honour is in question.

VII. How the Brigadier Bore Himself at Waterloo

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 ch