The Adventures of Gerard Read online

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  THE ADVENTURES OF GERARD

  By A. Conan Doyle

  "Il etait brave mais avec cette graine de folie dans sa bravoure que les Francais aiment."

  FRENCH BIOGRAPHY.

  PREFACE

  I hope that some readers may possibly be interested in these littletales of the Napoleonic soldiers to the extent of following them up tothe 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 everread. Setting aside historical works or the biographies of theleaders there is a mass of evidence written by the actual fighting menthemselves, which describes their feelings and their experiences, statedalways from the point of view of the particular branch of the serviceto which they belonged. The Cavalry were particularly happy in theirwriters of memoirs. Thus De Rocca in his "Memoires sur la guerre desFrancais en Espagne" has given the narrative of a Hussar, while DeNaylies in his "Memoires sur la guerre d'Espagne" gives the samecampaigns from the point of view of the Dragoon. Then we have the"Souvenirs Militaires du Colonel de Gonneville," which treats a seriesof wars, including that of Spain, as seen from under the steel-brimmedhair-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, soagain we obtain the Cavalry point of view. Among other books which helpone to an understanding of the Napoleonic soldier I would speciallyrecommend "Les Cahiers du Capitaine Coignet," which treat the wars fromthe point of view of the private of the Guards, and "Les Memoires duSergeant Bourgoyne," who was a non-commissioned officer in the samecorps. The Journal of Sergeant Fricasse and the Recollections of deFezenac and of de Segur complete the materials from which I have workedin my endeavour to give a true historical and military atmosphere to animaginary 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 tellyou how many I have entered as a conqueror with eight hundred of mylittle fighting devils clanking and jingling behind me. The cavalry werein front of the Grande Armee, and the Hussars of Conflans were in frontof the cavalry, and I was in front of the Hussars. But of all the citieswhich we visited Venice is the most ill-built and ridiculous. I cannotimagine how the people who laid it out thought that the cavalry couldmanoeuvre. It would puzzle Murat or Lassalle to bring a squadron intothat square of theirs. For this reason we left Kellermann's heavybrigade and also my own Hussars at Padua on the mainland. ButSuchet with the infantry held the town, and he had chosen me as hisaide-de-camp for that winter, because he was pleased about the affairof 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 wasopposed to him. Besides, he deserved a lesson, for if one does not likea prima donna's singing one can always be silent, but it is intolerablethat a public affront should be put upon a pretty woman. So the sympathywas all with me, and after the affair had blown over and the man's widowhad been pensioned Suchet chose me as his own galloper, and I followedhim to Venice, where I had the strange adventure which I am about totell you.

  You have not been to Venice? No, for it is seldom that the Frenchtravel. We were great travellers in those days. From Moscow to Cairowe had travelled everywhere, but we went in larger parties than wereconvenient to those whom we visited, and we carried our passports inour limbers. It will be a bad day for Europe when the French starttravelling again, for they are slow to leave their homes, but when theyhave done so no one can say how far they will go if they have a guidelike our little man to point out the way. But the great days are goneand the great men are dead, and here am I, the last of them, drinkingwine of Suresnes and telling old tales in a cafe.

  But it is of Venice that I would speak. The folk there live likewater-rats upon a mud-bank, but the houses are very fine, and thechurches, 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, whichare the most famous in Europe. There are many soldiers who think thatbecause one's trade is to make war one should never have a thought abovefighting and plunder. There was old Bouvet, for example--the one who waskilled by the Prussians on the day that I won the Emperor's medal; ifyou took him away from the camp and the canteen, and spoke to him ofbooks or of art, he would sit and stare at you. But the highest soldieris a man like myself who can understand the things of the mind and thesoul. It is true that I was very young when I joined the army, and thatthe quarter-master was my only teacher, but if you go about the worldwith your eyes open you cannot help learning a great deal.

  Thus I was able to admire the pictures in Venice, and to know the namesof the great men, Michael Titiens, and Angelus, and the others, who hadpainted them. No one can say that Napoleon did not admire them also, forthe very first thing which he did when he captured the town was to sendthe best of them to Paris. We all took what we could get, and I had twopictures for my share.

  One of them, called "Nymphs Surprised," I kept for myself, and theother, "Saint Barbara," I sent as a present for my mother.

  It must be confessed, however, that some of our men behaved very badlyin this matter of the statues and the pictures. The people at Venicewere very much attached to them, and as to the four bronze horses whichstood over the gate of their great church, they loved them as dearly asif 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 wasmuch to be said for them. They were too coarse-limbed for light cavalrycharges and they had not the weight for the gun-teams.

