Note 39 — Chapter III

"Moreau was conversing with the Emperor Alexander, from whom he was only distant half a horse's length. It is likely, that they perceived from the place this brilliant staff, and fired on it at random. Moreau alone was struck; a cannon-ball broke his right knee, and passing through the horse's side, carried off the flesh of his left leg. The generous Alexander shed tears. Colonel Rapatel rushed towards Moreau, who uttered a long sigh, and then fainted. Returned to himself, he spoke with the utmost coolness. He said to Monsieur Rapatel, "I am lost, my friend, but it is so glorious to die for such a cause, and under the eyes of so great a Prince!" A few minutes afterwards, he said to the Emperor Alexander himself, "Nothing remains, Sire, save the trunk; but the heart is there, and the head is your's." He must have suffered the most excruciating pain; but he called for a segar, and quietly began smoking. Mr Wylie, first surgeon to the Emperor, hastened to amputate the limb, which was most severely used. During this cruel operation, Moreau scarce shewed a change of countenance, and did not cease to smoke his segar. The amputation performed, Mr Wylie examined the right leg, and found it in such a state, that he could not refrain from expressing his terror. "I understand you," said Moreau, "you must cut off this one too.—Well, do it quickly.—However, I would rather have died." He wanted to write to his wife; and he wrote to her, with a steady hand, these words:—"My Dear Friend,—The battle was decided three days ago.—I have had both legs carried off by a bullet—that rascal Bonaparte is always lucky. They have performed the amputation as well as possible. The army has made a retrograde movement, but it is not occasioned by any reverse, but from a manœuvre, and in order to approach General Blucher.—Excuse my scribbling.—I love you, and I embrace you with all my heart. I have charged Rapatel to finish."—Immediately after this, he said, "I am not without danger, I know it well; but if I die, if a premature fate hurry me from a beloved wife and child—from my country, which I have wished to serve in spite of itself; do not forget to say to the French, who shall speak of me, that I die with the regret of not having accomplished my projects—To free my country from the frightful yoke that oppresses her;—to crush Bonaparte-every species of war, every possible means, were laudable. With what joy would I have consecrated the little talent I posses to the cause of humanity. My heart belonged to France."

At seven o'clock, the sick man finding himself alone with Mr Svinine, said to him, with a faint voice, "I must absolutely dictate a letter to you."—Mr Svinine took up the pen, and sighing, traced the few following lines, dictated by Moreau.

"Sire,—I sink into the tomb with the same sentiments of respect, admiration, and devotion with which your Majesty has always inspired me, since I have had the happiness of approaching your person."

"In pronouncing these last words, the sick man stopped short and shut his eyes. Mr Svinine waited, thinking that Moreau was deliberating on the sequel of the letter—Vain hope—Moreau was no move."