At Arcis, the Emperor again fought like a soldier; more than once he drew his sword to free himself from the enemies by whom he was surrounded. A shell having fallen at a few paces from his horse, the surprised animal sprang aside, and very nearly threw the Emperor, who, lorgnette in hand, was then deeply engaged in examining the field of battle. His Majesty having settled himself more firmly in his saddle, drove his spurs into his horse, which he urged toward the shell and forced to smell it; at that very instant the piece exploded and by some unprecedented chance, neither the Emperor nor his horse was hurt.

In more than one similar circumstance, the Emperor, during this campaign, seemed to have abandoned his hold on life; and yet it was only at the last extremity that he renounced the hope of preserving his throne. But it was painful to him to treat with the enemy while the latter was occupying French territory. His Majesty would have liked to purge the soil of France from the presence of foreigners before entering into arrangements with them. Thence proceeded his hesitations, his refusals to assent to the peace offered him on several occasions.

February 8, the Emperor, at the close of a long discussion with two or three of his confidential advisers, went to bed very late and in extreme preoccupation. He waked me often during the night, complained of not being able to sleep, and made me take away and fetch back his candle several times. Toward five o'clock in the morning, I was called again; I was sinking with fatigue; His Majesty observed it and said kindly: "You are knocked up, my poor Constant; we are making a rough campaign, aren't we? but keep up your courage a while longer; you are soon going to rest." Encouraged by the kindliness of His Majesty's tone, I took the liberty of replying that no one could think of complaining of the fatigue and privations we experienced, since they were shared by His Majesty; but that nevertheless the desire and hope of all the world was for peace. "Well, yes," returned the Emperor with a sort of concentrated violence, "they shall have peace; they shall see what a dishonorable peace is like!" I kept silence; the disturbance and vexation of His Majesty afflicted me profoundly, and at that moment I could have desired the Emperor to have an army of men of iron like himself. He would never have made peace but on the frontier of France.

The accent of kindness and familiarity with which the Emperor spoke to me on this occasion, reminds me of another incident which I forgot to record in its own place, and which I will not now omit, because I think it calculated to give a notion of His Majesty's manners with the persons in his service, and particularly with me. Roustan was a witness of the fact, and it was from him that I learned the beginning of it.

In one of the campaigns beyond the Rhine (I cannot say in which), I bad been up for several nights together, and I was tired. The Emperor went out toward eleven o'clock in the evening, and was absent three or four hours. I sat down to wait for him in his armchair, near his writing-table, intending to rise and withdraw when I heard him coming in. But I was so worn out with fatigue that slumber surprised me unawares, and I fell into a profound sleep with my head on my arm, and my arm on His Majesty's table. The Emperor at last came in, accompanied by Marshal Berthier and followed by Roustan. I heard nothing. Prince de Neufchâtel started toward me, intending to awake me and have me restore his chair and table to His Majesty; but the Emperor detained him, saying: "Let the poor fellow alone; he has passed I don't know how many sleepless nights." And then, as there was no other chair in the apartment, His Majesty sat down on the side of his bed, made the Marshal take a seat there also, and talked with him a long time, while I slept on. But requiring one of the maps which were on the table, and upon which my elbow was resting, His Majesty, although he tried to draw it away with precaution, waked me up, and I rose at once in utter confusion, and excusing myself for the liberty I had involuntarily taken. "Monsieur Constant," said the Emperor with a smile full of benevolence, "it distresses me to have disturbed you; kindly excuse me." Such was the Emperor's thoughtfulness for his attendants. I desire that this, with other things of the same sort which I have already related, may serve as a reply to those who have accused him of severity in his household. I resume my narrative of the events of 1814.

In the night of the 8th-9th, the Emperor seeming to have decided to make peace, the night was spent in preparing the despatches, and at eight o'clock in the morning of the 9th they were brought to him to sign; but he had changed his mind. At seven o'clock he had received news of the Russian and Prussian armies. When the Duc de Bassano entered, with the despatches in his hand, the Emperor was lying on his maps and planting his pins. "Ah! it is you," said he to his minister; "there is no more question of that. See here, I want to thrash Blücher; he has taken the Montmirail road. I am going to start. I shall fight him to-morrow and the day after to-morrow. The face of affairs is about to change and we shall see. We won't precipitate anything; there will always be time enough to conclude such a peace as they propose to us." An hour later we were on the Sézanne road.

Then there were several days in succession during which the heroic efforts of the Emperor and his brave soldiers were crowned with the most brilliant success. Hardly had they arrived at Champ-Aubert, when the army, finding itself in presence of the Russian army corps with which it bad already combated at Brienne, fell upon it without waiting to repose, separated it from the Prussian army, and made prisoners of the general-in-chief and several general officers. His Majesty, whose behavior toward his vanquished foes was always honorable and generous, had them dine at his table and treated them with the greatest courtesy. The enemies were again beaten at Ferme des Fréneaux by Marshals Ney and Mortier, and by the Duc de Raguse at Vaux-Champs, where Blücher was again on the point of being made prisoner. At Nangis, the Emperor dispersed one hundred and fifty thousand men commanded by Prince Schwarzenberg, and despatched in pursuit of them Marshals Oudinot, Kellermann, Macdonald, and Generals Treilhard and Gérard.

