The Eagle of the Empire | Page 4

it at
parade rest. As to each individual's movements, he suits his fancy.
These are old soldiers, indeed, highly privileged, veterans of twenty
campaigns, fifty pitched battles, and smaller affairs without number.
Their weatherbeaten faces are lined and wrinkled, their mustaches are
as white as snow.
The guard is always relieved at the appointed intervals with military
formality and precision. One soldier, older, taller than the rest, is in
command of the other four. From his buttonhole dangles from a white
ribbon a little cross of white enamel. Though he shows no insignia of
rank higher than that of a Sergeant of the Guard, he has won the proud
distinction of the Legion of Honor.

At one stated hour in the day, a tall, handsome, distinguished,
middle-aged man, wearing for the occasion the uniform of a colonel in
the Imperial Guard, a blood-stained, tarnished, battered, battle-worn
uniform, be it observed, comes into the room. He is more often than not
attended by a lovely lady of beauty and grace, in spite of her years, who
leads with either hand a handsome youth and a beautiful maiden. The
four soldiers are always present in full uniform under the command of
their sergeant at this hour. As the officer enters they form line, come to
attention, and present arms, a salute he gravely and punctiliously
acknowledges. Attendants follow, bearing decanters and glasses; wine
for the officer and his family, something stronger for the soldiers. The
glasses are filled. With her own fair hands, the lady hands them to the
men. When all are ready the officer holds up his glass. The men,
stacking arms, do the same. The eyes of all glance upward. Above the
eagle and the flag upon a shelf upon the wall stands a marble head,
product of Canova's marvelous chisel. It is Napoleon. White it gleams
against the dark stone of the old hall. At a nod the soldiers face about,
and----
"Vive l'Empereur," says the officer quietly.
"Vive l'Empereur," in deep and solemn tones repeats the old sergeant.
"Vive l'Empereur," comes from the lips of the four soldiers, and even
the woman and the young people join in that ancient acclaim.
The great Emperor is dead long since. He sleeps beneath the willows in
the low valley in the lonely, far-off, wave-washed islet of St. Helena.
But to these men he will never die. It is their blood that is upon that
eagle staff. It was in their hands that it received those wounds. While
they carried it, flung to the breeze of battle, it was shot-torn and
storm-riven. It is a priceless treasure to them all. As they followed it
with the ardor and devotion of youth so they now guard it and respect it
with the steadier but not less intense consecration of maturity and old
age.
The eagle of a vanished empire, the emblem of a fame that is past. It is
as real to them as when into the hands of one of them it was given by

the Emperor himself on the Champ de Mars so long ago when he was
lord of the world. And so long as they live they will love it, reverence it,
guard it, salute it as in the past.

BOOK I
THE EMPEROR AT BAY
CHAPTER I
BEARERS OF EVIL TIDINGS
The Emperor walked nervously up and down the long, low-ceiled
apartment, the common room of the public inn at Nogent. Grouped
around a long table in the center of the room several secretaries were
busy with orders, reports and dispatches. At one end stood a group of
officers of high rank in rich uniforms whose brilliance was shrouded by
heavy cloaks falling from their shoulders and gathered about them, for
the air was raw and chill, despite a great fire burning in a huge open
fireplace. Their cloaks and hats were wet, their boots and trousers
splashed with mud, and in general they were travel-stained and weary.
They eyed the Emperor, passing and repassing, in gloomy silence
mixed with awe. In their bearing no less than in their faces was
expressed a certain unwonted fierce resentment, which flamed up and
became more evident when the Emperor turned his back in his short,
restless march to and fro, but which subsided as suddenly when he had
them under observation. By the door was stationed a young officer in
the uniform of the Fifth Regiment of the infantry of the line. He stood
quietly at attention, and was evidently there on duty.
From time to time officers, orderlies and couriers came into the room,
bearing dispatches. These were handed to the young officer and by him
passed over to the Emperor. Never since the days of Job had any man
perhaps been compelled to welcome such a succession