at those men, who,
under the Emperor, are the greatest in the country have been the one a
waiter, the next a wine smuggler, the next a cooper of barrels, and the
next a house painter. Those are the trades which gave us Murat,
Massena, Ney, and Lannes.'

Aristocrat as I was, no names had ever thrilled me as those did, and I
eagerly asked him to point me out each of these famous soldiers.

'Oh, there are many famous soldiers in the room,' said he. 'Besides,'
he added, twisting his moustache, 'there may be junior officers here who
have it in them to rise higher than any of them. But there is Ney to
the right.'

I saw a man with close-cropped red hair and a large square-jowled face,
such as I have seen upon an English prize-fighter.

'We call him Peter the Red, and sometimes the Red Lion, in the army,'
said my companion. 'He is said to be the bravest man in the army,
though I cannot admit that he is braver than some other people whom I
could mention. Still he is undoubtedly a very good leader.'

'And the general next him?' I asked. 'Why does he carry his head all
upon one side?'

'That is General Lannes, and he carries his head upon his left shoulder
because he was shot through the neck at the siege of St. Jean d'Acre.
He is a Gascon, like myself, and I fear that he gives some ground to
those who accuse my countrymen of being a little talkative and
quarrelsome. But monsieur smiles?'

'You are mistaken.'

'I thought that perhaps something which I had said might have amused
monsieur. I thought that possibly he meant that Gascons really were
quarrelsome, instead of being, as I contend, the mildest race in
France--an opinion which I am always ready to uphold in any way which
may be suggested. But, as I say, Lannes is a very valiant man, though,
occasionally, perhaps, a trifle hot-headed. The next man is Auguereau.'

I looked with interest upon the hero of Castiglione, who had taken
command upon the one occasion when Napoleon's heart and spirit had
failed him. He was a man, I should judge, who would shine rather in war
than in peace, for, with his long goat's face and his brandy nose, he
looked, in spite of his golden oak-leaves, just such a long-legged,
vulgar, swaggering, foul-mouthed old soldier as every barrack-room can
show. He was an older man than the others, and his sudden promotion had
come too late for him to change. He was always the Corporal of the
Prussian Guard under the hat of the French Ma