The Eagle of the Empire | Page 7

stopped
and looked at them. They saluted him, walked over to Berthier, the
Chief of Staff.
"The soldiers are dying of hunger," said the first. "The Commissary
General has nothing to give them. He expected a convoy of provisions,
but Cossacks, who are reported at Fontainebleau, have captured the
train. What shall we do?"
Berthier threw up his hands, and turned to the other officer to hear his
report.
"Ten thousand men are without arms, or with arms unserviceable and

broken. The supply of powder is low. Where shall we get any more?"
The silence in the room was terrible.
"Sire," said Berthier in a low voice, turning to Napoleon, standing
staring, "you hear?" He stretched out his hand in appealing gesture.
The Emperor turned on his heel, without deigning to look or speak.
"Watch the door for two hours," he said to the young officer, crashing
to the door behind him. "Awaken me then."
"Gentlemen," said Berthier despairingly to the other officers, "we shall
never persuade him. You had better repair to your commands. Some of
you must have something to eat. Divide what you have with the less
fortunate divisions. Arm and equip the best men. There is a small
supply at Nogent, I am told. The others must wait."
"If we could only get at these pigs of Prussians, these dogs of
Russians," said Ney, "we could take food and guns and powder from
them."
"Doubtless," said Berthier, not caring to argue that point.
He bowed to the officers, as they saluted, and went out of the door
muttering and arguing noisily and insubordinately, it must be admitted,
and then turned to the table where the secretaries sat. One of them had
laid his head down on his arms, stretched out on the table and was fast
asleep. The marshal awoke him and dismissed him with most of the
rest. From another Berthier took a paper. He examined it, signed it,
sealed it, and handed it to the young officer on guard at the door.
"Your commission, monsieur," he said. "Once I was young and full of
enthusiasm and hope and determination. It is well for France that some
of her children still retain those things."
"I thank the Prince de Wagram," said the young officer, bowing low,
"and I beg his pardon for having spoken."

"The Emperor has forgiven," said Berthier indifferently. "His
absolution covers us all. At least if I fall behind you in those other
qualities of youth I shall not fall behind you in devotion. Come, Maret,"
continued the grand marshal.
The two worthies turned away and went out. The long room sank into
silence. A soldier came in after a while and replenished the fire, saluted
and passed out. The pen of the busy secretary, the only one left of the
group, ceased scratching on the paper. He, too, sank back in his chair
asleep. The short day faded into twilight and then into darkness. From
outside beyond the courtyard of the inn came confused noises,
indicating moving bodies of men, the rumble of artillery, the clatter of
cavalry, faint words of command. A light snow began to fall. It was
intensely raw and cold. The officer picked up his cloak, wrapped it
around him, and resumed his immobile guard.
CHAPTER II
THE EMPEROR DREAMS
Within a mean room, which had hastily been prepared for his use, upon
a camp bed, having cast himself down, fully clothed as he was, lay the
worn-out, dispirited, embittered Emperor. He sought sleep in vain.
Since Leipsic, with its horrible disaster a few months before, one
reverse of fortune had succeeded another. He who had entered every
country a conqueror at the head of his armies, whose myriads of
soldiers had overrun every land, eating it up with ruthless greed and
rapacity, and spreading destruction far and wide, was now at bay. He
who had dictated terms of peace in all the capitals of Europe at the head
of triumphant legions was now with a small, weak, ill-equipped, unfed
army, striving to protect his own capital. France was receiving the
pitiless treatment which she had accorded other lands. With what
measure she had meted out, it was being measured back to her again.
The cup of trembling, filled with bitterness, was being held to her
shrinking lips, and she must perforce drain it to the dregs. After all
Napoleon's far-flung campaigns, after all his overwhelming victories,
after the vast outpouring of blood and treasure, after all his glory and

all his fame, the end was at hand.
The prostrate Emperor stared out through the low window into the gray
sky with its drift of snow across the panes. He heard faintly the tumult
outside. Disaster, ruin, despair entered his heart. The young conscripts
were disheartened by defeat, the steady