Napoleon and Blucher by L. Muhlbach (page 8)

another. From this day I will begin. Will you lend me your assistance, gentlemen?”

“Yes,” replied the officers of his staff, “we will!”

“Well, then it is all right,” said Blucher, nodding; “from to-day M. Napoleon had better beware of me. Hitherto, I have only hated him; now I abhor him, and the word backward exists no longer for me and my Prussians!” He quickly galloped up to his troops. “Well, boys,” he cried, “the heights of Kreckwitz are of no use to us, and it is better for us, therefore, to descend from them, and leave them to Bonaparte, who may put them into his pocket, if it affords him pleasure; but henceforth let us reverse matters, and put HIM into our pocket and keep him warm; otherwise, he might feel cold again, as he did in Russia. Forward now, boys; forward! And as we are now moving, I am sure you see that we do not move backward; he who asserts that we are retreating is a blockhead. Forward!”

But whatever Blucher said–how plausibly soever he tried to represent to his troops that they were not retreating, but advancing–it was unfortunately but too true that the battle of Bautzen was lost, and that the Prussians and Russians were obliged to fall back. It is true, they did so in excellent order, but–they retreated and Napoleon could boast of a new victory on German soil.

The whole army of the allies commenced retreating about dusk on the same day, and turned again toward Silesia. The troops marched sullenly, and sombre too were the faces of the two sovereigns, the Emperor Alexander and King Frederick William. Full of hope that they would achieve a victory, they had taken the field with their troops; but now their hopes were blasted, and they were compelled to return whence they had set out.

While the troops were marching down the wide highways, the two sovereigns, preceding their forces, took a short cut to Reichenbach. They were alone; only two footmen followed them at some distance; not a vestige of their earthly greatness surrounded them. They were both silent; slowly riding along, the king looked grave, while the emperor frequently turned his eyes, with an expression of mournful emotion, upon his friend, or raised them heavenward, with an entreating glance. Silence reigned around; only at a great distance was heard the dull rumbling of wagons, and here and there on the horizon still flickered the burning ruins of a village.

For some time they thus rode side by side, when the king stopped his horse. “There must be a change!” he exclaimed, in a tone of grief and despair. “We are moving eastward, but we must advance westward.”

“We must all move eastward,” said the emperor, in a deep, fervent tone; “from the east came our salvation; eastward, therefore, every good Christian turns his face whenever he prays for assistance and redemption.”

The king, perhaps, did not hear these words, for he made no reply, but looked moody and thoughtful. Both did not notice that the sky had brightened, and that the sun in its splendor was shedding its setting beams. It was a beautiful evening. The earth, refreshed by the rain, exhaled sweet odors; the air was fresh and balmy, and the blooming fields waved as a gentle sea. The sovereigns were too much concerned with themselves to be attracted by the beauties of outward nature. Their eyes were turned inward.

“Oh,” resumed the king, after a pause, “what will be the end of all this? Were not they right who cautioned me against this war, and pointed to Napoleon’s luck in order to prevent me from entering upon it? Have not my troops done all that can be demanded of human strength? Have they not braved with heroic resolution all fatigues and privations, and behaved in battle with unsurpassed valor? Have not the Russians also manifested the noblest devotion, and the most intrepid constancy? And still our armies have been defeated in two pitched battles–and still we are retreating? What have we to hope for? What new resources have we? May we still hope for the accession of Austria to our alliance?”

He uttered these questions in an undertone and thoughtfully, as if to himself, and forgetful of the presence of another who could hear him. When the emperor, therefore, replied to him, Frederick William gave a start, and raised his head almost in surprise.

“No,” said the emperor, gravely–“no, we must not count on Austria; or, if you please, NOT YET. The mission of Count Stadion ought to have proved this to us. They sent their diplomatist to treat with us that, in case of a victory, we might not consider Austria, too, as our enemy. Now, that we have not been victorious. Count Stadion will undoubtedly leave our headquarters, repair to those of Napoleon, and assure him of the most faithful and sincere devotion of Austria. Austria desires only negotiation–to fight with words, not with the sword.”

“But, without Austria,” cried the king, vehemently, “we are too weak! Oh, at times it seems to me as though no human strength were able to accomplish any thing against the surpassing genius of Napoleon, and as though God alone, who made him so great, and raised him so high, could humble him! We have done all that men could do, but it is all in vain! He has conquered!”

“But we have made him purchase his victories very dearly,” said Alexander, “and if we yielded, it was at least with honor. None of our battalions were dispersed, and I believe the number of prisoners is about the same on both sides. On the whole, nothing is lost as yet, and with God’s help we will soon do better.”

“Yes, but only with God’s help,” cried the king; “we need it above all; without it we are lost.”

“But God is with us,” exclaimed Alexander, enthusiastically, “I know it; I have gained this firm conviction ever since the great and terrible days of Moscow and the Beresina. God sent me those days of trial and terror that I might believe–and now I do believe. Until then I was a man enthralled by worldly doubts, relying upon my own strength, and rejoicing, not without vanity, in my earthly greatness. I thought of God, I loved Him, but He did not fill my whole soul–I pursued my own path, and diverted myself. But the conflagration of Moscow illuminated my mind, and the judgment of the Lord on the ice-fields filled my heart with a fervor of faith which it had never felt until then. With the flames of the holy city the hand of God wrote on the reddened sky, ‘I am the Lord thy God!’ With the rivers of blood flowing from the grand army of the French, the finger of the Lord wrote on the snow-fields, ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me!’ Since then there is a wonderful joy, an indescribable humility, and an immovable faith in my heart–since then I have become another man. To the deliverance of Europe from utter ruin I owe my own soul’s salvation.” [Footnote: The emperor’s words.–Vide Eylert, “Frederick William III.,” vol. ii., p. 248.]

“It is He alone who is able to deliver us,” said the king, profoundly moved; “I bow my head in humility, and confess that we are nothing without Him. May He send us His support!”

“He will,” exclaimed Alexander, fervently; “God will be with us, for we are engaged in a just cause!”

“Yes, it is just,” responded Frederick William, with deep emotion, and, slowly raising his eyes, he whispered, “Pray for us, Louisa, that we may conquer!”

Both were silent, and, with pious emotion, they lifted their hearts to heaven. Suddenly a joyful gleam kindled the face of the king, and, offering his hand to Alexander, he said in a deeply-moved tone, “We must not despond, but courageously continue the struggle. If God, as I hope, bless our united efforts, we will profess before the whole world that the glory belongs to Him alone.” [Footnote: The king’s words.–Vide Eylert, “Frederick William III.,” vol. ii., p. 248.]

“Yes,” cried Alexander, putting his right hand into that of his friend. “Let us not be ashamed to declare that the glory belongs to God. And now, my friend,” exclaimed the emperor, when they halted, “let us repair to our headquarters, and hold a council of war with our generals.”

“Very well,” replied Frederick William; “let us examine the strength of our forces, and see what ought to be done. The battle of Bautzen must not be the end of this war.”

CHAPTER XXXII.

BAD NEWS.

A moment of repose had interrupted the great contest. Napoleon had offered an armistice to the allies prior to the battle of Bautzen; they rejected it, full of confidence in their strength. After the battle of Bautzen, the offer was repeated, and accepted. Time was needed for levying additional troops, organizing new regiments, and concentrating new corps. But Napoleon, deceived by his victories, relying on his good luck, and on the mistakes of his enemies, was fully satisfied that this armistice was but the forerunner of peace; and that the allies, warned by the two lost battles, would be eager to accept any peace not altogether dishonorable. The negotiations were opened at Prague. France, Prussia, and Russia, sent their plenipotentiaries to that city; and Austria, having taken upon herself the part of a mediator, instructed her envoy, Minister Metternich, to participate in the congress. The armistice was from the 4th of June to the 24th of July–time enough for agreeing on a peace equally advantageous to both sides–time enough, too, in case it should not be concluded, to concentrate the armies and bring reinforcements from France.

So soon as the armistice was signed, Napoleon returned to Dresden, to await there the result of the negotiations. At the Marcolini Palace the emperor again established his headquarters; but no brilliant festivals were given, as previous to his expedition to Russia; the kings and princes of Germany did not gather round the powerful conqueror. The Emperor of Austria remained quietly but sullenly at Vienna; the King of Prussia was at Reichenbach, and was now the enemy of Napoleon, and all the princes of the German Confederation of the Rhine, who, but a year before, were humble courtiers of Napoleon, kept aloof in morose silence, or refused obedience to their former master, and raised difficulties when called upon to furnish new troops and open additional resources. None of them came to offer homage to him whom they had just feared as the most powerful ruler in the world. Only the old, feeble King of Saxony (who, at the commencement of the war had fled with his millions, and the diamonds of the Green Vault, to Plauen, in the most remote corner of his territories), [Footnote: Lebensbilder, “vol. iii., p. 466.”] returned at the rather imperious request of Napoleon to Dresden. The emperor dined with him sometimes, but only in the most intimate family circle, and without any outward splendor; at night he went to the French theatre, which had been ordered to Dresden during the armistice. Sometimes, his favorites, the ladies Mars and Georges, and the great Talma, were allowed to sup with the emperor after the performance, and the beautiful Mars, the impassioned fervor of the gifted Georges, and the conversation of the no less genial than adroit Talma, succeeded in dispelling the emperor’s discontent. But no sooner was he alone with his thoughts, his labors, his plans, than his countenance assumed its sombre expression. Thus days and weeks elapsed, and the congress was still assembled at Prague; the end of the armistice was drawing nigh, and the plenipotentiaries had not yet been able to agree on the conditions of peace.

It was on the morning of the 28th of June. Napoleon had just finished his breakfast, and entered his map-room to conceive there the plans of future campaigns, when the door of the reception-room opened, and Minister Maret, Duke de Bassano, came in. Maret belonged to the few men in whom his master placed implicit confidence, and whose fidelity he never doubted; to those who had at all times free access to him, and were permitted to enter his apartments without being announced. Nevertheless, his arrival seemed to surprise Napoleon. Never before had the duke entered his room at so early an hour, for he knew well that the emperor, engaged in examining his maps and devising plans, did not like to be disturbed. It was undoubtedly something unusual that induced the Duke de Bassano to come to him at such a time.

Napoleon cast a quick glance on Maret’s face. Standing up beside the map-table, and leaning his hand upon it, he asked, vehemently, “Well, Maret, what is it?”

“Sire, I have come only to deliver to your majesty a few letters which the courier has just brought from Paris,” said the duke, handing him some sealed packages.

“Is a letter from the empress among them?” asked Napoleon, hastily.

“Yes, sire.”

The emperor had already found it, and, throwing the others upon the table, he hastily opened the one from his wife and read it. His face, which until then had been so stern and gloomy, gradually assumed a milder and kindlier expression.

“Ah, dear Louisa,” he said, when he had read it, “how affectionately she writes, how she is yearning for me, and how well she knows how to tell me of the King of Rome, who is constantly inquiring for his father, and every night, when he goes to bed, calls aloud, ‘Dear papa emperor come back soon!'”

