The Memoirs of General the Baron de Marbot

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My father, who was certain that Bonaparte was still in the depths
of Egypt, treated this news as absurd, but he was taken aback
when, having sent for the post master, who had just returned from
Lyons, he was told, "I saw General Bonaparte, whom I know very
well, because I served under his command in Italy. He is staying
in some hotel in Lyon, and has with him his brother Louis,
Generals Berthier, Lannes and Murat, as well as a great, number
of officers, and a Mameluke."

This could hardly have been more positive; however the revolution
had given rise to so many falsehoods, and factions had been so
cunning in inventing stories which would serve their ends, that
my father was still in doubt when we entered the suburbs of Lyon.
All the houses were draped with flags. Fireworks were going off.
The crowd filled the streets to the point of preventing our coach
from moving. There was dancing in the public squares and the air
rang with cries of "Vive Bonaparte. Saviour of the country!" It
was evident that Bonaparte was indeed in Lyon. My father said, "I
was well aware that he was to be sent for, but I did not think it
would be so soon. The coup has been well organised, and there are
great events to come. I feel sure that I was right to leave
Paris. At least, in the army I can serve the country without
taking part in a coup, which, however necessary, I find
repugnant." Having said this, he fell into a deep reverie, which
lasted for the long time it took us to work our way through the
crowds to the hotel where our rooms had been prepared.

The nearer we got to the hotel, the thicker the crowd became, and
when we reached the door we saw that it was hung about with
Chinese lanterns and guarded by Grenadiers. It was here that
General Bonaparte was staying, in rooms that had been booked a
week before for my father.

Although quick-tempered, my father did not say a word when the
hotelier, who had been compelled to obey the orders of the
municipality, came with some embarrassment to make his excuses.
The inn-keeper having added that he had arranged for our
accommodation at another hotel....very good, though of second
grade....and run by one of his relatives, my father simply asked
Capt. Gault to tell the postilion to take us there.

When we arrived, we were met by our courier, a lively fellow,
who, heated by the long journey he had just made and the numerous
drinks he had downed at each post-house had complained most
loudly when he found that the rooms booked for his master had
been given to General Bonaparte. The latter's aides-de-camp
hearing this uproar and learning the cause, went to warn their
master that General Marbot had been displaced to make room for
him, and, at the same time, General Bonaparte saw through his
open window my father's two coaches pull up at the door.

He had not been aware, until then, of the shabby way in which my
father had been treated; and as General Marbot, recently
commandant of Paris, and now a divisional commander in Italy was
too important a man to be treated unceremoniously, and also as
General Bonaparte had good reason to make himself popular with
everybody, he ordered one of his officers to go down straight
away and ask General Marbot to come, as a fellow soldier, and
share his accommodation. Then, seeing the coaches leave before
his aide-de-camp could speak to my father, Bonaparte went
immediately, on foot, to offer his regrets in person.

The crowd which followed him set up a great noise of cheering,
which, as it drew near our hotel, should have warned us, but we
had heard so much since coming to the town that it did not occur
to one of us to look out of the window. We were all in the
drawing-room where my father was striding up and down, deep in
thought, when the valet-de-chambre, opening the double doors,
announced, "The General Bonaparte."

On entering, he hurried to embrace my father, who received him
very politely, but coolly. They had known each other for a long
time.

The explanations about the lodgings could be disposed of in a few
words between two such people, and so they were. They had much
else to talk about; so they went alone into the bedroom, where
they remained in conference for more than an hour.

During this time, the officers who had come with General
Bonaparte chatted with us in the drawing-room. I never tired of
examining their martial appearance, their sun-bronzed faces,
their strange uniforms and their Turkish sabres, hung from cords.
I listened with interest to their stories of the campaign in
Egypt, and the battles which were fought there. I took pleasure
in hearing them talk of such celebrated places as the Pyramids,
the Nile, Cairo, Alexandria, Acre, the desert and so on. What
delighted me most, however, was the sight of the young Mameluke,
Rustum. He had stayed in the ante-chamber, where I went several
times to admire his costume, which he showed me willingly. He
already spoke reasonable French, and I never wearied of asking
him questions.

