Ere I left the village, a shower of shells was thrown into it from the
French lines, and in a few minutes the whole blazed up in a red flame,
and threw a wide glare over the battlefield. Spurring my horse to
his speed, I galloped onward, and now discovered that our troops were
retiring in all haste. The Allies had won the battle, and we were
falling back on Brienne.
Leaving seventy-three guns in the hands of the enemy, above one thousand
prisoners, and six thousand killed in battle, Napoleon drew off his
shattered forces, and marched through the long darkness of a winter's
night. Thus ended the battle of Arcis-sur-Aube,--the most fatal for the
hopes of the Emperor since the dreadful day of Leipzic.
From that hour Fortune seemed to frown on those whose arms she had so
often crowned with victory; and he himself, the mighty leader of so
many conquering hosts, stood at the window of the château at Brienne
the whole night long, dreading lest the enemy should be on his track.
He whose battles were wont to be the ovations of a conqueror, now beheld
with joy his masses retiring unpursued.
Why should I dwell on a career of disaster, or linger on the expiring
moments of a mighty Empire? Of what avail now are the reinforcements
which arrived to our aid,--the veteran legions of the Peninsula? The cry
is ever, “Too late! too late!” Dreadful words, heard at every moment!
sad omens of an army devoted and despairing!
From Brienne we retreat to Troyes; from thence to Bar-sur-Aube,--ever
nearer and nearer to that capital to which the Allies tend with wild
shouts of triumph. On the last day of February our headquarters are at
Nogent, not thirty leagues from Paris,--Nogent, with the great forest
of Fontainebleau on its left; and Meaux, the ancient bishopric of the
Monarchy, on its right; and behind that screen, Paris!
Leaving Bourmont in command of the line which holds the Austrians in
check, the Emperor himself hastens to oppose Blücher,--the most intrepid
and the most daring of all his enemies. A cross-march in the depth of
winter, with the ground covered with half-frozen snow, will bring him
on the flank of the Prussian army. It is dared! Dangers and difficulties
beset every step; the artillery are almost lost, the cavalry exhausted.
But the cry of “The enemy!” rouses every energy: they debouch on the
plain of Champ-Aubert, to fall on the moving column of the Russians
under Alsufief. Glorious stroke of fate! Victory again caresses the
spoiled child of fortune: the enemy is routed, and retires on Montmirail
and Châlons. The advanced army of the Prussians hear the cannonade, and
fall back to support the Allies on Montmirail. But the Emperor already
awaits them with the battalions of the Old Guard, and another great
battle ends in victory. Areola and Rivoli were again remembered, and
recalled by victories not less glorious; and once more hope returned to
the ranks it seemed to have quitted forever. Another dreadful blow is
aimed at Blucher's columns; Marmont attacks them at Vaux-Champs, and the
army of Silesia falls back beaten.
And now the Emperor hastens towards Nogent, where he has left Bourmont
in front of the Austrians. “Too late! too late!” is again the cry,--the
columns of Oudinot and Victor are already in retreat. Schwartzenberg,
with a force triple their own, advances on the plains of the Seine; the
Cossacks bivouac in the forest of Fontainebleau. Staff-officers hurry
onward with the news that the Emperor is approaching; the victorious
army which had subdued Blucher is on the march, reinforced by the
veteran cavalry of Spain and the tried legions of the Peninsula. They
halt, and form in battle. The Allies arrest their steps at Nangis, and
again are beaten: Nangis becomes another name of glory to the ears of
Frenchmen.
Let me rest one instant in this rapid recital of a week whose great
deeds not even Napoleon's life can show the equal of,--the last flash of
the lamp of glory ere it darkened forever.
Three days had elapsed from the sad hour in which I laid my dearest
friend in his grave, ere I opened the locket I had taken from his
bosom. The wild work of war mingled its mad excitement in my brain with
thoughts of deep sorrow; and I lived in a kind of fevered dream, and
hurried from the affliction which beset me into the torrent of danger.