“A call, sire, in which, I am satisfied, all France joins,” said Maret, quickly.

“Ah!” exclaimed the emperor, contemptuously shrugging his shoulders, “I know well that France–that even my marshals join in it, not from any devotion to myself, but because they want peace. The little King of Rome, however, is longing for me, and the empress, too, is wishing for my return, without caring much whether there is war or peace. These two love me! Ah, what a happy family would we three be if a lasting peace could be established! I am tired of war; like all of you, I am yearning to return home, and to enjoy a little the fruits of our numerous victories.”

“Sire,” said Maret, in a low, entreating voice, “it is easy for your majesty to do so, and to restore peace to Europe.”

“Do you wish also to join in the nonsense asserted by the fools?” asked Napoleon, sharply. “Always the same air–the same strain! You at least, Maret, ought not to sing it, for you alone are aware of the proposals and negotiations between me and my enemies, and should know that it does not depend on me alone to restore peace, but that I shall, perhaps, only be he who must receive it.”

“Still, sire, a few concessions on the part of your majesty would be sufficient to bring about peace,” Maret ventured to say.

“What do you mean?” inquired Napoleon, whose voice now assumed an angry tone. “Do you intend to intimate, by your longing for concessions, that I should submit to the disgraceful and humiliating terms on which Austria gives me hopes of her further friendship and alliance? She dares ask of me the restoration of Illyria and the territory annexed to the grand-duchy of Warsaw; she demands for Prussia the evacuation of her fortresses, the restitution of Dantzic, and the restoration of the whole sea-shore of Northern Germany. And Austria, in making these proposals to me, in her equivocal part as mediator, does not do so with the friendliness of an ally, but she dares to threaten me, to say to me, ‘If France does not accept, Austria will be obliged to side with the enemies of France, and make common cause with them.’ I am ready to make peace, but I shall die sword in hand rather than sign conditions forced upon me. I will negotiate, but will not allow them to dictate laws to me.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s words.–Vide Beitzke, vol. i., p. 560.]

“Sire, none would dare dictate laws to your majesty. On the contrary, Austria will be glad if you merely declare that you are ready to negotiate, and she will not have much to ask. She will be content if you restore Illyria to her; and I am convinced of it, never will the Emperor Francis ally himself seriously with the enemies of his son-in-law.”

“But the Emperor Francis is not his cabinet,” exclaimed Napoleon. “I might, perhaps, repose confidence in the personal attachment of my father-in-law, but this could not blind me to the policy of his cabinet. This policy never changes. Treaties of alliance and marriages may somewhat retard its course, but never deflect it. Austria never renounces what she was compelled to cede. When she is weaker than her enemy, she resorts to peace, but this is always only an armistice for her, and, in signing it, she thinks of a new war. Such has been her conduct during the long series of years during which I have been fighting and negotiating with her. When closely pressed, she always accepted peace, and offered me her hand for the conclusion of an alliance; but whenever a reverse befell me, she withdrew her hand and broke the alliance. Now believing that she sees her own interest, she immediately resumes a hostile attitude toward me. She will open the passes of Bohemia to the allies, and thereby permit them to turn the positions of the French army, attack us in the rear, and cut us off from France. In a word, Austria ia unable to forget any thing! She will remain our enemy, not only so long as she has losses to make up, but so long as the power of France might threaten her with new humiliations. This instinct of jealousy is more powerful than her attachment; she will always strive to aggrandize herself and to weaken France, and if I should grant her Illyria to-day, she would, perhaps, to-morrow claim the whole of Lombardy, and her former provinces in the Netherlands. [Footnote: Napoleon’s words.–Vide “The Emperor Francis and Metternich,” p. 80.] Do not deceive yourself about it, Maret, and do not think that Austria wants peace with us because the Emperor Francis is my father-in-law. I must dictate peace to them sword in hand, and then they will hasten to remind me that I am the son-in- law of the emperor, and in consideration of this relationship they will ask of me favorable terms.”

“But this, it seems to me, is the very situation in which your majesty is placed now,” exclaimed Maret. “Your majesty has recently achieved two new victories.”

“But what victories!” said Napoleon, gloomily; “they have cost me as many soldiers as the enemy, and procured me no advantages. I had hoped to gain many trophies; but in the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen not a cannon, not a flag, but a few insignificant prisoners fell into our hands. After two dreadful massacres, we have obtained no results whatever–and those men have not left me a single nail to pick up. [Footnote: Napoleon’s words.–Constant, vol. v.] They are no longer the soldiers of Jena, you may be sure of it, Maret; another spirit animates them and their commanders. The Prussians fought like lions in those battles, and their commander, General Blucher, is like a chieftain in the Illiad. He is at the same time a general and a private soldier, a madcap and a Ulysses. The army loves him, and the king confides in him. He hates me, and has an excellent memory for his defeats of Auerstadt and Lubeck, and wants to take revenge for them.”

“But it is unnecessary for Russia to take revenge,” said Maret.

“Yes,” murmured Napoleon, gloomily. “On her snow-fields I lost my army, and perhaps also my luck. But, no matter; I shall struggle on to the end, and compel Fortune to become again my friend, that I may do without other allies. She surely owes me attachment and fidelity, for have I not again paid her a heavy tribute? was it not necessary for me to act like Polycrates to keep out of bad luck? He sacrificed only a ring to the gods, while I sacrificed two friends to Fortune, and one of them my best friend–Duroc. The victory of Lutzen cost me Bessieres; that of Bautzen, Duroc. It was a heavy sacrifice, Maret; my heart is still bleeding in consequence of it, and this wound will never heal.”

Maret made no reply, but turned his head aside, and his face had a strange expression of uneasiness and embarrassment.

Napoleon noticed it, and slightly shrugged his shoulders. “You think that I grow sentimental, duke,” he said, rudely, “and you mean that my long military experience should have rendered me insensible to such accidents. You are right; let us refer to them no more. Let us rather read what the courier has brought.”

He stretched out his hand for the other letters, and took up the first one without looking at it. When he saw the superscription, his face brightened, and, fixing a quick, reproachful glance upon Maret, he said: “Fate is less rigorous than you are, Maret. It reminds me that faithful friends still remain, and that all the companions of my youth are not yet dead. There is a letter from Junot! He is one of my faithful friends!” Opening it, he read hastily, and his face darkened. “Maret,” he cried, in an angry voice, “read–see what Junot dares write to me!” He handed the letter to Maret. “Read it aloud,” he cried, “otherwise I shall be afraid lest my eyes deceive me, and I mistake his words. Not the commencement, but the last page is what I want to hear.”

Maret read in a tremulous voice: “‘I, who love your majesty with the fervor which the savage feels for the sun–I, who belong to you with body and soul–must tell you the truth; and this is: we must wage an eternal war for you, BUT _I_ WILL DO SO NO MORE! I want peace! I want at length to be able to rest my weary head and aching limbs in my house, in the midst of my family, to enjoy their devotion, and no longer to be a stranger to them–to enjoy what I have purchased with a treasure that is more precious than all the riches of India–with my blood, with the blood of a man of honor, a good Frenchman, a true patriot. Well, then, I ask–I demand–the repose that I have purchased by twenty-two years of active service, and by seventeen wounds, from which my blood has welled, first for my country, and then for your glory. It is enough!–my country needs repose, and your glory is as radiant as the sun. I repeat, therefore, I want peace. I speak in the name of all your marshals and generals, in the name of your army, in the name of all France: WE DEMAND PEACE; give it to us, then!–JUNOT, Duke d’Abrantes.'” [Footnote: “Memoirs of the Duchess d’Abrantes,” b. xvi., p. 323.]

“Well!” inquired Napoleon, when Maret had read the letter, “what do you think of this impudence?”

“Sire,” said Maret, in a low, tremulous voice, “your majesty knows well that the Duke d’Abrantes is very dangerously ill, and that he is said to be subject to frequent fits of insanity.”

“It is true, it is the language of a madman, but one who knows very well what he says. For he is right; he dares utter what all my marshals are thinking, and gives utterance to their thoughts, because he imagines that my friendship for him gives him that right. The fool! I shall prove to him that I am, first and above all, the emperor, and that the emperor will, without regard to the person, punish the man who is so audacious as to threaten him. Oh, I am glad that it is Junot who has made himself the mouth-piece of my generals and marshals! I shall punish him with inexorable rigor, and that will silence the others forever. They will not dare that which not even Junot was permitted to do with impunity; they will obey when my first anger has crushed this traitor Junot. For he is a traitor, a– “

“Oh, sire, I implore you, do not proceed!” interposed Maret; “have mercy upon him who stands already before a higher Judge, to receive his sentence!”

“What do you mean?” asked Napoleon.

“I mean, sire,” replied Maret, solemnly, “that I came to bring you a sad message, and that your majesty, therefore, just now did me injustice. Sire, when you deplored the death of your lamented friend, the Duke de Frioul, I was silent and embarrassed, not because I deemed such regrets unbecoming, but because I was filled with unbounded grief at the thought that I had come to communicate a similar affliction. The courier brought me also a letter from M. Albert de Comminges, Junot’s brother-in-law. He requests me therein to inform your majesty of a melancholy occurrence–the Duke d’Abrantes is dead! Here is a letter from M. de Comminges to your majesty.”

The emperor made no reply, but his face, which generally seemed immovable, commenced quivering, and his lips trembled. He took the letter in silence, and, opening it with a hasty hand, began to read it. But suddenly he dropped it, and, pressing both his hands to his forehead, he groaned aloud. Then he quickly stooped down, picked up the letter and read it through. “Junot!” he then cried in a tone of profound woe–“Junot!” He crumpled the letter in his hands, and, with an expression from the depths of his heart, he repeated, “Junot! Oh, my God, Junot, too!”

At this moment his wandering eye fell upon Maret, who was gazing at him, pale and filled with profound compassion. Napoleon started and concealed the tears which came to his eyes. Before an observer he was not accustomed to show himself a man overcome by grief. He smiled, but with an indescribably mournful expression, and said in a firm voice, “Another brave soldier gone! The third victim that the war has required of me, Maret! It takes the very men who were indispensable to me, because they set so shining an example of bravery and fidelity to the whole army. That is the only reason why I complain!”

“Your majesty has a twofold right to complain,” said Maret, in his calm voice; “Junot loved your majesty with the obedience of a servant, the submissiveness of a child, the enthusiasm of a pupil, the ardor of a friend. He would have gone through fire for you, and he was justified in saying that he loved your majesty with the love the savage feels for the sun. Your majesty was his sun!”