General Lannes recalled having let me fire his pistols, when, in
1793, he was serving under my father in the camp at Miral. He was
very friendly toward me, and neither of us then foresaw that one
day I should be his aide-de-camp, and that he would die in my
arms at Essling. General Murat came from the same region as we
did, and as he had been a shop-assistant to a silk merchant at
Saint-Cere during the period when my family spent the winter
there, he had often come to the house, bringing purchases to my
mother. My father, also, had rendered him a number of services,
for which he was always grateful. He gave me a hug, and reminded
me that he had often held me in his arms, when I was an infant.

General Bonaparte and my father having come back into the room,
they presented to one another the members of their suites.
Generals Lannes and Murat were old acquaintances of my father,
who welcomed them with great affability. He was a little distant
with General Berthier, whom, however he had seen before, when he
was in the bodyguard and Berthier was an engineer.

General Bonaparte, who knew my mother, asked me, very politely,
for news of her. He complimented me most warmly on having, while
yet so young, taken up a military career, and taking me gently by
the ear, which was always the most flattering caress which he
bestowed on those with whom he was pleased, he said to my father,
"One day this will be a second General Marbot." This prediction
came true, although at that time I had no expectation of it.
However I was very proud of these words. It takes so very little
to make a child feel pleased with himself.

When the visit was over, my father disclosed nothing of what had
been said between him and General Bonaparte; but I learned later
that Bonaparte, without stating his objectives clearly, had
sought, by the most adroit cajolements, to win my father over to
his side, and that, my father had always dodged the issue.

Disgusted at seeing the people of Lyon running in front of
Bonaparte, as if he was already the sovereign of France, my
father declared that he wanted to leave at dawn the next day; but
as his coaches needed some repairs, he was forced to spend an
entire day at Lyon. I profited from this to have a new forage cap
made, and, enchanted with this purchase, I took no notice of the
political conversations, about which, to tell the truth, I
understood little.

My father went to return the visit he had received from General
Bonaparte. They walked alone for a very long time in the hotel's
little garden, while their suites remained respectfully at a
distance. We saw them sometimes gesture with warmth, and at other
times speak more calmly; then Bonaparte, with a wheedling look,
went up to my father and put his arm through his in a friendly
fashion, probably so that the officials who were in the courtyard
and the many spectators who hung out of neighbouring windows
might conclude that General Marbot agreed with the plans of
General Bonaparte; for this crafty man neglected nothing to
achieve his aims.

My father came away from this second conversation even more
pensive than he had been after the first, and on coming back to
the hotel, he ordered our departure for the next day.
Unfortunately, the next day, General Bonaparte was to make an
excursion round the town to inspect the heights suitable for
fortification, and all the post-horses were reserved for him. I
thought that at this blow my father would become angry, but he
contented himself by saying, "There is the beginning of
omnipotence." And told his staff to see if they could hire any
horses, so keen was he to get away from the town and from the
sights which offended him. No spare horses could be found. Then
Col. Menard, who was born in the Midi, and knew the district
perfectly, observed that the road from Lyon to Avignon was in
such a poor state of repair that the coaches might be badly
damaged if they attempted it, and it would be better to embark
them on the Rhone, the descent of which would offer us an
enchanting spectacle. My father, who was no great lover of the
picturesque, would, at any other time, have rejected this advice,
but as it gave him the opportunity to leave the town a day
earlier, he agreed to take to the Rhone.

Col. Menard then hired a large boat, the coaches were put on
board, and the next day, early in the morning, we all embarked: a
decision which was very nearly the end of us.

It was autumn. The water was very low. All the time the boat
touched and scraped along the bottom. One feared that it might be
torn open. We slept the first night at Saint-Peray, next at Tain,
and took two days to get as far down as the junction with the
Drome. There we had much more water, and went along rapidly; but
a dangerous high wind called the Mistral hit us when we were
about a quarter league above the bridge known as Pont
Saint-Esprit. The boatmen were unable to reach the bank. They
lost their heads, and set themselves to praying instead of
working, while a furious wind and a strong current were driving
the boat towards the bridge! We were about to crash against the
pier of the bridge and be sunk, when my father and all of us,
taking up boat-hooks, hurried forward to fend off from the pier
which we were about to strike.

