As the battle of Austerlitz was the deathblow to the empire of Austria, so with the defeat at Jena did Prussia fall, and that great kingdom became a prey to the conquering Napoleon. Were this a fitting place, it might be curious to inquire into the causes which involved a ruin so sudden and so complete; and how a vast and highly organized army seemed at one fell stroke annihilated and destroyed.

The victories of Jena and Auerstadt, great and decisive as they were, were nevertheless inadequate to such results; and if the genius of the Emperor had not been as prompt to follow up as to gain a battle, they never would have occurred. But scarcely had the terrible contest ceased, when he sent for the Saxon officers who were taken prisoners, and addressing them in a tone of kindness, declared at once that they were at liberty and might return to their homes, first pledging their words not to carry arms against France or her allies. One hundred and twenty officers of different grades, from lieutenant-general downwards, gave this promise and retired to their own country, extolling the generosity of Napoleon. This first step was soon followed up by another and more important one; negotiations were opened with the Elector of Saxony, and the title of king offered to him on condition of his joining the Confederacy of the Rhine; and thus once more the artful policy already pursued with regard to Bavaria in the south, was here renewed in the north of Germany, and with equal success.

This deep-laid scheme deprived the Prussian army of eighteen thousand men, and that on the very moment when defeat and disaster had spread their demoralizing influences through the entire army. Several of their greatest generals were killed, many more dreadfully or fatally wounded: Prince Louis, Ruchel, Schmettau, among the former; the Duke of Brunswick and Prince Henry both severely wounded. The Duke survived but a few days, and these in the greatest suffering; Marshal MÖllendorf, the veteran of nigh eighty years, had his chest pierced by a lance. Here was misfortune enough to cause dismay and despair; for unhappily the nation itself was but an army in feeling and organization, and with defeat every hope died out and every arm was paralyzed. The patriotism of the people had taken its place beneath a standard, which when once lowered before a conqueror, nothing more remained. Such is the destiny of a military monarchy: its only vitality is victory; the hour of disaster is its deathblow.

The system of a whole corps capitulating, which the Prussians had not scrupled to sneer at when occurring in Austria, now took place here with even greater rapidity. Scarcely a day passed that some regiment did not lay down their arms, and surrender sur parole. A panic spread through the whole length and breadth of the land; places of undoubted strength were surrendered as insecure and untenable. No rest nor respite was allowed the vanquished: the gay plumes of the lancers fluttered over the vast plains in pursuit; columns of infantry poured in every direction through the kingdom; and the eagles glittered in every town and every village of conquered Prussia.

Never did the spirit of Napoleon display itself more pitiless than in this campaign; for while in his every act he evinced a determination to break down and destroy the nation, the “Moniteur” at Paris teemed with articles in derision of the army whose bravery he should never have questioned. Even the gallant leaders themselves—old and scarred warriors—were contemptuously described as blind and infatuated fanatics, undeserving of clemency or consideration. Not thus should he have spoken of the noble Prince Louis and the brave Duke of Brunswick; they fought in a good cause, and they met the death of gallant soldiers. “I will make their nobles beg their bread upon the highways!” was the dreadful sentence he uttered at Weimar. And the words were never forgotten.

The conduct and bearing of the Emperor was the more insulting from its contrast with that of his marshals and generals, many of whom could not help acknowledging in their acts the devotion and patriotism of their vanquished foes. Murat lost no occasion to evince this feeling; and sent eight colonels of his own division to carry the pall at General Schmettau's funeral, who was interred with all the honors due to one who had been the companion of the Great Frederick himself.

Soult, Bernadotte, Augereau, Ney, and Davoust, with the several corps under their command, pursued the routed forces with untiring hostility. In vain did the King of Prussia address a supplicating letter asking for a suspension of arms. Napoleon scarcely deigned a reply, and ordered the advanced guard to march on Berlin.

