The Eagle of the Empire | Page 3

seen just such an eagle on one
of the tombs of the great Visconti family. For, in truth, this emblem has
been modeled after that one.
Below the thunderbolt is a tablet of brass, three inches square, on which
is a raised number. In this instance, the number is five. The copper of
which the eagle is molded was originally gilded, but in its present
battered condition much of the gilt has been worn off, or shot off, and
the original material is plainly discernible. If it could be lifted its
weight would be found to be about three and a half pounds.
Around the neck of the eagle hangs a wreath of pure gold. There is an
inscription on the back of it, which says that the wreath was presented
to the regiment by the loyal city of Paris after the wonderful Ulm
campaign.
One of the claws of the eagle has been shot away. The gold laurel
wreath has also been struck by a bullet, and some of its leaves are gone.
The tip of one wing is missing. The head of the eagle, originally
proudly and defiantly erect, has been bent backward so that, instead of

a level glance, it looks upward, and there is a deep dent in it, as from a
blow. And right in the breast gapes a great ragged shot-hole, which
pierces the heart of the proud emblem. The eagle has seen service. It
has been in action. It bears its honorable wounds. No attempt has been
made to repair it.
The staff on which the eagle stands has been broken at about half its
length, presumably by a bullet. The shattered, splintered end indicates
that the staff is made of oak. It had been painted blue originally. The
freshness of the paint has been marred. On one side, a huge slice has
been cut out of it as if by a mighty sword stroke. The tough wood is
gashed and scarred in various places, and there is a long, dark blur just
above the broken part, which looks as if it might be a blood stain.
Below the eagle, and attached to the remainder of the staff for about
three-fourths of its length, is what remains of a battle flag. The material
of it was originally rich and heavy crimson silk, bordered with gold
fringe. It is faded, tattered, shot-torn, bullet-ridden, wind-whipped;
parts of it have disappeared. It has been carefully mounted, and is
stretched out so as to present its face to the beholder. In dull, defaced
letters of gold may be read inscriptions--the imagination piecing out the
missing parts. Here is a line that runs as follows:
Napoleon, Empereur des Français, au 5e Infanterie de la Ligne.
And underneath, in smaller and brighter letters, as if a later addition:
Grenadiers du Garde Imperiale.
There has been some sort of device in the middle, but most of it has
disappeared. From what remains, one guesses that it was a facsimile of
the eagle on the staff-head. There are little tarnished spots of gold here
and there. A close observation discloses that they are golden bees. In
the corners near the staff, the only ones that are left are golden wreaths
in the center of which may be seen the letter "N".
On the other side of the flag, hidden from the beholder, are a series of
names. They have been transcribed upon a silver plate, which is affixed

to the wall below the broken staff. They read as follows:
"Marengo; Ulm; Austerlitz; Jena; Berlin; Eylau; Friedland; Madrid;
Eckmuhl; Wagram; Vienna; Smolensk; Moskowa; Bautzen; Leipsic;
Montmirail; Arcis."
Beneath this list is a heavy dash and below all in larger letters, which
unlike the rest have been filled with black enamel, is the last word,
"WATERLOO."
The eagle, the staff, and the flag are enclosed and protected from
careless handling by a heavy glass case, the panes set in steel and silver,
and the doors carefully locked to prevent its being stolen away. But its
security is not entrusted to these inanimate materials alone. Every hour
of the day and night there keeps watch over it an old soldier. He is
armed and equipped as if for battle, in the uniform of the old Fifth
Regiment of the Line, somehow temporarily incorporated in the
Imperial Guard as a supplementary regiment of the Grenadiers thereof.
The black gaiters, the white trousers, the blue and scarlet coat, with its
crossed belts and brilliant decorations, the lofty bearskin head-dress,
are all strangely in keeping with the relic and its surroundings.
Sometimes the soldier--and there are five of them whose sole and only
business it is to watch over the flag--paces steadily up and down in
front of it, like a sentry on his post. Sometimes he stands before