On my way to the imperial quarters, I fell in with some squadrons of our
dragoons, from whom I learned that General d'Auvergne had just received
orders to repair to the Emperor's bivouac, to which several officers in
command were also summoned. As I saw, therefore, that I could have no
prospect of meeting the Emperor, I resolved merely to hold myself in
readiness, should he, which seemed little likely, think of me; and
accordingly I took up my post with some young under-officers of
our brigade, at a huge fire, where a species of canteen had been
established, and coffee and corn-brandy were served out to all comers.
The recent escape of Napoleon at the outposts was already known far and
near, and formed the great topic of conversation, in which, I felt hurt
to remark, no mention of the part I took was ever made, although there
were at least a dozen different versions of the accident. In one, his
Majesty was represented to have rode down upon and sabred the advanced
picket; in another, it was the Prussians who fired, he having penetrated
within their lines to reconnoitre,--each agreeing in the one great fact,
that the feat was something which no one save himself could have done
or thought of. As for me, I felt it was not my part to speak of the
incident at all until his Majesty should first do so. I listened,
therefore, with due patience and some amusement to the various
narratives about me; which served to show me, by one slight instance,
the measure of that exaggeration with which the Emperor's name was ever
treated, and convinced me that it required not time nor distance to
color every incident of his life with the strongest hues of romance. The
topic was a fruitful and favorite one; and certainly few subjects could
with more propriety season the hours around a bivouac fire than the
exploits of the Emperor Napoleon.
Among those whose reminiscences went farthest back was an old
sergeant-major of infantry,--a seared and seamed and weather-beaten
little fellow, who, from fatigues and privations, was dried up to a mass
of tendons and fibres. This little man presented one of those strange
mixtures with which the army abounded,--the shrewdest common sense on
all ordinary topics, with a most credulous faith in any story where
Napoleon's name occurred. It seemed, indeed, as though that one element,
occurring in any tale, dispensed at once with the rules which govern
belief in common cases.
The invulnerability of the Emperor was with him a fruitful theme; and he
teemed with anecdotes of the Egyptian and Italian campaigns, in which it
was incontestably shown that neither shot nor shell had any effect
upon him. But of all the superstitions regarding Napoleon, none had such
complete hold on his imagination, nor was more implicitly believed by
him, than the story of that little “Red Man,” who, it was asserted,
visited the Emperor the night before each great battle, and arranged
with him the manoeuvres of the succeeding day.
“L'Homme Bouge,” as he was called, was an article of faith in the French
army that few of the soldiers ever thought of disputing. Some from
pure credulity, some from the force of example, and some again from
indolence, believed in this famed personage; but even the veriest
scoffer on more solemn subjects would have hesitated ere he ventured
to assail the almost universal belief in this supernatural agency.
The Emperor's well-known habit of going out alone to visit pickets and
outposts on the eve of a battle was a circumstance too favorable to this
superstition not to be employed in its defence. Besides, it was well
known that he spent hours by himself, when none even of the marshals had
access to him; and on these occasions it was said “L'Homme Bouge” was
with him. Sentinels had been heard to declare that they could overhear
angry words passing between the Emperor and his guest; that threats had
been interchanged between them; and on one occasion it was said that the
“Red Man” went so 'far as to declare, that if his advice were neglected
Napoleon should lose the battle, see his artillery fall into the hands
of the enemy, and behold the Guard capitulate.
“_Mille tonnerres!_ what are you saying?” broke in the little man,
to the grim old soldier who was relating this. “You know nothing of
'L'Homme Rouge,'--not a word; how should you? But I served in the
Twenty-second of the Line, old Mongoton's corps; the 'Faubourg Devils,'
as they were called. _He_ knew him well; it was 'L'Homme Rouge' had
him shot for treason at Cairo. I was one of the company drawn for his
execution; and when he knelt down on the grass, he held up his hand this
way, and cried out,--
“'Voltigeurs of the Line, hear me! You have all known me many years; you
have seen whether I could face the enemy like a man; and you can tell
whether I cared for the heaviest charge that ever shook a square. You
know, also, whether I was true to our general. Well, it is “L'Homme
Rouge” who has brought me to this. And now: Carry arms!--all together!
Come, _mes enfants!_ try it again: Carry arms! (ay, that's better)
present arms! fire!'
