Part 6

The corporal woke them an hour before daybreak; he had them reload their weapons, the uproar on the high road continued, and had lasted all night: it was like the noise of a torrent heard in the distance.

--They are like sheep running away, said Fabrice to the corporal, with a naive air.

--Will you hold your tongue, you greenhorn! said the corporal, indignant.

And the three soldiers who, with Fabrice, made up his whole army, looked at him with angry faces, as if he had blasphemed. He had insulted the nation.

"This is a fine thing! thought our hero; I have already noticed this in the viceroy at Milan; they are not fleeing, no! With these Frenchmen it is not permitted to tell the truth when it offends their vanity. But as for their nasty looks, I care nothing for them, and I must make them understand it." They still marched five hundred paces from that torrent of runaways who covered the high road. A league off, the corporal and his troop crossed a path which joined the road, and where many soldiers were lying. Fabrice bought a fairly good horse which cost him forty francs, and among all the sabres thrown here and there, he carefully chose a large straight sabre. "Since they say one must thrust, he thought, this is the best." Thus equipped, he put his horse to a gallop and soon rejoined the corporal, who had gone ahead. He steadied himself in his stirrups, took the scabbard of his straight sabre in his left hand, and said to the four Frenchmen:

--Those people running away on the high road look like a flock of sheep... They march like frightened sheep...

Fabrice might press as he would on the word *sheep*, his comrades no longer remembered having been angered by that word an hour before. Here is revealed one of the contrasts between the Italian and French characters; the Frenchman is no doubt the happier, he glides over the events of life and bears no grudge.

We shall not conceal that Fabrice was very well satisfied with himself after speaking of the sheep. They marched on making small talk. Two leagues farther on, the corporal, still much astonished at not seeing the enemy cavalry, said to Fabrice:

--You are our cavalry; gallop to that farm on that little hillock, ask the peasant if he will sell us breakfast, be sure to say we are only five. If he hesitates, give him five francs in advance from your money, but be easy, we shall take the white coin back after breakfast.

Fabrice looked at the corporal; he saw in him an imperturbable gravity, and truly the air of moral superiority; he obeyed. All passed as the commander-in-chief had foreseen, only Fabrice insisted that the five francs he had given the peasant should not be taken back by force.

--The money is mine, he said to his comrades, I do not pay for you, I pay for the oats he gave my horse.

Fabrice pronounced French so badly that his comrades thought they saw in his words a tone of superiority; they were keenly offended, and from that moment a duel shaped itself in their minds for the end of the day. They found him very different from themselves, which offended them; Fabrice, on the contrary, was beginning to feel much friendship for them.

They had marched without speaking for two hours, when the corporal, looking at the high road, cried out with a transport of joy:

--Here is the regiment!

They were soon on the road; but, alas! around the eagle there were not two hundred men. Fabrice's eye soon caught sight of the sutler; she was on foot, had red eyes and wept from time to time. In vain did Fabrice look for the little cart and Cocotte.

--Plundered, lost, stolen, cried the sutler, answering our hero's glances.

He, without a word, got down from his horse, took it by the bridle, and said to the sutler:

--Mount.

She did not need to be told twice.

--Shorten the stirrups for me, she said.

Once well seated on the horse, she began to tell Fabrice all the disasters of the night. After a tale of endless length, but listened to eagerly by our hero who, to tell the truth, understood nothing of anything, but had a tender friendship for the sutler, the latter added:

--And to think that it is the French who plundered me, beaten me, ruined me...

--How! it is not the enemy? said Fabrice with a naive air, which made his beautiful grave and pale face charming...

--How stupid you are, my poor little fellow! said the sutler, smiling amid her tears; and all the same, you are very nice.

--And such as you see him, he came down his Prussian very well, said Corporal Aubry, who, amid the general crush, happened to be on the other side of the horse ridden by the cantinière. But he is proud, continued the corporal...

Fabrice made a movement.

--And what is your name? continued the corporal, for after all, if there is a report, I wish to name you.

--My name is Vasi, answered Fabrice, making a singular face, that is to say Boulot, he added, quickly correcting himself.

Boulot had been the name of the owner of the route paper which the jailer at B... had given him; the day before yesterday he had studied it carefully, while marching, for he was beginning to reflect a little and was no longer so astonished at things. Besides the route paper of the hussar Boulot, he carefully kept the Italian passport by which he could claim the noble name of Vasi, dealer in barometers. When the corporal had reproached him with being proud, he had been on the point of answering: "I proud! I Fabrice Valserra, marchesino del Dongo, who consent to bear the name of a Vasi, dealer in barometers!"

