A dreamExtracted from Le Figaro, April 12th, 1868:
“However extraordinary the following account may seem, the author, by declaring to have received it from vice-president of the legislative body himself (Baron Jérôme David), gives these words an incontestable authority.
During his stay in Saint-Cyr, David witnessed a duel between two of his classmates, Lambert and Poirée. The latter was hurt by a sword and was taken to the infirmary to be treated, where his friend David went up to see him every day.
One morning, Poirée seemed singularly disturbed to him; he pressed him with questions and ended by wresting from him the confession that his emotion came from a simple nightmare.
I dreamed that we were at the edge of a river, I received a bullet in the forehead, above the eye, and you supported me in your arms; I was in a lot of pain and felt like I was dying; I recommended my wife and my children to you when I woke up.
My dear, you have a fever, replied David laughing; get well, you are in your bed, you are not married, and you do not have a bullet above your eye; it is quite a dream; do not torment yourself like this if you want to get well quickly.
- It is singular, Poirée whispered, I have never believed in dreams, I do not believe in them, and yet I am upset.
Ten years later, the French army landed in Crimea; the Saint-Cyrians had lost sight of each other. David, an orderly officer attached to Prince Napoleon's division, was ordered to go, and discover a passage up the Alma. To prevent the Russians from taking him prisoner, this recognition was supported by a company of hunters, taken from the nearest regiment. The Russians rained down a hail of bullets on the escort men, who returned fire in retaliation.
Within ten minutes one of our officers rolled to the ground, mortally wounded. Captain David jumped off his horse and ran to pick him up; he leaned his head on his left arm and, untangling the gourd hanging from his belt, he brought it to the lips of the wounded man. A gaping hole above the eye stained the face with blood; a soldier brought a little water and poured it on the head of the dying man, who was already moaning.
David looks with attention at the features he seems to recognize; a name is pronounced next to him; there is no more doubt, it's him, it's Poirée! He calls him, his eyes open, the dying man in turn recognizes Saint-Cyr's comrade ...
- David! you here? ... The dream ... my wife ...
These interrupted words were not finished as the head was already falling inert on David's arm. Poirée was dead, leaving his wife and children to the memory and friendship of David.
I would not dare to tell such a story if I had not heard it myself from the honorable vice-president of the legislative body.
Vox populi.”
Why does the narrator add these words: Vox populi? We could understand them like this: facts of such a nature are so frequent that they are attested by the voice of the people, that is, by a general permit.
