Every one knows how Napoleon, when he heard that war with him had been declared by the Austrians through the invasion by them of the territory of our allies the Bavarians, led the army from the camp at Boulogne to the shores of the Danube.

As for me, I had already taken a considerable share in all the eager sending to and fro of despatches, the embarkations, the manœuvres of troops, &c., and I had ordered my post-horses to follow the Imperial staff to Alsace, when Marshal Berthier gave me orders from the Emperor not to leave Boulogne till I had sent off by the quickest route for Germany 300,000 pairs of shoes to be delivered to me for the military stores. At the words remain and shoes I felt stupefied, and, fell into utter despair. What had been the good of all my study, I said to myself, if I was to become a mere escort of shoes? Still, I put my whole heart into the matter, but the difficulties were very great, and I was not able to rejoin the Emperor until October 14, 1805, whilst the battle of Elchingen was going on.

In giving the Emperor an account of my mission, and saying to him, ‘ The shoes are there,’ I could not help grumbling at his having reduced me to the position of a mere army contractor, and deprived me of the honour of being present at the beginning of the campaign, to which he replied with a smile: ‘What a child you are! You don't seem to understand the importance of the service you have just rendered; shoes help on marches, and marches win battles; you will get your turn as well as every one else.’
A day or two later, October 17, 1805, General Mack signed the capitulation of Ulm. It was a fine sight to see all the splendid Austrian and Hungarian regiments file by in their full-dress uniforms, all looking as fresh as possible still, for it was but eight days since the campaign began. The French army was drawn up in divisions opposite the town and facing the heights of the Michael Berg, which rises like an amphitheatre behind it and looks down upon the left bank of the Danube, where the Austrians were marching past. This was of course a glorious spectacle for us, but at the same time rather an affecting one, for we could not but remember that the fortunes of war are fluctuating.

The army resumed its march immediately afterwards, Marshal Murat, with an energy which did much to insure us the victory, driving the enemy before him. Accustomed to overcome every obstacle, he cared but little for the fate of those he came across. But everything was by no means couleur de rose; it was now November 4, 1805, it was cold, and ground and trees in the Amstetten forest were alike covered with masses of snow, which produced a very remarkable effect on those of us who came from the South of Europe and had never before realised how beautiful nature can be in the winter. In this particular instance everything was robed in the most gleaming attire; the silvery rime softening the rich colours of the decaying oak leaves and the sombre vegetation of the pines. The frozen drapery, combined with the mist in which everything was more or less enveloped, gave a soft mysterious charm to the surrounding objects, producing a most beautiful picture. Lit up by the sunshine, thousands of long icicles, such as those which sometimes droop from our fountains and water wheels, hung like shining lustres from the trees. Never did ballroom shine with so many diamonds; the long branches of the oaks, pines, and other forest trees were weighed down by the masses of hoar frost, whilst the snow converted their summits into rounded roofs, forming beneath them grottoes resembling those of the Pyrenean mountains with their shining stalactites and graceful columns. I called the attention of Marshal Murat to the beauty of the scene as we rode rapidly beneath the frozen vaults, pursuing a rearguard of cavalry which was fleeing before us, and we were still admiring the grandeur of the northern scene when a break in the forest suddenly revealed a very unexpected sight of a totally different character.

