THE DAY OF THE PRESENTATION ON THE FIELD OF MARS
[Sidenote: THE DAY FINALLY FIXED]
The Coronation, Napoleon first proposed, should take place in the
Chapel of the Invalides, on the historic day of the 18th Brumaire
(November 9). Directly after it he would proceed in Imperial State,
wearing his crown and robes, to the Field of Mars--the Champ de Mars,
in front of the Military School, a stone’s-throw away--there to
administer the Military Oath of Allegiance to the Army and distribute
the Eagles at a grand review to be attended by representative
deputations from every regiment of the Army from all over the Empire,
assembled in Paris for the occasion. It was found preferable, however,
that the Coronation service should take place in the Cathedral of
Notre Dame instead of at the Invalides; and at a later date. Still,
however, Napoleon held to his first idea of proceeding direct from
the Coronation ceremony to the Field of Mars. He insisted that
the presentation of the Eagles should follow as a joint ceremony
immediately after his own consecration service. But there was Josephine
to be considered. She was to accompany Napoleon throughout. The
Empress, for her part, on hearing what was intended, declared herself
physically incapable of bearing the strain of the double ceremony, and,
in the result, Napoleon changed his original purpose at the eleventh
hour. He consented to put off the presentation of the Eagles until the
following morning. That plan, in turn, had to be altered. On the very
afternoon of the Coronation, on his return to the Tuileries from Notre
Dame, Napoleon found himself compelled, in consequence of the Empress’s
state of nervous prostration after the fatiguing Cathedral service,
again to defer the ceremony of the presentation of the Eagles. The
Emperor now fixed the following Wednesday, December 5, for the “_Fête
des Aigles_,” as the Army spoke of it--three days from then. There was
no further putting off after that.
The plans for the muster were drawn up on a grandiose and elaborate
scale. They provided for an immense attendance under arms of, according
to one account, eighty thousand men; to comprise the Imperial Guard,
and the garrison of Paris, together with special detachments sent to
Paris as representative deputations by every regiment and corps of
the Army, from all over the Empire. Over a thousand Eagles altogether
were to be presented: two hundred and eighty to cavalry regiments; six
hundred odd to infantry, artillery, and special corps; between forty
and fifty to the Navy (one for the crew of every ship of the Line in
commission); besides a hundred and eight to the departmental legions of
the National Guard, the constitutional militia of Revolutionary France,
which Napoleon, for reasons of policy, could not pass over. Every
infantry battalion and cavalry squadron, and brigade (or battery) of
artillery was to have its Eagle.
Each infantry deputation, from both the Imperial Guard and the Line,
would comprise the colonel or regimental commander, four other
officers, and ten sous-officiers and men from each of the three
battalions that at that period made up a French regiment of Foot. In
all, in addition to the regiments of the Imperial Guard, one hundred
and twelve regiments of the Line were to be represented, together with
thirty-one of Light Infantry, twelve of Grenadiers, and one of foreign
infantry. A deputation of fifteen officers and men was to represent
each of the hundred and odd cavalry regiments of the Guard and Line;
and smaller individual detachments would represent the various other
arms and branches of the service appointed to receive Eagles. They
would all pass before the Emperor and receive their Eagles from him
personally, on behalf of their absent comrades, the six hundred
thousand men who at that moment constituted the active field army of
France. From every French ship of the Line in commission there would
in like manner attend ten officers and men.
[Sidenote: THE WHOLE ARMY REPRESENTED]
From far and near the detachments of soldiers and sailors converged
on the capital, marching some of them hundreds of miles from the most
distant frontier garrisons of the Empire, and being several weeks on
the road. The deputations of the First Army Corps, for instance, part
of which was stationed in Hanover, set off early in October; some of
its soldiers, quartered by the Elbe, and with from four to five hundred
miles of road before them, started in the last week of September. The
detachments from Italy and the Venetian frontier, for another instance,
the deputations from the 1st of the Line, the 10th, the 52nd, and 101st
of the Verona garrison, had over eight hundred miles to go, and started
early in September. Quite an army, indeed, was on the move along the
highways of France during October and November; all heading for Paris,
marching by day and being billeted in the towns and villages by night.
A huge series of detachments came from the camp of the “Army of the
Ocean” at Boulogne assembled for the invasion of England. Marshal
Soult, the Commander-in-Chief at Boulogne, with Marshals Davout and
Ney, preceded them, Admiral Bruix, in charge of the Boulogne “Invasion
Flotilla” of gunboats and transports, accompanying Soult. The troops
in Holland; the garrisons of the Rhine fortresses, such as Mayence
and Strasburg, and of Metz; that of Bayonne on the Spanish frontier;
troops at every place of arms and cantonment and regimental dépôt all
over France--all sent their deputations; also every outlying camp,
every naval port along the coast, from the Texel and Antwerp, Brest,
Rochfort, and L’Orient round to Toulon, in the south.
Orders were given in every case that the detachments were each to bring
the existing regimental colours, which, it was understood, were to be
given up on parade in exchange for the Eagles.
A roomy expanse of level ground several acres in extent, an
oblong-shaped area nearly three-quarters of a mile in length and six
hundred yards across, the Field of Mars offered an ideal place for a
showy military spectacle. Thousands of people could look on comfortably
at the display from the turfed slopes of the twenty-feet-high
embankment which skirted the Field of Mars on three sides, and had
been fitted up by the municipality with rows of seats in closely set
tiers. As many as three hundred thousand spectators, indeed, could on
occasion be accommodated there. The fourth side of the Champ de Mars
was bounded by the _façade_ of the Ecole Militaire--three great domed
blocks of buildings connected together and affording a grand view of
the scene for hundreds of privileged guests. The entire frontage of
the Military School to the height of the first-floor windows was
taken up for the Day of the Eagles parade by an immense grand-stand,
constructed to form a series of pavilions for the accommodation of the
great official personages invited; with, in the centre, in front of the
lofty colonnaded portico, a magnificently decorated Imperial Pavilion,
whence Napoleon and Josephine seated on their thrones would look on and
receive the homage of the Army.
