The aide-de-camp on duty at once ushered me into the Emperor’s room, where Napoleon, in uniform and evidently just going out, said to me without preamble, ‘It is a long time since I left Spain, and news comes slowly and with difficulty; go and see my brother. Remind him that with the forces I have placed at his disposal he ought to second me energetically. I insist on that point. Inform yourself as to the feeling in the country and the needs of the army. Examine the state of the troops, see Marshal Soult, with the other marshals and generals. Tell Dorsenne at Burgos to beware of N. N–––. He is to give an account to the Duke of Istria of what he hears about him. You will go to Granada and see Sebastiani’s army. You will tell that General to take as much quicksilver as he can get from the mines of Almaden to the magazines at Malaga. I'll send a man-of-war at once to Malaga to fetch the quicksilver, of which we are beginning to run short in France. The business must be conducted with all secrecy, lest the English cruisers should get wind of it and intercept the return of the vessel. Visit the arsenal at Seville, press on the siege of Cadiz. Examine everything in detail, men and stores; take note of everything, come back without loss of time, and give me such an account that I shall feel as if I had seen everything myself. Go to the Luxembourg and ask my sister-in-law if she has any messages for her husband, and then start at once. Berthier will give you his despatches.’ Then, as he dismissed me, the Emperor added graciously, ‘Go and win your promotion!’

As requested by the Emperor, I went to take leave of the Queen of Spain, who was a perfect angel of beauty and kindliness. She sent for her pretty children, so that I might tell the King about them. I then went to receive my instructions from Major-General Prince Berthier. I filled the belt of my valet de chambre Williams with gold pieces, and took with me the son of a friend of mine, for whom I promised to find a good appointment at Burgos. I felt well, for I had had a good rest since the war and was really almost tired of peace and festivities. My preparations were quickly made, and I started the same evening.

At Bayonne I left my carriage, to continue my journey on the good posting nags which can be had everywhere in Spain. The Baron de Soulages and M. Clouet, two engineer officers, friends of mine, who were going to join Marshal Ney, went with me, and our little cavalcade took the road to Madrid. As far as Tolosa the country was quiet and the road pretty safe, but beyond that we were warned by the postilions, wherever we changed horses, of the dangers by which we were threatened. We soon discovered that they were right, for the band under Mina ¹ fired at us, and when we reached Pancorbo, where the road winds between huge perpendicular rocks, at the foot of which a stream has hewn out a narrow channel so wild and forbidding that it resembles the entrance to a dungeon or to hell, some twenty brigands belonging to the guerrilla band under the chiefs nicknamed the Bourbon Brothers, who lay in ambush amongst the rocks, fired upon us, but, taken by surprise through the rapidity of our march, not one of them succeeded in hitting us. Several other bands made the approach to Vittoria very dangerous, and no one attempted to reach it without a strong escort. The road was no longer the beautiful camino real which but two years before had been strewn with flowers and shaded by thousands of triumphal arches made of laurel branches and set up in honour of the Liberator by the people of the country, who lined the route in eager enthusiastic crowds to see the Emperor go by. Now the road looked melancholy and deserted, and was encumbered with fragments of broken carriages, shreds of clothing, the bleaching bones of the unburied dead, the bodies of horses which the vultures were tearing to pieces, the effluvia from which poisoned the air, whilst here and there the corpses of brigands or peasants who had been taken with arms in their hands hung from the trees, and swayed to and fro in the wind.

¹ There were several able guerrilla leaders named Mina, of whom an interesting account is given in the Marbot Memoirs, vol. ii. pp. 69, 70. – Trans.

We got to Vittoria in very low spirits, for the state of things made us anxious and depressed. General Joseph Caffarelli, one of the Emperor’s aides-de-camp, gave us a hearty welcome in that town, where he was much loved and respected. I left my travelling companions here, and the General gave me a strong escort for the next stage of my journey.

It was always very annoying to me to have to wait for these escorts, or to give the men I had secured time to rest at every posting station. I was impatient to arrive at Madrid, and when I did at last get them to start they would creep along at a foot pace. When I heard a favourable account of the state of the country, I always galloped on without waiting for my escort, so that the enemy’s spies should not have time to give notice of my coming, and this boldness was nearly always successful. I got to Burgos without accident, and dismounted at the residence of General Count Dorsenne, commanding a brigade of the Imperial Guard. When I arrived, the Count, who was preparing to give a fête to the people of the town, which was to include a ball, a lottery, &c., was in the hands of his hairdresser, who had so far only curled half of his beautiful long black hair, but he received me with open arms and begged me to allow him to finish his toilette. He asked me a great many questions about friends in Paris, and then inquired if the Emperor had sent him any special message. ‘Yes.’ I replied, ‘I will tell you about it later.’ ‘Oh, tell me – tell me now!’ ‘No,’ I said, pointing to the valet, who was watching and listening with eager eyes and ears to our conversation, evidently determined not to lose a word; ‘no, no. I’ll wait till you have finished.’ ‘Well,’ replied the General, ‘you might just as well speak before him; he is a trusty fellow.’ I knew, however, that it was thanks to just such trusty fellows, who abused the blind confidence of the French, that the enemy was informed so promptly of all our movements, so I repeated, ‘No, it is a serious matter.’ ‘Oh, never mind; speak out.’ ‘I have no right to let any one but you hear the message, but you can tell your valet what it is afterwards if you think fit to do so.’ This remark, made with great gravity, seemed to surprise him, and he regretfully dismissed his man. I then informed the General of the Emperor’s intentions, and dwelt upon the way in which the army had suffered from the indiscretion of those by whom the generals in Spain were surrounded, and of whom they apparently had themselves no suspicion.

I spent the night at the ball given by General Dorsenne, but I met none of the people I had known at Burgos two years before, for they had all emigrated. I was pressed to remain, but instead of doing so, I started early the next morning, when every one thought I was asleep.

The further I went in this unhappy country, the more cause I had for anxiety, and I was everywhere told, ‘Yesterday or the other day such and such a courier or escort was assassinated . . . let us get on as quickly as we can.’ The men would say, ‘Beware of that wood, look out on that plain,’ and so on. I got to Valladolid after many such alarms, where General Kellermann was then in command. It was even more dangerous to leave this town than it had been to enter it, so well organised was the system of espionage of the numerous guerrilla bands in the surrounding districts. I had great difficulty in finding a postilion who would brave the chance of meeting the brigands, and it was not until I had secured an escort of 200 Swiss soldiers that I managed to persuade a boy to go with me to bring back the posthorses.

