A few mornings after this occurrence, when, as Duchesne himself
prophesied, all memory of it was completely forgotten, the _ordre du
jour_ from the Tuileries commanded all the troops then garrisoned in
Paris to be under arms at an early hour in the Champs Élysées, when the
Emperor would pass them in review. The spectacle had, however, another
object, which was not generally known. The convoys of the wounded from
Austerlitz were that same day to arrive at Paris, and the display of
troops was intended at once to honor this _entrée_, and give to the sad
procession of the maimed and dying the semblance of a triumph. Such were
the artful devices which ever ministered to the deceit of the nation,
and suffered them to look on but one side of their glory.
As I anticipated, the chevalier was greatly out of temper at the
whole of this proceeding. He detested nothing more than those military
displays which are got up for the populace; he despised the exhibition
of troops to the vulgar and unmeaning criticism of tailors and barbers;
and, more than all, he shrank from the companionship of the National
Guard of Paris,--those shop-keeping soldiers, with their umbrellas and
spectacles, who figured with such pride on these occasions.
“Another affair like this,” said he, passionately, “and I'd resign my
commission. A procession at the Porte St. Martin,--the _boeuf gras_ on
Easter Monday,--I'm your man for either: but to sit bolt upright on your
saddle for three, maybe four hours; to be stared at by every _bourgeois_
from the Rue du Bac; to be pointed at with pink parasols and compared
with some ribbon-vender of the Boulevards,--_par Saint Louis!_ I can't
even bear to think of it! Look yonder,” said he, pointing to the court
of the Palace, where already a regiment was drawn up under arms,
and passing in inspection before the colonel; “there begins the
dress-rehearsal already. His Majesty says mid-day; the generals of
division draw out their men at eleven o'clock; the colonels take a
look at their corps at ten; the _chefs de bataillon_ at nine; and,
_parbleu!_the corporals are at work by daybreak. Then, what confounded
drilling and dressing up, as if Napoleon could detect the slightest
waving of the line over two leagues of ground; while you see the
luckless adjutants flying hither and thither, cursing, imprecating,
and threatening, and hastily reiterating at the head of each company,
'Remember, men, be sure to remember, that when the drums beat to arms,
you shout “Vive l'Empereur!”' Rely upon it, Burke, if we had but one
half of these preparations before a battle, we 'd not be the dangerous
fellows those Russians and Austrians think us.”
“Come, come,” said I, “you shall not persuade me that the soldiers feel
no pride on these occasions. The same men who fight so valiantly for
their Emperor--”
“Stop there, I beg of you,” said he, bursting into a fit of laughter.
“I must really cry halt now. So long as you live, my dear friend, let
nothing induce you to repeat that worn cant, 'Fight for their Emperor!'
Why, they fought as bravely for Turenne, and Villars, and Maréchal Saxe;
they were as full of courage under Moreau, and Kleber, and Desaix, and
Hoche; ay, and will be again when the Emperor is no more, and Heaven
knows who stands in his place. The genius of a French army is fighting,
not for gain, nor plunder, nor even for glory, so much as for fighting
itself; and he is the best man who gives them most of it. What reduced
the reckless hordes of the Revolution to habits of discipline and
obedience but the warlike spirit of their leaders, whose bravery they
respected? And think you Napoleon himself does not feel this in his
heart, and know the necessity of continual war to feed the insatiable
appetite of his followers? In a word, my friend,” added he, in a tone of
mock solemnity, “we are a great people; and Nature intended us to be so
by giving us a language in which _Gloire_ rhymes with _Victoire_. And
now for the march, for I fancy we are late enough already.”
There are few sources of annoyance more poignant than to discover any
illusion we have long indulged in assailed by the sneers and sarcasms
of another, who assumes a tone of superior wisdom on the faith of a
difference of opinion. The mass of our likings and dislikings find their
way into our heart more from impulse than reason, and when attacked are
scarcely defensible by any effort of the understanding. This very fact
renders us more painfully alive to their preservation, and we shrink
instinctively from any discussion of them. While such is the case, we
feel more bitterly the cruelty of him who, out of mere wantonness, can
sport with the sources of our happiness, and assail the hidden stores
of so many of our pleasures; for unhappily the mockery once listened to
lies associated with the idea forever.