[Sidenote: THE WEATHER ON THAT MORNING]
The only thing that was unpropitious was the weather. It proved, as
far as the weather went, an unfortunate change of date. The day of the
Coronation, December 2--it was, by the way, Advent Sunday--had been
cold and trying, with lowering clouds overhead, but dry. On the Monday,
Napoleon’s second choice, it was much the same out of doors; and on
the Tuesday the weather kept fair. Then, however, it changed. During
Tuesday afternoon the glass began to go down ominously and a chilly
wind from the south-east set in. Towards ten at night rain and sleet in
incessant showers began to fall--typical Frimaire weather, in keeping
with the character of the “sleety month.” “When it did not rain,” says
somebody, “it snowed, and between whiles it rained and snowed at the
same time.” That was what the weather was like when Wednesday morning
broke; but in spite of it the Imperial programme was to be carried out
in its entirety, and hundreds of thousands of intending spectators
braved the discomfort and started early to get a good place for
witnessing the historic display.
All Paris turned out early, prepared to sit out the day from eight in
the morning until probably after four in the afternoon, packed in dense
masses round the Champ de Mars.
The heavy firing of salvos of artillery soon after dawn, from a dozen
points all over Paris, ushered in the day’s doings. The whole city was
already, as has been said, astir and in the streets, making its way
to the Champ de Mars. Everywhere dark columns of cloaked soldiers,
horse and foot, artillerymen without their guns, were tramping along
through the slush and mud for their posts; some to take part on the
route of the procession, which was to start from the Tuileries; most
of them bound for the Field of Mars. Along the streets to be passed by
the Imperial procession the houses were gaily decked out with festoons
and branches of evergreens, or with coloured hangings and drapings.
Oriental rugs of gorgeous hues and patterns, hired or borrowed for the
Coronation week, hung from most of the windows; they were the favourite
form of decoration. Here and there flags were seen, but it was not the
fashion in Paris at that day to fly flags largely on days of public
rejoicing.
At ten o’clock the cannon again thundered out an Imperial salute--a
hundred and one guns. All knew what that was for, and there was a hush
of expectation all over Paris. The guns meant that the Emperor had
started; that the Imperial State procession had left the Tuileries.
At that moment the chilly drizzle of sleet was still coming down, but
the universal enthusiasm rose superior to the wet and cold. No weather
could damp the anticipations of the excited Parisians over the Imperial
spectacle.
[Sidenote: MURAT COMMANDS THE PARADE]
On the Champ de Mars, as the guns began to fire, the soldiers--all long
since in their places drawn up in closely massed columns, that ranged
right round the parade ground on three sides--stripped off and rolled
up their soaked cloaks, fixed bayonets, and stood to arms. Murat,
Governor of Paris, Commander-in-Chief on the parade, took post in
front of the Imperial Pavilion before the Ecole Militaire: a gorgeous
figure in a bright blue velvet uniform coat, resplendently embroidered
with gold, a lilac sash with crimson stripes round his waist; in
scarlet breeches braided with gold, purple leather Hessians, trimmed
and tasselled with gold, with gleaming gold spurs and sabre-scabbard;
wearing a Marshal’s cocked hat with crimson ostrich-plumes, and mounted
on a no less splendidly caparisoned charger, with leopard-skin and
crimson and gold saddle-trappings. A brilliant _entourage_ of staff
officers and dandy aides de camp, daintily attired in pearl-grey
uniforms, with silver lace, or in crimson and green and gold, clustered
in rear of their chief.
Simultaneously, the massed bands of the Imperial Guard, who had been
playing national airs and popular music at times during the past hour,
formed to the front near by.
For the time being, until after the Emperor should arrive and take
his seat on the throne, the troops on parade, comprising the Army
deputations to receive the Eagles, remained as they had been marshalled
on arrival; arranged in a vast fan-shaped formation round three sides
of the Champ de Mars. The entire Imperial Army of Napoleon stood
represented within that space: Imperial Guard, and Line, Cavalry and
Artillery; the sailors of the Navy; the National Guard,--the _mise en
scène_ presenting a tremendous impression of martial power, as all
stood formed up in close order, in their full-dress review-uniforms,
muskets held stiffly at the support, bayonets fixed.
The Imperial procession set off in full State, accompanied by much the
same display of martial pomp that had attended the great Coronation
progress to Notre Dame of three days before. It moved off in a pelting
squall of sleet; but, almost immediately afterwards, as though Heaven
would fain spare the show, within a few minutes of the start, the sleet
and rain ceased and the weather unexpectedly improved.
[Sidenote: THE MAMELUKES LEAD THE WAY]
Foremost of all, the mounted Mamelukes of the Guard came prancing by,
radiant in Oriental garb, their curved scimitars drawn and gleaming;
a hundred swarthy figures in scarlet calpacks swathed round with
white turbans, garbed in vivid green burnous-cloaks well thrown back
to display gold-embroidered scarlet jackets, bright straw-coloured
sashes, and baggy scarlet trousers. Their famous Horse-tail Standard
headed the squadron. Eight hundred stalwart troopers of Napoleon’s pet
regiment, the corps whose uniform he always wore in camp, the Chasseurs
of the Guard, followed immediately after the Mamelukes. An ideal _corps
d’élite_ they looked as they rode by, in their bristling busbies of
dark fur topped with waving crimson and green plumes, dark green
double-breasted jackets, and crimson breeches; with crimson pelisses
hanging at the shoulder, fur-trimmed and barred with yellow braid in
hussar style. These two corps led the van of the procession.
The first set of Imperial coaches, with six horses each and outriders,
thereupon came by. They carried mostly State magnificos and grandees
of exalted position at Court. Coach after coach went slowly past at a
dignified pace: eight--nine--ten--eleven--conveyances, all spick and
span with new gilding and varnish. The twelfth coach, beside which
rode a bevy of smart equerries, held the Princesses of the Bonaparte
family: five grown-up ladies and the little daughter of Princess Louis.
It was rather a tight squeeze, for the five Imperial Highnesses were
plump and bulky persons, and had to be wedged closely; they brought
with them too, each lady, several yards of train, brocaded stuff with
stiff edging of gilt-gimp, and thick purple and emerald green velvet
mantling, which had all to be got in and kept from crumpling as much
as possible! What they said to one another has not been recorded--they
were usually free-spoken women with comments for most things ready to
their tongues, like other daughters of the Revolution. At any rate this
is known. They were in white silk dresses, low necked, and, in spite of
their close packing, shivered with the cold, which they felt bitterly.