When we got to Valsequillas we found the whole place in an uproar after a struggle which had just taken place between a French battalion, escorting a number of prisoners, and a guerrilla band which had endeavoured to rescue them. The French, who had been terribly harassed on their march, had had to fall back on Olmedo, or they would certainly have lost their prisoners; and though my Swiss were very tired, I found they were willing to join in the fray, so I gave them plenty of bread and wine, which I was able quickly to secure on the spot, and led them in pursuit. The guerrillas, who were still fighting as we advanced, were thus between two fires, but as they had been strong enough to repulse a whole battalion they might easily have turned back and annihilated our little party. God did not, however, give them the courage to attempt it, and at sight of our 200 bayonets gleaning in the sunshine as our men advanced at the double, they separated like a flock of frightened birds, and ran away in every direction, leaving many wounded on the ground. When we entered Olmedo, every one rushed out to embrace us as so many liberators, and we were congratulated on having escaped the imminent danger we had braved. The next day the Swiss went back to rejoin the rest of the garrison of Valladolid, reinforcing on the way the battalion escorting the prisoners; and as I thought that the brigands of the day before were not likely to venture out of their retreat again directly, I started with one postilion and my faithful Williams, who was in a great fright for his own safety and for that of the contents of his belt. We sped like the wind across the wide plains leading to Coca, near to which I noticed the grand ruins of a great Moorish palace, which had belonged to some wealthy sultan. I wanted to go and examine the ruins more closely, but my guide stopped me with the Spanish proverb so applicable to the ways of his country just then, ‘The spider hides in ruins to dart out on flies.’ He urged me rather to pass them as quickly as possible, and he was evidently more than ever on the alert as long as we were near them. I, too, felt uneasy, but my real reason for crossing the plains in broad daylight was that I had been told the brigands themselves generally retired to a distance for their siesta, lest they should themselves be in their turn surprised. I reached Segovia without mishap before night.

There I found the old Count de T. acting as French commander of the province of the same name, who was powdered and frizzled in the style of the generals of the army of Louis XVI. He had served in the American war. His great delight now was to give fêtes in honour of the French who happened to visit Segovia. He overwhelmed me with courtesies and offers of service. I knew that the old gentleman was unfortunately like a child in the hands of a lovely woman of Piedmont, who had him so completely in her power that she was able to betray him with the greatest ease to her handsome young lover, Don P., chief of the bands surrounding the town. Thanks to the information she gave him, this Don P. carried off nearly every courier or convoy which left Segovia, in spite of their escorts. I therefore pretended that I should like to remain some days in such pleasant company and to examine the various objects of interest in the town, such as the well-preserved Roman aqueduct, which is still in use. I passed the evening with the happy couple and some officers, and started, without a word to any one, before daybreak, with no escort, to cross the dangerous Fonda San Raphael passes and the Guadarrama mountains, which are almost always infested by brigands. I was again fortunate enough to escape all dangers, and arrived at Madrid on March 5, having met no living thing except the numerous vultures quietly waiting by the roadside for the booty which the war – waged apparently in their interests – was sure to bring them every day. In spite of all the haste I could make, it had taken me eleven days to get from Bayonne to Madrid, whereas three years before I had done the same distance in forty hours.

I alighted at the residence of General Belliard, chief of the Staff to King Joseph, and went thence to the Royal Palace, where I was at once taken to his Majesty. That monarch, whose fine face reflected all his amiable qualities, had always loaded me with benefits, and he now did nee the honour of receiving me as a friend. I little thought then that I should become his nephew a few months later!

After his Majesty had heard the news I brought him from Paris, he took me aside, and walking up and down alone with me in a spacious gallery, he gave me a most piteous account of his position. ‘It is simply untenable,’ he said; ‘gladly would I consult the happiness of the people of Spain, over whom my brother chooses me to reign; I try to induce them to do as the Emperor wishes, but everything is against me. The exchequer is exhausted; the national debt is immense. The distress here is extreme, and discontent is on the increase. To try and win friends I have granted largesses, and the ungrateful recipients have simply gone over to the enemy with their hands full. My protection is absolutely powerless to save the Spanish from extortion, and as a result no one is in the least disposed to back me up. These disorders are the cause of the dilatoriness of which the Emperor complains.’ The King then, with very great reluctance, gave me the names of those he complained of, with an account of the acts of insubordination which troubled him the most. ‘My good Spanish subjects are irritated,’ he added, ‘and the number of guerrilla bands desolating the country to the very gates of Madrid is daily increasing. The beautiful provinces of Andalusia submitted voluntarily, and now they are oppressed. I suffer from this state of things more than I can express. Misery and famine will reduce my good Spanish subjects to despair. Unable to govern them as I wish, I am compelled to let them suffer. Still, I do not mean to abdicate. No; I will never abdicate. I will do all I can to ameliorate the lot of the Spanish, and I will remain faithful and devoted to the Emperor, to whom I owe everything. But make haste, I entreat you, to report to him all the sad details I have told you, and to describe to him the melancholy position in which you found me. Assure my brother that his presence here would put everything right, and that I beg him to return.’ I explained to the King that all France was at that moment awaiting the accouchement of the Empress, and that the Emperor was not likely to be able to leave her immediately, so that he must not hope to see him yet awhile; that I too must also continue my journey, and complete the mission entrusted to me, so that I could not take his Majesty’s messages to France till I had had the honour of seeing him again at Madrid on my way back. The King expressed his very great regret that he could not write all the details he had given me to his brother, explaining that if he did so and his letter were intercepted, it would only make his position worse than ever. He therefore made me promise to get back as soon as possible.

A good many of those I had to visit, amongst them some even of the Josephinos, as the friends of King Joseph were called, added to what he had told me other details which left me in no doubt whatever as to the cause of the misfortunes of the country.

‘Your generals,’ they said to me, ‘are young, handsome, and already covered with glory; they win the hearts of our women, and under their rule all the laxity of morals is reproduced which led to the revolt against Don Godoy and Charles IV. No one fails to recognise the amiable qualities and good intentions of the King; every one appreciates the benefits which ought to accrue to the country from the introduction by him of the French Constitution. In speaking of the King the people say in their naïve way, “This foreign prince is a good fellow and governs us as if he meant to stop here all his life; we like his pleasant manners, he is good-looking and well set up; we are already fond of him, but we dare not attach ourselves to him too much, for he has a certain look about him which makes us think that he really wants to be off and will soon abandon us.” The dread of the terrible reprisals we are threatened with by the Junta of Cadiz damps the ardour of those Spaniards who would otherwise loyally adhere to the cause of Don Joseph: some fight with the courage of despair, others fling down their arms at the first encounter with their opponents. The brave fellows would serve the Emperor better anywhere else than in their own country, torn asunder as it is by the various parties.’