While he was reflecting and saying to himself: "I must well remember that I am called Boulot, or look out for the prison whose fate threatens me," the corporal and the cantinière had exchanged several words about him.

--Do not accuse me of being a busybody, she said to him, leaving off the familiar form; it is for your good that I ask you questions. Who are you, there, really?

Fabrice did not answer at first; he considered that never could he find more devoted friends to ask for advice, and he had an urgent need of advice. "We are going to enter a fortified place, the governor will want to know who I am, and look out for prison if I show by my answers that I know no one in the 4th hussar regiment whose uniform I wear!" As a subject of Austria, Fabrice knew all the importance to be attached to a passport. The members of his family, though noble and devout, though belonging to the victorious party, had been annoyed more than twenty times on account of their passports; he was therefore not at all shocked by the question the cantinière put to him. But as, before answering, he sought the clearest French words, the cantinière, piqued by a lively curiosity, added to draw him to speak:

--Corporal Aubry and I will give you good advice to conduct yourself.

--I do not doubt it, answered Fabrice: my name is Vasi and I am from Genoa; my sister, celebrated for her beauty, married a captain. As I am only seventeen, she was having me come to her to show me France, and form me a little; not finding her at Paris and knowing she was with this army, I came here, I sought her on all sides without being able to find her. The soldiers, astonished at my accent, had me arrested. I had money then, I gave some to the gendarme, who gave me a route paper, a uniform and said to me: 'Clear off, and swear to me never to pronounce my name.'"

--What was his name? said the cantinière.

--I gave my word, said Fabrice.

--He is right, resumed the corporal, the gendarme is a scoundrel, but the comrade must not name him. And what is the name of this captain, husband of your sister? If we know his name, we can look for him.

--Teulier, captain in the 4th hussars, answered our hero.

--Thus, said the corporal with some shrewdness, with your foreign accent, the soldiers took you for a spy?

--That is the infamous word! cried Fabrice, his eyes shining. I who love the Emperor and the French so much! And it is by this insult that I am most vexed.

--There is no insult, that is what deceives you; the soldiers' error was very natural, gravely resumed Corporal Aubry.

Then he explained to him with much pedantry that in the army one must belong to a corps and wear a uniform, failing which it is quite simple that you are taken for a spy. The enemy lets loose many of them on us: everybody betrays in this war.

The scales fell from Fabrice's eyes; he understood for the first time that he had been wrong in all that had happened to him for two months.

--But the lad must tell us all, said the cantinière whose curiosity was more and more excited.

Fabrice obeyed. When he had finished:

--In fact, said the cantinière, speaking gravely to the corporal, this child is not a soldier; we are going to make an ugly war now that we are beaten and betrayed. Why should he get his bones broken for nothing, pro Deo?

--And besides, said the corporal, he does not know how to load his musket, neither in twelve times nor at will, it is I who loaded the shot that brought down the Prussian.

--Moreover, he shows his money to everybody, added the cantinière; he will be robbed of all as soon as he is no longer with us.

--The first cavalry non-commissioned officer he meets, said the corporal, confiscates it for his own profit to get paid for his drink, and perhaps they will recruit him for the enemy, for everybody betrays. The first comer will order him to follow, and he will follow; he had better enter our regiment.

--Not so, if you please, corporal! cried Fabrice quickly; it is more convenient to go on horseback, and besides I do not know how to load a musket, and you have seen that I handle a horse.

Fabrice was very proud of this little speech. We shall not give an account of the long discussion on his future destiny which took place between the corporal and the cantinière. Fabrice remarked that in discussing these people repeated three or four times all the circumstances of his story: the soldiers' suspicions, the gendarme selling him a route paper and a uniform, the way in which the day before he had found himself part of the marshal's escort, the Emperor seen at a gallop, the foundered horse, etc.

With a woman's curiosity, the cantinière kept coming back to the way in which he had been dispossessed of the good horse she had made him buy.

--You felt yourself seized by the feet, they passed you gently over the tail of your horse, and set you down on the ground! "Why repeat so often, Fabrice said to himself, what all three of us know perfectly well?" He did not yet know that it is thus that in France common people go in search of ideas.

--How much money have you? the cantinière suddenly said to him.

Fabrice did not hesitate to answer; he was sure of the nobleness of soul of this woman: that is the fine side of France.

--Altogether, I may have thirty napoleons in gold left, and eight or ten crowns of five francs.

