Had a squadron of the enemy dashed through the streets of Verona, they could not have created one half the dismay that did the arrival of the calèche which conveyed the Imperial Commissioner. The old Field-Marshal had just returned from a review of the troops, who, as usual when he appeared, were wild with enthusiasm, when an officer of his staff announced the presence of the envoy, and in a low whisper added the object of his mission. A council was speedily called, and Von Auersberg specially invited to be present and assist in its deliberations.
The discussion lasted several hours; and, however unshaken in hope and resolute in will the old Marshals of the Empire, they found themselves no match in argument for the wily civilian, who, displaying before them the financial embarrassments of the State, showed that war implied bankruptcy, and that even victory might mean ruin. The great questions of Imperial policy, which in their zeal they had overlooked, were strongly pressed upon them; and that public opinion of Europe, which they had only fancied a bugbear and a mockery, was represented as the formidable expression of the great family of mankind, on the conduct of one of its own members. With all this it was no easy task to reconcile a bold soldier, at the head of a splendid army, to retire from the field, to confess himself beaten, and to acknowledge defeat, with an assured sense of victory in his heart The evening closed in, and still they sat in debate. Some had exchanged opposition for a dogged and cold silence; others had modified their views to a kind of half-concession; while a few rallied round their old chief, with a mistaken determination to have one more dash at the enemy should the peace be ratified on the day after. It would seem as if the Commissioner had been fully prepared for every phase of this opposition. He combated every argument in turn, and addressed himself with readiness to every objection that was offered. At last, when in a burst of mortification and anger the old Field-Marshal arose from the table, and declared that, come what might, it should never be said that he had lost the provinces of his master, the other stole close beside him, and whispered a few words in his ear. The old man started; his rugged, weather-beaten face twitched with a short, convulsive movement, and he threw himself down into a chair, with a muttered oath on his lips.
There was now a dead silence in the chamber. Every eye was turned stealthily towards the old General, by whose counsels they were wont to be guided; but he never spoke a word, and sat with his hands resting on his sword-hilt, the rattle of the scabbard against the belt, as it shook beneath his hand, being the only sound heard.
They are dreadful moments in life when men of high and daring courage see the trust they have long reposed in bold and vigorous measures rejected, and in its stead wily and crafty counsels adopted and followed. This was such a moment; and the old warriors, tried in many a battle-field, scarcely dared to meet each other's eyes, from very shame and sorrow. It was just then that the sharp, quick trot of horses was heard from without, and the jingling sound of bells announced a post-carriage. Scarcely had it stopped, when an aide-de-camp entered, and whispered a few words to the Field-Marshal.
“No, no,” said the old man, peevishly; “we are marching on to dishonor fast enough. We want no priestly aid to hasten our steps.”
The young officer appeared to hesitate, and still lingered in the chamber.
“It is your friend, the Abbé, has arrived,” said the General, addressing the Commissioner; “and I have said we can dispense with his arguments. He can add little to what you have so ably spoken; and if we are to depose our arms, let it be at the bidding of our Emperor, and not at the beck of a priest.”
“But D'Esmonde must have come from the south,” interposed the civilian; “he may have some tidings worth hearing.”
“Let him come in, then,” said the Field-Marshal, abruptly; and the officer retired.
D'Esmonde had scarcely passed the threshold when his quick, keen glance around the room revealed to him the nature of their gloomy counsels. A dogged look of submission sat on every face, and the wily priest read in their fallen countenances all the bitterness of defeat.