Already had Duchesne stripped me of more than one delusion, and made me
feel that I was but indulging in a deceptive happiness in my dream of
life; and often did I regret that I ever knew him. It is not enough to
feel the sophistry of one's adversary, you should be able to detect and
expose it, otherwise the triumphant tone he assumes gives him an air
of victory which ends by imposing on yourself. And of this I now felt
convinced in my own case.
These thoughts rendered me silent as we wended our way towards the
Tuileries, where the various officers of the staff and the _corps
d'élite_ were assembled. Here we found several of the marshals in
waiting for the Emperor, while the Mameluke Guard, in all the splendor
of its gay equipments, stood around the great entrance to the Palace.
Many handsome equipages were also there; one, conspicuous above the
rest for its livery of white and gold, with four outriders, belonged to
Madame Murat, the Grand-Duchess of Berg, whose taste for splendor and
show extended to every department of her household.
At last there was a movement in those nearest the Palace; the drums
beat to arms, the guard within the vestibule presented, and the Emperor
appeared, followed by a brilliant staff. He stood for a few seconds on
the steps, his hands clasped behind his back, and his head a little bent
forwards as if in thought; then, drawing himself up, he looked with
a gaze of proud composure on the crowd that filled the court of the
Palace, and where now all was silent and still. Never before had I
remarked the same imperious expression of his features; but as his
eye ranged over the brilliant array, now I could read the innate
consciousness of superiority in which he excelled. Ney, Murat, Victor,
Bessières,--how little seemed they all before that mighty genius, whose
glory they but reflected!
Oh, how lightly then did I deem the mocking jests of Duchesne, or all
that his sarcasm could invent! There stood the conqueror of Italy
and Egypt, the victor of Marengo and Austerlitz, looking every inch a
monarch and a soldier. Whether from thoughtless inattention or studied
affectation I cannot say, but at that moment, when all stood in
respectful silence before the Emperor, Duchesne had approached the
grille of the Palace, next to the Place du Carrousel, and was busily
chatting with a pretty-looking girl, who, with a number of others, sat
in a hired calèche. A hearty burst of laughter at something he said rang
through the court, and turned every eye in that direction. In an instant
the Emperor's eagle glance pierced the distance, and fastened on the
chevalier, who, seated carelessly on one side of his saddle, paid no
attention to what was going forward; when suddenly an aide-de-camp
touched him on the arm, and said,--
“Monsieur le Capitaine Duchesne, his Majesty the Emperor would speak
with you.”
Duchesne turned; a faint, a very faint flush, covered his cheek, and
putting spurs to his horse, he galloped up to the front of the terrace,
where the Emperor was standing. From the distance at which I stood,
to hear what passed was impossible; but I watched with a most painful
interest the scene before me.
The Emperor's attitude was unchanged as the chevalier rode up; and when
Duchesne himself seemed to listen with a respectful manner to the words
of his Majesty, I could see by his easy bearing that his self-possession
had never deserted him. The interview lasted not many minutes, when the
Emperor waved his hand haughtily; and the chevalier, saluting with his
sabre, backed his horse some paces, and then, wheeling round, rapidly
galloped towards the gate, through which he passed.
“This evening, then, Mademoiselle,” said he, with a smile, “I hope to
have the honor.” And, with a courteous bow, rode on towards the archway
opening on the quay.
“What has happened?” said I, eagerly, to the officer at my side.
He shook his head as if doubtful, and half fearing even to whisper at
the moment.
“His privilege of the _élite_ is withdrawn, sir,” said an old general
officer. “He must leave Paris to join his regiment in twenty-four
hours.”
“Poor fellow!” muttered I, half aloud, when a savage frown from the
veteran officer corrected my words.
“What, sir!” said he, in a low voice, where every word was thickened to
a guttural sound--“what, sir! is the court of the Tuileries no more than
a canteen or a bivouac? _Pardieu!_ if it was not for his laced jacket he
had been degraded to the ranks; ay, and deserved it too!”