“Yes, he loved me,” said Napoleon, in a low voice, dropping his head on his breast, “and I could count upon his fidelity. We had spent our youth together, had overcome together a thousand dangers, and courageously braved the vicissitudes of fate. His star had risen with mine. Will not mine sink with his? Oh, Junot, how could you leave me now, when you knew that I stood so greatly in need of you? Junot, this is the first time that you desert me, and forget your plighted faith. I am on the eve of a great and doubtful war, surrounded by enemies–and my friends are deserting me and escaping into the grave!” He paused, bowing his head lower upon his breast, and wrinkling his forehead in his grief. A sad silence ensued, which Maret dared not interrupt, by a motion or a word. At length, the emperor raised his, face again, resuming his usual coldness and indifference. “Maret,” he said, in a firm voice, “I have no one in Illyria now, since Junot, governor of that province, has died. I must send another governor. But whom?”

“Sire,” said Maret, in a timid voice, “will you not take the proposals of Austria into consideration? She demands nothing but Illyria as the price of her alliance and friendship. Fate itself seems to give us a sign to grant this demand, for it has removed the governor of Illyria.”

“Fate!” cried Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders, “you only acknowledge its hints when it suits your purposes; you deny its existence when it would seem to be contrary to your wishes. Fate caused the governor of Illyria to die, because, as you yourself said, he was subject to fits of insanity; it has thereby given me an opportunity to place a sensible and prudent man in Junot’s stead, a man who will not dare tell me such impudent things as you read to me from his letter. Well, then, I will obey the hint of Fate. Write immediately to Fouche. He is at Naples; tell him to set out at once and come to Dresden. I intend to appoint him governor of Illyria. Dispatch a courier with the letter. But wait! I have not yet read all the dispatches brought from Paris.”

He stepped back to the table, and took one of the letters from it. “A letter from the Duke de Rovigo,” he said, in a contemptuous tone, “from the police minister of Paris! He will tell me a great many stories; he will pretend to have seen many evil spirits, and, after all, not know half of what he ought to know, and what Fouche would have known if he still held that position. There, read it, Maret, and communicate the most important passages to me.” He threw himself into the chair that stood in front of his desk, and, taking a penknife, commenced whittling the wooden side-arm, while Maret unfolded the dispatch and quickly glanced over its contents.

“Sire,” he said, “this dispatch contains surprising news. It speaks of a new enemy who might rise against your majesty.”

“Well,” said Napoleon, who was just cutting a large splinter from the chair, “what new enemy is it?”

“Sire,” said Maret, shrugging his shoulders, “it is Louis XVIII.”

Napoleon started, and looked at his minister with a flash of anger. “What do you mean?” he asked, sternly. “Who is Louis XVIII.? Where is the country over which he rules?”

“Sire, I merely intended to designate the brother of the unfortunate King Louis XVI.”

“My uncle!” said Napoleon, with a proud smile, driving his knife again into the back of the chair. “Well, what then? Whereby has the Count de Lille surprised the world with the news of his existence?”

“Sire, by a proclamation addressed to the French, and in which he implores them to return to their legitimate lord and king, making them many promises, which, however, do not contain any thing but what the French possess already by the grace of your majesty.”

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. “Savary, then, has at length seen a copy of the English newspapers which published this proclamation,” he said. “I read it several weeks ago.”

“No, sire, it seems that the proclamation has not only appeared in the English newspapers, but is circulating throughout France. The Duke de Rovigo reports that secret agents of the Count de Lille are actively at work in France. They are scattering every day thousands of printed copies of the proclamation among the people. They are circulated at night in the streets, secretly pushed under the doors into the houses and rooms so that the police agents are unable to take them away. These copies, it appears, are printed on hand- presses, for their lines are often irregular and slanting, and indicate an unpractised hand, but those who receive them try to decipher them, and deliver them to the police only after having read them.” [Footnote: “Memoires du Duc Kovigo,” vol. vi., p. 351.]

Napoleon said nothing; he was still whittling the back of his chair, and did not once look up to his minister, who stood before him in reverential silence. “I thought I had crashed this serpent of legitimacy under my foot,” he murmured at last to himself, “but it still lives, and tries again to rise against me. Ah, I despise it, and I have reason to do so. I alone am now the legitimate ruler of France; the fifty battles in which I have fought and conquered for France are my ancestors; the will of the French people has made me emperor, and the voice of all the sovereign princes of Europe has recognized my throne. The daughter of an emperor is my partner; and the King of Rome, the future emperor of the French, will be more of a legitimate ruler than any other prince, for the battles of his father and the ancestors of the Hapsburgs form his pedigree. Let the Count de Lille, then, flood France with copies of his proclamation, I shall in the mean time win battles for France, and with the bulletins of my victories drive his proclamations from the field. I- -“

At this moment the door opened, and Roustan’s black face looked in. “Sire, the Duke de Vicenza requests an audience,” he said.

“Caulaincourt!” exclaimed Napoleon, surprised, rising and throwing the penknife on the floor. “Caulaincourt! Let him come in!”

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE TRAITORS.

Roustan stepped back, and the imposing form of the Duke de Vicenza appeared on the threshold. The emperor hastily met him and looked at him with a keen, piercing glance. “Caulaincourt,” he exclaimed, “whence do you come, and what do you want here?”

“Sire,” said the duke, gravely and solemnly, “I come from Prague, whither the order of your majesty had sent me, to attend the congress and to conduct the negotiations in the name of your majesty.”

“These negotiations are broken off, then, as you have come without having been recalled?”

“No, they are not broken off, but I have important news to communicate to your majesty, and as I think that we are served best when serving ourselves, I have made myself the bearer of my own dispatches, to be sure that they reach your majesty in time. I have travelled post-haste, and shall return to Prague in the same manner.”

“Well, then, inform me of the contents of your dispatches orally and quickly.”

“Sire, I inform your majesty that the Count de Metternich is on the road to this city to convey to you the ultimatum of Austria.”

A flash of anger burst from the emperor’s eyes. “He dares meet me! does he not fear lest I crush him by hurling his duplicity and treachery into his face? For I know that Austria is playing a double game, negotiating at the same time with me and my enemies.”

“But it is still in the power of your majesty to attach Austria to France, and secure a continued alliance with her,” exclaimed the Duke do Vicenza. “This is the reason why I have hastened hither: to implore your majesty not to reject entirely, in the first outburst of your anger, the proposals of Austria, however inadmissible they may appear to be. I left Vienna simultaneously with Count Metternich, but succeeded in getting somewhat the start of him; he will be here in an hour, and I have, therefore, time enough to communicate to your majesty important news which I learned at Prague yesterday, and which is sufficiently grave to influence perhaps your resolutions.”

“Speak!” commanded the emperor, throwing himself again into the chair, and taking, for want of a penknife, a pair of scissors from his desk, in order to bore the back of the chair with it. “Speak!”

“In the first place, I have to inform your majesty that the Emperor of Austria has left Vienna for Castle Gitschin, in Bohemia, and that an interview of the Emperor Francis with the allied monarchs took place there on the 20th of June.”

“Ah, the first step to open hostility has been taken, then,” cried Napoleon.

“This interview, however, led to no results,” added Caulaincourt. “The Emperor Francis, on the contrary, declared emphatically that he was still merely a mediator, and would consider the alliance with France as dissolved, if your majesty should reject the ultimatum with which he should send Metternich to Dresden.”

“That is the equivocal and insidious language which the Austrian diplomacy has always used,” exclaimed the emperor, shrugging his shoulders. “They want to keep on good terms with all, in order to succeed in being the friend of him who is victorious. My father-in- law, it seems, has learned by heart, and recited the lesson which Metternich taught him. Proceed, Caulaincourt.”

“Next, I have to inform your majesty that a definite treaty was concluded yesterday between Austria and the allies. It was concluded at Reichenbach. Austria has solemnly engaged to declare war against you if you refuse to accept her terms, the last she would send. Besides, Prussia and Russia concluded a treaty with England, which engaged to assist both powers with money and materiel, and which, in return, received the promise that Hanover, England’s possession in Germany, should be considerably enlarged at the end of the war, and that new territories should be added to it.”

“And the short-sighted monarchs have been foolish enough to grant this to England!” cried Napoleon, with a sneer. “In their blind hatred against me they grant more territory in Germany to their most dangerous enemy, that England may spread still further the vast net of her egotism, and catch all Germany in it, flood the country with her manufactured goods, and drive the commerce of the continent into British hands! Ah, those gentlemen will soon perceive what a mistake they have committed in yielding to the demands of those greedy English traders. For if England gives money instead of asking it, she must have a great many substantial advantages in view, and these she can obtain only at the expense of the German sovereigns, to whom she will furnish subsidies now. Are you through with your news, Caulaincourt?”

“No, sire, I have still something to add,” said the Duke of Vicenza, in a melancholy voice.

The emperor looked at him with a piercing glance, which seemed to fathom the depths of his soul.

“Speak!” he said, quickly.

“Your majesty knows that the crown prince of Sweden, Bernadotte, landed with his army at Stralsund on the 20th of May?”

“Yes, I do,” said Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders. “My former marshal, who acquired in my service a name and some fame, whom I permitted to accept the dignity of crown prince of Sweden that was offered him, a Frenchman, had the meanness to turn his arms against his country, and ally himself with the enemies of France. But still it seems that his courage is failing him. A month ago he disembarked in Germany, and is idle with his troops in Mecklenburg. He allowed Hamburg to fall; he did nothing to save Brandenburg, and appears ready to embark again for Sweden. Looking the crime of treason full in the face, he was unable to bear the thought of it, and will retreat from it to the steps of the Swedish throne.”

“No, sire,” said Caulaiueourt, gravely, “the crown prince of Sweden has made up his mind, and hesitates no longer. The Emperor Alexander sent an envoy to Bernadotte, and requested of him an interview with the monarchs of Prussia and Russia, for the purpose of concerting with them a joint plan of operations for the campaign. Bernadotte, thanks to the persuasive eloquence of the Russian envoy, eagerly accepted this invitation, and the interview is to take place on the 9th of July at Trachenberg, in Silesia. The crown prince is already on the road with a truly royal suite, and he has been solemnly assured that the sovereigns will receive him at Trachenberg with all the honors due his rank as a sovereign and legitimate prince. The envoy of the Emperor of Russia is accompanying Bernadotte on this journey, to strengthen the favorable dispositions of the crown prince, and render him at once an active and energetic member of the alliance.”

“Who is this envoy whom Alexander has dispatched to Bernadotte?” asked Napoleon.

“Sire, it is Count Pozzo di Borgo.”

“Ah, my Corsican countryman, and once an ardent friend,” exclaimed Napoleon. “He has never forgiven me for not having assisted him, the enthusiastic republican, in becoming King of Corsica, but having left France in possession of my native country. As he was unable to become a king, M. Pozzo di Borgo entered the service of the Czar of Russia to fight against me, his countryman, with the power of his tongue, as my other countryman with the arms of the Swedes. Well, I think it will not do the allies much good to unite with traitors and apostates, and to look for assistance against me from them. I gain more moral weight by this struggle against traitors than my enemies by their support. Bernadotte’s treason is my ally.”

