My father's division, briskly attacked by a superior force, held for two days the famous position of Cadibone and Montenotte; but finally, being in danger of having its flank turned, it was forced to retreat on Voltri, and then on Genoa, where, with the other two divisions of the right wing, it was shut up.

I could hear the generals who knew the state of the case deploring the necessity of separating ourselves from the centre and the left wing, but at that time I knew so little of the principles of war that it in no way affected me. I understood we11 enough that we had been beaten, but as I had with my own hand captured an officer of the Barco Hussars and fastened his plume with much pride to the headstall of my horse, I felt as if this trophy gave me some resemblance to a knight of the Middle Ages coming home laden with the spoils of the infidels. My boyish vanity was soon brought down by a terrible catastrophe. During the retreat, just as my father was giving me an order to carry, he received a ball in the left leg, the leg in which he had before been wounded with the Army of the Pyrenees. The shock was so great that he must have fallen from his horse if he had not leant upon me. I got him away from the field of battle; his wound was dressed and when I saw his blood flow I began to cry. He tried to soothe me, and said that a soldier ought to have stronger nerves. We carried him to Genoa and placed him in the Centurione Palace, which he had occupied in the previous winter. Our three divisions entered Genoa; the Austrians blockaded the place by land, and the English by sea.

The courage fails me to describe what the garrison and population of Genoa had to suffer during the two months which this memorable siege lasted. The ravages of famine, war, typhus were enormous. Out of 16,000 men, the garrison lost 10,000; every day seven or eight hundred corpses of the inhabitants, of every age, sex, and class, were picked up in the streets and buried in an immense trench filled with quicklime behind the church of Carignan. The number of victims reached more than 30,000, nearly all starved to death.

In order to realise to what extent the dearth of food was felt among the inhabitants, you must know that the old Genoese Government, to keep the population in check, had from time immemorial claimed a monopoly of grain, flour, and bread. The bread was baked in an immense building guarded by cannon and soldiers, so that whenever the Doge or the Senate wished to prevent or punish a revolt they had only to close the state bakeries and subdue the people by famine. Although at the time of which I speak the Genoese Constitution had undergone much change, and the aristocracy had lost nearly all its authority, there still was not a single private bakehouse, and the old custom of making the bread in the state ovens continued. Well, these public ovens, which habitually provided food for a population of more than 120,000 souls, remained closed for forty-five days out of the sixty which the siege lasted. Rich no more than poor had the means of obtaining bread; the small quantity of dried vegetables and rice which was in the hands of the dealers had been bought up at enormous prices at the very beginning of the siege. The troops alone received a miserable ration of a quarter of a pound of horseflesh and a quarter of a pound of what was called bread--a horrible compound of damaged flour, sawdust, starch, hair powder, oatmeal, linseed, rancid nuts, and other nasty substances, to which a little solidity was given by the admixture of a small portion of cocoa. Each loaf, moreover, was held together by bits of wood, without which it would have fallen to powder. General Thiébault in his journal of the siege compares this bread to peat mingled with oil.

For five-and-forty days neither bread nor meat was publicly sold; the richest inhahitants were able, but only during the first part of the siege, to obtain a little codfish, figs, and other dried provisions, as well as some sugar. Oil, wine, and salt never failed; but of what use are these without solid food? All the dogs and cats in the town were eaten; rats fetched a high price. At length the misery grew so terrible that whenever the French troops made a sortie crowds followed them outside the gates, and there rich and poor, women, children, and old men, set to work to cut grass, nettles, and leaves, which they then boiled with salt. The Genoese Government had the grass which grew on the ramparts mown, and afterwards cooked in the public squares and distributed to the sick people who were not strong enough to get this coarse food and cook it themselves. Our troops used to boil nettles and all kinds of plants with their horseflesh; the richest and most eminent families envied them their meat, disgusting as it was--for nearly all the horses were ill for want of forage, and the flesh even of those which had died of consumption was distributed. During the latter part of the siege the exasperation of the Genoese populace became a serious danger. They were heard to exclaim that in 1746 their fathers had massacred an Austrian army, and that they ought to try to get rid of the French army the same way. Decidedly it was better worth while to die fighting than to see their wives and children succumb and then starve themselves. These symptoms of revolt were the more terrible in that if they had come to anything the English and the Austrians would undoubtedly have hastened to join the insurgents in the effort to overwhelm us.

