To replenish the treasury, to create an army, to awe the turbulent, and then stand up single-handed against Europe in arms--these were the tasks before him. He set the first example of self-sacrifice, by giving into the public treasury six millions of dollars taken from his private vaults in the Tuileries.

A decree ordering a levy of 300,000 soldiers was made, and another augmenting the Guard to 112,500 men. During January of this year he issued no less than five decrees concerning his Guard. He seemed to be more solicitous about it than ever before. In the disasters of the last two years he had felt its value more than in the full tide of victory. He had fallen back on it again and again in the hour of utmost peril, and always found it a ''column of granite." Though its charge on the enemy's centre at Leipsic was not successful as at Wagram and other fields of its fame, yet it never made a nobler charge or showed more dauntless bravery. Treason and overwhelming numbers wrested the victory from its eagles.

The levy, however, was not successful. France was exhausted not only of her men, but even of her youth, and boys were now in his greatest need to form his battalions. To add to his trouble, as fortune always seems to delight in pushing down a falling favorite, the Typhus fever broke out among his troops along the Rhine. They had caught it in the plains of Germany, and these veterans who had fallen back from the different fortresses and cities which they held were swept off by thousands.

Thus he was deprived of a large number of the few experienced soldiers the disasters of the last year had left him. Notwithstanding all this and the appalling aspect of a million of men rising up and swearing to complete his overthrow--seven hundred thousand of them sweeping steadily down upon the soil of France, their bayonets pointing towards his capital—he stood nobly at bay. Having entrusted his wife and son to the National Guard in a speech full of feeling, he bade them adieu, little dreaming it was to be a final one, and set out for head-quarters at Chalons.

It was in the latter part of January that he reached the shattered and discouraged army, falling back on every side before the enemy. Rallying it by his presence, he immediately took the offensive and surprised Blucher with thirty thousand men near Brienne. The latter, however, made a stubborn resistance, and the advance guard of the French was forced to retire, when eight thousand of the Old Guard arrived and cleared the field. Blucher, however, rallied his troops behind his formidable artillery, and prepared to give battle on the following morning. Mortier who had made this bold irruption, fell back to wait the arrival of the main body, toiling up through mud and snow which the artillery sank at every step, made but slow progress. A Captain Hauillet, with a single company of the foot chasseurs of the Old Guard, was appointed to cover this retrograde movement. But soon after he had taken his position, an overwhelming force of Austrians suddenly came upon him. There seemed no escape to this devoted little band--but they were a part of the Old Guard, and if they fell, it would be like the Spartan band in Thermopylæ. Their heroic officer immediately concentrated his few soldiers and calling together the drummers he ordered the chasseurs not to fire, but to advance with the bayonet. The charge was then beaten and at the head of only a hundred and fifty men, he flung himself with such desperate energy on the five thousand Austrians advancing against him, that he broke their ranks in pieces, and put them to flight.

The battle of Brienne followed, and although the columns of the Old and Young Guard pressed forward amid the driving snow against the batteries, and stood firm under repeated charges of cavalry and infantry, yet they could not wring victory from the enemy. The constantly increasing forces of the allies rendered their numerical superiority so great that Napoleon at night ordered a retreat. He fell back to Troyes, and three days after to Nogent.

In the meantime the allied army divided. The Austrians following up Napoleon, were to march on Paris by way of Montereau down the valley of the Seine, while Blucher with the army of Silesia was to move upon Chalons, and descend by the Marne to the capital. The latter, full of energy and decision, was the antagonist first to be disposed of--for sweeping over the country without opposition, driving the affrighted peasants in crowds before him, he marched so rapidly towards Paris that the inhabitants were filled with terror.

Crippled for want of soldiers, Napoleon was unable to resist both of these formidable arrays at once, and resolved therefore to leave Victor and Oudinot with a small portion of the troops to check, as long as possible, the slow and methodical advance of the Austrians, and with the elite of the army, dash across country and inflict a sudden and terrible blow on Blucher. The latter knew that Napoleon was on his left, but this gave him no disquietude, for the head-quarters of the emperor were thirty miles distant, and the cross-roads were nothing but beds of mortar through which it would be impossible for him to drag his artillery. Besides, he had on his hands the allied army vastly superior to his own even undivided, and he would not dare leave it an open road to Paris. But a desperate condition requires desperate measures, and the advantage to Napoleon of the foolish dislocation of the invading army was too great to be neglected. So on the 9th of February he started from Nogent, and at night was half way to Blucher. But such was the state of the roads, that it required the most extraordinary exertions to complete those fifteen miles. The artillery carriages rolled along up to their axles in mud, the cavalry floundered on, while the foot soldiers could scarcely force their way. Next morning, after entering the forest of Traconne the roads became still worse, the cannon stuck fast in the clay, and the drivers declaring it was impossible to extricate them, Marmont, who commanded the advance, wheeled about. When the state of things was reported to Napoleon, he said, "The passage must be made even though the cannon are left behind." He would have been compelled to make this sacrifice of his guns, if the mayor of Barbonne had not at his command furnished five hundred horses, by which they were at length pulled out. Early on the morning of the 10th, the troops were all reunited, with the exception of a division of mounted grenadiers of the Guard which could not get through, the army in advance had so cut up and encumbered the road.

In the meantime Marmont heading still the advance, ascended at nine o'clock the heights that overlook the valley of Petit Morin, and saw with delight a corps of 5000 Prussians below him; the soldiers unconscious of danger, quietly preparing their breakfast. No sooner did the Emperor's eye take in the welcome spectacle, than he ordered a general attack, and a butchery and rout followed. The Prussian General with nearly the whole corps was taken. By this grand stroke he had cut the allied army in two, and could turn on whichever he liked.

