Memoirs of the Prince of Joinville. Prince of Joinville
Vernet's picture, La Bataille de Hanau, which represents Drouot on foot amongst his guns, just as the Bavarian Cuirassiers are charging through them. That had been quite enough to fire my ardour, and I wanted to be an artilleryman too. Just about the same time, my father was presented with a twelve-pounder howitzer by the Vincennes artillery, and Colonel de Caraman came to try it with us. We fired shots in the park, at the rising ground near Villiers, and my military enthusiasm was wrought up to the highest pitch. I tormented my mother till she had an artillery uniform made for me, and when I had it on my back I thought my fortune was made. After having been taken to the fair at Neuilly, and seeing the non-commissioned officers of the Regiment of the Guard quartered at Courbevoie dancing with the pretty laundresses belonging to the village, I tried hard to force my sisters to join me in imitating the particular style of dance I had seen them perform. I have heard it said that my choregraphic performance was fairly successful, but there my fancy for the military career ended. General Drouot went back to Nancy; I did not see him again, and I soon fell under other and more lasting influences.
Among my father's aides-de-camp there was a young cavalry lieutenant-colonel, the Comte d'Houdetot, who had begun life as
a midshipman. He was a very clever man, and one of the most delightful story-tellers imaginable. By birth a creole, from the Mauritius, he and his family had happened to come back to Europe on board the corvette La Regeneree, commanded by that same Admiral Villaumetz, our neighbour and constant visitor in the billiard-room. At the time of the voyage D'Houdetot was a baby in arms, and in an action between the Regeneree and the English, at the Loos Islands, his wet nurse was cut in two by a round shot, which gave rise to a saying of his, "I have more right to promotion than anybody. Lots of people have had horses killed under them, but I'm the only man in the French army that ever had a woman killed under him."
Mutually attracted by this common memory, the former middy and the old admiral used to spend their evenings relating their adventures to each other and their stories, which had begun by interesting, ended by fascinating me. It was worth while to hear D'Houdetot tell about the battle of Trafalgar, at which he had been present as a midshipman on board the Algesiras, commanded by his uncle Admiral Magon, how, as he lay on the poop, with both his legs broken by the bursting of a shell, he saw his uncle the admiral receive his death-blow, at the very moment when, wounded already, and his hat and wig carried away by a shot, he had thrown himself on to the nettings, shouting to his crew, "The first man who boards that ship with me shall have the Cross;" and how too, the boarding party having been driven back, the mizzen-mast of the Algesiras, cut through by a round shot, fell across the British ship, throwing a comrade of D'Houdetot's, the midshipman of the maintop, beyond it, into the sea, and how that middy swam back to the Algesiras. And then came the story of the tempest after the battle, in which victors and vanquished alike struggled together to escape
shipwreck, under the command of Lieutenant de la Bretonniere, in later days my own commanding officer, who succeeded in bringing the ship into Cadiz. There D'Houdetot was lying upon the mole, under a burning sun, feverish and exhausted with pain, when the hand of a woman, whom his youth had touched, spread a fan over "the poor little fellow's" head, to protect him from the blaze. He drew the ministering hand to him, and kissed it, and to that simple act he owed his escape from the horrors of an overcrowded hospital, teeming with typhus. He recovered, re-embarked on board the frigate Hermione, and was wrecked with her. "Trafalgar and a shipwreck in the space of two years," he used to say, "gave me enough of a seafaring life." He got leave to be transferred to the cavalry, and covered himself with glory in the heroic charges at the battle of the Moskowa; but his heart always remained with his old sailor comrades, and he never tired of talking about them.
As for old Villaumetz, his whole life had been spent on board ship. He had gone with M. d'Entrecasteaux to search for La Peyrouse; he had commanded the squadron from which Prince Jerome Bonaparte deserted with his ship the Veteran, and his stories of sea fights and adventures were endless. Listening to them first inspired me with that longing to enter the naval career which never left me again.
My first attempts at seafaring were made at Treport, during the short holiday trips we used to take to the Chateau d'Eu. I was dreadfully sea-sick every time, but that did not dismay me; and then the honest sailors, with their simple, open, resolute faces, attracted me irresistibly I used to envy them their risky life, as I watched their boats from the jetty at Treport, running in before the gale. That settled the matter; I was regularly fascinated, in short. And that love of my life will last as long as I do. Besides the sailoring charm which Treport had for me, many a pleasant memory of my life is bound up with Eu and Randan. My parents
were accustomed in holiday times to take us for a little trip either to Eu or to Randan, a large property in the Auvergne belonging
to my aunt. During these journeys, lessons and school hours and study of every kind were intermitted, and this alone sufficed to give them a sovereign charm. It should be added that in those days travelling was not what it is now, and that these trips gave rise to many little adventures, for which we were always on the look out. My father had had a big carriage built with room for twelve people in it, which held the whole family, and which, with all due deference, was very like a travelling menagerie-van. A courier used to ride on ahead to order post horses; another rode just in front of the carriage. When each stage was finished, the six horses that were to draw us for the next were led up: wicked, cross-grained stallions they were, that squealed and bit and kicked. They got harnessed somehow or other; and then out came the dapper postilions, with their hats trimmed with gay ribbons, cocked on one side, some of them still wearing powder and with their hair tied in a club. They had waistcoats trimmed with dozens of silver buttons, and close-fitting pantaloons covered their legs. Margot would bring out the great iron-bound boots, into which they shoved those same legs; they were hoisted laboriously on to their horses; the postmaster shouted, "Now then, in with your spurs, and let them go!" and off we went full tear, bells jingling and whips cracking, to the admiration of the women and children of the village gathered round to see the show. Once we were off, things calmed down; but the postboys had no control whatever over their horses, who knew the road, and did the stage, from force of habit, at their own pace. If we came across other carriages or wagons on the road, it was just a question as to whether our team would take us too much out of their way, or not enough. Such meetings were proclaimed by yells from the postilions. If the horses did not go far enough to one side, there would be a terrible collision, and a volley of oaths,
together with a clashing of lanterns and a clatter of broken windows. If the horses got too far out of the way, the carriage would first of all tilt towards the sideway, slope more and more, and frequently end by turning over gently into the ditch. Then a clamour would rise from the menagerie, everybody first feeling themselves all over, and then laughing, while the great machine was being lifted up, preparatory to a fresh start. A little farther on, it might be, another accident would occur. We would be passing through a village, and, to create a sensation, the postboys would begin cracking their whips in concert. The horses would get excited, and the pace would increase. It was all very well if the village street was a straight one, but if there was an angle in it the horses would take it too short, and there would be a violent collision with the kerbstone at the corner. Then all the wheelwrights and all the innkeepers, ever on the watch for such mishaps, would hurry up. The repairs would take four hours perhaps, whereat the GRANDSPARENTS would storm, but we children were jubilant. Confusion reigned supreme, and we could write to our little friends, "We were upset at such and such a place; we broke down at such another." We got lots of copy out of it.
There was no great interest about our visits to Randan. We used to leave the high-road at Aigueperse. Six or eight pairs of oxen were harnessed to the carriage, and Auvergnats in their costumes and broad-brimmed hats (there were still costumes there, in those days), with goads in their hands, drove the team, the carriage swinging backwards and forwards on the muddy roads, up hill and down dale; it was hard work getting there, but we did get there at last. The great entertainment of the visit was to go and see Madame la Dauphine, who went through a cure at Vichy every year.
It was far pleasanter to stay at Eu. The old castle of the Guises was a mere tumbledown barrack at the time I speak of.
The passages had waves in them like the sea. When there was a storm the whole house shook,