Chapter 132
From Brienne we retreat to Troyes; from thence to Bar-sur-Aube,--ever nearer and nearer to that capital to which the Allies tend with wild shouts of triumph. On the last day of February our headquarters are at Nogent, not thirty leagues from Paris,--Nogent, with the great forest of Fontainebleau on its left; and Meaux, the ancient bishopric of the Monarchy, on its right; and behind that screen, Paris!
Leaving Bourmont in command of the line which holds the Austrians in check, the Emperor himself hastens to oppose Blucher,--the most intrepid and the most daring of all his enemies. A cross-march in the depth of winter, with the ground covered with half-frozen snow, will bring him on the flank of the Prussian army. It is dared! Dangers and difficulties beset every step; the artillery are almost lost, the cavalry exhausted.
But the cry of "The enemy!" rouses every energy: they debouch on the plain of Champ-Aubert, to fall on the moving column of the Russians under Alsufief. Glorious stroke of fate! Victory again caresses the spoiled child of fortune: the enemy is routed, and retires on Montmirail and Chalons. The advanced army of the Prussians hear the cannonade, and fall back to support the Allies on Montmirail. But the Emperor already awaits them with the battalions of the Old Guard, and another great battle ends in victory. Areola and Rivoli were again remembered, and recalled by victories not less glorious; and once more hope returned to the ranks it seemed to have quitted forever. Another dreadful blow is aimed at Blucher's columns; Marmont attacks them at Vaux-Champs, and the army of Silesia falls back beaten.
And now the Emperor hastens towards Nogent, where he has left Bourmont in front of the Austrians. "Too late! too late!" is again the cry,--the columns of Oudinot and Victor are already in retreat. Schwartzenberg, with a force triple their own, advances on the plains of the Seine; the Cossacks bivouac in the forest of Fontainebleau. Staff-officers hurry onward with the news that the Emperor is approaching; the victorious army which had subdued Blucher is on the march, reinforced by the veteran cavalry of Spain and the tried legions of the Peninsula. They halt, and form in battle. The Allies arrest their steps at Nangis, and again are beaten: Nangis becomes another name of glory to the ears of Frenchmen.
Let me rest one instant in this rapid recital of a week whose great deeds not even Napoleon's life can show the equal of,--the last flash of the lamp of glory ere it darkened forever.
Three days had elapsed from the sad hour in which I laid my dearest friend in his grave, ere I opened the locket I had taken from his bosom. The wild work of war mingled its mad excitement in my brain with thoughts of deep sorrow; and I lived in a kind of fevered dream, and hurried from the affliction which beset me into the torrent of danger.
The gambler who cares not to win rarely loses, so he that seeks death in battle comes unscathed through every danger. Each day I threw myself headlong into some post where escape seemed scarcely possible; but recklessness has its own armor of safety. On the field of Montmirail I was reported to the Emperor; and for an attack on the Austrian rearguard at Melun made colonel of a cuira.s.sier regiment on the field of battle.
Such promotions rained on every side: hundreds were falling each day; many regiments were commanded by officers of twenty-three or twenty-four years of age. Few expected to carry their new epaulettes beyond the engagement they gained them in; none believed the Empire itself could survive the struggle. Each played for a mighty stake; few cared to outlive the game itself. The Emperor showered down favors on the heads which each battlefield laid low.
It was on the return from Melun I first opened the locket, which I continued to wear around my neck. In the full expansion of a momentary triumph to see myself at the head of a regiment, I thought of him who would have partic.i.p.ated in my pride. I was sitting in the doorway of a little cabaret on the roadside, my squadrons picketed around me, for a brief halt; and as my thoughts recurred to the brave D'Auvergne, I withdrew the locket from my bosom. It was a small oval case of gold, opening by a spring. I touched this, and as I did so, the locket sprang open, and displayed before me a miniature of Marie de Meudon. Yes!
beautiful as I had seen her in the forest of Versailles: her dark hair cl.u.s.tering around her n.o.ble brow,--and her eyes, so full of tender loveliness, shadowed by their deep fringes,--were there as I remembered them; the lips were half parted, as though the artist had caught the speaking expression,--and as-I gazed, I could fancy that voice, so musically sweet, still ringing in my ears. I could not look on it enough: the features recalled the scenes when first I met her; and the strong current of love, against which so long I struggled and contended, flowed on with tenfold force once more. Should we ever meet again,--and how? were the questions which rushed to my mind, and to which hope and fear dictated the replies.
