Chapter 7

How the Brigadier Bore Himself at Waterloo

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I. THE STORY OF THE FOREST INN

Of all the great battles in which I had the honour of drawing my
sword for the Emperor and for France there was not one which was
lost. At Waterloo, although, in a sense, I was present, I was
unable to fight, and the enemy was victorious. It is not for me
to say that there is a connection between these two things. You
know me too well, my friends, to imagine that I would make such a
claim. But it gives matter for thought, and some have drawn
flattering conclusions from it.

After all, it was only a matter of breaking a few English squares
and the day would have been our own. If the Hussars of Conflans,
with Etienne Gerard to lead them, could not do this, then the
best judges are mistaken.

But let that pass. The Fates had ordained that I should hold my
hand and that the Empire should fall. But they had also ordained
that this day of gloom and sorrow should bring such honour to me
as had never come when I swept on the wings of victory from
Boulogne to Vienna.

Never had I burned so brilliantly as at that supreme moment when
the darkness fell upon all around me. You are aware that I was
faithful to the Emperor in his adversity, and that I refused to
sell my sword and my honour to the Bourbons. Never again was I
to feel my war horse between my knees, never again to hear the
kettledrums and silver trumpets behind me as I rode in front of
my little rascals. But it comforts my heart, my friends, and it
brings the tears to my eyes, to think how great I was upon that
last day of my soldier life, and to remember that of all the
remarkable exploits which have won me the love of so many
beautiful women, and the respect of so many noble men, there was
none which, in splendour, in audacity, and in the great end which
was attained, could compare with my famous ride upon the night of
June 18th, 1815. I am aware that the story is often told at
mess-tables and in barrack-rooms, so that there are few in the
army who have not heard it, but modesty has sealed my lips, until
now, my friends, in the privacy of these intimate gatherings, I
am inclined to lay the true facts before you.

In the first place, there is one thing which I can assure you.
In all his career Napoleon never had so splendid an army as that
with which he took the field for that campaign. In 1813 France
was exhausted. For every veteran there were five children--Marie
Louises, as we called them; for the Empress had busied herself in
raising levies while the Emperor took the field. But it was very
different in 1815. The prisoners had all come back-- the men
from the snows of Russia, the men from the dungeons of Spain, the