Napoleon, however, had a grand army under his control. He had augmented his Guard to upwards of fifty-six thousand men, a large army in itself. The Consular Guard at Marengo, of eight hundred men, presents a striking contrast to this immense host. But the "column of granite" had not changed its character, and as it first stood on the disordered battle-field so firm and immovable, it still stood,--the rock which the sea lashes in vain.

In the advance to Moscow, Napoleon spared his Guard. Battle after battle was fought, and these brave troops were compelled to look on as idle spectators. It was no better in the "battle of giants."
 

At Borodino the Guard had pitched their tents about the Emperor, expecting in the morning they at least might do something worthy of their old renown. But in the most critical state of the battle that followed, he held them back. At noon, Murat and Ney had opened the road to victory, but were too exhausted to occupy it without reinforcements, and sent to the Emperor for them. But the fever which wasted him had quenched the life and fiery vigor he always exhibited on the field of battle, and he remained listless, as if under a spell a great part of the time. He could not make up his mind to grant Ney and Murat's request. He pondered long with himself, and after again and again giving the order for the Young Guard to advance, he each time countermanded it and kept it near his person. Those two fiery leaders who had struggled so gloriously, and saw victory in their grasp, were compelled by this strange delay to halt, while the enemy reformed, and attacked them in turn. After driving every thing before them, they found themselves scarce able to make good their defence against the heavy onsets to which they were exposed. Again Murat sent an urgent demand for succor, and Napoleon at length promised the Young Guard. But it had scarcely begun to advance when he ordered it to halt. Count Lobau, however, under the pretence of dressing the line, worked it gradually forward, which the Emperor observing, repeated his order. He did, however, let the artillery of the Guard advance, which soon told with frightful effect on the enemy. The generals had been amazed at the unwonted apathy of their great leader, and it was with joy, therefore, they saw eighty pieces of this renowned artillery lining the summits, and opening their heavy fire like a single gun. The Russian cavalry, shattered by it, were compelled to retire behind the infantry. The latter then advanced in black and heavy masses. Through these the cannon balls made wide and fearful rents. But they were closed up as fast as made, and stern and steady the iron columns continued to advance until they came within reach of grape shot, when the batteries smote them like a sudden hail-storm. Whole companies fell at every discharge. Every where throughout the ranks portions were seen suddenly to sink away as if engulfed in the earth. The soldiers, however, nobly endeavored to maintain their formation, closing steadily over the dead bodies, and trampling them under foot. But they could not breast that frightful tempest, driving its iron sleet in their very faces; and they halted, and either petrified at the awful destruction around them, or from want of presence of mind and generalship on the part of their leaders, they stood for two hours crushed by this deadly fire, making no effort to advance or retreat. Not a single movement was visible throughout the immense mass during the whole time, except what was made by the falling ranks. The brave artillerymen of the Guard at length got tired of this horrible slaughter, and the French infantry advanced and swept the field. Ney, Murat, and Davoust, commanding the right wings now pushed steadily forward, and annihilated half of the Russian line, and came upon the uncovered flank of the remainder. Feeling themselves not strong enough to meet the whole army, they called aloud for the Young Guard. "The Young Guard!" they exclaimed, "only let it follow them at a distance. Let it show itself, and take its place upon the heights. They themselves would then finish it." General Belliard was again sent to Napoleon for it, but the latter still hesitated. When Belliard returned to Murat and reported the indecision of the Emperor, saying that he "found him still seated in the same place, with a suffering and dejected air, his features sunken, and gazing around him with a dull look, and giving his orders languishingly in the midst of these dreadful warlike noises, to which he seemed completely a stranger," he was sad. He, however, understood it, for he had seen him the day before halt several times and dismount, and lean his head upon a cannon, apparently in deep suffering. Sickness had prostrated him. But Ney, who was ignorant of this, was thrown into a rage, and exclaimed, "Are we come so far, then, to be satisfied only with a field of battle? What business has the Emperor in the rear of the army? There he is only within reach of reverses, and not of victory." Not long after, Napoleon was told that the cry from the whole army was for the Guard, to which he replied, "And if there should be another battle tomorrow, where will be my army to fight it?"

