A Soldier Of The Empire | Page 3

was seething. Troops
were being mustered in, and the streets and parks were filled with the
tramp of regiments; and the roll of the drums, the call of the bugles, and
the cheers of the crowds as they marched by floated into the Quarter.
Brass bands were so common that although in the winter a couple of
strolling musicians had been sufficient to lose temporarily every child
in the Quarter, it now required a full band and a grenadier regiment, to
boot, to draw a tolerable representation.
Of all the residents of the Quarter, none took a deeper interest than the
soldier of the empire. He became at once an object of more than usual
attention. He had married in Lorraine, and could, of course, tell just
how long it would take to whip the Prussians. He thought a single battle
would decide it. It would if the emperor were there. His little court was
always full of inquirers, and the stories of the emperor were told to
audiences now of grandfathers and grandmothers.
Once or twice the gendarmes had sauntered down, thinking, from
seeing the crowd, that a fight was going on. They had stayed to hear of
the emperor. A hint was dropped by the soldier of the empire that
perhaps France would conquer Prussia, and then go on across to
Moscow to settle an old score, and that night it was circulated through
the Quarter that the invasion of Russia would follow the capture of
Berlin. The emperor became more popular than he had been since the

coup d'état. Half the Quarter offered its services.
The troops were being drilled night and day, and morning after
morning the soldier of the empire locked his door, buttoned his coat
tightly around him, and with a stately military air marched over to the
park to see the drill, where he remained until it was time for Pierre to
have his supper.
The old Sergeant's acquaintance extended far beyond the Quarter.
Indeed, his name had been mentioned in the papers more than once,
and his presence was noted at the drill by those high in authority; so
that he was often to be seen surrounded by a group listening to his
accounts of the emperor, or showing what the manuel had been in his
time. His air, always soldierly, was now imposing, and many a visitor
of distinction inquiring who he might be, and learning that he was a
soldier of the empire, sought an introduction to him. Sometimes they
told him that they could hardly believe him so old, could hardly believe
him much older than some of those in the ranks, and although at first he
used to declare he was like a rusty flint-lock, too old and useless for
service, their flattery soothed his vanity, and after a while, instead of
shaking his head and replying as he did at first that France had no use
for old men, he would smile doubtfully and say that when they let
Pierre go, maybe he would go too, "just to show the children how they
fought then."
The summer came. The war began in earnest. The troops were sent to
the front, the crowds shouting, "On to Berlin." Others were mustered in
and sent after them as fast as they were equipped. News of battle after
battle came; at first, of victory (so the papers said), full and satisfying,
then meagre and uncertain, and at last so scanty that only the wise ones
knew there had been a defeat. The Quarter was in a fever of patriotism.
Jean Maison and nearly all the young men had enlisted and gone,
leaving their sweethearts by turns waving their kerchiefs and wiping
their eyes with them. Pierre, however, still remained behind. He said he
was working for the Government. Raoul said he was not working at all;
that he was skulking.

Suddenly the levy came. Pierre was conscripted.
That night the Sergeant enlisted in the same company. Before the week
was out, their regiment was equipped and dispatched to the front, for
the news came that the army was making no advance, and it was said
that France needed more men. Some shook their heads and said that
was not what she needed, that what she needed was better officers. A
suggestion of this by some of the recruits in the old Sergeant's presence
drew from him the rebuke that in his day "such a speech would have
called out a corporal and a file of grenadiers."
The day they were mustered in, the captain of the company sent for him
and bade him have the first sergeant's chevrons sewed on his sleeve.
The order had come from the colonel, some even said from the marshal.
In the Quarter it was said that it