deal of the celebrated soldiers who surrounded
Napoleon, and whose names have become almost as familiar to us as his
own. I do not find that the French consider the marshals men of singular
talents. Most of them reached their high stations on account of their
cleverness in some particular branch of their duties, and by their
strong devotion, in the earlier parts of their career, to their master.
Marechal Soult has a reputation for skill in managing the civil detail
of service. As a soldier, he is also distinguished for manoeuvring in
the face of his enemy, and under fire. Some such excitement appears
necessary to arouse his dormant talents. Suchet is said to have had
capacity; but, I think, to Massena, and to the present King of Sweden,
the French usually yield the palm in this respect. Davoust was a man of
terrible military energy, and suited to certain circumstances, but
scarcely a man of talents. It was to him Napoleon said, "remember, you
have but a single friend in France--myself; take care you do not lose
him." Lannes seems to have stood better than most of them as a soldier,
and Macdonald as a man. But, on the whole, I think it quite apparent
there was scarcely one among them all calculated to have carried out a
very high fortune for himself, without the aid of the directing genius
of his master. Many of them had ambition enough for anything; but it was
an ambition stimulated by example, rather than by a consciousness of
superiority.

In nothing have I been more disappointed than in the appearance of these
men. There is more or less of character about the exterior and
physiognomy of them all, it is true; but scarcely one has what we are
accustomed to think the carriage of a soldier. It may be known to you
that Moreau had very little of this, and really one is apt to fancy he
can see the civic origin in nearly all of them. While the common French
soldiers have a good deal of military coquetry, the higher officers
appear to be nearly destitute of it. Marechal Molitor is a fine man;
Marechal Marmont, neat, compact, and soldierly-looking; Marechal
Mortier, a grenadier without grace; Marechal Oudinot, much the same; and
so on to the end of the chapter. Lamarque is a little swarthy man, with
good features and a keen eye; but he is military in neither carriage nor
mien.

Crossing the Pont Royal, shortly after my arrival, in company with a
friend, the latter pointed out to me a stranger, on the opposite
side-walk, and