¹ At the time referred to by Lejeune, there was a prison at Forton – Trans.

I had also had time to have some clothes made to fit me, when orders came for me to be sent to Ashby in Leicestershire. Without any previous warning a public coach was brought up to my door at Forton, and I was made to get into it after having been told to sign a paper in English, which I was not allowed time to read, with my full name and rank. I was not even permitted to go and bid farewell to Captain Garat, but I had to get into the coach in all haste. In fact, every one was in such a hurry that my not having signed the paper after all was never noticed. As it was probably a form giving my word of honour to remain in England till I was exchanged, I thought this oversight very lucky, and I determined to turn it to account the very first time I got a chance.

I found myself now quite alone in the coach with a very pretty young girl, and like a true French cavalier I of course began to talk to her. She answered me brightly and gaily. It was a very long time since I had enjoyed any feminine society, and this meeting delighted me. I could not make out, however, why the girl remained so motionless, but I concluded that English etiquette demanded a rigid demeanour, and I was thinking that I would make a note of the fact in my account of my journey, when about a dozen miles from Forton the coach stopped, and four men got in who laid the girl down on a mattress and carried her to her relations, who were awaiting her arrival near by. Before they left, the good people thanked me in a manner I certainly did not deserve for the attention I had shown the young lady during the drive.

Near Andover I saw the residence of the exiled Bourbon princes. I little thought I should so soon see them again in Paris, and during my stay in England I collected many details about them which were very interesting to me, who as a child had known them at Versailles. I went to Blenheim, near Woodstock, and saw the residence of the Duke of Marlborough, erected by the people of England as a reward for the victorious general. The vast park in which the fine castle is situated is laid out on the plan of the battle field of Malplaquet, the clumps of trees representing the battalions and squadrons which took part in that terrible conflict, whilst statues of the various commanders are placed here and there. The trees which once stood for soldiers have now grown to such a height, and the swaying green foliage which once represented the plumes worn by the combatants, and the flags they carried, has spread out so widely, that it is difficult to make out the original purpose of the grouping or to read the lesson it was intended to teach to posterity. Nevertheless, I could not help admiring the national spirit of gratitude which had led to the working out of this singular and ingenious idea.

After a very pleasant journey, occupying a good many days, during which I visited various manufactories, picture galleries, collections of curiosities, and even several theatres in different towns, I arrived at Ashby-de-la-Zouch, where I was to reside. There were already about a hundred French prisoners in the town, some of whom had been there for fifteen years. I went to report myself to the agent in charge of the prisoners, who was a wholesale grocer of the name of Farnell, certainly the tallest, thinnest, most cadaverous looking seller of dry goods in the world. This worthy man, who seemed to move by clockwork, bowed politely, and proceeded to explain to me the routine to be followed by the prisoners. He gave me lease to lodge where I liked, and I was free to walk out of the town for one mile in any direction, but no further. Amongst the prisoners I found several distinguished naval officers, including Captain Hulliac, brother of a friend of mine, Captain Kergrise, with M. Boulan and Colonel Stoffel, who had been his brother’s second in the duel at Astorga related above, with many others. I determined to lose no time in mastering English, and I was working very hard at it when I received an invitation to form one of a party of guests at the residence of General Hastings, about a mile from Ashby. General Hastings was the brother of Lord Moira, the intimate friend of the Prince of Wales. General and Lady Hastings had given a home to Miss Moore, daughter of the celebrated General Sir John Moore, who was killed in Spain at the battle of Corunna. The young orphan, who was a very bright, interesting, and charming girl, was quite the life of the circle which her host and hostess gathered about them. The courtesy and kindness with which I was received did much to cheer my spirits, prisoner though I still was. Lord Moira was even good enough to say he would try and get me permission to live in London, and I was about to profit by this generous concession, when an unexpected circumstance changed all my plans.