Eight Austrian and Hungarian regiments drawn up in order of battle awaited us unmoved at the entrance to the defile. Murat had very few men with him, yet he had the audacity to attack them. It was now the enemy's turn to charge us, which they did with splendid gallantry, and it was very difficult for us, though we turned right about at once, to get back to the protection of the pass. The enemy overtook us, their ranks were mingled with our rearguard, our men were swept down, many were taken prisoners, and we ourselves were in danger of being captured. Murat's horse was killed under him, mine fell in the confused rush down the steep path, and I was flung off. I should have been crushed by the onrush before I could get out of the way if I had not flung myself under the shelter of two pieces of cannon which a young officer of artillery, fresh from college, had the presence of mind to place in position in the middle of the path. The mêlée was truly terrible, and swords were already clashing above our heads, when the young officer, having with admirable sang-froid made sure that his guns were properly pointed, sprang between the two cannons, fuse in hand, and just as he was going to be cut down, in less time than it takes to tell, he fired. The grape shot, with which the two cannons were charged, swept down the whole of the head of the enemy's column, which, spread out as it was across the slope of the entrance to the forest, presented a wide surface. Not one single shot of the double discharge missed its victim; the shock brought down on our heads the masses of snow in the trees, and as if by enchantment the squadrons of the enemy disappeared in a cloud of smoke and a storm of snow mixed with great death-dealing icicles, which, falling from a height of more than one hundred feet, crashed upon the helmets of the fugitives with a resounding noise. A sudden panic seized the Austrians, and they took to flight. Murat saw his opportunity, returned to the charge, and gave chase to the enemy. In the end we halted eight leagues farther on on the road to Vienna. I regret that I cannot give the name of the young artillery officer to whom we owed our success. I had not time to ask him what it was, but I know that Murat intended to recommend him for promotion.

We soon reached Vienna, but we only halted there for a short time, and pressed on in our pursuit of the Austrians and Russians. They meanwhile had managed to get near to Olmütz, a fortress in a strong position on a lofty plateau. There, protected by the fort, the enemy halted, apparently with the intention of giving us battle. Napoleon, however, was far too clever to leave to the Austrians and Russians, who were altogether more than 120,000 strong, the advantages of so fine a position, especially as the French army, owing to the number of garrisons left behind en route to secure the retention of the districts conquered, was now reduced to some 60,000 men. The Emperor therefore sent me to reconnoitre the country round Brünn, to which he meant to try and entice the Russians, and give them battle on ground where the advantage would be on the side of the French. Napoleon himself was determined to choose the position, and with this end in view he drew back his advanced guard for several miles towards the heights, which seemed fitted by nature to be the theatre of an event of such tremendous importance as the coming battle.

This feigned movement of retreat did not fail to restore confidence to the enemy; they resumed the offensive, followed us, and fell into the trap.

On December 1, 1805, we were drawn up awaiting the enemy's forces, which soon appeared and halted when they saw how well prepared we were to receive them.

On the morning of the same day I was sent with an order from the Major-General to Marshal Bernadotte, whom I found on the height called Sokolnitz at the foot of a cross on which was a life-sized figure of Christ painted red. The marshal had had a fire lighted, and was standing near as naked to the waist as the Christ, performing some wonderful gymnastic exercise with his arms. I asked him what in the world he was doing stripped like that in the bitter cold? and he replied, ‘My dear fellow, I am bracing myself by taking an air bath.’ Little did he think then, when he was trying to get used to the climate, that he would one day be king of a northern country.

The day of December 1 was passed on either side in preparations as for some grand fête, and an hour after the darkness fell, the two armies, their dispositions satisfactorily made, settled down to rest in profound silence, broken only by the sound of chatting round the bivouac fires, where the soldiers merrily talked over past successes or those which they counted on achieving in the future. I shared the bivouac of the staff of Marshal Berthier, and it was a very lively one, for one of our comrades, M. Longchamps, who had been detained in France, had only been able to join us that day, and during his journey he had composed some verses which very aptly hit off the rapidity of our march. The arrival of this merry companion, who brought letters from home for each of us, was the most charming episode of the day.

The letters from our families, the portraits, and in some cases the love letters brought by the friendly singer, the Tokay wine which we drank straight from the casks through straws, the crackling of the bivouac fire, with the presentiment of a victory on the morrow, combined to raise our spirits to the highest pitch. By degrees, however, one after the other fell asleep, the songs ceased, and we were all closely wrapped in our cloaks and stretched comfortably on a little straw beneath the twinkling stars, when we were aroused by shouts of joy and the glare of brilliant illuminations.

