Said the Cardinal-Archbishop of Paris in his address from the Altar-steps: “These banners, suspended from the roof of our Cathedral, will attest to posterity the efforts of Europe in arms against us; the great achievements of our soldiers; the protection of Heaven over France; the prodigious successes of our invincible Emperor; and the homage which he pays to God for his victories.” Not one of the flags exists now. They disappeared mysteriously, in circumstances to be described later, in the early hours of March 31, 1814, the day on which the victorious Allies entered Paris, and Napoleon withdrew to Fontainebleau.
Fifty-four of the other trophies paraded through Paris, flags taken in the Ulm campaign, were presented by Napoleon, as has been said, to the Senate. In return a picture of the scene at the reception of the trophy-flags was ordered to be painted for presentation to the Emperor. It is now at Versailles.
The remaining sixteen trophies were divided by order of the Emperor. Eight were sent to the Assembly Hall of the Tribunate; eight to the Hôtel de Ville as a gift to the city of Paris.
Thus did France receive the first spoils of the Eagles.
“Soldiers,” said Napoleon to the Grand Army, in his Austerlitz Proclamation; “I am satisfied with you. You have justified my fullest expectations of your intrepidity. You have decorated your Eagles with immortal glory!”
CHAPTER V
IN THE SECOND CAMPAIGN
Jena and the Triumph of Berlin
The curtain rises this time on an act in the War Drama of the Eagles unique in the startling incidents of its historic dénoûment.
Prussia, in September 1806, threw down the gage to Napoleon and drew the sword for a trial of strength, with the full assurance of victory. There was no doubt in Germany as to the issue; not the least anxiety was felt. No troops in the world, declared one and all, could stand up to the Prussian Army. It was easy, they said at Potsdam and Berlin, to account for what had happened last year on the Danube. Any sort of army could have won in that war. Timidity and want of skill in the Austrian generals, deficient training in the men, had been, beyond dispute, the reason of the disasters. It would be otherwise now. Napoleon would have to meet this time the Army of Prussia; the best drilled and smartest soldiers in the world, organised and trained under the system that the Great Frederick had originated and himself brought to perfection. “His Majesty the King,” said one of the Prussian generals, addressing a parade at Potsdam, “has many generals better than Napoleon!” In the Prussian Army, from veteran field-marshal to drummer-boy, there were no two opinions as to what must be the outcome of a clash of arms with France. The wings of Napoleon’s Eagles would be clipped once for all.
But to hurl defiant words was not enough. Yet further to display contempt for their French foes, the young officers of the Prussian Guard marched one night in procession through the streets of Berlin to demonstrate in front of the French Embassy. Shouting out insults and jeers, they brandished their swords before the windows of the mansion and made a show of sharpening the blades on the Ambassador’s doorsteps. The Prussian King’s ultimatum went forth, couched in language there was no mistaking, and the Royal Guard Corps set out from the capital for the frontier with flags displayed and their bands playing triumphal airs, chanting songs of the victories of the Great Frederick, and shouting themselves hoarse with cries of “Nach Paris!” All over Prussia it was the same. The marching regiments tramped through the towns and villages, their colours decked with flowers, their bands playing, and with the swaggering gait of victors returning from conquest.