The next morning at five o'clock, Napoleon was on horseback, hurrying on his weary troops to Montmirail to intercept Sacken, another of Blucher's generals, who, astounded at this sudden apparition of the French Emperor on his flanks, was making all haste to join his commander. But the Old Guard proved too quick for him, the infantry had left the field of battle where they had bivouacked an hour before daylight, and preceded by the mounted chasseurs, reached Montmirail, as Sacken was approaching it. The latter, to whom this town, lying as it did directly in his path, was of vital importance, immediately commenced an attack. Being superior in numbers, he was able to maintain the fight for five hours without losing ground. At length, as night approached, sixteen battalions of the Old Guard arrived, under Friant. These were immediately formed into a single column, each battalion a hundred steps from the other, and ordered to advance full on the enemy's centre. At the same time Mortier arrived with sixteen other battalions of the Young Guard, six of which took their station on the right of Friant, to sustain the attacks of the Old Guard. Sacken had forty cannon placed so as to command the approaches to his central position, while a triple row of tirailleurs sustained by battalions of infantry, lined the hedges on either side. On these murderous batteries and over these formidable obstacles the Old Guard led by Ney, advanced. Napoleon himself gave the signal of attack, and those resolute veterans charged on a run over the farm of Haute Epine. The combat was frightful-- Sacken was fighting for life--Napoleon for his empire. The Prussians were determined to be cut down to a man rather than yield, and the Old Guard for once seemed to have charged a rock--but at this moment Napoleon ordered the lancers, dragoons, and mounted grenadiers, to gain the rear and fall suddenly on the shattered masses of the enemy. As they defiled past him he said, "Brave young men, there is the enemy, will you allow him to march to Paris?" Shaking their sabres above their heads, they exclaimed, "We will not," and rending the air with shouts, broke into a gallop, and falling with irresistible power on the hitherto steady ranks, trampled them under their horses' hoofs. The rout was complete, and but the mere debris of the army escaped by a disorderly flight through the fields.

Night had now arrived, and Napoleon commanded the rally to be sounded in order to rest his exhausted troops for the next day's efforts. He slept in a farmhouse on some straw from which the enemy's wounded had just been removed, while four thousand men lay dead or dying around him. The next morning the reveille beat before daybreak, and Napoleon at the head of his tireless Guard started in pursuit. Eight Prussian battalions which did not arrive till too late to take part in the battle, covered Sacken's retreat. As the French approached, these battalions advanced to meet them, but a battalion of the Old Guard drove in the tirailleurs, while six other battalions fell on them in front. At the same time the dragoons of the Guard came thundering on, breaking through the first and second lines, and putting all to flight. The enemy lost two thousand more during the retreat of this day.

In the meantime, Blucher, who was at Virtus, had been informed of the sudden apparition of Napoleon among his divided corps by the disasters at Champ Aubert; and while the fugitives from that fatal field were pouring into the streets of the town where he lay, he heard the heavy cannonading at Montmirail and knew the danger in which Sacken was placed. Still he could not march to his relief, for he had but few troops with him, and Marmont was watching his movements. Besides he was waiting for the arrival of two corps, which were hastening to join him. At length being reinforced, he set out for Montmirail, driving Marmont before him.

Napoleon, as we have seen, had started on the 9th across the country, making thirty miles of horrible road by the morning of the 10th--having marched all night--the same day he gained the battle of Champ Aubert, the next, the 11th, he fought and won that of Montmirail, the 12th he kept up the pursuit, fighting as he went, and yet on the night of the 13th, hearing that Blucher had advanced to Etoges, he set out with his Guard and a portion of his other forces, and next morning was marching full on that place. Marmont had just evacuated the little village of Vaux Champ, fighting bravely as he retired, and was retreating along the road to Montmirail, when the bear-skin caps and eagles of the Old Guard suddenly appeared. The effect was electric. The retreating troops halted, and rending the air with the most frantic hurrahs, demanded to be led against the enemy. The Emperor was in their midst, and amid the long and deafening shouts of "Vive l'Empereur," the cavalry went hurrying forward, while the skirmishers gave way to the heads of massive columns of infantry that went rolling on the foe. Marmont's squadron of escort charged alone on the Prussians. Four squadrons of service of Napoleon followed them. Soon the whole French line was in movement, and Blucher was compelled to retreat. The road along which he passed was lined with lofty elms--in this he placed his artillery, which fired as it retired, while the infantry in solid squares moved through the fields on either side. On these the cavalry of the Guard charged incessantly, mowing them down with terrible slaughter. Especially when the enemy had passed Janvilliers and debouched into the vast open country beyond, the carnage became frightful. Drouot with his artillery, strewed the plain with the dead, while the cavalry thundered on the shaking masses in repeated shocks, carrying away whole regiments at a time. But for the miry soil in which the horse artillery got fastened, Grouchy would have taken Blucher with his whole army. As it was, out of 90,000 men, he saved less than two thirds. The cavalry of the Guard was in constant action during this combat, and with Grouchy and his squadrons, covered itself with glory.

That night Napoleon, with the Old Guard, slept at Montmirail.

But though the Guard had now travelled and fought six days without intermission, Napoleon started with it in the morning to the help of Victor and Oudinot, whom the allies, after his departure, had assailed and driven back almost to the gates of Paris.