“_Morbleu!_ the word was not well out when he was dead; and there,
through the smoke, as plain as I see you now, I saw the figure of a
little fellow, dressed in scarlet,--feather and boots all the same! He
was standing over the corpse, and threatening it with his hands. And
that,” said he, in a solemn voice, “that was 'L'Homme Rouge!'”
This anecdote was conclusive. There was no gainsaying the assertions
of a man who had, with his own eyes, seen the celebrated “Red Man;”
and from that instant he enjoyed a decided monopoly of everything that
concerned his private history.
According to the sergeant-major's version,--and who could venture to
contradict him?--“L'Homme Rouge” was not the confidential adviser and
friendly counsellor of the Emperor; but, on the contrary, his evil
genius, perpetually employed in thwarting his plans and opposing his
views. Each seemed to have his hour of triumph alternately. Now it was
the Bed Man, now Napoleon, who stood in the ascendant. Fortune for a
long period had been constant to the Emperor, and victory crowned every
battle. This had, it seemed, greatly chagrined “L'Homme Bouge,” who for
years past had not been seen nor heard of. The last tradition of him was
a story told by one of the sentinels on guard at the general's quarters
at Mont Tabor.
It was midnight: all was still and silent in the camp. The soldiers
slept as men sleep before a battle, when the old grenadier who walked
his short post before General Bonaparte's tent heard a quick tread
approaching him. “Qui vive?” cried he; but there was no reply. “Qui
vive?” called the sentry once more; but as he did so he leaped backwards
and brought his musket to the charge, for just then something brushed
close by him and entered the tent.
For a moment or two he doubted what should be done. Should he turn out
the guard? It was only to be laughed at; that would never do. But what
if it really were somebody who had penetrated to the general's quarters?
As this thought struck him, he crept up close to the tent; and there,
true enough, he heard the voices of two persons speaking.
“Ah! thou here?” said Bonaparte. “I scarce expected to see thee so far
from France!”
“Alas!” said the other, with a deep sigh, “what land is now open to me,
or whither shall I fly to? I took refuge in Brussels; well, what should
I see one morning, but the tall shakos of your grenadiers coming up the
steep street. I fled to Holland; you were there the day after. 'Come,'
thought I, 'he's moving northwards; I'll try the other extreme.' So I
started for the Swiss. _Sacrebleu_! the roll of your confounded drums
resounded through every valley. I reached the banks of the Po; your
troops were there the same evening. I pushed for Rome; they were
preparing your quarters, which you occupied that night. Away, then, I
start once more; I cross mountains and rivers and seas, and gain the
desert at last. I thank my fortune that there are a thousand leagues
between us; and here you are now. For pity's sake, show me, on that map
of the world, one little spot you don't want to conquer, and let me live
there in peace, and be sure never to meet you more.”
Bonaparte did not speak for some minutes, and it seemed as though he
were intently considering the request of “L'Homme Rouge.”
“There,” said he at length, “there! You see that island in the great
sea, with nothing near it; thou mayest go there.”
“How is it called?” said “L'Homme Rouge.”
“St. Helena,” said the general. “It is not very large; but I promise
thee to be undisturbed there.”
“You 'll never come there, then? Is that a pledge?”
“Never; I promise it. At least, if I do, thou shalt be the master, and I
the slave.”
“Enough! I go now. Adieu!” said the little man. And the same instant the
sentinel felt his arm brushed by some one passing close beside him; and
then all was silent in the tent once more.
“Thus, you see,” said the sergeant-major, “from that hour it was agreed
on the Emperor should conquer the whole world, and leave that one little
spot for 'L'Homme Rouge.' _Parbleu!_ he might well spare him that much.”
“How big might it be, that island?” said an old grenadier, who listened
with the deepest attention to the tale.
“Nothing to speak of; about the size of one battalion drawn up in
square.”
“_Pardieu!_ a small kingdom too!”
“Ah! it would not do for the Emperor,” said the sergeant-major,
laughing,--an emotion the others joined in at once; and many a jest went
round at the absurdity of such a thought.