The gambler who cares not to win rarely loses, so he that seeks death
in battle comes unscathed through every danger. Each day I threw myself
headlong into some post where escape seemed scarcely possible; but
recklessness has its own armor of safety. On the field of Montmirail I
was reported to the Emperor; and for an attack on the Austrian rearguard
at Melun made colonel of a cuirassier regiment on the field of battle.
Such promotions rained on every side: hundreds were falling each day;
many regiments were commanded by officers of twenty-three or twenty-four
years of age. Few expected to carry their new epaulettes beyond the
engagement they gained them in; none believed the Empire itself could
survive the struggle. Each played for a mighty stake; few cared to
outlive the game itself. The Emperor showered down favors on the heads
which each battlefield laid low.
It was on the return from Melun I first opened the locket, which I
continued to wear around my neck. In the full expansion of a momentary
triumph to see myself at the head of a regiment, I thought of him who
would have participated in my pride. I was sitting in the doorway of a
little cabaret on the roadside, my squadrons picketed around me, for
a brief halt; and as my thoughts recurred to the brave D'Auvergne, I
withdrew the locket from my bosom. It was a small oval case of gold,
opening by a spring. I touched this, and as I did so, the locket sprang
open, and displayed before me a miniature of Marie de Meudon. Yes!
beautiful as I had seen her in the forest of Versailles: her dark hair
clustering around her noble brow,--and her eyes, so full of tender
loveliness, shadowed by their deep fringes,--were there as I remembered
them; the lips were half parted, as though the artist had caught the
speaking expression,--and as-I gazed, I could fancy that voice, so
musically sweet, still ringing in my ears. I could not look on it
enough: the features recalled the scenes when first I met her; and the
strong current of love, against which so long I struggled and contended,
flowed on with tenfold force once more. Should we ever meet again,--and
how? were the questions which rushed to my mind, and to which hope and
fear dictated the replies.
The locket was a present from the Empress to the general,--at least,
so I interpreted an inscription on the back; and this--shall I confess
it?--brought pleasure to my heart. Like one whose bosom bore some
wondrous amulet, some charm against the approach of danger, I now rode
at the head of my gallant band. Life had grown dearer to me, without
death becoming more dreaded. Her image next my heart made me feel as if
I should combat beneath her very eyes, and I burned to acquit myself
as became one who loved her. A wild, half frantic joy animated me as I
went, and was caught by the gay companions around me.
At midnight a despatch reached me, ordering me to hasten forward by a
forced march to Montereau, the bridge of which town was a post of the
greatest importance, and must be held against the Austrians till Victor
could come up. We lost not a moment. It was a calm frosty night, with a
bright moon, and we hastened along without halting. About an hour before
daybreak we were met by a cavalry patrol, who informed us that Gérard
and Victor had both arrived, but too late: Montereau was held by the
Wurtemberg troops, who garrisoned the village, and defended the bridge
with a strong force of artillery; twice the French troops had been
beaten back with tremendous loss, and all looked for the morrow to renew
the encounter. We continued our journey; and, as the sun was rising,
discovered, at a distance on the road beside the river, the mass of an
infantry column: it was the Emperor himself, come up with the Guard, to
attack the position.
Already the preparations for a fierce assault were in progress. A
battery of twelve guns was posted on a height to command the bridge;
another, somewhat more distant, overlooked the village itself. Different
bodies of infantry and cavalry were disposed wherever shelter presented
itself, and ready for the command to move forward. The approach to the
bridge was by a wide road, which lay for some distance along the river
bank; and this was deeply channelled by the enemy's artillery, which,
stationed on and above the bridge, seemed to defy any attempt to
advance.
Never, indeed, did an enterprise seem more full of danger. Every house
which looked on the bridge was crenelated for small-arms, and garrisoned
by sharpshooters,--the fierce Jager of Germany, whose rifles are the
boast of the Vaterland. Cannon bristled along the heights; their wide
mouths pointed to that devoted spot, already the grave of hundreds.