The eve of the battle of Méry, the Emperor went through all the environs of that little city, and his observing eye rested upon an immense extent of marsh, in the midst of which is the village of Bagneux, and a little further away the town of Anglure, where flows the Aube. After the rapid excursion he made over the moving ground of these dangerous marshes, he dismounted and sat down upon a bundle of reeds; there, with his back resting against the hut of a night watchman, he unrolled his campaign map; after examining it for some moments, he remounted his horse and set off at a gallop.

At this moment a cloud of teal and snipe flying in front of His Majesty, he cried with a laugh: "Go on, go on, my beauties; give place to other game." To all who surrounded him, His Majesty said: "This time we have got them!"

The Emperor was galloping toward Anglure, to see whether the rising ground of Baudemont, which is near that town, were occupied by the artillery, when the noise of cannon on the Méry side, obliged him to retrace his steps. He turned therefore toward Méry, saying to the officers who followed him: "Gallop, gentlemen, our enemies are in a hurry; it won't do to keep them waiting." Half an hour later he was on the field of battle.

The flames of the conflagration of Méry drove back enormous clouds of smoke upon the Russian and Prussian columns, and disguised in part the manœuvres of the French army. At that moment everything announced the success of the plan the Emperor had conceived that morning in the marshes of Bagneux; all was going well: His Majesty saw the allies defeated and France saved, while at Anglure everything was in desolation. The population of several villages were dreading to see the enemy approach, with not a piece of cannon there to cut off their retreat, not a soldier to prevent them from crossing the river.

The position of the allies was so critical that the whole French army believed them to be lost; they plunged with all their artillery into the marshes, and, riddled by grape-shot from our cannons, they should have stayed there. All of a sudden they were seen to make another effort, range themselves in order of battle, and prepare to cross the Aube. The Emperor, who could pursue them no longer without exposing his army also to the danger of sinking in the morass, arrested the impetuosity of his soldiers, believing that the hill of Baudemont was covered with artillery which would crush the enemy. Not hearing a single discharge from that quarter, he went with all speed to Sézanne to hasten the troops forward, but those whom he expected to find there had been sent on to Fère-Champenoise.

During this interval, a property owner at Anglure, named Ausart, had mounted a horse and galloped to Sézanne to warn the Marshal, who was there, that the enemy, pursued by the Emperor, was about to cross the Aube. On arriving near the Duke, and seeing that the army corps he commanded was not taking the road to Anglure, he made haste to speak. But as he seemed to have received no orders from the Emperor, he was not listened to, he was treated as a spy, and it was only with difficulty that this brave man avoided being shot.

While this scene was taking place, His Majesty was already at Sézanne; being surrounded by several of the villagers, he asked for some one to guide him to Fère-Champenoise: a bailiff presented himself. The Emperor set off at once, escorted by some superior officers who had accompanied him to Sézanne; he said to his guide: "Go in front of me, sir, and take the shortest road." On arriving within a short distance of the battle-field of Fère-Champenoise, His Majesty saw that each detonation of artillery made the poor bailiff lower his head. "You are afraid, sir," said the Emperor. "No, Sire." - "In that case, why do you lower your head like that?" "Because I am not accustomed, like Your Majesty, to hear all this uproar." - 11 We have to get used to everything; don't be afraid: keep straight on." But the guide, more dead than alive, drew in his horse and trembled in every limb. "Come, come, I see you are really afraid, get behind me." He obeyed, turned rein and galloped back to Sézanne, promising himself never again to act as the Emperor's guide on a similar occasion.

At the battle of Méry, the Emperor threw a little bridge across a river which flows near the town, under the enemy's fire. This bridge was constructed in an hour with ladders fastened together and supported by pieces of wood; but this was not sufficient; to make it practicable, it was necessary to lay planks across it, and none were to be found, for the persons who might have procured some dared not approach the shot-riddled ground the Emperor was occupying at that moment. Impatient and even angry at not being able to board over the bridge, His Majesty had the shutters of several large houses near the river taken down, and then laid and nailed fast under his own eyes. While this work was going on, an extreme thirst tormented him, and he was going to dip up water in his hand to quench it, when a young girl who had despised danger in order to approach the Emperor ran to a neighboring house and brought him a glass of wine and water, which he drank with avidity.

Astonished to see this young girl in so dangerous a place, the Emperor smilingly said to her: "You would make a brave soldier, Mademoiselle. Will you take the epaulettes? you shall be one of my aides-de-camp." The young girl blushed, courtesied [sic] to the Emperor, and was about to go away, when he held out his hand, which she kissed. "Come to Paris after this," added His Majesty, "and remind me of the service you have rendered me to-day; you will be contented with my gratitude." The young person thanked the Emperor and withdrew, very proud of the words he had addressed to her.

