The face of Duroc was manly and prepossessing. The slightly receding forehead, prominent nose, clear, bright eyes, and firm mouth, were illumined by a bland, but determined expression, indicative of the truly heroic spirit of this faithful friend of Napoleon. By the side of Michael Duroc, could be seen the stalwart form and noble countenance of Joachim Murat, the great leader of the cavalry, whose desperate charge had decided the battle in favor of the French. His gaudy costume was arranged with scrupulous nicety, and it bore no traces of the conflict. He sat toying with his long, dark curls during the conference.
“To-morrow, we will occupy Cherasco, which is within ten leagues of the Piedmontese capital,” said Bonaparte. “It has been a month of glory. Within that time, we have gained complete possession of the mountain passes and thus opened the road for our armies into Italy. We have gained three battles over forces far superior to our own; inflicted upon the enemy a loss of about twenty-five thousand men in killed, wounded, and prisoners, taken eighty pieces of cannon and twenty-one stand of colors; and almost annihilated the army of Sardinia. We can dictate a treaty at Turin.”
“The fight to-day was desperate enough, however,” said Murat, ever vain of his services. “The cavalry was beaten back by the Piedmontese, and General Stengel was among the slain.”
“A brave man lost to France,” interrupted Bonaparte.
“But I soon taught them that the French cavalry was not so easily beaten,” continued Murat. “That charge decided the day.”
“I am told,” said Bonaparte, “that the charge was indeed brilliant. But we expect such from Murat, and we hope that, hereafter, he may have the best opportunities of displaying his valor and horsemanship at the head of the cavalry of France. You have won a high promotion. General Serrurier, you were repulsed; but you afterwards bravely sustained your reputation, and contributed much to the victory. As for you, General Massena, high as were my expectations from your valor and skill, you have astonished me. France will yet regard you as a child of victory.”
Massena opened his eyes somewhat wider and nodded his thanks. “The troops,” he remarked, “are sadly worn with their rapid marches, and four days’ fighting. Besides, since they have been so severely treated for seizing upon what food and clothes they found along the line of march, they have suffered much for want of the common necessaries of life.”
“I know—I know,” replied Bonaparte; “I pity them, and hope that their wants may soon be relieved. But they must not become Goths and Vandals. What did you say was the loss of the enemy, to-day, Berthier?”
“It is estimated at about three thousand men,” replied the officer addressed—an elegant looking soldier, with a frank, intelligent countenance.
“Colli is then effectually crippled,” said Bonaparte.[Bonaparte.] “He will not dare to make a stand between us and Turin. I learn that Cherasco is an ill-defended place, but it has an important position at the confluence of the Stura and the Tanaro, and with the artillery taken from the enemy, we can soon render it defensible, should that be necessary. But at present, the prospect is that we shall in a few days conclude a peace with the king of Sardinia, and then we must pursue the Austrians, whom we shall drive beyond the Alps. But in the meantime, you, Murat, shall take some of our trophies to Paris, and proclaim the triumphs of France. A more fitting messenger of victory could not be found.” At this intelligence Murat’s eyes sparkled, and a smile lit up his dark features; for next to the storm of battle, this proud soldier loved to boast of victory. Next to being a lion upon the field of battle, he desired to be a lion in the saloons of Paris.