  However, they were the only four horses, alive or dead, in the wholetown, so it was not to be expected that the people would know anybetter. They wept bitterly when they were sent away, and ten Frenchsoldiers were found floating in the canals that night. As a punishmentfor these murders a great many more of their pictures were sent away,and the soldiers took to breaking the statues and firing their musketsat the stained-glass windows.

  This made the people furious, and there was very bad feeling in thetown. Many officers and men disappeared during that winter, and eventheir bodies were never found.

  For myself I had plenty to do, and I never found the time heavy onmy hands. In every country it has been my custom to try to learn thelanguage. For this reason I always look round for some lady who will bekind enough to teach it to me, and then we practise it together. Thisis the most interesting way of picking it up, and before I was thirty Icould speak nearly every tongue in Europe; but it must be confessed thatwhat you learn is not of much use for the ordinary purposes of life. Mybusiness, for example, has usually been with soldiers and peasants, andwhat 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 firstname, and her second--but a gentleman forgets second names. I can saythis with all discretion, that she was of one of the senatorial familiesof Venice and that her grandfather had been Do
ge of the town.

  She was of an exquisite beauty--and when I, Etienne Gerard, use such aword as "exquisite," my friends, it has a meaning. I have judgment, Ihave memories, I have the means of comparison. Of all the women who haveloved me there are not twenty to whom I could apply such a term as that.But I say again that Lucia was exquisite.

  Of the dark type I do not recall her equal unless it were Dolores ofToledo. There was a little brunette whom I loved at Santarem when I wassoldiering under Massena in Portugal--her name has escaped me. She wasof a perfect beauty, but she had not the figure nor the grace of Lucia.There was Agnes also. I could not put one before the other, but I donone an injustice when I say that Lucia was the equal of the best.

  It was over this matter of pictures that I had first met her, for herfather owned a palace on the farther side of the Rialto Bridge upon theGrand Canal, and it was so packed with wall-paintings that Suchet sent aparty of sappers to cut some of them out and send them to Paris.

  I had gone down with them, and after I had seen Lucia in tears itappeared to me that the plaster would crack if it were taken from thesupport of the wall. I said so, and the sappers were withdrawn. Afterthat I was the friend of the family, and many a flask of Chianti haveI cracked with the father and many a sweet lesson have I had from thedaughter. Some of our French officers married in Venice that winter,and I might have done the same, for I loved her with all my heart; butEtienne Gerard has his sword, his horse, his regiment, his mother, hisEmperor, and his career. A debonair Hussar has room in his life forlove, but none for a wife. So I thought then, my friends, but I did notsee the lonely days when I should long to clasp those vanished hands,and turn my head away when I saw old comrades with their tall childrenstanding round their chairs. This love which I had thought was a jokeand a plaything--it is only now that I understand that it is the moulderof one's life, the most solemn and sacred of all things--Thank you, myfriend, thank you! It is a good wine, and a second bottle cannot hurt.

  And now I will tell you how my love for Lucia was the cause of oneof the most terrible of all the wonderful adventures which have everbefallen me, and how it was that I came to lose the top of my right ear.You have often asked me why it was missing. To-night for the first timeI will tell you.

  Suchet's head-quarters at that time was the old palace of the DogeDandolo, which stands on the lagoon not far from the place of San Marco.It was near the end of the winter, and I had returned one night from theTheatre Goldini, when I found a note from Lucia and a gondola waiting.She prayed me to come to her at once as she was in trouble. To aFrenchman and a soldier there was but one answer to such a note. In aninstant I was in the boat and the gondolier was pushing out into thedark lagoon.

  I remember that as I took my seat in the boat I was struck by the man'sgreat size. He was not tall, but he was one of the broadest men thatI have ever seen in my life. But the gondoliers of Venice are a strongbreed, and powerful men are common enough among them. The fellow tookhis place behind me and began to row.

  A good soldier in an enemy's country should everywhere and at all timesbe on the alert. It has been one of the rules of my life, and if I havelived to wear grey hairs it is because I have observed it. And yet uponthat night I was as careless as a foolish young recruit who fears lesthe should be thought to be afraid. My pistols I had left behind in myhurry. My sword was at my belt, but it is not always the most convenientof weapons. I lay back in my seat in the gondola, lulled by the gentleswish of the water and the steady creaking of the oar. Our way laythrough a network of narrow canals with high houses towering on eitherside and a thin slit of star-spangled sky above us. Here and there, onthe bridges which spanned the canal, there was the dim glimmer of an oillamp, and sometimes there came a gleam from some niche where a candleburned before the image of a saint. But save for this it was all black,and one could only see the water by the white fringe which curled roundthe long black nose of our boat. It was a place and a time for dreaming.I thought of my own past life, of all the great deeds in which I hadbeen concerned, of the horses that I had handled, and of the women thatI had loved. Then I thought also of my dear mother, and I fancied herjoy when she heard the folk in the village talking about the fame of herson. Of the Emperor also I thought, and of France, the dear fatherland,the sunny France, mother of beautiful daughters and of gallant sons. Myheart glowed within me as I thought of how we had brought her coloursso many hundred leagues beyond her borders. To her greatness I woulddedicate my life. I placed my hand upon my heart as I swore it, and atthat instant the gondolier fell upon me from behind.

