On hearing the sentence read
according to usage, he interrupted the enumeration of his titles, by
saying: "Why cannot you simply call me Michael Ney--now a French
soldier, and soon a heap of dust?" His last interview with his lady, who
was sincerely attached to him, and with his children, whom he
passionately loved, was far more bitter than the punishment he was about
to undergo. This heavy trial being over, he was perfectly calm, and
spoke of his approaching fate with the utmost unconcern. "Marshal," said
one of his sentinels, a poor grenadier, "you should now think of God. I
never faced danger without such preparation." "Do you suppose (answered
Ney) that any one need teach me to die?" But he immediately gave way to
better thoughts, and added, "Comrade, you are right. I will die as
becomes a man of honour and a Christian. Send for the curate of St.
Sulpice."
A little after eight o'clock on the morning of December 7th, the
marshal, with a firm step and an air of perfect indifference, descended
the steps leading to the court of the Luxembourg, and entered a carriage
which conveyed him to the place of execution, outside the garden gates.
He alighted, and advanced towards the file of soldiers drawn up to
despatch him.
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