Generals d' Hautpoul, Corbineau, and Boursier were fatally wounded at Eylau. I seem still to hear the brave d'Hautpoul saying to His Majesty, just as he was galloping off to charge the enemy: "Sire, I am going to show you my big heels; they will go into the enemies' squares as if they were made of butter!" An hour later he was dead. One of his regiments while fighting in an interval of the Russian army, was shot down and cut to pieces by the Cossacks; only eighteen of them escaped. General d'Hautpoul, three times forced to recoil with his division, thrice rallied them to the charge; the third time, he again rushed on the enemy, crying in a loud voice: "Cuirassiers, forward, in the name of God! forward, my brave cuirassiers!" But grapeshot had mowed down too many of these heroes. Very few of them were in condition to follow their leader, who fell, covered with wounds, in the middle of a Russian square into which he had flung himself almost alone.

It was also in this battle, I think, that General Ordener killed one of the enemy's general officers with his own hand. The Emperor asked him whether he could not have taken him alive. "Sire," replied the General, in his broad German accent, "ché né donne qu'un coup, mais ché tâche qu'il soit pon." ("I strike only one blow, but I try to make it a good one.")

On the very morning of the battle, General Corbineau, aide-de-camp to the Emperor, while at breakfast with the chief attendants, owned to them that he was beset by the most gloomy presentiments. These gentlemen tried to divert his mind from this idea, and turned it into a joke. A few minutes later, General Corbineau received an order from His Majesty; needing money and not finding any at M. de Menneval's quarters, he applied to me, and I advanced it from the Emperor's cash-box; several hours afterward, I met M. de Menneval, and told him about General Corbineau's request and the sum I had given him. I was still speaking to M. de Menneval when an officer galloping by shouted to us in passing the sad tidings of the General's death. I have never forgotten the impression this piece of news made upon me, and I still find inexplicable that sort of inner misgiving which had come to warn a hero of his approaching death.

Poland was counting on the Emperor for the restoration of its independence. Hence the Poles were full of hope and enthusiasm when they witnessed the arrival of the French army. This winter campaign, however, displeased our soldiers greatly; the cold, the destitution, the bad weather, inspired them with extreme aversion for the country.

In a review at Warsaw, while the inhabitants were thronging around our troops, one of the soldiers began swearing energetically against the snow and mud, and consequently against Poland and the Poles. "You are very wrong not to like our country, Mr. Soldier," said a young girl belonging to a very good burgher family of the city, "for we like the French very much." "You are certainly very amiable, Mademoiselle," replied the soldier; "but if you wish to persuade me of the truth of what you are saying, you will give my comrade and me a good dinner." At this, the parents of the young Pole came forward and said:

"Come along, then, gentlemen; we will drink together to your Emperor's health." They did in fact take the two soldiers with them and gave them the best meal they had during the entire campaign.

According to the soldiers, four words constituted the groundwork of the Polish language: Kleba? niema; some bread? there is none; vora? sara; some water? some one has gone to get it. One day while the Emperor was passing through a column of infantry in the environs of Mysigniez, where the troops had experienced great privations on account of the miry roads which interfered with the arrival of provisions, a soldier cried out to him: " Papa, Kleba.'' "Niema," responded the Emperor at once. The whole column roared with laughter, and no one else asked for anything.

During the rather long stay the Emperor made at Finkenstein, he was visited by a Persian ambassador, for whose pleasure he held several grand reviews. In his turn, His Majesty sent an embassy to the Shah, placing at the head of it General Gardanne, who was said at the time to have a special reason for wishing to go to Persia. It was claimed that his parents, after residing for a long time at Teheran, had been obliged to leave that capital in consequence of a riot against the Europeans, and that before taking flight they had buried a considerable treasure in a certain place, the map of which they took back with them to France. To finish with this story, I will add that I was told afterwards that General Gardanne had found the place in disorder, and being unable to recognize the sites or discover the treasure, had returned from his embassy empty-handed.

The sojourn at Finkenstein became very monotonous. To pass the time, His Majesty sometimes played cards with his generals and aides-de-camp. Usually the game was vingt-et-un, and the great captain delighted in cheating; during several successive tricks he would keep back the cards necessary to form the requisite number, and was greatly amused when he won by this manœuvre. It was I who furnished him with the money for his game, and as soon as he came in, I was ordered to take his winnings; he always gave me half of them, and the rest I divided among the ordinary valets.

It is not my intention to confine myself to a very rigorous order of dates in this journal, and when an anecdote or a fact occurs to my memory, I shall set it down, so far as it can be done, in that part of my narrative where I may be when I recall it; in referring it to its own period, I should be afraid of forgetting it. This is why I think I ought to note here, in passing, some recollections of Saint-Cloud or the Tuileries, although we are at present at the headquarters of Finkenstein. The pastimes resorted to by His Majesty and chief officers are what reminded me of them..

