Chapter I

The bridge of Clausen--Dermoncourt's reports--Prisoners on parole--Lepage's pistols--Three generals-in-chief at the same table.

Now let Dermoncourt speak; from his version we shall really see what my father's deeds were; for my father always effaced himself in his own reports, above all when speaking of himself:--

"The army stopped at Bolzano for forty-eight hours, a long
halt for this campaign, which was more like a race than a
war. General Delmas remained at Bolzano to keep an eye on
Laudon's troops, and on the road from Innsbruck. The rest
of the army, with General Dumas at its head, prepared to
march next day for Brixen, to try and catch up with General
Kerpen's army, which had gone in that direction.

"The road we followed skirted a kind of watershed, half
stream, half torrent, which had its source among the Noire
mountains, and which, swollen by the waters of the Riente,
flows into the Adige, below Bolzano. Sometimes the road
ran along the right bank of the river; sometimes, crossing
the stream, it followed the left bank; then, after several
miles, it would cross back to the other side again. The
retreat of the Austrians had been so rapid that they had
not even blown up the bridges. We marched after them at
double quick pace, and we were almost in despair at ever
overtaking them, when our scouts came to tell us that they
had barricaded the bridge of Clausen with carts, and this
time really seemed to intend to dispute our crossing.

"The general at once set off with fifty dragoons, to examine
the nature of the ground: I followed him.

"When we reached the bridge of Clausen, we found it
effectually barred, with infantry and cavalry behind. We
thought that, when the general had examined the position, he
would wait for reinforcements; but he never dreamt of such a
thing.

"I Come on, come on,' he said--'I want twenty-five men on
foot to clear this bridge for me!'

"Twenty-five dragoons threw their horses' bridles into their
comrades' hands, and rushed to the bridge in the very middle
of the fire of the Austrian infantry.

"It was not easy work; for, to begin with, the waggons were
heavy to move, and the bullets fell like hail.

"'Come along, lazy-bones,' the general called out to me;
'aren't you going to lend a hand to these good fellows?'

"I dismounted and put my shoulder to the waggons; but the
general, finding that the bridge could not be cleared
quickly enough, leapt from his horse, and he too came to
help us. In an instant he did more single-handed with his
herculean strength than the twenty-five of us together. When
I say twenty-five I exaggerate; the Austrian bullets had
made their gaps, and five or six of our men were disabled.
Fortunately about sixty foot-soldiers now came up to our
assistance at a run. They distributed themselves on both
sides of the bridge, and opened hot fire, which soon began
to distress the Austrians, and to prevent them from aiming
straight. It ended in our overturning the carts into the
torrent--an easy matter, as the bridge had no parapet.

"Scarcely was the passage free than the general leapt to his
horse and, without waiting to see if he were being followed
or not, he dashed down the village street leading from the
bridge.

"In vain did I shout after him, 'But, General, there are
only the two of us!'

"He did not hear, or rather, he would not hear. Suddenly
we found ourselves face to face with a platoon of cavalry,
upon which the general fell; and, as the men were all in
line, with one single back-handed blow of his sabre he
killed the quartermaster, gashed the soldier horribly who
was next to him, and with the point of the weapon wounded a
third. The Austrians not conceiving it possible that two men
would have the audacity to charge them thus, wheeled to the
right-about; but the horses stumbled, and horses and riders
fell pell-mell. Our dragoons came up at this moment with
the foot-soldiers astride behind them, and the whole of the
Austrian platoon was captured.

"I paid the general a compliment upon his sabre blow,
telling him I had never seen its equal.

"'That is because you are a greenhorn,' he replied, 'but do
your best not to get killed, and before the finish of the
campaign you will have seen plenty like it.'

"We had taken a hundred prisoners. But he soon descried a
considerable body of cavalry climbing a mountain at the
other side of the village. No sooner did the general see
this body than he pointed them out to his dragoons, and,
leaving the prisoners to the care of the infantry, he set
off with his fifty men to pursue the Austrians.

"The general and I were so splendidly mounted that we gained
rapidly on our soldiers. The Austrians believing that they
were being pursued by the whole of our army, fled at top
speed. And again it came about that the general and I found
ourselves alone.

"At length, when we had reached an inn, at a point where the
road curved, I pulled up, and said to him:

"'General, what we are about to undertake, or rather, what
_you_ mean to undertake, is not reasonable. Let us stop and
wait till our men come up. Besides, the look of the ground
indicates that there is a plateau behind the house, and
we shall perhaps find the enemy there drawn up ready for
battle.'

