The surgeons and health officers conducted themselves admirably on this terrible day; they displayed unheard-of courage, an activity which astonished even the Emperor; hence, in passing near them, he several times addressed them as "My brave surgeons!" M. Larrey especially was sublime. After having treated all the wounded of the guard, who were huddled together in the isle of Lobau, he asked if there was any soup to give them. "No," replied the aides. "Make some of them," said he, pointing to some horses near him; "make some with the horses that belong to this picket." The horses were the property of a general. When some one went near them to obey M. Larrey's orders, the owner exclaimed, grew angry, and swore that he would not allow them to be taken. "Oh well!" said the worthy surgeon, "let them take mine and kill them, so that my comrades may have some soup." So said, so done; and as there were no iron pots on the island, the soup was made in cuirasses; it was black with gunpowder, and there was no salt. Marshal Masséna tasted this soup and found it good. One knew not which to admire the most, the zeal of the surgeons, the courage with which they braved danger by caring for the wounded on he field of battle, even in the midst of balls, or the stoical firmness of the soldiers, who, lying on the ground, one without an arm, another without a leg, chatted together about their campaigns while awaiting their turn to be operated on. Some of them went so far as to perform acts of politeness: "Mr. Doctor, begin with my neighbor; he is suffering more than I am. . . . I can wait awhile."

A cannoneer had both his legs carried off by a ball; two of his comrades picked him up and made a litter with the branches of trees, on which they laid him to transport him to the island. The poor mutilated fellow did not make a single outcry. "I am very thirsty," he said now and then to his porters. As they were crossing one of the bridges he supplicated them to stop and get him a little
wine or brandy to revive his strength. They believed him, and departed; but they had not gone twenty steps when the cannoneer cried out: "Don't go so fast, my comrades, I shall arrive sooner than you. Long live France!" And, making an effort, he let himself roll into the Danube.

The conduct of a surgeon-major of the guards some time afterwards came very near compromising the entire corps in His Majesty's esteem. This surgeon, M. M—— , lodged with General Dorsenne and several superior officers in a very delightful pleasure house belonging to Madame the Princesse de Lichtenstein. The concierge, an old German, rough and capricious, was very reluctant to serve them, and played them all the ill-turns he could. It was in vain, for example, that they asked for linen for the beds or the table; he pretended not to understand them.

General Dorsenne wrote to the Princess to complain; she doubtless gave her orders in consequence, but the General's letter remained unanswered. Several days passed; the napkins had not been changed for a month when the General took the notion of giving a grand supper. The wines of Hungary and the Rhine were gulped down; punch followed. The host was greatly complimented, but with these compliments were mingled some energetic complaints of the doubtful whiteness of the table-cloth and napkins. General Dorsenne alleged in excuse the ill-humor and sordid economy of the concierge, well-supported by the deficient courtesy of the Princess. "That must not be endured!" cried the joyous guests in chorus; "a hostess who despises us to that extent must be called to order. Come on, M——, take some paper and a pen; write her some stinging epigrams; we must teach this Princess of Germany how to behave. French officers, victors, lying between dirty sheets and eating off of a filthy table-cloth! it is infamous." M. M—— was the too-faithful interpreter of the unanimous sentiments of these gentlemen. Heated as he was by the fumes of Hungarian wine, he wrote to the Princesee de Lichtenstein such a letter as one would not dare to write to the lowest of public women, even in carnival time. How describe what Madame de Lichtenstein felt on reading this epistle, this assemblage of all that the language of the guard-room could furnish of what is vile? It required the testimony of a third person to make her believe that the signature, M——, Surgeon-Major of the French imperial guard, had not been counterfeited by some miserable drunkard. In profound indignation, the Princess hastened to the house of General Andréossy, governor of Vienna for His Majesty; she showed him this letter and demanded vengeance. The General, still more irritated than she, got into a carriage and went to Schönbrunn, where he arrived during the parade. The handed the Emperor the fatal epistle: the Emperor read it; he drew back a step or two, his cheeks reddening with anger, his expression altered, and in a frightful voice he told the grand marshal to summon M. M——. Everybody trembled. "Is it you who wrote this letter?" "Sire . . ." — "Answer, I tell you. Is it you?" "Yes, Sire, in a moment of forgetfulness, after a supper . . ." — "Wretch!" shouted His Majesty, in a way fit to terrify all who heard it, "you deserve to be shot on the spot! To insult a woman in this cowardly way! and an old woman too! Have you no mother? I respect and honor every old woman, because she reminds me of my mother." "Sire, I am culpable . . . I confess it, but my repentance is great. Deign to think of my services; I have made eighteen campaigns. . . . I am the father of a family." This last remark increased His Majesty's anger: "Arrest him; tear off his decoration; he is unworthy to wear it. . . . Let him be tried within twenty-four hours. Then turning to the generals, silent with stupefaction: "See here, gentlemen, read this! See how this blackguard treats a princess, at the very moment when her husband is negotiating a peace with me."