“We were all,” related a Lady of Honour elsewhere in the procession,
“thinly dressed, as for a heated ball-room, and had only thin Cashmere
shawls to keep our shoulders warm with.”
Then came more soldiers. The immediate escort of the Emperor now
appeared. Sitting erect and stiff in their saddles, the Carabiniers
rode up--the senior cavalry regiment of France--eight hundred picked
horsemen uniformed in Imperial blue and crimson and gold, with helmets
of burnished brass, over which nodded thick tufted crests of crimson
wool. The officers, superb beings adorned with breastplates of gleaming
brass, led the regiment. The Carabiniers claimed to be the only corps
of the Napoleonic Army which could prove continuity with the Old Royal
Army, if not indeed with the historic “Maison du Roi” itself, the
Household Brigade of the Monarchy, owing to a curious oversight at the
Revolution through which the regiment had escaped dispersal.
Then came the Man of the Hour.
[Sidenote: THE IMPERIAL COACH APPEARS]
Napoleon now appeared, in his brand-new Imperial State coach. Eight
noble bays drew it--with harness and trappings of red morocco leather
studded with golden bees. A marvellous vehicle to look at was
Napoleon’s coach, gleaming all over with gilded carved work; its roof
topped by a great golden crown, modelled “after that of Charlemagne,”
as people told one another, upheld by four glistening gilded eagles.
The State coach sparkled all over, looking as if encrusted with
gold; a gleaming mass of carved and gilded decorations, representing
allegorical emblems, heraldic designs, and coats of arms in colour.
Napoleon’s head coachman of the Consulate days, César, sat on the box,
his fat form embedded in the centre of a luxurious hammer-cloth of
scarlet velvet, spangled over with golden bees. Outriders in green and
gold and walking footmen beside the horses added their part; also half
a score of Pages of Honour, hanging on all round at the sides and back
of the coach, in green velvet coats, gold laced down the seams, with
green silk shoulder-knots, scarlet silk breeches and stockings, and
white ostrich-plumes in their jaunty black velvet hats: most of the
lads future officers of the Guard. At either side rode Equerries and
_Officiers d’Ordonnance_, in white and gold or pale blue and silver.
To the crowds that lined the streets the State coach was a sight of the
day--the coach, for some, as much as the Emperor. All Paris, of course,
had not been able to find room round the Field of Mars, spacious as
the accommodation there was. The pavements all along the streets from
the Tuileries were packed with a dense crowd, which pressed everywhere
close up behind the double rows of Gendarmes and Imperial Guardsmen
keeping the processional route.
They shouted “Vive l’Empereur!” lustily, for all had a good view of
Napoleon through the great glass windows of the coach; seated inside
on the right, wearing his ostrich-feathered cap of semi-State, a gold
embroidered purple velvet mantle, and the Grand Master’s collar of the
Legion of Honour, sparkling with costly gems.
Josephine, a slender figure in ermine cloak and white silk dress,
sat on Napoleon’s left, and on the front seats sat Joseph and Louis,
side by side--the elder brother sleek and smiling, wrapped up in
a poppy-red cloak as Grand Elector of the Empire; Louis Bonaparte
wearing his blue velvet Constable’s mantle over the brass breastplate
of the Colonel-in-Chief of the Carabiniers, to which rank Napoleon
had specially promoted Louis, with the idea of maintaining an old
tradition of the Monarchy that the titular Commander of the Carabiniers
should always be a Prince of the Blood, “_Frère du Roi_.”
[Sidenote: CHIEFS OF THE “MAISON MILITAIRE”]
Napoleon’s Imperial Standard was borne immediately after the State
coach; a crowned eagle heading the staff; the flag a silken tricolor,
richly fringed with gold and bespangled with golden bees.
Four of the Marshals, readily recognised by their scarlet
ostrich-plumes and gold-tipped bâtons of command, attended the
Standard, and, as Colonels-General of the Imperial Guard, led the
Imperial Military Household, the “Maison Militaire de l’Empereur.”
The four were: Davout, titular chief of the Grenadiers of the
Guard; Soult, Colonel-General of the Chasseurs; Bessières, of the
Heavy Cavalry; Mortier, of the Guard Artillery. Close behind them
four other gorgeously brilliant officers of rank rode abreast,
the Colonels-General of the Cavalry of the Army: St. Cyr, of the
Cuirassiers, disdainful and sardonic of mien; stern Baraguay
d’Hilliers, of the Dragoons; good-looking Junot, Colonel-General of the
Hussars; and Napoleon’s son-in-law, the chivalrous Eugène Beauharnais,
Colonel-General of Chasseurs. A brilliant cavalcade of little less
resplendent cavaliers, the Emperor’s aides de camp, all of them
Generals of Division or Brigadiers, rounded up the group.
Another eye-surfeit of gleaming varnish, gilded carvings, and green
liveries continued the pageant: twelve other State coaches, six-horsed
like those in advance; carrying the personal suites of Napoleon
and Josephine and the Princesses, Court Chamberlains and similar
gold-embroidered functionaries, Ladies of the Palace and “Officers of
the Crown.” The procession ended after them; the rear being brought
up by the Mounted Grenadiers of the Guard, strapping troopers in
huge bear-skins--soldiers picked for their height and bearing from
the Cavalry of the Line--and the Gendarmerie d’Elite, who formed the
Imperial palace-guard.
More than half the Imperial Guard--numbering, in 1804, ten thousand
officers and men--lined the streets under arms; detachments of
Grenadiers and Vélites, Foot-Chasseurs, Veterans of the Guard, Marines
of the Guard. Through double rows of these, all standing with presented
arms, the procession took its way, passing from the Tuileries Gardens,
across the Place de Concorde and over the bridge there, to the
Esplanade des Invalides. Yet another thundering Imperial salute from
the twenty old cannons of the Batterie Triomphale greeted Napoleon at
that point; while rows of old soldiers, the maimed veterans of Arcola
and Rivoli and Marengo, shouted themselves hoarse, standing ranged in
front of the Outer Court beside Napoleon’s Venetian trophy, kept there
temporarily, the Lion of St. Mark.
