“Well,” replied Bonaparte to the kneeling petitioners, “Fournois was both a fool and a traitor; but, nevertheless, I will take care of you.”  Indeed, they have been so well taken care of that nobody knows what has become of them.

I am almost certain that I am not telling you what you did not know beforehand in informing you that the spirit of our troops is greatly different from that of the Germans, and even from that of your own country.  Every, one of our soldiers would prefer being shot to being beaten or caned.  Flogging, with us, is out of the question.  It may, perhaps, be national vanity, but I am doubtful whether any other army is, or can be, governed, with regard to discipline, in a less violent and more delicate manner, and, nevertheless, be kept in subordination, and perform the most brilliant exploits.  Remember, I speak of our spirit of subordination and discipline, and not of our character as citizens, as patriots, or as subjects.  I have often hinted it, but I believe I have not explained myself so fully before; but my firm opinion and persuasion is that, with regard to our loyalty, our duty, and our moral and political principles, another equally inconsistent and despicable people does not exist in the universe.

The condition of the slave is certainly in itself that of vileness; but is that slave a vile being who, for a blow, pierces his bosom because he is unable to avenge it?  And what epithet can be given him who braves voluntarily a death seemingly certain, not from the love of his country, but from a principle of honour, almost incompatible with the dishonour of bondage?

During the siege of Yorktown, in America, we had, during one night, erected a battery, with intent to blow up a place which, according to the report of our spies, was your magazine of ammunition, etc.  We had not time to finish it before daylight; but one loaded twenty-four pounder was mounted, and our cannoneer, the moment he was about to fire it, was killed.  Six more of our men, in the same attempt, experienced the same fate.  My regiment constituted the advanced guard nearest to the spot, and La Fayette brought me the order from the commander-in-chief to engage some of my men upon that desperate undertaking.  I spoke to them, and two advanced, but were both instantly shot by your sharpshooters.  I then looked at my grenadiers, without uttering anything, when, to my sorrow, one of my best and most orderly men advanced, saying, “My colonel, permit me to try my fortune!” I assented, and he went coldly amidst hundreds of bullets whistling around his ears, set fire to the cannon, which blew up a depot of powder, as was expected, and in the confusion returned unhurt.  La Fayette then presented him with his purse.  “No, monsieur,” replied he, “money did not make me venture upon such a perilous undertaking.”  I understood my man, promoted him to a sergeant, and recommended him to Rochambeau, who, in some months, procured him the commission of a sub-lieutenant.  He is now one of Bonaparte’s Field-marshals, and the only one of that rank who has no crimes to reproach himself with.  This man was the soldier of a despot; but was not his action that of a man of honour, which a stanch republican of ancient Rome would have been proud of?  Who can explain this contradiction?