It is painful to witness his gigantic efforts at this period, and remember they did not prove successful. After having by unheard of exertion carried his army and artillery across a country considered impassable, and fought and beaten a superior enemy five days in succession, he was overrun by couriers announcing to him that Nogent had been taken by assault, Moret, Nemours, and Montargis had fallen, that the advanced posts of the enemy were at the gates of Orleans, and the Cossacks were swarming through the forest and palace of Fontainbleau--that Auxerre had been captured and the garrison put to the sword, and the light troops of the enemy were covering the whole plain between the Seine and Loire, and that the reserve artillery and heavy baggage of the army had nearly reached the tages of Paris in its flight, filling the inhabitants with consternation. Such were the tidings that from hour to hour reached his ears, as he and his devoted Guard were pressing so fiercely the army of Blucher. No wonder he could not rest. With one inferior army he must fight two, thirty or forty miles apart. Nothing but winged troops could do this long. Still his courage and will remained unshaken. Leaving Marmont, Mortier, and Grouchy, to watch Blucher, as he had left Victor and Oudinot to resist the advance of the allies, he took with him only his tireless Guard and the cuirasseurs, and started to the help of his hard pressed lieutenants. The roads were so bad that he could not go directly across the country, and he therefore turned aside and plunged into the forest of Brie, which he found filled with fugitives, fleeing before the enemy. The infantry went by post while the cavalry marched day and night for thirty-six hours. No troops but the unconquerable Guard could have undergone the exertions and labor they had endured for six days, and then made this cross march of thirty-six hours over almost impassable roads, for the sole purpose of attacking a fresh and superior enemy.

Such deeds as these elevate it above the common standard of mortals, and fill the mind with wonder and admiration.

It was high time for Bonaparte to arrive. He had sent a despatch to Victor and Oudinot announcing that he would come by the cross-road to Chalons, and they were straining every nerve to preserve it open, for if once closed by the enemy, it would be out of the power of Napoleon to effect a junction with them. As the post wagons and other vehicles, containing the Old Guard, came on a furious gallop along this road, preceded by the cavalry, the plain in front of them was seen to be covered with clouds of smoke, amid which were heard incessant explosions of artillery. Oudinot and Victor were struggling nobly to preserve the road open, but pressed as they were by superior numbers, another hour would have found it closed and Napoleon been too late.

Ahead of all his troops, he dashed forward with his escort to where the firing was heaviest, and lo, he saw before him the whole French army in full retreat. Suddenly the standards of the cuirasseurs announcing that the Emperor had come, were seen, and then a shout went up like the cry of delirious joy. As these tired veterans swept onward, bearing their stern chieftain in their midst, "Vive l'Empereur" rolled from rank to rank, till it died away amid the explosions of cannon on the distant plain. The retreat was at once stopped along the whole line, columns of attack were formed, and the advancing enemy checked at all points.

Napoleon, satisfied with having effected this, ordered a halt, that his over-worked troops might get a little rest. The poor fellows who, exhausted as they were, would have charged the enemy's batteries without a murmur, glad of a little respite, sunk to sleep on the ground where they stood.

The next day Napoleon drove the allies from their position with great slaughter, and though the Old Guard carried its eagles triumphantly as ever, it was too exhausted to make a vigorous pursuit, by which the Bavarians were saved from utter ruin.

Two days after, February 18th, the battle of Montereau was fought. From early in the morning till late in the afternoon, Victor, and afterward Gerard, strove gallantly to carry the heights of Surville; the latter again and again leading his men up to the very mouths of forty pieces of artillery. But the sacrifice and valor were alike in vain. At length as evening approached, Napoleon came up on a gallop with the artillery and cavalry of the Old Guard. Supported by its guns, the Guard with loud shouts and resolute step, pressed forward, and storming over those flaming heights, swept them as with a single blow, of artillery, infantry, and cavalry, which rolled together down in wild confusion upon the bridge. Sixty pieces of artillery of the Old Guard were then placed where the enemy's batteries had been all day long vomiting fire on the French columns of attack, and concentrated their close and deadly volleys upon the masses crowding frantically over the bridge. In his eagerness, Napoleon took charge of a cannon, pointing it himself. The cannoneers of the Old Guard, covered with powder and smoke, gazed with wonder on their Emperor discharging the duties of a common gunner, and as the shot of the enemy whistled around them, they besought him to retire from the danger. They cared not for themselves, they were accustomed to the crash of cannon balls, but they were filled with alarm to see the messengers of death filling the air around their beloved Emperor. But he replied gaily, as the light of early days flashed over his stern features, "Courage, my friends, the bullet which is to kill me is not yet cast."

The allied army, shattered and bleeding, fled over the Seine, and joy and hope filled the bosom of Napoleon.

But while these extraordinary successes were dispelling the gloom that overhung the prospects of the Emperor, a new cloud was gathering on another portion of the French frontier. Bernadotte, whose fortunes Napoleon had made, and who, but for him, would never have been king of Sweden, whose crown the latter at any time could have crushed like a shell in his hand;--this weak-minded, selfish, ungrateful Gascon taking it into his conceited head that he might become Emperor of France, had entered his native country by way of Cologne, and with a powerful army was moving towards Paris.

Notwithstanding all this, the allied sovereigns were filled with terror and dismay at the rapid and terrible blows Napoleon had inflicted on them, and were anxious to come to terms with him before greater disasters should overtake them. With nearly two hundred thousand men, they had been scourged and humbled by seventy thousand; Blucher had lost twenty thousand, while Napoleon was weakened by not more than four thousand men. The army under Schwartzenberg too, within a few days had lost twelve thousand--in all nearly half as many men as the French Emperor had at any time brought into the field. The lion was awake again, and with his Old Guard was storming over their batteries and treading down their veteran troops as he had done at Jena, Austerlitz, and Friedland. They were alarmed, for they began to hear again his cannon thundering on the gates of their capitals. A treaty was proposed, but among other hard conditions which it contained, it required Napoleon to abandon all his conquests and restore France to the limits of the monarchy under Louis XIV. To the former part of the conditions he would consent, but to the latter, never. At Frankfort they had offered to let the Rhine form the boundary of France, and this he was now willingness to grant, great as the sacrifice was.