From the Invalides, by way of the Rue de Grenelle, it was not far to
the Military School.
[Sidenote: WITHIN THE MILITARY SCHOOL]
Withindoors at the Ecole Militaire a pause was made in the Governor’s
apartments, which had been sumptuously furnished for the occasion from
the Imperial storerooms of the _Garde Meuble_. Napoleon here accepted a
number of selected addresses from the military delegations. One of them
was brought by the regimental deputation of the 4th Chasseurs stationed
at Boulogne. It thanked the Emperor in advance for the new standard he
was presenting to the corps, “trusting that the day is at hand when we
shall be able to contribute towards consolidating the splendour of the
Empire by planting our Eagle on the Tower of London.” The Emperor also
received the congratulations of the Ambassadors and Diplomatic Corps.
Ten hereditary German Princes of the Rhineland, visiting Paris for the
Coronation, attended at the Military School to witness the Presentation
of the Eagles; at their head the Prince-Bishop-Elector of Ratisbon,
Arch-Chancellor of the German Empire, the Margrave of Baden, and the
Princes of Hesse-Darmstadt and Hesse-Homburg. Napoleon and Josephine
after that withdrew to assume their crowns and Imperial regalia and
pass outside to the two thrones prepared for them and standing side by
side in the grand central pavilion in front.
The vast array of “guests of the Emperor,” seated outside, had of
course been long since in their places, awaiting the advent of their
Majesties amid surroundings designed on a scale of lavish magnificence
regardless of cost.
On either hand pavilions and galleries and platforms, canopied and
carpeted, draped and curtained and hung in crimson and gold, decorated
with festoons and banners, and fenced with gilded balustrading, covered
the whole length of the _façade_ of the Ecole Militaire fronting the
parade ground. In the centre stood the Imperial Pavilion, beneath
a canopy of crimson silk supported by tall gilded columns. Side
galleries draped, and under awnings led from it right and left to two
other pavilions, at either end of the _façade_, similarly adorned in
lavish gorgeousness. Below the galleries extended long stands, sloping
forward to the ground, draped in green and crimson, and packed with
rows of seats five or six deep. Here, partly in the open, sat the
provincial Coronation guests from the Departments: the local prefects
and sub-prefects, procurators, magistrates and syndics, mayors and
councillors, and other municipal functionaries, all in gala-day attire
of every colour, plumes in their hats, and buttons and embroidery all
over their coats. They made a many-hued show in the mass, seen from
the parade ground. The higher State dignitaries had seats under the
canopies of the galleries, and looked yet more decorative. Seated in
the pavilions on cushioned chairs were the Ambassadors and Foreign
Princes, the Senate, Corps Legislatif, and Tribunate, High Court
Judges in flowing robes of flame-coloured silk, and velvet-clad “Grand
Officers of the Empire,” in full-dress all. They looked imposing and
magnificent, but most of them were shivering, with damp bodies and
numbed fingers.
[Sidenote: IN THE IMPERIAL PAVILION]
The sleet had stopped for the time, but after the all-night’s downpour
of rain and snow the seats everywhere were in a sad condition. Canopies
and cushions, curtains, seats, carpets--everything had been drenched
through and swamped during the night. The discomfort, however, was past
helping and had to be borne. The Imperial Pavilion itself indeed had
not escaped a wetting, and in parts it was in little better condition
than the other places. “Only with the greatest diligence,” describes
one of the suite, “had it been possible to keep the thrones dry.”
Napoleon’s throne, with beside it the throne for Josephine, at a
slightly lower elevation, stood at the front of the Imperial Pavilion.
A gilt-framed crimson velvet Chair of State was provided for the
Emperor, with a crowned eagle in gilt stucco perched on the back; made
on the model of Dagobert’s chair on which Napoleon had sat during the
ceremony of the distribution of the Crosses of the Legion of Honour at
Boulogne. As on that day, so now, trophies of captured battle-flags
adorned the back of the Imperial daïs, selected from the two hundred
and odd standards taken in battle by the Armies of Italy and Egypt
which Napoleon had led in person: trophies of Montenotte and Arcola,
of Tagliamento and Lodi, of Rivoli and Castiglione; the red-and-white
banner of the Knights of Malta; the green Horse-tail Standard of the
Beys of Egypt; Austrian standards won by Napoleon at the crowning
triumph of Marengo.
To right and left of the Emperor, on richly decorated chairs of
ceremony, Joseph and Louis Bonaparte and the Princesses were seated.
The Imperial suites in attendance were grouped at the back together
with a cluster of court grandees, filling most of the spacious platform
behind the throne.
In the forefront, at the Emperor’s right hand, stood a splendid galaxy
of stalwart figures--the Marshals of the Empire. They stood forward
prominently. For them that was the day of days. All must see on such
a day the champion warriors of France, the renown of whose victories
had filled the world! The whole eighteen were there--all except one.
Marshal Brune alone was absent; on service out of France as Napoleon’s
Ambassador at Constantinople. The group was completed by the four
“Honorary Marshals”--the veteran Kellermann, the victor of Valmy;
Perignon; Serrurier; and Lefebvre.
[Sidenote: THE LIEUTENANTS OF THE WAR LORD]
Glance for one moment round the main group of thirteen, the chosen
lieutenants of Napoleon the War Lord, as they stand beside their Chief,
with, arrayed in front, the serried columns of the destined victors of
Austerlitz. Next to the Emperor and the Eagles it is they who on this
Day of the Eagles are the principal objects of interest to the general
spectator.
Let the reader for one moment imagine himself on the Imperial Pavilion,
with at his side a convenient friend who knows everybody, to point the
marshals out.