“Sire, another man has joined the traitor, a Frenchman, who wants to fight against France, against his emperor and former comrade.”

“Still another! A third traitor! Who is it?”

“Sire, it is General Moreau.”

“What! has Moreau returned from America?” asked Napoleon, looking up quickly.

“Yes, sire; he has left the banks of the Delaware to fight against his country, as a general of the Emperor of Russia.”

The emperor looked thoughtfully, and suddenly he raised his eves, while a pleased expression lit up his countenance.

“My enemies assert that I have a heart of iron,” he said, in a gentle voice; “they charge me with being insensible to human emotions–to compassion, friendship, and love. Well, then, I could have had Moreau and Bernadotte both killed; they were in my power, and deserved death. Moreau had entered into a conspiracy against me and the existing laws of our country–a conspiracy whose object was to assassinate me. I believe I would have been justified if I had made him feel the rigor of my laws, and expiate his murderous intent by death. Bernadotte disobeyed my orders in two battles; I would have been justified in having him tried by a court-martial, which would certainly have passed sentence of death upon him. I permitted Moreau to emigrate to America, and indulge his republican predilections there without hinderance; and Bernadotte to go to Sweden, and gratify the desires of his ambitious heart. I pardoned both because I loved them. They now reward me by allying themselves with my enemies. This is all right, however, for I have placed both under heavy obligations, and nothing is more difficult to forgive than benefits.”

“Sire, as I have alluded to these traitors, I must mention still another. General Jomini, adjutant-general of Marshal Ney, has deserted his post and gone over to the camp of the allies to offer his services to the sovereigns. He has become a member of the Emperor Alexander’s staff.”

“Well,” cried Napoleon, with the semblance of unalloyed mirth, “the world and posterity will have to pardon me now if I lose a few battles in this campaign, for those who are fighting against me are commanded by generals who have learned the art of war from me– pupils of mine. I must, therefore, allow them to gain a battle or two to prove that I am a good teacher. Besides, Jomini is not as guilty as Moreau and Bernadotte. He is a native of Switzerland, and his treason is aimed only at myself, and not at his country.”

“It seems such is Jomini’s excuse, too,” said Caulaincourt, “for I have been told that he treated General Moreau with surprising coolness, and when the latter offered him his hand he did not take it, but withdrew with a chilling salutation. To the Emperor Alexander, who rebuked him for it, he replied that he would gladly welcome General Moreau anywhere else than at the camp of the enemies of Moreau’s own country. For if he, Jomini, were a native of France, he would assuredly at this hour not be at the camp of the Emperor of Russia.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the emperor, “I am convinced that miserable Jomini imagines that he acted in a very noble and highly-dignified manner. A traitor who is ashamed of another traitor, and blushes for him! Ah, Caulaincourt, what a harrowing spectacle! These acts of treachery will in the end make me unhappy! [Footnote: Napoleon’s words.–Constant’s “Memoires,” vol. v., p, 245.] For does not Austria, too, wish to betray me? Has she not entered into an alliance with me, and does she not now wish to forsake me merely because she imagines that it would be more advantageous to her to side with my enemies? Austria is oscillating, and Metternich thinks he can preserve her equilibrium by placing Austrian promises as weights now into this, now into that scale. But the cabinet of Vienna deceives itself. Count Metternich wants his intrigues to pass for policy, while the whole object of Austria is to recover what she has lost.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s words.–Fain, “Manuscrit de 1813,” vol. i.]

At this moment a carriage was heard to roll up to the palace and stop close under the windows of the cabinet. Maret, who, during the conversation between Napoleon and Caulaincourt, had retired into a window-niche, turned and looked out into the street.

“Sire,” he then said, quickly, “Count Metternich has arrived, and already entered the palace.”

“Ah, he is really coming, then!” exclaimed Napoleon, with an air of scornful triumph; “he wishes me to tear the mask from his smirking face! Well, I shall comply with his wishes; I, at least, shall not dissemble, nor veil my real thoughts! Austria shall learn what I think of her!”

The door opened, and Roustan entered again. “Sire,” he said. “his excellency Count Metternich, minister plenipotentiary of his majesty the Emperor of Austria, requests an audience of your majesty.”

Napoleon turned his head slowly toward the Dukes de Vicenza and Bassano. “Enter the cabinet of my private secretary, Fain,” he said. “Leave the door ajar; I want you to hear all. Fain, if he pleases, may take notes of this interview, that he may afterward accurately testify to it. Go!”

The two gentlemen bowed in silence and withdrew. The emperor gazed after them until they disappeared through the door of the cabinet; then turning toward Roustan, “Let him come in,” he said, with a quick nod.

A few minutes afterward the slender form, and the handsome, florid, and smiling face of Count Clement de Metternich appeared on the threshold of the imperial cabinet.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

NAPOLEON AND METTERNICH.

The emperor quickly met the Austrian minister, but, as if restraining himself, he stood in the middle of the room. Metternich approached, making a still, solemn bow, and quickly raised his head again, and turning his fine face, from which the smile did not vanish for a moment, toward the emperor, he waited in respectful silence for the latter to address him. Napoleon cast a menacing glance of hatred upon him; but Metternich did not seem to perceive his threat. He fixed his large blue eyes with perfect calmness on the face of the emperor, and awaited the commencement of the conversation.

The emperor felt that it was his province to break this silence. “Well, Metternich,” ho said, “yon are here, then! You are welcome! But answer me, without circumlocution, What do you want?”

“Sire, Austria wishes me to mediate a peace between the Prussian and Russian allies and your majesty.”

“Ah, you want peace!” exclaimed Napoleon, sarcastically. “But why so late? We have lost nearly a month, and your mediation, from its long inactivity, has become almost hostile. It appears that it no longer suits your cabinet to guarantee the integrity of the French empire? Be it so; but why had you not the candor to make me acquainted with that determination at an earlier period? It might have modified my plans–perhaps prevented me from continuing the war.”

“But your majesty ought graciously to remember that, for the present, there is no question of Austria and her wishes,” said Metternich, calmly; “that Austria is merely trying to mediate peace between your majesty and the sovereigns of Russia and Prussia.”

“Ah, that is what you call mediating,” exclaimed Napoleon, sneeringly. “When you allowed me to exhaust myself by new efforts, you doubtless little calculated on such rapid events as have ensued. I have gained, nevertheless, two battles; my enemies, severely weakened, were beginning to waken from their illusions, when suddenly you glided among us, and, speaking to me of an armistice and mediation, you spoke to them of alliance and war. But for your pernicious intervention, peace would have been at this moment concluded between the allies and myself. You cannot deny that, since she has assumed the office of mediator, Austria has not only ceased to be my ally, but is becoming my enemy. You were about to declare yourself so when the battle of Lutzen intervened, and, by showing you the necessity of augmenting your forces, made you desirous of gaining time. You have improved your opportunity, and now you have your two hundred thousand men ready, screened by the Bohemian hills; Schwartzenberg commands them; at this very moment he is concentrating them in my rear; and it is because you conceive yourself in a condition to dictate the law, that you pay this visit.”

“Sire, dictate!” echoed Metternich, in a tone of dismay, but with a strange smile.

“Yes, dictate!” repeated Napoleon, in a louder voice. “But why do you wish to dictate to me alone? Am I, then, no longer the same man whom you defended yesterday? If you are an honest mediator, why do you not at least treat both sides alike? Say nothing in reply, for I see through you, Metternich: your cabinet wishes to profit by my embarrassments, and augment them as much as possible, in order to recover a portion of your losses. The only difficulty you have is, whether you can gain your object without fighting, or throw yourselves boldly among the combatants; you do not know which to do, and possibly you come to seek light on the subject. Well, then, let us see! Let us treat! What do you wish?”

“Sire,” said Metternich, with his smiling calmness, which had not yielded for an instant to the storm of Napoleon’s reproaches, “Austria has no motives of self-interest. The sole advantage which the Emperor Francis wishes to derive from the present state of affairs is the influence which a spirit of moderation, and a respect for the rights of independent states, cannot fail to acquire from those who are animated with similar sentiments. Austria wishes not to conquer, but to preserve.”

“Speak more clearly,” interrupted the emperor, impatiently; “but do not forget that I am a soldier.”

“Your majesty has taught Europe by upward of fifty battles never to forget that,” said Metternich, with a pleasant nod. “Austria wishes to wound your majesty neither as a soldier nor as an emperor. She simply desires to establish a state of things which, by a wise distribution of power, may place the guaranty of peace under the protection of an association of independent states.”

“Words, words!” cried Napoleon, impatiently. “Words having no other object than evasion, veiling your own designs! But I mean to go directly to the object. I only wish Austria to remain neutral, and I am ready to make sacrifices to her for it. My army is amply sufficient to bring back the Russians and Prussians to reason. All that I ask of you is to withdraw from the strife.”

“Ah, sire,” said Metternich, eagerly, “why should your majesty enter singly into the strife? Why should you not double your forces? You may do so, sire! It depends only on you to add our forces to your own. Yes, matters have come to that point that we can no longer remain neutral; we must be either for or against you.”

The emperor bent on him one of those piercing glances which the eagle bends upon the clouds to which he is soaring, seeking for the sun behind them. “And which would be more desirable to you,” he asked, “to be for or against me?”

“Ah, sire, the Emperor Francis wishes for nothing more ardently than that the state of affairs should enable him to be for France, whose emperor is his son-in-law.”

“But my father-in-law imposes conditions! Pray, tell me what they are!” exclaimed Napoleon, striding up and down the apartment, while Metternich walked by his side, respectfully holding his hat in his hand.

“Tell me what these conditions are!” repeated Napoleon.

“Sire, they are simply these,” said Metternich, in a bland tone. “During the late decade the affairs of Europe have been disturbed in a somewhat violent manner. Austria only wishes to have the equilibrium of Europe reestablished, and all the states occupy again the same position which they held prior to these convulsions. If your majesty consents to contribute your share to this restoration, Austria in return offers to France her lasting alliance and, in case the other powers should pursue a hostile course, her armed assistance. Austria wishes to make no conquests, to acquire no provinces, no titles–she is animated with the spirit of moderation. She demands only order, justice, and equality for all, and, moreover, only the restoration of such states as have been recognized for centuries as members of the general confederacy of European states, the reconstruction of those thrones which have existed for ages, and whose rulers have a legitimate right to their sovereignty. I believe your majesty cannot deny that the Bourbons have a well-founded right to Spain, and that the Spaniards now, by the blood shed in their heroic struggle, have established their right to restore the throne to their legitimate rulers. You will have to admit, further, that no Christian sovereign, how powerful soever he may be, has a right to overthrow the Holy See of St. Peter, and to keep the vicegerent of God away from the capital which all Christendom has so long recognized as his own. You will have to admit, too, that both Lombardy and Illyria have long been possessions of Austria, and that Switzerland has been recognized as a confederation of republics by all the powers of Europe. If your majesty acknowledges all this, and consents to restore the state of things in accordance with those well-established rights, it only remains for us to find compensation for the three powers which have already allied themselves against you. As for Prussia, I believe a portion of Saxony would be the most suitable indemnity for her. Russia, I suppose, would be content if, after the dissolution of the duchy of Warsaw, Poland should once more fall to her share, and England demands only the possession of a few fortified places and safe harbors on the shores of Holland.”