I sat beside the watchfire, listening to the old campaigning stories,
till one by one the speakers dropped off to sleep. The bronzed veteran
and the boy conscript, the old soldier of the Sambre and the beardless
youth, lay side by side: to some of these it was the last time they
should slumber on earth. As the night wore on, the sounds became hushed
in the camp, and through the thin frosty air I could hear from a long
distance off the tramp of the patrols and the challenge of the reliefs
as the outposts were visited. The Prussian sentries were quite close to
our advanced posts, and when the wind came from that quarter, I often
heard the voices as they exchanged their signals.
Through the entire night, officers came and went to and from the tent of
the Emperor. To him, at least, it seemed no season of repose. At length,
when nigh morning, wearied with watching and tired out with expectancy,
I leaned my head on my knees, and dropped into a half-sleep. Some vague
sense of disappointment at being forgotten by the Emperor, was the
last thought I had as I fell off, and in its sadness it colored all
my dreams. I remembered, with all the freshness of a recent event, the
curse of the old hag on the morning I had quitted my home forever,--her
prayer that bad luck should track me every step through life; and in the
shadowy uncertainty of my sleeping thoughts I believed I was predestined
to misfortune.
Almost every man has experienced the fact, that there are times in life
when impressions, the slightest in their origin, will have an undue
weight on the mind; when, as it were, the clay of our natures become
softened, and we take the impress of passing events more easily. Some
vague and shadowy conception--a doubt, a dream--is enough at moments
like these to attain the whole force of a conviction; and it is
wonderful with what ingenuity we wind to our purpose every circumstance
around us, and what pains we take to increase the toils of our
self-deception. It would be a curious thing to trace out how much of our
good or evil fortune in life had its source in these superstitions; how
far the frame of mind fashioned the events before it; and to what extent
our hopes and fears were but the forerunners of destiny.
My sleeping thoughts were of the saddest; and when I awoke, I could not
shake them off. A heavy, dense fog clothed every object around, through
which only the watchfires were visible, as they flared with a yellow,
hazy light of unnatural size. The position of these signals was only
to mark the inequality of the ground: and I now could perceive that we
occupied the crest of a long and steep hill, down the sides and at the
bottom of which fires were also burning; while in front another mountain
arose, whose summit for a great distance was marked out by watchfires.
This I conjectured, from its extent and position, to be the Prussian
line.
At the front of the Emperor's quarters several led horses were standing,
whose caparison bespoke them as belonging to the staff; and although not
yet five o'clock, there was an appearance of movement which indicated
preparation. The troops, however, were motionless; the dense columns
covered the ground like a garment, and stirred not. As I stood,
uncertain what course to take, I heard the noise of voices and the heavy
tramp of many feet near, and on turning perceived it was the Emperor,
who came forth from his tent, followed by several of his staff. A large
fire blazed in front of his bivouac, which threw its long light on the
group; where, even in a fleeting glance, I recognized General Gazan, and
Nansouty, the commander of the Cuirassiers of the Guard.
“What hour is it?” said the Emperor to Duroc, who stood near him.
“Almost five o'clock, Sire.”
“It is darker than it was an hour ago. Maison, where is Bernadotte by
this?--at Domberg, think you?”
“Not yet, Sire; he is no laggard if he reach it in three hours hence.”
“Ney would have been there now,” was the quick reply of Napoleon. “Come,
gentlemen, into the saddle, and let us move towards the front. Gazan,
put your division under arms.”
The general waited not a second bidding, but wheeled his horse suddenly
round, and followed by his aide-decamp, rode at full speed down the
mountain.
“There is the first streak of day,” said the Emperor, pointing to a
faint gray light above the distant forest; “it breaks like Austerlitz.”
“May it set as gloriously!” said old Nansouty, in his deep low voice.
“And it will,” said Napoleon. “What sayest thou, _grognard?_” continued
he, turning with an affected severity of manner to the grenadier who
stood sentinel on the spot, and who, with a French soldier's easy
indifference, leaned on the cross of his musket to listen to the
conversation; “what sayest thou? Art eager to be made corporal?”
“_Parbleu!_” growled out the rough soldier, “the grade is little to
boast of; were I even a general of division, there might be something to
hope for.”
“What then?” said Napoleon, sharply, “what then?”
“King of Prussia, to be sure; thou 'lt give away the title before this
hour to-morrow.”
The Emperor laughed aloud at the conceit. Its flattery had a charm for
him no courtier's well-turned compliment could vie with; and I could
hear him still continuing to enjoy it as he rode slowly forward and
disappeared in the gloom.