Many have blamed him for not accepting these terms, and reposing himself, till with recruited strength and means he might again take the field. This was the course Austria and Prussia had repeatedly pursued. When his armies were in their capitals, those monarchs would submit to any terms, inwardly resolved to violate the most sacred treaties the moment an opportunity occurred in which there was a prospect of success. Though allies with him in the invasion of Russia, they both turned against him when the disastrous retreat from Moscow had weakened his power. But Napoleon was as much above these sovereigns in magnanimity as he was in genius. He would consent to nothing but a solid peace and one honorable to himself and the French people, and when urged by his minister, Maret, to yield to necessity, he made no reply, but taking up a volume of Montesquieu, read aloud, "I know nothing more magnanimous than the resolution which a monarch took who has reigned in our times (Louis XIV.) to bury himself under the ruins of his throne rather than accept conditions unworthy of a king. He had a mind too lofty to descend lower than his fortunes had sunk him, he knew well that courage may strengthen a crown, but infamy never." Sustained by such a lofty resolution, he turned, sombre and stern and with an undaunted heart, on his foes.

It was unfortunate for him that he did not carry out his original plan of bringing Eugene from Italy to his aid. After his repulse at Rothiere, he sent a despatch to him to hasten across the Alps and threaten the allies in rear. This would have brought 40,000 fresh troops into the field, and at a dangerous point to the enemy. But his great successes gave him courage, and he countermanded the order. In fact he did not consider himself in so much peril as others did, for he had not lost a single battle, if we except the repulse at the outset, at Rothiere. He had met with but one repulse, while he and his Guard had swept every field on which they had struggled.

Having driven back the allies under Schwartzenberg, Napoleon again turned his attention to Blucher, who having recovered from the severe chastisement he had received, was marching rapidly on Paris. He had reached Meaux, only three days' march from the city, and the thunder of his cannon had been heard there, striking terror into the hearts of its inhabitants.

But this iron-willed Prussian, while exulting in the near prospect of beholding the French capital, was arrested with the stunning news that Napoleon with his Old Guard, was thundering in his rear. He immediately retreated in great haste toward Soissons, around which Bernadotte's army lay, in the hope to effect a junction with it and offer his pursuer battle. Soissons was deemed impregnable and was in possession of the French. Napoleon had sent to General Moreau, the commander, to defend it with his brave Poles, the remnant of Poniatowski's corps, to the "last drop of their blood." Instead of obeying this peremptory order, the cowardly or traitorous commander gave up the place without striking a blow, and that too just as Blucher was approaching it with his tattered, ragged, and exhausted army, feeling that he was marching on certain destruction. But for this shameful rendition, the army of Silesia would have been annihilated, and the whole aspect of the campaign changed.

Napoleon was thrown into a transport of rage at this unexpected overthrow of his sagacious combination, exclaiming, "the name of Moreau always brings misfortune." The weakness or crime of one commander, had sufficed to render all his skilful plans and wearisome marches fruitless. While he was expecting to deal a death-blow to the army of Silesia, and then turn back as before, and punish the tardy army, under Schwartzenberg, he saw the former join his troops to those of Bernadotte, swelling their forces to over a hundred thousand men, while he had not half that number under his command. It was enough to break the heart of a strong man to see genius and effort thus rendered useless, and such splendid combinations overthrown by the fault of one officer. It seemed as if Fate was determined to drive this great soul to madness. Napoleon, however, with his exhausted army, moved forward and attacked the enemy in their almost impregnable position at Craonne. Prodigies of valor were performed in this bloody attack. Drouot in the midst of his guns, the Old Guard staggering under the fire of sixty cannon, wearied columns plunging with loud cheers on positions that looked unassailable, unbounded devotion of officers and men, combined to make it one of the most remarkable days of Napoleon's life. Still it was the Old Guard that wrought the miracles that paralyzed the enemy, and finally forced it to retire. In writing to Joseph, Napoleon said, "The Old Guard alone stood firm--the rest melted like snow." Alas, the Old Guard had also melted away, but only under the tremendous fire of the enemy's batteries, and on the spot where they stood.

Napoleon now saw that from the perils which environed him, nothing short of a miracle could deliver him, and while traversing this bloody battle-field in gloom, said, "I see clearly that this war is an abyss, but I will be the last to bury myself in it. If we must wear the fetters it is not I who will stretch out my hands to receive them."

Firm and calm he still stood at bay--nay, pushed boldly on the enemy. Following up the retreating armies of Blucher and Bernadotte to Laon, he resolved to give battle, though the enemy occupied an exceedingly strong position with a force more than double his own. It was a desperate resolution, but nothing short of desperate means could save him.

Having taken up his position in front of the place, he however waited the arrival of Marmont to whom he had sent despatches to join him, before venturing an attack. This marshal who, with great generalship, was always committing egregious blunders, was fast coming up, and on the 9th bivouacked within a few miles of Napoleon. The next day he would have effected a junction. Yet notwithstanding he was in the neighborhood of the enemy, with whom he had been engaged during the day, he allowed himself to be surprised at night, and utterly annihilated.

This unexpected disaster compelled Napoleon to retreat. It was with gloomy forebodings that after such prodigious efforts he took up his retrograde march without having struck a decisive blow.

Before he left Laon, however, he made the enemy feel the weight of his terrible Guard, which so daunted them that no pursuit was attempted.