The emperor uttered a cry of anger, and, suddenly halting, cast glances on Metternich which seemed to borrow their fire from the lightning. “Are you through with your proposals, sir?” he asked, in a threatening tone.

Metternich bowed. “Yes, sire.”

“Well, then,” cried the emperor, stepping up to the minister, “to all this I respond only by the question: How much money has England given you to play this part?”

At this question, uttered in a menacing voice, Metternich turned pale, the smile passed from his lips, his brow darkened, and his eyes, usually so mild and pleasant, kindled with anger, and allowed the thoughts, generally concealed in the innermost recesses of the diplomatist’s heart, to burst forth for a moment, and betray hatred.

“Ah,” cried Napoleon, in a triumphant tone, “I have at length torn the mask from your smiling features, and I see that a serpent is hidden under them as under roses. It would sting, but I know how to be on my guard; I will never grant Austria the right to insult, dictate to, and humiliate me. I will compel her, as I have done so often, to prostrate herself in the dust before me, and ask mercy and forbearance. Do you hear what I say? I will humiliate Austria, trampling her in the dust.” The emperor violently raised his clinched fist, and striking it downward struck Metternich’s hat, which the minister still held in his hand, and caused it to fall to the ground.

The emperor paused and looked at Metternich, as if to request him to pick up the hat. But the latter did not make the slightest movement. His thoughts and his hatred had already retired into his bosom; his brow was serene again, and his accustomed smile returned. He looked first at the hat, and then at the emperor, who followed his glances, and met them sullenly and defiantly. This little incident, however, seemed to have dispelled Napoleon’s anger, or at least to have appeased the first stormy waves of the sea. When he spoke again his tone was milder, and his look less scorching, returning from time to time, as it were involuntarily, to the hat lying on the floor a few steps from him. He commenced pacing the apartment again with quick steps. Metternich followed him, only with somewhat slackened pace, and thus compelled the emperor to walk a little slower.

“Now,” said Napoleon, loudly, “I know what you want! Not only Illyria, but the half of Italy, the return of the pope to Rome, Poland, and the abandonment of Spain, Holland, and Switzerland! This is what you call the spirit of moderation! You are intent only on profiting by every chance; you alternately transport your alliance from one camp to the other, in order to be always a sharer in the spoil, and you speak to me of your respect for the rights of independent states! You would have Italy; Russia, Poland; Prussia, Saxony; and England, Holland and Belgium: in fine, peace is only a pretext; you are all intent on dismembering the French empire! And Austria thinks she has only to declare herself, to crown such an enterprise! You pretend here, with a stroke of the pen, to make the ramparts of Dantzic, Custrin, Glogau, Magdeburg, Wesel, Mentz, Antwerp, Alessandria, Mantua, in fine, all the strong places of Europe, sink before you, of which I did not obtain possession but by my victorious arms! And I, obedient to your policy, am to evacuate Europe, of which I still hold the half; recall my legions across the Rhine, the Alps, and the Pyrenees; subscribe a treaty which would be nothing but a vast capitulation; and place myself at the mercy of those of whom I am at this moment the conqueror! It is when my standards float at the mouths of the Vistula, and on the banks of the Oder; when my army is at the gates of Berlin, and Breslau; when I am at the head of three hundred thousand men, that Austria, without drawing a sword, expects to make me subscribe such conditions! This is an insult, and it is my father-in-law that has matured such a project; it is he that sends you on such a mission!” [Footnote: This whole speech contains only Napoleon’s words.–Vide Fain, “Manuscrit de 1813,” vol. i.]

While thus speaking, the emperor was still walking, and Metternich by his side. Whenever they passed the hat lying on the floor, Napoleon cast a quick side-glance on Metternich, who appeared to take no notice of the hat, and it seemed entirely accidental that he slightly wheeled aside, and thus succeeded in passing without touching it.

“You,” cried Napoleon, in a thundering voice, “have taken upon yourself the mission of insulting me, and you think I will quietly submit?”

“Sire,” said Metternich, with his imperturbable calmness, “I believe you have already punished me for it!”

Now for the first time his eyes turned significantly toward his hat, and then fixed themselves steadfastly on the emperor. They did not dare to threaten, but they defied Napoleon. They said: “You have insulted me by knocking my hat out of my hand. I will not pick it up, but demand satisfaction.”

Possibly Napoleon understood this language, for a smile, full of sarcasm and contempt, played around his lips, and he slightly shrugged his shoulders.

“I beg you to consider, besides,” added Metternich, calmly, “that I am here only because my sovereign has commissioned and ordered me to repair to you, and that, as a faithful servant, I have repeated only what the emperor commanded me.”

“Ah,” cried Napoleon, with a harsh laugh, “you wish to make me believe that you are but the emperor’s echo? Well, I will suppose it to be true. Then go and tell your master that I henceforth decline his mediation, and that nothing would exasperate me more than the idea that Austria, in return for her crimes and her breach of faith, should reap the best fruits and become the pacificator of Europe. Ask the Emperor Francis in what position he intends to place me in regard to my son? Tell him he is entirely mistaken if he believes a disgraced throne can be a refuge in France for his daughter and grandson. [Footnote: Napoleon’s words.–Vide Fain, “Manuscrit de 1813,” vol. i.] That is my reply to the Emperor Francis. Go!”

Metternich bowed; considering the emperor’s words equivalent to his dismissal, he turned and crossed the room. His way led him past his hat; he took no notice of it, but quietly walked on toward the door.

“He does not wish to take his hat,” thought Napoleon.

Metternich reached the door, turned again to the emperor, and made him a last reverential bow.

“One word more, Count Metternich!” cried Napoleon. “Come, I have still something to say to you.”

Metternich blandly nodded assent and returned. Napoleon commenced again pacing the room, with Metternich by his side. The emperor now directed his steps in such a manner that he himself was near the hat. “I wish to prove to you, Metternich,” said Napoleon, “that I have seen through you, and that the true reason of your coming is well known to me. You did not for an instant believe that I could accept these proposals, which would dishonor and annihilate me; you know me too well for that; but they were only to be the pretext of the real wish that brought you hither. To be able to ally yourself in a seemingly loyal manner with my enemies, you want to get rid of the alliance which is still connecting Austria with France. In direct contradiction to all that Austria has hitherto said to me, you wish to annul the treaty of Paris. Admit that this is the case.”

The emperor, with his eyes fixed steadfastly upon Metternich, crossed the apartment. Suddenly seeming to find an obstacle in his way, he turned his eyes toward the floor. It was Metternich’s hat, which his foot had already touched. As if merely to remove the obstruction, he stooped, took up the hat, and threw it with an indifferent and careless motion on a chair near the door. He then quietly passed on and fixed his eyes again upon Metternich. [Footnote: Vide “Memoires de la Duchesse d’Abrantes,” vol. xvi., p. 173. There is another version of this scene, according to which it was not Metternich’s, but the emperor’s hat that fell to the floor.- -Vide Hormayr, “Lebensbilder,” vol. iii., p. 480.] “Well, reply to me–deny it if you can!”

“Sire,” said Metternich, in a bland, insinuating voice, “I had already the honor of telling you that matters have come to that point that we can no longer remain neutral, but that we can take up arms for your majesty, only if you consent to grant us all that I have laid before you, and–“

“No,” interrupted Napoleon, proudly, “do not repeat the insult! The interview is ended. I know what you desire, and I do not intend to disappoint you! I will not be a dead weight upon my friends, nor raise the slightest objection to the abandonment of the treaty that allies me with Austria, if such be the wish of the Emperor Francis. I shall tomorrow repeat this to you in writing and in due form. Now we are through–farewell!” He turned his back on Count Metternich, with a quick nod, and continued his way across the room.

Metternich cast a last smiling glance on him; went with rapid, soft steps to the chair, took his hat which the emperor had picked up, hastened across the room, and went out without a word or a bow.

When Napoleon heard him close the door, “He is gone,” he murmured, “the alliance is broken. I have now no ally but myself!” For a moment he looked melancholy, and then starting glanced at the small door leading into the cabinet of Baron Fain, his private secretary. He remembered that his two dukes were there, and that they could not only hear but see all. Composing his agitated face, he shouted in a merry voice, “Caulaincourt and Maret, come in!”

The door opened immediately; the Dukes de Bassano and Vicenza appeared on the threshold and reentered the room. “Well, have you heard every thing?” asked Napoleon.

“Yes, sire.”

“And Fain? has he taken notes?”

“Sire, he has written down every thing as far as it was possible, considering the rapidity of the conversation.” [Footnote: Fain, “Memoires de 1813.” Fain gives a full account of this interview, and I have strictly followed his narrative.]

“Ah, I shall read it afterward,” said the emperor; “it is always good to know in what manner we shall be recognized by posterity. Now, gentlemen, since you have heard all, you understand that war is unavoidable, and that Austria will side with my enemies.”

“Sire, we have heard it, and it has filled our souls with uneasiness and anxiety,” said Maret.

“Perhaps, nevertheless, a compromise may still be possible,” exclaimed Caulaincourt. “The armistice has not yet expired, and, in accordance with the orders of your majesty, I have already made the necessary overtures for prolonging it to the 15th of August.”

“It will be prolonged, you may depend upon it,” said Napoleon, “for the allies need time for completing their preparations. We shall have an armistice to that time, but then war will break out anew, and it will be terrible. I shall not indeed wage it as emperor, but as General Bonaparte.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s words.]

“Oh, sire,” sighed Maret, “the whole world is longing for peace, and France, too, entertains no more ardent wish. I have received many unmistakable intimations in regard to it. Paris is not only hoping for peace, but expecting it confidently, after the two victories by which your majesty has humiliated your enemies.”

“Paris is very badly informed if she thinks peace to depend upon me,” replied Napoleon, indignantly. “You see how greedily Austria augments the demands of my enemies, by placing herself at their head. We were always obliged to conquer peace. Very well, we will conquer it again. The armistice will be prolonged to the 15th of August–time enough to complete, on our side, all necessary preparations, and decree a new conscription. But then, after the armistice, war–a decisive, bloody war–a war that will lead to an honorable peace! Believe me, he who has always dictated peace cannot submit to it with impunity. Courage, therefore! France wants peace, and so do I, but my cannon shall dictate the terms, and my sword write them!” [Footnote: Napoleon’s words.–Vide “Memoires du Due de Rovigo,” vol. ii.]

DELIVERANCE OF GERMANY.

CHAPTER XXXV.

ON THE KATZBACH.