Again, for the fourth time, Murat sent to him, asking only for the cavalry of the Guard. With them he would turn the entranced heights, with their terrible redoubt, which offered almost insuperable obstacles in front, and against which Eugene was endeavoring to advance under a most destructive fire from the artillery. He still delayed till it was too late to take advantage of the crisis into which affairs had been thrown. That redoubt, however, which had engulfed so many brave French soldiers, must be carried, or the battle be lost; and Murat ordered Caulincourt, who succeeded Montbrun in the command of the first division of cavalry, after the latter fell, to charge the Russian line, and breaking through it, dash into the great redoubt by the gorge in rear, and storm the battery that was mowing down the ranks of Eugene. This brave officer was general in the Guard, and the whole night before the battle had lain awake on the floor, wrapped in his cloak, gazing on the miniature of his young wife, whom he had married but a week previous to his departure from Paris. He was sad and depressed, and seemed to have a foreboding of the fate that awaited him. As he put himself at the head of the cavalry, he found the aides-de-camp of Montbrun in tears at the loss of their commander. "Follow me," said he: "weep not for him, but come and avenge his death." In reply to Murat's order to enter that redoubt right through the Russian line, he said, "You shall soon see me there, dead or alive." The bugles sounded the charge, and putting himself at the head of this splendid corps of cavalry, he dashed forward in a gallop. The Russians saw the coming tempest, and advanced several regiments around the menaced point to meet it, while the plunging fire from the redoubt smote the swiftly-advancing column in flank. Heedless of all, young Caulincourt pressed forward with loud cheers, and fiercely riding down the Russian cavalry sent to meet him, stormed over the solid masses of infantry, then suddenly wheeling to the left with the heavy-armed cuirassiers, while the light cavalry was left to occupy the discomfited infantry, began to ascend the slopes towards that terrible redoubt. Eugene had just been driven out of it with dreadful slaughter, and with reformed columns was again advancing to the attack. His bayonets were already gleaming along the ascent, when the driving column of the cuirassiers, enveloped in smoke, was seen fiercely scaling the highest summit. The sides of that hill were for a moment "clothed in glittering steel," the next under a redoubled fire from all the batteries, those fearless riders plunged straight into the volcano. Eugene, who had caught a glimpse of the column as it glittered along the sides of the hill, was filled with dread when he saw it disappear in that gloomy redoubt which lay curtained in smoke. But in a few seconds its thunder suddenly ceased, for its "fires were quenched in blood," and as the smoke slowly rolled away, there flashed in the sun the shining helmets of the cuirassiers, while a shout long and loud arose from its top. But Caulincourt found there his grave--struck by a musket ball as he was leading his men into the entrance, he fell dead in the very moment of victory. He was buried in the redoubt he had so nobly won.

He was brother to the grand equerry of Napoleon. When the victory, together with its loss, was reported to the Emperor, he turned to Caulincourt and said, "You have heard the news, do you wish to retire?" Overwhelmed with grief, the grand equerry made no reply, but slightly raising his hat, as if to thank him, he moved forward, while the big tears rolled silently down his cheeks. Caulincourt's death was a great loss to the Guard, and bitterly did they lament him.

At the close of the battle, Ney and Murat sent again for the Guard to complete the victory, but it was not given them, and the enemy retired in good order, leaving Napoleon a barren triumph.

At night, Napoleon called Mortier to him, and ordered him to advance with the Young Guard, but on no account pass the ravine which divided the two armies—he was simply to guard the field of battle. He even called him back to make sure that he understood his orders. An hour after he sent again, commanding him neither to advance nor retreat, whatever might happen.

At ten o'clock, the impetuous Murat, whom twelve hours of hard fighting could not exhaust, went himself to Napoleon saying that the enemy were crossing the Moskwa in great disorder, and asked for the cavalry of the Guard to finish it. The latter checked the ardor of his brother-in-law, and sat down to dictate the bulletin. The Old Guard encamped in solemn silence around him, but being aroused by an irruption of Cossacks, they were compelled to stand to arms, thus showing how meagre the victory had been.

In the morning Napoleon rode over the wreck-covered field. A cold fierce wind, a driving rain, and a sombre sky, imparted still greater gloom and desolation to the scene. The hills and valleys were literally ploughed up, and the dead lay everywhere. The wounded Russians were dragging themselves wearily to the piles of the dead for shelter from the storm, while low moans arose on every side. The bivouacs of the French were silent, and officers and soldiers were gathered in scattered groups around their eagles, sad and sombre as the scene. As Napoleon passed gloomily along, he was compelled to trample on heaps of dead men. His escort did the same-- and the hoofs of one of the horses coming down on a soldier not quite dead, extorted a low cry of pain. On hearing it Napoleon gave a sudden shriek—the first sound that had escaped his lips since he had begun to traverse the field.

He has been much blamed for withholding his Guard in the several crises of this battle. Segur has drawn him as utterly indifferent to its progress, as sitting with drooping head and stolid countenance during the whole of it. This is doubtless exaggeration. He evidently was not himself on that day--a sick man never is. There are times when the body will triumph over the soul, I care not what its capacity. Still Napoleon had reasons for what he did. He was nearly 2,000 miles from Paris, in an inhospitable country--far removed from his supplies, and he dared not risk his last hope. If the Guard was severely crippled, the army would be completely hors de combat.

