them the Polish corps of Prince Joseph Poniatowski), jammed

hopelessly in the streets, were being simply exterminated by the
troops of the Allied Powers. When asked what it was like in

there Mr. Nicholas B. muttered the only word "Shambles." Having
delivered his message to the Prince he hastened away at once to

render an account of his mission to the superior who had sent
him. By that time the advance of the enemy had enveloped the

town, and he was shot at from houses and chased all the way to
the river bank by a disorderly mob of Austrian Dragoons and

Prussian Hussars. The bridge had been mined early in the morning
and his opinion was that the sight of the horsemen converging

from many sides in the pursuit of his person alarmed the officer
in command of the sappers and caused the premature firing of the

charges. He had not gone more than 200 yards on the other side
when he heard the sound of the fatal explosions. Mr. Nicholas B.

concluded his bald narrative with the word "Imbecile" uttered
with the utmostdeliberation. It testified to his indignation at

the loss of so many thousands of lives. But his phlegmatic
physiognomy lighted up when he spoke of his only wound, with

something resembling satisfaction. You will see that there was
some reason for it when you learn that he was wounded in the

heel. "Like his Majesty the Emperor Napoleon himself," he
reminded his hearers with assumed indifference. There can be no

doubt that the indifference was assumed, if one thinks what very
distinguished sort of wound it was. In all the history of

warfare there are, I believe, only three warriors publicly known
to have been wounded in the heel--Achilles and Napoleon--demi-

gods indeed--to whom the familial piety of an unworthy descendant
adds the name of the simple mortal, Nicholas B.

The Hundred Days found Mr. Nicholas B. staying with a distant
relative of ours, owner of a small estate in Galicia. How he got

there across the breadth of an armed Europe and after what
adventures I am afraid will never be known now. All his papers

were destroyed shortly before his death; but if there was amongst
them, as he affirmed, a concise record of his life, then I am

pretty sure it did not take up more than a half-sheet of foolscap
or so. This relative of ours happened to be an Austrian officer,

who had left the service after the battle of Austerlitz. Unlike
Mr. Nicholas B., who concealed his decorations, he liked to

display his honourabledischarge in which he was mentioned as
unschreckbar (fearless) before the enemy. No conjunction could

seem more unpromising, yet it stands in the family tradition that
these two got on very well together in their rural solitude.

When asked whether he had not been sorely tempted during the
Hundred Days to make his way again to France and join the service

of his beloved Emperor, Mr. Nicholas B. used to mutter: "No
money. No horse. Too far to walk."

The fall of Napoleon and the ruin of national hopes affected
adversely the character of Mr. Nicholas B. He shrank from

returning to his province. But for that there was also another
reason. Mr. Nicholas B. and his brother--my maternal

grandfather--had lost their father early, while they were quite
children. Their mother, young still and left very well off,

married again a man of great charm and of an amiable disposition
but without a penny. He turned out an affectionate" target="_blank" title="a.亲爱的">affectionate and careful

stepfather; it was unfortunate though that while directing the
boys' education and forming their character by wise counsel he

did his best to get hold of the fortune by buying and selling
land in his own name and investing capital in such a manner as to

cover up the traces of the real ownership. It seems that such
practices can be successful if one is charming enough to dazzle

one's own wife permanently and brave enough to defy the vain
terrors of public opinion. The critical time came when the elder

of the boys on attaining his majority in the year 1811 asked for
the accounts and some part at least of the inheritance to begin

life upon. It was then that the stepfather declared with calm
finality that there were no accounts to render and no property to

inherit. The whole fortune was his very own. He was very good-
natured about the young man's misapprehension of the true state

of affairs, but of course felt obliged to maintain his position
firmly. Old friends came and went busily, voluntary mediators

appeared travelling on most horrible roads from the most distant
corners of the three provinces; and the Marshal of the Nobility

(ex-officio guardian of all well-born orphans) called a meeting
of landowners to "ascertain in a friendly way how the

misunderstanding between X and his stepsons had arisen and devise
proper measures to remove the same." A deputation to that effect

visited X, who treated them to excellent wines, but absolutely
refused his ear to their remonstrances. As to the proposals for

arbitration he simply laughed at them; yet the whole province
must have been aware that fourteen years before, when he married

the widow, all his visible fortune consisted (apart from his
social qualities) in a smart four-horse turn-out with two

servants, with whom he went about visiting from house to house;
and as to any funds he might have possessed at that time their

existence could only be inferred from the fact that he was very
punctual in settling his modest losses at cards. But by the

magic power of stubborn and constantassertion, there were found
presently, here and there, people who mumbled that surely "there

must be something in it." However, on his next name-day (which
he used to celebrate by a great three-days' shooting-party), of

all the invited crowd only two guests turned up, distant
neighbours of no importance; one notoriously a fool, and the

other a very pious and honest person but such a passionate" target="_blank" title="a.易动情的；易怒的">passionate lover
of the gun that on his own confession he could not have refused

an invitation to a shooting-party from the devil himself. X met
this manifestation of public opinion with the serenity of an

unstained conscience. He refused to be crushed. Yet he must
have been a man of deep feeling, because, when his wife took

openly the part of her children, he lost his beautiful
tranquillity, proclaimed himself heart-broken and drove her out

of the house, neglecting in his grief to give her enough time to
pack her trunks.

This was the beginning of a lawsuit, an abominablemarvel of
chicane, which by the use of every legal subterfuge was made to

last for many years. It was also the occasion for a display of
much kindness and sympathy. All the neighbouring houses flew

open for the reception of the homeless. Neither legal aid nor
material assistance in the prosecution of the suit was ever

wanting. X, on his side, went about shedding tears publicly over
his stepchildren's ingratitude and his wife's blind infatuation;

but as at the same time he displayed great cleverness in the art
of concealing material documents (he was even suspected of having

burnt a lot of historically interesting family papers), this
scandalous litigation had to be ended by a compromise lest worse

should befall. It was settled finally by a surrender, out of the
disputed estate, in full satisfaction of all claims, of two

villages with the names of which I do not intend to trouble my
readers. After this lame and impotent conclusion neither the

wife nor the stepsons had anything to say to the man who had
presented the world with such a successful example of self-help

based on character, determination and industry; and my great-
grandmother, her health completely broken down, died a couple of

years later in Carlsbad. Legally secured by a decree in the
possession of his plunder, X regained his wonted serenity and

went on living in the neighbourhood in a comfortable style and in
apparent peace of mind. His big shoots were fairly well attended

again. He was never tired of assuring people that he bore no
grudge for what was past; he protested loudly of his constant

affection for his wife and stepchildren. It was true he said
that they had tried their best to strip him as naked as a Turkish

saint in the decline of his days; and because he had defended
himself from spoliation, as anybody else in his place would have

done, they had abandoned him now to the horrors of a solitary old
age. Nevertheless, his love for them survived these cruel blows.

And there might have been some truth in his protestations. Very
soon he began to make overtures of friendship to his eldest

stepson, my maternalgrandfather; and when these were
peremptorily rejected he went on renewing them again and again

with characteristic obstinacy. For years he persisted in his
efforts at reconciliation, promising my grandfather to execute a

will in his favour if he only would be friends again to the
extent of calling now and then (it was fairly close neighbourhood

for these parts, forty miles or so), or even of putting in an
appearance for the great shoot on the name-day. My grandfather