censures of those who judge events only from their
results. Will this opinion be well founded? Are men
responsible for the caprice of fate? Is it not to
fortune, rather than to M. Z***, that we must
impute the disastrous end of this revolution, begun
under such happy auspices?

More fortunate than Napoleon, M. Z*** was killed on
Mount St. Jean, the moment when our troops
penetrated thither amidst the plaudits of the army.
He was permitted to draw his last breath on the
standards, which the conquerors of Ligny had just
snatched from the English; and, far from foreseeing
that his visit to the island of Elba would at some
future day be a reproach to his memory, he died
with the persuasion, that victory had irrevocably
fixed his destiny, and that his name, cherished by
the French, cherished by the hero whom he had
restored to them, would be for ever hallowed by the
gratitude of France, become once more the great
nation.

I shall not prematurely rob his manes of this
consoling illusion; I shall not inform them, that
... no! it will be time enough hereafter to disturb
their repose, and I shall await the attack before I
begin the defence.]

Here ends the memoir of M. Z****.

This officer had scarcely quitted the island of Elba, when the Emperor
(and I had the particulars from his Majesty himself) acknowledged and
deplored the imprudence of which he had been guilty, in sending Z***
to the continent. The character and firmness of this faithful servant
were sufficiently known to him, to prevent his feeling any anxiety on
his account. He was certain (I use his own words), that he would
suffer himself to be cut to pieces, before he would open his mouth:
but he was afraid, that the inquiries he had directed him to make on
the road, the letters he might address to him, or the conferences he
might have at Paris with M. X*** and his friends, would excite the
suspicions of the police; and that the Bourbons would station
cruizers, so as to render an escape from the isl