"'All right, my boy; go and see if it is so,' he said. 'Our
horses can get their breath in the meantime.'

"I dismounted and walked round the inn, where I soon
discovered three trim squadrons all drawn up ready for
battle, about two hundred paces off. I returned to tell the
general, who, without a word in reply, set off riding in the
direction of the enemy's squadrons. I remounted my horse and
followed him.

"He had hardly gone a hundred yards before he came within
earshot of the enemy. The commanding officer recognised him,
and addressed him in French.

"'Oh! so it is you, you black devil!' he said to us.

"_Schwartz Teufel_ was the Austrians' nickname for the
general.

"'Come on a hundred paces, you scurvy knave,' said the
general, 'and I shall make it two hundred.'

"And with this reply, he put his horse to a gallop.

"All this time I was yelling like a demon, following the
general, whom I dared not leave, 'Here, dragoons, come on!'

"The enemy accordingly expected to see a considerable force
appear at any moment, and, with their commanding officer at
their head, they turned and fled.

"The general was on the point of pursuing them single-handed,
but I caught hold of his horse by the bridle and compelled
him to wait till our forces could come up and occupy the
position just vacated by the enemy.

"But when we were once more rejoined, there was no holding
the general back, and we set off again to chase the
Austrians. I managed, however, this time to arrange that our
skirmishers should go in front, as the road was very uneven.

"The skirmishers went on ahead, and we made good use of the
time to breathe our horses.

"In an hour's time we heard firing, which indicated that our
men were at close quarters with the Austrians. The general
sent me ahead to see what it meant.

"I returned in ten minutes.

"'Well!' said the general, I what is going on down there?'

"'The enemy is engaging us, General, but one of our soldiers
who speaks German told me it was only a ruse to induce us to
cross the bridge of Clausen. The bridge crossed, the enemy
intends to take its revenge.'

"'Ah! that is his dodge, is it?' said the general. 'Very
well! we will go and have a look. Forward--dragoons!'

"And at the head of our fifty or sixty men we again charged
the enemy.

"We reached the famous bridge; there was only just room
for three horses to cross abreast, and not the slightest
suggestion of a parapet.

"It was as I had told the general: the enemy had merely
made a show of resistance to entice us to pursue them. The
general crossed the bridge convinced that the Austrians
would not dare to turn round upon us. We therefore entered
the principal street, following the steps of our skirmishers
and the dozen dragoons whom the general had sent on to
support them, and we were almost in the middle of the street
when we beheld our skirmishers and our dragoons being
driven back by a whole squadron of cavalry. It was not a
retreat--it was a rout.

"Fear is infectious. It took possession of the dragoons who
were with us, or rather, our dragoons took possession of it;
they all fled after their comrades, scampering off at full
gallop; only about a dozen stayed by us.

"With this dozen of men we checked the enemy's charge, and
soon, whether for good or ill, we found ourselves back
at the bridge again; but here our few remaining dragoons
deserted us, and stampeded as though their salvation lay on
the other side of the bridge.

"To tell how the general and I got back to the bridge would
be a difficult matter; I saw the general raise his sabre,
as a thresher lifts his flail, and each time the sword fell
a man was felled. But I was soon so busy looking after
myself that I was compelled to lose sight of the general;
two or three Austrian cavalrymen made a furious set at me,
determined to take me, dead or alive. I wounded one with
the point of my sword, I cut open the head of another, but
the third dealt me a cut with his sword between the joints
of the shoulder, which made me rein in my horse so sharply
that the beast, whose mouth was very tender, reared and
fell back on top of me into a ditch. This was exactly to my
Austrian's mind: he continued to belard me with sword-cuts,
and would assuredly soon have spitted me altogether, if I
had not managed to draw a pistol out of my holsters with my
left hand. I fired at random; I did not know whether I hit
the horse or the rider, but I know the horse swung round on
his hind legs, set off at a gallop and, when about twenty or
twenty-five yards off me, he rid himself of his rider.

"As no one else engaged my attention, I turned round towards
the general; he was standing at the head of the bridge of
Clausen and holding it alone against the whole squadron;
and as the men could only get at him two or three abreast,
because of the narrowness of the bridge, he cut them down as
fast as they came on.

"I stood there astounded; I had always regarded the story
of Horatius Cocles as a fable, and here I saw the very same
thing being acted before my own eyes. In a short while,
I struggled to extricate myself from under my horse, and
succeeded in dragging myself out of the ditch, then I
shouted with all my might: 'Dragoons, to your general!'

