One of those actors whom the Abbe Geoffroy had not precisely spoiled by praise, desired to avenge himself in a piquant manner which would make people laugh for a long time. One evening, at the close of the play, foreseeing perhaps what he might expect in the next day's feuilleton, no better plan occurred to him than that of abducting the terrible Geoffroy after he left the theatre and taking him blindfolded into a house, where he would inflict upon him, a master in the art of writing, the punishment of a schoolboy. Thus it fell out: at the instant when the Abbe was regaining his lodgings, rubbing his hands perhaps as some biting expression occurred to him for the next day's paper, three or four vigorous fellows seized and carried him, without saying a word, to the place of torment. That same evening the Abbe, soundly flagellated, opened his eyes in the middle of the street, where he found himself alone and far away from his domicile. The Emperor, to whom this pretty trick was mentioned, did not find it laughable in the least. Far from that, he flew into a rage, and said that if he knew the author of this iniquitous deed of violence, he would have him punished. " When a man attacks with the pen," he added, " he should be replied to in the same way." The truth is, moreover, that the Emperor liked Geoffroy very much, and would not have his feuilletons submitted to censorship, like those of other journalists. They said in Paris that this predilection of a great man for a venomous critic arose from the fact that the feuilletons of the Journal of the Empire, to which people paid much attention at this period, were a useful diversion afforded to the wits of the capital. I do not know anything positive about this, but when I remember the character of the Emperor, who was unwilling to have people concern themselves with his policy, these rumors do not appear to me entirely without foundation.

Doctor Corvisart was no courtier. He seldom came except on his appointed days, which were Wednesday and Saturday. He was very plain-spoken with the Emperor, insisted on his injunctions being carried out to the letter, and made an extensive use of that right which all physicians have to scold neglectful patients. The Emperor particularly liked him, and always detained him, seeming to enjoy his conversation. One Saturday, in 1811, after the journey to Holland, M. Corvisart came to see the Emperor, whom he found in very good health. After the toilet he went away at once to his country-seat, to indulge in the pleasure of hunting, which he was prodigiously fond of. It was a habit of his never to tell any one at home where he was going, so as not to be disturbed for trifles, as had already happened to him; for in other things the Doctor was full of obligingness and devotion.

One day after his breakfast, which as usual he ate very fast, the Emperor was suddenly attacked by a violent colic and general uneasiness. He asked for M. Corvisart and a courier was sent at once in search of him. Not finding him in Paris, he spurred his horse and went on to the Doctor's country-seat; but the Doctor was out hunting, and no one knew in what direction. The courier came back without him. The Emperor was extremely annoyed; he was suffering much. Finally he went to bed, and Marie-Louise came to spend some minutes beside him. M. Yvan, having been summoned, prescribed something, and the Emperor got better.

M. Corvisart, uneasy perhaps, came on Monday instead of Wednesday. When he entered Napoleon's chamber, the latter, who was in his dressing-gown, ran up to him, and taking him by the two ears, said: "Well, Monsieur, so if I were seriously ill, I should be obliged to get along without your assistance!"

M. Corvisart excused himself, asked what the Emperor had suffered, what he had taken, and promised thereafter to leave word at his house where he would be, so that he could be found on the first notification from His Majesty, who was soon pacified. So the Doctor profited likewise, since he corrected himself of a bad habit. It is probable that his patients thought well of it.

M. Corvisart was in immense repute with the Emperor. Hence many people who knew this preferred to charge the Doctor with their petitions. He seldom failed to obtain the requests he occasionally made of the Emperor. Still, I have often heard him speak warmly of M. de Bourrienne in order to make the Emperor understand that he was greatly attached to him; but His Majesty always replied: "No, Bourrienne is too English. And for the rest, he is well off; I have placed him at Hamburg. He loves money, and he can get it there."

It was during the year 1811 that Cardinal Fesch came oftenest into the Emperor's chamber. It seemed to me that their discussions were very lively. The Cardinal adhered strongly to his opinions, and talked in a very loud tone and with great volubility. It would not be five minutes before the conversation became somewhat acrimonious. Then I would hear the Emperor raise his voice proportionately. Rather frequently there would be an interchange of bitter speeches; and whenever I saw the Cardinal arrive, I could not avoid pitying the Emperor, who was always much agitated at the close of these discussions. One day, just as the Cardinal was taking leave of the Emperor, I heard the latter say harshly: "Cardinal, you belong thoroughly to your class."