Overmatched and exhausted as Napoleon now was, he still looked resolutely on the circle of fire that was steadily growing narrower around him. His great heart beat as firmly as in the hour of victory, and the depth of his anguish could be seen only by the increased sternness and gravity of his aspect. He seemed to be gazing gloomily into the future, and as he stood amid his unconquerable Guard, now no longer in complete uniform with burnished arms, but ragged and wan, besmeared with smoke and powder, he seemed the embodiment of thought surrounded by the shattered instruments of power. Those scarred veterans who had so often sent up the shout of victory at his presence, gazed on him with greater awe than ever. In the long and silent moods that came over him, they saw the terrible future before them. They were not accustomed to such constant fits of abstraction, and they jocularly called him "Father Thoughtful." Still their secret convictions belied their outward gaiety, for although they felt strong in their resolution and valor, they could not but see that the struggle was growing hopeless. To die for their Emperor was an easy task, but would that save him! Forgetting themselves, they thought only of him, as he, forgetting himself, thought only of France.

But though wearied and overtasked, his was a will that nothing could break--a heart that no danger or calamity could crush, and while Blucher was resting idle at Laon, he fell suddenly on Rheims, occupied by St. Priest with 14,000 men, and took it, relieving the army of a third of its number, together with its infamous commander. Here he had a last review of his Old Guard, and a sad spectacle those scarred veterans presented. For nearly two months they had marched over the most impassable roads, fought two armies each superior to their own, submitted to unparalleled fatigue without a murmur; and now haggard and wan, their uniform in tatters, their horses mere skeletons, their guns battered and black, all showing what privations and toil and incessant conflicts they had endured, they looked the mere wreck of their former selves. Still their appearance was nothing compared to that of the broken down young conscripts and other portions of the army. As Napoleon saw these last defile past him, a frown darkened his features, for "coming events were casting their shadows before," but when his glance fell on the eagles of the Old Guard, and he beheld their firm set ranks move by, a smile of triumph relaxed his stern expression, for he felt that he might not despair so long as that iron band closed around him.

No sooner was Schwartzenberg apprised of Napoleon's departure to arrest Blucher, than he advanced against the slight curtain of troops under Oudinot and Macdonald, left to dispute his advance to Paris. The French marshals were of course driven back, although obstinately contesting every inch of ground as they retired.

The serious aspect of affairs in this quarter hurried Napoleon back as before, but not victorious as then over Blucher.

His junction with Oudinot filled the allies with alarm, and Schwartzenberg hastily concentrated his forces, fearing one of those sudden and desperate blows the Emperor was accustomed to give with his Old Guard. The latter endeavored to manœuvre on the flank and rear of the enemy, but their rapid concentration prevented him, so that he was compelled to attack a force double his own, and the battle of Arcis-sar-Aube was fought. On the first day Napoleon was in the midst of the Guard, who stood firm as a rock under one of the most terrific cannonades to which they had ever been exposed. Nearly every one of his staff was killed or wounded by his side. A bomb fell in front of one of the battalions of conscripts, which caused a sudden confusion in their ranks. Napoleon, conscious of his imminent peril unless his troops stood firm, spurred fiercely up to the shell and made his horse smell it. It burst, overthrowing both him and his steed. With the same impassible face, whose serenity no power on earth seemed able to disturb, he arose from his mutilated steed and calmly mounting another, stood with gloom on his brow, but grand and resolute as ever, in the vortex of the battle. Again and again he spurred at the head of his Guard on the most deadly batteries, and though all around him were struck, he seemed to bear a charmed life.

At ten at night the batteries ceased playing, and the two armies sunk to rest on the field they had piled with the dead.

The next day Napoleon seeing that it was useless to contend in such a position against an army so vastly superior to his own, commenced a retreat, which he effected in perfect order, though a hundred cannon were playing upon his retiring columns. The loss was nearly equal in this bloody engagement, and neither could claim the victory, but nothing now could arrest the double movement of the allies on Paris. Napoleon then saw the mistake he had made in not having relinquished his hold on Holland, Italy, and Spain, and brought up the veteran armies that were there struggling to retain his possessions. Still he did not despair, and hoped to divert the allies from their onward movement by marching back towards the Rhine, and falling on their communications. To his surprise, however, they let him go, and moved en masse upon Paris. When he at last discovered their determination, he wheeled about, and taking with him the Old Guard, strained every nerve to reach the city before its downfall. Previous to starting, however, he delivered another of his terrible blows on the force left to watch his movements.

The devoted Guard which had borne the weight of this campaign, which was called "Campaign of the Imperial Guard," and had made unparalleled marches and endured privations that would have broken the spirit and strength of any other soldiers in Europe, were now called upon to put forth still greater efforts. When Napoleon announced to them that the enemy was marching on Paris, and they must hasten to its relief, they answered him with a shout, and soon those brave men were seen moving like winged troops over the country. Although in the most frightful condition, having been without bread for the last six days, and for the most part barefoot, suffering grievously for the mere necessaries of life, they cheerfully traversed the miry roads in the midst of pelting storms, sternly crowding after their agitated, but still indomitable chief. A little after midnight of the 30th, they arrived at Troyes, having marched twenty-four hours without rest, making the astonishing distance of forty miles. But no troops could long stand such a strain, and Napoleon was compelled to leave them behind to rest a short time; and proceeded alone without any escort towards Paris. His agitation, wild ride, and distress and anger when he heard of the capitulation of the city, are well known. The thunderbolt had fallen.

But dark as the prospect now grew around him, he did not yield to despair. He had entered the capitals of every sovereign whose troops now swarmed through Paris. In their kingly palaces he had dictated terms to them and treated them like kings still, and they must reciprocate this treatment. But to his surprise those monarchs, who had not hesitated to make treaties with him up to the last moment, no sooner found themselves in possession of Paris, than they refused to recognise him as a legitimate sovereign. Ah, how deeply he must have regretted then the leniency he had shown them in former years, and bitterly remembered the hour when, with a single blow, he could have dismembered faithless Austria, but forbore.