"I was quite past defending him myself, my right arm being
nearly disjointed.

"Luckily, the general's second aide-de-camp, Lambert,
arrived just at that moment with a reinforcement of fresh
troops. He learnt what was happening from the fugitives,
whom he rallied; and together they rushed to the general's
assistance; they only just rescued him in time, as he
himself acknowledged.

"He had killed seven or eight men, and wounded twice that
number, but his strength had begun to wane.

"He had received three wounds, one in the arm, one in the
thigh, and the other on his head.

"This last had broken the iron of his headpiece; but, like
the other two wounds, it only slightly grazed the outer skin.

"The general had, besides, received seven bullets through
his cloak. His horse had been killed under him, but happily
its body acted as a barricade across the bridge, and perhaps
this circumstance had saved him, for the Austrians had begun
to rifle his valise and his holsters, and this gave him time
to catch a riderless horse and to recommence his fight.

"Thanks to Lambert's reinforcement, the general was able to
take up the offensive and to give the cavalry such a hot
chase that we never saw them again throughout the whole
campaign."

My father sent the cloak pierced with seven bullets to Joubert as a talisman, but it did not suffice to defend him at Novi.

Dermoncourt's wound was pretty serious, and he was obliged to keep his bed. My father left him at Brixen, and went to lend a hand to Delmas, who, as we have said, was stationed at Bolzano to oppose Laudon.

Laudon, after having reprovisioned his army and being somewhat recovered from our dressing down at the crossing of the Weiss, and from his defeat at Newmark, reinforced also by the Tyrolese peasants, had recommenced serious operations against Delmas, who was isolated at Bolzano with a mere handful of men.

Left to his own resources, and cut off from the main army, which was nine leagues away, Delmas sent a messenger to General Joubert, who had rejoined my father at Brixen on the 7th Germinal. This messenger announced that Delmas feared he might be attacked at any moment, and felt himself too weak to be able to hold out for long.

Joubert showed the despatch to my father, who had hardly dismounted from his horse. My father suggested he should start at once with his cavalry, which he thought would be sufficient to extricate Delmas, and even to settle with Laudon. Joubert accepted his offer, and my father went, leaving Joubert the commission to recover his pistols, no matter at what cost. It will be remembered that my father set immense store by these pistols, which my mother had given him: they had saved his life in the camp of la Madeleine.

He made such good progress that on the following morning he and all his cavalry had reached Bolzano.

The cavalry--men and horses--seem to have caught some of their master's spirit. Their confidence in him had been complete since they had seen his hand-to-hand struggle with the enemy in previous encounters, and they were ready to follow-him to the world's end.

As my father and his men had entered Bolzano by night, the enemy did not know of his arrival, and fancied they had only to deal with Delmas and the few men who were with him. The two generals therefore resolved to take advantage of the Austrians' ignorance, and next day to assume the offensive; so, at daybreak, they attacked the enemy just as they were preparing to make an attack themselves.

My father held the main road with his cavalry; Delmas and his infantry from the heights above attacked the enemy's positions one after another, carrying them all; whilst my father proceeded to cut up the fugitives.

It was a very hot day, and the Austrians, recognising that they were well beaten, disappeared from the neighbourhood of Bolzano, and enabled my father to return to Brixen.

It had taken him but three days to fulfil his mission.

It was quite time he returned, for the peasantry had risen, and had murdered several marauders who had had the audacity to steal out of cantonments. Kerpen had returned, owing to this revolt, and it was soon to be a matter of dealing not only with the regular troops, but also with the terrible Tyrolean chasseurs, whose bullets had already carried off Marceau, and were soon to kill Joubert also.

All was soon in battle array. My father was at the head of his indefatigable cavalry, mounted on a superb steed, the gift of Joubert. Joubert was himself at the head of his own picked regiment of grenadiers.

The same things happened over again. My father, encountering the enemy upon the main road, set to work with the sabre in his usual fashion, carrying everything before him.

I will again let Dermoncourt describe what happened:--

"It was a grand rout. General Dumas and his men slashed away
for more than two leagues.