Withdrawn under cover of a steep hill, my regiment was halted, with two
other heavy cavalry corps, awaiting orders; and from the crest of the
ridge I could observe the first movements of the fight.
As usual, a fierce cannonade was opened from either side; which,
directed mainly against the artillery itself, merely resulted in
dismantling a stray battery here and there, without further damage. At
last the hoarse roll of a drum was heard, and the head of an infantry
column was seen advancing up the road. They passed beneath a rock on
which a little group of officers were standing, and as they went a cheer
of “Vive l'Empereur!” broke from them. I strained my eyes towards
the place, for now I knew the Emperor himself was there. I could
not, however, detect him in the crowd, who all waved their hats in
encouragement to the troops.
On they went, descending a steep declivity of the highroad to the
bridge. Suddenly the cannonade redoubles from the side of the enemy;
the shot whistles through the air, while ten thousand muskets peal forth
together. I rivet my eyes to watch the column. But what is my horror to
perceive that none appear upon the ridge! The masses move up; they
mount the ascent; they disappear behind it; and then are lost to sight
forever. Not one escapes the dreadful havoc of the guns, which from a
distance of less than two hundred yards enfilades the bridge.
But still they moved up. I could hear, from where ï lay, the commands
of the officers, as they gave the word to their companies: no fear nor
hesitation,--there they went to death; in less than fifteen minutes
twelve hundred fell, dead or wounded. And at last the signal to fall
back was given, and the shattered fragment of a column reeled back
behind the ridge. Again the cannonade opened, and increasing on both
sides, was maintained for above an hour without intermission. During
this, our guns did tremendous execution on the village, but without
effecting anything of importance respecting the bridge.
The Grenadiers of the Guard had reached the scene of combat, by forced
marches, from Nangis; and after a brief time to recruit their strength,
were now ordered up. What a splendid force that massive column,
conspicuous by their scarlet shoulder-knots and tall shakos of black
bearskin! with what confidence they move! They halt beneath the rock.
The Emperor is there too. And see! the officer who stands beside him
descends from the height, and puts himself at the head of the column:
it is Guyot, the colonel of the battalion; he waves his plumed hat in
answer to the Emperor,--that salute is the last he shall ever give on
earth.
The drums roll out; but the hoarse shout of “En avant!” drowns their
tumult. On they rush; they are over the height; they disappear down the
descent. And see! there they are on the bridge! “Vive la Garde!” shouted
ten thousand of their comrades, who watch them from the heights; “Vive
la Garde!” is echoed from the tall cliffs beyond the river. The column
moves on, and already reaches the middle of the bridge, when eighteen
guns throw their fire into it: the blue smoke rolls down the rocky
heights and settles on the bridge, broken here and there by flashes,
like the forked gleam of lightning; the cloud passes oyer; the bridge is
empty, save of dead and dying: the Grenadiers of the Guard are no more!
“What heart is his who gives his fellow-men to death like this!” was my
exclamation as I witnessed this terrible struggle.
“The Cuirassiers and Carbineers of the Guard to form by threes in column
of attack!” shouted an aide-de-camp, as he rode up to where I lay. And
no more thought had I of _his_ motives, who now opened the path of glory
to myself.
The squadrons were arrayed under cover of the ridge; the shot and shells
from the enemy's batteries flew thickly over us,--a presage of the storm
we were about to meet. The order to mount was given; and as the men
sprang into their saddles, a group of horsemen galloped rapidly round
the angle of the cliff, and approached. One glance showed me it was the
Emperor and his staff.
“Cuirassiers of the Guard,” said he, as with raised chapeau he saluted
his brave followers, “I have ordered two battalions to carry that
bridge; they have failed. Let those who never fail advance to the storm.
Montereau shall be inscribed on your helmets, men, when I see you on
yonder heights. Go forward!”
“Forward! forward!” shouted the mailed ranks, half maddened by the
exciting presence of Napoleon.
The force was formed in four separate columns of attack: the First
Cuirassiers leading; followed by the Carbineers of the Guard; then my
own regiment; and lastly, the Fourth, the corps of poor Pioche. What
would I have given to know he was there! But there was not time for such
inquiry now. The squadrons were ready awaiting the moment to dash on.
