Sharpe’s claim to having seen proof of a guillotine in Halifax is quite possible. There had been a guillotine in the town since medieval times, though the last execution is thought to have been in 1650. It was not the only guillotine in Britain, there was another in Edinburgh and, though Dr Guillotin is popularly credited with the invention of the device, there were evidently other guillotines in many European countries long before Dr Guillotin’s machine was first used in 1792.
The Musée Napoléon, now the Louvre, was indeed filled with works of art stolen from all across Europe. I have anticipated the restitution of the artworks, which were mostly removed much later in the year. Not all were returned, and some, like Veronese’s stunning canvas of The Wedding at Cana, which had been stolen from Venice, still hang in the Louvre. The British had some difficulty in taking many of the pictures down because of a lack of ladders, and replacements were indeed borrowed from a travelling showman who displayed monkeys.
I took immense pleasure in giving Sharpe the Order of Saint Vladimir, second class, which I am sure appealed to his well-hidden vanity. The story is based on truth. The Czar sent the order to the Duke of Wellington, asking him to find a worthy recipient, but Colonel Lygon refused it on the grounds that it was second class, so Wellington ordered that it be given to ‘Colonel Somebody-Else!’ Why not Sharpe? He deserves it. At the time, the British army awarded no medals, but Wellington had a silver medal struck for every man who had been present at Waterloo.
There are still small vineyards in Paris, but there were far more in 1815, many of them just north of the Rue de Montreuil. There were also scores of tunnels beneath the city wall, almost all of them devoted to smuggling wine and spirits, which were heavily taxed when they entered the city.
The Arc de Triomphe in the Champs-élysées, like the elephant in the Place de la Bastille, was a model built of wood. The wooden arch was covered with painted canvas, while the monstrous elephant was finished in plaster. The arch, of course, was finally built, but the elephant decayed until it was demolished in 1846. It was supposed to be constructed of bronze melted from cannons captured by the Emperor and, had it ever been completed, would surely have become a famous landmark.
One of the delights of writing novels is to discover that the characters insist on creating their own destinies. Pat Harper, I knew, would always return to his beloved Ireland, but Sharpe astonished me by settling in Normandy where, for the moment, I shall leave him. I am grateful to the many readers who have accompanied us on the journey, and especially to my wife, Judy, who has endured Sharpe’s many battles. Thank you!