CHAPTER XXII. L'HOMME ROUGE
On my way to the imperial quarters, I fell in with some squadrons of ourdragoons, from whom I learned that General d'Auvergne had just receivedorders to repair to the Emperor's bivouac, to which several officers incommand were also summoned. As I saw, therefore, that I could have noprospect of meeting the Emperor, I resolved merely to hold myself inreadiness, should he, which seemed little likely, think of me; andaccordingly I took up my post with some young under-officers ofour brigade, at a huge fire, where a species of canteen had beenestablished, and coffee and corn-brandy were served out to all comers.
The recent escape of Napoleon at the outposts was already known far andnear, and formed the great topic of conversation, in which, I felt hurtto remark, no mention of the part I took was ever made, although therewere at least a dozen different versions of the accident. In one, hisMajesty was represented to have rode down upon and sabred the advancedpicket; in another, it was the Prussians who fired, he having penetratedwithin their lines to reconnoitre,--each agreeing in the one great fact,that the feat was something which no one save himself could have doneor thought of. As for me, I felt it was not my part to speak of theincident at all until his Majesty should first do so. I listened,therefore, with due patience and some amusement to the variousnarratives about me; which served to show me, by one slight instance,the measure of that exaggeration with which the Emperor's name was evertreated, and convinced me that it required not time nor distance tocolor every incident of his life with the strongest hues of romance. Thetopic was a fruitful and favorite one; and certainly few subjects couldwith more propriety season the hours around a bivouac fire than theexploits of the Emperor Napoleon.
Among those whose reminiscences went farthest back was an oldsergeant-major of infantry,--a seared and seamed and weather-beatenlittle fellow, who, from fatigues and privations, was dried up to a massof tendons and fibres. This little man presented one of those strangemixtures with which the army abounded,--the shrewdest common sense onall ordinary topics, with a most credulous faith in any story whereNapoleon's name occurred. It seemed, indeed, as though that one element,occurring in any tale, dispensed at once with the rules which governbelief in common cases.
The invulnerability of the Emperor was with him a fruitful theme; and heteemed with anecdotes of the Egyptian and Italian campaigns, in which itwas incontestably shown that neither shot nor shell had any effectupon him. But of all the superstitions regarding Napoleon, none had suchcomplete hold on his imagination, nor was more implicitly believed byhim, than the story of that little "Red Man," who, it was asserted,visited the Emperor the night before each great battle, and arrangedwith him the manoeuvres of the succeeding day.
"L'Homme Bouge," as he was called, was an article of faith in the Frencharmy that few of the soldiers ever thought of disputing. Some frompure credulity, some from the force of example, and some again fromindolence, believed in this famed personage; but even the veriestscoffer on more solemn subjects would have hesitated ere he venturedto assail the almost universal belief in this supernatural agency.The Emperor's well-known habit of going out alone to visit pickets andoutposts on the eve of a battle was a circumstance too favorable to thissuperstition not to be employed in its defence. Besides, it was wellknown that he spent hours by himself, when none even of the marshals hadaccess to him; and on these occasions it was said "L'Homme Bouge" waswith him. Sentinels had been heard to declare that they could overhearangry words passing between the Emperor and his guest; that threats hadbeen interchanged between them; and on one occasion it was said that the"Red Man" went so 'far as to declare, that if his advice were neglectedNapoleon should lose the battle, see his artillery fall into the handsof the enemy, and behold the Guard capitulate.
"_Mille tonnerres!_ what are you saying?" broke in the little man,to the grim old soldier who was relating this. "You know nothing of'L'Homme Rouge,'--not a word; how should you? But I served in theTwenty-second of the Line, old Mongoton's corps; the 'Faubourg Devils,'as they were called. _He_ knew him well; it was 'L'Homme Rouge' hadhim shot for treason at Cairo. I was one of the company drawn for hisexecution; and when he knelt down on the grass, he held up his hand thisway, and cried out,--
"'Voltigeurs of the Line, hear me! You have all known me many years; youhave seen whether I could face the enemy like a man; and you can tellwhether I cared for the heaviest charge that ever shook a square. Youknow, also, whether I was true to our general. Well, it is "L'HommeRouge" who has brought me to this. And now: Carry arms!--all together!Come, _mes enfants!_ try it again: Carry arms! (ay, that's better)present arms! fire!'