A man came to me one morning and said to me privately, ‘The Duke of Rovigo, Minister of Police in France, authorised by the Emperor, has sent me to propose to you that you should let me arrange for you to get out of England and back to France.’ The proposal he proceeded to make sounded most tempting, but it would mean a very great risk, and I mistrusted the fellow. Without actually refusing to do as he suggested, I replied that I expected to be exchanged, and begged him to see Colonel Stoffel first, and come back to me in a few days. I told Colonel Stoffel about it, and he made the inquiries necessary to assure us that the man was not a spy trying to find out my plans. After a few days’ delay, the Colonel came to me and said, ‘It is a bona fide offer, but the emissary has brought no money with him, and it will probably cost a couple of hundred guineas.’ We had between us only a very small portion of that sum, and we must manage to get it somehow. So I went to a merchant named Baudins, who had been very civil to me, and whose frank ingenuous countenance had inspired me with confidence. I said to him straight out, ‘I have come to show you how I trust you.’ ‘And what might that mean?’ was his reply. ‘There is a plan afoot for taking me back to France.’ ‘But that would be a great risk; there are a thousand dangers in the way.’ ‘Yes, I know, but I have decided to brave them, only I have not enough money. Can you lend me some?’ ‘How much do you want?’ ‘Five thousand francs!’ With a frown he replied, ‘I have not the whole of that sum by me, but come to me to-morrow morning, and perhaps I shall be able to let you have it.’ I took my leave, and after saying good-bye, I added, ‘You have my secret, but I feel quite easy in my mind.’

There was a ball that same evening, at which my friend Mr. Baudins and his daughter were present. When he caught sight of me, he nodded his head twice as if to say, ‘Yes, yes,’ and I answered him by signs only, for fear of compromising him. For the same reason I did not go and speak to him all the evening. But I danced with his daughter. Mr. Farnell the grocer was there too, and never did I see anything more comic than the appearance this provincial dancer presented, with the air of proud reserve suitable to a man who had charge of the French prisoners. It was really quite worth a journey to England only to watch him.

I was very punctual at the rendezvous the next morning, and Mr. Baudins gave me two hundred guineas, saying as he handed them to me, ‘I have given them to you in gold to avoid the delay of changing paper.’ I begged him to name the rate of interest I was to pay him, but he would not do so, assuring me that he lent me the money to oblige me, not with any idea of profit. The day and hour were now arranged with the emissary of the Duc de Rovigo, and Colonel Stoffel saw to everything without my appearing at all. I was invited to a grand dinner by General Hastings the very evening we were to start, and I duly appeared at it. The evening passed by very brightly, and at dessert, after the ladies had retired, the men remained behind to drink wine together, beginning with a toast to the ladies. As a matter of taste as well as by design, I kept my head clear, and when my companions were sufficiently exhilarated by the fumes of the claret they had drunk, they returned with somewhat unsteady steps to the drawing-room, where tea had been prepared by the ladies. The light-hearted way in which I answered the thousand questions put to me about the customs of Paris, and the entertainments given there, would never have led any one to guess the serious undercurrent of my thoughts at a moment when I was about to risk my life on the faith of an unknown emissary. Every one, in fact, was so pleased with the French Colonel, that when I took my leave at the time required by the regulations the prisoners had to comply with, every one begged me to come again the next day.

It was eleven o’clock at night and very dark, so that I found it difficult to make my way through the park to the place where I was to find Colonel Stoffel and the emissary. There was no one there, and I was afraid I had mistaken the way. I dared not make the least noise to betray my presence to them if they were in hiding. An hour passed in terrible suspense, and my heart was beating very quickly, when I at last heard a rustling amongst the leaves near me. I hid myself behind a bush, and waited till I recognised Stoffel and the guide. The latter led us to the first posting stage, and two minutes later we were in a good carriage, rapidly dashing along over the first of the hundred miles between us and the sea. We passed through Northamptonshire, the north of Middlesex, London, and Reigate, arriving at Hythe in Kent, five miles from Folkestone, at night. The coast was guarded here by troops and custom-house officers, and our guide told us we must pretend we were invalids come to take sea baths. Whilst the horses were being changed, he carried first one and then the other of us in his arms to place us in the fresh carriage, calling to the custom-house officers to come and help him. Just imagine the dangerous position of two French officers in perfect health imitating fretful invalids in the arms of English custom-house officers, who, fortunately for us, never dreamt of asking for the passports of such sufferers. A little further on our guide dismissed the posting carriage, and had tea served for us in a public-house, whilst he went to make inquiries about how to get to Folkestone. He came back a few minutes afterwards with a terror-stricken look in his face, and unable to get out a word, he wrote on the slate belonging to the inn, ‘Pay at once, and let us be off!’ His gestures were so alarming that I gave the girl in attendance a guinea, saying, ‘You can keep the change.’ This generosity astonished her so much that she thought we must be criminals running away from justice, and looked ready to denounce us. There was no time to be lost, for we had to get through the village, which was full of troops. The guide made me a sign to lay aside the erect bearing of a French soldier, and stoop as much as I could. Thanks to our energy and to our round backs, we escaped without attracting notice; but as the country outside Hythe was very open, we should have been clearly seen from a long distance, and I thought it safer for us to hide amongst the wheat for the rest of the day. The guide went on alone to Folkestone, after noting our bearings, so that he could find us again in the evening.