But a year before and he had issued his royal mandates from the palace of the Caesars; and he burned now to date his bulletins from the palace of the Great Frederick. And on the tenth day after the battle of Jena the troops of Lannes's division bivouacked in the plain around Potsdam. I had joined my brigade the day previous, and entered Berlin with them on the morning of the 23d of October.

The preparations for a triumphal entry were made on the day before; and by noon the troops approached the capital in all the splendor of full equipment. First came the grenadiers of Oudinot's brigade,—one of the finest corps in the French army; their bright yellow facings and shoulder-knots had given them the sobriquet of the Grenadiers jaunes: they formed part of Davonst's force at Auerstadt, and were opposed to the Prussian guard in the greatest shock of the entire day. After them came two battalions of the Chasseurs À pied,—a splendid body of infantry, the remnant of four thousand who went into battle on the morning of the 15th. Then followed a brigade of artillery, each gun-carriage surmounted by a Prussian standard. These again were succeeded by the red lancers of Berg, with Murat himself at their head; for they were his own regiment, and he felt justly proud of such followers: the grand duke was in all the splendor of his full dress, and wore a Spanish hat, looped up, with an immense brilliant in front, and a plume of ostrich feathers floated over his neck and shoulders. Two hundred and forty chosen men of the Imperial Guard marched two and two after these, each carrying a color taken from the enemy in battle. Nansouty's cuirassiers came next; they had suffered severely at Jena, and were obliged to muster several of their wounded men to fill up the gaps in their squadrons. Then there were the horse artillery brigade, whose uniforms and equipments, notwithstanding every effort to conceal it, showed the terrible effects of the great battle. General d'Auvergne's division, with the hussars and the light cavalry attached, followed. These were succeeded by the voltigeurs, and eight battalions of the Imperial Guard,—whose ranks were closed up with the Grenadiers À cheval, and more artillery,—in all, a force of eighteen thousand, the Élite of the French army.

Advancing in orderly time, they came,—no sound heard save the dull reverberation of the earth as it trembled beneath the columns, when the hoarse challenge to “halt” was called from rank to rank as often as those in the rear pressed on the leading files; but as they reached the Brandenburg gate, the band of each regiment burst forth, and the wide Platz resounded with the clang of martial music.

In front of the palace stood the Emperor, surrounded by his staff, which was joined in succession by each general of brigade as his corps moved by. A simple acknowledgment of the military salute was all Napoleon gave as each battalion passed,—until the small party of the Imperial Guard appeared, bearing the captured colors. Then his proud features relaxed, his eye flashed and sparkled, and he lifted his chapeau straight above his head, and remained uncovered the whole time they were marching past. This was the moment when enthusiasm could no longer be restrained, and a cry of “Vive l'Empereur!” burst forth, that, caught up by those behind, rose in ten thousand echoes along the distant suburbs of Berlin.

To look upon that glorious and glittering band, bronzed with battle, their proud faces lit up with all the pride of victory, was indeed a triumph; and one instinctively turned to see the looks of wondering and admiration such a sight must have inspired. But with what sense of sadness came the sudden thought: this is the proud exultation of the conqueror over the conquered; here come no happy faces and bright looks to welcome those who have rescued them from slavery; here are no voices calling welcome to the deliverer. No: it was a people crushed and trodden down; their hard-won laurels tarnished and dishonored; their country enslaved; their monarch a wanderer, no one knew where. Little thought they who raised the statue of brass to the memory of the Great Frederick, that the clank of French musketry would be heard around it. Rossbach was, indeed, avenged,—and cruelly avenged.

Never did a people behave with more dignity under misfortune than the Prussians on the entrance of the French into their capital. The streets were deserted; the houses closed; the city was in mourning; and none stooped to the slavish adulation which might win favor with the conqueror. It was a triumph; but there were none to witness it. Of the nobles, scarce one remained in Berlin. They had fallen in battle, or followed the fortunes of their beaten army, now scattered and dispersed through the kingdom. Their wives and daughters, in deepest mourning, bewailed their ruined country as they would the death of a dearest friend. They cut off their blonde locks, and sorrowed like those without a hope. Their great country was to be reduced to the rank of a mere German province; their army disbanded; their king dethroned. Such was the contrast to our hour of triumph; such the sad reverse to the gorgeous display of our armed squadrons.