  When I say that he fell upon me I do not mean merely that he attackedme, but that he really did tumble upon me with all his weight. Thefellow stands behind you and above you as he rows, so that you canneither see him nor can you in any way guard against such an assault.

  One moment I had sat with my mind filled with sublime resolutions, thenext I was flattened out upon the bottom of the boat, the breath dashedout of my body, and this monster pinning me down. I felt the fiercepants of his hot breath upon the back of my neck. In an instant he hadtorn away my sword, had slipped a sack over my head, and had tied a ropefirmly round the outside of it.

  There I was at the bottom of the gondola as helpless as a trussed fowl.I could not shout, I could not move; I was a mere bundle. An instantlater I heard once more the swishing of the water and the creaking ofthe oar.

  This fellow had done his work and had resumed his journey as quietly andunconcernedly as if he were accustomed to clap a sack over a colonel ofHussars every day of the week.

  I cannot tell you the humiliation and also the fury which filled my mindas I lay there like a helpless sheep being carried to the butcher's. I,Etienne Gerard, the champion of the six brigades of light cavalry andthe first swordsman of the Grand Army, to be overpowered by a singleunarmed man in such a fashion! Yet I lay quiet, for there is a timeto resist and there is a time to save one's strength. I had felt thefellow's grip upon my arms, and I knew that I would be a child in hishands. I waited quietly, therefore, with a heart which burned with rage,until my opportunity should come.

  How long I lay there at the bottom of the boat I can not tell; but itseemed to me to be a long time, and always there were the hiss of thewaters and the steady creaking of the oar. Several times we turnedcorners, for I heard the long, sad cry which these gondoliers give whenthey wish to warn their fellows that they are coming. At last, after aconsiderable journey, I felt the side of the boat scrape up against alanding-place. The fellow knocked three times with his oar upon wood,and in answer to his summons I heard the rasping of bars and the turningof keys. A great door creaked back upon its hinges.

  "Have you got him?" asked a voice, in Italian.

  My monster gave a laugh and kicked the sack in which I lay.

  "Here he is," said he.

  "They are waiting." He added something which I could not understand.

  "Take him, then," said my captor. He raised me in his arms, ascendedsome steps, and I was thrown down upon a hard floor. A moment later thebars creaked and the key whined once more. I was a prisoner inside ahouse.

  From the voices and the steps there seemed now to be several peopleround me. I understand Italian a great deal better than I speak it, andI could make out very well what they were saying.

  "You have not killed him, Matteo?"

  "What matter if I have?"

  "My faith, you will have to answer for it to the tribunal."

  "They will kill him, will they not?"

  "Yes, but it is not for you or me to take it out of their hands."

  "Tut! I have not killed him. Dead men do not bite, and his cursed teethmet in my thumb as I pulled the sack over his head."

  "He lies very quiet."

  "Tumble him out and you will find that he is lively enough."

  The cord which bound me was undone and the sack drawn from over my head.With my eyes closed I lay motionless upon the floor.

  "By the saints, Matteo, I tell you that you have b
roken his neck."

  "Not I. He has only fainted. The better for him if he never came out ofit again."

  I felt a hand within my tunic.

  "Matteo is right," said a voice. "His heart beats like a hammer. Let himlie and he will soon find his senses."

  I waited for a minute or so and then I ventured to take a stealthy peepfrom between my lashes. At first I could see nothing, for I had beenso long in darkness and it was but a dim light in which I found myself.Soon, however, I made out that a high and vaulted ceiling covered withpainted gods and goddesses was arching over my head. This was no meanden of cut-throats into which I had been carried, but it must be thehall of some Venetian palace. Then, without movement, very slowly andstealthily I had a peep at the men who surrounded me. There was thegondolier, a swart, hard-faced, murderous ruffian, and beside him werethree other men, one of them a little, twisted fellow with an airof authority and several keys in his hand, the other two tall youngservants in a smart livery. As I listened to their talk I saw that thesmall man was the steward of the house, and that the others were underhis orders.

  There were four of them, then, but the little steward might be left outof the reckoning. Had I a weapon I should have smiled at such odds asthose. But, hand to hand, I was no match for the one even without threeothers to aid him. Cunning, then, not force, must be my aid. I wishedto look round for some mode of escape, and in doing so I gave an almostimperceptible movement of my head. Slight as it was it did not escape myguardians.

  "Come, wake up, wake up!" cried the steward.

