D. Cartier

In the year 1812.

The Grand Army of Napoleon was in retreat, leaving behind it Moscow and Kremlin in flames, and half of its battalions under the icy waves of the Berezina river.

It was snowing…

All around, all the way to the horizon, the ground was white and the sky was grey.

The debris of the proud legions dragged itself through the center of the immense and sterile plains, formerly led by the new Cesar on a conquest of the world, undefeated by a united Europe, was brought down by the only enemy that could send it into retreat: The cold of the north.

Here, was a group of cavaliers stiffened in their saddles and struggled desperately against the embrace of a deadly sleep. There, some infantry surrounded a dead horse, quickly butchering it while a band of voracious crows fought over the scraps.

Further along, a man fell asleep with the obstinacy of a madness, knowing with certainty, he would never wake up.

From time to time, a distant explosion could be heard; this was the Russian cannon. So, the stragglers would set back along the road, dominated by the warm instinct of self-preservation.

Three men, three cavaliers, were gathered up at the edge of a small copse of trees around a pile of brushwood that they had, with great difficulty, cleared of the hardened snow, and set ablaze.

Horses and cavaliers surrounded the fire, the men squatted down with their legs crossed, the noble animals with heads held low and eyes fixed.

The first of these three men wore a scrap of a uniform that still held the epaulets of a Colonel. He could have been 35 years old; he was a masculine and noble figure, and his blue eyes emanated courage and kindness.

His right arm was slung in a scarf, and his head was wrapped up in bloody bandages. A Russian bullet had shattered his elbow, and saber had slashed his forehead from temple to temple. 

The second of these three people must have been a Captain, if one can trust his tattered uniform; but, in that moment, there were no colonels, no captains, no soldiers.

The Grand Army of Napoleon was no more, all that was left was a sad heap of men in rags, much more fleeing the kiss of the north wind than the hordes of the Don and the Caucasus, unleashed on them like a pack of hungry wolves and birds of prey.

He was also a young man, with a low forehead, olive skin, and a quick and indecisive gaze in his eyes; his black hair betraying a southern origin; with a drawling accent and a vivacity to his gestures, one could guess that he was among the many Italians that, during the first Empire, joined the French army.

Happier than his commander, the captain was not injured, and he bore more easily the mortal attacks of the terrible cold which drove the legions of Cesar south.

The final third of this small band was a soldier, a simple Hussar of the guard, who’s young, rough, and male face sometimes took on a fierce expression when the Russian cannon thundered in the distance, while he became anxious and tender when his gaze would stop on his commander, exhausted with a bloodied and bandaged head.

It was evening, night was falling, and the mists of twilight blurred the lines between the white ground and the gray sky.

“Are we spending the night here, Filipone?” The Colonel asked the Italian Capitan. “I’m feeling weak and very tired…and my arms ache horribly.”

“My colonel!” Bastian, the Hussar, sharply interjected before the Italian could reply, “We have to get moving again, the cold can kill a person.”

The Colonel looked from the Hussar to the Capitan. 

“What do you think?” He said.

“Yes, Yes!” Repeated the Hussar with the energy of a man convinced.

As to the Italian Capitan, he seemed to take a moment to think.

“Well, Felipone?” Insisted the Colonel.

“Bastien is right”, responded the Capitan, “it’s necessary to get back on our horses, and keep going for as long as possible. Here, we will end up falling asleep, and while we sleep, our fire will go out, and none of us will wake up again…besides, listen…The Russians approach…I hear the canons.”

“Oh! Misery!”murmured The Colonel in a muffled voice “Who would have ever told me that we would be reduced to fleeing from a handful of Cossacks?! Oh!…the cold…The cold!…what a relentless and terrible enemy! My god! If it wasn’t so cold…”

And the Colonel had crouched by the fire and tried to revive his numb limbs.

