Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume Ii Part 19

Meanwhile the Emperor mounted, and accompanied by the officers of his staff, rode forward towards the Champs elysees, while all of lesser note followed at a distance. From the garden of the Tuileries to the Barriere de l'etoile 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 pa.s.s. 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 _barriere_ 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 _barriere_ 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 pa.s.sed,--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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 cuira.s.siers 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 general!_ all right there; that sh.e.l.l has turned many a sabre's edge. I was talking of Minette, the vivandiere 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 vivandiere 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."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Minnette 170]

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 b.u.t.tonhole of the vivandiere'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 pa.s.sion 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 compa.s.sion 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!"

pa.s.sed 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 l.u.s.tre 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 d.u.c.h.esne," 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 _elite_."

"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.

d.u.c.h.esne'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 chateau 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 d.u.c.h.esne, 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 cafe to cafe, 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 partic.i.p.ate in the general joy, had left me gloomy and desponding. My spirit was little in harmony with the gay and merry groups that pa.s.sed along the streets, chanting their campaigning songs, and usually having some old soldier of the "Guard" amongst them; for they felt it as a fete, and were hurrying to the cabarets to celebrate the day of Austerlitz.

CHAPTER XIII. THE CHEVALIER.

When men of high courage and proud hearts meet with reverses in life, our anxiety is rather to learn what new channel their thoughts and exertions will take in future, than to hear how they have borne up under misfortune. I knew d.u.c.h.esne too well to suppose that any turn of fate would find him wholly unprepared; but still, a public reprimand, and from the lips of the Emperor, too, was of a nature to wound him to the quick, and I could not guess, nor picture to myself in what way he would bear it. The loss of grade itself was a thing of consequence, as the service of the _elite_ was reckoned a certain promotion; not to speak of--what to him was far more important--the banishment from Paris and its _salons_ to some gloomy and distant encampment. In speculations like these I returned to my quarters, where I was surprised to discover that the chevalier had not been since morning. I learned from his servant that he had dismissed him, with his horses, soon after leaving the Tuileries, and had not returned home from that time.