Still his case was not hopeless--he had bivouacked amid the ashes of Moscow, but the Russian army did not die. He had bombarded Vienna, but the king remained; he had marched into Berlin, but the Prussian columns were not extinct. True, Paris had fallen and he looked round on a vast ruin; but the monarchs who spurned him now had looked upon as great a ruin wrought by his hands, and with less genius and resources than he possessed, had risen again, and he would show them the lion was not yet dead. He had not been beaten in a single battle--only once, and that in the first engagement at Rothiere, had he been even repulsed. With vastly inferior forces he had been victorious in every engagement. Through constant defeats the enemy had entered his capital. He had been accustomed to march over routed armies into their capitals, but over him and that Old Guard they could not with their gathered millions go. They had succeeded because with his few troops he could not block every passage leading from the extended frontiers of France to its heart. With one army he could not spread himself the whole breadth of his empire and arrest the march of three armies. Against either one he was always successful, and but for accidents no man could anticipate, instead of beating these separately, he would have annihilated them in succession. But he had failed, and now he stood amid perils that might well daunt the stoutest heart. Still there was room for hope. Suchet had 20,000 veterans in Spain. Soult, who had retreated into France, had over 30,000. Marmont and Mortier, who had retired from Paris on its capture, had also a large army. Augereau was at the head of another, Prince Eugene of another, while his own forces numbered 60,000, among which, with spirits unbroken, was the steadfast Old Guard. Besides all these, Davoust still held Hamburg, and Carnot Bergen op Zoom, which places, together with Magdebourg, Wesel, Mayence, Barcelona, Antwerp, Mantua, and Alexandria, contained over 90,000 men and twelve thousand cannon all at his disposal. One of the last shouts in the battle around Paris, was "Vive l' Empereur," from some of the Old Guard who had fought like lions under Curial. His marshals--veterans tried in a hundred battles--also remained to him. Davoust, Suchet, Soult, Victor, Marmont, Mortier, Massena, Eugene, and Ney--hosts in themselves, were left. Not an army had been dissipated, and he could look around on a force vast enough, with him and his marshals at its head, to cope with Europe in arms against him.

At all events he would strike for his empire, so long as a blow could be given. Filled with this determination, he, at Fontainbleau, whither he had retired, immediately began to put his Guard in a proper condition for active service. Having made several changes among the commanding officers, he reviewed it. The infantry were ranged along two sides; fifteen deep, and after he had gone through their ranks, he called around him the older officers and soldiers of each company, and forming them in a circle, said, "Soldiers, the enemy has stolen three marches on us, and entered Paris. We must drive them out of it. The unworthy French emigrants whom we have pardoned, have assumed the white cockade and jointed the enemy. The poltroons-- they shall receive the reward of this new attempt. Let us swear to conquer or die, to make this tri-colored cockade respected, which, for twenty years, has always been found in the path of glory and honor." With one voice they cried, "Yes, yes, we swear it, "Vive l'Empereur." The infantry then defiled rapidly by and gave place to the cavalry which shook their sabres as they passed, crying, "Vive l'Empereur." This unconquerable corps had derived from its intrepid leader the indomitable will and heroic bearing in the midst of adversity. Though just relieved from unparalleled efforts and sufferings, worn down by fatigue, and needing repose, they were ready at his command to encounter still greater hardships and undergo still heavier privations. Over many a doubtful battle-field, through the snow and frosts of Russia, past flaming batteries, with their brave arms around him, they had carried him all steadily forward, and were ready again to enfold him in their solid squares, and bid defiance to the world in arms. Rising in moral grandeur above the most disheartening circumstances, above every selfish gratification and fear of peril or death, they stood there by their wrecked Emperor, the same "column of granite" to which again and again he had riveted his fortunes and his empire in safety.

Immediately after the review, the Guard took up their march for Essonnes, where Marmont lay with his army. They reached it late at night and encamped outside.

But when Marmont discovered that Napoleon, instead of bending to the storm was determined to breast it boldly, and again take the field, he opened secret negotiations with the allies, the result of which was, he, with his army, were to abandon the important position of Essonnes and join them. He accordingly at four o'clock in the morning of the 5th of April, having previously ordered that profound silence should be maintained in the ranks, took up his line of march. This early departure and silent march was taken to deceive the troops, who supposed they were about to be led against the enemy. They did not discover their error till they saw the Bavarian army marching by their side, ready to arrest any movement which might be made against their commander. The Polish cavalry, however, no sooner saw how they had been betrayed, than they struck their spurs into their horses and bursting away, came in a fierce gallop to Fontainbleau, and reported the treason. When Napoleon heard it, he exclaimed, "Who could have believed Marmont capable of such an act, a man with whom I have divided my bread, whom I drew from obscurity, whose fortune and reputation I made. The lot of sovereigns is to make ingrates. Ah, surely his troops did not know whither he was leading them, and yet he has always before this given me the most lively proofs of attachment." Soon after, Ney began to vacillate--declaring it was useless to prosecute the war. The young generals were eager to march against the enemy, but the marshals and older officers were tired of the protracted conflict. Besides, the defection of Marmont had thrown a gloom over the whole army. His example was contagious, and a sudden revulsion of feeling and enthusiasm followed, and Napoleon saw that his veteran generals could not be relied upon. The allies took advantage of this state of things and immediately rose in their demands. At first they had stipulated that Napoleon should abdicate in favor of his son--now they required him to abdicate unconditionally. The senate taking courage, dethroned him. When this decision was brought him, he gave way to a torrent of indignation, and refused in the most peremptory manner to sign his abdication. With light flashing from his eyes, and his iron will written on every feature of his pale countenance, he declared he would put himself again at the head of his armies, and fall on the field of battle, rather than submit to such humiliation; and it was not till his marshals gave him to understand that they would not go with him, that he consented to yield.