That short, spare, low-browed, swarthy, Italian-faced man, with crafty,
pitiless eyes, is Masséna--“L’Enfant chéri de la Victoire,” as Napoleon
himself hailed him on the battlefield; the very ablest undoubtedly of
all the Marshals. He knows it too. When the list of the Marshals first
came out, a friend called on Masséna to know if it was true that he
was one, and to congratulate him. “Oh yes, thank you,” replied Masséna
in an icy tone, puckering up his dark face with a sour look, “I am
one; _one of fourteen_!” He’s Italian in blood and breeding, and in
his tricky ways; every point about him: but he’d give his soul to be a
Frenchman! “Massène” is what he is always trying to get people to call
him. And the airs and self-importance he assumes--though only like most
of the others in that, indeed--ever since he became “Monseigneur le
Maréchal” and has had the honour of being addressed as “Mon Cousin”
by the Emperor! Just think of it! In the old days, behind the counter
of that little olive-oil and dried-fruit shop up a narrow, smelly back
street at Antibes, plain “Citoyen André” was good enough! Just look at
that thin, pouting chest, gleaming all over with gold embroidery, with
the broad crimson riband of the Legion of Honour slanting across it,
and the aggressive tilt of his ostrich-plumed hat! Imagine all that
being once upon a time just a cabin-boy on a Marseilles to Leghorn
coaster, half-starved and sworn at and cuffed and kicked about by a
curmudgeonly _padrone_! Then fancy it a sneaking smuggler, chevied
about, and crouching along to keep out of carbine shot of the Nice
_douaniers_! After that Sergeant Masséna of the late King’s _Royal
Italien_ regiment of the Line! And so to the bâton.
They are most of them rather _tête montée_ just now, with their
exaltation spick and span on them, these demi-gods of war of ours! Just
see them in the field, or on the march; away from the Emperor. They
stalk ahead in solitary grandeur; each with his own _pas seul_, keeping
the lesser creation at arms’ length, wrapped up in his own dignified
importance. Yet only six months since their lofty Excellencies were
mere generals of division, “Citoyen Général” this or that, each one;
just units among a hundred and twenty odd others! Nowadays, on the
march, your Marshal rides by himself, forty yards ahead of everybody;
his staff have to tail off well in rear and keep back! M. le Maréchal
doesn’t deign to open his lips, except to give an order. He lives by
himself: nobody now is good enough to ask to dinner, except perhaps
another marshal! No off-duty pleasantries nowadays; no more _bon
camaraderie_; no more telling of Palais-Royal stories, as it used
to be; no more cracking of jokes beside the bivouac fire. You might
as well expect a bishop to have a game of marbles! Let a former
brother-officer _tutoyer_ a marshal! Poor fellow! Let him try, if he
wants to know what a paralysing, rasping, cold-blooded snub is, to get
a flattening backhander he’ll remember as long as he wears the uniform.
[Sidenote: TWO FAMOUS HARD FIGHTERS]
That tall, bull-necked, heavy-featured man is Augereau; “gros comme
un tambour-major”; absolutely fearless under fire, kind-hearted to
those he takes a fancy to, they say, but ordinarily a coarse-tongued
swashbuckler, with barrack-room manners. There too is Lannes, that
keen-eyed, short man, holding his head as if he had a crick in his
neck! He has one, a permanent one, the result of a bullet under the jaw
from a British marine’s musket in the trenches at Acre. A hot-tempered,
fiery, devil-may-care fellow is Lannes; but as cold as ice on the
battlefield when things look like going wrong! Among friends,
chivalrous and generous-hearted to a degree, his men worship Lannes;
“the Roland of the Grand Army,” some call him. That is Moncey: and that
very tall and erect, dry, rather dense-looking, hawk-nosed marshal with
the shaggy eyebrows, Mortier. Mark Bernadotte there, that shifty-eyed
Gascon with a sharp nose and thick hair; of medium height,--nobody
really trusts him. An ingrained Jacobin--strip his arm and you will
find tattooed on it, indelibly, for life, “Mort aux rois”--and a
schemer, Napoleon named him a Marshal for political reasons mainly;
although, no doubt, he has the same soldier-qualifications as the
rest; has won a pitched battle or taken two fortresses. A cunning,
plausible fellow is Bernadotte; with ready smile and a smooth tongue.
He calls everybody “Mon ami” whether he is talking to a brigadier or
a bugler. “Que diable fait il dans cette galère?” say a good many
people of the Commander of the First Army Corps. Over yonder stands
Bessières, Murat’s great friend; a gentlemanly enough fellow, but at
times thick-headed, hardly of the mental calibre of his confrères. Yet
Bessières is an ideal leader of Horse on the battlefield; as reckless
as a lion at bay: you should see him head a charge sword in hand! One
of Napoleon’s pets is he and the only man in the Army who sticks to his
queue. Bessières flatly refused to cut it off when the order was given
last June for everybody to copy “Le petit tondu” (“The little shorn
one”), as the men call the Emperor, and it hangs halfway down his back.
That dark, sleek-faced, heavy-eyed man is Jourdan, Commander-in-Chief
once of the Army of the Revolution. “The Anvil,” some call him, he has
been so often soundly beaten. But, all the same, he was too popular
with the Army for Napoleon to pass him over. Jourdan it was who
invented the conscription system. He started in life as a linen-draper
at Grenoble. There is of course, too, Brune, who isn’t here to-day: but
he doesn’t count for much. A minor-poet and a journalist was he once
upon a time. He’s another of the clever-tongued Jacobins the Emperor
gave the bâton to as a sop.
[Sidenote: NAPOLEON’S RIGHT-HAND MAN]
Look near the Emperor, at that neat athletic figure, of middle height:
that is “Old Berthier.” He is from ten to fifteen years older than most
of the other marshals; or, in fact, than the Emperor himself. Berthier,
in fact, is old enough to have been a captain in the Army of the
_ancien régime_, and can remember how he first smelt powder fighting
under Lafayette and Washington against the British in America. He was a
staff officer when Napoleon first came to the Ecole Militaire here from
Brienne, as a boy gentleman-cadet. A heaven-born Chief of the Staff is
Marshal Berthier, and the Emperor without him in a campaign would be
like a man without his right hand. Every detail goes like clockwork
with Berthier at the head of the Etat-Major.