Whilst we had been sleeping, our general had been keeping watch and completing his preparations. His army was but half as strong as that of the enemy. His soldiers had hitherto always been victorious; but with so small a force to deploy in the vast plains on which we were encamped, it was of the utmost importance to him to know whether the confidence of the troops in their own superiority would again be sufficient to make up for their inferiority in numbers. It had therefore occurred to him to go on foot, accompanied by Marshal Berthier only, throughout the camp, and listen unnoticed to the chat of the soldiers round their fires. By eleven o'clock he had already traversed a great distance, when he was recognised. The soldiers, surprised at finding him in the midst of them, and afraid that he might lose his way going back to his head quarters (which consisted merely of a fire near his carriage), hastened to break up the shelters they had made of branches and straw, to use them as torches to light their Emperor home. One bivouac after another took up the task, and in less than a quarter of an hour 60,000 torches lit up the camp, whilst passionate cries of ‘Vive l'Empereur!’ resounded on every side. The shouts and the illumination alarmed the enemy, who, fearing a surprise, came from every side to reconnoitre our outposts and remained under arms all night. The Emperor meanwhile, rendered happy and secure by the proofs of affection he had just received from his whole army, was able to sleep in peace and security.

Only those who know the difficulty of securing a little straw to sleep on in camp can appreciate the sacrifice made by the men in burning all their beds to light their general home. The Prince of Wales, it is said, once lit a hundred-pound note, and held it burning for five minutes, to enable his friend the Duke of Orleans to look for a louis d'or he had dropped when playing cards, but this lesson in dignity for the Duke cannot as an example of unselfish devotion be compared with the action of our soldiers in thus proving their love and enthusiasm for their illustrious chief.

This memorable evening, this beautiful winter night was succeeded by the rising of the brilliant sun of Austerlitz.

The 2nd of December was the anniversary of the coronation of the Emperor, and it was eight o'clock in the morning when the sun appeared above the horizon of Moravia as pure and radiant as in the brightest days of spring.

A light mist subdued the brilliancy of the scene, but we could distinctly make out the 120,000 bayonets gleaming; in the sunshine as they slowly approached us, forming a crescent as vast as the horizon. This manœuvre was intended to threaten our right wing, intervene between us and the town of Brünn, which was about four or five miles off, cut off our retreat towards Vienna, take us prisoners, and probably send us eventually to freeze to death in Siberia.

The right wing of the Russians advancing by the Olmütz road met the divisions under Suchet and Caffarelli, supported by a division of cuirassiers. The Russian general, thinking that the position would be a difficult one to attack, ordered his regiments to put their haversacks down on the ground where they stood, and when they were relieved of what he thought would be an embarrassing weight in the struggle, he gave the order to charge, saying to his men, ‘You will get the French haversacks, they are full of gold!’ The attack was indeed a spirited one, but our cannon caused some little confusion. Our cuirassiers noticed this, and in spite of the terrible fire from the Russians they flung themselves upon the enemy, overthrowing more than 10,000 men and taking them prisoners. Ten thousand haversacks ranged in rows remained in our possession; but our booty, vast as it appeared, resolved itself into 10,000 little black boxes or rather triptych reliquaries, each containing an image of St. Christopher carrying the infant Saviour over the water, with an equal number of pieces of black bread containing a good deal more straw and bran than barley or wheat. Such was the sacred and simple baggage of the Russians!

On the right of this position the village of Pratzen was set on fire by the first balls from the Russian guns. The enemy was, however, defeated there also, driven back or taken prisoners. The Vandamme, Saint-Hilaire, and Legrand divisions occupied the centre opposite Austerlitz on the heights of Krecznowitz. The enemy made most strenuous efforts here, and the struggle was prolonged. Our troops suffered greatly, and were beginning to lose ground, when the Emperor sent his own Guard and came in person to their support. The arrival of the Imperial Guard enabled us to resume the offensive. A picked corps of the Russian cavalry was just charging when Colonel Morland at the head of the élite of the French army flung himself upon them, overthrew them together with their artillery in the deep ravine of the Krecznowitz stream, pursuing them to the very foot of the castle of Austerlitz, the property of Prince Kaunitz. Colonel Morland was killed, and General Kapp wounded in the mêlée. I was in the thick of it too, and returned at the same time as the general to report to the Emperor. The return was really more dangerous than the charge, for the enemy pelted us with shells. A chasseur of the Guard, who was already wounded, disappeared from my side with his horse, a shell having exploded inside the latter and blown both victims to pieces, leaving literally nothing but their shattered bones.