  "Get on your feet, little Frenchman," growled the gondolier. "Get up, Isay," and for the second time he spurned me with his foot.

  Never in the world was a command obeyed so promptly as that one. In aninstant I had bounded to my feet and rushed as hard as I could to theback of the hall. They were after me as I have seen the English houndsfollow a fox, but there was a long passage down which I tore.

  It turned to the left and again to the left, and then I found myselfback in the hall once more. They were almost within touch of me andthere was no time for thought. I turned toward the staircase, but twomen were coming down it. I dodged back and tried the door through whichI had been brought, but it was fastened with great bars and I could notloosen them. The gondolier was on me with his knife, but I met him witha kick on the body which stretched him on his back. His dagger flew witha clatter across the marble floor. I had no time to seize it, for therewere half a dozen of them now clutching at me. As I rushed through themthe little steward thrust his leg before me and I fell with a crash, butI was up in an instant, and breaking from their grasp I burst throughthe very middle of them and made for a door at the other end of thehall. I reached it well in front of them, and I gave a shout of triumphas the handle turned freely in my hand, for I could see that it led tothe outside and that all was clear for my escape. But I had forgottenthis strange city in which I was. Every house is an island. As I flungopen the door, ready to bound out into the street, the light of the hallshone upon the deep, still, black water which lay flush with the topmoststep.

  I shrank back, and in an instant my pursuers were on me.

  But I am not taken so easily. Again I kicked and fought my way throughthem, though one of them tore a handful of hair from my head in hiseffort to hold me. The little steward struck me with a key and I wasbattered and bruised, but once more I cleared a way in front of me.

  Up the grand staircase I rushed, burst open the pair of huge foldingdoors which faced me, and learned at last that my efforts were in vain.

  The room into which I had broken was brilliantly lighted. With its goldcornices, its massive pillars, and its painted walls and ceilings it wasevidently the grand hall of some famous Venetian palace. There are manyhundred such in this strange city, any one of which has rooms whichwould grace the Louvre or Versailles. In the centre of this great hallthere was a raised dais, and upon it in a half circle there sat twelvemen all clad in black gowns, like those of a Franciscan monk, and eachwith a mask over the upper part of his face.

  A group of armed men--rough-looking rascals--were standing round thedoor, and amid them facing the dais was a young fellow in the uniformof the light infantry. As he turned his head I recognised him. It wasCaptain Auret, of the 7th, a young Basque with whom I had drunk many aglass during the winter.

  He was deadly white, poor wretch, but he held himself manfully amid theassassins who surrounded him. Never shall I forget the sudden flash ofhope which shone in his dark eyes when he saw a comrade burst into theroom, or the look of despair which followed as he understood that I hadcome not to change his fate but to share it.

  You can think how amazed these people were when I hurled myself intotheir presence. My pursuers had crowded in behind me and choked thedoorway, so that all further flight was out of the question. It is atsuch instants that my nature asserts itself. With dignity I advancedtoward the tribunal. My jacket was torn, my hair was dishevelled, myhead was bleeding, but there was that in my eyes and in my carriagewhich made them realise that no common man was before them. Not a handwas raised to arrest me until I halted in front of a formidable old man,whose long grey beard and masterful manner told me that both by yearsand by character he was the man in authority.

  "Sir," said I, "you will, perhaps, tell me why I have been forciblyarrested and brought to this place. I am an honourable soldier, as isthis other gentleman here, and I demand that you will instantly set usboth at liberty."

  There was an appalling silence to my appeal. It was not pleasant tohave twelve masked faces turned upon you and to see twelve pairs ofvindictive Italian eyes fixed with fierce intentness upon your face. ButI stood as a debonair soldier should, and I could not but reflect howmuch credit I was bringing upon the Hussars of Conflans by the dignityof my bearing. I do not think that anyone could have carried himselfbetter under such difficult circumstances. I looked with a fearless facefrom one assassin to another, and I waited for some reply.

  It was the grey-beard who at last broke the silence.

  "Who is this man?" he asked.

  "His name is Gerard," said the little steward at the door.

  "Colonel Gerard," said I. "I will not deceive you. I am Etienne Gerard,THE Colonel Gerard, five times mentioned in despatches and recommendedfor the sword of honour. I am aide-de-camp to General Suchet, and Idemand my instant release, together with that of my comrade in arms."

  The same terrible silence fell upon the assembly, and the same twelvepairs of merciless eyes were bent upon my face. Again it was thegrey-beard who spoke.

  "He is out of his order. There are two names upon our list before him."

  "He escaped from our hands and burst into the room."

  "Let him await his turn. Take him down to the wooden cell."

  "If he resist us, your Excellency?"

  "Bury your knives in his body. The tribunal will uphold you. Remove himuntil we have dealt with the others."