"A great number of Austrians and Tyrolese were killed. The
very sight of the general produced on these men the effect
of an army corps; nothing could withstand the _Schwartz
Teufel._

"He was mounted on a magnificent horse which General Joubert
had just given him in place of the one he had lost a week
previously. Again he found himself a quarter of a league
ahead of his squadron, and, cutting his way through without
looking behind him, he reached a bridge, the planks of which
had already been torn up by the enemy, only the cross beams
remaining. It was impossible to proceed farther; his horse
would neither go through the river nor cross the bridge on
the narrow framework. The general drew up in a fury and
began flourishing his sword; and when the Tyroleans were
conscious that they were no longer being pursued, they
turned right about face and began a fearful fire upon this
one lonely man; three balls immediately struck down the
horse, and in its fall it dragged its rider with it, his leg
pinned under it.[1]

"The Tyrolese thought the general was killed, and rushed for
the bridge, crying:

"'Ah! The black devil is dead at last!'

"The situation was grave: with the foot that remained free
the general pushed off the dead body of his horse, to free
his other leg; and when freed he retreated to a little
hillock overlooking the road, upon which the Austrians had
hurriedly thrown up a rough intrenchment, which they had
deserted when they caught sight of the general. It is a
known custom among the Austrians to abandon or to throw down
their arms before flight; and in this improvised redoubt the
general found fifty guns all ready primed. In the general's
present situation these were of more value to him than the
richest of treasure-trove. He sheltered behind a fir-tree
and commenced his solitary fusillade.

"His first care was to pick out the men who had robbed him
of his horse; and so good a shot was he that not a single
aim was lost: the men fell upon one another in heaps; all
who ventured upon those narrow beams fell dead.

"The general's cavalry heard his firing, and as they did
not know what had become of him, they guessed he was the
cause of the shindy which was being raised a quarter of a
league off. Lambert took fifty cavalrymen with twenty-five
foot-soldiers seated behind them, and rushed up to find the
general holding fast his little redoubt.

"In an instant the bridge was carried, the Austrians and
Tyrolese were pursued into the village and a hundred of them
taken prisoners.

"Lambert told me he saw over twenty-five Austrians laid dead
round the horse they had slain, and that not a single man
had had time to cross the space between the bridge and the
slight intrenchment.

"The general returned to Brixen on an Austrian horse which
Lambert had secured him. He re-entered the room where I lay
in bed, looking so pale and exhausted that I exclaimed:

"'Oh, my God! General, are you hurt?'

"'No,' he said, 'but I have killed so many, so many!'

"And then he fainted away. I called for help, and they ran
in; the general had not even had time to reach an armchair
before he fell unconscious on the floor. This faint was
not a dangerous one, it was simply the result of excessive
fatigue; and indeed his sabre was so notched and bent it
would not go down into its sheath by quite four inches.

"With the help of a dram or two, we soon brought him round;
and a bowlful of soup that had been made for me speedily
completed the cure. He had eaten nothing since six in
the morning, and he had been fighting hard till four in
the afternoon. For, quite contrary to the habit of most
soldiers, the general always fought fasting, unless he was
surprised unawares.

"At this juncture General Joubert came in and flung himself
on the general's neck.

"'Really, my dear Dumas,' he said, 'you quite make me
tremble; each time I see you leap on your horse and gallop
off at the head of your dragoons, I say to myself, "He
surely can't avoid coming to grief at that mad pace." It
seems you have been working miracles again to-day! Mind you
take care of yourself; what the deuce should I do if you got
killed? Remember what a distance we have to go yet before we
reach Villach.'[2]

"The general was so weak he could not yet speak, but had to
be content with putting his arms round Joubert's head to
pull his face nearer his own, kissing him as one would kiss
a child.

"On the following day General Joubert asked for a sword
of honour for General Dumas, as his own was worn out with
cutting down the Austrians."

My father was not mistaken; so severe had been the lesson given to the two Austrian generals that neither of them returned to the charge, and, eight days later, General Delmas was easily able to rejoin the bulk of the division stationed at Brixen.

The next day after his arrival the army moved on to Lensk. They had received no news from Bonaparte, and they did not know what position he occupied. However, they acted on their own judgment, and they imagined that if they marched towards Styria they would regain the main army.

They accomplished their march without any other hindrance than was offered by a few squadrons of dragoons belonging to the Archduke John, which were following the main army. Every now and again Joubert detached my father and his dragoons to deal with these gentlemen; and then the army saw a specimen of those charges which Joubert, a man who did not easily flinch at anything, said made him _tremble._

During one of these charges my father took an officer prisoner, and, recognising him as a man of good family, he let him move about freely on his parole. The Austrian, who spoke French fluently, rode one of Dermoncourt's horses, trotting by and talking with the officers of the staff. The day after his capture he caught sight of his regiment following our rear-guard at about five hundred paces off, doubtless on purpose to gain an opportunity of falling upon us. He asked my father's permission to go just near enough to his old comrades to be able to give them some messages for his family. My father knew he could rely on his word, and let him know that he was perfectly free to do what he wished. The officer set off immediately at a gallop, and quickly covered the space between which separated him from his old comrades before any one of our officers had even thought of questioning where he was off to. After having conveyed his messages, he wished his comrades good-bye and was about to return; but the officer in command of their advance guard pointed out to him that, since he had fallen into the hands of the Austrian soldiery, he was no longer a French prisoner, and invited him to stay with them and to let our troops continue on their journey.

