For there they both heard the sorrowful tale,
That France was by fortune forsaken;
That her mighty army was scattered like hail,
And the Emperor, the Emperor taken,
Then there wept together the grenadiers,
The sorrowful story learning;
And one said, "O woe!" as the news he hears,
"How I feel my old wound burning!"
The other said, "The song is sung,
And I wish that we both were dying!
But at home I've a wife and a child,—they're young,
On me, and me only, relying."
"O what is a wife or a child to me!
Deeper wants all my spirit have shaken;
Let them beg, let them beg, should they hungry be!
My Emperor, my Emperor taken!
"But I beg you, brother, if by chance
You soon shall see me dying
Then take my corpse with you back to France
Let it ever in France be lying.
"The cross of honor with crimson band
Shall rest on my heart as it bound me;
Give me my musket in my hand,
And buckle my sabre around me.
"And there I will lie and listen still
In my sentry coffin staying,
Till I feel the thundering cannon's thrill
And horses tramping and neighing.
"Then my Emperor will ride well over my grave
'Mid sabres' bright slashing and fighting
And I'll rise all weaponed out of my grave,
For the Emperor, the Emperor fighting!"
'This simple ballad want straight to the heart of old Jacques; tears rolled down his cheeks as I read, and he would have it over and over again. 'Ah! that comrade was happy,' said the old grenadier. 'He died when the Emperor was only taken. I too would have gone to my grave smiling, could I have thought that my Emperor would come riding over it with all his army around him again! But he is dead,—my Emperor is dead! Ah! that comrade was a happy man; he died! He did not have to stand by, while the English—may they be forever cursed!—slowly, slowly murdered him,—murdered the great Napoleon! No; that comrade died. Perhaps he is with the Emperor now,—that comrade-grenadier.'
'To be with his Emperor was Jacques's idea of heaven.