men under arms.

With the better moiety of this force, the best armed, the best equipped,
the best officered contingent, he took the field early in the month of
June. The Emperor did not want war any more than France did. He began
his new reign with the most pacific of proclamations, which probably
reflected absolutely the whole desire of his heart. But the patience of
Europe had been exhausted and the belief of rulers and peoples in the
honesty of his professions, declarations or intentions, had been
hopelessly shattered.

His arrival effected an immediate resurrection of the almost moribund
Congress of Vienna. The squabbling, arguing, trifling plenipotentiaries
of the powers had burst into gigantic laughter--literally, actual
merriment, albeit of a somewhat grim character!--when they received the
news of Napoleon's return. They were not laughing at Napoleon but at
themselves. They had been dividing the lion's skin in high-flown
phrases, which meant nothing, endeavoring to incorporate the Decalogue
and the Sermon on the Mount in their protocols and treaties, when they
suddenly discovered that the Emperor was still to be reckoned with.

Differences were instantly laid aside and forgotten. Russia, Prussia and
Austria immediately agreed to put in the field two hundred and fifty
thousand men each. The smaller powers, Sweden, Spain, the Low Countries,
promised contingents. England once more assumed the familiar role of
paymaster by immediately placing a vast subsidy at the disposal of the
allies. She gave them also what was of more value than a subsidy, a
soldier of the first rank to command the armies in the field.

The Duke of Wellington had never crossed swords with the greatest captain
of his day and perhaps of all time. But he had measured himself with the
ablest and most famous of Napoleon's Marshals. With greatly inferior
forces, through four years of desperate fighting, he had defeated the
Marshals and armies of France. The dashing and gallant Junot had been
routed at Vimiero, Victor had been overwhelmed at Talavera. Wily old
Massena with all his ability could look back to the disaster of the
blood-stained hill of Busaco, Marmont, the dainty tactician, had been
smashed at Salamanca, stubborn Jourdan had been at last decisively
defeated at Victoria. Finally, the brilliant Soult had been hurled out
of the Pyrenees and had met his master at Toulouse. Still, great as were
these soldiers and highly tra