disaster of
that dreadful retreat; now spoken by him whose fortune they predicted.
Too late!--the exclamation of the proud marshal, harassed by
unsuccessful efforts to avert the destiny he saw inevitable. Too
late!--the cry of the wearied soldier. Too late!--the fatal expression
of the Czar when the brave and faithful Macdonald urged the succession
of the King of Rome and the regency of the Empress.

Wearied with a wakeful night, I fell into a slumber towards morning,
when I started suddenly at the roll of drums in the court beneath. In
an instant I was at my window. What was my astonishment to perceive that
the courtyard was filled with troops! The Grenadiers of the Guard were
ranged in order of battle, with several squadrons of the chasseurs and
the horse artillery; while a staff of general officers stood in
the midst, among whom I recognized Belliard, Montesquieu, and
Turenne,--great names, and worthy to be recorded for an act of faithful
devotion. The Duc de Bassano was there too, in deep mourning; his pale
and careworn face attesting the grief within his heart.

The roll of the drums continued; the deep, unbroken murmur of the salute
went on from one end of the line to the other. It ceased; and ere I
could question the reason, the various staff-officers became uncovered,
and stood in attitudes of respectful attention, and the Emperor
himself slowly, step by step, descended the wide stair of the "Cheval
Blanc,"--as the grand terrace was styled,--and advanced towards the
troops. At the same instant the whole line presented arms, and the drums
beat the salute. They ceased, and Napoleon raised his hand to command
silence, and throughout that crowded mass not a whisper was heard.

I could perceive that he was speaking, but the words did not reach me.
Eloquent and burning words they were, and to be recorded in history
to the remotest ages. I now saw that he had finished, as General Petit
sprang forward with the eagle of the First Regiment of the Guards, and
presented it to him. The Emperor pressed it fervently to his lips,
and then threw his arms round Petit's neck; while suddenly disengaging
himself, he took the tattered flag that waved above him, and kissed it
twice. Unable to bear up any longer, the worn, hard-featured veterans
sobbed aloud like children, and turned away their faces to conceal their
emotion. No cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" resounded now through those ranks
where each had willingly shed his heart's bloo