The armistice expired on the 15th of August, and hostilities were resumed. The state of affairs, however, was essentially different from what it was at the commencement of the armistice; for, at that time, Napoleon had just obtained two victories. During the armistice, the allies had won an important victory over him; they had gained Austria over to their side, and now, at the renewal of hostilities, Austria reenforced the allies with two hundred thousand men. For nearly fourteen years Napoleon was invariably the more powerful enemy, not only on account of his military genius, but of the numerical strength and excellent organization of his forces.

For the first time the enemy opposed him with superior forces, and this vast host struggled, moreover, with the utmost enthusiasm for the deliverance of the fatherland–with the energy of hatred and wrath against him who had so long enslaved and oppressed it. But Napoleon still possessed his grand military genius. Soon after the expiration of the armistice, he gained a new victory over the allies, that of Dresden; [Footnote: The battle of Dresden lasted two days, the 26th and 27th of August. Moreau died on the 2d of September, and the battle of Culm was fought on the 29th and 30th of August.] and in this battle Moreau, the French general, who was fighting against his own countrymen, was struck by a French ball, which caused his death in a few days. But the allies took their revenge for the defeat of Dresden in the great victory of Culm, where they, also after a two days’ battle, achieved a brilliant triumph over General Vandamme.

General Blucher and his Silesian army had not participated in these battles. At the time when the Russians, the Austrians, and a part of the Prussians, were fighting and yielding at Dresden, Blucher was at length to attain his object, and. meet the enemy in a pitched battle. Since the 20th of August he stood near Jauer with his army, which was ninety thousand strong, composed of Russians and Prussians, and awaited nothing more ardently than the approach of the enemy, in order to fight a general battle. Fortune seemed to favor his wishes, for Napoleon himself was advancing. On the 21st of August the scouts reported the approach of the hostile columns, who had crossed the Bober at Lowenberg. Blucher’s eyes lit up with delight; he stroked his white mustache, and said: “We shall have a fight! To-morrow we meet the French!”

But the morning of the 23d of August dawned, and the eyes of the general were still unable to descry the advancing enemy. Yet his scouts reported that the French army was advancing, and that only a detachment had set out for Dresden. “Then Bonaparte has left with this detachment,” grumbled Blucher; “for if he were still with them, the French would not creep along like snails.”

At length, on the 26th of August, the general’s wishes seemed to be near fulfilment. The French were advancing. They approached the banks of the Katzbach, to the other side of which the Silesian army was moving. “We shall have a fight!” shouted General Blucher, exultingly; “the good God will have mercy on me after all, and treat me to a good breakfast! I have been hungering for the French so long, that I really thought I should die of starvation. I shall furnish the roast; and, that there may be something to drink, the rain is pouring down from heaven as though all the little angels on high were weeping for joy because they are to have the pleasure of seeing old Blucher at work!–Glorious hosts in heaven!” added Blucher, casting a glance at the leaden sky, “now do me only the favor to put an end to your weeping, and do not give us too much of a good thing. Pray remember that you put under water not only the enemy, but ourselves, your friends. Do not soften the soil too much, else not only the French will stick in the mud, but ourselves, your chosen lifeguard!”

But “the little angels on high” poured down their “tears of joy” in incessant torrents from early dawn. It was one of those continuous rains from a dull gray sky, giving little hope of fine weather for many days. The soil was softened, the mountain-torrents swollen, and vast masses of water foamed into the Katzbach, so that this peaceful little stream seemed a furious river. A violent norther was blowing, and driving the rain into the faces of the soldiers, drenching their uniforms, penetrating the muskets, and moistening the powder.

“Well, if the boys cannot shoot to-day, they will have to club their muskets,” said Blucher, cheerfully, when he and his suite rode out of Bollwitzhof, his headquarters, to reconnoitre the position of the French.

But the wind and rain rendered a reconnoissance a matter of impossibility. The enemy was nowhere to be seen, but still the dull noise of rumbling cannon and trotting horses was heard at a distance, and the patrols reported that they had seen the foe approaching the Katzbach in heavy columns; not, however, on the other bank, but on this side. At this moment General Gneisenau came up at a full gallop. He had gone out toward the pickets to reconnoitre, and came back to report that the French were forming in line of battle at a short distance on the plateau near Eichholz, and that they had crossed to the right side of the Katzbach.

“Right or left,” said Blucher, “it is all the same to me, provided we have them. If they have already crossed the river, well then they know the road, and will be better able to find their way back. Let us allow them to cross, until there are enough of them on this side.” Then, turning with noble dignity toward his officers, he added, in an entirely changed, grave, and measured tone: “Gentlemen, the battle will commence in a few hours. Promptness and good order are of vital importance now.–The orderlies!”

The orderlies hastened to him. “You will ride to General York, who is occupying the plateau of Eichholz, and tell him to allow as many French as he thinks he can beat to march up the ascent, and then he is to charge them!” shouted Blucher to the first orderly, and, while he sped away at a furious gallop, the general turned to the second. “You will hasten to General von Sacken and tell him that it is time for attacking the French!–And we, gentlemen,” he added, addressing his staff, “will place ourselves at the head of our troops. The soldiers must have their meals cooked by two o’clock; all the columns will then commence moving. When the enemy falls back, I expect, above all, the cavalry to do their duty, and to act with great courage. The foe must find out, that on retreating he cannot get out of our hands unhurt. And now, forward! The battle begins at two o’clock!” He spurred his horse, and galloped again toward the troops. With a serene face and joyful eyes he rode along the front. “Boys,” he shouted, “cook your dinners quickly, do not burn your mouths, and do not eat your soup too hot; but when you have eaten it, then it is time for cooking a whipping soup for the French.”

“Yes, Father Blucher, we will cook it for them!” shouted the soldiers.

“I am afraid that soup won’t agree with the French,” said Blucher, with a humorous wink. “Blue-bean soup is hard to digest. But they will have to swallow it, whether they like it or not, won’t they?”

“Yes, they will!” laughed the soldiers; and Blucher galloped over to the other regiments, to fire their hearts by similar greetings.

It was two o’clock! “Boys, the fun will commence now!” shouted Blucher’s powerful voice. “Now I have French soldiers enough on this side of the river. Forward!”

Forward they went, at a double-quick, directly at the French. The cannon boomed, the musketry rattled; but the rain soon silenced the latter.

“Boys,” shouted Major von Othegraven to his battalion of the Brandenburg regiment, “if we cannot shoot them, we can club them!” And amid loud cheers the soldiers turned their muskets, and struck their enemies with the butts. A terrible hand-to-hand struggle ensued–howls of pain, dreadful abuse and imprecations burst from both sides; but at length they ceased on this part of the field: the Brandenburg soldiers had killed a whole French battalion with the stocks of their muskets! [Footnote: Beitzke, vol. ii., p. 204.]

The battle raged on amid the terrible storm beating on the combatants. The wind blew violently, and the rain descended in torrents. The men sank ankle-deep in the softened soil, but “Forward!” sounded the battle-cry, and the soldiers left their shoes in the mud, rushing in their socks or bare-footed on the enemy, who fought with lion-hearted courage, here receding and there advancing.

“Father Blucher, we are doing well to-day!” shouted the soldiers to their chieftain, galloping up to the infantry.

“Yes, we are doing well,” cried Blucher; “but wait, boys–we shall do still better!”

At this moment the artillery boomed from the other side. Two officers galloped up to Blucher. One was the orderly he had sent to General von Sacken.

“What reply did General von Sacken make?” shouted Blucher.

“‘Reply to the general, “Hurrah!”‘ [Footnote: Beitzke, vol. ii., p. 201.] was all he said, your excellency.”

“A splendid comrade!” cried Blucher, merrily.

“General,” said the second officer, in an undertone, “I beg leave to make a communication in private.”

“In private? No communications will be made in private to-day,” replied Blucher, shaking his head; “my staff-officers must hear every thing.” And he beckoned to his aides and officers to come closer to him.

“Your excellency then commands me to utter aloud what I have to say?”

“Well, speak directly, and, if you like, so loudly that the French will hear, too!”

“Well, then, general, I have to tell you that no time is to be lost, and that we must hasten to advance, for the Emperor Napoleon himself is coming up at the head of his troops; he is already in the rear of your excellency,”

“Ah,” inquired Blucher, with perfect composure, “is the Emperor Napoleon in my rear? Well, I am glad of it; then he is able to do me a great favor.” He turned his eyes again toward the battle array with a defiant smile, as if confident of final victory.

The victory was not decided, although the murderous struggle had lasted already an hour. Marshal Macdonald constantly moved up fresh troops, and Blucher had sufficient reserves to meet them. Here the Prussians gave way, and there the French. ‘From the right wing of the Prussian army orderlies informed General Blucher that General York, with his troops, had repulsed the enemy, and was advancing victoriously; messengers hastened to him from the left wing, and told him that General Langeron was about to fall back, that the Prussian cavalry were retreating, and the French cavalry approaching in dense masses, and that the Prussian batteries were in imminent danger of falling into the hands of the enemy.

Blucher uttered an oath–a single savage oath; then he turned his head aside and shouted, “Hennemann! pipe-master!”

Christian Hennemann galloped up immediately. He was in full hussar- uniform, but did not belong to the ranks; he was in the suite of his general, and had to be constantly near him. On the pommel of his saddle was a long iron box, and in his mouth a short clay pipe. “General, here I am!”

“Give me a short pipe, for now we charge the enemy!”

Hennemann took the pipe from his mouth, handed it to the general, and said, with the utmost equanimity: “Here it is! It has been burning some time already, and I began to think the general had entirely forgotten the pipe and myself.”

Blucher put the pipe into his mouth. At this moment a Brandenburg regiment of lancers galloped up, headed by Major von Katzeler, Blucher’s former adjutant. “We are going to assist our men!” shouted Katzeler, saluting the general with his sword.

“We are moving to the relief of our comrades!” cried a captain of hussars, thundering up at the head of his regiment.

“Very well!” said Blucher. “God bless me. I must go with them! I can stand it no longer!” Drawing his sword, he galloped with the courage and ardor of a youth to the head of the column of hussars, who received him with deafening cheers. The bugles sounded, and forward sped Blucher at an impetuous gallop.

Suddenly some one shouted by his side: “General! general!” It was the pipe-master. Blucher, looking at him with eyes flashing with anger, said: “Begone! Ride to the rear!”

“God forbid!” said Hennemann, composedly; “here is my place; did not the general order me always to remain near him and hold a short pipe in readiness? Well, I am near, and the pipe is ready.”

“I do not want it now, Christian; we are about to charge the enemy. To the rear, pipe-master!”

“I cannot think of it, general; no one is at liberty to desert his post, as you told me yourself,” cried Hennemann. “I am at my post, and will not allow myself to be driven from it. You will soon enough need me.”

“Forward!” cried the general. And amid loud cheers the hussars rushed upon the enemy, Blucher fighting at their head, brandishing his sword with the utmost delight, forcing back the enemy, and wresting from him the advantages he had already gained. The French being driven back, Blucher suddenly commanded a halt.