This brilliant struggle had taken place in the central division of our army, whilst the right was going through the most terrible experiences.

The enemy persevered with the greatest obstinacy in the attack, with a view to turning our right wing. A hot fusillade had been going on ever since eight in the morning, and the fortunes of the day fluctuated greatly opposite the villages of Tellnitz and Menitz. The Emperor sent me to Marshal Davout, who was on our extreme right, with an order to push forward to the support of the centre. When I arrived the marshal had already taken the initiative, and had been fighting for an hour in the village of Menitz. His troops had been three times repulsed, and three times he had driven out the Russians. The wide Rue de Menitz, which was some four or five hundred yards long, was literally choked up with the dead and wounded of both armies, piled one on top of another, and it was all but impossible to ride over the heaps of mutilated bodies and weapons. Marshal Davout's infantry, however, managed to debouch from the village in spite of the resistance of the Russians, who were finally repulsed by the hot fire opened on them from the Saint-Hilaire and Legrand divisions, who pursued there for some distance.
On my way back to the Emperor with M. de Sopranzy and some twenty dragoons, we found ourselves compelled to pass through a Russian column. One of the generals in a very simple uniform with a few troopers tried to bar our passage, but we pushed right through them and wounded the general in the arm, whilst M. de Sopranzy seized the bridle of his horse and we dragged him along with us to our own ranks. I asked him his name, and he replied, ‘I am the Baron de Wimpffen.’ He was in fact first cousin of Lieutenant-General Baron de Wimpffen, who held high rank in the French service, and was an intimate friend of my father's. The Emperor, to whom we presented our prisoner, received him very courteously, and ordered his own surgeon, M. Yvan, to dress his wounds. Then, noticing that I was very much heated and bathed in sweat, he ordered a page in waiting to go and fetch me a glass of Bordeaux from his private canteen, which I drank with the toast, ‘Success to the Emperor!’

This little scene took place on a high mound above the village of Augesd, opposite the lakes, or rather the big ponds, formed by the Tellnitz dyke. Meanwhile the Austro-Russian corps, driven back by Marshal Davout and unable to rejoin the main body at Austerlitz, were endeavouring to escape by way of the Tellnitz dyke, and thus to reach the road to Hungary; but the Height was already occupied by the artillery of the Guard, and the cavalry alone ventured to risk the passage, galloping by under a hail of grape shot, whilst the infantry, hesitating what to do, finally imagined that their only chance of safety was to try and cross the ponds dividing them from the other side on the ice floating on their surfaces. A few men, indeed, might have got over safely; but when a number had reached the middle of the water, the ice began to crack beneath their weight. They paused, and the troops behind them pushing on, there were soon some 6,000 men collected in a dense crowd on the swaying slippery ice. There was a pause, and then in the brief space of a couple of minutes the whole mass with arms and baggage disappeared beneath the broken-up ice, not one man escaping or even appearing again at the top of the water. We looked down upon the churning, rippling waves produced by the struggles of so many human creatures swallowed up so suddenly, and a thrill of horror ran through us all. Very soon the fractured ice, broken up by the useless efforts of those beneath it, sank again into repose, the clouds were once more reflected on its gleaming surface, and we knew that all was over. Much of the Russian artillery remained still harnessed at the edge of the waters or overturned in the ponds, and later it was melted down to form the Austerlitz Column set up in Paris in the Place Vendôme. Just as the waters closed over the last relics of the army which in the morning had all but surrounded us, the sun went down behind a mass of clouds on the horizon, snow began to fall very much as a curtain does after the last scene at a theatre, and the Emperor, Marshal Berthier, Marshal Soult, their various staffs, and I set off to find a shelter from the bitter cold of the night, making our way with the greatest difficulty through the dense darkness amongst the dead, the wounded, and the prisoners, of whom there were an immense number.