From yet further confidences I learnt all about the opinion in Madrid of the army serving in Spain. The courage of the French troops, I was told, is incontestable, and they are now well inured to guerrilla warfare. The foreign soldiers, too, serving with them are as brave and skilled in war as the French. Amongst others, the Nassau infantry regiment has specially distinguished itself. The Poles are simply terrible in their gallant intrepidity. The men from Baden are also very brave, and they are humane and well disciplined; but unfortunately they all hate being sent away from their own land to fight in the service of France in a cause about which they care nothing, and the authorities, instead of sending regular conscripts, make up the numbers of the regiments by buying men from the very dregs of the people. These substitutes bring their vices and their habits of insubordination with them, and many desert to the enemy. Those that are left are indignant at the way they are treated if they fall into the hands of the guerrilla bands devastating the country, and when their turn comes they are guilty of the cruellest reprisals on the banditti. ‘The war,’ my informants added, ‘has in fact assumed an atrocious character, which can, however, easily be removed if, instead of punishing with death insurgents taken with arms in their hands, the Government were to send them all to France, or, still better, if there were an exchange of prisoners after each battle. Many of our soldiers die of misery in the hulks of Cadiz. Exchanges of prisoners would save their lives, and they would return to our ranks more eager than ever to defend themselves bravely.’ I also learnt that the guerrilla bands are chiefly made up of escaped convicts, who, assuming the name of insurgents, join the smugglers and choose the boldest amongst them as their chief. Deserters from both armies flock to these lawless bands, preferring their wandering, bloodstained life, with the many opportunities for pillage it offers, to the regular discipline of the camp.

After collecting all this very far from satisfactory information, I left Madrid on March 7 to make my way into Andalusia. I went without escort again, and was fired at in several passes. Twice my guide pointed out to me the clouds of dust behind me raised by a party of some dozen horsemen riding in my pursuit, and each time I only escaped them by making a détour round the next posting station, so as to double on them and let them pass me. Harassed in this way, I was only able to get a passing glimpse of the battle field of Almonacilde, between Ocaña and Mora, which was still covered with débris. At Mançanares, where I paid a flying visit to General Lorge, and Santa Cruz, where I also halted for a moment, I had scarcely time to taste a glass of the celebrated wine of the beautiful Peñas Valley, the rocky picturesque districts of which I was traversing.

I had a strong escort assigned to me for crossing the narrow richly wooded passes of the Sierra Morena. Whilst my troops were examining the ground and cautiously advancing, so as to guard against surprise in the narrow defiles, where the road was dotted with the dead bodies of brigands hanging from trees, I was free to enjoy the wild beauty of nature in these mountain solitudes, which resemble the Pyrenees in their geological structure, but are even snore beautiful, as they have not yet been deprived of their primaeval forests. I was told that I was very lucky to reach the top of the pass without being attacked.

At Andujar I took the Granada road, which passes through Jaën, where I found Colonel Tinseau, who had just beaten General Black’s corps. I pressed on now across deserted districts, where we rode sometimes for ten leagues at a time without passing a single cottage, though the soil evidently only needed culture to be very fertile. I should have made much of the annoyance caused me by the tremendous downpour of rain which drenched me to the skin on the 12th, if it had not been for a still greater trouble which befell me on the same day. The Guadalbolo torrent was so swollen that we had to choose between going back some eight leagues to avoid it, and trying to cross it as it was. We were already wet through, and I did not therefore hesitate to plunge into the muddy waters; but my guide’s horse and mine both stumbled over a rock and fell. The torrent swept us down with it, and my clothes, being heavy with the rain they had absorbed, weighed me down and greatly embarrassed me. I was already half choked with water, and should certainly have been drowned had not Williams, who had kept his feet, managed to save both me and himself. I am, however, so passionately fond of nature that, though I was as saturated with water as a sponge, I could not think of anything but the marvellous beauty of the cloud effects and of the colours of the rainbow spanning the mountains, amongst which the storm was still raging. The wind soon dried us, and in the evening we arrived at an isolated stronghold on the road commanded by a young Alsatian officer named Kat, who spent all his time shut up in it with his garrison, except when he had to lead his men out to the pursuit of brigands – a perilous task enough. He assured me that but for the rain, which had dispersed the robbers, I should have fallen into the midst of a band who would have killed me, or at least have stripped me of everything. Kat also told me that hardly a day passed without his having to give chase to brigands, and practice had made him quite an adept at this kind of warfare.

The next morning at daybreak I arrived at the point from which I ought to have a grand view of the beautiful amphitheatre of Granada, at the base of the Alpuxarras range, the summits of which are crowned with snow and ice, whilst its strata are rich in veins of silver and of mercury. How ardently I longed for the wind to tear aside the veil of mist which hid everything from me! and presently Heaven did deal kindly with me, for a scene of absolutely divine loveliness was spread out beneath me. The atmosphere became warmed by the sunbeams, and the mist rose like steam from a boiling lake, breaking into a thousand light and airy columns, which in their turn changed into floating wreaths and garlands of fleecy clouds, soon dispersed by the wind, till there was nothing left between me and Granada but a luminous atmosphere, through which I could make out the ancient ramparts once owned by the Abencerrages, and the minarets of the Alhambra, where they met their fate. As soon as ever I got to Granada I went over the Alhambra with several officers, and I really do not know which I admired more, the beauty of the site or the wealth of delicate ornament in this ancient monument, which has been preserved for six hundred years, and much of which still looks as if it had been built but yesterday. My companions gave me some plans and views of the finest aspects of the Alhambra, and deplored with me the barbarism of the Spanish, who, to destroy the verses from the Koran, which they could not understand, engraved in Arabic on the walls, smeared whitewash over all the mural decorations.¹

¹ This remark from a Frenchman is amusing, considering that a great portion of the Alhambra was blown up by the French in the fourteenth century, and that it was no fault of theirs that it was not entirely destroyed, as they had undermined the whole. – Trans.

It was not without deep emotion that I strolled through the rooms where my friend General Franceschi had been shut up after being taken prisoner by the Spanish. That young sculptor, who had joined the Compagnie des Arts at the same time as I did, and later risen to the rank of General of Division, married the daughter of General Matthieu Dumas. A short time afterwards, in a cavalry charge, he fell into the hands of the Spanish, who imprisoned him in the Alhambra. Franceschi, separated from his country and his bride, wrote some touching verses on the walls of his prison, and the air of the now deserted room seemed to be vibrating still with the heartrending lament he had addressed to the wife he was never to see again. He had made no fewer than twenty sketches representing the different phases of his captivity. The officers with me were as interested as I was in these drawings and verses, and were eager to help me make copies of them. The elegies in which he bade farewell to her and to his friends were seen some time later by Madame Franceschi herself, who directly she heard of the death of her young husband shut herself up in her own room, which she had draped with black cloth like a mortuary chapel, and lit only by a funereal lamp. There, refusing all nourishment, she spent her time in prayer awaiting the death which should reunite her to her beloved. She was inexorable to the pleadings of her father and sister, repelling their caressing attempts to console her; and until she needed its aid to look at my drawings, she never admitted the daylight to her sanctuary. She had no tears left to shed, or she would doubtless have wept afresh over these touching words of love from the grave, and she died almost immediately after she had read them.