Scarcely had the Emperor established his headquarters at Potsdam than the whole administration of the kingdom was begun to be placed under French rule. Prefects were appointed to different departments of the kingdom; a heavy contribution was imposed upon the nation; and all the offices of the state were subjected to the control of persons named by the Emperor.

Among these, the first in importance was the post-office; for, while every precaution was taken that no interruption should occur in the transmission of the mails as usual, a cabinet noir was established here, as at Paris, whose function it was to open the letters of suspected persons, and make copies of them; the latter, indeed, were often so skilfully executed as to be forwarded to the address, while the originals were preserved as “proofs” against parties, if it were found necessary to accuse them afterwards. (And here I might mention that the art of depositing metals in a mould by galvanic process was known and used in imitating and fabricating the seals of various writers, many years before the discovery became generally known in Europe.)

The invasion of private right involved in this breach of trust gave, as might be supposed, the greatest offence throughout the kingdom. But the severity with which every case of suspicious meaning was followed up and punished converted the feelings of indignation and anger into those of fear and trepidation. For this was ever part of Napoleon's policy: the penalty of any offence was made to exclude the sense of ridicule its own littleness might have created, and men felt indisposed to jest where their mirth might end in melancholy.

The most remarkable case, and that which more than any other impressed the public mind of the period, was that of the Prince de Hatzfeld, whose letter to the King of Prussia was opened at the post-office, and made the subject of a capital charge against him. Its contents were, as might be imagined from the channel of transmission, not such as could substantiate any treasonable intention on his part. A respectful homage to his dethroned sovereign; a detail of the mournful feeling experienced throughout his capital; and some few particulars of the localities occupied by the French troops, was the entire. And for this he was tried and condemned to death,—a sentence which the Emperor commanded to be executed before sunset that same day. Happily for the fate of the noble prince, as for the fair fame of Napoleon, both Duroc and Rapp were ardently attached to him, and at their earnest entreaties his life was spared. But the impression which the circumstances made upon the minds of the inhabitants was deep and lasting; and there was a day to come when all these insults were to be remembered and avenged. If I advert to the occurrence here, it is because I have but too good reason to bear memory of it, influencing, as it did, my own future fortunes.

It chanced that one evening, when sitting in a cafÉ with some of my brother officers, the subject of the Prince de Hatzfeld's offence was mooted; and in the unguarded freedom with which one talks to his comrades, I expressed myself delighted at the clemency of the Emperor, and conceived that he could have no part in the breach of confidence which led to the accusation, nor countenance in any way his prosecution. My companions, who had little sympathy for Prussians, and none for aristocracy whatever, took a different view of the matter, and scrupled not to regret that the sentence of the court-martial had not been executed. The discussion grew warm between us; the more, as I was alone in my opinion, and assailed by several who overbore me with loud speaking. Once or twice, too, an obscure taunt was thrown out against aliens and foreigners, who, it was alleged, never could at heart forgive the ascendency of France and Frenchmen.

To this I replied hotly, for while not taking to myself an insult which my conduct in the service palpably refuted, I was hurt and offended. Alas! I knew too well in my heart what sacrifices I had made in changing my country; how I had bartered all the hopes which attach to one's fatherland for a career of mere selfish ambition. Long since had I seen that the cause I fought in was not that of liberty, but despotism. Napoleon's glory was the dazzling light which blinded my true vision; and my following had something of infatuation, against which reason was powerless. I say that I answered these taunts with hasty temper; and carried away by a momentary excitement, I told them, that they it was, not I, who would detract from the fair renown of the Emperor.