“Boys!” he shouted, in a clarion voice, “this is a butchery to-day; let us stop a moment, take a drink, and fill our pipes.–Pipe- master, my pipe!”

“Did I not say that you would soon need me?” asked Hennemann, in a triumphant voice. “Here is your pipe, general!”

When the horses had taken breath, and the bold hussars a drink, and filled their pipes, the general’s voice was again heard: “Forward in God’s name!–we shall soon be done with the French!”

Toward dusk the battle was decided. In wild disorder fled the enemy, delayed by the softened soil, blinded by the rain, and obstructed by the Katzbach and the Neisse, with their roaring waters swelling every moment. In hot pursuit was the exultant victor, thundering with his cannon, and hurling death into the ranks of the fugitives. Field-pieces were planted on the banks of those streams, and when the French approached, they were greeted with fearful volleys. Turning in dismay, flashing swords and bayonets menaced them. Piles of dead were lying on the banks of the Katzbach; thousands of corpses were floating down the foaming waters, showing to Silesia the bloody trophies of battle, and that Blucher had at length taken revenge upon his adversary. At seven o’clock in the evening all was still. On all sides the French had fled.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

BLUCHER AS A WRITER.

Darkness came, and the rain continued. The “dear little angels in heaven,” who, as Blucher said in the morning, wept for joy at the prospect of a fight, were now perhaps shedding tears of grief at the many thousands lying on the battle-field with gaping wounds, and whose last sighs were borne away on the stormy wind of the night.

Blucher rode across the field toward his headquarters; no one was by his side but his friend, General Gneisenau, and, at some distance behind them, Christian Hennemann, holding a burning pipe in his mouth. Absorbed in deep reflections, they were riding along the dreadful road strewed with dead and wounded soldiers, and through pools of blood. Even Blucher felt exhausted after the day’s work; his joy was suppressed by the incessant rain that had drenched his clothes, and by the groans of the dying, which rent his ears and filled his soul with compassion. But soon overcoming his sadness, he turned toward Gneisenau. “Well,” he said, “this battle we have gained, and all the world will have to admit it; now let us think what we may put into our bulletin to tell the people HOW we have gained it. For ten years past Bonaparte has issued such high- sounding accounts of his victories that I always felt in my anger as though my heart were a bombshell ready to burst. Well, this time, let us also draw up such a bulletin of victory, and show that we have learned something. Let us proclaim that we have conquered, and draw up the document as soon as we arrive at Brechtelshof.”

“General, you will have to decide the name of the battle,” said Gneisenau. “How is it to be known in history?”

“Yes, that is true,” said Blucher, thoughtfully, “it must have a name. Well, propose one, Gneisenau!”

“We might call it the battle of Brechtelshof, because the headquarters of our brave chieftain, our Father Blucher, are at that place,” said Gneisenau, in a mild tone.

“No, do not mix me up with the matter,” said Blucher, hastily; “the good God has vouchsafed us a victory, let us humbly thank Him for it, and not grow overbearing.–Wait, I have it now! We shall call it, in honor of General von Sacken, the battle of the Katzbach; for, by Sacken’s vigorous cannonade from Eichholz, on the Katzbach, and with the assistance of his brave cavalry, that drove the enemy into the river, we gained the victory, and the battle ought to have that name. ‘The battle of the Katzbach!’–Well, here are our quarters!”

“Now, general, you must rest,” said Gneisenau, with the tenderness of a son. “You must change your dress, take food, and repose on your laurels, though there is but a straw mattress for you.”

Blucher shook his head. “My clothes will dry quickest if I keep them on my body,” he said, “and I must do so, for we have still a great many things to attend to; we must inform the king of our victory, take care of our wounded, arrange for the pursuit of the enemy; and, finally, write the bulletins of victory. We may take refreshment, but I do not care for laurels with it–laurels are bitter. But let us take a drink, and smoke a pipe.–Pipe-master!”

Fifteen minutes afterward, General Blucher entered with Gneisenau the small chamber called his headquarters; all the other rooms were filled with the wounded prior to the general’s arrival at Brechtelshof. Pains had been taken to render this chamber as cosy and comfortable as possible, and, when Blucher entered, he was gratified in seeing a straw mattress near the wall, and on the table (beside a flickering tallow-candle placed in a bottle) a flask of wine, with a few glasses, and near it a large inkstand and several sheets of paper.

“Well,” cried Blucher, cheerfully, “let us divide fraternally, Gneisenau; I will take the wine, and you the ink. But, first, I will give you a glass, and in return you will afterward let me have a drop of ink.” Sitting down on one of the wooden stools, he quickly filled two glasses to the brim. “Gneisenau,” he said, solemnly, “let us drink this in honor of those who are lying on the battle-field, and who hare died like brave men! May God bid them welcome, and be a merciful Judge to them! Let us drink also in commemoration of Queen Louisa and Scharnhorst, who both doubtless looked down upon us from heaven to-day, and assisted us in achieving a victory. To them I am indebted for all I am. But for the angelic face of the queen the calamity of the accursed year 1807 would have driven me to despair and death: and but for Scharnhorst I should never have been appointed general-in-chief. Why, they all considered me a bombastic old dotard of big words and small deeds; but Scharnhorst defended me before the king and the emperor, and what I am now I am through him, because he, the noblest of men, believed in me. And I will not give the lie to his faith, I will still accomplish glorious things–to- day’s work is only a beginning.”

“But what you have done to-day is something glorious, your excellency,” said Gneisenau. “That we have gained the battle, thanks to your generalship and the enthusiasm of the troops, is not the greatest advantage. A more important one is, that the Silesian army has been able to prove what it is, and what a chieftain is at its head. Now, all those will be silenced who constantly mistrusted and suspected us; who tried to sow the seeds of discord between the Silesian army and the headquarters of the allies; and who were intent on preventing your excellency from entering upon an independent and energetic course of action.”

“It is true, they call me a mad hussar,” said Blucher, shrugging his shoulders; “and Bonaparte, as I read somewhere the other day, calls me even a drunken hussar. Well, no matter! let them say what they please. And, moreover, they are all, to some extent, justified in making such assertions; for I cannot deny that the years of waiting, during which I was obliged to swallow my grief, really made me a little mad, and with sobriety I never intend to meet Bonaparte; but, for all that, it is unnecessary for me to be drunk with wine. I am still intoxicated with joy that we have at length been allowed to attack the French, and God grant that I may never awaken from this intoxication! Well, Gneisenau, now let us go to work!–you with the ink, and I with the wine! Draw up the necessary instructions for the pursuit of the enemy, and, in the mean time, I will consider what I have to write.”

Gneisenau took the pen, and wrote; Blucher the glass, and drank. Half an hour passed in silence; Gneisenau then laid down his pen, for he had finished the instructions; and Blucher pushed the glass aside, for the bottle was empty.

“I beg leave now to read the instructions to your excellency,” said Gneisenau.

“No,” said Blucher, “not now! I have myself gathered some thoughts, and if I defer writing them down, they will fly away like young swallows. Such ideas, that are to be written down, are not accustomed to have their nest in my head, and for this reason I will let them out immediately. I will write to the king and to the city of Breslau, informing him that we have gained the battle, and the city of Breslau that it ought to do something for my wounded. Give me the pen; I shall not be long about it.” With extraordinary rapidity he wrote words of such a size that it would have been easy even for a short-sighted person to read them at a distance; and, although they were drawn across the paper very irregularly, the general always took pains to have broad intervals between the lines, that there might be no probability of leaving them illegible. A sheet was soon filled; Blucher fixed his signature, and contemplated the paper for a moment. Half an hour afterward two other sheets, filled with strange and uncouth characters, lay before the old general, and he cast the pen aside with a sigh. “It is abominable work to write letters,” he said; “I cannot comprehend why you, Gneisenau, who are so good a soldier, at the same time know so well how to wield the pen. It is not my forte, although I had a notion once to be a savant, and really become a sort of writer. In those calamitous days, subsequent to 1807, despair and ennui sought for some relief to my mind, and made me write a book, and I believe a good one.”

“A book?” asked Gueisenau, in amazement. “And you had it printed, your excellency?”

“Not I; I was no such fool as to do that. The critics and newspaper editors, who talk about every thing, and know nothing, would have pounced upon my book, and severely censured it. No, my dear Gneisenau, one must not cast pearls before swine. I keep my book in my desk, and show it only to those whom I particularly esteem. When we return home from the campaign I will let you read it; I know it will please you, and you will learn something. My work is called ‘Observations on the Instruction and Tactics of Cavalry.’ A splendid title, is it not? Well, you may believe me, there is a great deal in it, and many a one would be glad of having written it. [Footnote: Blucher was proud of this work, the only one he ever wrote, and always referred to it in terms of great satisfaction.–Vide Varnhagen von Ense, “Life of Prince Blucher of Wahlstatt,” p. 530.] Let us say no more about it. Here are my two dispatches; there is the letter to the king, and here is my letter to the city of Breslau, and–you must do me a favor, Gneisenau. You must read what I have written, and if I have made any blunders in orthography or grammar, be so kind as to correct them.”

“But, your excellency,” said Gneisenau, “no one can express himself so vigorously as you, and no one knows how to put the right word in the right place as quickly as you do.”

“Yes, as to the words, yon are right. But the grammar! there’s the rub. Men are so foolish as to refuse speaking as they please, but render life even more burdensome by all sorts of grammatical rules. I have never in my whole life paid any attention to them, but have spoken my mind freely and fearlessly. But as people really do consider him a blockhead who does not talk as they do, let us humor them, and please correct my mistakes; but, pray, do so in such a manner that it will not be found out.” He handed Gneisenau the pen, and pushed the two letters toward him. “Correct what I have written,” he said; “in the mean time I will read what you have written.”

“And pray be so kind as to correct it, too, your excellency,” begged Gneisenau, “for possibly I may have made mistakes weighing heavier than mere infractions of grammatical rules, and I may not have succeeded in rendering your instructions in words as concise and distinct as you gave them to me.”

“Well, we shall see,” exclaimed Blucher, smiling, and taking up the paper.

“Very good,” he said, after reading it through, “every thing is done just as I wished it, and if all our commanders act in accordance with these instructions, we shall give the enemy no time for taking a position anywhere, but completely disperse his forces without being compelled to fight another battle.”

“And when the city of Breslau reads this noble and affecting plea for your wounded,” said Gneisenau, “they will be nursed in the most careful manner, and our able-bodied soldiers will receive wagon- loads of food and refreshments. And when the king reads this dispatch, announcing our victory in language so modest and unassuming, his heart will feel satisfaction, and he will rejoice equally over the victory and the general to whom he is indebted for it.”

“Have you corrected the grammatical blunders?”

“I have, your excellency; I have erased them so cautiously that no one can see that any thing has been corrected.”

“Well, then, be so kind as to dispatch a courier.”