I also visited the arsenal, the army stores, and many fine Moorish buildings in Granada, some of them still retaining in their gardens groves of laurels said to have been planted by the Abencerrages. I greatly admired these well-preserved and graceful Oriental residences, which seemed to me to need but a few curtains and carpets to make them most comfortable; and I was struck by the beauty of the white marble fountains, from which silvery mercury had once gushed forth, now replaced by water pure as crystal. My obliging guides then took me to the points of the town commanding the best views, and I made a few hasty sketches before returning with them to head-quarters, where, as I had expected, I received a very hearty welcome.

Before I left Granada, I climbed on to the ramparts to take a farewell look at the beautiful view, which quite fascinated me, and which I still recall with delight. There, picturesquely perched on the slope of an isolated mountain rising from the plain, was the little village of Atarfé; there was the river Jenil, fed by some twenty little streams flowing amidst an almost African vegetation, including regular forests of oleander trees laden with masses of bloom, pomegranates and fig trees weighed down with fruit, all alike draped with tropical creepers and vines bearing the famous Corinthian and Malaga currants, &c. &c. All this charmed me so much that it was with difficulty I tore myself away from a scene so fraught with pleasure of the purest kind, when I was told that my horses were ready. The direct road for Cordova via Alcala was so infested with brigands that I was advised to avoid it, and I went back to Benalva by way of Jaen and Andujar. Being overtaken by the darkness, I took refuge at the castle already mentioned, occupied by Commander Kat, who was waited on by three old women in the ruins of what had once been the home of their ancestors, with a gateway emblazoned with thirty-two quarterings. As the three old creatures, who reminded me of the Parcæ, moved about preparing our supper of podrida flavoured with pimento by the light of a lamp hung from the wall and of a small fire, I imagined myself to be transported back for several centuries, and the illusion was heightened by the accounts given me by my host of his various pursuits of the brigands and of the danger he ran of being surprised and strangled by them some night. The precautions taken to make all secure before I was allowed to retire to the rush mat which was the only bed Kat could give me, lent quite a touch of romance to the situation.

‘After you left me the other day,’ said my host, ‘I went and placed myself in ambush with thirty of my men in a deserted ventena de cabillas, where I knew the brigands often go to rest. After waiting some thirty hours, I saw about fifty of them arrive. I let them unharness their horses before I stirred, and then opened fire on then before they had discovered our presence. Seven fell dead, and the others, all more or less wounded, got off, but I took thirteen horses, and you shall have one of them when you leave.’

I left Kat the next morning, and the only living things I saw in the mountains I had to cross were numerous vultures quietly resting on the trees near the road. At Jaen, Colonel Tinseau, of the 55th Regiment, received me as kindly as before, passed his troops in review for my benefit, and gave me a plan of the town, with some views taken from it. At Andujar, the Marquis de Contadero had his horses saddled and accompanied me for some distance along the road to Cordova, where I arrived on March 19, to find the inhabitants celebrating the birthday of King Joseph.

General Godinho was anxious that I should have my share in the festivities going on, and took me to the fine mosque which is now the Cathedral of Cordova, a perfect specimen of Moorish architecture. The first building in which the characteristic horseshoe arch was largely employed, the Cathedral owes much of its beauty to the massive pillars, which originally numbered twelve hundred, and are now reduced to about a thousand. Most of these pillars came from Rome, from Greece, and Carthage, and were the spoils of old heathen temples; others were sent from Constantinople by the Emperor Leo, and yet others from France, whilst a smaller number are of Spanish origin. These pillars form more than fifty naves, and their arcades uphold a number of cupolas and domes which may perhaps be described as resembling an onion in form with the point upwards. The onion has long been largely cultivated as an article of food in the East, and it is not unlikely that it may have suggested the form of the Moorish cupola, which harmonises well with the other details of the same architectural type.

I also went to have a look at the antique marble bas-reliefs on the old Roman bridge still spanning the Guadalquivir, which represent the tragic death of the two sons of Pompey, and are appropriately placed at the entrance to the town as a warning to conquerors.

I brought good news from the Emperor and the King, and a place of honour was assigned to me at the banquet and the ball succeeding it. The General proposed the toast of the King of Spain and the Indies; the Prefect that of the Emperor of the French, King of Italy; and as for myself, I drank to the happy deliverance of the Empress Maria Louisa and the birth of a prince. I little thought that only fifteen hours after I expressed this wish the most ardent desires of the Emperor and of all France would be realised, and that volleys from hundreds of cannon would be announcing and celebrating the happy event throughout the length and breadth of the Empire.

As a special favour I was introduced at the ball to Doña Luisa Plateres, the most beautiful young woman in all Andalusia, that district in which the beauty of the women is proverbial. My partner, whose height suited mine admirably, had, however, never waltzed before, and she seemed greatly distressed when she found herself being carried along by a stranger to the music of the orchestra. One of her little hands trembled in mine, and she scarcely dared to rest the other on the shoulder of the man who seemed to be saying, ‘Have no fear! I will support you.’ After we had taken a few turns in view of a large concourse of spectators, I saw a kind of mist gather over her eyes; her cheeks, which had before been flushed with pleasure, grew pale; her steps faltered, her beautiful head fell upon my breast, and I felt that she had fainted. I supported her to the door leading to the garden, so that she might breathe the fresh air. Several ladies hurried after us, and as there was no seat near I knelt on one knee and supported my fair burden on the other. Salts were brought and placed to her nostrils, and after a few moments of the greatest anxiety she began to show signs of returning animation. Her father, who had brought her to the ball, ran off to fetch a chair, and I was obliged to place her on it. We waited thus till her carriage could be fetched. Then, escorted by lacqueys bearing torches, the flickering light of which made her sweet and languid features look more beautiful than ever, her father and I supported her trembling steps till the door was reached. It was opened, and I had to leave her. Her father shook hands with me, and the carriage drove off. I was too much agitated to return to the ball, which seemed dull enough after the thrilling emotions I had experienced; I was too much preoccupied to hope for sleep, so I went and asked for an escort and horses, and long before daybreak I was on the way to Ecija.

The beautiful Andalusian sky, as blue and clear as that of Naples, was spread out above a smiling landscape looking so peaceful that I felt secure from attack. Whether from eagerness to get back to Cordova as soon as I could, or from any desire to reach Seville quickly, I found my escort went far too slowly to please me, so I soon dismissed it, and thinking of something very different from any danger to myself, I set off at a gallop, arriving at Seville before daybreak, having seen nothing of brigands except between Ecija and Carlotta, where I was pursued by a few rogues. I met Colonel Château at the gates of Seville, just starting for Paris, so I told him to take news of me there, pointed out to him the dangerous spots on the road where he would have to be careful, and went to fulfil my own mission.

Marshal Soult received me with all honour. After talking to me for a long time about the position in which he found himself and offering me the most lavish hospitality, he told some of his aides to go with me on the round of visits I had to pay to the various French army departments. I stopped three days at Seville, reviewing the troops, and examining the arsenals, foundries, hospitals, and in fact all the establishments, whether civil or military, connected with our service. Everywhere I found the greatest activity and the most complete order prevailing. I then went to see the old Alcazar and the celebrated royal tobacco factory, which is really a model of a big public manufactory. I never sneezed so much in my life, and I shall not forget in a hurry the huge piles of tobacco powder, which rather resembled red pepper, or the hundreds of workmen engaged in the making of cigars.