--In that case, you are free! cried the cantinière; get yourself out of the middle of this army in rout; throw yourself to one side, take the first somewhat beaten road you find there on your right; push your horse firmly, always moving away from the army. At the first opportunity buy some civilian clothes. When you are eight or ten leagues off, and see no more soldiers, take the post, and go rest eight days and eat beefsteaks in some good town. Never tell anyone that you have been with the army; the gendarmes would pick you up as a deserter; and, though you are very nice, my little one, you are not yet sharp enough to answer gendarmes. As soon as you have civilian clothes on your back, tear your route paper into a thousand pieces and take up your true name; say you are Vasi. And from where should he say he comes? she said to the corporal.

--From Cambrai on the Escaut: it is a good little town, do you hear? and where there is a cathedral and Fénelon.

--That's it, said the cantinière; never say you were at the battle, breathe not a word of B***, nor of the gendarme who sold you the route paper. When you wish to return to Paris, go first to Versailles, and pass the barrier of Paris on that side sauntering, walking on foot like a stroller. Sew your napoleons in your trousers; and above all when you have to pay for something, show just exactly the money needed to pay. What grieves me is that they will take you in, they will filch all you have; and what will you do once without money? you who do not know how to conduct yourself? etc.

The good cantinière spoke long still; the corporal seconded her advice with nods, unable to find occasion to seize the word. Suddenly this crowd which covered the high road, at first doubled its pace; then, in a twinkling, crossed the little ditch bordering the road on the left, and set to fleeing at full speed.

--The Cossacks! the Cossacks! was cried from all sides.

--Take back your horse! cried the cantinière.

--God forbid! said Fabrice. Gallop! flee! I give him to you. Will you have wherewith to buy a little cart? Half of what I have is yours.

--Take back your horse, I tell you! cried the cantinière in anger; and she began to get down. Fabrice drew his sabre:

--Hold fast! he cried to her, and he gave two or three blows with the flat of the sabre to the horse, which broke into a gallop and followed the runaways.

Our hero looked at the high road; lately three or four thousand individuals pressed there, packed like peasants following a procession. After the word *Cossacks* he saw exactly no one there; the runaways had abandoned shakos, muskets, sabres, etc. Fabrice, astonished, climbed into a field to the right of the road, which rose twenty or thirty feet; he looked at the high road on both sides and the plain, he saw no trace of Cossacks. Queer fellows, these French! he said to himself. Since I must go to the right, he thought, I may as well march at once; it is possible these people have a reason for running that I do not know. He picked up a musket, verified it was loaded, stirred the priming powder, cleaned the flint, then chose a well-filled cartridge-box, and looked about again on all sides; he was absolutely alone in the middle of this plain lately so full of people. In the far distance, he saw the runaways who were beginning to disappear behind the trees, and still running. "This is very singular!" he said to himself; and, recalling the manoeuvre employed the day before by the corporal, he went and sat down in the middle of a wheat field. He did not go away, because he wished to see again his good friends, the cantinière and Corporal Aubry.

In this wheat, he verified that he had no more than eighteen napoleons, instead of thirty as he thought; but he still had small diamonds which he had placed in the lining of the hussar's boots, in the morning, in the jailer's room, at B.... He hid his napoleons as best he could, all the while reflecting deeply on this so sudden disappearance. "Is this of ill omen for me?" he said to himself. His chief sorrow was at not having put this question to Corporal Aubry:

"Did I really assist at a battle?" It seemed to him that yes, and he would have been at the height of happiness, had he been certain of it.

"However, he said to himself, I assisted at it bearing the name of a prisoner, I had the route paper of a prisoner in my pocket, and, moreover, his coat on me! This is fatal for the future: what would the abbé Blanès have said? And this unhappy Boulot died in prison! All this is of sinister augury; destiny will lead me to prison." Fabrice would have given the world to know if the hussar Boulot was really guilty; in recalling his memories, it seemed to him that the jailer at B... had told him that the hussar had been taken up not only for silver plate, but also for having stolen a peasant's cow, and beaten the peasant within an inch of his life: Fabrice did not doubt that he would be put in prison one day for a fault having some relation to that of the hussar Boulot. He thought of his friend the curate Blanès; what would he not have given to be able to consult him! Then he recalled that he had not written to his aunt since he left Paris. Poor Gina! he said to himself, and he had tears in his eyes, when suddenly he heard a little noise close by, it was a soldier making three horses eat the wheat, whose bridles he had removed, and which seemed dying of hunger; he held them by the halter. Fabrice rose like a partridge, the soldier was frightened. Our hero noticed it, and yielded to the pleasure of playing for an instant the role of hussar.

--One of those horses belongs to me, d...! he cried, but I am willing to give you five francs for the trouble you took to bring it here.

--Are you making fun of me? said the soldier.