On the vast battle-field, which was many miles in extent, there was but one little shelter, the posthouse where travellers changed horses on the Olmütz road. The small amount of space in it was crowded with wounded, and I passed the night on the snow under an apple tree in the garden without fire or so much as a wisp of straw. It was intensely cold though the day had been so fine, but I counted myself lucky, and I was indeed a thousand times more fortunate than the 20,000 poor wretches lying out on the ground not far from me, all wounded, many dying, without fires and quite unattended.

Our prisoners told us that when our cavalry charge reached the gates of Austerlitz, the Russian and Austrian Emperors Alexander I. and Francis II. were looking down upon the battle from the castle. We should have been doubly venturesome had we known that a few more sabre cuts might have won us so costly a prize as these two crowned heads. It was this circumstance which led to the battle of Austerlitz being also called that of the three emperors.

I was ordered to make a topographical survey of the battle field, and I also made sketches of the chief points of interest, writing on them the most remarkable incidents which had occurred at each spot. On the fifth day, as I was crossing the blood-stained battle field covered with the dead, I came upon a group of fourteen Russians, who when wounded had crawled close to each other for the sake of warmth. Twelve were already dead, but two still lived, their hollow cheeks, furrowed with the tears they had shed, bearing witness to the agony they had endured. They made touching signs to me, entreating me to help them. I at once fetched some peasants from Soloknitz, and made them carry the poor fellows to a place of security. No words could describe the radiancy of their looks when they found that they were being lifted on to the rough stretchers of branches the peasants had made. One of them, who knew but one word of French, kept on repeating, ‘Monsieur, monsieur!’ I put them under the care of our surgeons, and rejoined the Emperor at Vienna. Before he left the army he gave many of us rewards for our behaviour in the field, and I was made captain of a battalion of engineers.

I returned to France by way of Bavaria, and passing again through Munich I had the honour of being received by the King of Bavaria, who loaded me with favours. I had known him since I was a mere child at Strasburg, where he had been colonel of a French regiment.

He would not let me leave Munich till he had taken me to see the brothers Senefelder, who had just invented the art of lithography. The results obtained by them appeared to me incredible, and they wished me to try my hand at the work. I stopped with them for some hours, and made a sketch with their crayons on one of their stones. I then left them, and an hour later, to my great surprise, they sent the stone to me with twenty impressions of my design. I took these proofs with me to Paris, and showed them to the Emperor, who at once recognised the immense value of the invention, and he told me to follow it up, but I found very few people disposed to aid me, and other affairs soon called me away. It was not until 1812 that lithography was really introduced into France, and began to yield far better results than those achieved by the original inventors. I had the honour of bringing the first specimen into France, but it was the talented Madame la Comtesse de Molien, wife of the Minister of the Treasury, who was the first to make generally known the great value of the invention.

We were hardly back in Paris before the fêtes began celebrating the successes of the campaign of 1805; but fresh preparations were being made for war, and my painting was again and again interrupted by the various missions entrusted to me. I had to take orders from the Major-General to the various corps the Emperor was collecting in Bavaria and Saxony to oppose the King of Prussia, whose army was already formidable and prepared to attack.

On October 9 the Prussians commenced hostilities at Schleitz by attacking the cavalry of Prince Murat. On the 10th Marshal Lannes took thirty pieces of cannon. In one of the charges of this eventful day Prince Louis of Prussia, nephew of the King, was killed by a sabre cut. On the 12th Marshal Davout took possession of eighteen pontoon bridges ready for use.