"_Morbleu!_ the word was not well out when he was dead; and there,through the smoke, as plain as I see you now, I saw the figure of alittle fellow, dressed in scarlet,--feather and boots all the same! Hewas standing over the corpse, and threatening it with his hands. Andthat," said he, in a solemn voice, "that was 'L'Homme Rouge!'"
This anecdote was conclusive. There was no gainsaying the assertionsof a man who had, with his own eyes, seen the celebrated "Red Man;"and from that instant he enjoyed a decided monopoly of everything thatconcerned his private history.
According to the sergeant-major's version,--and who could venture tocontradict him?--"L'Homme Rouge" was not the confidential adviser andfriendly counsellor of the Emperor; but, on the contrary, his evilgenius, perpetually employed in thwarting his plans and opposing hisviews. Each seemed to have his hour of triumph alternately. Now it wasthe Bed Man, now Napoleon, who stood in the ascendant. Fortune for along period had been constant to the Emperor, and victory crowned everybattle. This had, it seemed, greatly chagrined "L'Homme Bouge," who foryears past had not been seen nor heard of. The last tradition of him wasa story told by one of the sentinels on guard at the general's quartersat Mont Tabor.
It was midnight: all was still and silent in the camp. The soldiersslept as men sleep before a battle, when the old grenadier who walkedhis short post before General Bonaparte's tent heard a quick treadapproaching him. "Qui vive?" cried he; but there was no reply. "Quivive?" called the sentry once more; but as he did so he leaped backwardsand brought his musket to the charge, for just then something brushedclose by him and entered the tent.
For a moment or two he doubted what should be done. Should he turn outthe guard? It was only to be laughed at; that would never do. But whatif it really were somebody who had penetrated to the general's quarters?As this thought struck him, he crept up close to the tent; and there,true enough, he heard the voices of two persons speaking.
"Ah! thou here?" said Bonaparte. "I scarce expected to see thee so farfrom France!"
"Alas!" said the other, with a deep sigh, "what land is now open to me,or whither shall I fly to? I took refuge in Brussels; well, what shouldI see one morning, but the tall shakos of your grenadiers coming up thesteep street. I fled to Holland; you were there the day after. 'Come,'thought I, 'he's moving northwards; I'll try the other extreme.' So Istarted for the Swiss. _Sacrebleu_! the roll of your confounded drumsresounded through every valley. I reached the banks of the Po; yourtroops were there the same evening. I pushed for Rome; they werepreparing your quarters, which you occupied that night. Away, then, Istart once more; I cross mountains and rivers and seas, and gain thedesert at last. I thank my fortune that there are a thousand leaguesbetween us; and here you are now. For pity's sake, show me, on that mapof the world, one little spot you don't want to conquer, and let me livethere in peace, and be sure never to meet you more."
Bonaparte did not speak for some minutes, and it seemed as though hewere intently considering the request of "L'Homme Rouge."
"There," said he at length, "there! You see that island in the greatsea, with nothing near it; thou mayest go there."
"How is it called?" said "L'Homme Rouge."
"St. Helena," said the general. "It is not very large; but I promisethee to be undisturbed there."
"You 'll never come there, then? Is that a pledge?"
"Never; I promise it
. At least, if I do, thou shalt be the master, and Ithe slave."
"Enough! I go now. Adieu!" said the little man. And the same instant thesentinel felt his arm brushed by some one passing close beside him; andthen all was silent in the tent once more.
"Thus, you see," said the sergeant-major, "from that hour it was agreedon the Emperor should conquer the whole world, and leave that one littlespot for 'L'Homme Rouge.' _Parbleu!_ he might well spare him that much."
"How big might it be, that island?" said an old grenadier, who listenedwith the deepest attention to the tale.
"Nothing to speak of; about the size of one battalion drawn up insquare."
"_Pardieu!_ a small kingdom too!"
"Ah! it would not do for the Emperor," said the sergeant-major,laughing,--an emotion the others joined in at once; and many a jest wentround at the absurdity of such a thought.