The coarse accents and underbred tone of the speaker showed me at once
that it was one of the old generals of the Republican army, who never
could endure the descendants of aristocratic families in the service,
and who were too willing always to attribute to insolence and
premeditated affront even the slightest breaches of military etiquette.
Meanwhile the Emperor mounted, and accompanied by the officers of his
staff, rode forward towards the Champs Élysées, while all of lesser note
followed at a distance. From the garden of the Tuileries to the Barrière
de l'Étoile the troops were ranged in four lines, the cavalry of the
Guard and the artillery forming the ranks along the road by which the
convoy must pass. It was a bright day, with a clear, frosty atmosphere
and a blue sky, and well suited the brilliant spectacle.
Scarcely had the Emperor issued from the Tuileries, when ten thousand
shouts of “Vive l'Empereur!” rent the air; the cannon of the Invalides
thundered forth at the same moment; and the crash of the military bands
added their clangor to the sounds of joy. He rode slowly along the
line, stopping frequently to speak with some of the soldiers, and giving
orders to his suite concerning them. Of the officers in his staff that
day, the greater number had been wounded at Austerlitz, and still bore
the traces of their injuries. Rapp displayed a tremendous scar from a
sabre across his cheek; Sebastiani wore his sword-arm in a sling; and
Friant, unable to mount his horse, followed the Emperor on foot, leaning
on a stick, and walking with great difficulty. The sight of these brave
men, whose devotion to Napoleon had been proved on so many battlefields,
added to the interest of the scene, and tended to excite popular
enthusiasm to its utmost. But on Napoleon still all eyes were bent. The
general who led their armies to victory, the monarch who raised France
to the proudest place among the nations, was there, within a few paces
of them. Each word he spoke was sinking deeply into some heart, prouder
of that moment than of rank or riches.
So slow was the Emperor's progress along the ranks that it was near
three o'clock before he had arrived at the extremity of the line. The
cavalry were now ordered to form in squadrons, and move past in
close order. While this movement was effecting, a cannon-shot at the
_barrière_ announced the approach of the convoy. The cavalry were halted
in line once more, and the same moment the first wagon of the train
appeared above the summit of the hill. So secretly had the whole been
managed that none, save the officers of the various staffs, knew what
was coming. While each look was turned, then, towards the _barrière_
in astonishment, gradually the wagon rolled on, another followed, and
another: these were, however, but the ambulances of the hospitals. And
now the wounded themselves came in sight,--a white flag, that well-known
signal, waving in front of each wagon, while a guard of honor,
consisting of picked men of the different regiments, rode at either
side.
One loud cheer--a shout echoed back from the Tuileries itself--rang out,
as the soldiers saw their brave companions restored to them once more.
With that impulse which, even in discipline, French soldiers never
forget, the men rushed forward to the wagons, and in a moment officers
and men were in the arms of their comrades. What a scene it was to
see the poor and wasted forms, mangled by shot and maimed of limb,
brightening up again as home and friends surrounded them,--to hear their
faint voices mingle with the questions for this one or for that, while
the fate of some brave fellow met but one word in elegy!
On they passed,--a sad train, but full of glorious memories. There were
the grenadiers of Oudinot, who carried the Russian centre; eleven
wagons were filled with their wounded. Here come the voltigeurs of
Bernadotte's brigade; see how the fellows preserve their ancient
repute, cheering and laughing,--ever the same, whether roistering at
midnight in the Faubourg St. Antoine or rushing madly upon the ranks of
the enemy! There are the dragoons of Nansouty, who charged the Imperial
Guard of Russia; see the proud line that floats on their banner, “All
wounded by the sabre!” And here come the cuirassiers of the Guard, with
a detachment of their own as escort; how splendidly they look in the
bright sun, and how proudly they come!
As I looked, the Emperor rode forward, bareheaded, his whole staff
uncovered. “Chapeau bas, Messieurs!” said he, in a loud voice. “Honor to
the brave in misfortune!”