Besides, he expected that the decisive battle would take place on the plains of Moscow--that there by the cradle of the Empire the army would make its last great stand, and in such a contingency he wanted at least the Guard intact, to meet any new reinforcements Alexander might bring against him. On the other hand, if by bringing up his resources he could have annihilated the army, the anticipated battle could not have been fought, nor would the enemy have been able to harass his retreat as it did. There were two sides to the question, which Napoleon, no doubt, weighed well. At all events Bessieres, the commander of the Guard, used all his influence to induce the Emperor to spare it, and he would not have done this without good reasons, for he was not one to stand idle, and hear the murmurs of his officers and men demanding to be led where honor and glory could be won, without his judgment told him it was imperiously necessary.

The next day, Napoleon put Mortier with a part of the Young Guard under Murat, who went in pursuit of the enemy. They overtook him near Krymskoie, established in a strong position. Murat was for instantly attacking, but Mortier expostulated with him, showing plainly that it would be madness. But Murat, heedless of everything, plunged on, thus compelling Mortier to second his efforts, or see his superior officer sacrificed. The result was as Mortier had predicted--they were repulsed with heavy loss, and two thousand of that reserve which had been husbanded so carefully at Borodino, were uselessly sacrificed. The same sacrifice on the field of battle, would doubtless have annihilated the Russian army.

But Moscow, the goal for which Napoleon had toiled over so many battlefields, was at last won, and he sat down in the Kremlin--the Old Guard occupying another portion of the same magnificent edifice.

The conflagration of the city followed. But after the fire had spread on every side, and finally attacked the Kremlin itself, and when a spark dropping on a single powder wagon would have hurled him and the Guard he had reared so carefully, into eternity, and after he was told that the Kremlin was undermined and ready to lift at the first touch of fire and bury all beneath the ruins, he obstinately clung to it for twenty-four hours. The Old Guard were under arms the whole time, and when at last the Emperor, convinced he must fly or be burned alive, consented to abandon the palace, it closed firmly around him, and passed into the tempest of fire. Over burning timbers, amid suffocating clouds of smoke and ashes, those bearskin caps were seen to move steadily as on the field of battle. Hither and thither the Conqueror of Europe turned in vain. Every way was blocked up by fire, and it was only at last by a postern gate that he could advance. But this, too, led into nothing but flame. The streets became indistinguishable in the smoke and ruins. Only one winding street was left, and this seemed to pierce the ocean of fire rather than lead out of it. But Napoleon boldly entered it, while fragments of red hot iron roofs and burning timbers tumbling at his feet, and arresting his progress, and the crackling of flames and crash of falling houses, conspired to render the scene most appalling. At length the guide halted, not knowing whither to proceed. Here, probably, would have ended the history of Napoleon and his Old Guard, had it not been for some pillagers who happened to recognize the Emperor, and conducted him to a part of the town which had been burned to ashes in the morning, and thus left an open space where they could breathe again.

Still the danger was not over--to escape he was compelled to pass a long train of powder wagons that were slowly making their way out of the fire. When they at last reached the outskirts of the city, the Old Guard looked as if it had been in a hard fought battle. Their faces were blackened with smoke, their clothes and caps singed almost to a crisp, and the brave fellows themselves exhausted from being so long compelled to breathe heated air, smoke, and ashes. But calm, like their great leader, whom danger always tranquillized, they had met all with firm presence and unshaken courage.

After the destruction of the city, Napoleon returned to the Kremlin, which a battalion of the Guard had succeeded in saving. Here he continued to linger--almost every day reviewing his Guard-- until a month had passed away, and the last of October, with its wintry premonitions, had come.

At length, however, he awoke from his strange infatuation, and commenced his retreat. From that moment his Guard became his stay, and ultimately his salvation.

An incident occurred during the conflagration, which illustrates the moral character of the Old Guard. Bouvier-Destouches, a lieutenant of the mounted grenadiers, had been able with some of his squadron, to save a part of the wealth of Prince Gagarin, when his palace was enveloped in flames. As a token of gratitude, the prince offered him a wooden dish full of vessels of gold, telling him to bury them till the fire was over, and then he could carry them away.

The Lieutenant thanked him, but refused the present, saying, "when one has the honor to belong to the Old Guard, the only recompense which can please him is the consciousness of having done his duty." The prince still urging his acceptance of the gift, the officer took the vessels, and hurling them through a window of the palace into the river, said gaily, "Prince, mark the spot where they fall, and when order is re-established, you can fish them up again." Strict honesty was one of the leading characteristics of the Old Guard. General Dorsenne, who commanded a corps of grenadiers, once said, "If I had a wagon load of gold, I would put it in the mess-room of my grenadiers--it would be safer there than under lock and key." During the retreat, as the army approached the Beresina, the paymaster of the Guard fearing the chest would fall into the hands of the Cossacks, distributed the whole amount among the soldiers of the Guard, who put it in their knapsacks. When the army reached the other side of the river, it was rendered up again, and the amount, 2,000,000 of francs, found entire, with the exception of some two hundred francs, which had sunk with the grenadier who carried it in the waves of the Beresina.