The locket was a present from the Empress to the general,--at least, so I interpreted an inscription on the back; and this--shall I confess it?--brought pleasure to my heart. Like one whose bosom bore some wondrous amulet, some charm against the approach of danger, I now rode at the head of my gallant band. Life had grown dearer to me, without death becoming more dreaded. Her image next my heart made me feel as if I should combat beneath her very eyes, and I burned to acquit myself as became one who loved her. A wild, half frantic joy animated me as I went, and was caught by the gay companions around me.
At midnight a despatch reached me, ordering me to hasten forward by a forced march to Montereau, the bridge of which town was a post of the greatest importance, and must be held against the Austrians till Victor could come up. We lost not a moment. It was a calm frosty night, with a bright moon, and we hastened along without halting. About an hour before daybreak we were met by a cavalry patrol, who informed us that Gerard and Victor had both arrived, but too late: Montereau was held by the Wurtemberg troops, who garrisoned the village, and defended the bridge with a strong force of artillery; twice the French troops had been beaten back with tremendous loss, and all looked for the morrow to renew the encounter. We continued our journey; and, as the sun was rising, discovered, at a distance on the road beside the river, the ma.s.s of an infantry column: it was the Emperor himself, come up with the Guard, to attack the position.
Already the preparations for a fierce a.s.sault were in progress. A battery of twelve guns was posted on a height to command the bridge; another, somewhat more
Never, indeed, did an enterprise seem more full of danger. Every house which looked on the bridge was crenelated for small-arms, and garrisoned by sharpshooters,--the fierce Jager of Germany, whose rifles are the boast of the Vaterland. Cannon bristled along the heights; their wide mouths pointed to that devoted spot, already the grave of hundreds.
Withdrawn under cover of a steep hill, my regiment was halted, with two other heavy cavalry corps, awaiting orders; and from the crest of the ridge I could observe the first movements of the fight.
As usual, a fierce cannonade was opened from either side; which, directed mainly against the artillery itself, merely resulted in dismantling a stray battery here and there, without further damage. At last the hoa.r.s.e roll of a drum was heard, and the head of an infantry column was seen advancing up the road. They pa.s.sed beneath a rock on which a little group of officers were standing, and as they went a cheer of "Vive l'Empereur!" broke from them. I strained my eyes towards the place, for now I knew the Emperor himself was there. I could not, however, detect him in the crowd, who all waved their hats in encouragement to the troops.
On they went, descending a steep declivity of the highroad to the bridge. Suddenly the cannonade redoubles from the side of the enemy; the shot whistles through the air, while ten thousand muskets peal forth together. I rivet my eyes to watch the column. But what is my horror to perceive that none appear upon the ridge! The ma.s.ses move up; they mount the ascent; they disappear behind it; and then are lost to sight forever. Not one escapes the dreadful havoc of the guns, which from a distance of less than two hundred yards enfilades the bridge.
But still they moved up. I could hear, from where lay, the commands of the officers, as they gave the word to their companies: no fear nor hesitation,--there they went to death; in less than fifteen minutes twelve hundred fell, dead or wounded. And at last the signal to fall back was given, and the shattered fragment of a column reeled back behind the ridge. Again the cannonade opened, and increasing on both sides, was maintained for above an hour without intermission. During this, our guns did tremendous execution on the village, but without effecting anything of importance respecting the bridge.
The Grenadiers of the Guard had reached the scene of combat, by forced marches, from Nangis; and after a brief time to recruit their strength, were now ordered up. What a splendid force that ma.s.sive column, conspicuous by their scarlet shoulder-knots and tall shakos of black bearskin! with what confidence they move! They halt beneath the rock.