“The traits you would attribute to him,” said I, “are not those of strength, but weakness. Is it the conqueror of Egypt, of Austria, and now of Prussia, who need stoop to this? We cannot be judges of his policy, or the great events which agitate Europe. We would pronounce most ignorantly on the greatness of his plans regarding the destinies of nations; but, on a mere question of high and honorable feeling, of manly honesty, why should we not speak? And here I say this act was never his.”

A smile of sardonic meaning was the only reply this speech met with; and one by one the officers rose and dropped off, leaving me to ponder over the discussion, in which I now remembered I had been betrayed into a warmth beyond discretion.

This took place early in November; and as it was not referred to in any way afterwards by my comrades, I soon forgot it. My duties occupied me from morning till night; for General d'Auvergne, being in attendance on the Emperor, had handed me over for the time to the department of the adjutant-general of the army, where my knowledge of German was found useful.

On the 17th of the month a general order was issued, containing the names of the various officers selected for promotion, as well as of those on whom the cross of the “Legion” was to be conferred. Need I say with what a thrill of exultation I read my own name among the latter, nor my delight at finding it followed by the words, “By order of his Majesty the Emperor, for a special service on the 13th October, 1806.” This was the night before the battle; and now I saw that I had not been forgotten, as I feared,—here was proof of the Emperor's remembrance of me. Perhaps the delay was intended to test my prudence as to secrecy; and perhaps it was deemed fitting that my name should not appear except in the general list: in any case, the long-wished reward was mine,—the proud distinction I had desired for so many a day and night.

The distribution of the “cordons” was always made the occasion of a grand military spectacle, and the Emperor determined that the present one should convey a powerful impression of the effective strength of his army, as well as of its perfect equipment; and accordingly orders were despatched to the different generals of division within twelve or fifteen leagues of Berlin, to march their corps to the capital. The 28th of November was the day fixed for this grand display, and all was bustle and preparation for the event.

On the morning of the 22d, I received an official note from the bureau of the adjutant-general desiring me to wait on him before noon that same day. Concluding it referred to my promised promotion to the “Legion,” it was with somewhat of a fluttered and excited feeling I found myself, at some few minutes after eleven o'clock, in the antechamber, which already was crowded with officers, some seeking, some summoned to an interview.

In the midst of the buzz of conversation, which, despite the reserve of the place, still prevailed, I heard my name called, and followed an aide-de-camp along a passage into a large room, which opened into a smaller apartment, where, standing with his back to the fire, I perceived Marshal Berthier, his only companion being an officer in a staff uniform, busily engaged writing at a table.

“You are Captain Burke, of the Eighth Hussars, I believe, sir?” said the marshal, reading slowly from a slip of paper he held twisted round one finger.

“Yes, sir.”

“By birth an Irishman,” continued the marshal; “entered at the Polytechnique in August, 1801. Am I correct?” I bowed. “Subsequently accused of being concerned in the conspiracy of Georges and Pichegru,” resumed he, as he raised his eyes slightly from the paper, and fixed them searchingly upon me.

“Falsely so, sir,” was my only reply.

“You were acquitted,—that's enough: a reprimand for imprudence, and a slight punishment of arrest, was all. Since that time, you have conducted yourself, as the report of your commanding officer attests, with zeal and steadiness.”

He paused here, and seemed as if he expected me to say something; but as I thought the whole a most strange commencement to the ceremony of investing me with a cross of the Legion, I remained silent.

“At Paris, when attached to the Élite, you appear to have visited the Duchess of Montserrat, and frequented her soirÉes.”

“Once, sir; but once I was in the house of the duchess. My visit could scarcely have occupied as many minutes as I have spent here this morning.”

“Dined occasionally at the 'Moisson d'Or,” continued the marshal, not noticing in any way my reply. “Well, as I believe you are now aware that there are no secrets with his Majesty's Government, perhaps you will inform me what are your relations with the Chevalier Duchesne?”

For some minutes previous my mind was dwelling on that personage; and I answered the question in a few words, by stating the origin of our acquaintance, and briefly adverting to its course.

