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132 pages

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In a follow-up to the previously published volume The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard, Arthur Conan Doyle presents more of the recollections of the fictional retired French brigadier. Equal parts humor writing and classic adventure tales, these stories are sure to be a hit.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775418849
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE ADVENTURES OF GERARD
* * *
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

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The Adventures of Gerard First published in 1903 ISBN 978-1-775418-84-9 © 2010 The Floating Press
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
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Contents
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Preface 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 Brigadier Bore Himself at Waterloo VIII - The Last Adventure of the Brigadier Endnotes
Preface
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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.
I - How Brigadier Gerard Lost His Ear
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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 Doge 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