Several days before our departure for Russia, the Emperor sent for me in the daytime, and told me to go to the treasury and take from it the coffer of diamonds, deposit it in his chamber, and then not to absent myself, as he might have need of me. Toward nine o'clock in the evening I was summoned, and found M. the Count de Lavalette, postmaster-general, in the chamber of the Emperor. His Majesty opened the coffer in my presence, examined its contents, and said to me: "Constant, carry this coffer yourself into M. the Count's carriage, and stay there until he arrives." The carriage was at the foot of the great flight of steps, in the court of the Tuileries. I had it opened, and got into it. I waited until half-past eleven for M. de Lavalette to arrive. I cannot explain to myself the reason for this precaution of giving the diamonds to M. de Lavalette. But it was certainly not without a motive.

The coffer contained: the sword in whose pommel the regent was set (the hilt was enriched with very costly diamonds); the grand collar of the Legion of Honor, the stars, the hat-band, the unfringed epaulette, the buttons of the coronation coat, the buckles of the shoes and garters, — all objects of immense price.

A little while before we set out for Russia, the Empress Josephine sent for me. I went at once to Malmaison, where this excellent woman again pressed upon me the most urgent precautions concerning the Emperor's health and safety. She made me promise that if the least accident befell him, I would write to her, as she wished above all to be sure of knowing the truth. She wept a great deal, tallied constantly about the Emperor, and after an interview that lasted more than an hour, and in which she gave full vent to her sensibility, she presented me with her portrait, painted by Saint on a gold snuff-box. My heart was heavy when I came out from this interview. Nothing, in fact, was more affecting than this woman, disgraced and yet always loving, anxious for the man who had abandoned her, and, better than that, interesting herself for him as the most tenderly loved wife would have done.

On entering Russia, a thing I speak of here in accordance with the order of my souvenirs rather than with that of time, the Emperor despatched attendants from the picked gendarmerie on three different routes, in order to prepare lodgings, beds, canteens, etc., in advance. These were M. Sarrazin, adjutant lieutenant, Verges, Molène, and Lieutenant Pachot. Besides, I shall devote an entire chapter later on to our itinerary from Paris to Moscow.

Some time before the battle of the Moskowa, a man was brought into camp wearing a Russian coat, but speaking French; at least, there was a singular medley of Russian and French in his language. This man had furtively escaped from the enemies' lines; when he perceived that our soldiers were at a very short distance from him, he had left the ranks and thrown away his musket, exclaiming with a very strongly marked Russian accent: "I am a Frenchman." Our soldiers had made him prisoner.

Never was a prisoner more enchanted with his change of domicile. The poor wretch seemed to have taken arms in the service of his country's foes entirely against his will, and he declared himself the happiest of men when he arrived in the French camp, because he had found his compatriots once more. He shook hands with all our soldiers with a freedom that pleased everybody. He was led to the Emperor; he seemed greatly intimidated on finding himself in the presence of The King of the French, as he styled His Majesty. The Emperor interrogated him a long time. He said that the sound of the French cannon had always made his heart beat; that he had dreaded only one thing, namely, to be killed by his own countrymen. According to what he told the Emperor, he appeared to be one of those men, of whom there are so many, who find themselves transported to a foreign land by their family without ever thoroughly understanding the reasons for their emigration. His father had carried on some low kind of mechanical occupation in Moscow, and had died leaving him without resources or prospects. To gain his bread he had become a soldier. He said that the Russian military discipline was one of the great reasons which had incited him to desert. He added that he had courage and strong arms, and that he could serve in the French army, if its general would permit. His candor pleased the Emperor, who desired to obtain from him some positive information as to the state of public feeling in Moscow. It was learned from his more or less intelligible revelations, that a great agitation was prevalent in this ancient capital. He said you could hear people shouting in the streets: "Enough of Barclay! Down with the traitor! the coward! Long live Kutusoff!" The merchant class, which had great influence, because it was generally the most wealthy, complained of a temporizing system which left things in an unsettled condition and compromised the honor of the Russian arms. They could not forgive the Emperor for placing confidence in a foreigner while old Kutusoff, who had the blood and soul of a Russian, occupied a secondary position. The Emperor Alexander had not heeded these energetic remonstrances. Finally, however, alarmed by the symptoms of revolt that were manifested in his army, he had yielded. Kutusoff was appointed generalissimo. Moscow had been illuminated in rejoicing over this important event. A great battle with the French was spoken of; enthusiasm was at its height in the Russian army; every soldier had a green branch attached to his shako. The prisoner spoke of Kutusoff with dread. He said he was a white-haired old man, with big moustaches and eyes that made one tremble; that he was very far from dressing like the French generals; that his coats were very ordinary, though he might have such fine ones; that he roared like a lion when he was angry; that he never marched without having recited his prayers, and that he frequently crossed himself at different hours of the day. "The soldiers like him very much," he added, "because they say he resembles Suwarrow; I am afraid he will do the French a great deal of harm." The Emperor, satisfied with this information, dismissed the prisoner and gave orders that he should be allowed to circulate freely in the camp. Later on he fought bravely with our soldiers.

