YET ANOTHER MEMOIR OF NAPOLEON.
Dear Mr. Punch,—There are so many lives of the great Napoleon being published nowadays that one might fancy the former ruler of France must have been as many-careered as a cat. Still, it may be interesting to your readers if I give a few particulars of the great man that have not yet appeared in print, if I except the pages of your own immortal volumes.
I had the pleasure of meeting the great Napoleon some forty or fifty years ago; he was then in his prime.
In personal appearance he was not unlike the portraits so familiar to the public. In spite of his enthusiastic devotion for France, he invariably addressed his troops in the English language. This is a characteristic that seemingly has escaped the attention of all his biographers.
The numbers and quality of his army have been much exaggerated. Although in his speeches he was accustomed to boast of the strength of his troops, as a matter of fact they could be more easily counted by tens than hundreds. His artillery was almost a myth, and the ammunition was chiefly composed of crackers. As for his cavalry, the horses were showy but unreliable, many of them had white spots, and not a few were extremely intelligent. His favourite charger had been known on occasion (when engaged in circus duty) to drink a glass of sherry with the clown.
But there is one point I particularly wish to set right. Although known by the public as Napoleon Buonaparte, my hero in private life was invariably called by his intimates "poor old Gomersal."
Yours respectfully,
The Amphitheatre Boswell Redivivus.
Within Site of Astley's.
P.S.—I saw the latest actor's edition of Napoleon the other night at the Gaiety. He wasn't "in it" with "Gomersal,"—but then Gomersal was occasionally on horseback; still, there was the uniform and the snuff-box.
