THE one-sided tendency of the majority of the memoirs, narratives of adventure, and other semi-historical works, relating to the Italian and Hungarian insurrections, that have appeared within the last few years, can have escaped none who have formed even a superficial acquaintance with English and foreign publications of that class. Worsted in the battle, the revolutionists have had it all their own way in the more peaceable field of literature. The reason of this is obvious: compelled to sheathe their swords, and to subside, at least for a season, into comparative inaction and insignificance, revolutionary leaders and partisans could hardly do better than seize the pen, and console themselves for defeat or exile by telling of fruitless victories, of reverses which should have been triumphs, of the treachery of faithless friends, and the sanguinary deeds of vindictive foes. Independently of personal motives. the temptation to write in this strain is great and evident. Not an historical novelist who ever expanded Froissart into post octavos but will inform us how far more attractive a character is the patriot hero, struggling against tyrannical rulers, than the commonplace soldier, who merely does his duty, and deems himself rewarded by his general's approbation, and by that of his own conscience. For our part, amidst the mass of works on recent European convulsions that have come under our notice, we confess our preference of those limited to the impartial narration of events which the authors witnessed or shared in. Of this class are the spirited sketches now before us. Major de Pimodan doubtless never paused, when about to lead his squadron to the charge, to weigh the rights and wrongs of the Hungarian honveds or Piedmontese chasseurs, whose squares he was ordered to storm. As a sol

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dier, he did his duty without reasoning; as an author, he recites facts, and leaves the reader to draw his inferences and make his reflections. We have rarely read military memoirs in which there was less appearance of partisanship, and a greater apparent desire to give to all their due. It is easy to discern, from M. de Pimodan's frank and off-hand, but modest and unassuming narrative, that he is in no small degree coolheaded, intelligent, and daring. the recognition, by his superiors, of these invaluable military qualities, we are doubtless to attribute the numerous confidential missions with which he was intrusted, as well as his transfer, towards the close of 1848, from the army of Radetsky to that of Windischgraetz, when the latter commander, about to enter Hungary, wrote to the old marshal to ask the loan of some staff-officers of talent and experience. Thanks to this transfer, M. de Pimodan had opportunity of acquiring distinction and promotion in the two most important of recent revolutionary wars. Having seen so much, and knowing so well as he does how to narrate his adventures in a style both soldierly and scholarly, it would have been unpardonable to withhold them from the public. They were first published in the Paris Revue des Deux Mondes, whose pages, of late somewhat ponderous, would gain greatly if more frequently enriched by contributions of equal merit and interest.

It was in cantonments in an obscure Styrian village that M. de Pimodan, then a lieutenant of dragoons, received, in August 1847, the route for Italy. On the 9th the regiment set out; on the 5th September they reached Verona, the termination of their march. Before opening the campaign, we turn to M. de Pimodan's interesting sketch of the

history of his corps, now known as Prince Windischgraetz's Light Horse. "Our standard was a precious memorial, given to the regiment by Maria Theresa. At that period, and up to the end of the reign of Joseph II., the regiment was recruited in Flanders; the soldiers spoke nothing but French; they were known as the Walloons. They it was who decided the victory at the battle of Kolin, which at first appeared lost. The imperial army began to give way; Count de Thiennes, colonel of the regiment, received orders to retire; he flew to Daun Marshal,' he said, 'I shall attack, and if I perish with my regiment, our honour at least will be saved.' 'What can you do with your beardless Flemings? replied Daun, who knew that the regiment was then almost wholly composed of young recruits. You shall see,' cried de Thiennes; and plunged, followed by his officers, and at the head of the whole regiment, into the thick of the Prussian infantry. Thirty squadrons of Prussian hussars, supported by fifteen of dragoons in a second line, were overthrown by the Imperial cavalry, and victory declared for Austria; but de Thiennes was killed, and a third of the regiment lay upon the field. Many of the officers were of Lorraine: the history of the regiment has preserved their names; amongst them are those of Ficquelmont and Aspremont. The Great Frederick, seeing the battle lost, returned to Nymburg at full gallop, repeating to the officer who accompanied him, and whose horse fell dead with fatigue, Ah! my hussars, my brave hussars, are surely lost!' Maria Theresa loaded Daun with honours, (it was the first victory gained over the Prussians.) She went outside the walls of Vienna to meet him, and ordered that the soldiers of this brave regiment should thenceforward, in memory of their youth and heroism, wear neither beard nor mustaches; then, with her own hands, she embroidered on their standard a rose surrounded with thorns, and the motto, Qui s'y frotte s'y pique. At a later date the regiment was known as Latour's Dragoons; many who served in the great wars of Napoleon have met it and admired its bravery,

