During the second day of the battle of Dresden, at the end of which the
Emperor had the attack of fever I mentioned in the preceding chapter, the
King of Naples, or rather Marshal Murat, performed prodigies of valor.
Much has been said of this truly extraordinary prince; but only those who
saw him personally could form a correct idea of him, and even they never
knew him perfectly until they had seen him on a field of battle. There
he seemed like those great actors who produce a complete illusion amid
the fascinations of the stage, but in whom we no longer find the hero
when we encounter them in private life. While at Paris I attended a
representation of the death of 'Hector' by Luce de Lancival, and I could
never afterwards hear the verses recited in which the author describes
the effect produced on the Trojan army by the appearance of Achilles
without thinking of Prince Murat; and it may be said without exaggeration
that his presence produced exactly this effect the moment he showed
himself in front of the Austrian lines. He had an almost gigantic
figure, which alone would have sufficed to make him remarkable, and in
addition to this sought every possible means to draw attention to
himself, as if he wished to dazzle those who, might have intended to
attack him. His regular and strongly marked features, his handsome blue
eyes rolling in their orbits, enormous mustaches, and black hair falling
in long ringlets over the collar of a kurtka with narrow sleeves, struck
the attention at first sight. Add to this the richest and most elegant
costume which one would wear even at the theater,--a Polish coat richly
embroidered, and encircled by a gilded belt from which hung the scabbard
of a light sword, with a straight and pointed blade, without edge and
without guard; large amaranth-colored pantaloons embroidered in gold on
the seams, and nankeen boots; a large hat embroidered in gold with a
border of white feathers, above which floated four large ostrich plumes
with an exquisite heron aigrette in the midst; and finally the king's
horse, always selected from the strongest and handsomest that could be
found, was covered with an elegantly embroidered sky-blue cloth which
extended to the ground, and was held in place by a Hungarian or Turkish
saddle of the richest workmanship, together with a bridle and stirrups
not less magnificent than the rest of the equipment. All these things
combined made the King of Naples a being apart, an ob