The restored Bourbons were determined to put Ney to death. Instead of leaving his fate in the hands of his old companions in arms, as his lawyer wanted him to do, Ney foolishly gave preference to a trial by the civilians of the Chamber of Peers. This tribunal condemned him, and he was shot. So says History. But Tradition is persistent in claiming that the execution was a fake: that blank cartridges were fired, that Ney fell unhurt, and that his body was spirited away, and that he was shipped off to America, and that he lived in North Carolina, a school-teacher, until he died a natural death. Many a time I have ridiculed this tradition, and marshaled in convincing array the evidence against it. I must confess, however, that a statement in the book of Sir William Fraser, called “Wellington’s Words,” startled me. He expresses a doubt as to the genuineness of the execution of Marshal Ney, _and Sir William was close to Wellington_. Indeed, the account which Sir William gives of the alleged execution is somewhat suggestive of a mock execution. It was a beautiful morning, and the Garden of the Luxembourg was filled with children, attended by their nurses, taking the morning air, amid the trees and birds and flowers. A closed carriage drove up to the gate and four men, leaving the carriage, entered the garden. One was Marshal Ney, the others an officer and two sergeants. The officer placed Ney against the wall, called the picket guarding the gate, gave the word “Fire!” and Ney fell on his face. The body was immediately put into the carriage and driven off. The nurses and the children had not realized what was happening. Says Sir William Fraser (who had this account from Quentin Dick, an eye-witness), “I confess to have got a lingering doubt whether Ney was shot to death.” But Sir William himself supplies a bit of evidence which resettles my own conviction that Ney _was_ shot to death. The second Duke of Wellington was invited by Queen Victoria to meet at Windsor Castle the Emperor of the French. In the train of Louis Napoleon, the French Emperor, was the son of Marshal Ney. The Emperor said, “I must introduce two great names,” leading the Duke of Wellington to the Prince of Moscowa. The Duke made a low bow: the Prince did not return it. He remembered the murder of his father, and knew that the first Duke of Wellington should have prevented it. In answer to the Emperor’s whispered remonstrance, Ney’s son firmly declared that he did not wish to make the acquaintance of Wellington’s son. To my mind this is conclusive. Had Ney’s life been saved by the first Duke of Wellington, as Sir William Fraser broadly hints, two things are certain: (1) Ney’s son would have known it, and (2) Ney’s family would have gratefully honored Wellington’s memory, instead of detesting it.