Just then the escort halted, and I heard a laugh in front, close to
where the Emperor was standing; but from the crowded staff around him,
could not see what was going forward.
“What is it?” said I, curious to learn the least incident of the scene.
“Advance a pace or two, Captain,” said the young officer I addressed;
“you can see it all.”
I did so, and then beheld--oh, with what delight and surprise!--my poor
friend, Pioche, seated on the driving-seat of a gun, with his hand in
salute as the Emperor spoke to him.
“Thou wilt not have promotion, nor a pension. What, then, can I do for
thee?” said Napoleon, smiling. “Hast any friend in the service whom I
could advance for thy sake?»
“Yes, _parbleu!_” said Pioche, scratching his forehead, with a sort of
puzzle and confusion even the Emperor smiled at, “I have a friend. But
mayhap those wouldn't like--”
“Ask me for nothing thou thinkest I could not, ought not to grant,” said
the Emperor, sternly. “What is't now?”
The poor corporal seemed thoroughly nonplussed, and for a second or
two could not reply. At last, as if summoning all his courage for the
effort, he said,--
“Well, thou canst but refuse, and then the fault will be all thine. She
is a brave girl, and had she been a man--”
“Whom can he mean?” said Napoleon. “Is the man's head wandering?”
“No, _mon général!_ all right there; that shell has turned many a sabre's
edge. I was talking of Minette, the vivandière of ours. If thou art so
bent on doing me a service, why, promote _her_, and thou'lt make the
whole regiment proud of it.”
This speech was lost in the laugh which, beginning with the Emperor,
extended to the staff, and at last to all the bystanders.
“Dost wish I should make her one of my aides-de-camp?” said Napoleon,
still laughing.
“_Parbleu!_ thou hast more ill-favored ones among them,” said Pioche,
with a significant look at the grim faces of Rapp and Dam, whose hard
and weather-beaten features never deigned a smile, while every other
face was moved in laughter.
“But thou hast not said yet what I am to do,” rejoined the Emperor.
“Thou used not to be so hard to understand,” grumbled out Pioche. “I
have seen the time thou 'd have said, 'Is it Minette that was wounded at
the Adige? Is that the girl stood in the square at Marengo? _Parbleu!_ I
'll give her the cross of the Legion!'”
“And she shall have it, Corporal Pioche,” said Napoleon, as he detached
the decoration he wore on the breast of his coat. “Give the order for
the vivandière to advance.”
Scarce were the words spoken, when the sound of a horse pressed to his
speed was heard, and mounted upon a small but showy Arab, a present from
the regiment, Minette rode up, in the bloom of health, and flushed
by exercise and the excitement of the moment. I never saw her look
so handsome. Reining in her horse short, as she came in front of the
Emperor, the animal reared up, almost straight, and pawed the air with
his forelegs; while she, with all the composure in life, raised her hand
to her cap, and saluted the Emperor with an action the most easy and
graceful.
“Thou hast some yonder,” said Pioche, with a grim smile at the staff,
“would be sore puzzled to keep their saddles as well.”
[Illustration: Minnette 170]
[Illustration: BrowneMinnette105]
“Minette,” said the Emperor, while he gazed on her handsome features
with evident pleasure, “your name is well known to me for many actions
of kindness and self-devotion. Wear this cross of the Legion of Honor;
you will not value it the less that until now it has been only worn by
me. Whenever you find one worthy to be your husband, Minette, I will
charge myself with the dowry.”
“Oh, Sire!” said the trembling girl, as she pressed the Emperor's
fingers to her lips,--“oh, Sire, is this real?”
“Yes, _parbleu!_” said Pioche, wiping a large tear from his eye as he
spoke; “he can make thee be a man, and make me feel like a girl.”
As Duroc attached the cross to the buttonhole of the vivandière's frock,
she sat pale as death, totally overcome by her sensations of pride, and
unable to say more than “Oh, Sire!” which she repeated three or four
times at intervals.
Again the procession moved on; other wagons followed with their brave
fellows; but all the interest of the scene was now, for me at least,
wrapped up in that one incident, and I took but little notice of the
rest.