and many French generals mention it in their memoirs. 'Garde à nous! here are the Latours! was the cry of the French soldiers, when, after they had repulsed repeated cavalry charges, they beheld these intrepid horsemen hurled against their squares. The only Imperial eagle taken in Napoleon's first German campaign was captured in a charge made by these dragoons of Latour against the fifteenth regiment of French dragoons, at the combat of Haslau."

The autumn passed quietly at Verona; but still there were sounds of mischief in the air, and signs of coming revolution. All were on the qui vive, expecting an outbreak, which might take place at any moment. "At the least noise in the streets, the townspeople showed themselves at their doors, and the women peered anxiously through their lattices." Secret meetings were held in the large towns of Austrian Italy. At Milan, towards the end of February, several officers were insulted, and Lieutenant Count Thun, entering his house after drill, was wounded by an assassin's pistol. For some time the Latours, and other troops in garrison at Verona, were confined to barracks, with horses saddled, ready at an instant's notice to mount and away. Nearly every week battalions of Croats, tall fine men, whose harsh savage aspect contrasted with the somewhat effeminate physiognomy of the Italians, passed through the town, pressing forward to the Po and Ticino. Early in March the insurrection broke out. It had long been foreseen and announced by Marshal Radetsky, whose orders were given beforehand for the troops in Lombardy to rendezvous at Milan, and those in the Venetian States at Verona. The latter city was quiet, but all communication with Lombardy was cut off. "Revolutionary committees were organised in every town and village; the inhabitants made barricades in the streets; in the country districts the peasants cut the bridges over the numerous canals, dug ditches across the roads, and formed abattis of trees. Supplies of ammunition and artillery, stopped by these obstacles, were captured by the insurgents. Officers sent with des

patches did not return, and were reported to have been seen hung from trees with their own scarves. Of news there were none, and the most absurd rumours circulated on all sides." Things were in this critical state when M. de Pimodan was one night roused from his slumbers on a bench in the stables, by an order to repair instantly to the quarters of General Gherardi. There despatches were given him; a carriage was at the door; in five minutes he was on the road to Trieste.

"The next day at noon, as I entered Sacile, I saw a crowd assembled in the square. Seven or eight young men, with plumes in their hats, and armed like theatrical brigands, stopped my carriage. I put my hand to my sabre; but I saw by the gestures they made with their muskets that resistance was useless. They desired me to alight and follow them; they conducted me to the town-hall, and into a large room, where seven or eight men in black coats were seated round a table. I stepped forward and demanded, in a voice rendered menacing by anger, 'Who dares to arrest an imperial courier? None ventured to reply; all appeared embarrassed: one of them, however, rose from his seat and said that they wanted to hear news from Milan. I told them what I knew, and added, that Marshal Radetsky would destroy the city if the revolt continued. They seemed thunderstruck by the name and menace; but, plucking up courage-'We want a republic;' said one of them; equality for all.' I was uneasy as to how all this would end. The staircase was crowded with a ragged mob, some of whom had even made their way into the room. 'How now! I cried-equality for all, and you wear fine clothes whilst these poor people are almost naked! And turning to the crowd, I saw my words responded to by an approving smile. I took advantage of this, and approached the stairs. The crowd made way for me; I jumped into my carriage, and was off at a gallop."