I also visited the fine mosque, now the Cathedral of Seville, which is surrounded by a garden still retaining the white marble fountains at which the Arabs performed their ablutions before entering the sacred building, the waters now moistening the roots of the venerable orange trees always laden with flowers and fruit, and of the stately palms which now give shade to Christian worshippers in the court of what was once a Moorish temple.1

1 This description is no longer accurate, for the cathedral buildings are now surrounded on all sides by wide streets. On one side only, the north, there is an inner court called the Court of Oranges, which formed part of the original mosque and still retains the fountain used by the Moors for the purpose alluded to in the text. – Trans.

The principal entrance of the cathedral is surmounted by one of the finest Moorish rose windows in existence. The interior, like that of the Mosque of Cordova, is a perfect forest of columns of various antique orders, symmetrically arranged beneath the Oriental arcades.² The precincts are enclosed within an enceinte flanked by crenelated towers, one huge square minaret ³ rising to a great height with a terraced platform at the top commanding a grand view of the beautiful country round Seville. Within this tower is a gently sloping passage, up which the sultans used to ride on horseback to enjoy the view, and it can still be used for the same purpose.

² The author appears to have confused the Cathedrals of Seville and Cordova together. Much of this description applies rather to Cordova than to Seville. As a matter of fact, only a small part of the original mosque remains at the north-eastern end of the cathedral, which is a typical Late Gothic structure. The patio or court at Cordova answers exactly to the description of the surroundings given in the text as those of the Cathedral of Seville. – Trans.

³ This is the Giralda formerly connected with the mosque. – Trans.

Generals Senarmont and Ruty, of the artillery, General Lhéry, of the engineers, with some twenty of my fellow officers, made a great fuss over my visit, and complained greatly of being left in this remote isolated spot away from all chance of reward or promotion. They all begged me to get back to Paris as quickly as possible, so as to give the Emperor a true account of the state of things, which they believed had been misrepresented to him.

Marshal Soult was especially bitter at having to command men of equal rank with himself, and said he was often very much worried by being obliged to show so much consideration for them. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I feel greatly flattered at having Marshals de Treviso and de Belluno under my orders, but I should much prefer generals on whose passive obedience I could rely.’

This remark led me to suggest to Marshal Soult that he should grant to the Duke of Treviso the leave I knew he had been trying to get for some time, and he consented. I now left Seville to go to Cadiz, then besieged by our troops. The road from Seville to San Lucar not being very safe, I had to embark on the Guadalquivir, and I went down that river without any disagreeable encounters.

At San Lucar, I was warned against the great danger of crossing the wide plains between it and Santa Maria, for I was told three men belonging to an escort were killed yesterday. This, however, led me to suppose that as the brigands had had a tussle so recently as the day before, there was less chance of meeting them on the road to-day, so as I was able to secure some good horses I again started without escort. About halfway across Williams suddenly shouted, ‘Oh, sir! sir, do stop! I entreat you to stop!’ but I pushed on. He galloped after me, crying, ‘Oh, sir! my belt has come undone, and all the money has run out.’ ‘Come on, come on,’ was my only reply. ‘But, sir, we shall lose everything.’ ‘Never mind, never mind, let’s save our lives; we can get some more money later.’ ‘Oh, sir! everything is gone now; do stop!’ ‘So much the worse, but come on.’ At last, two leagues further on, when I had got to the other side of a brook and felt pretty safe, I stopped. Williams, now in a regular temper with me, said, ‘And high time you did, for I have lost simply everything.’ We dismounted, and I said, ‘Look in your boots, man; perhaps a few pieces have slipped into them. I helped him to pull them off, and sure enough there was all the money except two napoleons. We congratulated ourselves on having lost so little, and on escaping what might have been an awkward fix.

Marshal Victor gave me a very hearty welcome at Santa Maria, told me all about the operations at the siege of Cadiz, and gave me a detailed account of the battle which had first taken place opposite Chiclana and Barossa. General Garbé, of the engineers, General Nourri, of the artillery, and Generals Leval, Barrois, and Beaumont, of the infantry and cavalry, showed me all their troops and the important works they had constructed, of which they also gave me plans. I visited at their request the whole line of forts, including those of St. Catherine, Porto Real, Santi Petri, &c., opposite Cadiz, occupied by our forces. The enemy cannonaded us hotly from the island of Leon whilst we were visiting the Matagorda and Trocadero forts, where the French had placed the cannon and Villantroi mortars, with which they were bombarding Cadiz, and which were capable of sending hollow projectiles to the very end of the port, that is to say for some 6,500 to 7,500 yards.¹

¹ This must be an exaggeration, as it would be a very long range now. – Trans.

As we went along the beach, my guides pointed out to me the shells, more than half burned, of three decked vessels stranded at about two hundred paces from the shore.

Many of our soldiers were still engaged in diving into the submerged remains of these vessels, and often brought up objects of considerable value. M. d’Hérize, one of the officers who were with me, said to me, ‘I owe my deliverance from captivity to those vessels having been wrecked.’ This roused my curiosity, and I begged him to tell me what he had to do with English ships. As we walked on he showed me the wrecks of two other vessels stranded at a short distance from each other, some few hundred paces from the shore, and gave me the following account of what had happened.

‘Those old hulks,’ he said, ‘are all that is left of the Argonaut and the Castile, from which two thousand French prisoners managed to escape some five weeks ago, after braving the most terrible dangers.

‘For two years we had languished in those floating prisons, deprived of money, of clothes, and almost of provisions. Nothing could have been more miserable than our condition. Officers and men were mixed up together, and we had not even the melancholy consolation, which has so often cheered those in captivity, of intercourse with others as well educated as ourselves. A number of women and children, who had been arrested during the Revolution, were shut up with us, and their weakness made them less able to endure their sufferings, whilst the sight of those sufferings added to ours. Every day death carried off several victims; mothers lost their children, children their parents, friends were torn from each other. The chance of any amelioration of our lot was so remote that it could do nothing to sustain our courage.

‘We were, in fact, in a position so terrible as to baffle description, when one day one of the three vessels over there was torn from its anchorage by the force of the wind and carried by the current to the beach, where it was stranded, as you see, in spite of every effort on the part of the crew to turn it in another direction. This incident was as a flash of light to us, and what was dreaded as certain destruction by others became the most earnest desire of our hearts. As we watched the rising of the tide we began to feel a hope of our own salvation; we flung bits of straw or anything which would float into the sea, and eagerly watched them drift away to the shore, on which they would be flung. When, however, we examined the cables and chains with which our vessels were fastened to their moorings, our hearts sank again, for it seemed simply impossible to detach them. Moreover, a Spanish guard kept watch as border police, and we had no weapons.