For full two hours the cortege continued to roll on,--wagon after
wagon, filled with the shattered remnants of an army. Yet such was the
indomitable spirit of the people, such the heartfelt passion for glory,
all deemed that procession the proudest triumph of their arms. Nor was
this feeling confined to the spectators; the wounded themselves leaned
eagerly over the sides of the _charrettes_ to gaze into the crowds on
either side, seeking some old familiar face, and looking through all
their sufferings proudly on the dense mob beneath them. Some tried
to cheer, and waved their powerless hands; but others, faint and
heart-sick, turned their glazed eyes towards the “Invalides,” whose
lofty dome appeared above the trees, as though to say, that was now
their resting-place,--the only one before the grave.
He who witnessed that day could have little doubt about the guiding
spirit of the French nation; nor could he distrust their willingness to
sacrifice anything--nay, all--to national glory. Suffering and misery,
wounds, ghastly and dreadful, were on every side; and yet not one word
of pity, not a look of compassion was there. These men were, in _their_
eyes, far too highly placed for sympathy; theirs was that path to which
all aspired, and their trophies were their own worn frames and mangled
bodies. And then how they brightened up as the Emperor would draw near!
how even the faintest would strive to catch his eye and gaze with parted
lips on him as he spoke, as though drinking in his very words,--the balm
to their bruised hearts,--and the faint cry of “l'Empereur! l'Empereur!”
passed like a murmur along the line.
Not until the last wagon had defiled before him did the Emperor leave
the ground. It was then nearly dark, and already the lamps were lighted
along the quays, and the windows of the Palace displayed the brilliant
lustre of the preparations for a grand dinner to the marshals.
As we moved slowly along in close order, I found myself among a group
of officers of the Emperor's staffs eagerly discussing the day and its
events.
“I am sorry for Duchesne,” said one; “with all his impertinences--and
he had enough of them--he was a brave fellow, and a glorious leader at a
moment of difficulty.”
“Well, well, the Emperor has perhaps forgiven him by this time; and
it is not likely he would mar the happiness of a day like this by
disgracing an officer of the _élite_.”
“You are wrong, my friend; his Majesty is not sorry for the occasion
which can prove that he knows as well how to punish as to reward.
Duchesne's fate is sealed. You are not old enough to remember, as I can,
the morning at Lonado, where the same _ardre du jour_ conferred a mark
of honor on one brother, and condemned another to be shot.”
“And was this, indeed, the case?”
“Ay, was it. Many can tell you of it, as well as myself. They were both
in the same regiment--the fifteenth demi-brigade of light infantry. They
held a château at Salo against the enemy for eight hours, when at length
the elder, who commanded at the front, capitulated and laid down his
arms; the younger refused to comply, and continued to fight. They were
reinforced an hour afterwards, and the Austrians beaten off. The day
after they were both tried, and the result was as I have told you; the
utmost favor the younger could obtain was, not to witness the execution
of his brother.”
As I heard this story, my very blood curdled in my veins, and I looked
with a kind of dread on him who now rode a few paces in front of
me,--the stern and pitiless Napoleon.
At last we entered the court of the Tuileries, when the Emperor,
dismissing his staff, entered the Palace, and we separated, to follow
our own plans for the evening. For a moment or two I remained uncertain
which way to turn. I wished much to see Duchesne, yet scarcely hoped to
meet with him by returning to the Luxembourg. It was not the time to be
away from him, at a moment like this, and I resolved to seek him out.
For above an hour I went from café to café, where he was in the habit of
resorting, but to no purpose. He had not been seen in any of them during
the day; so that at length I turned homeward with the faint hope that I
should see him there on my arrival.
Somehow I never had felt more sad and depressed; and the events of the
day, so far from making me participate in the general joy, had left me
gloomy and desponding. My spirit was little in harmony with the gay and
merry groups that passed along the streets, chanting their campaigning
songs, and usually having some old soldier of the “Guard” amongst
them; for they felt it as a fête, and were hurrying to the cabarets to
celebrate the day of Austerlitz.