On the 13th the armies continued to approach each other in order of battle at right angles, and in the evening the plain of Jena appeared to be perfectly encircled with the watchfires of the two or three hundred thousand Prussians who rested in security, confident in their vast numbers.

The fires of the French army, on the other hand, hidden by the irregularities of the ground, were scarcely visible, and the apparent distance of the enemy still further encouraged the confidence of the Prussians. The night was fine and calm, and from the heights we occupied on the plateau above the plain of Jena the view of the illuminated camp below was magnificent. We felt as if we were preparing for a brilliant fête on the morrow, and the sentinels on either side chatted together at their outposts without any inclination to fight, as if in time of peace.

On October 14, 1806, just before sunrise a thick fog came on and wrapped the whole district in gloom for several hours. The Emperor wished to turn the darkness to account by delaying the action long enough to allow our reserves and cavalry to come up, but the impatience of our troops led to the outposts opening fire on the enemy about nine o'clock. The whole line followed the movement, emerging through wide openings cleared and tested beforehand under Marshal Lannes.

The Prussians were also anxious to wait till the fog cleared away, but our attack roused them from their inaction, and their whole line also began to manœuvre, changing front and marching upon Jena on their left. About eleven o'clock we could see their infantry advancing and deploying with precision, whilst their artillery arrived at a gallop at the head of an immense body of cavalry. When the two armies, marching towards each other, were nearly within musket shot, the 800 Prussian and French cannon simultaneously opened fire and exchanged salvoes. The thunder of the terrible discharge dispersed the fog, and soon nothing intercepted the rays of the sun but the smoke, which reproduced above the heads of the combatants the ranks in which they stood.

The whole army then engaged, and for some time the struggle was indecisive; but the Emperor, hearing that Marshal Ney and a portion of Murat's cavalry had come up, ordered a general attack. The shock was terrible. The Prussian cavalry in their furious charge shattered themselves upon our bayonets, and our grape shot and cavalry completed their destruction. The Prussian divisions were mingled in a confused mass, in which every ball from our guns struck down some hundred victims, whilst the forces of the enemy were divided.

General Rüchel fled towards our left wing, and the King of Prussia turned towards Magdeburg.

The fall of night put an end to the fighting, but not to the pursuit of fugitives, and the victories of Jena and of Auerstädt, which Marshal Davout won the same day, left in our hands 200 flags with the black eagle, more than 40,000 prisoners, 500 pieces of artillery, with the baggage, pontoon trains, and stores of the Prussians, who left 30,000 dead upon the field, with an immense number of wounded.
The King of Prussia himself was wounded, as were also the two Dukes of Brunswick, the elder (who had made war on us in Champagne) so seriously that he died a few days later. Prince Henry, brother of the King, Prince Hohenlohe, the Marshal von Mollendorff, General von Tauenzin, General Rüchel, and thirty other superior officers, were either killed or wounded, and in consequence of this terrible defeat the whole of Prussia as far as the Vistula fell into our hands in a few days.

The Grand Duchess of Brunswick, sister of Frederick the Great, was then living in a château near Potsdam, and I was sent to carry to her the respectful greetings of Napoleon, and to offer on his behalf to do her any service in his power. This princess, her heart wrung with the terrible disasters which had overtaken the kingdom so much aggrandised by her brother, was also grieving bitterly over the loss of her husband and her nephew Prince Henry, both killed at Jena. Still her Royal Highness controlled her emotions in a wonderful way, received me kindly, expressed her gratitude to the Emperor for his magnanimity, but asked only to have some of her property secured to her, and would not allow me to leave with her the guard of honour I had orders to place at her disposal.