‘On board the Castile, however, where I was, the desire for liberty was so strong, that some new idea occurred to us every day, and we managed by hook or by crook to collect a lot of hatchets, which we stole from the carpenters who came to patch up our old hulks.

‘The possession of these hatchets did not seem much towards silencing the two hundred cannon which might open fire on us at once, but it was enough to set our brains to work and encourage us to further efforts. Six officers and I therefore concocted a plan of escape together. We took Captain Derolles, of the navy, a man of high courage, into our confidence, and he fell in with our views, suggesting a yet more audacious plan than our own, which we carried out.

‘We kept our secret religiously, for we knew that it was not given to many to await calmly a moment fraught with such consequences, and the fears of the more timid of the prisoners might have undone us. We decided that the time to get off would be at four o’clock in the morning six days later, when the highest tide of the month just beginning would occur. We sent news of our intention to the bravest officer on the Argonaut, wrapping our message up in a ball of bread, which we flung on to the deck of his vessel. He accepted our proposal eagerly on behalf of himself and those with him, and we spent the intervening days in trying to make every one desire and believe in the success of our venture, even threatening with death any of those to whom we communicated our intentions at the last moment if they either opposed or betrayed us.

‘He was the first to climb on deck, and the sentinel on guard tried to push him back, but he felled him with a blow from the hatchet, and flung him upon the great cable, which he cut with two strokes of his weapon. The guards shouted, ‘To arms!’ but they were strangled or flung into the sea, and whilst several shots gave the alarm to the town and its batteries, all the moorings were cut, and our two vessels, without masts or rigging, slowly drifted with the tide. Several cannon shots were at once fired from the ramparts, and one of our women was struck down by a ball. Two or three others, terrified at this sight, screamed to us to take them into port, and we should all have been glad to do so, but it was quite impossible. All our men shouted at the tops of their voices, in the hope of attracting the attention of the French on shore, and our courage and resolution seemed to increase with our danger.

‘The two hulks were a little distance from each other, and the strong current had already taken us for about half the distance we wished to traverse. The absence of wind was a help to us, as it retarded the progress of the gunboats, which were firing at us, though a good many were killed by the shots from them. At last day began to break, and we could see our fellow countrymen hurrying down to the beach to help us.

As soon as they had heard our cries, and recognised that we were French, they had flown to our aid, some bringing planks and ropes, and running far into the water, so as to make out our signals better, they waved their hats to us, as we did to them. Others dragged cannon into the water to bridge over the space between us and safety, and we soon found ourselves slowly advancing between two fires, one aiming at our defence, the other at our destruction. When we got near the shore, all who could swim, and many who could not, flung themselves into the water. At last, after an hour and a half of terrible suspense, we saw the Argonaut stop near enough to the land for every one on her to jump out and land in safety.

‘We, on the Castile, were a little behind, and from this moment the enemy concentrated all their fire upon us. Still we felt our vessel touch ground a few minutes later, and the shock made us all shout for joy, though we were still in eight feet of water, and more than two hundred paces from land. In spite of that, every one who was not wounded jumped into the sea, not hesitating a moment between the risk of being drowned and the certainty of being taken or killed. Many tied their children on their shoulders, others dragged their wives along by the hands, determined to save them or to perish with them, while many intrepid swimmers quietly gained the shore in spite of the hail of grapeshot poured into us by the enemy. Some brave fellows saved as many as twenty others besides themselves.

‘The shells now set fire to our hulk, and Derolles with a few others, hatchets in hand, rushed to extinguish the flames wherever they broke out, and their noble courage saved the lives of many of the wounded, whom they dragged out of danger. When we at last got to shore we had the grief of finding that but half of our numbers had escaped, but the delight of finding ourselves safe and the generous warmth of our reception by the French forces soon made us forget our regrets. We were literally overwhelmed with the clothes, the money, and the eager attentions lavished upon us by our fellow countrymen.’

As M. d’Hérize concluded his narrative his eyes were wet with tears, and he pressed the hand of an officer near whose share in this noble treatment he was about to relate; but his friend, who was as modest as he was generous, would not allow him to go on.

As we strolled along the lines of our army whilst M. d’Hérize was talking, all the Spanish batteries continued to fire at us, hoping to destroy our little group, and the warlike sound fell pleasantly on my ears, for it was now more than a year since I had heard it. It was with considerable anxiety that I recognised the difficulty our forces would have in traversing the deep mud of the beach on our side of the canal of Santi Petri; but for this obstacle the canal could have been crossed as easily as a river, for we had boats and everything necessary for the transit. Thousands of wading birds, such as cranes, spoonbills, and flamingoes with scarlet plumage, circulated in security on these swampy tracts, a sure proof that they were inaccessible to man. In addition to all the usual contrivances for crossing a difficult river, a number of rafts were prepared made of square pieces of leather joined together and inflated with air, which were connected by light woodwork and were broad enough, though drawing little water, to carry troops across the mud. Cork belts were also made to help the swimmers, who were to form an advanced guard. The copper pontoons of the artillery were to serve as bridges over the Santi Petri canal itself, and a French fleet was to come from Toulon or Brest so as to engage the English cruisers during our passage and attack, which there would be no hope of achieving without some such diversion. Our batteries had been ready for action for some time. The arrival of the French fleet had long been anxiously expected, when, on March 5, an unexpected attack called the attention of Marshal Victor to the rear of his army.

The English, to the number of some five or six thousand, commanded by General Graham, came from the camp of Saint Roch near Gibraltar with 15,000 Spanish under General Lapina from Algesiras, who, leaving Cape Trafalgar on their left, attacked the French army, which was scattered on the heights of Santi Petri, Chiclana, and Porto Real, hoping by falling upon our centre to force us to abandon our redoubts, and by destroying our batteries, which were bombarding Cadiz, to make us raise the siege of that town.

In the first moment of surprise our rearguard was compelled to fall back upon the main body composed of the Rufin and Leval divisions, which were able to keep the enemy in check. Marshal Victor, promptly informed of this attack, hurried to the scene of the struggle with all his available forces, and the battle which had begun so suddenly at once became a very serious affair. The head of the Spanish force, thrust back at the outset, as our rearguard had been, and the rest of the column giving way also, the English general immediately pressed into the front line.

The Rufin division met the shock of the English attack, and both sides fought with extraordinary valour amongst the trees of the wood above Chiclana. Twice in succession the Rufin and English regiments met face to face and charged each other with the bayonet, a mêlée ensuing such as is very rare in modern warfare, for as a rule one of the corps engaged is demoralised, to begin with, by the firing, and draws back before the enemy is near enough to cross muzzles.