I sat beside the watchfire, listening to the old campaigning stories,till one by one the speakers dropped off to sleep. The bronzed veteranand the boy conscript, the old soldier of the Sambre and the beardlessyouth, lay side by side: to some of these it was the last time theyshould slumber on earth. As the night wore on, the sounds became hushedin the camp, and through the thin frosty air I could hear from a longdistance off the tramp of the patrols and the challenge of the reliefsas the outposts were visited. The Prussian sentries were quite close toour advanced posts, and when the wind came from that quarter, I oftenheard the voices as they exchanged their signals.
Through the entire night, officers came and went to and from the tent ofthe Emperor. To him, at least, it seemed no season of repose. At length,when nigh morning, wearied with watching and tired out with expectancy,I leaned my head on my knees, and dropped into a half-sleep. Some vaguesense of disappointment at being forgotten by the Emperor, was thelast thought I had as I fell off, and in its sadness it colored allmy dreams. I remembered, with all the freshness of a recent event, thecurse of the old hag on the morning I had quitted my home forever,--herprayer that bad luck should track me every step through life; and in theshadowy uncertainty of my sleeping thoughts I believed I was predestinedto misfortune.
Almost every man has experienced the fact, that there are times in lifewhen impressions, the slightest in their origin, will have an undueweight on the mind; when, as it were, the clay of our natures becomesoftened, and we take the impress of passing events more easily. Somevague and shadowy conception--a doubt, a dream--is enough at momentslike these to attain the whole force of a conviction; and it iswonderful with what ingenuity we wind to our purpose every circumstancearound us, and what pains we take to increase the toils of ourself-deception. It would be a curious thing to trace out how much of ourgood or evil fortune in life had its source in these superstitions; howfar the frame of mind fashioned the events before it; and to what extentour hopes and fears were but the forerunners of destiny.
My sleeping thoughts were of the saddest; and when I awoke, I could notshake them off. A heavy, dense fog clothed every object around, throughwhich only the watchfires were visible, as they flared with a yellow,hazy light of unnatural size. The position of these signals was onlyto mark the inequality of the ground: and I now could perceive that weoccupied the crest of a long and steep hill, down the sides and at thebottom of which fires were also burning; while in front another mountainarose, whose summit for a great distance was marked out by watchfires.This I conjectured, from its extent and position, to be the Prussianline.
At the front of the Emperor's quarters several led horses were standing,whose caparison bespoke them as belonging to the staff; and although notyet five o'clock, there was an appearance of movement which indicatedpreparation. The troops, however, were motionless; the dense columnscovered the ground like a garment, and stirred not. As I stood,uncertain what course to take, I heard the noise of voices and the heavytramp of many feet near, and on turning perceived it was the Emperor,who came forth from his tent, followed by several of his staff. A largefire blazed in front of his bivouac, which threw its long light on thegroup; where, even in a fleeting glance, I recognized General Gazan, andNansouty, the commander of the Cuirassiers of the Guard.
"What hour is it?" said the Emperor to Duroc, who stood near him.
"Almost five o'clock, Sire."
"It is darker than it was an hour ago. Maison, where is Bernadotte bythis?--at Domberg, think you?"
"Not yet, Sire; he is no laggard if he reach it in three hours hence."
"Ney would have been there now," was the quick reply of Napoleon. "Come,gentlemen, into the saddle, and let us move towards the front. Gazan,put your division under arms."
The general waited not a second bidding, but wheeled his horse suddenlyround, and followed by his aide-decamp, rode at full speed down themountain.
"There is the first streak of day," said the Emperor, pointing to afaint gray light above the distant forest; "it breaks like Austerlitz."
"May it set as gloriously!" said old Nansouty, in his deep low voice.
"And it will," said Napoleon. "What sayest thou, _grognard?_" continuedhe, turning with an affected severity of manner to the grenadier whostood sentinel on the spot, and who, with a French soldier's easyindifference, leaned on the cross of his musket to listen to theconversation; "what sayest thou? Art eager to be made corporal?"
"_Parbleu!_" growled out the rough soldier, "the grade is little toboast of; were I even a general of division, there might be something tohope for."
"What then?" said Napoleon, sharply, "what then?"
"King of Prussia, to be sure; thou 'lt give away the title before thishour to-morrow."
The Emperor laughed aloud at the conceit. Its flattery had a charm forhim no courtier's well-turned compliment could vie with; and I couldhear him still continuing to enjoy it as he rode slowly forward anddisappeared in the gloom.