CHAPTER XII. THE RETURN OF THE WOUNDED
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.”
“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.