rmy, had interest to get me appointed
supernumerary, as they call it, in the Grand Opera, where I used to
perform as a Roman soldier, or a friar, or a peasant, or some such
thing, for five francs a week. Not a sou more had I, and the duty was
heavier than on active service.

"After two years, the 'big drum' died of a rheumatic fever, from beating
a great solo in a new German Opera, and I was promoted to his place;
for by this time I was quite recovered from the effects of my wound, and
could use my arms as well as ever.

"Some of the honorable company may remember the first night that
Napoleon visited the Grand Opera after he was named Emperor. It was a
glorious sight, and one can never forget it. The whole house was filled
with generals and field-marshals: it was a grand field-day, by the glare
of ten thousand wax-lights. And the Empress was there, and her whole
suite, and all the prettiest women in France. Little time had I to look
at them, though; for there was I, in the corner of the orchestra, with
my big drum before me, on which I was to play the confounded thing that
killed the other fellow.

"It was a strange performance, sure enough: for in the midst of a great
din and crash, came a dead pause; and then I was to strike three solemn
bangs on the drum,--to be followed by a succession of blows, fast
as lightning, for five minutes. This was the composer's notion of a
battle,--distant firing! Heaven bless his heart! I was wishing he 'd
seen some of it. This was to come on in the second act, up to which time
I had nothing to do.

"Why do I say nothing? I had to gaze at the Petit Caporal, who sat there
in the box over my head, looking as stern and as thoughtful as ever, and
not minding much what the Empress said, though she kept prattling into
his ear all the time, and trying to attract his attention. _Parbleu!_ he
was not thinking of all the nonsense before him,--his mind was on real
battles: he had seen real smoke,--that he had! He was fatter and paler
than he used to be; and I thought, too, his frown was darker than when
I saw him last: but, to be sure, that was at Marengo, and he ever looked
pleased on the field of battle. I could n't take my eyes from him: his
fine thoughtful face, so full of determination and energy, reminded me
of my old days of campaigning. I thought of Areola and Rivoli, of Cairo
and the Pyramids, and the great charge at Marengo when Desaix's division
came up,--and my heart was nigh burst