“You correspond with the chevalier?” said he, interrupting.

“I have never done so; nor is it likely, from the manner in which we parted last, that I ever shall.”

“This scarcely confirms that impression, sir,” said the marshal, taking an open letter from the table and holding it up before me. “You know his handwriting; is that it?”

“Yes; I have no doubt it is.”

“Well, sir, that letter belongs to you; you may take and read it. There is enough there, sir, to make your conduct the matter of a court-martial; but I am satisfied that a warning will be sufficient. Let this be such then. Learn, sir, that the plottings of a poor and mischievous party harmonize ill with the duties of a brave soldier; and that a captain of the Guards might choose more suitable associates than the dupes and double-dealers of the Faubourg St. Germain. There is your brevet to the 'Legion,' signed by the Emperor. I shall return it to his Majesty; mayhap at some future period your conduct may merit differently. I need hardly say that a gentleman so very little particular in the choice of his friends would be a most misplaced subject for the honor of the 'Legion.'”

He waved his hand in sign for me to withdraw, and overwhelmed with confusion, I bowed and left the room. Nor was it till the door closed behind me that I felt how cruelly and unjustly I had been treated; then suddenly the blood rushed to my face and temples, my head seemed as if it would burst at either side, and forgetting every circumstance of place and condition, I seized the handle of the door and wrenched it open.

“Marshal,” said I, with the fearlessness of one resolved at any risk to vindicate his character, “I know nothing of this letter; I have not read one line of it. I have no further intimacy with the writer than an officer has with his comrade; but if I am to be the subject of espionage to the police,—if my chance acquaintances in the world are to be matter of charges against my fealty and honor,—if I, who have nothing but my sword and my epaulette—”

When I had got thus far I saw the marshal's face turn deadly pale, while the officer at the table made a hurried sign to me with his finger to be silent. The door closed nearly at the same instant, and I turned my head round, and there stood the Emperor. The figure is still before me; he was standing still, his hands behind his back, and his low chapeau deeply pressed upon his brows. His gray frock was open, and looked as if disordered from haste.

“What is this?” said he, in that hissing tone he always assumed when in moments of passion,—“what is this? Are we in the bureau of a minister? or is it the salle de police? Who are you, sir?”

It was not until the question had been repeated that I found courage to reply. But he waited not for my answer, as, snatching the open letter from my fingers, he resumed,—

“It is not thus, sir, you should come here. Your petition or memorial— Ha! parbleu! what is this?”

At the instant his eyes fell upon the writing, and as suddenly his face grew almost livid. With the rapidity of lightning he seemed to peruse the lines. Then waving his hand, he motioned towards the door, and muttered,—“Wait without!”

Like one awaking from a dreadful dream, I stood, endeavoring to recall my faculties, and assure myself how much there might be of reality in my wandering fancies, when I perceived that a portion of the letter remained between my fingers as the Emperor snatched it from my hand.

A half-finished sentence was all I could make out; but its tone made me tremble for what the rest of the epistle might contain:—

“Surpassed themselves, of course, my dear Burke; and so has the Emperor too. It remained for the campaign in Prussia to prove that one hundred and eighty-five thousand prisoners can be taken from an army numbering one hundred and fifty-four thousand men. As to Davoust, who really had all the fighting, though he wrote no bulletin, all Paris feels—”

Such was the morsel I had saved; such a specimen of the insolence of the entire.

The dreadful fact then broke suddenly upon me that this letter had been written by Duchesne to effect my ruin; and as I stood stupefied with terror, the door was suddenly opened, and the Emperor passed, out. His eyes were turned on me as he went, and I shrank back from their expression of withering anger.

“Captain Burke!” said a voice from within the room, for the door continued open.

I entered slowly, but with a firm step. My mind was made up; and in the force of a resolute determination, I found strength for whatever might happen.

