Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 3
He thrust back their hands with a swift gesture of repulse, and stepped
slowly and proudly down into the swaying, rocking boat which was to bear
the C�sar and his first misfortune to his headquarters, Castle Ebersdorf.
He darted a long angry glance at the foaming waves roaring around the
skiff, a glance before which the bravest of his marshals would have
trembled, but which the insensible waters, tossing and surging below,
swallowed as they had swallowed that day so many of his soldiers. Then,
sinking slowly down upon the seat which Roustan had prepared for him of
cushions and coverlets, he again propped his arms on his knees, rested his
face in his hands, and gazed into vacancy. The companions whom he had
ordered to attend him, and his two valets followed, and the boat put off
from the shore, and danced, whirling hither and thither, over the
foam-crested waves.
But amid the roar of the river, the plash of the dipping oars, was heard
the piteous wailing of the wounded, the loud oaths and jeers of the
soldiers who had rushed down to the shore, and, with clenched fists, hurled
execrations after the emperor, accusing him, with angry scorn, of perfidy
because he left them in this hour of misfortune.
Napoleon did not hear the infuriated shouts of his soldiery; he was
listening to the tempest, the waves, and the menacing voices in his own
breast.
Once only he raised himself from his bowed posture and again darted an
angry glance at the foaming water as if he wished to lash the hated element
with the look, as Xerxes had done with iron chains.
"The Danube, with its furious surges, and the storm with its mad power,
have conquered me," he cried in a loud, angry voice. "Ay, all Nature must
rise in rebellion and wrath to wrest a victory from me. Nature, not
Archduke Charles, has vanquished me!"
The waves roared and danced recklessly on, wholly unmindful of the
emperor's wrathful exclamation; they sang and thundered a poem of their
might, jeering him: "Beware of offending us, for we can avenge ourselves;
we hold your fate in our power. Beware of offending us, for we are bearing
you on our backs in a fragile boat, and the C�sar and his empire weigh no
more than the lightest fisherman with his nets. Beware of offending us, for
you are nothing but an ordinary man; mortal as the poorest beggar, and, if
we choose, we will drag you down to our cold, damp grave. Beware of
offending us!" Did he understand the song of the mocking waves? Was that
why so deep a frown of wrath rested on his brow?
He again sank into his gloomy reverie, which no one ventured to
disturb--no one save the jeering surges.
Yet he seemed to think that some one addressed him, that some one whom he
must answer had spoken.
"Why, yes," he cried, shrugging his shoulders, "yes, it is true, I have
lost a battle! But when one has gained forty victories, it really is not
anything extraordinary if he _loses_ one engagement."[A]
No one ventured to answer this exclamation. The emperor did not seem to
expect it; perhaps he did not even know that any one had heard what he
answered the menacing voice in his own soul.
Now the boat touched the shore, where carriages were ready to convey the
emperor and his suite to Ebersdorf.
His whole staff, all his marshals and generals, were waiting for him before
the door of the castle. With bared heads, in stiff military attitude, they
received their lord and master, the august emperor, expecting a gracious
greeting. But he passed on without looking at them, without even saluting
them by a wave of his hand. They looked after him with wondering, angry
eyes, and, like the glittering tail of a comet, followed him into the
castle, up the steps, and into the hall.
But as they entered the reception-room where he usually talked with them,
Napoleon had already vanished in his private office, whose door swiftly
closed behind him.
The marshals and generals, aids and staff officers, still waited. The
emperor would surely return, they thought. He still had to give them his
commands for the next day, his orders concerning what was to be done on the
island of Lobau, what provision should be made for the care of the wounded,
the sustenance of the uninjured, the rescue of the remains of his army.
But they waited in vain; Napoleon did not return to them, gave them no
orders. After half an hour's futile expectation, Roustan glided through the
little door of the private room into the hall, and, with a very important
air, whispered to the listening officers that the emperor had gone to bed
immediately, and had scarcely touched the pillows ere he sunk into a deep
sleep.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|