The lines occupied in this glorious struggle remained marked out by the corpses of numerous heroes, which looked as if, having dispensed with burial, they were awaiting the erection of monuments to their honour to transmit their names to posterity. There was one peculiarity about this sanguinary struggle, and that was, that when the English had broken their weapons by striking with butt or with bayonet, they never seemed to think of using the swords they wore at their sides, but went on fighting with their fists. Their officers, too, kept up the old custom of angrily striking with their canes any of their men who fell out of the ranks, whilst our non-commissioned officers, placed as a supernumerary rank, crossed their muskets behind their squads, thus forming buttresses which kept the ranks from giving way. On this occasion the French officers picked up the muskets of the wounded and flung themselves into the gaps made in the ranks of the common soldiers.

It was in one of these terrible mêlées, in which the 95th Regiment was engaged, that Colonel Mengarnaud was killed, and General Rufin, one of the handsomest men in France, was mortally wounded. His horse had received several wounds, and the furious animal carried his master into the English ranks, where he was thrown on to the points of the bayonets. He fainted away and was taken prisoner. The General’s handsome features, set off by his long curling hair, and his fine figure aroused the admiration of the English, who did all they could to restore him and took the greatest care of him on the way to England, but he died just as he was about to disembark.

The English cavalry furiously charged ours, and were received with equal valour. At last their squadrons were driven back, and they were obliged to withdraw to the beach by the same narrow gully which the Spanish had taken in their retreat on Cadiz. During the struggle the Spanish threw a bridge of boats from the island of Leon across the narrowest portion of the Santi Petri Canal in spite of the cannonade from that fort. The Spanish column under General Lapina flung itself upon this bridge in its retreat, and some of our detachments pursued it to the other side and beyond. Meanwhile General Graham, who was very badly supported by the Spanish, having recognised the impossibility of penetrating further into our lines and making us raise the siege, took up his position on the height crowned by the Barossa tower, and there successfully repulsed several attacks from the Leval division, thus covering until nightfall the retreat of the English army. Our advanced guard, therefore, having the English in their rear, retired from the further side of the bridge and contented itself with cannonading the passage. The English finally retired to the island of Leon and boasted as of a victory, which they call the battle of Barossa, of the advantage they had gained in sending to the relief of Cadiz the ten or twelve thousand men who were all that were left of the combined forces.

On their side the French, weakened by the vast extent of the coastline they had to defend, taken by surprise by this attack on the scattered outposts of their rear, and arriving as they did in small detachments on the battle field, might with equal justice look upon the issue of the struggle as a brilliant victory, in which, their courage making up for the absence of any settled plan, they baffled the schemes of their enemies, and compelled them to retreat. They gave the name of the battle of Chiclana to the affair.

Amongst the many remarkable incidents of this day, the following were related to me. During the preceding days some five or six hundred Spanish had been taken prisoners by the French, and were crossing the battle field when the English attack was made. The prisoners thought this gave them a good opportunity for escape, and they all refused to go on, but the officer in command made them lie flat on their faces, left a few of his men to guard them with orders to shoot the first who raised his head, and marched against the enemy with the rest of his troops. At the end of the battle he had not lost a single prisoner.

Some other officers told me how a vivandière of the 95th Regiment, Catherine Baland by name, ran about through the French ranks during the battle giving the soldiers brandy to raise their spirits, as she gaily said to them in a bright encouraging tone, ‘Drink, drink, my brave fellow; you can pay me to-morrow.’ She must have known full well, however, when she saw so many men falling around her, that most of her debtors would not answer the roll-call the next day. The fair Catherine, who became quite a celebrated character in the army, and whose praises were sang by Béranger, was never wounded. She received the Cross in 1813 for many such acts of disinterestedness and courage as that above described.

From the heights of Barossa and Chiclana I could see the towers of Tangier rising up from the coast of Africa, beyond the Straits of Gibraltar, the whole of the island of Leon, the monuments, forts, and roadstead of Cadiz, with the far-stretching salt marshes, where thousands of heaps of salt at regular intervals looked like long lines of troops. The picturesque beauty of the site, and the extraordinary character of the struggle in which I had lost my dear friend the brave and handsome General Rufin, with whom I had made my first campaigns in Germany, decided me to try and paint a picture of the battle at some future day, and I made a number of sketches on the spot so as to give to my work the stamp of truth.

The claims of all the different corps were entrusted to me, to be put before the Emperor, and I took care to make myself thoroughly informed in every case so as to secure the rewards deserved. Before leaving, I urged on the operations of the siege, which ought not to have been delayed by the brilliant affair related above, although of course the troops had been a good deal fatigued. I got back on March 27 to Santa Maria, where Marshal Victor gave me a long account of the necessities of his army, and told me how important it was that the Emperor should come in person to settle the affairs of Spain. I left with regret the delightful residence assigned to me by the Duke of Belluno at Santa Maria, the windows of which, always open in the wild climate, looked down upon the roadstead and Cadiz, which I could see in the distance through the orange trees laden with flowers and fruit. The branches of these trees came into my very room, so that I could enjoy the fragrance and eat the fruit on the spot. This fascinating residence appealed alike to every sense, and I shall never forget that, in addition to the beauties of natural scenery, the fortunate inhabitants of Santa Maria enjoy the presence of some of the loveliest women in the world. Of course my visit was too brief for me to make their acquaintance, but what I did see of them fully confirmed all that I  had heard of the charms of the ladies of Andalusia.

After our interview Marshal Victor gave me his despatches for France, and I started for Seville with an escort, arriving the same evening at San Lucar. There I hired a decked boat in which to ascend the Guadalquivir, and whilst waiting for the escort assigned to me, and for the tide to float our boat, which was still high and dry, I strolled about on the sandy banks of the beautiful river. It was a dark night, and I was much interested in noting two phosphorescent phenomena of which I had previously been told. As I was hesitating which road to choose amongst the many on the beach, the sand disturbed by our footsteps emitted a brilliant light of the colour of flames, and for a moment I fancied I was walking over still glowing cinders. At the same moment I saw some hundreds of tiny gleaming lights circulating round the boats, and I thought they too were on fire. But my boatmen caught several of the lights to let me look at them closely, and I then saw that they were fireflies, which, when they move their wings, give out a much stronger light than do the glowworms of France. Fireflies also abound in Italy, where they are called lucciole. All these details of natural history were of great interest to me, and I made a collection of insects and plants, and of specimens of minerals, sulphur, &c., from various districts, which I kept with my sketches of the places where they had been found, as aids to my memory, intending to study them closely when I reached home.