The Emperor is there too. And see! the officer who stands beside him descends from the height, and puts himself at the head of the column: it is Guyot, the colonel of the battalion; he waves his plumed hat in answer to the Emperor,--that salute is the last he shall ever give on earth.
The drums roll out; but the hoa.r.s.e shout of "En avant!" drowns their tumult. On they rush; they are over the height; they disappear down the descent. And see! there they are on the bridge! "Vive la Garde!" shouted ten thousand of their comrades, who watch them from the heights; "Vive la Garde!" is echoed from the tall cliffs beyond the river. The column moves on, and already reaches the middle of the bridge, when eighteen guns throw their fire into it: the blue smoke rolls down the rocky heights and settles on the bridge, broken here and there by flashes, like the forked gleam of lightning; the cloud pa.s.ses oyer; the bridge is empty, save of dead and dying: the Grenadiers of the Guard are no more!
"What heart is his who gives his fellow-men to death like this!" was my exclamation as I witnessed this terrible struggle.
"The Cuira.s.siers and Carbineers of the Guard to form by threes in column of attack!" shouted an aide-de-camp, as he rode up to where I lay. And no more thought had I of _his_ motives, who now opened the path of glory to myself.
The squadrons were arrayed under cover of the ridge; the shot and sh.e.l.ls from the enemy's batteries flew thickly over us,--a presage of the storm we were about to meet. The order to mount was given; and as the men sprang into their saddles, a group of hors.e.m.e.n galloped rapidly round the angle of the cliff, and approached. One glance showed me it was the Emperor and his staff.
"Cuira.s.siers of the Guard," said he, as with raised chapeau he saluted his brave followers, "I have ordered two battalions to carry that bridge; they have failed. Let those who never fail advance to the storm.
Montereau shall be inscribed on your helmets, men, when I see you on yonder heights. Go forward!"
"Forward! forward!" shouted the mailed ranks, half maddened by the exciting presence of Napoleon.
The force was formed in four separate columns of attack: the First Cuira.s.siers leading; followed by the Carbineers of the Guard; then my own regiment; and lastly, the Fourth, the corps of poor Pioche. What would I have given to know he was there! But there was not time for such inquiry now. The squadrons were ready awaiting the moment to dash on.
A loud detonation of nigh twenty guns shook the earth; and in the smoke that rolled from them the bridge was concealed from view. A trumpet sounded, and the cry of "Charge!" followed. The ma.s.s sprang forth. What a cheer was theirs as they swept past! The cannonade opens again; the whole ground trembles. The musketry follows; and the clatter of a thousand sabres mingles with the war-cries of the combatants. It is but brief,--the tumult is already subsiding.
And now comes the order for the carbineers to move up; the cuira.s.siers have been cut to pieces. A few, mangled and bleeding, have reeled back behind the hill; but the regiment is gone!
"Where are the troops of Wagram and Eylau?" said the Emperor, in bitterness, as he saw the one broken squadron, sole remnant of a gallant corps, reeling, bloodstained and dying, to the rear. "Where is that cavalry that carried the Russian battery at Moskowa? You are not what you once were!"
This cruel taunt, at the very moment when the earth was steeped in the blood of his brave soldiers, was heard in mournful silence. None spoke a word, but with clenched lip and clasped hand sat waiting the command to charge. It came; but no cheer followed. The carbineers dashed on, prepared to die: what death so dreadful as the cold irony of Napoleon!
"En avant! cuira.s.siers of the Tenth," called out the Emperor, as the last squadrons of the carbineers went by, "support your comrades! Follow up there, men of the Fourth! I must have that bridge."
And now the whole line moved up. As we turned the cliff in full trot, the scene of combat lay before us: the terrible bridge now actually choked up with dead and wounded, the very battlements strewn with corpses. In an instant the carbineers were upon it; and struggling through the ma.s.s of carnage, they rode onward. Like men goaded to despair, they pressed on, and actually reached the archway beyond, which, defended by a strong gate, closed up the way. Whole files now fell at every discharge; but others took their places, to fall as rapidly beneath the murderous musketry.