In the middle of dangers so imminent and calamities so various, Masséna remained impassible and calm. To prevent any attempt at a rising, he proclaimed that the French troops had orders to fire on any assemblage of the inhabitants which amounted to more than four men. Our regiments continually bivouacked in the squares and in the principal streets, the approaches to which were defended by guns loaded with canister; and the Genoese, being unable to assemble, found it impossible to rise.

It may seem surprising that Masséna should have clung so obstinately to the defence of a place of which he could maintain the garrison with difficulty, and the population not at all. But Genoa weighed heavily just then in the balance of the fate of France. Our army was cut in two; the left and centre had retired behind the Var; while Masséna, shut up in Genoa, detained a portion of the Austrian army before that place, and thus prevented it from invading Provence in full force. Masséna knew that at Dijon, at Lyons, and at Geneva the First Consul was collecting a reserve army with which he purposed to cross the Alps by the Great St. Bernard, to enter Italy, and to surprise the Austrians by falling on their rear while they were occupied with the siege of Genoa. It was, therefore, of immense importance to us to hold that town as long as possible. The First Consul had given orders to that effect, and his foresight was justified by events. But let me return to what befell me in the siege.

On learning that my father had been brought wounded into Genoa, Colindo Trepano hastened to his bedside, and we met again there. He helped me in the most affectionate way to tend the sick man; and I was the more grateful to him that in the midst of our troubles my father had no one with him. All staff officers had received orders to place themselves at the service of the commander-in-chief. Very soon provisions were no longer allowed to our servants; and they were compelled to take a musket and enrol themselves among the combatants, in order to claim the wretched ration which was distributed to the soldiers. The only exceptions were made in favour of a young valet named Oudin and a young groom who looked after our horses; but Oudin left us learning that my father had been seized with typhus. This terrible disorder, like the plague, with which it has much affinity, always attacks the wounded and those who are ill. My father took it; and just when he most needed care he had no one with him but myself, Colindo, and the groom Bastide. We carried out the doctor's prescriptions to the best of our power, and got no sleep day or night, being incessantly occupied in rubbing my father with camphorated oil, and in changing bedclothes and bandages. He could take nothing but broth, and to make this we had only bad horseflesh. My heart sank within me. Providence, however, sent us some aid. The great buildings of the public bakeries were close to the walls of the palace in which we lived; their terraces were almost in contact. That of the bakeries was very spacious; the crushing and mixing of the various grains which were added to the damaged flour to make bread for the garrison was carried on there. Bastide, the groom, had observed that when the workmen of the bakehouse had left the terrace it was invaded by swarms of pigeons, which had their nests in the different towers of the city and came thither to pick up what few grains might have been let fall in sifting. Being a man of intelligence, he contrived to cross the short space which separated this from our terrace, and on it set traps of various kinds wherewith he took the pigeons. Of these we made for my father a broth which he found excellent in comparison with that made from horse. To the horrors of famine and pestilence were added those of obstinate and incessant warfare; for all day long the French troops were fighting on the land side against the Austrians, and when night put a stop to this, the English, Turkish, and Neapolitan fleets, sheltered by the darkness from the fire of the harbour batteries, poured enormous quantities of shells into the town, doing terrible damage. Thus we had not an instant of repose.