The shock was so severe that it knocked us into the thwarts, but
the push had changed the direction of the boat, which, by a
miraculous piece of good fortune, shot through under the arch.
The boatmen then recovered a little from their terror and resumed
some sort of control of their boat; but the Mistral continued,
and the two coaches offering a resistance to the wind made any
manoeuvre almost impossible. At last, six leagues above Avignon,
we went aground on a very large island, where the bow of the boat
dug into the sand in such a way that it would not be possible to
get it out without a gang of labourers, and we were listing over
so far that we feared being swamped at any moment. We put some
planks between the boat and the shore and, with the help of some
rope, we all got ashore without accident, though with some
difficulty.

There could be no thought of re-embarking in the very high
wind,(although without rain), and so we pushed on into the
interior of the island, which we thought at first was
uninhabited; but eventually we came across a sort of farm, where
we found some good folk who made us very welcome. We were dying
of hunger, but it was impossible to go back to the boat for food,
and all we had was a little bread.

We were told that the island was full of poultry, which was
allowed to run wild, and which the peasants shot, when they
wanted some. My father was very fond of shooting, and he needed
some relaxation from his problems, so we borrowed guns from the
peasants, some pitch-forks and sticks, and we set off on a hen
shoot. We shot several, though it was not easy to hit them as
they flew like pheasants. We also picked up many of their eggs in
the woods. When we returned to the farm, we lit a big fire in the
middle of a field, around which we set up a bivouac, while the
valet, helped by the farmer, prepared the eggs and the chickens
in a variety of ways. We supped well and then bedded down on
some hay, no one daring to accept the beds which the good
peasants offered us, as they seemed to us to be far from clean.

By day-break the wind had dropped, so all the peasants and the
boatmen took spades and picks, and after several hours of hard
work they got the boat afloat, enabling us to continue our
journey towards Avignon, which we reached without any further
accidents. Those that had befallen us were so embroidered in the
telling, that the rumour reached Paris that my father and all his
staff had been drowned.

The approach to Avignon, particularly when one comes down the
Rhone, is very picturesque. The old Papal Chateau; the ramparts
by which the city is surrounded; its numerous steeples and the
Chateau de Villeneuve rising opposite, combine to make a fine
prospect. At Avignon we met Mme. Menard and one of her nieces,
and we spent three days in the town, visiting the charming
outskirts, including the fountain of Vaucluse. My father was in
no hurry to leave, because M. R*** h d written to say that the
very hot weather,still persisting in the Midi,had forced him to
slow the pace of his march and my father did not wish to arrive
before his horses.

From Avignon we headed for Aix, but when we reached Bompart, on
the banks of the Durance, which, at that time, was crossed by a
ferry, we found the river so swollen by flood, that it would not
be possible to cross for at least five or six hours. We were
debating whether to return to Avignon, when the operator of the
ferry, a gentlemanly sort of person, who owned a charming little
castle on the height some five hundred paces from the river bank,
came and begged my father to rest there until the coaches could
be embarked. He accepted, hoping that it would be for a few hours
only; but it appeared that there had been heavy storms in the
Alps, where the Durance has its source, for the river continued
to rise all day, and we were compelled to accept lodging for the
night, which was offered most cordially by the owner of the
castle. The weather being fine we spent the day walking. It was a
break in our travels which I enjoyed.

The next day, seeing that the flood-water was running even more
rapidly than the evening before, our host, who was a devout
Republican, and who knew the river well enough to judge that we
would not be able to cross for twenty-four hours, hurried off,
unknown to us, to the little town of Cavaillon, which is about
two leagues from Bompart, on the same bank of the river. He had
gone to inform all the "Patriots" of the locality that he had in
his house divisional General Marbot. He then returned to the
castle, where, an hour or so later, we saw the arrival of a
cavalcade composed of the keenest "Patriots" of Cavaillon, who
had come to beg my father to accept an invitation to a banquet,
which they offered him in the name of all the notables of the
town, "Always so staunchly Republican."

My father, who found these sort of occasions far from agreeable,
at first refused; but these "Citoyens" were so insistent, saying
that everything had been organised and that the guests had
gathered, that my father gave in and went off to Cavaillon.

The best hotel had been decked with garlands, and was graced by
the presence of the local dignitaries from the town and its
outskirts. After an interminable number of compliments, we took
our places at a table laden with the most exclusive dishes. Above
all, there were ortolans, birds which thrive well in this part of
the country.