You should see the two of them on campaign, working together in the
Quartier-Général. Napoleon will be sprawling on his stomach at full
length over a huge set of maps which cover, spread out, nearly the
whole floor of the tent; an open pair of compasses in his hand, a box
of pins with little paper flag-heads, red, blue, yellow, green, at one
side, some of them already stuck over the map marking the positions
of the different corps and of the enemy. He has the compasses set to
scale, to mark off some seventeen to twenty miles, which means from
twenty-two to twenty-five miles of road, taking into account the
windings. To and fro he twists and turns the compasses like lightning
and decides in an instant the marches for each column to arrive at
the desired point, all timed exactly to the very day and hour with an
astonishing certainty and precision. He calls out his instructions
in half a dozen words or so, sharply snapped out, for Berthier, who
all the time is standing near, bending down at Napoleon’s shoulder,
notebook and pencil in hand, to take down. Old Berthier has a veritable
instinct for understanding what the Emperor means. He can interpret the
smallest grunt Napoleon makes. He can spin out three or four broken
ejaculations into detailed orders for an Army Corps, all worked out
with absolute clearness, in beautiful language. It is amazing how he
does it, but he does do it. A staff officer, or else Bacler d’Albe, the
Imperial Military Cartographer, the officer in charge of the maps, it
may be, is all the while also kneeling by the pin-box, and has the pins
of the right colour out and stuck in the maps as fast as the Emperor
wants them. The instant the Emperor is satisfied, Berthier is off, and
with the secretaries at work in his own quarters drafting the orders.
Then, before you know well where you are, a dozen _estafettes_ are
galloping all over the country with the orders--in the case of a very
important order sometimes three or four staff officers each take a
copy, to ride by different routes so as to minimise the risk of delay
or capture. That is the working of Berthier’s system, and there is not
often a miscarriage or serious hitch in the delivery.
[Sidenote: MARSHALL SOULT]
And mark Soult, the coming man of the Marshals when he gets his chance;
a wary old dog-fox for an enemy to tackle. A sergeant of infantry in
the old “Royal Regiment” of former days, the old 13th of the Line, then
a drill-instructor of Volunteers, now he is at the head of the Army
at Boulogne for the descent on England. Hardly even the Emperor knows
more about tactics than Soult. Note how self-possessed and masterful
he looks, so cold and impassive of demeanour. Those eyes that seem to
pierce through you, those clear-cut aquiline features, that face like
a mask of bronze, show the character of the man. You wouldn’t think
though, to see his fine soldier-like figure as he stands there, a
warrior born to look at, that Soult is not only lame from a fall from
his horse years ago, but has limped from his birth, from a club-foot.
That bald-headed marshal over there is Marshal Davout, a dashing
subaltern of Dragoons once in the Old Royal Army. A fine tactician
for a hot place is Davout; and when the fight has been won, no leader
so harsh and pitiless to the vanquished enemy. He wears spectacles on
service: he can hardly see ten yards in front of his big nose. The
ladies are very fond of Davout; he waltzes so nicely.
And that other there is Marshal Ney; “the Indefatigable” is the
Army’s name for him. He never spares himself, nor the enemy, on the
battlefield; but after the last shot there is no more generous victor
than Marshal Ney. For sheer dogged pluck against odds, for simply
marvellous intrepidity, the world cannot match Ney. Stalwart and
square-shouldered, he carries himself with all the jaunty assurance of
manner you would expect in perhaps the most dashing leader of hussars
the Army of France has known. He is an Alsatian, born by the Rhine; a
pleasant-faced man, with frank grey eyes, curly red hair over a broad
open forehead. “Red Michael” is one of the soldiers’ names for Ney; and
there is not one of the Marshals for whom his men would do more.
[Sidenote: THE EAGLES AWAIT NAPOLEON]
Such, if it may be permitted to describe them in this way, is something
of what the Marshals of Napoleon looked like on the day of the Eagle
presentation on the Field of Mars. All eyes were turned on the Marshals
as they stood there beside Napoleon; a brilliant array of soldierly
figures in their red ostrich-plumed cocked hats, richly laced uniforms,
gleaming brass-bound sword-scabbards and high jack-boots with clanking
brass spurs.
From the foot of the throne a grand staircase led down to the parade
ground, widening out with a curving sweep to either side at the foot.
It terminated there with, flanking the lower steps, two gilded statues,
designed to represent, the one, “France granting Peace,” the other,
“France making War.” From top to bottom of the stairs and extending
at the foot to right and left along either side, stood in rows the
colonels of the regiments on parade, together with the senior officers
of the National Guard, all awaiting the Emperor’s appearance on the
throne. Each bore the new Eagle standard to be presented to his own
corps. All were at their posts as the appointed moment neared, while at
the same time Murat and his attendant cavalcade of brilliantly bedecked
horsemen closed in and formed up in front, so as immediately to face
Napoleon.
On either hand of Murat were ranked the massed bands of the Imperial
Guard, flanked by two solid phalanxes of drummers, each a thousand
strong. Near by these were drawn up on horseback, on one side the
officers of the Head Quarters Staff at the War Office, on the other,
the staff officers of the army corps of the Marshals.
Napoleon and Josephine made their entry into the Grand Pavilion
heralded by a procession, the bands of the Guard playing the Coronation
March. Then, to the accompaniment of three successive shouts of “Vive
l’Empereur!” from the soldiers--the formal greeting to Napoleon
on parade, in accordance with Army regulation--the Emperor seated
himself on the throne. He was in full Imperial garb, wearing his
Imperial mantle of rich crimson velvet studded with golden bees, and
the Imperial crown, a golden laurel chaplet “after Charlemagne.” In
his right hand he bore the Imperial sceptre, a tall silver-gilt wand
with an eagle surmounting it, also designed, as they said, “after
Charlemagne.”
Seating himself with Josephine at his side, in her State robes and with
a magnificent crown of diamonds on her head, Napoleon gave the order
for the proceedings to begin.
Murat, as Governor of Paris, in immediate command of the parade, raised
his glittering marshal’s bâton. The bands of the Guard ceased playing
abruptly. The next moment the two thousand infantry drums began to
beat. It was the appointed signal for the detachments to advance and
form up in front of the throne.
At once, at the first roll of the drums, the soldiers ranged round the
ground began to move.
Wheeling some, counter-marching others, here rapidly doubling, there
marking time--looking, indeed, for the moment, at first, in the mass,
to the untrained eye of the non-military spectator like a swarming
ant-heap in motion and inextricably intermingled--like magic all
suddenly appeared in order, a series of columns, the heads of which,
arrayed at regular intervals, were in unison converging concentrically
towards the foot of the grand staircase in front of the throne. A dozen
paces in rear of where Murat stood all halted as one man. There was a
quick movement of bayonets as arms were shouldered; the action making a
glint of flashing steel in spite of the dull grey light overhead.