Following up our successes we stopped for a few days at Posen, and the grandees of Poland came to do homage to the Emperor in their Oriental costumes. The contrast of the costly robes, the valuable furs, and the richly decorated weapons of the nobles with the wretched garments of the peasants, and the difference between the noble dignified bearing of the masters and the abject demeanour of the serfs, impressed me painfully, and the state of things in Poland was quite a revelation to me. The castles of the nobles with their gorgeous internal decorations were surrounded with rough huts, the thatched roofs tumbling to pieces, beneath which serfs and domestic animals such as pigs and poultry were huddled together in misery, protected but little from the weather. Vast stretches of sand, here and there sparsely cultivated, alternating with gloomy pine forests, with the tumbledown huts void of all comforts for the inmates, gave to the country such a desolate poverty-stricken appearance, that our soldiers, used to their fair land of France, said to each other with a smile, ‘They call this a country, do they? A fine country it is, too, where if you ask for bread (kleba) the only answer you get is gué gué gué (I haven't got any), or if you ask for water you are told zara zara (presently). It's not our idea of a country, anyhow.’

A Pole brought up in the midst of such privations at once becomes a hero in war. The moujik, bent with toil and huddled beneath his sheepskin fastened at the waist with a rope of straw, becomes a spirited horseman as soon as he dons the plumed schapska and brandishes his Lance with its floating pennon. His horse from the desolate Ukraine, which in his winter gear, with his long flowing mane reaching almost to the ground, seems crushed by the weight he carries, now holds himself up proudly, not a whit less ready for the battle field than his master. The Poles received us with enthusiasm as brothers and liberators. They were aided to form regiments, very soon 10,000 joined our army, and the Emperor picked out a corps of the best of them to join his own guard.

What struck us most in the big town of Warsaw was that everywhere in the streets, the promenades, and the salons, we heard French spoken as perfectly as in Paris.

The memory of the terrible Suvoroff was still recent. That general had burnt half the city of Warsaw, and destroyed with his artillery its finest buildings, without being able to make the inhabitants open their gates. He was also cruel enough to have the whole population of Praga, a suburb on the left bank of the Vistula, massacred in the night without distinction of age or sex. The people of Warsaw looked upon us as the avengers of Suvoroff's atrocities. Kosciuszko, the valiant defender of the independence of Poland, had found consolation for his woes in our ranks. There was but one sentiment with regard to the Russians, and no matter with whom we conversed the same opinions were expressed in excellent French. The ladies of Warsaw were as eager for our success as were their husbands and brothers, and so great was their sympathy for France that when, in 1813, six years later, Austrian troops occupied Warsaw, and the general in command, the Archduke Ferdinand, invited the ladies to a fête given by him, they all declined to go. The Prince, irritated by their contempt, sent them an invitation to a second fête, giving them to understand that he would punish those who did not attend it. This time they went, but they were all dressed in mourning, and none of them would dance, each one pleading as an excuse that she had lost a brother or some other relative in the war. Many of these ladies were very beautiful, with fair complexions and good figures; they were, moreover, as graceful as the Creole women so often are. Their lively yet dignified manners, and cordial reception of us, led us to hope for a pleasant winter in their society, but more serious matters than balls quickly summoned us elsewhere.

Prince Poniatowski, nephew of the last King of Prussia, had awaited our coming in his palace at Warsaw, and he now eagerly placed himself at the head of the Poles who had taken service under our Emperor. General Dombrowski, another Pole, was already in command of a French division. The French army crossed the Vistula on December 18 and 19, 1806, whilst the Russians were advancing in force to the support of their allies the Prussians.