These gentlemen often challenged or laid wagers with each other. I one day heard the Duc de Vicenza bet that M. Jardin junior, His Majesty's equerry, riding backwards on his horse, would reach the end of the château avenue in a very few minutes. The grand equerry won the bet.

MM. Fain, Menneval, and Ivan once played a curious trick on M. B. d'A——, whom they knew to be subject to frequent attacks of gallantry. They dressed up a young man in woman's clothes, and sent him to promenade in an avenue near the château in this disguise. M. B. d'A—— was very short-sighted and generally used an eye-glass; these gentlemen persuaded him to go out, and he had no sooner done so than he perceived the fair promenader, and was unable to repress an exclamation of surprise and joy.

His friends pretended to share his delight, and urged him, as the most enterprising of the party, to make the first advances. He approached the fictitious young lady therefore with the most respectful air, and outdid himself in polite attentions and offers of service. He was determined, at all hazards, to do the honors of the château to his new acquaintance. The latter, who had been taught his lesson well, acquitted himself perfectly of his rôle, and after a good deal of smirking on one side and protestations on the other, a rendezvous was given for that very evening. The lover, rejoicing in hope, returned to his friends, and played the discreet and indifferent concerning his success, although he could have devoured the time in his anxiety to see the end of the day. At last evening brought to an end his impatience and the hour of the interview. But what were his disgust and anger when he perceived that the feminine vestments covered a masculine costume! In the first moments of his wrath, M. B. d'A—— wanted to challenge both the authors and the actor in this hoax to a duel, and he was only appeased with great difficulty.

I think it was on the return from this campaign that Prince Jérôme saw at the theatre of Breslau a very pretty young actress, who played indifferently enough, but sang extremely well. He made advances. She was said to be very discreet; but kings do not sigh long in vain; they cast too heavy a weight in the balances of discretion. His Majesty the King of Westphalia took his conquest with him to Cassel, where, after a time, he espoused her to his first valet de chambre, Albertoni, whose Italian morals did not disgust him with such a marriage. Some dissatisfaction, the motives of which I do not know, decided Albertoni to leave the King; he returned to Paris with his wife, and engaged in several enterprises in which he lost all that he had earned. I have been told that he went back to Italy. One thing which always seemed extraordinary to me, was Albertoni's jealousy of his wife — a vigilant jealousy which kept an eye on every man, except the King; for I am nearly certain that the liaison continued after the marriage.

The brothers of the Emperor, even when kings, sometimes had to dance attendance in His Majesty's antechamber. King Jérôme came one morning by order of the Emperor, who, being not yet up, told me to ask the King of Westphalia to wait. As the Emperor wished to rest awhile longer, I remained with the attendants in the salon which served as antechamber, and where the King was also waiting, I do not say with patience; for he was constantly changing one seat for another, going from the window to the mantelpiece, and seeming very much bored. Occasionally he would chat with me, to whom he had always been very kindly. He spent more than half an hour in this way. At last I went into the Emperor's chamber, and when he had put on his dressing-gown, I notified the King that His Majesty expected him; having introduced him, I withdrew. The Emperor did not receive him very well, and scolded a good deal. As he talked very loud, I heard him in spite of myself; but the King made his excuses in so low a tone that I could not hear a word of his self-justification. Such scenes were of frequent occurrence. The Prince was dissipated and a spendthrift, which displeased the Emperor above all things, and he reproached him severely although he loved him much; for it is to be remarked that in spite of the frequent annoyances which his family caused him, the Emperor always retained a great affection for his relatives.

Some time after the taking of Dantzic (May 24, 1807) the Emperor, wishing to recompense Marshal Lefebvre for his recent services, had him summoned at six o'clock in the morning. His Majesty was at work with the major-general of the army when the arrival of the Marshal was announced. "Ah! ah!" said he to the major-general, "monsieur le duc has not kept me waiting;" then turning to the orderly: "Say to the Duc de Dantzic that I sent for him so early because I wanted him to breakfast with me." The orderly, thinking that the Emperor had mistaken the name, remarked that the person awaiting him was not the Duc de Dantzic, but Marshal Lefebvre. "It seems, sir, that you think me more capable of making a count than a duke.'' 1 The officer was disconcerted for a moment by this response, but the Emperor reassured him by a smile, and said: "Go and acquaint the Duke with my invitation; in a quarter of an hour we shall sit down at table." The orderly went back to the Marshal, who was somewhat uneasy as to what His Majesty might have to say to him. "Monsieur le duc, the Emperor invites you to breakfast with him, and begs you to wait a quarter of an hour." Having paid no attention to the new title given him by the orderly, the marshal replied by a nod, and sat down on a camp-stool above which hung the Emperor's sword. The Marshal looked at it and touched it with admiration and respect. When the quarter of an hour had elapsed, another orderly came to call the Marshal to join the Emperor, who was already at table with the major-general. On seeing him, Napoleon waved his hand to him: "good day, monsieur le duc, sit down beside me."