The noise of the cannonade and the cries of the dying reached my father's room, and agitated him extremely. He kept regretting that he could not be at the head of his division; and his mental state made his bodily condition worse. From day to day his illness grew more serious, and he became visibly weaker. Colindo and I never left him for an instant. At last, one night, while I was kneeling by his bedside bathing his wound, he spoke to me with his mind perfectly clear. Then, feeling his end approaching, he laid his hand on my head, stroked it caressingly, and said: 'Poor child! what is to become of you with no one to look after you, in the midst of the horrors of this terrible siege?' He murmured a few words, among which I made out my mother's name, dropped his arms, and closed his eyes.

Young as I was, and short as had been my service, I had seen plenty of men die in the field, and still more in the streets of Genoa; but these had fallen in the open air and in their clothes. Very different is the sight of a man dying in bed; and this last sad spectacle I had never yet witnessed. I thought, therefore, that my father had dropped off to sleep. Colindo, who understood the truth, had not the heart to tell me, and I was only undeceived some hours later, when M. Lachèze came in and I saw him draw the sheet over my father's face, saying, 'A terrible loss for his family and his friends.' Then, for the first time, I realised my full misfortune. My grief was so heartrending that it even toucheed the commander-in-chief, Masséna, who was not very easily moved, especially in circumstances like the present, where firmness was so much required. The critical position of affairs caused him to take in regard to me a step which I thought atrocious, though if I ever commanded in a besieged town I should do the same myself. In order to avoid anything which might weaken the moral of the troops Masséna had forbidden all funeral processions. He knew that I was unwilling to quit the mortal remains of my dear father, and suspeeted that my intention was to accompany them to the grave. Fearing the effeet on the troops of seeing a young officer, little more than a child, sobbing behind the bier of his father, a general of division, and a victim of this terrible war, Masséna came the next morning before daybreak into the room where my father was lying, and, taking me by the hand, led me under some pretext into a distant apartment. Meanwhile, at his orders, twelve grenadiers, accompanied only by Colonel Sacleux and another officer, took up the bier in silence and carried it off to the temporary grave on the ramparts towards the sea. Not till this sad ceremony was over did Masséna tell me what had been done, explaining the motives of his decision. I cannot express the despair into which I was thrown. It seemed to me that by this removal of my father's body without the last cares from me I had lost him a second time. It was no use complaining, and there was nothing more for me to do but to go and pray at the grave. I did not know where it was, but my friend Colindo had followed the funeral at a little distance, and he took me there. This kind young fellow gave me at this time proofs of a touching sympathy at a moment when everyone was thinking of nothing but his personal position.

Almost all the officers on my father's staff had been killed or carried off by typhus; we were eleven before the campaign; and there remained only two of us, Major R-------- and myself. But R-------- thought only about himself, and, instead of being any help to his general's son, he continued to live by himself in the town; M. Lachèze also left me to myself. Only the kind Colonel Sacleux showed any signs of interest in me, but as the commander-in-chief had given him the command of a brigade, he was constantly engaged in repelling the enemy outside the walls. I remained, therefore, alone in the vast Centurione Palace with Colindo, Bastide, and the old porter.

Scarcely a week had passed since I had lost my father when General Masséna, who wanted a great many officers about him, for he got some killed or wounded almost every day, sent me orders to come and act as his aide-de-camp. R-------- and all the officers of generals who were killed or disabled from riding were doing the like; I obeyed, and all day long attended the commander-in-chief during the fighting. When I was not kept at head-quarters I went home, and when night came Colindo and I, passing through dying and dead, through women and children who were lying about the streets, used to go and pray at my father's tomb.

Meanwhile famine was increasing to an alarming extent. By order of the commander-in-chief each officer was allowed to retain only one horse; all the rest had to be sent to the butcher. My father had left several, and it would have been very painful to me to know that the poor beasts were going to be killed. I saved their lives by proposing to the staff officers to exchange them for their broken-down animals, and gave these over to the butcher. Later on, the State paid for these horses on presentation of the order to give them up. I preserved one of these orders as a curious relic; it bears the signature of General Oudinot, chief of the staff to Masséna.