Amongst the dense forests of pines, where we sank knee deep in the miry soil, we again cane across the Cossacks, Kalmucks, Khirgesses and Tartars from the Ural districts, with whom we had first made acquaintance at Austerlitz a year ago.
We found the Russians at Pultusk and Golymin, and the Augereau and Davout divisions were there engaged in a fierce struggle. The miry nature of the ground added to the horrors of the combat. The Russian loss was very great. The luckless wounded had not the strength to drag themselves out of the mud to join their comrades in retreat, and were ridden down and crushed beneath their own artillery and that of the French in pursuit. No efforts, however strenuous, on the part of the teams of horses could enable them to drag their loads through the quagmire, soaked with blood and made up of the flesh of thousands of victims kneaded with the mire into a revolting mass which clogged the wheels, and the Russians were compelled to abandon all their artillery, including ninety cannon. A great number of prisoners also fell into our hands. Marshals Lannes and Davout carried off the chief honours of the day (December 26, 1806). The next morning, when we were awaiting the signal for departure, my comrades asked me to make a sketch on the wall of the room we were in of some episode of the recent struggle in the town. They pointed a few bits of charcoal for me, and I sketched a dozen men and horses, the size of life, choosing some of the mounted Cossacks, whose quaint appearance had struck me and who had deafened us with their yells whilst they riddled us with their arrows. My companions, delighted with the faithfulness of the representation, scribbled the name of the artist at the bottom of the drawing, but the trumpet call to mount sounded before I could finish it. The Pole who owned the house set store on this souvenir of the French, preserved it carefully, and changed the sign of his inn to that of the ‘French Cossacks.’ Thirty-three years afterwards some young Polish refugees whom I met at Toulouse recognised my name through having seen it beneath the picture on the wall of the inn at Pultusk. My more serious works will probably not last as long as the sketch, which has brought so much custom to this Polish inn.

During the night of the following day I had orders to summon the Legrand division in all haste to cut off the retreat of a fugitive corps. The snow was falling, and it was pitch dark. I had no guide and nothing to direct me through the pine forests and over the quagmires, but fortunately the latter were now frozen over and pretty firm. I had been wandering vaguely about with no idea of my bearings for some two hours, when I came upon the bivouac of a few chasseurs of the guard who had lost their way. Waiting for light, they were cooking the results of a little foraging in a big saucepan; some rice, a few fowls, and a goose or two, all boiled down together, had produced a most inviting hotch-potch, seasoned with such an appetite as it is not given to the great ones of the earth to know. The brave fellows invited me to share their supper, and my portion of their stew renovated my forces, exhausted by fatigue.

After a halt of a few minutes only, I resumed my search, and I had gone about a mile when I heard some luckless Frenchman shouting, swearing, and calling for help. He and his horse were sinking in a bog, the ice on the top having broken beneath their weight. I was only able to approach with difficulty, for my horse refused to advance on such treacherous ground. But I thought I recognised the voice, and shouted,  ‘Who is it?’ The answer came back, ‘It’s you, Lejeune, is it? I am in the greatest danger. My horse has sunk to the neck, and I am up to the waist in mud. I am exhausted with my struggles and benumbed with cold; for pity’s sake get me out of this terrible pit. I shall be swallowed up directly.’ It was General Legrand, the very man I was looking for, but, like myself, he was also ignorant what had become of his men and in peril of his life.

Not being able to fasten up my horse, and fearing to lose him, I wrapped his head up in my cloak, and thus blinded he remained perfectly still. I then approached the General on foot, and our combined efforts at last resulted in his getting to terra firmer, whilst his horse, relieved of the weight of the rider, managed to get out of the mud. We then went off to try and find the lost division. First we made out a few scattered fires, and then came upon the infantry, which were able to reach at daybreak the point to which I had orders to take them. The enemy in retreat had had no better road than we, and after defending them for some time they abandoned to us a good many pieces of cannon which had stuck in the mud.

General Legrand, whom I had just rescued from danger, was a fine fellow some six feet high, with a manly presence and a somewhat imperious manner, but a noble character. A little later he married General Scherer's daughter, who was perhaps the prettiest girl in Paris. She was the very ideal of a heroine of romance, such as the old chroniclers loved to paint. Her light golden hair floated from a dainty head set upon a charming figure, and resembled the fleeting mists which gather about the rising sun, and exhale in the morning air the scent of the flowers they have caressed during the night.

The stern and dignified warrior with his strong athletic limbs, yielding so gently and submissively to the lightest whim of his young bride, was like a new Hercules bound and conquered by love. The Emperor liked his generals to marry, and often aided with liberal gifts to bring about unions which would otherwise have been difficult if not impossible.