother?’

      “‘Alas, yes,’ he replied. ‘Is your brother Charles also here?’

      “When I answered yes, he said, ‘Well, then, send word to him. What I have to tell you requires his presence.’

      “My brother soon appeared, and I told him Charles was bringing us news of Léon.

      “‘Bad news, right?’

      “‘I’m afraid so. Otherwise he would have already told us.’

      “Then, without answering but smiling sadly, my young comrade pulled a garrison cap from under his vest and presented it to my brother. ‘You are now the head of the family,’ he said. ‘This relic now belongs to you.’

      “‘What is this?’ my brother asked.

      “‘The cap he was wearing when he was brought before the firing squad,’ Charles answered.

      “‘So, it’s all over?’ my older brother asked, dry-eyed, though from my eyes, in spite of myself, tears were falling.

      “‘Yes.’

      “‘And he indeed did die?’

      “‘Like a hero!’

      “‘God be praised! Our honor is intact.… There must be something in this cap?’

      “‘A letter.’

      “My brother ran his hands over the cap, felt the paper, cut the lining with his pocketknife, and pulled out a letter: ‘“To my brother Charles,”’ he read. ‘“First of all, and above all, keep the news of my death from our mother as long as possible.”’

      “‘So he died without knowing that our poor mother preceded him to death?’ my brother asked.

      “‘No,’ said Charles. ‘I told him myself.’

      “My brother turned back to the letter and continued reading:

      “‘“I was captured in Berchem. My horse was shot out from under me, and when it fell I was caught underneath. There was no way to defend myself. I threw my sword aside, and four Republicans pulled me loose. They led me to the fortress in Auenheim to shoot me. Short of a miracle, nothing could save me.

      “‘“My father had given his word to the king that he would die for the Royalist cause, and so he did. I gave my word to my father to defend to death the same cause, and so I am. You gave me your word, and so you will. If you too die, Hector will avenge us.

      “‘“A prayer on my mother’s tomb. A fatherly kiss to Hector.

      “‘“Adieu.

      “‘“Léon de Sainte-Hermine

      “‘“P.S. I don’t know how I shall be able to get this letter to you, but God will provide a way.”’”

      “My brother raised the letter to his lips, gave it to me to kiss, and placed it against his heart. Then he said to Charles, ‘You were there when he died, you said?’

      “‘Yes!’ Charles answered.

      “‘In that case, tell me the whole story and don’t leave out a single detail.’

      “‘It’s quite simple,’ said Charles. ‘I was on my way from Strasbourg to Citizen Pichegru’s headquarters in Auenheim, when, just beyond Sessenheim, a squadron of about twenty infantrymen, led by a captain on horseback, caught up with me. The twenty men were marching in two rows.

      “‘In the middle of the road, like me, a cavalry soldier was walking. It was easy to see that he was in the cavalry, because he was wearing riding boots with spurs. A large white coat covered him from the shoulders down, and all I could see of him was a young, intelligent face that seemed familiar to me. He was wearing a garrison cap, of a shape unusual in the French army.

      “‘The captain saw me walking near the young man in the white coat, and since I looked younger than I really am, he kindly asked, “Where are you going, my young citizen?”

      “‘“I’m going to General Pichegru’s headquarters,” I replied. “Do I still have far to go?”

      “‘“About another two hundred yards,” the young man in the white coat answered. “Look, there, at the end of this avenue we’ve just started down, you can see the first houses in Auenheim.” It seemed strange that he nodded toward the village instead of pointing to it.

      “‘“Thank you,” I told him, and began walking faster, away from him, since he didn’t seem to appreciate my presence. But he called me back.

      “‘“By my faith, young friend,” he said, “if you are not in too much of a hurry, you should slow down and travel with us. That would give me time to ask you about our country.”

      “‘“What country?”

      “‘“Come now!” he said. “Are you not from Besançon, or at least from the Franche-Comté?”

      “‘I stared at him in astonishment. His accent, his face, the way he held himself—everything about him brought back childhood memories. Clearly, I had known this handsome young man in the past.

      “‘“Of course,” he said with a laugh, “perhaps you want to remain incognito.”

      “‘“Not at all, Citizen,” I answered. “I was just thinking of Theophrastus, to whom the Athenians had given the nickname Good