We had now reached the eve of the day on which the Emperor, still deeply affected by the loss he had sustained in the death of the Duke of Istria, was to receive a blow which he felt perhaps most keenly of all those which struck deep into his heart as he saw his old companions in arms fall around him.  The day following that on which the Emperor had, with Baron Larrey, the discussion which I related at the end of the preceding chapter was made memorable by the irreparable loss of Marshal Duroc.  The Emperor’s heart was crushed; and indeed not one of us failed to shed sincere tears—­so just and good was he, although grave and severe in his manner towards persons whom the nature of their duties brought into contact with him.  It was a loss not only to the Emperor, who possessed in him a true friend, but, I dare to assert, also to the whole of France.  He loved the Emperor with a passionate devotion, and never failed to bestow on him his faithful admonitions, although they were not always heeded.  The death of Marshal Duroc was an event so grievous and so totally unexpected, that we remained for some time uncertain whether to believe it, even when the only too evident reality no longer permitted us to remain under any delusion.

These are the circumstances under which this fatal event occurred which spread consternation throughout the army:  The Emperor was pursuing the rear guard of the Russians, who continually eluded him, and had just escaped for the tenth time since the morning, after having killed and taken prisoners large numbers of our brave soldiers, when two or three shells dug up the ground at the Emperor’s feet, and caused him to exclaim, “What! after such butchery no result! no prisoners! those men there will not leave me a nail.”  Hardly had he finished speaking when a shell passed, and threw a chasseur of the cavalry escort almost under the legs of his Majesty’s horse.  “Ah, Duroc,” added he, turning towards the grand marshal, “fortune protects us to-day.”—­“Sire,” said an aide-de-camp, rushing, up at a gallop, “General Bruyeres has just been killed.”  “My poor comrade of Italy!  Is it possible?  Ah! it is necessary to push on, nevertheless.”  And noticing on the left an elevation from which he could better observe what was passing, the Emperor started in that direction amidst a cloud of dust.  The Duke of Vicenza, the Duke of Treviso, Marshal Duroc, and general of engineers Kirgener followed his Majesty closely; but the wind raised such a cloud of dust and smoke that they could hardly see each other.  Suddenly a tree near which the Emperor passed was struck by a shell and cut in half.  His Majesty, on reaching the plateau, turned to ask for his field-glass, and saw no one near him except the Duke of Vicenza.  Duke Charles de Plaisance came up, his face showing a mortal pallor, leaned towards the grand equerry, and said a few words in his ear.  “What is it?” vehemently inquired the Emperor; “what has happened?”—­“Sire,” said the Duke of Plaisance, weeping, “the grand