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Updated: June 1, 2025
This was the famous charger which savaged everything until Marbot, having bought it for next to nothing, cured it by thrusting a boiling leg of mutton into its mouth when it tried to bite him. It certainly does need a robust faith to get over these incidents.
I was born on the 18th August 1782 at my father's Château of Larivière, in the beautiful valley of Beaulieu, on the borders of Limousin and Quercy now the department of Corrèze where my father owned a considerable property. The family of Marbot was of noble origin, although for a long time they had not preceded their name by any title.
Here is Marbot at this end the first of all soldier books in the world. This is the complete three-volume French edition, with red and gold cover, smart and debonnaire like its author. Here he is in one frontispiece with his pleasant, round, boyish face, as a Captain of his beloved Chasseurs. And here in the other is the grizzled old bull-dog as a full general, looking as full of fight as ever.
At any rate, be it fact or fiction fact it is, in my opinion, with some artistic touching up of the high lights there are few books which I could not spare from my shelves better than the memoirs of the gallant Marbot. I dwell upon this particular book because it is the best; but take the whole line, and there is not one which is not full of interest.
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