He did not return for seventeen hours, and the night was over when he at last appeared and gave the signal agreed on, to which we replied. He then took us to Folkestone, and introduced us to a man named Brick, a surly, ferocious-looking smuggler, who was to take us over to France. The door of the room in which Brick awaited us was hidden by tapestry, and when we entered a woman was pouring out a glass of porter for him. The sinister appearance of the couple made our hearts sink, and we dreaded placing ourselves at the mercy of such people. Brick with a villanous smile accosted us with the words, ‘Let’s see the money you have brought!’ I had paid for the post carriage, and still had the two hundred guineas. He insisted on taking the whole, though the price agreed on was rather less. It was of no use trying to beat him down, so I let him have it all. He then searched us to make sure that we were hiding nothing, looked if we had any rings on our fingers, and when he had quite made up his mind that we had neither money nor anything of value left, he said to us, ‘The wind is contrary this evening; I will lodge you in a safe place, and to-morrow night I will fetch you to take you to Boulogne.’ The delay was dreadfully trying, but we were in the man’s hands, and had to submit. Our emissary now took us to the house of a woman who gave us a decent room and fed us well. She showed us a trapdoor under our beds, through which we could escape at the least alarm. For thirteen days in succession Brick came to say, ‘The wind is contrary, and I cannot take you.’ But the wind had been blowing our curtains about in every direction. My patience was at an end, and unable to endure waiting longer, I begged Brick so earnestly to take us that very night, that he at last said with a forbidding and treacherous smile, ‘Well, follow me,’ and as he left the room he added with an air of ferocity to the sailor with him, ‘Like the others!’ At these terrible words the woman who had looked after us for the last thirteen days began to tremble, and seeing me about to follow Brick, she flung herself before me and whispered with a timid glance after him, ‘Don’t go with him!’ Colonel Stoffel and I, however, insisted, and the poor woman then, catching hold of our clothes to detain us, repeated in accents of the greatest terror, ‘Do not go with him!’ Surprised at her behaviour, I guessed there was some danger in our embarking that night, and Colonel Stoffel said to me, ‘This is very extraordinary; let us wait.’ We therefore allowed Brick to go on with the sailor, who was evidently his accomplice, and remained with the woman.

The men had hardly disappeared when the poor creature, almost insensible with fright, exclaimed as she drew us towards her, ‘O my God! what are you going to do?’ We pressed her with questions, but terror prevented her from answering, though we guessed there was some terrible mystery behind. We learnt later that Brick had already taken prisoners on board his boat some twenty times, promising to land them in France. He hid them under nets to evade the vigilance of the coastguards, and as soon as they were in the offing he murdered them and flung their bodies into the sea with stones tied round their necks. If he had been caught aiding in the escape of prisoners, he would have been himself condemned to the galleys. He never had any intention of saving the poor fellows who bribed him to help them, and many French officers, whose love of their country made them foolhardy and who were less fortunate than we were in finding a friend to warn them, fell victims to his atrocious mode of evading a great responsibility.