Astonished to hear himself addressed by this title, the Marshal thought at first that the Emperor was jesting; but seeing that he made a parade of calling him monsieur le duc, he was abashed by it for a moment. To increase his confusion, the Emperor said: "Do you like chocolate, monsieur le duc?" "Why . . . yes, Sire."—"Eh! well, you won't breakfast on it, but I am going to give you a pound from the city of Dantzic itself; for since you have conquered it, it is quite just that it should bring you in something." Thereupon the Emperor left the table, opened a small casket, took from it a packet in the shape of a long square, and gave it to Marshal Lefebvre, saying: "Duc de Dantzic, accept this chocolate; little presents nourish friendship." The Marshal thanked His Majesty, took the chocolate, and sat down again at table with the Emperor and Marshal Berthier. A pasty representing the city of Dantzic was in the middle of the table, and when it was time to cut it, the Emperor said to the new duke: "This pasty could not have been given a form which would please me more. Attack it, monsieur le duc, there is your conquest, it is for you to do the honors of it." The Duke obeyed, and the three companions ate some of the pasty, which seemed to be very much to their taste.

On returning home, the Marshal Duc de Dantzic, suspecting a surprise in the little packet given him by the Emperor, made haste to open it and found within one hundred thousand ecus in banknotes. After this magnificent present, it became customary in the army to call money, whether in specie or notes, Dantzic chocolate; and when the soldiers wanted a treat from some comrade who was pretty well off for cash, they would say to him: "Come along; haven't you some Dantzic chocolate in your sack?"

His Majesty's almost superstitious fondness for anniversaries was once more justified by the victory of Friedland, gained June 14, 1807, seven years to a day after the battle of Marengo. The severity of the winter, the difficulty of victualling the troops (for which the Emperor had nevertheless provided with all possible care and skill), and the obstinate courage of the Russians had rendered this campaign painful even to the victors, whom the incredible rapidity of their successes in Prussia had accustomed to prompt conquests. The division of glory they had been obliged to make with the Russians at Eylau, was something new in the military career of the Emperor. At Friedland he resumed his advantages and his former superiority. His Majesty, by a feigned retreat and by allowing the enemy to see only a portion of his forces, lured the Russians on this side of the Elbe, in such a way that they fouled themselves shut in between the river and our army. The victory was gained by the troops of the line and the cavalry, the Emperor was not obliged to call out his guard. That of the Emperor Alexander was almost entirely destroyed in protecting the retreat or rather the flight of the Russians, who could only escape the pursuit of our troops by way of the bridge of Friedland, some narrow pontoons and an almost impracticable ford.

All the line regiments of the French army covered the plain. The Emperor, in observation on a height whence his view ranged over the entire battle-field, was sitting in an armchair near a mill, and his whole staff surrounded him. Never did I see him more gay; he chatted with the generals who were awaiting his orders, and seemed to take pleasure in eating some Russian bread made in the form of a brick. This bread, made of bad rye flour and full of long straws, was the only nourishment of all the soldiers, who knew that His Majesty ate it as well as they.

Superb weather favored the skilful manœuvres of the army, which wrought prodigies of valor. The cavalry charges were executed with such precision that the Emperor sent to compliment the regiments which had made them.

Toward four o'clock in the afternoon, at the moment when the two armies were pressing each other hard at all points, and while thousands of cannon were making the ground tremble, the Emperor exclaimed "If that lasts two hours longer, there will be nothing left standing in the plain but the French army." A few instants later, he gave orders to Count d'Orsène, general of the foot grenadiers of the old guard, to fire on a brick-yard behind which masses of Russians and Prussians were entrenched. In the twinkling of an eye they were forced to abandon this position, and swarms of sharp-shooters were in pursuit of the fugitives.

The guard did not move until five o'clock, and at six o'clock the battle was completely gained. As he watched the guard deploying, the Emperor said to those who were near him: "Those fellows would have liked to chew up the pousse-cailloux and the rintintins of the line for daring to charge without waiting for them; but say what they like, the business has been well done without them."

His Majesty went to compliment several regiments which had fought all day. A few words, a smile, a wave of the hand, sufficed to recompense the brave fellows who had just conquered.