Our progress up the river, easy enough at first, became difficult as the tide rose, for the wind, being against the current, lashed the water into great waves, which seemed bent on driving us back. With all sails set, however, our bark ploughed its way on, but we were all too sea-sick to care to look at the sun rising over the beautiful landscapes on either side. We had already got about a third of the way, and had not once raised our heads from our pillows to look about us, when our crew warned us of approaching danger. They had caught sight of a sentinel, who at our approach had hidden himself in a little grove of orange trees on the left bank. We were already close upon him, and it was necessary to guard against a surprise, a fact which roused us all to action. When we were about half musket range from the grove, two armed men came out, and seeing no one but a boatman at the helm, shouted to him to come ashore. He took no notice, but calmly pursued his course. Then the two men were joined by several others, also armed, who threatened to fire if our boat did not stop. I then called up my little guard of fifteen men, and as soon as they showed themselves on deck, the brigands, whose numbers had still further increased, fired a volley at them. They did not, however, wait for their reply, but, turning tail, took refuge amongst the trees. We were threatened with several similar attacks, but none of them really came off, and our worst danger was from the wind, which now amounted to a regular gale, the waves dashing over the deck and threatening to swamp our little boat. We were so much knocked about that we made our boatmen land us at a village some two leagues from Seville, where M. Blagnac, an officer in the service of King Joseph, supplied me with horses. I got to Seville that same evening, but the boat did not arrive until the next day.

I wound up this stormy and fatiguing day by supping with Marshal Soult, and going to the theatre with him. We had a good deal of talk together, and he grumbled at being hampered in everything he undertook. He was, he said, perfectly hemmed in by enemies, having to contend not only with the English, the Portuguese, and the Spanish, who were in front, on the right and on the left, but by the guerrilla bands, which harassed him in the rear, and circumvented him at every turn. He added that the sinews of war were wanting, that the country was drained of its supplies, provisions being very scarce and very dear.¹ The reinforcements promised me never arrive,’ said the Marshal, ‘for Belliard keeps them at Madrid. The siege operations at Cadiz drain my feeble resources. There are no medicines at the hospitals. The army of the Junta has appropriated all the horses suitable for cavalry, and I can get none for my men.’ Then, his excitement increasing, Soult added in a voice full of emotion, ‘Would you believe it? I am surrounded by jealous men, eager for my recall, I am badly seconded by officers of too high rank to obey me without criticism, and I have not a single friend in whom I can confide, for I have long been separated from my family, who are all in Paris.’

¹ It was throughout this war the policy of the English and Portuguese to make the inhabitants desert their homes and destroy all the provisions and stores they could not carry with them. – Trans.

The Marshal did not, as so many others had done, express a wish to see the Emperor come in person to take the command of his army, but from all I saw and heard I felt sure that it was absolutely necessary that some very decided step should be taken to reconcile all these jarring elements. Until something was done there could be no hope of the campaign being brought to a successful issue. I determined, therefore, to hasten back to France to tell the Emperor how things stood, and I obtained a strong escort. Five or six couriers with despatches, and several travellers, availed themselves of this opportunity of travelling safely, and started with me.

I got to Ecija the same evening, and put up at General Dijon’s quarters. The next day my friend Colonel Lallemande, of the 27th Dragoons, escorted me with his regiment as far as Cordova. There General Godinho entrusted some jewels to me to be taken to his wife, and I packed them with many other tokens of affection which were confided to my care. Many were the hearts I was to rejoice with good tidings of those they loved when I got to Paris, and everything combined to make me eager to reach the end of my journey. General Godinho told me that a few days before my fair partner Doña Luisa had left Cordova with her father, who had been appointed to a position of great trust in another province. The terrible news of the massacre of the whole family by brigands, which I heard on my way to Madrid, had not yet reached Cordova. They had fallen into an ambush by the way, the father was shot as a Josephine, and the poor daughter perished after the most infamous treatment. It was at Consuegra that I learnt with horror all the revolting details of this hideous crime.

When he took leave of me and sent his loving greetings to his wife, General Godinho probably knew that he would never see either her or me again. Soon after I left Cordova I heard that, having received a severe and very unjust reprimand from Marshal Soult, the General, unable either to avenge or to endure the insult put upon him, went straight down to the sentinel at the door, and said to him, ‘Is your gun loaded?’ Then, on the man replying in the affirmative, he added, ‘Give it to me.’ And resting the butt-end on the ground, he put his foot on the trigger and blew out his own brains before any one had time to stop him.

The melancholy accounts I everywhere received as to the state of the unhappy country of Spain were not calculated to reassure me as to what I might expect on my return journey. I left Cordova on April 1, at a time when the fine weather and the warmer nights encouraged the brigands to leave their mountain haunts and lie in wait on the roads for parties of travellers with escorts smaller than their own bands, when they would spring out upon them with the cruelty and treachery of wild beasts. At Andujar, at Baylen, and at Caroline, where I changed my escort, I was warned of the presence of these guerrilla bands and of the necessity of constant vigilance on the march. At Santa Cruz the officers of the 13th Dragoon Regiment told me about a battle they had had that very day with a pretty large party of brigands, whom they had beaten; and agreeing with me that the enemy would be likely to keep quiet for a bit after this defeat, they approved of my wish to push on during the night. This we did, arriving safely at three o’clock in the morning at Val de Peñas, at six o’clock at Mançanares, where we called on General Lorges, and at noon at Villa Rubia. There we learnt that the escorts were all out, and as the state of the country was too threatening for us to risk travelling by day without a strong body of troops, we were obliged, much to our regret, to wait till they had come back and had a rest. I availed myself of this delay to send a message to General Neuenstein, of Baden, then at Consuegra, by a Spaniard in his service, telling him to have an escort ready for me when I should arrive. The day seemed very long to me, for there was absolutely nothing of interest in the town but a number of donkeys of a peculiar breed, which were, without exception, the biggest, the ugliest, and the worst-tempered brutes I ever saw. I could not have believed that a donkey could attain a stature of more than four feet! Looking at these animals was not a very cheerful recreation for us, preoccupied as we were in thinking of how best to get out of a very awkward position.

All the talk of the couriers and merchants who had joined my party was about the dangers they had run owing to the atrocious guerrilla warfare which had been going on for the last two years, and though they were all brave enough and ready to defend themselves, they could not help grumbling at the injustice of being subjected to all this worry and suffering in a bad cause. Williams sadly counted the louis d’or still in his belt, and found he had now only 150 left. The men and horses I was waiting for did not come back till sunset, but I did all I could to hurry them over their supper, begging them to be quite ready to start as soon as my messenger came back; and then, very much worried at the delay and worn out with fatigue, I stretched myself on a bench with my cloak for a pillow, to try and get a little sleep.

My repose was not long, for I had scarcely sunk into oblivion of my woes before a horrible nightmare came on, making me start up, tumble off my bench, and run in the dark into the next room, where Williams was sleeping. I called him several times before he answered, for he was in a profound sleep, but at last he replied, ‘Here I am!’ That was all I wanted, and, reassured as to his being still alive, I felt sorry I had disturbed him; but in my horrid nightmare I had fancied I heard him crying out to me for help, and had seen him fall dead at my feet in the midst of a terrible struggle. I was still feeling melancholy after this horrid dream, when my express messenger returned from Consuegra to tell me that the road seemed clear, and that troops were awaiting me there. My escort of dragoons was ready soon afterwards, and we started again at two o’clock in the morning.