  They advanced upon me, and for an instant I thought of resistance.It would have been a heroic death, but who was there to see it or tochronicle it? I might be only postponing my fate, and yet I had been inso many bad places and come out unhurt that I had learned always to hopeand to trust my star. I allowed these rascals to seize me, and I was ledfrom the room, the gondolier walking at my side with a long naked knifein his hand. I could see in his brutal eyes the satisfaction which itwould give him if he could find some excuse for plunging it into mybody.

  They are wonderful places, these great Venetian houses, palaces, andfortresses, and prisons all in one. I was led along a passage and downa bare stone stair until we came to a short corridor from which threedoors opened. Through one of these I was thrust and the spring lockclosed behind me. The only light came dimly through a small gratingwhich opened on the passage.

  Peering and feeling, I carefully examined the chamber in which I hadbeen placed. I understood from what I had heard that I should soon haveto leave it again in order to appear before this tribunal, but still itis
not my nature to throw away any possible chances.

  The stone floor of the cell was so damp and the walls for some feet highwere so slimy and foul that it was evident they were beneath the levelof the water. A single slanting hole high up near the ceiling was theonly aperture for light or air. Through it I saw one bright star shiningdown upon me, and the sight filled me with comfort and with hope. I havenever been a man of religion, though I have always had a respect forthose who were, but I remember that night that the star shining down theshaft seemed to be an all-seeing eye which was upon me, and I felt as ayoung and frightened recruit might feel in battle when he saw the calmgaze of his colonel turned upon him.

  Three of the sides of my prison were formed of stone, but the fourthwas of wood, and I could see that it had only recently been erected.Evidently a partition had been thrown up to divide a single large cellinto two smaller ones. There was no hope for me in the old walls, in thetiny window, or in the massive door. It was only in this one directionof the wooden screen that there was any possibility of exploring. Myreason told me that if I should pierce it--which did not seem verydifficult--it would only be to find myself in another cell as strongas that in which I then was. Yet I had always rather be doing somethingthan doing nothing, so I bent all my attention and all my energies uponthe wooden wall. Two planks were badly joined, and so loose that I wascertain I could easily detach them. I searched about for some tool,and I found one in the leg of a small bed which stood in the corner. Iforced the end of this into the chink of the planks, and I was about totwist them outward when the sound of rapid footsteps caused me to pauseand to listen.

  I wish I could forget what I heard. Many a hundred men have I seen diein battle, and I have slain more myself than I care to think of, but allthat was fair fight and the duty of a soldier. It was a very differentmatter to listen to a murder in this den of assassins. They were pushingsomeone along the passage, someone who resisted and who clung to mydoor as he passed. They must have taken him into the third cell, theone which was farthest from me. "Help! Help!" cried a voice, and then Iheard a blow and a scream. "Help! Help!" cried the voice again, and then"Gerard! Colonel Gerard!" It was my poor captain of infantry whom theywere slaughtering.

  "Murderers! Murderers!" I yelled, and I kicked at my door, but again Iheard him shout and then everything was silent. A minute later there wasa heavy splash, and I knew that no human eye would ever see Auret again.He had gone as a hundred others had gone whose names were missing fromthe roll-calls of their regiments during that winter in Venice.

  The steps returned along the passage, and I thought that they werecoming for me. Instead of that they opened the door of the cell next tomine and they took someone out of it. I heard the steps die away up thestair.

  At once I renewed my work upon the planks, and within a very few minutesI had loosened them in such a way that I could remove and replace themat pleasure. Passing through the aperture I found myself in the farthercell, which, as I expected, was the other half of the one in which I hadbeen confined. I was not any nearer to escape than I had been before,for there was no other wooden wall which I could penetrate and thespring lock of the door had been closed. There were no traces to showwho was my companion in misfortune. Closing the two loose planks behindme I returned to my own cell and waited there with all the courage whichI could command for the summons which would probably be my death knell.

  It was a long time in coming, but at last I heard the sound of feet oncemore in the passage, and I nerved myself to listen to some other odiousdeed and to hear the cries of the poor victim. Nothing of the kindoccurred, however, and the prisoner was placed in the cell withoutviolence. I had no time to peep through my hole of communication, fornext moment my own door was flung open and my rascally gondolier, withthe other assassins, came into the cell.

  "Come, Frenchman," said he. He held his blood-stained knife in hisgreat, hairy hand, and I read in his fierce eyes that he only looked forsome excuse in order to plunge it into my heart. Resistance was useless.I followed without a word. I was led up the stone stair and back intothat gorgeous chamber in which I had left the secret tribunal. I wasushered in, but to my surprise it was not on me that their attentionwas fixed. One of their own number, a tall, dark young man, was standingbefore them and was pleading with them in low, earnest tones. Hisvoice quivered with anxiety and his hands darted in and out or writhedtogether in an agony of entreaty. "You cannot do it! You cannot do it!"he cried.