But the officer's only reply to these insidious suggestions was: "I am a prisoner on parole."

And, when his old comrades tried to retain him by force, he drew one of his pistols from his holsters and declared he would blow out the brains of the first man who laid a hand on him.

Then, wheeling round, he galloped back to the French quarters.

On approaching Dermoncourt, he said, "You did well to place such confidence in me as to leave your pistols in your holsters, for it was owing to them I was able to keep my faith with you."

The march continued its same uneventful course, and the two generals were much puzzled by this inertia on the part of the Austrians, until they learnt the successes of the grand army marching on Vienna, and that the heads of the columns of the Army of the Rhine had reached Lensk.

But once more the army witnessed a fight, or rather shall we call it a Homeric contest? Our extreme rear-guard, comprised of a corporal and four men, was caught up by the extreme van-guard of the enemy, composed of an equal number of men under a captain. A conversation began between the two commanding officers. The captain commenced a discourse in French, which our corporal did not find at all to his taste, so he pretended to take affront, and invited him, there being four seconds on each side, to settle the quarrel on the spot. The captain, who was a Belgian, accepted the offer. The two patrols drew up, facing one another, and the champions fought in the space between.

It chanced that the corporal was a fencing-master while the captain was a skilled swordsman, and a most interesting exhibition of skill began between these ably matched rivals. Each blow given was quickly parried, each thrust led to its riposte: after a few minutes' fighting, the champions engaged at such close quarters that the swords clashed hilt to hilt. Then the corporal, who was very active, threw down his sword and seized the captain round the waist; the captain, who was obliged to defend himself by the same form of attack, had to throw aside his weapon also, and to maintain the struggle under the new conditions thrust upon him. But now the corporal proved himself his rival's superior. He lifted the captain out of his saddle, but, unseating himself at the same time by the violence of his exertions, he lost his balance, and they fell together; only, he fell on the top and the captain underneath; moreover, the captain, who was already slightly wounded, dislocated his shoulder in the fall. He could not therefore hold out longer, and had to surrender; but, faithful to the conditions of the fight, he commanded his troop not to stir--an order they were quite disposed to obey, the dragoons with fixed carbines being ready to fire. Each side withdrew, the Austrians returning minus their chief, and the French going off with their prisoner.

We had as a matter of fact taken the superior officer of the lieutenant who was already a prisoner; and the latter, who was on familiar terms with all our staff, introduced his captain to my father.

My father gave him a cordial welcome, and quickly put him into the hands of our surgeon-major.

This warm reception, and the care my father took of these two officers, was to produce consequences which we shall see in due course.

But to return to the main events. The treaty of Léoben was already being discussed, and an armistice had even been agreed upon, when an Austrian dragoon officer reached our staff quarters with a safe conduct from the headquarters of the Rhine army.

This officer was the very same who had turned tail at the farm of Clausen, inciting my father to fight.

Our two prisoners were officers under his command, and he came to bring them money and personal effects.

He thanked my father heartily for his great care of these two officers, and, my father inviting him to dinner, the conversation at table turned to that adventure on the plateau, when a whole regiment had beaten a retreat before two men.

My father had not recognised the commandant.

"Upon my word," he said, "I only regret one thing, and that is that the chief of the squadron who challenged me changed his mind, and did not think fit to wait for me."

At the first mention of this subject Dermoncourt had noticed the officer's embarrassment, and, looking at him more attentively, had recognised him as the commandant with whom my father had had dealings.

He then thought it was about time to cut the conversation short, and said:

"But, General, do you not recognise this gentleman?"

"Upon my word, I don't," said my father.

"He was the commandant--"

"Well?"

Dermoncourt signed to the officer as much as to say that he had better continue the conversation himself.

The officer, understanding his meaning, replied, laughing:

"That commandant, General, was myself!"

"Really!"

"But--did you not see him?" Dermoncourt asked my father.

