It has been widely noted recently that enlistment in the military of the United States is suffering, and sometimes recruiters use means less than fully ethical to persuade young persons to enlist. Alfred de Vigny (1797–1863) joined the French army at the age of seventeen inspired by hopes of valiant deeds, but left the army in disillusionment in 1827, and devoted himself to writing. He himself did not need to be recruited. He was of aristocratic background, and entered as an officer. In his book Servitude et Grandeur Militaires “Military Servitude and Greatness,” however, he describes how a teenager is persuaded to join the ranks. Although fictional, it is doubtless based on truth, and indicates how methods of recruitment have not changed all that much over the course of two centuries. The future young soldier was born to a peasant family. His parents died of smallpox when he was a baby, and he was raised by the kindly parish priest of Montreuil, a small town quite close to Paris. A chance meeting with the Queen of France, who indicates that he should become a soldier, decides his fate. Despite the protestations of the priest his foster-father, he leaves Montreuil, and looks for the recruiting sergeants. Here is his story as he tells it.
I pulled my cotton cap over my ears, turned up my shirt collar, took my stick, and made for a little tavern on the Avenue de Versailles without saying goodbye to anybody. In this little tavern I found three fine fellows wearing hats laced with gold, and white uniforms with pink lapels. Their moustaches were smeared with black wax, their hair was powdered so that it seemed covered with hoar-frost, and they spoke as rapidly as purveyors of quack medicines. These three fine fellows were straight-up recruiting sergeants. They told me that I had but to sit down with them at the table to get a good idea of the complete happiness which recruits in the Royal-Auvergne enjoy permanently. They feasted me on chicken, venison, and pheasant, gave me bordeaux and champagne to drink, and excellent coffee. They swore to me on their honor that in the Royal-Auvergne I would never have anything else.
How right they were.
They swore to me also–for they swore all the time–that I would enjoy sweet liberty in the Royal-Auvergne. The private soldiers there, they said, were incomparably happier than captains in other regiments. I would enjoy the pleasant company of fine men and beautiful women. Invariably there was music, and they particularly appreciated men like myself who played the piano. This last assertion decided me.
So the next day I had the honor of being a soldier in the Royal-Auvergne. It was indeed a fine regiment, that is true. But I saw no more of my girl friend or of the parish priest. I asked for chicken for dinner, but I got that delightful mixture of potatoes, mutton, and bread, which was, is, and ever will be called ratatouille…They did me the honor of promising me that, if I behaved myself well, I would end up being admitted to the first company of grenadiers. So, soon I had a powdered pigtail which fell down nobly on my white shirt. But still, I no longer saw my girl friend, or the parish priest of Montreuil.
And I had no opportunity whatever for music…