Fabrice covered him with his piece at six paces' distance.

--Loose the horse or I fire!

The soldier had his musket slung, he gave a shoulder turn to take it again.

--If you make the slightest movement you are dead! cried Fabrice, running at him.

--Well! give the five francs and take one of the horses, said the soldier, confused, after casting a regretful glance at the high road where there was absolutely no one. Fabrice, holding his musket high in his left hand, with his right threw him three five-franc pieces.

--Get down, or you are dead... Bridle the black and go farther off with the other two... I fire if you stir.

The soldier obeyed grumbling. Fabrice approached the horse and passed the bridle in his left arm, without losing sight of the soldier who slowly moved away; when Fabrice saw him at some fifty paces, he lightly sprang upon the horse. He was hardly on it and seeking the right stirrup with his foot, when he heard a ball whistle very near: it was the soldier loosing his musket shot at him. Fabrice, transported with anger, set off at a gallop after the soldier who fled at full speed, and soon Fabrice saw him mounted on one of his two horses and galloping. "Good, there he is out of range," he said to himself. The horse he had just bought was magnificent, but seemed dying of hunger. Fabrice returned to the high road, where there was still never a living soul; he crossed it and put his horse to a trot to reach a little fold in the ground on the left where he hoped to find the cantinière again; but when he was at the top of the little rise he perceived, at more than a league's distance, only a few isolated soldiers. "It is written that I shall not see her again, he said with a sigh, brave and good woman!" He made for a farm which he saw in the distance and on the right of the road. Without dismounting, and after paying in advance, he had oats given to his poor horse, so famished that it bit the manger. An hour later, Fabrice trotted on the high road still in the vague hope of finding the cantinière again, or at least Corporal Aubry. Going ever on and looking on all sides he came to a marshy river crossed by a rather narrow wooden bridge. Before the bridge, on the right of the road, was an isolated house bearing the sign of the White Horse. "There, I shall dine," said Fabrice. A cavalry officer with his arm in a sling was at the entrance of the bridge; he was on horseback and looked very sad; ten paces from him, three foot cavalrymen were arranging their pipes.

"There are people, said Fabrice, who look to me very much like wishing to buy my horse even cheaper than it cost me." The wounded officer and the three footmen watched him come and seemed to wait for him. "I ought well not to cross this bridge, and follow the bank of the river to the right, that would be the road advised by the cantinière to get out of trouble... Yes, said our hero; but if I take flight, tomorrow I should be quite ashamed: besides my horse has good legs, the officer's is probably tired; if he undertakes to unhorse me I shall gallop." While making these reasonings, Fabrice gathered his horse and advanced at the smallest pace possible.

--Come on, hussar, cried the officer to him with an air of authority.

Fabrice advanced a few paces and stopped.

--Do you want to take my horse? he cried.

--Not in the least; come on.

Fabrice looked at the officer: he had white moustaches, and the honestest air in the world; the handkerchief which supported his left arm was full of blood, and his right hand also was wrapped in bloody linen. "It is the footmen who will spring at my horse's bridle," said Fabrice; but, looking closely, he saw that the footmen too were wounded.

--In the name of honour, said the officer who wore the epaulettes of a colonel, stay here on outpost, and tell all the dragoons, chasseurs and hussars you see that Colonel Le Baron is in the tavern yonder, and that I order them to come join me.

The old colonel looked overwhelmed with grief; from the first word he had won our hero, who answered him with good sense:

--I am very young, sir, for anyone to wish to listen to me; there would need a written order from your hand.

--He is right, said the colonel, looking at him much, write the order, La Rose, you who have a right hand.

Without a word, La Rose drew from his pocket a little parchment book, wrote a few lines, and, tearing out a leaf, handed it to Fabrice; the colonel repeated the order to him, adding that after two hours of watch he would be relieved, as was right, by one of the three wounded cavalrymen who were with him. That said, he entered the tavern with his men. Fabrice watched them walk and remained motionless at the end of his wooden bridge, so struck was he by the dull and silent grief of these three persons. "One would say enchanted genii," he said to himself. At last he opened the folded paper and read the order conceived thus:

The colonel Le Baron, of the 6th dragoons, commanding the second brigade of the first division of cavalry of the 14th corps, orders all cavalrymen, dragoons, chasseurs and hussars not to cross the bridge, and to rejoin him at the tavern of the White Horse, near the bridge, where is his headquarters.

At headquarters, near the bridge of Sainte, 19 June 1815.

RIGHT For the colonel Le Baron, wounded in the right arm, and by his order, the quartermaster-sergeant, L A ROSE .

“Stories of the world, in your language.”