A great many toasts were drunk. Virulent speeches were made,
denouncing the "Enemies of liberty" and the dinner did not end
until ten o'clock in the evening. It was a little late to return
to Bompart, and anyway, my father could not with politeness leave
his hosts the moment the meal was over. He decided then to spend
the night at Cavaillon, and the rest of the evening was passed in
rather noisy talk. Eventually, one by one, the guests went home
and we were left alone.

The next morning, M. Gault asked the inn-keeper how much my
father owed for his part in the immense feast of the night
before, which he assumed was a communal meal in which each paid
for his own share. The inn-keeper presented him with a bill of
more than 1500 francs. The good "Patriots" not having paid a
single sou!...We were told that though some had expressed a wish
to pay, the great majority had replied that this would be "An
insult to General Marbot"....!

Capt. Gault was furious at this procedure, but my father, who at
first could not get over his astonishment, burst into laughter,
and told the inn-keeper to go and collect the money at Bompart,
to where we returned straight away, without saying a word of this
to the chatelaine; whose servants we tipped handsomely, and then,
taking advantage of the fall in the water level, we at last
crossed the Durance and made our way to Aix.

Although I might not yet be of an age to discuss politics with my
father, what I had heard him say led me to believe that his
Republican ideas had been much modified over the preceding two
years, and what he had experienced as a supposed guest of honour
at Cavaillon had severely shaken them, but he did not display any
ill-feeling on the subject of this banquet, and was even amused
at the anger of M. Gault, who said repeatedly, "I am not
surprised that, in spite of their cost, these scoundrels produced
so many ortolans, and ordered so many bottles of good wine! "

After spending a night at Aix, we left for Nice. This was the
last stage of our journey. While we were travelling through the
mountain and the beautiful forest of Esterel, we encountered the
Colonel of the 1st Hussars, who, escorted by an officer and
several troopers, was taking some lame horses, returned by the
army, back to the depot at Puy-en-Velay. This colonel was named
M. Picart and had been given his command because of his
administrative ability. He was sent frequently to the depot to
arrange for the equipment of men and horses, which he then
forwarded to the fighting units, where he appeared but rarely and
did not stay for long.

When he saw Col. Picart, my father had the coach stopped and got
out, and after presenting me to my colonel, he took him on one
side, and asked him to name an intelligent and well educated
non-commissioned officer who might be made my mentor. The Colonel
named Sergeant Pertelay. My father made a note of the name, and
we continued on our way to Nice; where we found M.R*** settled in
an excellent hotel, with our coaches and horses in first-class
order.

Chap. 8.

The town of Nice was full of troops, among which was a squadron
of the 1st Hussars, to which regiment I belonged. In the absence
of its colonel, the regiment was commanded by a Major Muller. On
learning that the divisional general had arrived, Muller came to
see my father, and it was agreed between them that, after a few
days rest, I should begin my service in the seventh company,
commanded by Capt. Mathis.

Although my father was very good to me, I was so much in awe of
him that I was very shy in his presence, a shyness which he
thought was greater than was really the case; he said I should
have been a girl, and often called me madamoiselle Marcellin,
which annoyed me very much, especially now that I was a Hussar.
It was to overcome this shyness, that my father wished me to
serve in the ranks, and in any case, as I have already said, one
could not join the army except as a private soldier. My father,
it is true, could have attached me to his personal staff, since
my regiment was part of his division, but, quite apart from the
notion which I have described above, he wanted me to learn how to
saddle and bridle my own horse and to look after my arms and
equipment; also, he did not want his son to enjoy the least
privilege, as this would have had a bad effect on the rest of the
troops. It was already enough that I was to be allowed to join a
squadron without undergoing a long and wearisome period of
training at the depot. I passed several days with my father and
his staff, travelling about the district round Nice, which was
very beautiful, but the moment for my entry into the squadron
having arrived, my father asked Major Muller to send him Sergeant
Pertelay.

Now, there were two brothers of this name in the regiment, both
of them sergeants, but having nothing else, physically or
mentally in common, the elder being something of a scamp, while
the younger was thoroughly respectable. It was this latter whom
the colonel had intended to appoint as my mentor, but in the
short time which he and my father had spent together, Col. Picart
had forgotten, when naming Pertelay, to add the younger:
furthermore, this Pertelay was not in the part of the squadron
which was stationed in Nice, while the elder was in the very
company, the seventh, which I was about to join.

Major Muller believed that the colonel had named the elder to my
father and that this wild character had been chosen to open the
eyes of an innocent and shy young man, which I then was. So he
sent us the elder Pertelay.