The Emperor made his entry into Glatz with a most singular escort. In a skirmish several Cossacks had been taken. His Majesty, who was just then very eager for information, from whatever source it might proceed, desired to question these savages. He had them brought to headquarters two or three times. These men seem made to be eternally fastened on a horse. Nothing could be more laughable than their gait when they descend to the ground. Their legs, stretched wide apart by the habit of pressing the flanks of a horse, greatly resemble the branches of a pair of tongs. When they set foot to the ground they appear to be in an element not their own. The Emperor entered Glatz escorted by two of these barbarians on horseback.

They seemed much flattered by this honor. I remarked, more than once, that the Emperor could not avoid laughing at the awkward figure of these cavaliers of the Ukraine, especially when they were giving themselves airs and graces. Their reports, which His Majesty's interpreter had some difficulty in comprehending, seemed to confirm all that had been heard of Moscow. These barbarians made the Emperor understand, by their animated gestures, convulsive movements, and warlike postures, that there would soon be a great battle between the Russians and the French. The Emperor had brandy given them; they drank it as if it had been pure water, and held out their glasses for more with laughable coolness. Their horses were small, short-bodied, and long-tailed. These animals seemed very docile. Alas! they can be seen without leaving Paris.

It is an historical fact that the King of Naples greatly awed these barbarians. Word was brought to the Emperor one day that they wished to make him their hetman. The Emperor laughed heartily at their offer, and said, in a joking way, that he was ready to support this election of a free people. It is certain that there was a touch of the theatrical in the appearance of the King of Naples which fascinated the eyes of these barbarians. He was always very richly dressed. When his horse carried him on ahead of his columns, and the wind ruffled his long hair, when he gave those great sabre thrusts which mowed men down, then I conceive that he was singularly pleasing to these warlike tribes, who can appreciate none but external qualities. It was said that the King of Naples, by merely shaking his long sable, had repelled an entire horde of these barbarians. I do not know just how far the thing is true, but it is at least very possible.
 

The Cossacks believe in sorcerers. They have this in common with all races still in their infancy. We were told a droll story about the great chief of the Cossacks, the famous Platof. Pursued by the King of Naples, he beat a retreat. A ball struck one of his officers who was at his side. The hetman, enraged against his sorcerer, had him soundly whipped in presence of all the hordes, reproaching him bitterly for not having changed the direction of the balls by his enchantments. This, surely, was to have more faith in that art than the sorcerer had himself.

September 3, from his headquarters at Glatz, the Emperor announced to his army that it must prepare for a general engagement. For some days there had been a great relaxation in the discipline of the bivouacs. He had the severity of the regulations redoubled. Several detachments which had been out foraging had prolonged their excursions rather too far. The Emperor charged his colonels to let them know that he was dissatisfied, adding that those who should not return the next day would not fight! These words require no comment.

The country surrounding Glatz was very fertile. Nearly all the fields were sown with rye ready for the sickle. Here and there, however, we could see vast openings which the Cossack horses had left there in their flight. I have since compared the aspect of these fields in November with what it was in September. What a horrible thing is war! Some days before the battle, Napoleon, accompanied by two of his marshals, made an excursion through the environs of the city. On the eve of this great event, he talked calmly about everything. He spoke of this country as he would have done of a fair and fertile province of France. To hear him, the granaries of the army were all found. These would be excellent winter quarters. The first care of the administration he would establish at Glatz would be to encourage agriculture; then he pointed out, with his finger, to his marshals the smiling curves of the river which gives its name to the city. He seemed enraptured by the prospect which lay before his eyes. Never have I seen the Emperor yield to such gentle emotions; never have I known his face so expressive of serenity, such calmness in his conversation. Never, also, have I had a stronger impression of the greatness of his soul.