"A petard to the gate!" is now the cry,--"a petard, and the bridge is won!"
Quick as lightning, four sappers of the Guard rush across the road and gain the bridge. They carry some thing between them, but soon are lost in the dense ma.s.ses of the horse. The enemy's fire redoubles; the bridge crashes beneath the cannonade, when a loud shout is raised,--
"Let the cavalry fall back!"
A cheer of triumph breaks from the town as they behold the retiring squadrons; they know not that the petard is now attached to the gate, and that the hors.e.m.e.n are merely withdrawn for the explosion.
The bridge is cleared, and every eye is turned to watch the discharge which shall break the strong door, and leave the pa.s.sage open. But unhappily the fuze has missed, and the great engine lies inert and inactive. What is to be done? The cavalry cannot venture to approach the spot, which at any moment may explode with ruin on every side; and thus the bridge is rendered impregnable by our own fault.
"Fatality upon fatality!" is the exclamation of Napoleon, as he heard the tidings. "This to the man who puts a match to the fuze!" said he, as he detaches the great cross of the Legion from his breast, and holds it aloft.
With one spring I jump from my saddle, and dash at the burning match a gunner is holding near me. A rush is made by several others; but I am fleetest of foot, and before they reach the road I am on the bridge. The enemy has not seen me, and I am half-way across before a shot is aimed at me. Even then a surprise seems to arrest their fire, for it is a single ball whizzes past. I see the train; I kneel down; the fuze is faint, and I stoop to blow it; and then my action is perceived, and a shattering volley sweeps the bridge. The high projecting parapet protects me, and I am unhurt. But the fuze will not take: horrible moment of agonizing suspense,--the powder is clotted with blood, and will not ignite! I remember that my pistols are in my belt, and detaching one, I draw the charge, and scatter the fresh powder along the line. My shelter still saves me, though the b.a.l.l.s are cras.h.i.+ng like hail around me. It takes, it takes! the powder spits and flashes, and a loud cry from my comrades bursts out, "Come back! come back!"
Forgetting everything in the intense anxiety of the moment, I spring to my legs; but scarce is my head above the parapet when a bullet strikes me in the chest. I fall covered with blood.
"Save him! save him!" is the cry of a thousand voices; and a rush is made upon the bridge. The musketry opens on these brave fellows, and they fall back wounded and discouraged.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 504]
Crouching beneath the parapet, I try to stanch my wound; but the blood is gus.h.i.+ng in torrents, my senses are reeling, the objects around grow dimmer, the noise seems fainter. But suddenly I feel a hand upon my neck, and at the same instant a flask is pressed to my lips. I drink, and the wine rallies me; the bleeding is stopped. My eyes open again; and dare I trust their evidence? Who is it that now shelters beneath the parapet beside me? Minette, the vivandiere! her handsome face flushed, her eyes wild with excitement, and her brown hair in great tangled ma.s.ses on her back and shoulders.
"Minette, is it indeed thee?" said I, pressing her hand to my lips.
"I knew you at the head of your regiment some days ago, and I thought we should meet ere long. But lie still; we are safe here. The fire slackens too; they have fallen back since the gate was forced."
"Is the gate forced, Minette?"
"Ay, the petard has done its work; but the columns are not come up. Lie still till they pa.s.s."
"Dear, dear girl! what a brave heart is thine!" said I, gazing on her beautiful features, tenfold handsomer from the expression which her heroism had lent them.
"You would surely adventure as much for me," said she, half-timidly, as she pressed her handkerchief against the wound, which still oozed blood.
The action entangled her fingers in a ribbon. She tried to extricate them; and the locket fell out, opening by accident at the same moment.
With a convulsive energy she clasped the miniature in both hands, and riveted her eyes upon it. The look was wild as that of madness itself, and her features grew stiff as she gazed, while the pallor of death overspread them. It was scarce the action of a second; in another, she flung back the picture from her and sprang to her feet. One glance she gave me, fleeting as the lightning flash, but how full of storied sorrow!