“Thunder and Blood!” Grumbled Bastien, the Hussar “I would never had believed it, my colonel, a true lion…would have let himself be brought down to this bedraggled whore whistling on the hard snow.”

The Soldier, speaking thus in a low voice, wrapped The Colonel in a gaze of love and respect.

The face of the office was becoming ghastly and betrayed his horrible suffering; his whole body shivered and trembled, and his life, within himself, seemed to have become concentrated in his eyes, which retained their expression of gentile and calm pride.

“Well,” he resumed “we’ll leave, since you want us to, but let me warm up for a moment longer…What horrible cold!…Ah! I suffer…My god!…if I could sleep for one hour…just one hour!”

The Italian Capitan and the Hussar exchanged glances.

“If he falls asleep,” Murmured Felipone “we won’t be able to wake him up again and put him in the saddle.”

“Well,” responded the courageous Bastien, leaning to the ear of The Capitan “I will take him away while he sleeps. I am strong, me, and to save my colonel… Oh! I would become a Hercules.”

The Capitan, his head leaning back, seemed to be listening to the distant noises.

“The Russians are just over 3 leagues away”, he finally said “the night approaches, and they will certainly understand before they reach us. Since the Colonel wants to sleep, let him sleep. We will take care of ourselves.”

The Colonel heard those last words, and he reached for the hand of the Italian.

“Thank you, Felipone” he said “thank you, friend. You are good and courageous, you, you don’t let yourself get beaten down by the scoundrel north-wind. OH! The cold!”

And the Colonel pronounced these last words with an accent of terror.

“But I am not injured, I’m not” responded the Italian “and it is quite simple that I suffer less.”

“Friend” resumed the Colonel, while the Hussar threw all of the brushwood and dead branches that he could find around him. “I am 35 years old. The soldier is 16, I was a colonel at 30. That tells you that I have been brave and patient. Oh well, my energy, my courage, all to the point of indifference with which I accepted the privations without number that comes with our noble and hard profession, everything fails against this mortal enemy that we call the cold. I am cold! Do you understand? In Italy, I spent 13 hours on the battlefield under a heap of cadavers, my head in the blood and my feet in the muck. In Spain, at the siege of Saragossa, I mounted the assault with two bullets in my chest. At Wagram, I stayed on horseback until the evening, a cut from a bayonet through my thigh. Oh well, today, I am no more than a soulless body, a man half dead…A coward who flees an enemy he despises!  The Cossacks! All of that because I am cold!”

“Armand…Armand, courage!” said the Capitan “We will not always be in Russia…we will see less harsh climates…we will see the sun…and the lions will emerge from their torpor.”

The Colonel Armand de Kergaz, that was his name, sadly shook his head.

“No,” he said “I will never see the sun again, nor France…a few more hours in the horrible cold, and I am dead!”

“Armand!”

“My colonel!”

Exclaimed the Capitan and the Hussar at the same time.

“I am dying of cold” murmured the Colonel with heartbroken smile “of cold and of sleep.”

And as his head tilted down to his chest, and that invincible torpor which cost the lives of some many noble hearts, in that lamentable retreat from Russia, began to take hold of him, the Colonel with a supreme effort, threw back his head and said.

“No, no, I cannot sleep anymore. I need to think about those that are over there.”

And his gaze was turned towards the horizon, in the direction of France.

“Friends” He continued, addressing both the loyal and devoted soldier, and the Capitan “You will both outlive me, without doubt, and keep me in your memory, Oh well, listen, I confide in you my last will and testament. I will advise you about my wife and child.” 

He stretched his hand out again to the Capitan “You will live, so don’t speak like that!”

“Oh! I want to live!” He murmured “To live and see both of them again!”

The eye of the Colonel sparkled while he spoke of hope and ardent love.

“But” He continued with a sad smile “I can die too…and the widow and orphan will need protectors.”

“Ah! Colonel” exclaimed Bastien “You know very well that if something were to happen to you, your Hussar would give every second of his life, and his blood to the last drop, for your wife and your child.”