A loud detonation of nigh twenty guns shook the earth; and in the smoke
that rolled from them the bridge was concealed from view. A trumpet
sounded, and the cry of “Charge!” followed. The mass sprang forth. What
a cheer was theirs as they swept past! The cannonade opens again;
the whole ground trembles. The musketry follows; and the clatter of a
thousand sabres mingles with the war-cries of the combatants. It is but
brief,--the tumult is already subsiding.
And now comes the order for the carbineers to move up; the cuirassiers
have been cut to pieces. A few, mangled and bleeding, have reeled back
behind the hill; but the regiment is gone!
“Where are the troops of Wagram and Eylau?” said the Emperor, in
bitterness, as he saw the one broken squadron, sole remnant of a gallant
corps, reeling, bloodstained and dying, to the rear. “Where is that
cavalry that carried the Russian battery at Moskowa? You are not what
you once were!”
This cruel taunt, at the very moment when the earth was steeped in the
blood of his brave soldiers, was heard in mournful silence. None spoke a
word, but with clenched lip and clasped hand sat waiting the command
to charge. It came; but no cheer followed. The carbineers dashed on,
prepared to die: what death so dreadful as the cold irony of Napoleon!
“En avant! cuirassiers of the Tenth,” called out the Emperor, as the
last squadrons of the carbineers went by, “support your comrades! Follow
up there, men of the Fourth! I must have that bridge.”
And now the whole line moved up. As we turned the cliff in full trot,
the scene of combat lay before us: the terrible bridge now actually
choked up with dead and wounded, the very battlements strewn with
corpses. In an instant the carbineers were upon it; and struggling
through the mass of carnage, they rode onward. Like men goaded to
despair, they pressed on, and actually reached the archway beyond,
which, defended by a strong gate, closed up the way. Whole files now
fell at every discharge; but others took their places, to fall as
rapidly beneath the murderous musketry.
“A petard to the gate!” is now the cry,--“a petard, and the bridge is
won!”
Quick as lightning, four sappers of the Guard rush across the road and
gain the bridge. They carry some thing between them, but soon are lost
in the dense masses of the horse. The enemy's fire redoubles; the bridge
crashes beneath the cannonade, when a loud shout is raised,--
“Let the cavalry fall back!”
A cheer of triumph breaks from the town as they behold the retiring
squadrons; they know not that the petard is now attached to the gate,
and that the horsemen are merely withdrawn for the explosion.
The bridge is cleared, and every eye is turned to watch the discharge
which shall break the strong door, and leave the passage open. But
unhappily the fuze has missed, and the great engine lies inert and
inactive. What is to be done? The cavalry cannot venture to approach the
spot, which at any moment may explode with ruin on every side; and thus
the bridge is rendered impregnable by our own fault.
“Fatality upon fatality!” is the exclamation of Napoleon, as he heard
the tidings. “This to the man who puts a match to the fuze!” said he, as
he detaches the great cross of the Legion from his breast, and holds it
aloft.
With one spring I jump from my saddle, and dash at the burning match a
gunner is holding near me. A rush is made by several others; but I am
fleetest of foot, and before they reach the road I am on the bridge. The
enemy has not seen me, and I am half-way across before a shot is aimed
at me. Even then a surprise seems to arrest their fire, for it is a
single ball whizzes past. I see the train; I kneel down; the fuze is
faint, and I stoop to blow it; and then my action is perceived, and
a shattering volley sweeps the bridge. The high projecting parapet
protects me, and I am unhurt. But the fuze will not take: horrible
moment of agonizing suspense,--the powder is clotted with blood,
and will not ignite! I remember that my pistols are in my belt, and
detaching one, I draw the charge, and scatter the fresh powder along the
line. My shelter still saves me, though the balls are crashing like hail
around me. It takes, it takes! the powder spits and flashes, and a loud
cry from my comrades bursts out, “Come back! come back!”
