"Comrades!" cried Marshal Massena, "In front of you are 4000 young men belonging to the richest families in Vienna; they have come with post-horses as far as Bassano; I recommend them to you."
Over 2000 French soldiers lost their lives on 14^th January, 1797. The battle was fought in the area around the Italian town of Rivoli. The enemy was the Austrian army under Feldzeugmaister von Alvinczy. For General Napoleon Bonaparte, still many years from becoming Emperor, it was one of his finest victories. For Pierre d'Artois, it was to be his last battle.
August, 1797.
For Henri, the journey to the battlefield had been an arduous one. The poor quality of the Italian roads showed how bad had been the decline of the country since the fall of the Roman Empire so many centuries before. He was travelling with his mother, one sister and his wife, Pauline. Their intention was to visit the sight of Pierre's demise.
"This is almost intolerable," muttered Henri's mother for the umpteenth time that day.
"We are nearly there," came the obligatory answer from Henri.
Henri had only been to Italy once, before the revolution. Though he would never say it to his mother, he preferred the Italian countryside to his own native Brittany. Henri had tried so many times to return, but the war against the Austrians had made travel there unsafe for anyone, let alone a Frenchman and member of the revolutionary party. His father had urged Henri to join the army in many a letter sent from the front lines. As a member of the Guides Napoleon, Pierre had often claimed, it would have been possible to arrange for Henri's transfer to La Armee d'Italie within a short space of time. However, Henri had constantly put it off and now he had no father to fight alongside.
The coach drew to a jarring halt and the driver announced in halting French that they had arrived. Stepping out into the centre of Rivoli, Henri's first impression was of how little of the town had been repaired since the battle. That is not to say that it was a shattered ruin. Certainly some buildings had been damaged, but all were still standing to one degree or another.
Henri turned to help Pauline, his mother and his sister from the coach. Pauline slowly gazed around her before fixing her eyes on the church and all but demanding that they make it their first stop.
Inside it was remarkably cool, the massive stones helping to keep out most of the punishing heat. Henri's mother sat down heavily on a nearby pew, politeness forgotten for the time being.
"It is beautiful," Pauline was half-whispering to herself, the stately architecture having entranced her mind. Her interest in church architecture was resigned purely to the aesthetic qualities than to any other aspect.
That night, ensconced in the nearest coaching inn, Henri and his family slept peacefully. However, around midnight, Henri felt Pauline stirring uncomfortably next to him. He turned to see if she was awake when, suddenly, she leapt out of bed and dashed out through the bedroom door. Henri rapidly donned a pair of breaches and a shirt and followed after.
Through alleyways and side streets, in nought but her shift, Pauline raced towards the church. What drew her was inexplicable; she knew simply that she had to be there as soon as possible. She was totally oblivious to Henri as he desperately called her name.
For Henri, the pursuit was tortuous. No matter how hard he pressed, he could not catch his wife. When he reached the church, Henri was just in time to see the trailing end of Pauline's shift as she hurried through the main doors. Putting on a fresh burst of speed, Henri covered the distance rapidly and flung the door wide. He found Pauline, trembling with the sudden cold of the church, standing before the alter table. She turned at the sound of approaching footsteps and flung herself into Henri's arms as soon as she recognised him. As he held her gently, Henri heard footsteps behind him. They were muffled, as though they were far away, yet Henri sensed that they were approaching him, and that they were closer than they sounded. Slowly, Henri turned, almost too afraid to look upon whoever, or whatever was approaching. What he saw was at once terrifying, yet bewildering. He saw his father. Still clad in his uniform, though torn and bloodstained, the apparition shimmered as it approached.
"What is this devilry?" Henri demanded, yet his father gave no answer.
"How can it be that you set foot here, whilst your body lies entombed in the earth?" still the apparition did not speak.
"What is it that you want of me?" Henri almost screamed, "Will you not answer me!"
When, finally, the apparition had reached them, it held out its hand to Pauline and beckoned. As though in a trance, Pauline took the proffered hand and walked towards the open doors. When she was nearly halfway there, her body took on an almost transparent quality and Henri knew she was beyond his reach.
The next morning, devastated by the events of the previous night, Henri resolved to leave the town as soon as possible.