September 5 the Emperor ascended the heights of Borodino, to embrace in one comprehensive glance the respective positions of the two armies. The weather was gloomy. Presently one of those fine and cold rains, usual when autumn is approaching, began to fall. At a distance it resembled a rather dense fog. The Emperor tried to make use of his spyglass, but the sort of veil which covered the whole landscape prevented him from seeing. He grew impatient. The rain which, chased by the wind, came in slants, remained on the glasses of his lunettes; he had them wiped several times, and was much vexed by this contrariety.

The temperature was cold and damp; he asked for his cloak, wrapped himself in it, said it was impossible to stay there longer and that we must return to headquarters. He re-entered his tent, threw himself on the bed, and slept a little. On awaking, he said to me: "Constant, go and see; I think I hear a noise outside." I went out and came back to announce the arrival of General Caulaincourt. The Emperor sprang from the foot of his bed, and ran to meet the General, saying to him, with anxiety: "Do you bring me any prisoners?" The General replied that they could not make prisoners, because the Russian soldiers let themselves be killed rather than surrender. The Emperor at once exclaimed: "Let all the artillery be brought up." He had decided that, while preparing to make this a war of extermination, the cannon ought, so far as possible, to save his troops the fatigue of musket firing.

At midnight on the 6th, word was brought to the Emperor that the Russian fires seemed to be less numerous, and that the flames had been seen to die out at different points. Some said they had heard the dull rolling of drums. The army was in the greatest uneasiness. The Emperor sprang in alarm from his bed. "That is impossible," he said, repeatedly. I wanted to give him his clothes so that he should be somewhat warmly dressed, for the night was cold. He was in such haste to assure himself whether the report were exact that he merely flung his cloak about him and went out hurriedly from his tent. The bivouac fires had, in fact, grown paler. The Emperor had alarming suspicions. Where would the war end if the Russians should fall back still further? He came back to his tent in great agitation, and returned to bed, saying repeatedly: "At any rate, we shall see to-morrow morning."

September 7 the sun rose without a cloud. The Emperor exclaimed: "It is the sun of Austerlitz." This saying of the Emperor was quoted to the army and repeated by the soldiers with enthusiasm. The roll was beaten, and the following order of the day was read:

"SOLDIERS: Behold the battle you have so desired! Henceforward the victory depends on you; it is necessary to us, it will give us abundance, good winter quarters, and a prompt return to our country. Behave as you did at Austerlitz, at Friedland, at Witespk, at Smolensk, and may your remotest posterity point with pride to your conduct on this day, and say of you: 'He was in the grand battle under the walls of Moscow! ' "

The army responded by reiterated acclamations. The Emperor had dictated this proclamation several hours before battle. It was read in the morning to the soldiers. Napoleon was on the heights of Borodino; when his ears were greeted by the enthusiastic shouts of the army, he was standing with his arms crossed and the sun shining full in his eyes, as well as the reflection of the French and Russian bayonets; he smiled, and then became serious until the affair was ended.

The portrait of the King of Rome was brought to Napoleon on that day; he needed so sweet an emotion to divert him from his great anxieties. He held the portrait for a long time on his knees, contemplating it with rapture He said it was the most agreeable surprise that had ever been given him. He repeated several times in an undertone: "My good Louise! it is a charming attention." There was an expression of happiness on the Emperor's countenance which it is difficult to describe. The first emotions had calmed down and taken a nameless touch of melancholy. "The dear child!" That was all he said.

But he resumed all his pride as father and Emperor when, by his orders, the officers and even the soldiers of the Old Guard came to see the King of Rome. The portrait was exhibited in front of the tent. Nothing could have been more touching and yet more grave than these old soldiers, who respectfully uncovered before this picture in which they were trying to discover some of the grand traits of Napoleon. At this moment the Emperor felt that expansive joy of a father who knows that after him his sons will have no better friends than his old companions in fatigue and glory.