  "I implore the tribunal to reconsider this decision."

  "Stand aside, brother," said the old man who presided.

  "The case is decided and another is up for judgment."

  "For Heaven's sake be merciful!" cried the young man.

  "We have already been merciful," the other answered.

  "Death would have been a small penalty for such an offence. Be silentand let judgment take its course."

  I saw the young man throw himself in an agony of grief into his chair. Ihad no time, however, to speculate as to what it was which was troublinghim, for his eleven colleagues had already fixed their stern eyes uponme.

  The moment of fate had arrived.

  "You are Colonel Gerard?" said the terrible old man.

  "I am."

  "Aide-de-camp to the robber who calls himself General Suchet, who inturn represents that arch-robber Buonaparte?"

  It was on my lips to tell him that he was a liar, but there is a time toargue and a time to be silent.

  "I am an honourable soldier," said I. "I have obeyed my orders and donemy duty."

  The blood flushed into the old man's face and his eyes blazed throughhis mask.

  "You are thieves and murderers, every man of you," he cried. "What areyou doing here? You are Frenchmen. Why are you not in France? Did weinvite you to Venice? By what right are you here? Where are ourpictures? Where are the horses of St. Mark? Who are you that you shouldpilfer those treasures which our fathers through so many centuries havecollected? We were a great city when France was a desert. Your drunken,brawling, ignorant soldiers have undone the work of saints and heroes.What have you to say to it?"

  He was, indeed, a formidable old man, for his white beard bristled withfury and he barked out the little sentences like a savage hound. Formy part I could have told him that his pictures would be safe in Paris,that his horses were really not worth making a fuss about, and that hecould see heroes--I say nothing of saints--without going back to hisancestors or even moving out of his chair. All this I could have pointedout, but one might as well argue with a Mameluke about religion. Ishrugged my shoulders and said nothing.

  "The prisoner has no defence," said one of my masked judges.

  "Has any one any observation to make before judgment is passed?" The oldman glared round him at the others.

  "There is one matter, your Excellency," said another.

  "It can scarce be referred to without reopening a brother's wounds,but I would remind you that there is a very particular reason why anexemplary punishment should be inflicted in the case of this officer."

  "I had not forgotten it," the old man answered.

  "Brother, if the tribunal has injured you in one direction, it will giveyou ample satisfaction in another."

  The young man who had been pleading when I entered the room staggered tohis feet.

  "I cannot endure it," he cried. "Your Excellency must forgive me. Thetribunal can act without me. I am ill. I am mad." He flung his hands outwith a furious gesture and rushed from the room.

  "Let him go! Let him go!" said the president. "It is, indeed, more thancan be asked of flesh and blood that he should remain under this roof.But he is a true Venetian, and when the first agony is over he willunderstand that it could not be otherwise."

  I had been forgotten during this episode, and though I am not a man whois accustomed to being overlooked I should have been all the happierhad they continued to neglect me. But now the old president glared at meagain like a tiger who comes back to his victim.

  "You shal
l pay for it all, and it is but justice that you should," hesaid. "You, an upstart adventurer and foreigner, have dared to raiseyour eyes in love to the grand daughter of a Doge of Venice who wasalready betrothed to the heir of the Loredans. He who enjoys suchprivileges must pay a price for them."

  "It cannot be higher than they are worth," said I.

  "You will tell us that when you have made a part payment," said he."Perhaps your spirit may not be so proud by that time. Matteo, you willlead this prisoner to the wooden cell. To-night is Monday. Let himhave no food or water, and let him be led before the tribunal againon Wednesday night. We shall then decide upon the death which he is todie."

  It was not a pleasant prospect, and yet it was a reprieve. One isthankful for small mercies when a hairy savage with a blood-stainedknife is standing at one's elbow. He dragged me from the room and I wasthrust down the stairs and back into my cell. The door was locked and Iwas left to my reflections.

  My first thought was to establish connection with my neighbourin misfortune. I waited until the steps had died away, and then Icautiously drew aside the two boards and peeped through. The light wasvery dim, so dim that I could only just discern a figure huddled in thecorner, and I could hear the low whisper of a voice which prayed as oneprays who is in deadly fear. The boards must have made a creaking. Therewas a sharp exclamation of surprise.

  "Courage, friend, courage!" I cried. "All is not lost. Keep a stoutheart, for Etienne Gerard is by your side."

  "Etienne!" It was a woman's voice which spoke--a voice which was alwaysmusic to my ears. I sprang through the gap and I flung my arms roundher.

  "Lucia! Lucia!" I cried.