"My apologies," the almost meek inn-keeper explained, "But the next coach will not be here for another three days."
Henri thanked the man and returned to his mother and sister. Three days till they could leave. Three nights during which anything could happen.
That day was spent exploring the battlefield. Managing to hire an open carriage, Henri and his family took in almost the entire expanse of ground upon which the French had repulsed the Austrians. Only the great heights of Mount Zovo and Mount Magnone uncovered. That night, they once more retired to their rooms, the day's excursions having taken their toll. However, once more Henri was woken in the middle of the night. This time to see his sister racing pell-mell out of the inn and towards the church. Again Henri followed. Again he could not close the distance. Again he found his quarry trembling before the alter.
And once more did the ghost of his father appear.
"No!" cried Henri, "You cannot take your own daughter. You cannot murder your own flesh and blood."
The apparition said nothing, but took his daughter to him and, in turn, she too went beyond Henri's reach.
The following night, as the sun set slowly, Henri ordered the inn-keeper and his wife to bolt the door firmly and see that no-one entered or left the inn until the sun had risen the following morning. That night, Henri was woken by heavy pounding that came from the front door of the inn. Racing to the landing, Henri was just in time to see the inn-keeper's wife hurled bodily aside by his mother and the door all but torn from its hinges. Not bothering with breeches or shirt, but clad only in his night-shirt, Henri tore down the stairs and out into the night air. He knew the route his mother would take. For once fortune seemed to be with him. Henri pursued as fast as he could, desperate to save his mother from the fate he knew awaited her if she set foot inside the church. However, just when he seemed to catch up with her, Henri's mother hitched up her shift and ran for all she was worth towards the church. Henri was soon left behind.
Again the terrible ritual took place before the alter table. Henri, determined that he should thwart the apparition this once, snatched his mother's hand away as she was reaching out to take her husband's. The apparition opened its mouth and uttered the most hideous wail imaginable. Henri was hard-pressed not to recoil from the ear-splitting shriek. Crying out in anger, Henri lunged at the apparition and connected with the stone floor on the other side. Scrambling rapidly to his feet, Henri was in time only to see his mother and father, arm in arm, walking down the isle towards the doors.
The priests, when they came to prepare for the morning service, found a stranger prostrate before the alter, almost insensible with grief over some tragedy. Although he would say nothing, Henri allowed himself to be taken back to the inn and laid on the bed in his room. That last, terrible night, would haunt the inn-keeper until the end of his days. He woke suddenly as he heard the inn door opening and closing. Leaning out of the doorway, the inn-keeper saw Henri almost running towards the church. Terrified of what was afoot, the inn-keeper snatched the loaded pistol he always kept in his desk and followed Henri.
At the church all was as it had been on the previous nights except that Henri and his father were stood facing each other apparently conversing with each other. The inn-keeper, terrified as he was, crept near enough to hear but not be seen.
"You do not understand," Henri's father was saying, "I know not what it is that compels me to do this, but I know that until I have claimed the last of my line, I shall have no rest."
"Then why did you take Pauline?" Henri demanded, "She was of no relation to you."
"To make your own decision the easier."
"This is nonsense!" snapped Henri, "I shall defy you whilst I still have strength of will."
"You would defy your own father?" the apparition was becoming greatly angered, "You tried to thwart me when I came for my wife. Yet you failed. What makes you think you have the strength to avoid the same fate?"
Henri said nothing, his eyes seeming full of hate for the apparition stood before him.
"It is time," the apparition finally announced, "Come of your own free will or I can only promise you a more painful demise."
In response, Henri turned and fled, literally, for his life.
The next day the coach to the French/Italian border was ready. Its sole passenger was a much changed Henri. He did not look out of the window as the coach drew out of the town and away into the wilderness.
Nearly twelve hours and two teams of horses later the coach was winding its way into the mountains. Suddenly, the horses screamed and the coach picked up speed. They were racing along a mountain road, precariously balanced near the edge of a fantastic gorge. As they tore round a tight corner, the coach tipped towards the edge, Henri holding on for dear life until the strap that he gripped broke and his extra weight on one side sent the carriage tumbling into the abyss, horses and all.