THE ADVENTURES OF GERARD
BY
A. CONAN DOYLE
"Il etait brave mais avec cette graine de foilie dans sa
bravoure que les Francais aiment."
FRENCH BIOGRAPHY.
PREFACE
I hope that some readers may possibly be interested in these
little tales of the Napoleonic soldiers to the extent of
following them up to the springs from which they flow. The age
was rich in military material, some of it the most human and the
most picturesque that I have ever read. Setting aside historical
works or the biographies of the leaders there is a mass of
evidence written by the actual fighting men themselves, which
describes their feelings and their experiences, stated always
from the point of view of the particular branch of the service to
which they belonged. The Cavalry were particularly happy in
their writers of memoirs. Thus De Rocca in his "Memoires sur la
guerre des Francais en Espagne" has given the narrative of a
Hussar, while De Naylies in his "Memoires sur la guerre
d''Espagne" gives the same campaigns from the point of view of the
Dragoon. Then we have the "Souvenirs Militaires du Colonel de
Gonneville," which treats a series of wars, including that of
Spain, as seen from under the steel-brimmed hair-crested helmet
of a Cuirassier. Pre-eminent among all these works, and among
all military memoirs, are the famous reminiscences of Marbot,
which can be obtained in an English form. Marbot was a Chasseur,
so again we obtain the Cavalry point of view. Among other books
which help one to an understanding of the Napoleonic soldier I
would specially recommend "Les Cahiers du Capitaine Coignet,"
which treat the wars from the point of view of the private of the
Guards, and "Les Memoires du Sergeant Bourgoyne," who was a
non-commissioned officer in the same corps. The Journal of
Sergeant Fricasse and the Recollections of de Fezenac and of de
Segur complete the materials from which I have worked in my
endeavour to give a true historical and military atmosphere to an
imaginary figure.
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
March, 1903.
CONTENTS
I. HOW BRIGADIER GERARD LOST HIS EAR
II. HOW THE. BRIGADIER CAPTURED SARAGOSSA
III. HOW THE BRIGADIER SLEW THE FOX
IV. HOW THE BRIGADIER SAVED THE ARMY
V. HOW THE BRIGADIER TRIUMPHED IN ENGLAND
VI. HOW THE BRIGADIER RODE TO MINSK
VII. HOW THE BRIGADE BORE HIMSELF AT WATERLOO
VIII. THE LAST ADVENTURE OF THE BRIGADIER
I. How Brigadier Gerard Lost His Ear
It was the old Brigadier who was talking in the cafe.
I have seen a great many cities, my friends. I would not dare to
tell you how many I have entered as a conqueror with eight
hundred of my little fighting devils clanking and jingling behind
me. The cavalry were in front of the Grande Armee, and the
Hussars of Conflans were in front of the cavalry, and I was in
front of the Hussars. But of all the cities which we visited
Venice is the most ill-built and ridiculous. I cannot imagine
how the people who laid it out thought that the cavalry could
manoeuvre. It would puzzle Murat or Lassalle to bring a squadron
into that square of theirs. For this reason we left Kellermann''s
heavy brigade and also my own Hussars at Padua on the mainland.
But Suchet with the infantry held the town, and he had chosen me
as his aide- de-camp for that winter, because he was pleased
about the affair of the Italian fencing-master at Milan. The
fellow was a good swordsman, and it was fortunate for the credit
of French arms that it was I who was opposed to him. Besides, he
deserved a lesson, for if one does not like a prima donna''s
singing one can always be silent, but it is intolerable that a
public affront should be put upon a pretty woman. So the
sympathy was all with me, and after the affair had blown over and
the man''s widow had been pensioned Suchet chose me as his own
galloper, and I followed him to Venice, where I had the strange
adventure which I am about to tell you.
You have not been to Venice? No, for it is seldom that the
French travel. We were great travellers in those days. From
Moscow to Cairo we had travelled everywhere, but we went in
larger parties than were convenient to those whom we visited, and
we carried our passports in our limbers. It will be a bad day
for Europe when the French start travelling again, for they are
slow to leave their homes, but when they have done so no one can
say how far they will go if they have a guide like our little man
to point out the way. But the great days are gone and the great
men are dead, and here am I, the last of them, drinking wine of
Suresnes and telling old tales in a cafe.
But it is of Venice that I would speak. The folk there live like
water-rats upon a mud-bank, but the houses are very fine, and the
churches, especially that of St. Mark, are as great as any I have
seen. But above all they are proud of their statues and their
pictures, which are the most famous in Europe. There are many
soldiers who think that because one''s trade is to make war one
should never have a thought above fighting and plunder. There
was old Bouvet, for example--the one who was killed by the
Prussians on the day that I won the Emperor''s medal; if you took
him away from the camp and the canteen, and spoke to him of books
or of art, he would sit and stare at you. But the highest
soldier is a man like myself who can understand the things of the
mind and the soul. It is true that I was very young when I
joined the army, and that the quarter- master was my only
teacher, but if you go about the world with your eyes open you
cannot help learning a great deal.
Thus I was able to admire the pictures in Venice, and to know the
names of the great men, Michael Titiens, and Angelus, and the
others, who had painted them. No one can say that Napoleon did
not admire them also, for the very first thing which he did when
he captured the town was to send the best of them to Paris. We
all took what we could get, and I had two pictures for my share.
One of them, called "Nymphs Surprised," I kept for myself, and
the other, "Saint Barbara," I sent as a present for my mother.
It must be confessed, however, that some of our men behaved very
badly in this matter of the statues and the pictures. The people
at Venice were very much attached to them, and as to the four
bronze horses which stood over the gate of their great church,
they loved them as dearly as if they had been their children. I
have always been a judge of a horse, and I had a good look at
these ones, but I could not see that there was much to be said
for them. They were too coarse-limbed for light cavalry charges
and they had not the weight for the gun-teams.
However, they were the only four horses, alive or dead, in the
whole town, so it was not to be expected that the people would
know any better. They wept bitterly when they were sent away,
and ten French soldiers were found floating in the canals that
night. As a punishment for these murders a great many more of
their pictures were sent away, and the soldiers took to breaking
the statues and firing their muskets at the stained-glass
windows.
This made the people furious, and there was very bad feeling in
the town. Many officers and men disappeared during that winter,
and even their bodies were never found.
For myself I had plenty to do, and I never found the time heavy
on my hands. In every country it has been my custom to try to
learn the language. For this reason I always look round for some
lady who will be kind enough to teach it to me, and then we
practise it together. This is the most interesting way of
picking it up, and before I was thirty I could speak nearly every
tongue in Europe; but it must be confessed that what you learn is
not of much use for the ordinary purposes of life. My business,
for example, has usually been with soldiers and peasants, and
what advantage is it to be able to say to them that I love only
them, and that I will come back when the wars are over?
Never have I had so sweet a teacher as in Venice. Lucia was her
first name, ...
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