ir route.

A little while after our return to Saint-Cloud, the First Consul, while
riding in the park with his wife and Cambaceres, took a fancy to drive
the four horses attached to the carriage which had been given him by the
inhabitants of Antwerp. He took his place on the driver's seat, and took
the reins from the hands of Caesar, his coachman, who got up behind the
carriage. At that instant they were in the horse-shoe alley, which leads
to the road of the Pavilion Breteuil, and of Ville d'Avray. It is stated
in the Memorial of St. Helena, that the aide-de-camp, having awkwardly
frightened the horses, made them run away; but Caesar, who related to me
in detail this sad disaster a few moments after the accident had taken
place, said not a word to me about the aide-de-camp; and, in truth, there
was needed, to upset the coach, nothing more than the awkwardness of a
coachman with so little experience as the First Consul. Besides, the
horses were young and spirited, and Caesar himself needed all his skill
to guide them. Not feeling his hand on the reins, they set out at a
gallop, while Caesar, seeing the new direction they were taking to the
right, cried out, "To the left," in a stentorian voice. Consul
Cambaceres, even paler than usual, gave himself little concern as to
reassuring Madame Bonaparte, who was much alarmed, but screamed with all
his might, "Stop, stop! you will break all our necks!" That might well
happen, for the First Consul heard nothing, and, besides, could not
control the horses; and when he reached, or rather was carried with the
speed of lightning to, the very gate, he was not able to keep in the
road, but ran against a post, where the carriage fell over heavily, and
fortunately the horses stopped. The First Consul was thrown about ten
steps, fell on his stomach, and fainted away, and did not revive until
some one attempted to lift him up. Madame Bonaparte and the second
consul had only slight contusions; but good Josephine had suffered
horrible anxiety about her husband. However, although he was badly
bruised, he would not be bled, and satisfied himself with a few rubbings
with eau de Cologne, his favorite remedy. That evening, on retiring, he
spoke gayly of his misadventure, and of the great fright that his
colleague had shown, and ended by saying, "We must render unto Caesar
that which is Caesar's; let him keep his whip, and let us each mind his
own business."

He admitted, however, notwithstandin