  It was "Etienne!" and "Lucia!" for some minutes, for one does not makespeeches at moments like that. It was she who came to her senses first.

  "Oh, Etienne, they will kill you. How came you into their hands?"

  "In answer to your letter."

  "I wrote no letter."

  "The cunning demons! But you?"

  "I came also in answer to your letter."

  "Lucia, I wrote no letter."

  "They have trapped us both with the same bait."

  "I care nothing about myself, Lucia. Besides, there is no pressingdanger with me. They have simply returned me to my cell."

  "Oh, Etienne, Etienne, they will kill you. Lorenzo is there."

  "The old greybeard?"

  "No, no, a young dark man. He loved me, and I thought I loved himuntil--until I learned what love is, Etienne. He will never forgive you.He has a heart of stone."

  "Let them do what they like. They cannot rob me of the past, Lucia. Butyou--what about you?"

  "It will be nothing, Etienne. Only a pang for an instant and then allover. They mean it as a badge of infamy, dear, but I will carry it likea crown of honour since it was through you that I gained it."

  Her words froze my blood with horror. All my adventures wereinsignificant compared to this terrible shadow which was creeping overmy soul.

  "Lucia! Lucia!" I cried. "For pity's sake tell me what these butchersare about to do. Tell me, Lucia! Tell me!"

  "I will not tell you, Etienne, for it would hurt you far more thanit would me. Well, well, I will tell you lest you should fear it wassomething worse. The president has ordered that my ear be cut off, thatI may be marked for ever as having loved a Frenchman."

  Her ear! The dear little ear which I had kissed so often. I put my handto each little velvet shell to make certain that this sacrilege had notyet been committed.

  Only over my dead body should they reach them. I swore it to her betweenmy clenched teeth.

  "You must not care, Etienne. And yet I love that you should care all thesame."

  "They shall not hurt you--the fiends!"

  "I have hopes, Etienne. Lorenzo is there. He was silent while I wasjudged, but he may have pleaded for me after I was gone."

  "He did. I heard him."

  "Then he may have softened their hearts."

  I knew that it was not so, but how could I bring myself to tell her?I might as well have done so, for with the quick instinct of woman mysilence was speech to her.

  "They would not listen to him! You need not fear to tell me, dear, foryou will find that I am worthy to be loved by such a soldier. Where isLorenzo now?"

  "He left the hall."

  "Then he may have left the house as well."

  "I believe that he did."

  "He has abandoned me to my fate. Etienne, Etienne, they are coming!"

  Afar off I heard those fateful steps and the jingle of distant keys.What were they coming for now, since there were no other prisoners todrag to judgment? It could only be to carry out the sentence upon mydarling.

  I stood between her and the door, with the strength of a lion in mylimbs. I would tear the house down before they should touch her.

  "Go back! Go back!" she cried. "They will murder you, Etienne. My life,at least, is safe. For the love you bear me, Etienne, go back. It isnothing. I will make no sound. You will not hear that it is done."

  She wrestled with me, this delicate creature, and by main force shedragged me to the opening between the cells. But a sudden thought hadcrossed my mind.

  "We may yet be saved," I whispered. "Do what I tell you at once andwithout argument. Go into my cell. Quick!"

  I pushed her through the gap and helped her to replace the planks. I hadretained her cloak in my hands, and with this wrapped round me I creptinto the darkest corner of her cell. There I lay when the door wasopened and several men came in. I had reckoned that they would bring nolantern, for they had none with them before.

  To their eyes I was only a dark blur in the corner.

  "Bring a light," said one of them.

  "No, no; curse it!" cried a rough voice, which I knew to be that of theruffian, Matteo. "It is not a job that I like, and the more I saw itthe less I should like it. I am sorry, signora, but the order of thetribunal has to be obeyed."

  My impulse was to spring to my feet and to rush through them all andout by the open door. But how would that help Lucia? Suppose that I gotclear away, she would be in their hands until I could come back withhelp, for single-handed I could not hope to clear a way for her. Allthis flashed through my mind in an instant, and I saw that the onlycourse for me was to lie still, take what came, and wait my chance. Thefellow's coarse hand felt about among my curls--those curls in whichonly a woman's fingers had ever wandered. The next instant he gripped myear and a pain shot through me as if I had been touched with a hot iron.I bit my lip to stifle a cry, and I felt the blood run warm down my neckand back.

  "There, thank Heaven, that's over," said the fellow, giving me afriendly pat on the head. "You're a brave girl, signora, I'll saythat for you, and I only wish you'd have better taste than to love aFrenchman. You can blame him and not me for what I have done."