When our hostess had recovered a little from her emotion, we begged her to try and find some other means for us to get to France. We had no more money, but for all that she did find a sailor willing to take us without even naming a price. Seeing what a good fellow he was, I said to him, ‘I will give you fifty louis at Boulogne.’ On the evening of the fourteenth day of our detention at Folkestone the man brought us some sailors’ clothes, which he made us put on, and took us some distance along the beach, replying to every challenge from the sentinels of ‘Who goes there?’ with the one word, ‘Fishermen!’ We came at last to a little boat drawn up on the sand. It was shoved off, and we jumped in, but three times the waves flung it and us back on the shore, wetting us to the skin. It was really impossible to get to the fishing smack which was awaiting us a few yards from the beach, so that we were compelled reluctantly to return to our hostess. She was very much put out, too, for she was running a great risk in harbouring us, especially now that our escape was known, and a reward of thirty pounds had been offered by the Government for our recovery. She was, however, loyal to us to the end, and the next night she brought the good sailor to us again. The sea was no longer so rough, and we were able to get off in the little boat which quickly brought us to the smack, a bark some four feet long, in which two fishermen with their nets were waiting for us. We passed under the very bowsprit of the police boat, those on board her taking us all for fishermen. To avoid exciting suspicion, however, for those on the brig might have watched us through their glasses, we manœuvred with the nets as if we were about to fling them overboard. In this way we managed to get out into the offing, and when there we unfurled a little sail, for the sea was now quite calm. Five or six hours later we were in sight of Boulogne with nothing more to fear than being sunk by balls from the cannon of the advanced battery of the fort, which, we were warned through a speaking trumpet, would open fire on us if we came any nearer. Colonel Stoffel and I therefore hastened to wave our handkerchiefs as we advanced straight upon the mouths of the cannon. So near the French shore, we would rather have been killed than go back. The battery did not, however, fire on us, and we happily ran our little bark ashore on the beloved soil of our native land, where we were soon actors in a charming little episode.

At this time the English sent many smugglers over to France, and the country was simply inundated with incendiary pamphlets brought over by them, which the coast-guards had orders to seize. We no sooner touched land, therefore, than we were surrounded by some sixty men of various ranks, including custom-house officers, gendarmes, soldiers of the line, &c., who, crossing bayonets, made a perfect circle around us, in the centre of which we had to walk as if we were plague-stricken, and it would be dangerous to touch us. We were marched in this way before the various authorities coming at last to General Vandamme and the Chief Commissioner of Police, M. de Villier du Terrage, now a peer of France, who was a friend of mine and had fought side by side with me in our first campaigns. These two gentlemen welcomed me most heartily and placed their purses at my disposal, so I bade farewell to my sailor, giving him the fifty louis I had promised.

I then booked for Paris, arriving there at much the same time as the telegraphic despatch which had announced my return. It was only just five months since I left Paris, but the many vicissitudes which had been crowded into the time made it appear twice or three times as long, though I had been far more fortunate than thousands of my fellow countrymen, for I had soon cut short my time as a prisoner, whilst many of them had been exiled for fifteen years.

I alighted at the residence of the Prince of Neuchâtel (Prince Berthier), and he at once took me in his carriage to the Emperor, who was just then engaged with the Duke of Bassano, but he left him and took me out in the park. After he had asked me how I had managed to get back to France, the Emperor inquired if I had seen any of the Bourbon family when I was in England, in what style they lived, in what kind of consideration they were held, &c. He seemed very much interested in everything connected with them, and they were evidently a good deal in his thoughts. It really seemed as if their being so near to France made him distrustful, but he spoke of them all with the greatest respect. He was also very much exercised in his mind about the bitter feeling against him in England, and asked me if I could explain the insulting invectives in the press, which seemed to him to be the outcome of the personal rather than the political hatred of John Bull. He seemed both flattered and surprised when I told him that John Bull was very far from hating or despising him, as asserted in the newspapers. I added, ‘I did not enter a single cottage or mansion in England without finding at least one portrait of “Bony” as they call you, Bony being short for Bonaparte. These portraits of your Majesty, moreover, are not caricatures, for every one wants to know the very features of the extraordinary man who is changing the face of Europe. At Lord Moira’s, for instance, I saw a life-size likeness of your Majesty on foot, copied from Gerard’s picture. Lord Moira gave two hundred pounds for that copy three months ago.’ ‘But,’ was the reply, ‘if that is how the English feel, why does the press inveigh against me so implacably?’ ‘Sire,’ I said, ‘the English find it difficult to get troops to fight against you, and this kind of thing seems to them quite fair in war.’ ‘Did you see my brother Lucien?’ ‘No, sire, he is in Wales, many miles from where I was. I was promised permission to go and see him, but the chance of escape, which I owe to your goodness, prevented me from having time to do so. I know, however, that he is allowed considerable liberty. He has a whole county as a prison, and he is eagerly working at his poem on Charlemagne, the first cantos of which are finished.’ ‘How could he be so stupid as to risk being taken prisoner for the sake of romancing about Charlemmagne, when he might have been a Charles XII.¹ himself, and have remained with me to second my efforts?’ The Emperor was very fond of his brother Lucien, and wished him to employ his brilliant talents in the service of France. ‘And did you see Lefebvre-Desnouettes?’ ‘No, sire, but I wrote to him. He is intensely anxious to get back to you, and is beginning to lose hope of being exchanged. He would do as I have done if he were not afraid of your Majesty’s displeasure.’ ‘Oh, let him come, let him come! I shall be very glad to see him.’ ‘Does your Majesty give me leave to tell him so in your name?’ ‘Yes, yes; don’t lose any time.’