The parade went fast that day; when it was over General Dorsenne and M. Larrey ran to the house of Madame de Lichtenstein; they described to her the scene that had just occurred, and made the most affecting excuses to her in the name of the imperial guard; they implored her to intercede for an unhappy wretch, very guilty doubtless, but who was not in his right mind when he wrote. "He repents, Madame," said the good M. Larrey, "he laments his fault; he awaits his punishment with
courage, and as a just reparation for his outrage
against you. . . . But he is one of the best officers in the army; he is esteemed and cherished; he has
saved the lives of thousands of persons, and his
distinguished talents are the only fortune of his
family. . . . What will become of them if he has to die?" "To die!" cried the Princess, "to die! Good God! are things to go so far as that?" General Dorsenne went on to describe to her the resentment of the Emperor, as a million times keener then his own, and the Princess, deeply affected, wrote a letter to the Emperor, in which, professing herself satisfied and grateful for the reparation she had obtained, she entreated him to pardon M. M——. His Majesty read this letter and did not
answer it. Again they visited the Princess who, this time, became extremely alarmed, and said that she was truly distressed at having shown M. M——'s letter to the General. Determined to do all in her power to obtain the surgeon's pardon, she addressed a petition to the Emperor, which she terminated by this phrase of truly angelic kindness: "Sire, I am going to kneel in my oratory, and I will not rise until I have obtained from Heaven Your Majesty's clemency." The Emperor could no
longer refuse; he pardoned. M. M—— was let off with a month of close arrest. M. Larrey was commissioned by His Majesty to scold him roundly, so that he should take better care thenceforward of the honor of the respectable body of which he formed part. The remonstrances of this excellent man were quite fatherly, and doubled in the eyes of M. M—— the value of the service he had rendered him.

M. the Baron Larrey did good disinterestedly; people knew this and often abused it. General d'A——, the son of a wealthy senator, had his shoulder fractured by a bullet at the battle of Wagram. An amputation was necessary. This alarming operation demanded a practiced hand; M. Larrey alone could undertake it. He did so, and successfully; but the wounded man, who was naturally delicate, and now extremely enfeebled, required the greatest care and most unintermitted attention. M. Larrey seldom left him; he also placed near him two of his pupils, who watched alternately, and aided him in dressing the wound. The treatment was long and painful, but it ended in a perfect cure. When fully convalescent, the General took leave of the Emperor to return to France. A majorat and some decorations paid the debt owed him by the sovereign and the state. The manner in which he discharged his own to the man who saved his life is curious to know.

Just as he was about entering his carriage, he handed to a general of his acquaintance a letter and a little box, saying: "I cannot leave Vienna without thanking M. Larrey; do me the kindness to send him from me this token of my gratitude. That good Larrey! I shall never forget the services he has rendered me." The next day, the friend acquitted himself of his commission. A gendarme was charged with the epistle and the present. He arrived at Schönbrunn during the parade, and inquired throughout the ranks for M. Larrey. "Here is a letter and a box I have brought him from General d'A——. "M. Larrey put them both into his pocket; but, after the parade, he examined their contents, and, remitting the packet to M. Cadet de Gassicourt, he said to him: "Look at this and tell me what you think of it." The letter was very pretty; as to the box, it enclosed a diamond worth about sixty francs.

This mean recompense recalls a glorious and worthy one which M. Larrey had received from the Emperor during the Egyptian campaign.

At the battle of Aboukir, General Fugières was operated on by M. Larrey, under the enemy's fire, for a dangerous wound in the shoulder, and believing himself at the point of death, he offered his sword to General Bonaparte, saying: "General, some day you will perhaps envy my fate." The General-in-Chief presented this sword to M. Larrey, after having his name and that of the battle engraved upon it. However, General Fugières did not die. He was saved by the skilful operation he had undergone, and for seventeen years he commanded the disabled soldiers at Avignon.