After this decisive battle, the Emperor of Russia, who had rejected the propositions conveyed to him by His Majesty subsequently to the battle of Eylau, found himself very much disposed to make proposals in his turn. General Benningsen, in the name of his Emperor, requested an armistice; His Majesty accorded it, and shortly afterward came the signing of peace and the famous interview of the two sovereigns on the Niemen. I shall pass rapidly over the details of this meeting, which have been published and repeated hundreds of times. His Majesty and the young Czar conceived a mutual affection from the first moment they saw each other, and both of them gave fêtes and entertainments. They were inseparable in public and in private, and passed hours together in parties of pleasure from which intruders were carefully excluded. The city of Tilsit was declared neutral, and French, Russians, and Prussians followed the example given by their sovereigns in living together in the most intimate confraternity.

The King and Queen of Prussia came to join Their Imperial Majesties at Tilsit. This unfortunate monarch, who had scarcely a city left out of his whole kingdom, must have been very little inclined to take part in so many fêtes. The Queen was beautiful and gracious, possibly somewhat haughty and severe; but that did not prevent her being adored by all who surrounded her. The Emperor tried to please her, and she neglected none of the innocent coquetries of her sex in order to mollify the conqueror of her husband. I saw the Queen dine with the sovereigns several times, sitting between the two emperors, who vied with each other in gallantries and attentions. It is known that the Emperor Napoleon one day offered her a superb rose, and that after hesitating for some moments she ended by accepting, saying to His Majesty with the most charming smile: "At least with Magdeburg." And it is also known that the Emperor did not accept the exchange.

The Queen's lady of honor was a very aged woman, who was most highly esteemed. One evening, just as the Queen was led into the dining-room by the two emperors, followed by the King of Prussia, Prince Murat, and the Grand Duke Constantine, the old lady of honor left her place in order to make way for the two latter princes. The Grand Duke Constantine would not take precedence of her, and spoiling this act of politeness by a very rude tone, he said to her: "Pass on, Madame, pass on!" Then turning quickly toward the King of Naples, he added, in a tone loud enough to be heard, this gracious exclamation: "The old idiot!" It may be seen by this that Prince Constantine was far from having that exquisite politeness and perfection of gallantry which distinguished his august brother.

The French imperial guard once gave a dinner to the guard of the Emperor Alexander. The repast could not have been gayer, and by way of terminating the fraternal banquet, each French soldier changed uniform with a Russian, who gave him his in exchange. They passed in this way in front of the emperors, who were much amused by this impromptu disguise.

Among the civilities offered to our Emperor by the Emperor of Russia, I will mention a concert executed by a troop of Baskirs whom their sovereign brought across the Niemen for this purpose. Certainly more barbaric music had never resounded in His Majesty's ears, and this strange harmony, accompanied by gestures at least as savage, produced the most burlesque spectacle that can be imagined. Some days after this concert, I obtained permission to go and visit the musicians in their camp, and I went with Roustan, who could act as my interpreter. We had the advantage of being present at a repast of the Baskirs. Around immense wooden tubs were ranged squads of ten men, each holding in his hand a piece of black bread, which he seasoned with a spoonful of water in which they had mixed something which resembled red earth. After the repast they entertained us with archery. Roustan, whom this exercise reminded of those of his youth, wished to shoot an arrow, but it fell at the distance of a few paces, and I saw a smile of contempt on the thick lips of our Baskirs; I tried the bow in my turn, and acquitted myself in a way that did me honor in the eyes of our hosts, who instantly surrounded me, felicitating me by signs on my skill and vigor. One of them, still more enthusiastic and friendly than the others, gave me a slap on the shoulder which I did not forget in a hurry.

On the day after this famous concert, peace was signed between the two sovereigns, and His Majesty paid a visit to the Emperor Alexander, who received him at the head of his guard. The Emperor Napoleon asked his illustrious ally to point out to him the bravest grenadier of this fine and valiant troop. He was presented to His Majesty, who detached from his buttonhole his own cross of the Legion of Honor and fastened it on the breast of the Muscovite soldier amidst the acclamations and hurrahs of all his comrades. The two emperors embraced each other for the last time on the bank of the Niemen, and His Majesty took the route to Kœnigsburg.

At Bautzen the Emperor was met by the King of Saxony, who had come for that purpose, and Their Majesties entered Dresden. King Frederick-Augustus gave the most magnificent reception in his power to the sovereign who, not content with having given him a sceptre, had also considerably enlarged the hereditary dominions of the Electors of Saxony. During the eight days we spent in Dresden, its good people treated the French more like brothers and compatriots than allies. But it was nearly ten months since we had quitted Paris, and in spite of the sweetness of the frank and simple German hospitality, I was in a great hurry to see France and my family once more.