Fourier had preserved, in old age, the grace, the urbanity, the varied knowledge which, a quarter of a century previously, had imparted so great a charm to his lectures at the Polytechnic School.  There was a pleasure in hearing him relate the anecdote which the listener already knew by heart, even the events in which the individual had taken a direct part.  I happened to be a witness of the kind of fascination which he exercised upon his audience, in connection with an incident which deserves to be known, for it will prove that the word which I have just employed is not in anywise exaggerated.

We found ourselves seated at the same table.  The guest from whom I separated him was an old officer.  Our colleague was informed of this, and the question, “Have you been in Egypt?” served as the commencement of a conversation between them.  The reply was in the affirmative.  Fourier hastened to add:  “As regards myself, I remained in that magnificent country until the period of its complete evacuation.  Although foreign to the profession of arms, I have, in the midst of our soldiers, fired against the insurgents of Cairo; I have had the honour of hearing the cannon of Heliopolis.”  Hence to give an account of the battle was but a step.  This step was soon made, and we were presented with four battalions drawn up in squares in the plain of Quoubbeh, and manoeuvring, with admirable precision, conformably to the orders of the illustrious geometer.  My neighbour, with attentive ear, with immovable eyes, and with outstretched neck, listened to this recital with the liveliest interest.  He did not lose a single syllable of it:  one would have sworn that he had for the first time heard of those memorable events.  Gentlemen, it is so delightful a task to please!  After having remarked the effect which he produced, Fourier reverted, with still greater detail, to the principal fight of those great days:  to the capture of the fortified village of Mattaryeh, to the passage of two feeble columns of French grenadiers across ditches heaped up with the dead and wounded of the Ottoman army.  “Generals ancient and modern, have sometimes spoken of similar deeds of prowess,” exclaimed our colleague, “but it was in the hyperbolic style of the bulletin:  here the fact is materially true,—­it is true like geometry.  I feel conscious, however,” added he, “that in order to induce your belief in it, all my assurances will not be more than sufficient.”

“Do not be anxious upon this point,” replied the officer, who at that moment seemed to awaken from a long dream.  “In case of necessity, I might guarantee the accuracy of your statement.  It was I who, at the head of the grenadiers of the 13th and 85th semi-brigades, forced the entrenchments of Mattaryeh, by passing over the dead bodies of the Janissaries!”

My neighbour was General Tarayre:  you may imagine much better than I can express, the effect of the few words which had just escaped from him.  Fourier made a thousand excuses, while I reflected upon the seductive influence, upon the power of language, which for more than half an hour had robbed the celebrated general even of the recollection of the part which he had played in the battle of giants he was listening to.