“But, your excellency,” said Gneisenau, “shall the courier take only these two dispatches? Have you forgotten that you promised Madame von Blucher to write to her after every battle, whether victorious or not, and that I solemnly pledged her my word to remind your excellency of it?”

“Well, it is unnecessary to remind me,” cried Blucher, taking up the letter he had first written. “Here is my letter to Amelia. She is a faithful wife, and I surely owed it to her to tell her first that the Lord has been kind and gracious enough toward me to let me gain the battle. But you need not correct it. My Amelia will not blame me for my grammatical blunders, and to her I freely speak my mind.”

“Did you inform your wife, too, that you drew your sword yourself, and rushed into the thickest of the fray?”

“I shall take good care not to tell her any thing of the kind,” exclaimed Blucher. “As far as that is concerned, I did not speak my mind to her. It is true I had promised my dear wife to be what she calls sensible, and only to command and play the distinguished general who merely looks on while others do the fighting. But it would not do–you must admit, Gneisenau, it would not do; I could not stand still like a scarecrow, while my old adjutant, Katzeler, was charging with the hussars; I had to go with them, if it cost my life. You will do me the favor, however, not to betray it to Amelia.”

“Even though I should be silent, your excellency, your wife would hear of it.”

“You believe Hennemann will tell her?” asked Blucher, almost in dismay. “Yes, it is true, she has ordered the pipe-master not to lose sight of me in battle, and always to remain near me with the pipe. Well, the fellow has kept his word; but he will now also fulfil what he promised my wife, and tell her every thing. Yes, the pipe-master will tell her that I was in the charge of the light cavalry.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Gneisenau, smiling, “he will betray to your wife and to history that Blucher fought and charged at the battle of the Katzbach like a young man of twenty. But for the pipe-master history might not know it at all.”

“Gneisenau, you are decidedly too sharp,” cried Blucher, stroking his mustache. “Well, please forward the dispatches, and then let us try to sleep a little. We must invigorate ourselves, for we shall have plenty to do to-morrow. ‘Forward, always forward!’ until Bonaparte is hurled from his throne; and hurled from it he will be! Yes, as sure as there is a God in heaven!”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE REVOLT OF THE GENERALS.

On the morning of the 10th of October, Napoleon took leave of the King and Queen of Saxony, after delivering at Eilenburg, whither he had repaired with the royal family of Saxony, a solemn and enthusiastic address to the corps which his faithful ally, King Frederick Augustus, had added to his army, and which was to fight jointly with the French against his enemies. He then entered the carriage and rode to Duben, followed by his staff, the whole park of artillery, and all the equipages. Gloomy and taciturn, the emperor, on his arrival at the palace of Duben, retired into his apartments and spread out the maps, on which colored pins marked the various positions of the allies and his own army. “They are three to one against me,” he murmured, bending over the maps and contemplating the pins. “Were none but determined and energetic generals, like Blucher, at their head, my defeat would be certain. They would then hem me in, bring on a decisive battle, and their overwhelming masses would crush me and my army. Fortunately, there is no real harmony among the allies; they will scatter their forces, post them here and there, and in the mean time I shall march to Berlin, take the city, repose there, and, with renewed strength, attack them one after another. Ah, I shall succeed in defeating them, I–“

There was a low knock at the door, and Constant, his valet de chambre, entered the room. “Sire,” he said, “Marshal Marmont and the gentlemen of the staff are in the reception-room, and request your majesty graciously to grant them an audience.”

An expression of surprise overspread the emperor’s face, and for an instant he seemed to hesitate; but gently nodding he said, calmly: “Open the door. I grant them the audience.”

Constant opened the folding-doors, and in the reception-room were seen the marshals and generals assembled. Their faces were pale and gloomy, and there was something solemn and constrained in their whole bearing. When Napoleon appeared on the threshold, the groups dispersed, and the gentlemen placed themselves in line, silent and noiseless, along the wall opposite the emperor, seemingly at a loss whether they or the emperor should utter the first word. Napoleon advanced a few steps. For the first time his generals, the companions of so many years and so many battles, seemed unable to bear the emperor’s glance. Napoleon saw this, and a bitter smile flitted over his face. “Marmont,” he exclaimed, in his ringing voice, “what do you all want? Speak!”

“Sire,” said the marshal, “we wish to take the liberty of addressing a question and a request to your majesty.”

“First, the question, then!”

“Sire, we take the liberty of asking whether your majesty really intends to cross the Elbe with the army, and to resume the struggle on the right bank?”

“You ask very abruptly and bluntly,” said Napoleon, haughtily. “I need not listen to you, but I will do so, nevertheless. I will reply to your question, not because I must, but because I choose to do so. Yes, gentlemen, I intend to transfer the whole army to the right bank of the Elbe in order to occupy Brandenburg and Berlin, then face about to the river, and make Magdeburg the support of my further operations. [Footnote: Beitzke, vol. ii., p. 491.] This is my plan, and you, according to your duty, will assist me in carrying it into execution. I have replied to your question. Now let me hear your request.”

“Sire,” said Marmont, after a brief silence, “now that we have heard your gracious reply, I dare to give expression to our request, which is not only ours, but that of all the officers of the army of France. Sire, we implore you, give up this bold plan of operations; do not vainly shed the blood of thousands! The odds are too great, not only in numbers, but in warlike ardor. The enemy is struggling against us with the fanaticism of hatred, and his threefold superiority seems to secure victory to him. Our army, on the contrary, is exhausted and tired of war, and the consciousness of being engaged in a struggle that apparently holds out no prospects of ultimate success, is paralyzing both its physical and moral strength. Sire, we implore you, in the name of France, make peace! Let us return to the Rhine! Let us at last rest from this prolonged war! Oh, sire, give us peace!”

“Oh, sire, give us peace!” echoed the generals, in solemn chorus.

The emperor’s eyes were fixed in succession upon the faces of the bold men who dared thus to address him, and who, at this hour, confronted him in a sort of open revolt. An expression of anger flushed his face for an instant, and his features resumed their impenetrable, stony look. “You have come to hold a council of war with me,” he said. “To be sure, I have not summoned you, but no matter. It is your unanimous opinion that we should return to the Rhine, and thence to France, avoid further battles, and make peace?”

“Sire, we pray your majesty this time to repress your military genius under the mantle of your imperial dignity,” cried the marshal. “As soon as the general is silent, the emperor will perceive that his people and his country need repose and peace. France has given her wealth, her vigor, and her blood, for twenty years of victories, and she has joyfully done so; but now her wealth is exhausted, her strength and her youth are gone, for there are in France no more young men, only the aged, invalids, and children; the fighting-men lie on the battle-fields. Boys have been enrolled, and are forming the young army of your majesty. Sire, it is the last blood that France has to sacrifice: spare it! The enemy is thrice as strong as we are, and even the military genius of your majesty will be unable to achieve victories in so unequal a struggle. Listen, therefore, to reason, to necessity, and to our prayer; make peace. Sire, let us return to France!”

Another flush suffused Napoleon’s face, but he controlled his anger. “You believe, then, that it depends on me only to make peace?” he asked, in a calm voice. “You think we would find no obstacles in our way if we endeavored now to return to France?–that the enemy would leave the roads open to us, and be content with our evacuating Germany? This is a great mistake, gentlemen. I cannot make peace, for the allies would not accept it. They know their strength, and are intent on having war. You say their armies are thrice as strong as mine, and that is the reason why we could not conquer? I might reply to you what the great Conde replied to his generals, when he was about to attack the superior Spanish army, ‘Great battles are gained with small armies.’ And on the following day he gained the battle of Lons. Yes, gentlemen, the victor of Rocroy and Lons was right; great battles are gained with small armies; only we must make our dispositions correctly, and scatter the forces of our adversaries, instead of giving them an opportunity to concentrate upon one point. It is, therefore, of vital importance for me to hold the line of the Elbe, for with it I possess all the strong points of Bohemia; and, besides, the fortresses of Custrin, Stettin, and Glogau, are close to it. If I have to abandon that river, I abandon all Germany to the Rhine, with all the fortresses, and the vast materiel stored there. That would be to weaken us and strengthen the enemy, now on the left bank. I will, therefore, cross to the right bank of the Elbe, for thence I am able to deploy my whole army without hinderance, and connect my line with Davoust at Hamburg, and St. Cyr at Dresden. We shall easily take Berlin, raise the sieges of Glogau, Stettin, and Custrin, and become masters of the situation. Prussia, the hot-bed of this fermentation and revolution, will be subjugated and crushed. That will discourage the others, and they will fall back as they have so often, their plans will be disorganized, and then I shall have gained my cause; for the strength of the allies consists chiefly in the fact that they are temporarily in harmony. Let us disorganize their plans, foster their separate interests, and we gain every thing. When the Prussians see their country threatened, they will hasten to its assistance; the Russians, Swedes, and Austrians, will refuse to change and reorganize their plans of operations for the sake of Prussia, and discord will prevent them from acting. If Germany had been united, and acted with one will, I could not have taken from her a single village or fortress. Fortunately, however, the people do not act unanimously; wherever ten Germans are assembled, there are also ten separate interests at war among them, and this fact has delivered the country into my hands. Let us, therefore, profit by this national peculiarity; let us stir up their separate interests, and that will be as advantageous as though we gained a battle. We shall, then, cross over to the right bank of the Elbe, make Berlin our centre, support our left on Dresden, our right on Magdeburg, and face toward the west. At all events, this will bring about an entire change of position, and it will then be my task to force my plans of operation upon the allies.” [Footnote: Beitzke, vol. ii., p. 492.] “A task that would be easily accomplished by the genius of your majesty, which is so superior to that of all the generals of the allies,” said the marshal; “but still this whole plan, how admirable soever it may be, is altogether too bold. If we pass over to the right bank of the Elbe, we would give up all connection with France; the allies, it would be believed, had, by skilful manoeuvres, cut us off–hurled us into inevitable destruction. Moreover–your majesty will pardon me for this observation–we can no longer count upon the assistance of our German auxiliaries. They will abandon us at the very moment when we need them most. Even Bavaria is no longer a reliable ally, for, notwithstanding the benefits your majesty has conferred on her, she is about to ally herself with Austria. Sire, you said a few minutes ago that you counted upon the discord of the Germans, but this exists no more, or rather it exists only among the princes; but we have no longer to fight the latter alone–we have to struggle against the genius of Germany, which has risen against us, and for the first time the whole nation is united in hatred and wrath. Sire, this national spirit is more powerful than all princes and all armies, for it overcomes the princes, and makes new armies spring as if from the ground to defend the sacred soil of the fatherland. Those armies we shall be unable to conquer: for one-half of ours is composed of soldiers exhausted by continued wars, and longing for peace; and the other half of young, ignorant conscripts, who will yield to unwonted privations. Therefore, sire, I dare renew my prayer, and implore your majesty to give up your plan against Berlin! Let us not pass over to the right bank of the Elbe, but march toward the Rhine!”