"The deuce, no," he replied; "I was too much beside myself with rage that day, because I could not manage to cross swords with the person who had incited me."

"Well! I was the man who incited you, General," said the officer. "I meant to give you the chance of fighting, but when I saw you bearing down on me, I remembered the style in which I had seen you _go to work_, and my courage failed me. I wanted to tell you this yourself, General, and that is the reason why I asked leave to bring my officers their money and goods. I wanted to see at close quarters the man for whom I had conceived such a great admiration that I dared tell him to his face, 'General, I was afraid of you, and I refused the fight I had offered you.'"

My father held out his hand.

"Upon my word, Commandant, if that is the case, pray say no more about it. I prefer that our acquaintance should begin at this table rather than elsewhere. Your health, Commandant."

They drank, and the conversation then turned upon other subjects.

But the topic still hovered round my father's fine feat of arms at Clausen; the three officers had heard the story of the bridge; all thought my father had been killed, even as was his horse, and the news had made a profound sensation in the Austrian army.

My father then referred to the famous pistols which he so much regretted, and which he had charged Joubert to regain from the hands of the Austrians if it were possible; they still remained in the hands of the enemy, in spite of that commission.

The three officers took particular note of my father's expressions of regret, each resolving to search for these precious pistols--the commandant directly he returned to camp, and the two others as soon as they were free.

Thanks to my father, the two officers had not long to wait for their liberty: they were exchanged for two French officers of a similar rank. They took leave of the officers' quarters with many expressions of gratitude, and one of them, at any rate, did not lose time in giving proof of this to my father.

A week or so after their departure, an officer came under a flag of truce to the French camp, and, asking to speak with my father, handed him the pistols he had mourned for so long. They had been carried to General Kerpen himself, who, upon the request of the officer whom my father had wounded and taken prisoner, returned them to him with a charming letter. The next day but one my father received the following letter from this officer:--

"MONSIEUR LE GÉNÉRAL,--I hope you have received your pistols
by the officer under flag of truce, who left here the day
before yesterday; Lieutenant-General Baron de Kerpen has
sent them you. I received my cloak, for which I have to
thank you, as well as for many other kindnesses you have
shown me. Be assured, General, that my gratitude is beyond
words, and that my greatest wish is to be able to prove it.
My wounds are beginning to heal, and the fever has abated.

"We hear the strongest rumours of peace. I hope as soon as
it is concluded that I shall be able to come and greet you
before you leave these parts. Frossart,[3] who has lost
his heart to you and to General Joubert, charges me with a
thousand messages for you both.

"Believe me, Monsieur le Général, with sincerest regards,
your very obedient servant, HAT DE LEVIS, Captain.

"LIENTZ, _20th April 1797._"

And that was how my father once more got possession of the famous pistols, the loss of which he had deplored so deeply.

I hope my reader will forgive me these details. Alas! in the rapid movement which carries us along through the time of revolutions, our manners change, become blurred and are forgotten, to be replaced in their turn by other manners as variable as their predecessors. The French Revolution stamped a peculiar seal upon our army; when I come across it I treasure up the impression as one would that of a precious medal fast being obliterated by rust; anxious to make its worth known to one's contemporaries, and to hand down its characteristics to posterity.

And, moreover, we shall misjudge all these men of the Republic if we judge them only by those who survived the Republic and lived on into the period of the Empire. The Empire was an epoch of rude pressure, and the Emperor Napoleon was a rough coiner of new metal. He wanted all money to be stamped with his own image, and all bronze to be smelted in his own furnace; even as he himself had, in some measure, set an example in the transformation of his own character. No one resembled First Consul Bonaparte less than the Emperor Napoleon, the conqueror of Arcole less than the conquered of Waterloo.

Thus the men we must look to to form our ideas of Republican manners are those who by a premature death escaped the birth of the Empire: such men as Marceau, Hoche, Desaix, Kléber, and my father.

Born with the Republic, these men died with her: they knew no change, not even in the cut of the clothes beneath which beat their loyal, brave Republican hearts.

My father, Hoche, and Marceau were all once gathered round the same table: all of them were commanders-in-chief; my father, who was but thirty-one, was the oldest among them. The other two were twenty-four and twenty-six years of age. Their united ages only came to eighty-one. What a promising future seemed before them! But a bullet killed one of them, and the other two were poisoned.

[Footnote 1: The painter Lethiers painted a picture of my father, representing this scene.]

[Footnote 2: Bonaparte's headquarters and rendezvous.]

[Footnote 3: A Belgian officer.]