“It would appear, sir,” said the marshal, addressing me with a stern and severe expression of features, “it would appear that you permit yourself the widest liberty in canvassing the acts of his Majesty the Emperor; for I find you here mentioned “—he took a paper from the table as he spoke—“as declaiming, in a public cafÉ, on the subject of the Prince de Hatzfeld, and expressing, in no measured terms, your disapproval of his imprisonment.”

“All that I said upon the subject, sir, so far as I can recollect, was in praise of the Emperor for clemency so well bestowed.”

“There was no high-flown sentiment on the breach of honorable confidence effected in opening private letters?” said the marshal, sarcastically.

“Yes, sir; I do remember expressing myself strongly on that head.”

“I am not surprised, sir,” interrupted he, “at your indignation; your own conscience must have prompted you on the occasion. When a gentleman has such correspondents as the Chevalier Duchesne, he may well feel on a point like this. But enough of this. I have his Majesty's orders regarding you, which are as follows—”

“Forgive me, I beg you, sir, the liberty of interrupting you for one moment. I am an alien, and therefore little versed in the habits and usages of the land for whose service I have shed my blood; but I am sure a marshal of France will not refuse a kindness to an officer of the army, however humble his station. I merely ask the answer to one question.”

“What is it?” said the marshal, quickly.

“Am I, as an officer, at liberty to resign my grade, and quit the service?”

“Yes, parbleu!” said he, reddening, “yes, that you are.”

“Then here I do so,” rejoined I, drawing my sword from its scabbard. “The career I can no longer follow honorably and independently, I shall follow no more.”

“Your corps, sir?” said the marshal.

“The Eighth Hussars of the Guard.”

“Take a note of that, Gardanne. I shall spare you all unnecessary delay in tendering a written resignation of your rank; I accept it now. You leave Berlin in twenty-four hours.”

I bowed, and was silent.

“Your passport shall be made out for Paris; you shall receive it to-morrow morning.” He motioned with his hand towards the door as he concluded, and I left the room.

The moment I felt myself alone, the courage which had sustained me throughout at once gave way, and I leaned against the wall, and covered my face with my hands. Yes, I knew it in my heart,—the whole dream of life was over; the path of glory was closed to me forever; all the hopes on which, in sanguine hours, I used to feed my heart, were scattered. And to the miseries of my exiled lot were now added the sorrows of an unfriended, companionless existence. The thought that no career was open to me came last; for at first I only remembered all I was leaving, not the dark future before me. Yet, when I called to mind the injustice with which I had been treated,—the system of espionage to which, as an alien more particularly, I was exposed,—I felt I had done right, and that to have remained in the service at such a sacrifice of my personal independence would have been base and unworthy.

With a half-broken heart and faltering step I regained my quarters, where again my grief burst forth with more violence than at first. Every object about recalled to me the career I was leaving forever; and wherever my eye rested, some emblem lay to open fresh stores of sorrow. The pistols I carried at Elchingen, a gift from General d'Auvergne; an Austrian sabre I had taken from its owner, still ornamented with a little knot of ribbon Minette had fastened to the hilt,—hung above the chimney; and I could scarce look on them without tears. On the table still lay open the ordre du jour which named me to the Legion of Honor; and now the humblest soldier that carried his musket in the ranks was my superior. Not all the principle on which I founded my resolve was proof against this first outburst of my sorrow.

The chivalrous ardor of a soldier's life had long supplied to me the place of those appliances to happiness which other men possess. Each day I followed it the path grew dearer to me. Every bold and daring feat, every deed of enterprise or danger, seemed to bring me, in thought at least, nearer to him whose greatness was my idolatry. And now, all this was to be as a mere dream,—a thing which had been, and was to be no more.

While I revolved such sad reflections, a single knock came to my door. I opened it, and saw a soldier of my own regiment. His dress was travel-stained and splashed, and he looked like one off a long journey. He knew me at once, and accosted me by name, as he presented a letter from General d'Auvergne.

“You've had a smart ride,” said I, as I surveyed his flushed face and disordered uniform.