“Thank you” said the Colonel “I am counting on you”

Then he looked at the Italian.

“And you” he said “you, my old comrade, my friend, my brother?”

The Capitan winced, and his face clouded over. It was as if a distant memory had suddenly been invoked in him by the last words of the Colonel.

“You just said it, Armand” He responded “Am I not your comrade…your friend, your brother?”

“Oh well, if I die” responded the Colonel “You will be the support of my wife and the father of my child.”

A vivid redness, at those words, rose in the face of the Capitan.

The Colonel took no notice, and added. “I know you love Hélène, and that you also well remember how we let her choose between the two of us. My happiness over yours, I was the chosen one of her heart, and I give thanks to you for accepting that sacrifice, and remaining the friend of the one who was your rival.”

The Capitan lowered his eyes. A dull pallor had replaced the crimson on his face, and if his companion had remained completely calm and had not been overwhelmed by this atrocious melange of moral suffering he would have understood that a violent struggle rose inside the heart of the Italian, tortured by a memory.

“If I die” finished the Colonel “you will marry her…keep…”

At the uttering of that last word, the Colonel opened his uniform and handed a sealed envelope to Felipone.

“There, my will” he said “I wrote it at the start of our unfortunate campaign, and agitated by a strong premonition. Through this will, my friend, I leave you half of my fortune, if you consent to marry my widow.”

Pale as he was, the Capitan turned livid, a nervous shudder seized his whole body, he extended a shaking hand towards the will.

“Don’t worry, Armand” he murmured in a muffled voice “If anything were to happen to you, I would obey you…but you will live” He added “you will see your Hélène again, for whom I now only have a deep and respectful friendship for.”

“I’m cold” repeated the Colonel, with the conviction of a man who believes his death is next.

And he bowed his head to his chest again and sleep took him with tyrannical tenacity.

“Let him sleep a while” said the Capitan to Bastien “we will stand watch.”

“Bedraggled whore!” murmured Bastien angrily, while helping the Italian lay the Colonel by the fire, to cover him in rags of clothing, and the blankets they still had.

Five minutes later, the Colonel Armand de Kergaz was deeply asleep.

Bastien had his eyes fastened on him, with the caressing fixidity of the faithful dog, constantly feeding the fire, and ensuring that no sparks, no hot coals fell on his sleeping commander.

As for the Capitan, he had his head in his hands, his eyes lowered, and undoubtedly had a thousand confusing and agitating thoughts in his brain.

That man, for whom the Colonel had blind friendship, possessed all of the vices of degenerate people. Greed and vindictiveness, he was amiable and insinuating with all the world. Soldier of fortune, he had a talent for making connections in the French Army with rich and titled officers. Without a penny to his name, he only had millionaire friends.

Felipone had become Capitan much more by force of circumstance, in a time when death had an ample harvest of the officers, than by his own bravery.

He had indeed participated in several battles, but he was never seen to distinguish himself personally. Maybe never to the point of being a coward, but without fail, was not a man brave to the point of recklessness.

Felipone and the Colonel Armand were friends for the past 15 years. Captains the two of them, 3 years earlier, they had encountered Mademoiselle Hélène Durand in Paris a daughter of an army supplier, a beautiful and charming young girl whom the both of them fell in love with, Hélène had chosen the Colonel.

From that day, Felipone swore on his friend this violent and terrible hatred that could only sprout in a southern heart, hate concentrated and muted, hidden beneath an exterior of the most cordial affection, but relentless, deadly and ready to burst out at the first favorable moment. Twenty times during the campaign in the middle of the melee, Felipone had closed in on the Colonel in the shadow and smoke of combat.

Twenty times he had hesitated, seeking a vengeance more complete, more cruel than an assassination. 

That vengeance, the Italian had just found. He coldly pondered, while the Colonel slept under the devoted watch of Bastien. 