¹ Lucien’s first name was Charles, and he refused to be made a king though he accepted the nominal title of Prince of Canino and Musignano. – Trans.

I may as well add here that I told Mme. Lefebvre-Desnouettes of what had passed. The young wife at once went to get her passport, and left Paris to rejoin her husband. Her presence did much to distract the attention of the officer in charge of the prisoners, and made the escape comparatively easy. She shared all the dangers of the journey with heroic courage, and three months after my return she and her husband were both back in Paris.

The Emperor asked me a great many questions about the condition of the French prisoners in England, and a little later the appearance of Colonel Pelet’s book confirmed the terrible description I gave. I made several efforts in this same interview to turn the conversation on to the necessities of Spain, and was told that King Joseph himself had been in Paris, but had returned to Madrid a few days before I got back. I noticed with regret that the Emperor no longer took much interest in the affairs of the Peninsula, and that he left them entirely in the hands of subordinates. I concluded that the state of things had improved since I left Spain, or else that the country was to be evacuated; but neither of these suppositions was correct, for far greater schemes than the amelioration of the condition of that unhappy country were now absorbing the thoughts of the Emperor. The woes of Spain, the neglect of which was to have such tragic results for the whole of Europe, were made no more of than some slight ailment which can easily be cured. My urgent report on the state of the French army in Spain had been duly handed to Prince Berthier. He thought my strictures on the generals in command, who were most of them friends of his, too severe. He knew that the Emperor’s mind was full of other schemes, and he sent my report back to me without making any use of the information it contained. I could not help regretting having lost so much to gain absolutely nothing.

When after my talk with the Emperor in the gardens we returned to the palace, I offered him my congratulations on the birth of the King of Rome. He looked pleased, and took me to see the infant prince in his cradle. He was a very fine little fellow, and was already surrounded by a court of ladies of honour, governesses, chamberlains, &c., and had a grand equerry of his own in the person of the Count of Canisy.

Major-General Prince Berthier was good enough to drive me back to Paris, and the next day I went with him to join a hunting party at Grosbois, where he and his family were just then staying. This journey of six or seven leagues with the Prince was of deep interest to me, for in it I really got to know something about the General’s kind heart, which I should perhaps never otherwise have done, for he made a point of always appearing grave and severe with his young officers. He looked at me now again and again with a happy, almost eager expression of affection, such as a father would wear who had regained a beloved son whose loss he had mourned. He maintained, however, the dignified silence of a commander, only breaking it now and then with an eager question, showing how great was his interest in what I was saying, and how much he felt for the sufferings I had gone through. Prince Berthier was very different in this respect from the Emperor, who was always very free and easy when he wanted to get information, and only put on a solemn manner when dismissing those he received. The Prince maintained, on the other hand, a dignified reserve with those under him, concealing with difficulty the promptings of his generous nature, and never yielding to the gaiety which really was part of his character, except with those over whom he had no authority. Prince Berthier’s career had really been more brilliant than that of any of the officers immediately surrounding our Cæsar, but he never assumed any special distinction, for he was always simple, modest, polite, and natural in his manner. He was never known to utter a word which could wound the self-respect of his subalterns, but, on the contrary, he tried to the utmost of his power to increase the dignity of their position. Only once did I see him out of temper, and that was with his young brother, whom he overheard asking me very politely to hold his horse for him for a minute. ‘For whom do you take my aides-de-camp?’ he cried with an angry gesture. His ordinary expression was one of benevolence; he was very generous, and he often secretly gave me from twenty-five to fifty louis d’or for emigrants who had returned home in poverty. Later, after the Restoration, I often heard the very people he had helped speak of him as M. Berthier without any title. He really was also the most indefatigable person I knew, and when I one day congratulated Count Daru on his wonderful power of sustaining fatigue and doing without sleep, he said to me, ‘The Prince of Neuchâtel is even stronger than I am; I never spent more than nine days and nights without going to bed, but Berthier has been in the saddle for thirteen days and nights at a stretch.’ The Prince had never given much time to the study of literature, as his way of expressing himself sometimes betrayed, but he was a very good geometrician, and had worked hard at mathematics when a boy, and his orders, whether verbal or written, were always couched in terms so lucid and simple that a very few words sufficed to describe the most complicated manœuvres of an army. If circumstances had not made General Berthier a great warrior and a model chief of the staff, he would certainly have distinguished himself as an engineer. He was also a very good draughtsman, and several things he showed me proved that he had considerable talent for the graphic arts.