“Yes, Captain,—from the Oder. Our division is full twelve leagues from this. I left on yesterday morning; for the general was particular that the charger should not suffer on the way,—as if a beast like that would mind double the distance.”

By this time I had opened the letter, which merely contained the following few lines:—

Before I had finished reading the letter, my eyes grew so dimmed I could scarcely trace the letters. Each word of kindness, every token of praise, now cut me to the heart. How agonizing are the congratulations of friends on those events in life where our own conscience bears reproach against us! how poignant the self-accusation that is elicited by undeserved eulogy! How would he think of my conduct? By what means should I convince him that no alternative remained to me? I turned away, lest the honest soldier should witness my trouble; and as I approached the window, I beheld in the courtyard beneath the beautiful charger which, with the full trappings of a hussar saddle, stood proudly flapping his deep flanks with his long silken tail. With what a thrill I surveyed him! How my heart leaped, as I fancied myself borne along on the full tide of battle, each plunge he gave responsive to the stroke of my sword-arm! For an instant I forgot all that had happened, and gazed on his magnificent crest and splendid shape with an ecstasy of delight.

“Ay,” said the dragoon, whose eyes were riveted in the same quarter, “there's not a marshal of France so well mounted; and he knows the trumpet-call like the oldest soldier of the troop.”

“You will return to-morrow,” said I, recovering myself suddenly, and endeavoring to appear composed and at ease. “Well, then, to-night I shall give you an answer for the general; be here at eight o'clock.”

I saw that my troubled air and broken voice had not escaped the soldier's notice, and was glad when the door closed, and I was again alone.

My first care was to write to the general; nor was it till after many efforts I succeeded to my satisfaction in conveying, in a few and simple words, the reasons of that step which must imbitter my future life. I explained how deeply continued mistrust had wounded me; how my spirit, as a soldier and a gentleman, revolted at the espionage established over my actions; that it was in weighing these insults against the wreck of all my hopes, I had chosen that path which had neither fame nor rank nor honor, but still left me an untrammelled spirit and a mind at peace with itself. “I have now,” said I, “to begin the world anew, without one clew to guide me. Every illusion with which I had invested life has left me; I must choose both a career and a country, and bear with me from this nothing but the heartfelt gratitude I shall ever retain for one who befriended me through weal and woe, and whose memory I shall bless while I live.”

I felt relieved and more at ease when I finished this letter; the endeavor to set my conduct in its true light to another had also its effect upon my own convictions. I knew, besides, that I had sacrificed to my determination all my worldly prospects, and believed that where self-interest warred with principle, the right course could scarcely be doubtful.

All this time, not one thought ever occurred to me of how I was to meet the future. It was strange; but so perfectly had the present crisis filled my mind, there was not room for even a glance at what was to come.

My passport was made out for Paris, and thither I must go. So much was decided for me without intervention on my part; and now it only remained for me to dispose of the little trappings of my former estate, and take the road.

The Jews who always accompanied the army, offered a speedy resource in this emergency. My anxiety to leave Berlin by daybreak, and thus avoid a meeting of any acquaintances there, made me accept of the sums they offered. To them such negotiations were of daily occurrence, and they well knew how to profit by them. My whole worldly wealth consisted of two hundred napoleons; and with this small pittance to begin life, I sat myself down to think whither I should turn, or what course adopt.

The night passed over thus, and when day dawned, I had not closed my eyes. About four o'clock the diligence in which I had secured a place for Weimar drew up at my door. I hurried down, and mounting to a seat beside the conducteur, I buried my face in the folds of my cloak, nor dared to look up until we had passed beyond the precincts of the city, and were travelling along on the vast plain of sand which surrounds Berlin.

The conducteur was a Prussian, and divining my military capacity in my appearance, he maintained a cold and distant civility; never speaking, except when spoken to, and even then in as few words as possible. This was itself a relief to me; my heart was too full of its own sufferings to find pleasure in conversation, and I dreamed away the hours till nightfall.