“The fool!” Thought Felipone, who from time to time to time threw a somber glance at the sleeping officer “The fool! He just gave me his money, to me who is poor, and his wife, to me whom she rebuffed. One couldn’t pronounce one’s own death sentence more eloquently.”

The gaze of the Capitan stopped for the space of one second on Bastien.

“This man is in my way” he thought to himself “too bad for him”

And Felipone stood up and approached his horse.

“What are you doing, Capitan?” asked the Hussar.

“I want to check the primers of my pistols”

“Oh!” said Bastien.

“With this devilish snow” Felipone continued calmly “It wouldn’t be surprising if the priming pans had taken on some moisture, and if the Cossacks arrive…”

Felipone, with these words, placed his hands on the saddle holster, took out a pistol and carelessly played with the firing mechanism.

Bastien watched peacefully and without any defiance.

“The powder is dry” said the Capitan “the flint is in a good state, lets move on to the other one”

He pulled out a second pistol, and checked it with the same care.

“Do you know” He said suddenly, looking at the Hussar “I have excellent aim with this weapon.” 

“That makes sense, Capitan.”

“At thirty paces away” Felipone continued calmly “in a duel, I always get my man in the heart, killing him instantly”

“Oh!” murmured Bastien, distracted with all of his duties as night watchman.

“There are options” Continued the Capitan “ I have gambled about hitting my adversary in the eye, the left or the right, and I’ve always hit my mark… but, do you see, friend Bastien, it is simpler to just aim for the heart, you kill instantly.”

And the Capitan lowered the barrel of his pistol.

“What are you doing?!” exclaimed Bastien sharply, springing backward.

And Felipone fired, adding:

“You were in my way, my boy; too bad for you!”

A flash illuminated the night, a detonation was heard, followed by a cry of pain and the Hussar fell backwards.

At this sound, at this cry, the Colonel was snatched away from his lethargic sleep, and he rose up slightly, thinking they were dealing with the Russians.

But Felipone, who was armed with a second pistol, suddenly pressed his knee against the Colonel’s chest and knocked him back to the ground, where he was held down.

Then the Colonel, stupefied by this sudden aggression, could see the grimacing and mocking figure of his enemy looming over him, animated by a fierce grin, and that grin revealed to him with the rapidity of a flash, all the vileness, all the cruel infamy of this man in whom he had believed. 

“Oh! Oh!” sneered the Italian “You were quite naive, Colonel Armand de Kergaz, to believe in the friendship of the man, from whom, you have stolen the woman he loved… and you were quite naive to imagine that he would ever forgive you! Oh! You have pushed the limit of foolishness and the stupidness of making your will, begging your dear friend to marry your widow and to accept half of your fortune!… and then, you fell asleep peacefully with the hope that you will wake and see the dawn of better days and your reunion with your wife and child, objects of your ardent concern!…Triple fool!…Oh well, No.” Finished the Capitan “You won’t see them again, and you will fall back to sleep for all days, dear fiend!”

And the Capitan directed the barrel of his pistol towards the face of Armand de Kergaz.

Armand, driven by the instinct of self preservation, tried to free himself from the Italian’s grip, to rescue himself from the knee on his chest, holding him down.

But Felipone held him nailed to the ground and said:

“It is useless, my Colonel, you must stay here.”

“Release me!”murmured Armand de Kergaz, whose eyes gleamed with contempt.

“Rest assured, Armand, your wish shall be carried out. I will marry your widow, I will mourn you, and the world will see me mourn you eternally. I am a man that observes propriety.”

And the pistol touched the brow of the Colonel, held immobile by the knee of the Italian, who fired with the same composure he had shown earlier when firing at the faithful Hussar.

The ball shattered the skull of Colonel Armand de Kergaz, and the bloody debris of his brains splashed onto the hands of the assassin.

Bastien was stretched out in a sea of blood, and the crime of the Italian had no other witness than god.