his son
at the school at Chalons, with the orphans of other generals who fell
on the battlefield, leaving their children under the protection of the
Republic. Armand de Montriveau left school with his way to make, entered
the artillery, and had only reached a major's rank at the time of the
Fontainebleau disaster. In his section of the service the chances of
advancement were not many. There are fewer officers, in the first place,
among the gunners than in any other corps; and in the second place, the
feeling in the artillery was decidedly Liberal, not to say Republican;
and the Emperor, feeling little confidence in a body of highly educated
men who were apt to think for themselves, gave promotion grudgingly in
the service. In the artillery, accordingly, the general rule of the
army did not apply; the commanding officers were not invariably the most
remarkable men in their department, because there was less to be feared
from mediocrities. The artillery was a separate corps in those days, and
only came under Napoleon in action.

Besides these general causes, other reasons, inherent in Armand de
Montriveau's character, were sufficient in themselves to account for his
tardy promotion. He was alone in the world. He had been thrown at
the age of twenty into the whirlwind of men directed by Napoleon; his
interests were bounded by himself, any day he might lose his life; it
became a habit of mind with him to live by his own self-respect and
the consciousness that he had done his duty. Like all shy men, he was
habitually silent; but his shyness sprang by no means from timidity;
it was a kind of modesty in him; he found any demonstration of vanity
intolerable. There was no sort of swagger about his fearlessness in
action; nothing escaped his eyes; he could give sensible advice to his
chums with unshaken coolness; he could go under fire, and duck upon
occasion to avoid bullets. He was kindly; but his expression was haughty
and stern, and his face gained him this character. In everything he was
rigorous as arithmetic; he never permitted the slightest deviation from
duty on any plausible pretext, nor blinked the consequences of a fact.
He would lend himself to nothing of which he was ashamed; he never asked
anything for himself; in short, Armand de Montriveau was one of many
great men unknown to fame, and philosophical enough to despise it;
living without attaching themselves to life, because they have not found
their opportunity of