The Eagle of the Empire | Page 5

as he walked.
"Well, messieurs," he began at last, in sharp, rather high-pitched notes--even his voice sounded differently--as he lifted his eyes from perusing the latest dispatch and faced the uneasy group by the fireplace, "you are doubtless anxious to know the news." The Emperor stepped over to the table as he spoke, and gathered up a handful of dispatches and ran over them with his hands. "It is all set forth here: The Germans and the English have shut up Carnot in Antwerp," he continued rapidly, throwing one paper down. "The Bourbons have entered Brussels,"--he threw another letter upon the table--"Belgium, you see, is lost. Bernadotte has taken Denmark. Macdonald is falling back on ��pernay, his weak force growing weaker every hour. Yorck, who failed us once before, is hard on his heels with twice, thrice, the number of his men. Sacken is trying to head him off. The King of Naples seeks to save the throne on which I established him by withdrawing from me now--the poor fool! The way to Paris along the Marne is open, and Bl��cher is marching on the capital with eighty thousand Russians, Prussians and Bavarians. Schwarzenburg with many more is close at hand."
Something like a hollow groan broke from the breasts of the auditors as the fateful dispatches fell one by one from the Emperor's hand. The secretaries stopped writing and stared. The young officer by the door clenched his hands.
"Sire----," said one of the officers, the rich trappings of whose dress indicated that he was a Marshal of France. He began boldly but ended timidly. "Before it is too late----"
Napoleon swung around and fixed his piercing eyes upon him, as his voice died away. The Emperor could easily finish the uncompleted sentence.
"What, you, Mortier!" he exclaimed.
"I, too, Sire," said another marshal more boldly, apparently encouraged by the fact that his brother officer had broken the ice.
"And you, Marmont," cried the Emperor, transfixing him in turn with a reproachful glance.
Both marshals stepped back abashed.
"Besides," said the Emperor gloomily, "it is already too late. I have reserved the best for the last," he said with grim irony. "The courier who has just departed is from Caulaincourt." He lifted the last dispatch, which he had torn open a moment or two since. He shook it in the air, crushed it in his hand, laughed, and those who heard him laugh shuddered.
"What does the Duke of Vicenza say, Sire?" chimed in another marshal.
"It is you, Berthier," said the Emperor. "You, at least, do not advise surrender?"
"Not yet, Sire."
"But when?" asked Napoleon quickly. Without waiting for an answer to his question, he continued: "The allies now graciously offer us--think of it, gentlemen--the limits of 1791."
"Impossible!" cried a big red-headed marshal.
"They demand it, Prince of the Moskowa," answered the Emperor, addressing Marshal Ney.
"But it's incredible, Sire."
"What!" burst out Napoleon passionately. "Shall we leave France less than we found her, after all these victories, after all these conquests, after all these submissions of kings and nations? Shall we go back to the limits of the old monarchy? Never!"
"But, Sire----" began Marshal Maret.
"No more," said the Emperor, turning upon the Duc de Bassano. "Rather death than that. While we have arms we can at least die."
He flashed an imperious look upon the assembly, but no one seemed to respond to his appeal. The Emperor's glance slowly roved about the room. The young captain met his look. Instantly and instinctively his hand went up in salute, his lips framed the familiar phrase:
"Vive l'Empereur! Yes, Sire, we can still die for you," he added in a low respectful voice, but with tremendous emphasis nevertheless.
He was a mere youth, apparently. Napoleon looked at him approvingly, although some of the marshals, with clouded brows and indignant words of protest at such an outburst from so young a man, would have reproved him had not their great leader checked them with a gesture.
"Your name, sir," he said shortly to the young officer who had been guilty of such an amazing breach of military decorum.
"Marteau, Sire. Jean Marteau, at the Emperor's service," answered the young soldier nervously, realizing what impropriety he had committed.
"It remains," said the Emperor, looking back at the marshals and their aides, "for a beardless boy to set an example of devotion in which Princes and Dukes of the Empire, Marshals of France, heroes of fifty pitched battles, fail."
"We will die for you, Sire, for France, die with arms in our hands, if we had them, and on the field of battle," began impetuous Ney.
"If we don't starve first, Sire," said cautious Berthier gloomily.
"Starve!" exclaimed the Emperor.
"The army is without food," said Marmont bluntly.
"It is half naked and freezing," added Victor.
"Ammunition fails us," joined in Oudinot.
"We have no arms," added Mortier.
"Do you, then, advise that we abandon ourselves to the tender mercies of