A Conspiracy of the Carbonari | Page 4

had heard what
he answered the menacing voice in his own soul.
Now the boat touched the shore, where carriages were ready to convey

the emperor and his suite to Ebersdorf.
His whole staff, all his marshals and generals, were waiting for him
before the door of the castle. With bared heads, in stiff military attitude,
they received their lord and master, the august emperor, expecting a
gracious greeting. But he passed on without looking at them, without
even saluting them by a wave of his hand. They looked after him with
wondering, angry eyes, and, like the glittering tail of a comet, followed
him into the castle, up the steps, and into the hall.
But as they entered the reception-room where he usually talked with
them, Napoleon had already vanished in his private office, whose door
swiftly closed behind him.
The marshals and generals, aids and staff officers, still waited. The
emperor would surely return, they thought. He still had to give them his
commands for the next day, his orders concerning what was to be done
on the island of Lobau, what provision should be made for the care of
the wounded, the sustenance of the uninjured, the rescue of the remains
of his army.
But they waited in vain; Napoleon did not return to them, gave them no
orders. After half an hour's futile expectation, Roustan glided through
the little door of the private room into the hall, and, with a very
important air, whispered to the listening officers that the emperor had
gone to bed immediately, and had scarcely touched the pillows ere he
sunk into a deep sleep.
Yes, the Emperor Napoleon was sleeping, and his generals glided on
tiptoe out of the hall and discussed outside the measures which they
must now adopt on their own account to rescue the luckless fragment of
the army from the island of Lobau, and make arrangements for building
new bridges.
Yes, the Emperor Napoleon was sleeping! He slept all through the
night, through the broad light of the next day--slept when his whole
staff had gone to Lobau--slept when bodies of his infuriated guards
rushed into the castle and, unheeding the emperor's presence, plundered

the cellars and storerooms[B]--slept when, in the afternoon of that day,
his marshals and generals returned to Castle Ebersdorf, in order at last
to receive the emperor's commands.
They would not, could not believe that the commander-in-chief was
still sleeping It seemed perfectly impossible that he, the illustrious
strong-brained Cæsar, could permit himself to be subjugated by the
common petty need of human nature in these hours when every
second's delay might decide the destiny of many thousands. This sleep
could be no natural one; perhaps the emperor, exhausted by fatigue and
mental excitement, had fallen into a stupor; perhaps he was sleeping
never to wake again. They must see him, they must convince
themselves. They called Roustan and asked him to take them to the
emperor's couch.
He did not refuse, he only entreated them to step lightly, to hold their
breath, in order not to wake the emperor; then gliding before them to
the room, he drew back the _portières_ of the chamber. The officers
followed, stealing along on tiptoe, and gazed curiously, anxiously, into
the quiet, curtained room. Yes, there on the low camp-bed, lay the
emperor. He had not even undressed, but lay as if on parade in full
uniform, with his military cloak flung lightly across his feet. He had
sunk down in this attitude twenty-two hours before, and still lay
motionless and rigid.
But he was sleeping! It was not stupor, it was not death, it was only
sleep which held him captive. His breath came slowly, regularly; his
face was slightly flushed, his eyes were calmly closed. The emperor
was sleeping! His generals need feel no anxiety; they might return to
the drawing-room with relieved hearts. They did so, stealing
noiselessly again through the private office into the hall, whose door
had been left ajar that the noise might not rouse the sleeper.
Yet, once within the hall, they looked at each other with wondering
eyes, astonished faces.
He was really asleep; he could sleep.

He was untroubled, free from care. Yet if the Archduke Charles desired
it, the whole army was lost. He need only remain encamped with his
troops on the bank of the Danube to expose the entire force to hunger,
to destruction.
As they talked angrily, with gloomy faces, they again gazed at each
other with questioning eyes, and looked watchfully around the
drawing-room. No one was present except the group of marshals,
generals and colonels. No one could overhear them, no one could see
how one, Colonel Oudet, raised his right hand and made a few strange,
mysterious gestures in the air.
Instantly every