The king searched his memory, and indeed it seemed to him that in the midst of that terrible scene he had seen someone fall, but who it was he no longer remembered.  The corpse was quite without covering, but by the long black hair and youthful outlines the king recognised Campana, the aide-decamp he had always loved best.

This scene, watched from a prison window in the twilight, this solitary burial on the shore, in the sand, moved Murat more deeply than his own fate.  Great tears filled his eyes and fell silently down the leonine face.  At that moment General Nunziante came in and surprised him with outstretched arms and face bathed with tears.  Murat heard him enter and turned round, and seeing the old soldier’s surprise.

“Yes, general,” he said, “I weep; I weep for that boy, just twenty-four, entrusted to me by his parents, whose death I have brought about.  I weep for that vast, brilliant future which is buried in an unknown grave, in an enemy’s country, on a hostile shore.  Oh, Campana!  Campana! if ever I am king again, I will raise you a royal tomb.”

The general had had dinner served in an adjacent room.  Murat followed him and sat down to table, but he could not eat.  The sight which he had just witnessed had made him heartbroken, and yet without a line on his brow that man had been through the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, and Moscow!  After dinner, Murat went into his room again, gave his various letters to General Nunziante, and begged to be left alone.  The general went away.

Murat paced round his room several times, walking with long steps, and pausing from time to time before the window, but without opening it.

At last he overcame a deep reluctance, put his hand on the bolt and drew the lattice towards him.

It was a calm, clear night:  one could see the whole shore.  He looked for Campana’s grave.  Two dogs scratching the sand showed him the spot.

The king shut the window violently, and without undressing threw himself onto his bed.  At last, fearing that his agitation would be attributed to personal alarm, he undressed and went to bed, to sleep, or seem to sleep all night.

On the morning of the 9th the tailors whom Murat had asked for arrived.  He ordered a great many clothes, taking the trouble to explain all the details suggested by his fastidious taste.  He was thus employed when General Nunziante came in.  He listened sadly to the king’s commands.  He had just received telegraphic despatches ordering him to try the King of Naples by court-martial as a public enemy.  But he found the king so confident, so tranquil, almost cheerful indeed, that he had not the heart to announce his trial to him, and took upon himself to delay the opening of operation until he received written instructions.  These arrived on the evening of the 12th.  They were couched in the following terms: 

Naples, October 9, 1815