In his formal abdication, which followed, he said, "The powerful allies having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon is the only obstacle in the way of the peace of Europe, The Emperor Napoleon, faithful to his oath, declares that he renounces for himself and his heirs, the thrones of France and Italy, since it is not merely any personal sacrifice, but that of his life he would make for the interests of France." He then conversed with the generals of his Guard, saying, "Now that all is ended, and I can no longer remain here, your interest is with the Bourbon family. It will rally all parties. The king, they say, has judgment and discretion. He will not wish, I think, to attach his name to a bad reign. If he is wise, in occupying my bed at the Tuilleries, he will only change the drapery. If his family are wise, you will be happy, but he must treat the army well, and not attempt to bring back the past, otherwise, his reign will be short." Thus he went on uttering truths that a Bourbon could never understand, till driven from his throne. His abdication was followed by the most shameful desertion, which broke his spirit more than all the disasters which for the last two years had accumulated upon him, or the loss of his throne. "After it," says Caulincourt, his grand equery, "every hour was marked by fresh voids in the Emperor's household. The universal object was how to get first to Paris. All persons in office quitted their places without leave, or even asking permission; one after another they all slipped away, totally forgetting him to whom they owed everything, but who no longer had anything to give. The universal complaint was, that he so long delayed the formal announcement of his abdication. "It was high time," every one said, "for all this to come to an end; it is absolute childishness to remain any longer in the anti-chambers of Fontainbleau when favors are showering down at Paris," and with that they all set out for the capitol. Such was their anxiety to hear of his abdication, that they pursued misfortune even into its last asylum; and every time the door of the cabinet opened, a crowd of heads was seen peeping in to gain the first hint of the much longed-for news." His household was deserted of men of distinction, with the exception of Maret and Caulincourt. Even his valet Constant, who had served him fourteen years, stole a hundred thousand francs and ran away, and the Mameluke Roustan, with him. The defection reached the army. Berthier left him without even a formal adieu. When Napoleon heard of his departure, he said scornfully, "He was born a courtier; you will see my vice-constable mendicating employment from the Bourbons. I feel mortified that men whom I have raised so high in the eyes of Europe should sink so low. What have they made of that halo of glory through which they have hitherto been seen by the stranger. What must the sovereigns think of such a termination to those who have illustrated my reign." The old generals whom he had covered with glory hastened to offer their swords to their new master, and in the struggle on every side for place and preferment, Napoleon was abandoned. This was an unexpected blow, and it broke him down. That will of iron and soul of indomitable courage that no misfortune or danger could shake, and he who, when alone, could bend his haughty brow on the sovereigns of Europe, greater in his isolation than they in their triumphs, sunk under the desertion of his followers. It was the only time in his life that he ever exhibited weakness, and he resolved to take his own life. Those around him observed a strangeness of demeanor, as if the present was forgotten, and something remote and mysterious absorbed his thoughts. He spoke of the heroes of antiquity who would not survive their misfortunes, and on the night of the 12th, on taking leave of Caulincourt, he said with a look of settled melancholy, "My resolution is taken; we must end, I feel it." A few hours after, Caulincourt was awakened by Napoleon's valet, who rushing in, said that the Emperor was in convulsions and dying. As he reached the apartment, he saw Maret and Bertrand standing over the bed, from which arose stifled groans wrung by agony from the breast of the royal sufferer. Soon after Ivan, his surgeon, ran in greatly terrified; for he had seen Napoleon shortly after retiring, rise and pour some liquid from a vial and drink it. This liquid he had just discovered to be a subtle poison he himself mixed for the Emperor when in Russia, to be taken in the last emergency, if captured by the Cossacks. Caulincourt leaned over him and took his hand and found it already cold. The Emperor opened his eyes and said in a feeble voice, "Caulincourt, I am about to die. I recommend to you my wife and son--defend my memory. I could no longer endure life. The desertion of my old companions in arms had broken my heart." The bolt had come from his brave "companions in arms" with whom he had toiled over so many battle-fields, shared so many hardships, and triumphed together in so many victories, and whose renown was a part of his own.

The dose, however, probably from being kept so long proved too weak, and after the most excruciating agony for two hours, he was relieved by violent vomiting. The spasms gradually became less severe, and at length he fell asleep. On awaking he said, "Ivan, the dose was not strong enough--God did not will it ;" and from that moment his wonted serenity returned, and he began to make preparations for his departure.

But amid this general abandonment, there was an exhibition of attachment and fidelity which more than compensated for all the disgrace in which the mighty drama was closing, and threw a halo of glory around the closing scene, worthy of Napoleon and his career. The Old Guard to a man stood firm. Not one in that vast body would leave him. Rock-fast in its affection, as in its courage, it was above the contagion of selfish example as it had ever been above that of fear. Those stern veterans saw with scorn the base abandonment of their chief, and closed around him more devotedly than ever. True, he had nothing more to give them. A banished and powerless man, they could gain nothing by adhering to his fallen fortunes but disgrace and suspicion. It mattered not; in their frozen bivouacks, on the field of carnage, in the midst of famine, and in the triumph of victory, they had enfolded him in their protecting squares, and they would not desert him now. Grand like their chief, they scorned to stoop to meanness for self-preservation. They all, with one accord, demanded permission to accompany him in his exile. This the allies would not grant; only four hundred were permitted to go as a body-guard, while fifteen hundred might escort him to the sea-side, where he was to embark.

