“And so it was. Not only was I restored, but they even placed me in the same regiment I served in during the campaigns of Egypt and Italy. The corps, however, was greatly changed since I knew it before; and so I asked the Emperor to appoint me to a voltigeur battalion, where discipline is not so rigid, and pleasant comrades are somewhat more plentiful. I had my wish, gentlemen. And now, with your permission, we'll drink the 'Faubourg St. Antoine,' the cradle of our arm of the service.”
In repeating Maître Francois's tale, I could only wish it might have one half the success with my reader it met with from his comrades of the bivouac. This, however, I cannot look for, and must leave it and him to their fortunes, and now turn to follow the course of my own.
François was not the only one who felt surprised at my being able to resist the pleasures of a voltigeurs life; and my companion the corporal looked upon my determination to join the hussar brigade as one of those extraordinary instances of duty predominating over inclination. “Not,” said he, “but there may be brave fellows and good soldiers among the dragoons; though having a horse to ride is a sore drawback on a man's courage. And when one has felt the confidence of standing face to face, and foot to foot, with the enemy, I cannot see how he can ever bring himself to fight in any other fashion.”
“A man can accustom himself to anything, Corporal,” said an old, hardy-looking soldier, who sat smoking with the most profound air of thoughtful reflection. “I remember being in the 'dromedary brigade' at Cairo. Few of us could keep our seats at first; and when we fell off, it was often hard enough to resist the Mamelukes and hold the beasts besides; but even that we learned with time.”
This explanation, little flattering as it was to the cavalry, seemed to convince the listeners that time, which smoothes so many difficulties, will even make a man content to be a dragoon.
“Well, since you will not be 'of ours,'” said François, “let us drink a parting cup, and say good-by, for I hear the bugle sounding the call.”
“A health to the 'Faubourg St. Antoine,' boys!” cried I, and a hearty cheer re-echoed the toast; and with many a shake-hands, and many a promise of welcome whenever I saw the error of my ways sufficiently to doff the dolman for the voltigeur's jacket, I took leave of the gallant Twenty-second, and set out towards Weimar.
CHAPTER XXV. BERLIN AFTER “JENA.”
As the battle of Austerlitz was the deathblow to the empire of Austria, so with the defeat at Jena did Prussia fall, and that great kingdom became a prey to the conquering Napoleon. Were this a fitting place, it might be curious to inquire into the causes which involved a ruin so sudden and so complete; and how a vast and highly organized army seemed at one fell stroke annihilated and destroyed.