This example of the old type of Hussar was a rowdy, quarrelsome,
swashbuckling, tippler, but also brave to the point of
foolhardiness; for the rest, he was completely ignorant of
anything that was not connected with his horse, his arms and his
duties in the face of the enemy. Pertelay the younger, on the
other hand, was quiet, polite, and well-educated. He was a
handsome man and just as brave as his brother, and would surely
have gone far had he not, while still very young, been killed in
action.

Now to return to the elder. He arrived at my father's quarters,
and what did we see? A fine fellow, very well turned out it is
true, but with his shako tipped over one ear, his sabre trailing
on the ground, his red face slashed by an immense scar,
moustaches six inches long, which, stiffened by wax, curled up
into his ears, two big plaits of hair, braided from his temples,
which, escaping from his shako, hung down to his chest, and with
all this an air...! An air of rakishness which was increased by
his speech, which was rattled out in a sort of Franco-Alsatian
patois. This last did not surprise my father, as he knew that the
1st Hussars were the former regiment of Bercheny, which in
earlier days recruited only Germans, and where, until 1793, all
the orders were given in German, which was the language generally
used by the officers and men, almost all of whom came from the
provinces bordering the Rhine. My father was however exceedingly
surprised by the style and manner of my proposed mentor.

I learned later that he had hesitated to put me in the hands of
this bravo, but M. Gault having reminded him that Colonel Picart
had described him as the best N.C.O.in the squadron, he decided
to try it. So off I went with Pertelay, who, taking me by the arm
without ceremony, came to my room, showed me how to pack my kit
into my valise, and conducted me to a small barracks, situated in
a former monastery, and now occupied by a squadron of the 1st
Hussars.

My mentor made me saddle and unsaddle the pretty little horse
which my father had bought me; then he showed me how to put on my
cloak and my arms, giving me a complete demonstration, and having
decided that he had explained to me all that was necessary, he
thought it time to go for dinner. My father, who wished me to eat
with my mentor, had given us extra money to meet the expense.

Pertelay took me to a small inn, which was crammed with Hussars,
Grenadiers and soldiers of every sort. We were served with a
meal, and on the table was placed an enormous bottle of red wine
of the most violent nature. Pertelay poured me a glassful. We
clinked glasses. My man emptied his and I raised mine without
putting it to my lips, for I had never drunk undiluted wine and I
found the smell of this liquid disagreeable. I admitted this to
my mentor, who shouted, in a stentorian voice, "Waiter! Bring
some lemonade for this boy who never drinks wine." A gale of
laughter swept through the room. I was mortified, but I could not
bring myself to taste this wine, and as I did not dare to ask for
water, I dined without a drink.

A soldier's apprenticeship has always been hard going. It was
particularly so at the time of which I write. I had, therefore,
some unhappy experiences to suffer. A thing I found unbearable
was the requirement to share my bed with another Hussar. The
regulations allotted only one bed for two soldiers. N.C.O.s alone
were allowed to have a bed each. On the first night which I spent
in the barracks, I had already gone to my bed when a tall,
ungainly Hussar, who arrived an hour after the others, approached
it, and seeing that it was occupied, he unhooked a lantern and
stuck it under my nose to examine me more closely. Then he got
undressed. As I watched him, I had no idea that he intended to
get in beside me; but I was soon disillusioned, when he said to
me roughly, "Shove over, conscript!" And got into the bed, taking
up three-quarters of it, and began to snore loudly. I was unable
to sleep a wink, largely because of the revolting odour arising
from a large package which my comrade had placed under the
bolster, to raise his head. I could not think what this could be,
so to find out, I slid my hand gently toward this object and
found it to be a leather apron impregnated with cobbler's wax,
which shoemakers use to treat their thread. My amiable bed
companion was one of the men employed by the regimental
bootmaker. I was so disgusted that I got up, got dressed, and
went to the stables where I bedded down on a heap of straw. The
next day I told Pertelay of my misadventure, and he reported it
to the sub-lieutenant commanding the platoon. He was a
well-educated man named Leisteinschneider (in German, a
stone-worker) who was later killed in action. He understood how
painful it must be for me to have to sleep with a bootmaker, and
he took it on himself to arrange for me to have a bed in the
N.C.O's room, something which pleased me greatly.