[Sidenote: NAPOLEON FACES THE PARADE]
Every sound was hushed as Napoleon rose to his feet. He faced the
wide-spreading multitude and gazed silently over them for a moment;
standing well forward where all might see him. Then he addressed the
parade in strong vibrant tones which rang out clear and resonant over
the whole assembly like a trumpet-note. In words that seemed to thrill
with intensified energy he called on the soldiers before him, on
behalf of themselves and their absent comrades, to take the oath of
devotion to the Eagles.
“Soldiers!” he began, his right arm outstretched with an impassioned
gesture towards the Eagles, whose bearers held them stiffly erect, all
glancing and gleaming like polished gold, the bright-hued silken flags
unfurled, “behold your standards! These Eagles to you shall ever be
your rallying-point. Wherever your Emperor shall deem it needful for
the defence of his throne and his people, there shall they be seen!”
He paused. Then raising his right hand in the air with a swift
strenuous movement Napoleon pronounced the oath:
“You swear to sacrifice your lives in their defence: to maintain them
by your courage ever in the path of Victory! You swear it?”
The vast gathering stood as though spellbound. For one instant all
remained motionless and silent, held down as it were by overmastering
emotion.
Then, all together, with one accord, the soldiers found their voices.
With a thundering shout that seemed to shake the air, the Army made its
response, answering back in one deep chorus:
[Sidenote: “WE SWEAR IT! WE SWEAR IT!”]
“_Nous le jurons!_”--“We swear it!”
One and all enthusiastically re-echoed the words; while the colonels
excitedly brandished and waved aloft the Eagles. In a frenzy of martial
ardour the entire assembly, at the top of their voices, again and
again declaimed, “We swear it! We swear it!” A wild prolonged outburst
of cheering followed, and exuberant shouts of “Vive l’Empereur!”
Before the cheering had abated, the drums broke in again. The sharp
clash and rattle recalled all to order instantly. Again a dead silence
fell over the great host, standing now with recovered arms.
Up once more went Murat’s marshal’s bâton. The next moment the
dense-set columns were standing stock-still like rows of statues, with
arms at the shoulder.
Napoleon resumed his seat on the throne, and as he did so yet once more
a wave of enthusiasm swept over the vast array. Redoubled shouts of
“Vive l’Empereur!” burst wildly forth, the soldiers pulling off their
hats or helmets, and hoisting them on the points of their bayonets,
excitedly waving them, while they shouted themselves breathless.
Again the drums rolled, and again order was restored. And now the
supreme act of the drama opened--the formal presentation of each Eagle
to its own regimental deputation.
Forthwith the wide-fronted columns, breaking swiftly into
quarter-column formation, began to move, section by section, in turn.
Rapidly, and, as it almost seemed, automatically, they resumed their
first formation, extending round the Field of Mars on three sides.
From front to rear the quarter-columns took up a full mile and
three-quarters. Ranked in close order, the long-drawn-out array of
troops on that set off, to a stately march from the bands of the Guard,
to pass along the front of the Military School, before the flanking
pavilion, and galleries and stands. So, in due course, all in turn came
opposite to the foot of the great stairway ascending to the throne.
Each section, as it came in front of the steps, made a pause. The
Colonels at the same moment were passing in file before Napoleon. Each
in turn inclined the Eagle that he bore towards the Emperor. He held
the staff at an angle of forty-five degrees--the regulation method of
salute, in accordance with an Imperial order issued in the previous
July, when the adoption of the Eagle as the Army standard was first
announced. Napoleon on his side, with his ungloved right hand, just
touched each Eagle. The Colonels, then, saluting, turned, one after
the other, to descend the stairs. At the foot of the stairway each
delivered over the Eagle to the standard-bearer of his regiment, who,
together with the deputation, was at the spot to receive it.[5]
[Sidenote: THE ONLY EXISTING NAVAL EAGLE]
With the Eagles in their charge the regimental parties moved on.
Passing in front of the stands and pavilions beyond, all wheeled
there, to pass again round the arena of the Field of Mars, until they
had reached their former stations, and halted, all ranged in the order
in which they had taken post at their first arrival.
[Sidenote: THE EAGLE OF THE IRISH LEGION]
There remained after that the grand _finale_. The March Past of
the Eagle detachments before Napoleon now came on, designed as the
consummation of the day’s doings.
In connection with that, however, there was an unfortunate incident.
On the Field of Mars were displayed also the old Army colours of the
Consulate, which, as has been said, had been brought to Paris at the
order of the War Minister by the regimental deputations. Paraded
together with the new Eagles they helped to render the scene the more
striking; but their presence led to an unforeseen complication, and in
the end a deplorable _contretemps_.
The standard-bearers who had received the Eagles were each, in
addition, still carrying the old regimental flag. They had to
carry both. No instructions had been given out--by oversight, most
probably--as to the giving up of the old flags, or what was to be done
with them.
[Sidenote: ALL DID NOT WANT THE EAGLES]
It may have been that Napoleon desired that the standards of the
Consulate and the Eagles of the Empire should be displayed together
on that day. None knew better than he the deep attachment of the
older men in the ranks for their former battle-flags. Some of the old
soldiers, indeed, even there on the Field of Mars, as we are told, were
unable to restrain their feelings at the idea of having to part that
day from their old colours. “More than one tear was shed,” relates an
officer, “amidst all the cheering and shouts of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’”
Enthusiastically as most of the soldiers might welcome the new Eagles
in the presence of the Emperor, all did not desire to part with
colours which had led through the battle-smoke on many a victorious
field of the past, even in exchange for the glittering “Cou-cous,” as
barrack-room slang had already dubbed Napoleon’s Eagles, giving them in
advance a soldier’s nickname that stuck to them as long as the Army of
the Empire lasted.
Both sets of standards were carried in the march past, which proceeded
without incident to a certain point.
It was an effective display of the lusty manhood of France, of the
pick of the Grand Army in its prime; not yet made _chair au canon_
to gratify the ambition of one man. A curious commingling, too, of
fighting costumes did the review present for the general spectators;
those of yesterday side by side with those of the coming time.