At four o'clock in the morning, that is to say an hour before the affray, Napoleon had experienced a great exhaustion throughout his person; he had a slight chill, but without fever; he threw himself on his bed. At the same time, he was not so ill as M. Ségur has said. He had been suffering for some time from a bad cold which he had rather neglected, and which was augmented by the continual fatigues of this memorable day. It was accompanied by an extinction of voice, which he combated by an extremely military remedy he drank very mild punch during the night, the whole of which he spent working in his cabinet, but without being able to speak. This inconvenience lasted for two days; he was well on the 9th, and his cough was nearly gone.

After the battle, out of six corpses one was French and five Russian. At noon, an aide-de-camp came to tell the Emperor that Comte Auguste de Caulaincourt, brother of the Duc de Vicenza, had been struck by a cannon-ball.

The Emperor heaved a profound sigh and said nothing; he knew well that he might have the heartbreak more than once before the day was over. After the battle he conveyed his condolence to the Duc de Vicenza in the most affecting manner.

Comte Auguste de Caulaincourt was a young man full of bravery. He had quitted his young wife a few hours after their marriage, to follow the French army; he came to meet a glorious death in the battle of the Moskowa. He had espoused the sister of one of the Emperor's pages, whose governor he had been for some time. This charming person was so very young that her parents desired that the marriage should not be consummated until after the return from the campaign, as had also been the case with Prince Aldobrandini at the time he married Mademoiselle de la Rochefoucauld before the Wagram campaign. General Auguste de Caulaincourt was slain in a redoubt to which he had conducted the cuirassiers of General Montbrun, who had himself just been killed by a cannon-shot in attacking the same redoubt.

The Emperor often said, in speaking of certain generals killed at the army: "Such a one is happy; he died on the field of honor; and I perhaps shall be so unfortunate as to die in my bed." He had been less philosophical when Lannes died, and I saw him weeping while at breakfast; great tears even were rolling down his cheeks and falling on his plate. He deeply regretted Desaix, Poniatowski, Bessières, but above all Lannes, and Duroc next.

During all the time that the battle of the Moskowa lasted, the Emperor had attacks of dysury. He had several times been threatened with this malady if he did not take more precautions. He suffered much, he complained little, and when some stifled exclamation did escape him, it was because he was enduring very acute pain. Now, nothing hurts one more than to hear those complain who are not in the habit of doing so, for then one gets an idea of pain in its full intensity, since it is stronger than the strong man. At Austerlitz the Emperor had said: "Ordener is worn out; a man has but one time for war; I shall be good for six years yet, but after that I shall have to stop."

The Emperor went over the battle-field. It was a horrible spectacle; nearly all the dead were covered with wounds, which proved the bitterness with which they had fought. It was wretched weather at the time; it rained, and the wind was very high. The poor wounded men who had not yet been carried to the ambulances, half rose from the ground so that they might be noticed and given assistance. There were some who cried Long live the Emperor! in spite of their sufferings and their exhaustion. All of our soldiers who had been struck by Russian balls had wounds as large as large holes on their bodies, for the Russian bullets were much larger than ours. We saw a standard bearer who was wrapped in his flag as if it were a shroud He seemed to give signs of life, but he died from the shock he experienced when he was lifted. The Emperor went on and said nothing. Several times, when passing in front of the most mutilated, he put his hand over his eyes so as not to see them. This calmness did not last long. There was a place on the field of battle where French and Russians had fallen pell-mell; almost all of them were merely wounded, more or less grievously. When the Emperor heard their cries, I saw him fly into a temper, shout after those whose business it was to take up the wounded, and become irritated at the slowness with which they performed their duty. It was hard work to keep the horses from treading on some of the dead bodies, there were so many of them about. One wounded man was struck by the shoe of one of the horses of the Emperor's suite, the poor stretch uttered a heartrending cry; the Emperor turned round quickly, demanding angrily what blunderer had hurt that man. Some one replied, thinking to appease him, that the man was only a Russian. "Russian or French," he replied, "I want all to be taken up."

Some poor young fellows who had come to make their first campaign in Russia, being mortally wounded, lost courage and cried like children, calling meanwhile on their mothers. This horrible picture will remain eternally graven in my memory.

The Emperor urgently repeated his orders for the removal of the wounded, turned rein in silence, and came back in the evening to headquarters. I spent the night close by him. His sleep was very much disturbed, or rather he did not sleep at all. Several times he repeated, while turning restlessly on his pillow: "Poor Caulaincourt! What a day! what a day!"