Forgetting everything in the intense anxiety of the moment, I spring to
my legs; but scarce is my head above the parapet when a bullet strikes
me in the chest. I fall covered with blood.
“Save him! save him!” is the cry of a thousand voices; and a rush is
made upon the bridge. The musketry opens on these brave fellows, and
they fall back wounded and discouraged.
[Illustration: 504]
Crouching beneath the parapet, I try to stanch my wound; but the blood
is gushing in torrents, my senses are reeling, the objects around grow
dimmer, the noise seems fainter. But suddenly I feel a hand upon my
neck, and at the same instant a flask is pressed to my lips. I drink,
and the wine rallies me; the bleeding is stopped. My eyes open again;
and dare I trust their evidence? Who is it that now shelters beneath the
parapet beside me? Minette, the vivandière! her handsome face flushed,
her eyes wild with excitement, and her brown hair in great tangled
masses on her back and shoulders.
“Minette, is it indeed thee?” said I, pressing her hand to my lips.
“I knew you at the head of your regiment some days ago, and I thought we
should meet ere long. But lie still; we are safe here. The fire slackens
too; they have fallen back since the gate was forced.”
“Is the gate forced, Minette?”
“Ay, the petard has done its work; but the columns are not come up. Lie
still till they pass.”
“Dear, dear girl! what a brave heart is thine!” said I, gazing on her
beautiful features, tenfold handsomer from the expression which her
heroism had lent them.
“You would surely adventure as much for me,” said she, half-timidly, as
she pressed her handkerchief against the wound, which still oozed blood.
The action entangled her fingers in a ribbon. She tried to extricate
them; and the locket fell out, opening by accident at the same moment.
With a convulsive energy she clasped the miniature in both hands, and
riveted her eyes upon it. The look was wild as that of madness itself,
and her features grew stiff as she gazed, while the pallor of death
overspread them. It was scarce the action of a second; in another, she
flung back the picture from her and sprang to her feet. One glance
she gave me, fleeting as the lightning flash, but how full of storied
sorrow!
The moment after she was in the middle of the bridge. She waved her cap
wildly above her head, and beckoned to the column to come on. A cheer
answered her. The mass rushed forward; the fire again pealed forth; a
shriek pierced the din of all the battle, and the leading files halt.
Four grenadiers fall back to the rear, carrying a body between them:
it is the corpse of Minette the vivandière, who has received her
death-wound!
[Illustration: 506]
The same evening saw me the occupant of a bed in the ambulance of the
Guard. Dreadful as the suffering of my wound was, I carried a deeper one
within my heart.
“The Emperor has given you his own cross of the Legion, sir,” said the
surgeon, endeavoring to rally me from a dejection whose source he knew
not.
“He has made him a general of brigade, too,” said a voice behind him.
It was General Letort who spoke; he had that moment come from the
Emperor with the tidings. I buried my head beneath my hands, and felt as
though my heart was bursting.
“That was a gallant girl, that vivandière,” said the rough old general;
“she must have had a soldier's heart within that corsage. _Parbleu!_ I'd
rather not have another such in my brigade, though, after what happened
this evening.”
“What is it you speak of?” said I, faintly.
“They gave her a military funeral this evening,--the Fourth Cuirassiers.
The Emperor gave his permission, and sent General Degeon of the staff
to be present. And when they placed her in the grave, one of the
soldiers,--a corporal, I believe,--kneeled down to kiss her before they
covered in the earth; and when he had done so, he lay slowly down on his
face on the grass. 'He has fainted,' said one of his comrades; and they
turned him on his back. _Morbleu!_ it was worse than that: he was stone
dead,--one of the very finest fellows of the regiment!”
“Yes, yes! I know him,” muttered I, endeavoring to smother my emotion.
The general looked at me as if my mind was wandering, and briefly
added,--
“And so they laid them in the same grave, and the same fusillade gave
the last honors to both.”
“Your story has affected my patient overmuch, General,” said the doctor;
“you must leave him to himself for some time.”