he may have been desperate; fully aware that he was about to cast the dice for a last stake, he may have been at once braggart and timid. If he should win in a common defensive battle, he believed, as his subsequent conduct goes to show, that he was safe indefinitely; and if he lost—the vision must have been too dreadful, enough to distract the sanest mind: an exhausted treasury, an exhausted nation, an empty throne, vanished hopes, ruin!

Yet at the time no one remarked any trace of nervousness in Napoleon. Long afterward the traitorous Marmont, whose name, like that of Moreau, was to be execrated by succeeding generations of honorable Frenchmen, recalled that the Emperor had contemptuously designated the enemy as a rabble, and that he had likewise overestimated the strategic value of Berlin. The malignant annalist asserted, too, that Napoleon's motive was personal spite against Prussia. It has also been studiously emphasized by others that the "children" of Napoleon's army were perishing like flowers under an untimely frost, forty thousand French and German boys being in the hospitals; that corruption was rife in every department of administration; and that the soldiers' pay was shamefully in arrears. An eye-witness saw Peyrusse, the paymaster, to whom Napoleon had just handed four thousand francs for a monument to Duroc, coolly pocket a quarter of the sum, with the remark that such was the custom. He would be rash indeed who dared to assert that there was no basis for this criticism. It is true that the instructions to Davout and Oudinot made light of Bülow's army, and that Berlin had vastly less strategic value than those instructions seemed to indicate. But, on the other hand, both generals and men were sadly in need of self-reliance, and to see their capitals occupied or endangered had still a tremendous moral effect upon dynastic sovereigns. As to the defects in his army, Napoleon could not have been blind; but in all these directions matters had been nearly, if not quite, as bad in 1809, and a victory had set them all in order.

What nervousness there was existed rather among the allies. Never before in her history, not even under the great Frederick, had Prussia possessed such an army; the Austrians were well drilled and well equipped; the Russians were of fair quality, numerous, and with the reserves from Poland would be a powerful army in themselves. Yet in spite of their strength, the allies were not really able. Austria was the head, but her commander, Schwarzenberg, was not even mediocre, and among her generals there was only one who was first-rate, namely, Radetzky. Frederick William and Alexander were of incongruous natures; their alliance was artificial, and in such plans as they evolved there was an indefiniteness which left to the generals in their respective forces a large margin for independence. The latter were quick to take advantage of the chance, and this fact accounts for the generally lame and feeble beginning of hostilities.

For example, it was through Blücher's wilfulness that the moral advantage lay with Napoleon in the opening of the struggle. On July ninth Bernadotte, Frederick William, and the Czar had met at Trachenberg to lay out a plan of campaign. In this conference, which first opened Napoleon's eyes to the determination of the allies, Blücher had secured for himself an independent command. The accession of Austria rendered the agreement of Trachenberg null, but Blücher did not abandon his ambition. Impatient of orders or good faith, he broke into the neutral zone at Striegau on August fourteenth, apparently without any very definite plan. Napoleon, hearing that forty thousand Russians from this army were marching toward Bohemia, advanced from Dresden on August fifteenth, to be within reach of the passes of the Iser Mountains on the Upper Elbe, and halted at Zittau as a central point, where he could easily collect about a hundred and eighty thousand men, and whence, according to circumstances, he could either strike Blücher, cut off the Russians, or return to Dresden in case of need. That city was to be held by Saint-Cyr. On August twentieth Blücher reached the banks of the Bober at Bunzlau; owing to Napoleon's nice calculation, Ney, Marmont, Lauriston, and Macdonald were assembled on the other side to check the advance, he himself being at Lauban with the guard. Had Blücher stood, the Russo-Prussians would have been annihilated, for their inferiority was as two to one. But the headstrong general did not stand; on the contrary, retreating by preconcerted arrangement behind the Deichsel, he led his antagonist to the false conclusion that he lacked confidence in his army.

Napoleon was not generally over-credulous, but this mistake was probably engendered in his mind by the steady stream of uneasy reports he was receiving from his own generals. On the twenty-third he wrote to Maret that his division commanders seemed to have no self-reliance except in his presence; "the enemy's strength seems great to them wherever I am not." Marmont was the chief offender, having severely criticized a plan of operations which would require one or more of the marshals to act independently in Brandenburg or Silesia or both, expressing the fear that on the day when the Emperor believed himself to have won a decisive battle he would discover that he had lost two. Seventeen years of campaigning had apparently turned the great generals of Napoleon's army into puppets, capable of acting only on their leader's impulse. Whatever the cause, Napoleon was set in his idea, and pressed on in pursuit. On the twenty-second Blücher was beyond the Katzbach, with the French van close behind, when word arrived at Napoleon's headquarters that the Austro-Russians had entered Saxony and were menacing Dresden. How alert and sane the Emperor was, how thoroughly he foresaw every contingency, appears from the minute directions he wrote for Macdonald, who was left to block the road for Blücher into Saxony, while Lauriston was to outflank and shut off the perfervid veteran from both Berlin and Zittau.

These instructions having been written, Napoleon at first contemplated crossing the Elbe above Dresden to take Schwarzenberg on the flank and rear in the passes of the Ore Mountains. This would not only cut off the Austrian general from the Saxon capital, but prevent his swerving to the left for an advance on Leipsic. But finding that his enemy was moving swiftly, the Emperor resolved to meet him before Dresden. It would never do to lose his ally's capital at the outset, or to suffer defeat at the very head of his defensive line. Giving orders, therefore, for the corps of Marmont, Vandamme, and Victor, together with Latour-Maubourg's cavalry and the guard, to wheel, he hastened back to reinforce Saint-Cyr at Dresden. On the twenty-fifth, as he passed Bautzen, he learned that Oudinot had been defeated at Luckau; but he gave no heed to the report, and next day reached Dresden at nine in the morning. An hour later the guard came up, having performed the almost incredible feat of marching seventy-six miles in three days. Vandamme, with forty thousand men, had arrived at Pirna, a few miles above, and Saint-Cyr was drawing in behind the temporary fortifications of the city itself.

The enemy, too, was at hand, but he had no plan. In a council of war held by him the same morning there was protracted debate, and finally Moreau's advice to advance in six columns was taken. He refused "to fight against his country," but explained that the French could never be conquered in mass, and that if one assailing column were crushed, the rest could still push on. This long deliberation cost the allies their opportunity; for at four in the afternoon, when they attacked, the mass of the French army had crossed