Three-fourths of the soldiers went by wearing the stiff Republican
garb of the expiring _régime_, as adopted hastily at the outset of
the Revolution: the long-skirted coat, cut after the old Royal Army
fashion, but blue in colour instead of white, and with white lapels
and turn-backs; long-flapped white waistcoats, white breeches, and
high black-cloth gaiters above the knee, such as their ancestors
had worn in the days of Marshal Saxe; the old-style big cocked hat,
worn cross-wise, or “en bataille,” as the soldiers called it, with
a flaunting tricolor cockade in front. The new Napoleonic style was
represented by the Imperial Guard and Oudinot’s Grenadier Division from
Arras and the Light Infantry battalions, whose turn out in smartly cut
coatees faced with red and green, with the tall broad-topped shakos
pictures of the time make us familiar with as the normal presentment of
the soldiers of the Empire, attracted special attention.[6]
During the March Past, Frimaire suddenly reasserted itself, and brought
about the regrettable incident that was to wind up the day.
The parade was three parts through, when, all of a sudden, a tremendous
downpour of cold rain set in, discomfiting and scattering all who
were looking on. With the drenching effect of a shower-bath the rain
commenced to pour down in torrents, causing an immediate stampede
among the general public. The rearmost columns of the soldiers had to
pass before empty benches, tramping along stolidly through the mud,
“splashing ankle-deep through a sea of mud,” as an officer put it.
[Sidenote: THE SPECTATORS DISAPPEAR]
The spectators one and all disappeared. The immense crowd of sightseers
left the benches on the embankment round the Champ de Mars, and fled
home _en masse_. The seat-holders on the open stands in front of the
Ecole Militaire scurried off in like manner. The occupants of the
pavilions and galleries, half drowned by the water that streamed down
on them through the awnings, quitted their places in haste to seek
shelter within the building. The downpour saturated the canopy of the
Imperial Pavilion and dripped through. It compelled Josephine to get up
from her throne and hurry indoors. The Princesses promptly followed the
Empress’s example, all except one--Napoleon’s youngest sister, Caroline
Murat. Caroline sat the March Past out to the end, together, of course,
with Napoleon himself and the Marshals, and those Court officials who
had to stay where they were. Soaked through, she smilingly remarked
that she was “accustoming herself to endure the inconveniences
inseparable from a throne!”
Then, at the close of the review, came the _contretemps_.
After the last Eagle had gone past the throne, when Napoleon had left
on his way back to the Tuileries, as the troops were moving off the
ground to return to their quarters, unanticipated trouble suddenly
arose in connection with the old flags. What happened may best,
perhaps, be described in the words of an eye-witness, a General present
on the Field of Mars, Baron Thiébault:
“Immediately after the Emperor had gone and the seats all round
were empty, finding it tiresome to be loaded with the double set
of standards, all the more so, no doubt, as it was raining, the
standard-bearers apparently could think of nothing better than to rid
themselves of the superseded flags. They began everywhere to throw them
down, that is, to drop them where they stood in the mud. There they
were trampled under foot by the soldiers as they passed along on their
way back to quarters.”
The outrage scandalised the older soldiers, and very nearly brought
about a mutiny among some of them.
“Indignant,” to continue in General Thiébault’s words, “at such an
outrage to national emblems which the Army had been honouring and
defending for thirteen years past, many of the men in the regiments
began to grumble and make angry protestations. Presently oaths and
violent imprecations burst out on all sides; and then some of the
grenadiers became mutinous and defiant. They declared that they
would go back, regardless of the consequences, and forcibly recover
possession of the old colours.”
[Sidenote: THE SITUATION JUST SAVED]
The situation speedily became so threatening that General Thiébault
hastened off to warn Murat of what was happening. As he went he came
across one of the adjutants of the Commandant of the Military School.
On the spur of the moment he gave him orders to get together what men
he could of the party who had been keeping the parade ground. Of these
Thiébault took personal charge and sent them round at once to collect
the thrown-down colours and carry them inside the Ecole Militaire.
Apparently that satisfied the soldiers--anxious, most of them, to get
out of the wet as soon as possible.
General Thiébault tried after that to find Murat, intending to report
to him; but Murat had by then left the Field of Mars. In the end the
General decided, as perhaps the wisest course, to refrain from saying
anything; not to take official notice of what had happened. After all
he was not on duty at the parade; he was only in Paris as an invited
guest at the Coronation festivities. Nobody, as a fact, said a word
of the affair. By the authorities all reference to it seems purposely
to have been hushed up. Not a hint of anything of the sort appeared
in the _Moniteur_, which published a fairly full report of the day’s
proceedings; not a word in any of the other Parisian papers.
For the soldiers a dinner of double rations at the Emperor’s expense
wound up the Day of the Eagles; for the great personages there was
“a banquet at the Tuileries, at which the Pope and the Emperor sat
side by side at the same table, arrayed in their Pontifical and
Imperial insignia and waited upon by the Grand Officers of the Crown.”
Afterwards, without delaying in the capital, the deputations set off
on their return to rejoin their regiments. Their arrival at their
various destinations was celebrated everywhere, by Imperial order, by
a full-dress parade and State reception of the Eagle by each corps;
the occasion being further treated as a fête-day and opportunity for a
general carousal in camp or garrison. At Boulogne the regiments of the
“Army of England” took over their Eagles at a grand review on December
23, Marshal Soult presiding over the ceremony.
[Sidenote: THE CLOSE OF THE DAY]
The old standards of the Consulate, some bearing on them the
battle-scars of Marengo and Hohenlinden, remained where General
Thiébault’s assistants had left them stacked, leaning up against the
wall in one of the corridors of the Military School, until they were
carted off in artillery tumbrils to the central dépôt at Vincennes.
There, on New Year’s Day of 1805, they were officially made away with;
burned to ashes in the presence of an ordnance department official told
off to certify to their complete destruction. That was the authorised
method in France of disposing of the standards of a discredited
_régime_; but all the same it was a hard fate for national emblems that
had waved victoriously over so many a hard-fought field.
Such were the principal scenes and incidents of the Day of the Field of
Mars when Napoleon presented the Eagles of the Empire to the Soldiers
of the Grand Army.