On the day the battle of Nangis was fought, an Austrian officer came in the evening to headquarters and had a long secret interview with His Majesty. Forty-eight hours later, after the battle of Méry, a new envoy from Prince Schwarzenberg appeared, with a response from the Emperor of Austria to the confidential letter which His Majesty had written to his father-in-law two days before. We had quitted Méry, which was on fire, and in the little hamlet of Châtres, where the headquarters were established, no shelter was found for His Majesty but in the shop of a wheelwright. It was there the Emperor spent the night, either waking or lying in his clothes on the bed, without sleeping. There also he received the Austrian envoy, Prince Lichtenstein. The Prince remained a long time in private with His Majesty. Nothing transpired of their conversation; but no one doubted that it was concerning peace. After his departure, the Emperor displayed an extraordinary gaiety which communicated itself to all around him. Our army had made thousands of prisoners from the enemy; Paris had just received the Russian and Prussian flags taken at Nangis and Montereau: the Emperor had seen flying before him the foreign sovereigns who were for some time in dread lest they should not regain the frontier. Such success had restored all His Majesty's confidence in his fortune. But this confidence was unhappily but a dangerous illusion.

Prince Lichtenstein had barely left headquarters when I saw M. de Saint-Aignan arrive, the brother-in-law of the Duc de Vicenza, and equerry of the Emperor. M. de Saint-Aignan, I think, was coming to his brother-in-law, who was at the Congress of Châtillon, or rather who had been there, for the sessions of this Congress had been suspended for some days. It seems that before leaving Paris, M. de Saint-Aignan had had an interview with the Duc de Rovigo and another minister, and that they had intrusted him with a verbal message to the Emperor.

The mission was difficult and delicate; he was anxious to have these gentlemen put into writing the representations they charged him to convey to His Majesty, but they had refused, and, as a loyal servitor, M. de Saint-Aignan had devoted himself to his duty, and was ready to say the whole truth, no matter what danger there might be in doing so.

At the moment when he arrived at the shop of the Châtres wheelwright, the Emperor, as has just been seen, was giving full rein to his most brilliant hopes. This was an unlucky circumstance for M. de Saint-Aignan, who was not the bearer of agreeable tidings. He came, as was afterwards learned, to announce to His Majesty that he could not rely on the temper of the capital; that people there were complaining of the duration of the war, and that they would like the Emperor to seize the first occasion to make peace. It has even been said that the word disaffection had issued, during this secret conference, from the sincere and truthful mouth of M. de Saint-Aignan. I do not know whether that is true; for the door was shut close, and M. de Saint-Aignan spoke in a low tone. It is certain, however, that his reports and his frankness excited to the utmost pitch the anger of His Majesty, who, in dismissing him with a harshness which he certainly had not deserved, raised his voice high enough to be heard by the gods. M. de Saint-Aignan having withdrawn, His Majesty summoned me to my duties, and I found him still pale and disturbed by anger. Some hours after this scene, the Emperor having demanded his horse, M. de Saint-Aignan, who had resumed his duties as equerry, came up to hold His Majesty's stirrup; but as soon as the Emperor perceived him, he frowned, motioned him away, and shouted: Mesgrigny! in a loud voice. He was calling Baron de Mesgrigny, his other equerry. In conformity with the Emperor's wishes, M. de Mesgrigny took the service of M. de Saint-Aignan, who went to the rear of the army to wait until the storm should pass. Within a few days his disgrace ended, and all who knew him were rejoiced; Baron de Saint-Aignan was loved by every one for his amiability and loyalty.

From Châtres the Emperor marched on Troyes. The enemies were occupying this city and seemed at first inclined to defend it; but they soon surrendered and left it after a capitulation. During the short time the allies had been in Troyes, the Royalists had publically displayed their hatred against the Emperor and their devotion to the foreign powers, who, said they, were coming merely to replace the Bourbons on their throne. They had even been so imprudent as to raise the white flag and wear the white cockade. The foreign troops had protected them, although they were exacting and severe to those of the inhabitants who held a directly contrary opinion.

Unluckily for the Royalists, they were in a very slender minority, and the favor with which they were regarded by the Prussians and Russians made the population, crushed by the latter, hate the protected as much as the protectors. Already, before the Emperor entered Troyes, royalist proclamations, addressed to the officers of his household or of the army, had fallen into his hands. He had shown no sign of anger; but he had pledged those who had received or were receiving documents of this kind to destroy them and say not a word to any one. On arriving at Troyes, His Majesty issued a decree inflicting the penalty of death on Frenchmen in the service of the enemies, and on those who had worn the signs and decorations of the former dynasty. An unfortunate émigré, brought before a council of war, was convicted of having worn the cross of Saint Louis and the white cockade during the sojourn of the allies at Troyes, and of having given the foreign generals all the information that he could. The council sentenced him to death, for the facts were positive and the law not less so. A victim of his premature devotion to a cause which was then far from appearing national, above all in the departments occupied by the foreign armies, the Chevalier Gonault was in fact executed.