escaping, they tied his hands behind his back and hoisted him onto a horse that was attached by a strap to a light cavalryman's saddle.
As the emperor passed, the troops greeted him with mounting enthusiasm. The shouts of the men, thousands upon thousands of them, even drowned out the music of the regimental bands, whose members were playing their hearts out, sounding the glorious marches of the revolution and the empire. Everyone made an effort to get close enough to see Napoleon; for many, it was their first sight of him since his return from Elba. "He looked to me to be in the best of health, extraordinarily active and intense. Several times, he doffed his hat to us," a young officer later recalled; but then he added, with a touch of uneasiness: "He seems to be deep in thought and seldom speaks, except when he gives some sudden, terse order. As for his complexion, it's without color, almost waxen, not yellow, but rather white, like a Pascal candle." However, the great majority of the troops had no chance to observe Napoleon so narrowly, nor any occasion to conceive grounds for disquiet in his appearance. The infantry raised their shakos aloft on the points of their bayonets, the cavalry brandished their sabers, and from every section of the line there arose a mighty roar: "Vive l'Empereur!" An officer in d'Erlon's corps later wrote, "Never had those words been shouted with more enthusiasm; we were practically delirious."
In reality, this enthusiasm was not shared by everyone, and especially not by those soldiers whose stomachs were empty. An infantryman of that same I Corps recalled that a double ration of brandy had been issued that morning: "We would have been just fine with a chunk of bread, but there was no bread. You may imagine what kind of humor we were in. Many people say that we were filled with enthusiasm, that we were all singing, but that's a lie. Marching all night without rations, sleeping in water, forbidden to light fires, and then preparing to face grape and canister took away any desire to sing. We were just glad to pull our shoes out of the holes they sank into with every step. After passing through the wet grain, we were chilled and soaked from the waist down, and even the bravest of us looked discontented. It's true that the regimental bands were playing marches, and that the cavalry's trumpets and the infantry's drums mingled their sounds to grandiose effect, but as for me, I never heard anyone sing at Waterloo."
Whether sham or sincere, the enthusiasm with which the soldiers acclaimed their emperor that morning was the result of a well-orchestrated propaganda campaign. Napoleon had exerted every effort to ensure that the surge of excitement that had passed through France like an electric shock at the news of his escape from Elba did not subside, especially among the troops. Triumphant ceremonies, such as the presentation of the Eagles to the regiments of the reconstituted imperial army, were devised to galvanize the troops. These Eagles were fashioned of bronze and mounted, along with the French tricolor, on poles similar to those carried by the legions of ancient Rome; there was one Eagle per regiment, and the emperor had presented them to their respective units in a solemn ceremony on the Champs-de-Mars barely eighteen days before. Those regiments that had been absent from Paris at the time received their Eagles even later, on the eve of the campaign. On June 11, Colonel Fantin des Odoards, commander of the Twenty-second Ligne, presented the Eagle to his regiment, which was formed up in square. According to the colonel's emotional account of the scene, "This new standard, fresh from the gilder's studio, was solemnly blessed in the church of Couvins; then every soldier touched it with his hand and swore to defend it to the death." Although the men irreverently referred to the Eagle as "the Cuckoo," at Waterloo they would demonstrate that they took their oath seriously.
In the weeks preceding the
As the emperor passed, the troops greeted him with mounting enthusiasm. The shouts of the men, thousands upon thousands of them, even drowned out the music of the regimental bands, whose members were playing their hearts out, sounding the glorious marches of the revolution and the empire. Everyone made an effort to get close enough to see Napoleon; for many, it was their first sight of him since his return from Elba. "He looked to me to be in the best of health, extraordinarily active and intense. Several times, he doffed his hat to us," a young officer later recalled; but then he added, with a touch of uneasiness: "He seems to be deep in thought and seldom speaks, except when he gives some sudden, terse order. As for his complexion, it's without color, almost waxen, not yellow, but rather white, like a Pascal candle." However, the great majority of the troops had no chance to observe Napoleon so narrowly, nor any occasion to conceive grounds for disquiet in his appearance. The infantry raised their shakos aloft on the points of their bayonets, the cavalry brandished their sabers, and from every section of the line there arose a mighty roar: "Vive l'Empereur!" An officer in d'Erlon's corps later wrote, "Never had those words been shouted with more enthusiasm; we were practically delirious."
In reality, this enthusiasm was not shared by everyone, and especially not by those soldiers whose stomachs were empty. An infantryman of that same I Corps recalled that a double ration of brandy had been issued that morning: "We would have been just fine with a chunk of bread, but there was no bread. You may imagine what kind of humor we were in. Many people say that we were filled with enthusiasm, that we were all singing, but that's a lie. Marching all night without rations, sleeping in water, forbidden to light fires, and then preparing to face grape and canister took away any desire to sing. We were just glad to pull our shoes out of the holes they sank into with every step. After passing through the wet grain, we were chilled and soaked from the waist down, and even the bravest of us looked discontented. It's true that the regimental bands were playing marches, and that the cavalry's trumpets and the infantry's drums mingled their sounds to grandiose effect, but as for me, I never heard anyone sing at Waterloo."
Whether sham or sincere, the enthusiasm with which the soldiers acclaimed their emperor that morning was the result of a well-orchestrated propaganda campaign. Napoleon had exerted every effort to ensure that the surge of excitement that had passed through France like an electric shock at the news of his escape from Elba did not subside, especially among the troops. Triumphant ceremonies, such as the presentation of the Eagles to the regiments of the reconstituted imperial army, were devised to galvanize the troops. These Eagles were fashioned of bronze and mounted, along with the French tricolor, on poles similar to those carried by the legions of ancient Rome; there was one Eagle per regiment, and the emperor had presented them to their respective units in a solemn ceremony on the Champs-de-Mars barely eighteen days before. Those regiments that had been absent from Paris at the time received their Eagles even later, on the eve of the campaign. On June 11, Colonel Fantin des Odoards, commander of the Twenty-second Ligne, presented the Eagle to his regiment, which was formed up in square. According to the colonel's emotional account of the scene, "This new standard, fresh from the gilder's studio, was solemnly blessed in the church of Couvins; then every soldier touched it with his hand and swore to defend it to the death." Although the men irreverently referred to the Eagle as "the Cuckoo," at Waterloo they would demonstrate that they took their oath seriously.
In the weeks preceding the
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