The cruel loss which I had undergone, the position in which I found myself, and the terrible scenes at which I was every day present, had in a short time developed my intelligence more than many years of happiness would have done. I understood that all those who a few months before had been surrounding my father with attentions were rendered selfish by the misery of the siege, and that I must find in myself courage and resource enough, not only for my own needs, but to support Colindo and Bastide. The chief thing was to find the means of feeding them, since they got no provision from the army stores. I had, indeed, as an officer double rations of horseflesh and bread; but all this together only made a pound of nourishment, and that very bad, and there were three of us. We very seldom now caught any pigeons, for their number had greatly diminished. As aide-de-camp to the commander-in-chief I had my place laid at his table, where once a day bread, roast horse, and dried pease were served; but I was so angry with Masséna for having deprived me of the sad consolation of following my father to the grave that I could not make up my mind to take my place at his table, although all my comrades were there, and he had given me a general invitation. Ultimately, however, the desire of aiding my two unfortunate fellow-lodgers decided me to take my meals with the general. After that Colindo and Bastide each got a quarter of a pound of bread and the same amount of horseflesh. I did not myself get enough to eat, for at the General's table the portions were extremely minute, and I was very hard-worked. I often found my strength failing, and more than once it happened to me to be obliged to lie down on the ground to save myself from fainting.

Once more Providence came to our aid. Bastide was a native of the Cantal, and in the previous winter had come across another Auvergnat of his acquaintance who was settled at Genoa as a small tradesman. He went to see him, and was struck on entering the house by a smell like that of a grocer's shop. He remarked upon it to his friend, saying, 'You have got provisions?' The other admitted it, binding him to secrecy, for every kind of provisions found in private houses were carried off to the army stores. The sensible Bastide offered to find him a purchaser for any superfluous provisions who would pay in cash and keep his secret, and came to let me know of his discovery. My father had left several thousand francs, so I bought and had brought to the house at night a good store of cod, cheese, figs, sugar, chocolate and so on. All this was horribly dear; the Auvergnat got nearly all my money, but I deemed myself only too happy in letting him do what he liked with me, for according to what I heard every day at head-quarters the siege was going to last a good deal longer, and the famine to go on increasing, which, unhappily, came true. What doubled my joy in getting means of subsistence was the thought that I was saving the life of my friend Colindo, who but for this would literally have starved to death, for he knew no one in the army except me and Colonel Sacleux.

Before very long the colonel met with a terrible disaster under the following circumstances: Masséna, attacked on every side, and seeing his troops mowed down by constant famine and by fighting, and being obliged at the same time to keep in check an immense population driven by hunger to despair, found his position most critical. Knowing that if he was to maintain any order in his army he must establish an iron discipline, he cashiered without pity every officer who did not execute his orders precisely in virtue of the power which the law at that time conferred on commanders-in-chief. Many examples of this kind had already been made. One day, in a sortie which we pushed to a distance of six leagues from the town, the brigade commanded by Colonel Sacleux failed to be at the appointed hour in a valley where it was to have barred the Austrians' passage. Consequently they escaped, and the commander-in-chief, furious at seeing his combination fail, cashiered poor Colonel Sacleux, and announced it in a general order. It was quite possible that Sacleux had not understood what was expected of him, but there was no doubt about his courage. He would in his despair have certainly blown his brains out if his heart had not been set on gaining back his honour. He took a musket and placed himself in the ranks as a soldier. One day he came to visit us; Colindo and I were touched to the heart at seeing this excellent man in a private's uniform. We bade farewell to Sacleux, who, after the surrender of the place, was restored by the First Consul to his rank of colonel at the instance of Masséna himself, Sacleux having by his courage compelled him to reconsider his decision. But in the following year, seeing that peace was made in Europe, and wishing to free himselt completely from the slur which had been so unjustly cast upon him, Sacleux asked leave to go and fight in San Domingo, and there was killed just as he was about to be appointed brigadier-general. There are some men with whom in spite of their merit destiny deals very hardly; he was one of them.