The 20th of April was fixed for his departure, and after one more struggle, the great drama would close--he was yet to bid farewell to his faithful Guard, his companions by night and day for so many years, and through so many trying scenes. These veterans, with tears in their eyes, stood in the court of Chevalblanc, drawn up in two ranks, waiting to take farewell forever of their beloved commander. At noon he descended the stairs of the palace, and walking through the throng of carriages waiting at the door, stepped into the midst of the Old Guard, which immediately closed in a circle around him. Casting his eye over the familiar ranks, he said, in a calm but subdued voice, "Officers and soldiers of my Guard, I bid you adieu. For twenty years I have led you in the path of victory--for twenty years you have served me with honor and fidelity—receive my thanks. My aim has always been the happiness and glory of France. To-day circumstances are changed. When all Europe is armed against me, when all the princes and powers have leagued together, when a great portion of my empire is seized, and a part of France * * * * *." He paused a moment at these words, and then in an altered voice continued, "When another order of things is established, I ought to yield.

"With you and the brave men who remained devoted to me, I could have resisted all the efforts of my enemies, but I should have kindled a civil war in our beautiful France--in the bosom of our beloved country.

"Do not abandon your unhappy country; submit to your chiefs, and continue to march in the road of honor where you have always been found. Grieve not over my lot, great remembrances remain with me. I shall occupy my time nobly in writing my history and yours.

"Officers and soldiers, 1 am content with you. I am not able to embrace you all, but I will embrace your general. Adieu, my children, adieu, my friends, preserve me in your memory. I shall be happy when I hear that you are so." Then turning to General Petit, he said, "Come, General." Petit approached, and Napoleon pressed him to his overburdened breast. He then asked for the eagle that he might embrace that also. The standard-bearer inclined the eagle; Napoleon kissed it three times, every feature working with the intensity of his feelings. "Ah, dear eagle," said he, and after a pause in which it seemed for a moment that his firmness would give way before the swelling tide of emotion that struggled for utterance, he added tenderly, "Adieu, my children, adieu my braves, surround me once again. Those scarred veterans had never seen their chief so moved before, and as they stood and gazed in mournful silence on him whom they were to see no more, great tears rolled down their scarred visages, and their lion hearts were broken with grief. Napoleon threw one glance upon them and their eagle, then tore himself away, and flinging himself into a carriage, drove off toward the place where he was to embark.

The silence that reigned in the ranks after his disappearance, the mournful aspects of the men, the utter loneliness which every one felt, showed what a place Napoleon held in their affections. It was the love the brave always bear the brave who have combated by their sides. The scene was worthy of the actors in it, and Napoleon could not have had a more glorious termination to his great career.

The world never witnessed any thing more indomitable than Napoleon and that Old Guard; the earth never shook under anything more terrible than their tread, and the eye of man never gazed on more terrific scenes than they had moved amid unappalled, yet here at the last they were melted to tears. It was a scene to touch the hardest heart, and the allied officers who had been sent to accompany Napoleon at his departure, could not repress their emotion in witnessing it. A hundred fields of fame seemed to look down on them there--great remembrances clustered around them. From the dazzling splendor of the pyramids--from the Alps, the Pyrenees, from Italy, from the Rhine, the Danube, and the Niemen, the eye turned to that last adieu, scarcely convinced that that was the end of it all.

Fontainbleau was deserted, and the Old Guard took up its march for Paris. In the imposing pageants the allied sovereigns kept up in the capital, it too was compelled to make a part, and was seen side by side with the Russian, Prussian, and Austrian Guards. Yet even here the veterans bore the same undaunted aspect, and looked more like conquerors than conquered. Their masters, but not their victors, were about them. They might assume the relation of conquerors, but never on the field of battle had they earned the right to do so. In the very last struggle which ended in the overthrow of the empire, not once had they been beaten, while before their charge the firmest ranks of their foes had been shivered into fragments. The very last time they had moved with levelled bayonets on the enemy, they had trampled them under foot, and why should they feel like vanquished men!

It was this very consciousness of never having been beaten, and the firm belief they could not be, that made the position they were compelled to occupy so hateful, and gave them a sternness of expression and haughtiness of bearing that attracted every beholder. With the same steady step that had made Europe tremble, they defiled before their new masters, while their sullen aspects and scornful looks gave rise to many dark suspicions and secret fears. Fields of slaughter rose one after another in dark succession as they passed, telling of deeds of valor undreamed of before.

So sullen was their humor, and so irritable did they become in their humiliating position, that they constantly sought quarrels with their enemies.

When Louis XVIII. entered Paris, the grenadiers of the Guard maintained a gloomy silence, none but the dragoons and guards of honor could be prevailed upon to cry "Vive le Roi." These old veterans refused to obey their officers in this respect, and when the review was past, they shouted, "Vive l'Empereur."

Usually distinguished for their peaceable deportment, the soldiers now became intractable, and duels with the troops of the allied army were of daily occurrence.

One day the Austrian grenadiers appeared with green sprigs in their caps. This, the Old Guard took as a sign of triumph, and immediately insulted them, daring them to battle. Such was its rage at their presuming to wear publicly a badge of triumph when they had been beaten on every field of Europe, that Schwartzenberg had to write the French minister of war on the subject, and caused to be put in the Paris journals an article stating that these "green branches were not designed as a mark of triumph, but a simple rallying sign, prescribed from time immemorial by military rules both in peace and war."

Savage and morose, the Old Guard trod the streets of Paris on review in silence, but when in their barracks their indignation found open vent, and their "Vive l' Empereur" was often heard.

So grievously did they take the altered state of things.