Few men had been more fortunate throughout their military careers than Prince Berthier. I often heard him congratulate himself on having served France in all four quarters of the globe. He made his début in the War of Independence in America, and returned home with very pleasant memories, for he became the personal friend of Rochambeau and Lafayette, under whom he served with the French contingent. He told me that of all the decorations he had received during his successful career, he had been most flattered at getting the little Cross¹ of the Order of the Cincinnati. It was given to him by Washington and the American Senate when he was but thirty years old, a short time before he received from the King of France the Cross of St. Louis for the same services. As I have already related, I was with the Army of the North during Napoleon’s brilliant campaign in Italy, which went far to eclipse our successes on the Rhine, and I often heard the marvellous feats of arms of Bonaparte attributed to the initiative of the young General Berthier. Whether it were jealousy or genuine conviction which led to the spreading of this report I do not know, but I fully shared in the opinion expressed when in 1800 Berthier, then Minister of War, took me as his aide-de-camp. I soon changed my mind on the subject after seeing the two men together, both so richly but so differently gifted, aiding each other with their counsel. It was the First Consul who inaugurated every plan, improvised the means for carrying it out, and by imbuing all with his own zeal made everything possible. It was General Berthier who, the plan of the chief once conceived, identified himself thoroughly with it, divided and subdivided the work to be done, assigning to each one the particular task by fulfilling which he was to cooperate with every other member of the army, smoothing down difficulties, providing for every contingency. His anxious solicitude, which kept him ever on the alert, his undaunted co-operation, were never relaxed until success was achieved. The glory which accrued to Berthier, though secondary, was yet considerable, but he was so modest that his aim was always rather to detract from his own merits, and to get the Commander-in-Chief to bestow his rewards on his comrades in arms. Of course, however, his fellow officers were too often jealous of him, and tried as hard to bring themselves into notice as he did to avoid calling attention to himself. Many of them were indeed ungrateful enough to accuse him of incapacity, because in 1809 he was not imprudent enough, as were so many of his fellow officers, to risk the loss of everything and to act in opposition to the wishes of Napoleon. But he was nobly avenged, for, in spite of all that his detractors could say, he was fully appreciated by the Emperor, and on the fatal field of Waterloo, when waiting in vain for Grouchy’s corps to come up, Napoleon exclaimed, ‘If Berthier were here, my orders would have been carried out, and I should have escaped this misfortune.’ But I am anticipating dates, and must return to my subject.

¹ The author says petite Croix, but the badge of this order was a bald eagle suspended to a blue and white ribbon, symbolising the union between France and America. The order was founded by the officers of the Revolutionary army in 1783, and named after the Roman hero because, like him, many of the American patriots were called from the plough to serve their country. The order was abolished in 1804. – Trans.