Thanks to his prudence and presence of mind, M. de Pimodan passed safely through other similar perils, reached Trieste at two in the morning, delivered his despatches to Count Gjulai, the general commanding, and

by him was sent off, the following night, to convey others to Count Zichy at Venice. "The next morning when entering the port, and whilst admiring the beautiful spectacle which Venice presents, I heard some one shout to us from the guard-shipFora la bandiera! I paid no attention to this, thinking it some customary formality; but what was my astonishment when I saw the sailors haul down the flag with the imperial arms, and heard an immense crowd, assembled on the Piazzeta and the quay of the Schiavoni, make the air ring with shouts of Viva san Marco! Viva la Republica! Viva l'Italia! It was M. de Pimodan's fate to be preceded everywhere by revolutions. Venice was in full revolt, and a provisional government had been established. He was conveyed in a gondola, by the smaller canals, to the palace, which was its headquarters, and made to wait in a large hall, full of excited groups in eager conversation, and traversed every moment by secretaries and aides-de-camp, girt with tricoloured scarves. A naval officer approached M. de Pimodan, who addressed him. "I do not speak German," replied the officer, in excellent German, turning his back upon his interlocutor. Confusion and not a little alarm reigned amongst the new-fledged republicans. So great was the bewilderment and want of order that they actually read aloud, within hearing of the Austrian officer, a letter from the revolutionary committee of Treviso, informing the provisional government that the imperial troops were still in the town, the republic could not be proclaimed, and that the town had every thing to fear from Austrian vengeance. "After waiting about an hour," says M. de Pimodan, "they took me to M. Manin. I beheld a little man, about fifty years of age, seated before a desk; he wore spectacles, and had the appearance of having passed many sleepless nights; his gaze was dull, and his countenance pale with fatigue. He looked at me with an astonished air, as if at a loss to conjecture what had brought me to Venice at such a moment; then, opening a drawer, in which I saw gold, he put his hand in, and, fixing his eyes on mine; 'You are come to join us,

The insurrection at Venice, unknown at Trieste when M. de Pimodan had left that port, rendered the despatches for Count Zichy worthless. Nevertheless the bearer was anxious to see the count, and his ready wit suggested the means. He told Manin that he was on his way to join his regiment at Verona; that his nonarrival would make him suspected of desertion; and he entreated permission to speak to General Zichy, whose testimony might subsequently save him from punishment. Manin complied with his request, and he was taken to Zichy's quarters. The count was in bed. "I had rolled up my despatches in my sleeve, hoping to be able to give them to him unseen; but finding myself watched by his guards, I told him I was a prisoner, and talked of indifferent things, to gain time. At last, resting my arm upon his bedstead, I tried to catch his eye, and to guide it to the movement I was about to make to drop the despatches; but he was too dejected and prostrate to understand me. Fearing they would be taken by the Italians in the room, I dared not let them fall upon the bed. I was taken back to the hall; a moment afterwards a young man entered in great alarm, and exclaimed:'The Croats will not accept the capitulation; they refuse to lay down their arms, and declare that, if attacked, they will set fire to the town, and blow up the powder magazine.'Nonsense!' replied an ill-looking man there present, who then sat down, wrote a few lines, and went out of the room. In a few minutes he returned, flourishing the paper with a triumphant air. Here,' said he, 'here is the order for the Croats to lay down their arms. It is signed: General Count Zichy.' I know not by

what means this fellow procured the count's signature."

But negligently guarded, M. de Pimodan effected his escape, and after passing safely through numerous perils, once more reached Verona. He must have been invaluable as a courier, and callous to fatigue,-for the very same day we again find him on the road, bearing orders to General d'Aspre, at Padua, to concentrate at Verona all the troops of the province of Venice. The general had anticipated the order; the messenger met him near Vicenza, and returned with him to Verona, the garrison of which was increased by this arrival to sixteen thousand men.

It was a few days later, on the 29th March 1848, that M. de Pimodan, having been sent to Peschiera with a picket of cavalry, met in that fortress three squadrons of imperial Hulans, and four companies of Sluiners, who, having been compelled to abandon Cremona and Bergamo, had been for six days wandering about Lombardy, repeatedly brought to a stand by broken bridges and barricaded towns. When fording the Chiesa, above the little town of Montechiaro, they had had a skirmish with the natives, who had opened the sluices and drowned several men and horses, and had slain, in a cowardly manner, a captain of Sluiners, just as he was struggling out of the current. "It was the first time," says M. de Pimodan, "that I saw soldiers returning from a fight; their white cloaks were blood-stained, and in rear of the troops a few dismounted men marched proudly along, leaning on their broken lances. At Poussolengo, not far from Peschiera, the Sluiners had forced a passage, and pillaged some houses and shops; and that afternoon I saw them, in the open square, bandaging their black and weary feet with pieces of satin. The honest Croats had so little notion of even the most ordinary luxuries of life, that, having found some gilt china plates, they broke off the edges, and carefully preserved them, imagining the gilding to be of value."