  What could I do save to lie still and grind my teeth at my ownhelplessness? At the same time my pain and my rage were always soothedby the reflection that I had suffered for the woman whom I loved. It isthe custom of men to say to ladies that they would willingly endure anypain for their sake, but it was my privilege to show that I had said nomore than I meant. I thought also how nobly I would seem to haveacted if ever the story came to be told, and how proud the regiment ofConflans might well be of their colonel. These thoughts helped meto suffer in silence while the blood still trickled over my neck anddripped upon the stone floor. It was that sound which nearly led to mydestruction.

  "She's bleeding fast," said one of the valets. "You had best fetch asurgeon or you will find her dead in the morning."

  "She lies very still and she has never opened her mouth," said another."The shock has killed her."

  "Nonsense; a young woman does not die so easily." It was Matteo whospoke. "Besides, I did but snip off enough to leave the tribunal's markupon her. Rouse up, signora, rouse up!"

  He shook me by the shoulder, and my heart stood still for fear he shouldfeel the epaulet under the mantle.

  "How
is it with you now?" he asked.

  I made no answer.

  "Curse it, I wish I had to do with a man instead of a woman, and thefairest woman in Venice," said the gondolier. "Here, Nicholas, lend meyour handkerchief and bring a light."

  It was all over. The worst had happened. Nothing could save me. I stillcrouched in the corner, but I was tense in every muscle, like a wild catabout to spring.

  If I had to die I was determined that my end should be worthy of mylife.

  One of them had gone for a lamp and Matteo was stooping over me with ahandkerchief. In another instant my secret would be discovered. But hesuddenly drew himself straight and stood motionless. At the same instantthere came a confused murmuring sound through the little window farabove my head. It was the rattle of oars and the buzz of many voices.Then there was a crash upon the door upstairs, and a terrible voiceroared: "Open! Open in the name of the Emperor!"

  The Emperor! It was like the mention of some saint which, by its verysound, can frighten the demons.

  Away they ran with cries of terror--Matteo, the valets, the steward, allof the murderous gang. Another shout and then the crash of a hatchet andthe splintering of planks. There were the rattle of arms and the criesof French soldiers in the hall. Next instant feet came flying down thestair and a man burst frantically into my cell.

  "Lucia!" he cried, "Lucia!" He stood in the dim light, panting andunable to find his words. Then he broke out again. "Have I not shown youhow I love you, Lucia? What more could I do to prove it? I have betrayedmy country, I have broken my vow, I have ruined my friends, and I havegiven my life in order to save you."

  It was young Lorenzo Loredan, the lover whom I had superseded. My heartwas heavy for him at the time, but after all it is every man for himselfin love, and if one fails in the game it is some consolation to lose toone who can be a graceful and considerate winner.

  I was about to point this out to him, but at the first word I uttered hegave a shout of astonishment, and, rushing out, he seized the lamp whichhung in the corridor and flashed it in my face.

  "It is you, you villain!" he cried. "You French coxcomb. You shall payme for the wrong which you have done me."

  But the next instant he saw the pallor of my face and the blood whichwas still pouring from my head.

  "What is this?" he asked. "How come you to have lost your ear?"

  I shook off my weakness, and pressing my handkerchief to my wound I rosefrom my couch, the debonair colonel of Hussars.

  "My injury, sir, is nothing. With your permission we will not allude toa matter so trifling and so personal."

  But Lucia had burst through from her cell and was pouring out the wholestory while she clasped Lorenzo's arm.

  "This noble gentleman--he has taken my place, Lorenzo! He has borne itfor me. He has suffered that I might be saved."

  I could sympathise with the struggle which I could see in the Italian'sface. At last he held out his hand to me.

  "Colonel Gerard," he said, "you are worthy of a great love. I forgiveyou, for if you have wronged me you have made a noble atonement. But Iwonder to see you alive. I left the tribunal before you were judged,but I understood that no mercy would be shown to any Frenchman since thedestruction of the ornaments of Venice."

  "He did not destroy them," cried Lucia. "He has helped to preserve thosein our palace."

  "One of them, at any rate," said I, as I stooped and kissed her hand.

  This was the way, my friends, in which I lost my ear. Lorenzo was foundstabbed to the heart in the Piazza of St. Mark within two days of thenight of my adventure. Of the tribunal and its ruffians, Matteo andthree others were shot, the rest banished from the town.

  Lucia, my lovely Lucia, retired into a convent at Murano after theFrench had left the city, and there she still may be, some gentle ladyabbess who has perhaps long forgotten the days when our hearts throbbedtogether, and when the whole great world seemed so small a thing besidethe love which burned in our veins. Or perhaps it may not be so. Perhapsshe has not forgotten.

  There may still be times when the peace of the cloister is broken by thememory of the old soldier who loved her in those distant days. Youthis past and passion is gone, but the soul of the gentleman can neverchange, and still Etienne Gerard would bow his grey head before her andwould very gladly lose his other ear if he might do her a service.