No one served the Emperor with more loyal devotion from 1795 to 1814 than the Prince of Wagram, and whilst I was with him not a day passed without my noting some fresh proof of his devotion to his master, which was indeed a perfect religion with him.¹ He was entirely without self-seeking, and yielded to his chief an affectionate and unfailing obedience often most touching in its patience and resignation. Though of medium height only, Berthier had a well-formed athletic figure, and his hair was thick and curly. He was an ardent lover of the chase, as eager in it as in war, and the Emperor, who knew how to appreciate all his good qualities, made him his Master of the Hounds. Such was the warrior under whom I was fortunate enough to serve for twelve years, going to him as a captain and leaving him as a general with many a decoration, a well-filled purse, a heart full of gratitude to him, and, what I valued far more than all my honours, many happy memories of the time I had been with him. These memories are still a delight to me in my old age, and give me strength to look forward to the future. May they also enable me to finish the story of my military career by telling of my experiences between 1811 and 1814, those most deeply interesting years of a century in which took place such extraordinary revolutions and wars, when empires were founded and overturned, when dynasties were changed, when so many men of eloquence and of genius rose into fame, and when such great discoveries were made, and the human race made such strides in progress.

¹ Nevertheless, on the fall of Napoleon, Berthier submitted to Louis XVIII. and did not join his former chief on his return from Elba. The inaction and probably also remorse, however, broke his heart, and he committed suicide by flinging himself from a window in 1815.

I have now to relate my experiences in the two terrible campaigns of 1812 and 1813 in Russia, Saxony, and Prussia, from which I returned wounded in 1814.

As I have already related, I had gone through some very painful experiences in Spain and England, without any good results either for France or for myself. I was now back in Paris, and had the disappointment of finding that I had been again forgotten; for when on the occasion of the birth of the King of Rome the Emperor had showered rewards on the army and given promotion to many officers, my earlier services, which had given me a right to expect special recognition, had been quite overlooked. The favourable moment had gone by, but fortunately for me I was less sensible to the claims of ambition than to those of family and friends, and I soon consoled myself with the affection of my father, my relations, and others dear to me. I hastened also to remit to Captain Garat and my good friend Mr. Baudins the sums of money they had so kindly let me have.

When I got back to Paris, I resumed my duties on the staff of Major-General Prince Berthier. I had to mark on his maps the position of the different corps of the armies massed together in Germany, and the extraordinary gathering of troops seemed to me to justify the vague rumours of approaching war which were circulating in the capital. Neither the Russian Ambassador nor the representatives of the other Powers had, however, yet left Paris, and there was no sign of any ostensible cause of disagreement, nor anything to indicate which country would be the scene of hostilities, when on February 1 I received orders to go and collect as many horses as possible at Frankfort on the Oder, and to have a grand travelling carriage got ready.

All manner of guesses as to the meaning of these orders were hazarded, but no one was in the secret, and feeling very uncertain about the future we made most luxurious preparations for the campaign. I gave ten thousand francs to Martin, a very intelligent valet de chambre, who had replaced my poor Williams, and told him to go to Frankfort and Strasburg to buy horses for me. I ordered some brilliant uniforms for myself and comfortable suits of livery for my servants, and on March 5 I received orders to go and examine every detail of that part of the army which was assembled on the Oder and the Vistula and at Danzig, so as to be able to inform the Emperor of all that was still wanting to complete the equipment and organisation of the troops.

In the report I drew up on this occasion I included the complaint made to me by several officers in command, of the recruits sent to them being too weak for service. I also spoke of the serious inconvenience which resulted from this weakness to General Dejean, who had just organised a corps of cavalry 40,000 strong, and he transmitted to me the verbal reply the Emperor had made to a protest from him on the same subject: ‘When I came back from Alsace after organising the cavalry,’ said the General to me, ‘I complained to the Emperor that one-third of the horses bought were not strong enough to carry their riders, and that half the men newly levied were too weak to wield a sword. “But for your Majesty’s precise orders to the contrary,” I added, “I should have sent them back to the depots.” “You would have done very wrong if you had,” replied the Emperor. “When I mount 40,000 men, I know well enough that I cannot expect to have that number of good horsemen, but I affect the morale of the enemy, whose spies hear it said and read in the newspapers that my cavalry is 40,000 strong. As the numbers pass from mouth to mouth they grow rather than decrease, and the 40,000 cavalry are supposed to be all of the same seasoned valour as the rest of my regiments have the character of being; so that when the campaign opens my army will be preceded by a rumour which will give a moral strength making up for the absence of the real forces I have been unable to procure.”’ Dejean was struck with fresh admiration for the man of genius who could thus turn everything to account, and who was quite unmoved by considerations which would have completely upset any plans but his own.