A brilliant strip of his dazzling snow-white riding breeches shimmered above the deep-red velvet of the balustrade. The audience stood and stared at the box where he sat, as the orchestra played the “Marseillaise.”

“Long live the Emperor!” called one of the actors from the stage. The whole house echoed this.

He waved and left the box. On the staircase he turned to his adjutant and said: “Note this: Angelina Pietri from Ajaccio.”

He forgot the name again instantly. He thought only of Ajaccio.

XIV

He needed weapons, soldiers, and a grand parade.

For the benefit of the representatives of the people, whom he disdained, for his soldiers, whom he loved, for the priests of the faith (in which he did not believe) and for the people of Paris, whose love he feared, he intended to show himself as the protector of the country and of freedom. For a few hours on this day all the workshops in which preparations were being made were idle. The forges and ironworks were shut. However, the millers, bakers, butchers, and distillers were busy preparing for the celebration. For this day the soldiers were to don the new uniforms that had been made for the war.

The master of ceremonies developed a plan for a grandiose and drawn-out display.

The celebration took place on June 1. The day was one of the warmest since the Emperor’s return. It was a hot and ripe summer’s day. It was a strange heat, unknown this time of year. The year seemed hasty to reach maturity. The lilacs were already past their peak. The cockchafers had quickly disappeared. The great chestnut leaves had reached their full size and achieved their deep-green color. In the woods the strawberries had long since been ripening. Thunderstorms occurred frequently and with midsummer’s intensity. The sun blazed; its brilliance was savage. Even on calm, cloudless days the swallows dived very low, practically touching the cobbles in the streets, as they did in other years only before impending rain. Here and there could be heard whispers, both open and hushed, of coming disaster. The newspapers of the land promised peace, but in all the villages and all the towns new recruits were drafted and old soldiers were recalled into the army. And not without dread did the people hear the armorers hammering away busily. They listened with horror as the butchers told of the magnitude of the government’s order, and they watched the menacing zeal of the soldiers drilling on the parade ground. And on this festive day they were curious, indeed, but also distrustful.

Soon the celebration began on the great festival ground. Representing each regiment there were officers, both commissioned and non-commissioned, and privates. Two hundred men bore the shining Imperial eagles of brass and gold; here stood the dignitaries of the Légion d’Honneur and the Councillors of State, there the university professors, the city judges, members of the city council, the cardinals, the bishops, the Imperial Guard, and the Garde Nationale. The sabres and bayonets of forty-five thousand troops glinted. Hundreds of cannon thundered. In every direction there were people, a solid wall of people, a vast and anonymous mass, curious, pitiable, and full of zeal.