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At Verona the utmost anxiety now prevailed for news of Radetsky and his army. It was known that the king of Sardinia had passed the Ticino in force, and the most sinister rumours were in circulation. The day after his arival at Peschiera, Lieutenant Pimodan-who was certainly one of the luckiest of subalterns, and on whose path opportunities of distinction, so ardently coveted by every young officer, seemed literally to pour down-was out reconnoitring with his party, when he perceived and captured, after a smart gallop, an insurgent courier, on whose person was found the following proclamation:"To arms! Radetsky's army, driven from Milan, flies towards Verona! To arms! brave Italians! Courage! and Italy is free!" Radetsky was near Brescia, so the prisoner informed his captors; whereupon the adventurous Pimodan, without a moment's hesitation, and accompanied only by his bravest and best-mounted dragoon, galloped off to meet the marshal. The risk was great; but hard riding and a bold face carried him through. Pistol in hand he dashed through the towns, ordering rations, as he passed, for an imaginary regiment of cavalry close at his heels; and near Montechiaro he perceived, to his delight and no small relief, the two foremost hussars of Radetsky's advanced-guard. A river of men, horses, and vehicles flowed along the narrow road, and Pimodan could advance but slowly against the stream. He learned from the officers that the marshal was with out news from Verona, and believed Mantua and Peschiera in the hands of the insurgents. Impatient to relieve his anxiety, the bearer of good tidings urged on his horse, and at last came up with the marshal, who was halted on an open place. Springing from my horse Excelency,' said I, 'General d'Aspre is at Verona with sixteen thousand men; Mantua and Peschiera are still ours.' Then the marshal embraced me several times, pressing me to his breast; the calm and tranquillity that reigned upon his features had, until that moment, been far from his heart; tears of joy rolled over his venerable countenance; and taking my hands kindly in his, he promised that he would think of me

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for promotion. Generals and colonels came to hear the good news from Verona, which were communicated in an instant to the whole army. I was perfectly happy."

To have earned the personal and heartfelt thanks of Father Radetsky, to have been embraced by him and to have drawn tears of joy from his eyes, were circumstances to be treasured in mind until a soldier's dying hour; and under the exhilaration they occasioned the young lieutenant, he must be pardoned the rather mad prank which he played on his way back to Peschiera, whither he immediately set out at full speed, dropping upon the road his orderly, whose horse was blown. Scampering through Desenzano, it suddenly occurred to him that the bell of a small church on the right of the road had rung an alarm on his previous passage. A number of men were now assembled in front of the church.

"I fell amongst them like a thunderbolt, pulled up my horse, and pointed my pistol at one of their heads. It is five o'clock,' I said; if yonder bell be not down and in a cart in twenty minutes, I blow your brains out.'" To save their companion's life the men obeyed orders, and the impetuous lieutenant bore away the bell, and made a triumphant entry into Peschiera; where, however, he only remained long enough to purvey himself a fresh horse, and galloped off to Verona to take General d'Aspre the good news of the marshal's arrival. His indefatigable activity did not remain unrewarded. A few days afterwards he was appointed orderly officer to Radetsky.

In a fertile country and fine climate, with a well-provided army and a chivalrous foe, war loses many of its horrors, and almost assumes the aspect of a mighty tournament. Disease, short commons, inclement weather, and bad quarters, are great abaters of military ardour. None of these evils were experienced to any extent during the brief war in Northern Italy, which M. de Pimodan enthusiastically describes as "a charming war, an elegant duel between courteous and well-bred people. The country was decked with flowers, whose scent embalmed the air; and in the evening