In fact, the fires which were discovered on our left, in the night between the 23d and 24th, had apprised us of the movement of the Russians towards Malo-Yaroslawetz; and yet the French army had marched thither languidly; a single division, thrown to the distance of three leagues from all succour, had been carelessly risked; the corps d’armee had remained out of reach of each other.  Where were now the rapid movements of Marengo, Ulm, and Eckmuehl?  Why so slow and drawling a march on such a critical occasion?  Was it our artillery and baggage that had caused this tardiness?  Such was at least the most plausible presumption.

CHAP.  III.

When the Emperor heard the report of this combat, he was a few paces to the right of the high road, at the bottom of a ravine, close to the rivulet and village of Ghorodinia, in the habitation of a weaver, an old, crazy, filthy, wooden hut.  Here he was half a league from Malo-Yaroslawetz, at the commencement of the bend of the Louja.  It was in this worm-eaten dwelling, and in a dirty dark room, parted off into two by a cloth, that the fate of the army and of Europe was about to be decided.

The first hours of the night passed in receiving reports.  All agreed that the enemy was making preparations against the next day for a battle, which all were disposed to decline.  About eleven o’clock Bessieres entered.  This marshal owed his elevation to honourable services, and above all to the affection of the Emperor, who had become attached to him as to a creation of his own.  It is true, that a man could not be a favourite with Napoleon, as with any other monarch; that it was necessary at least to have followed and been of some service to him, for he sacrificed little to the agreeable; in short, it was requisite that he should have been more than a witness of so many victories; and the Emperor when fatigued, accustomed himself to see with eyes which he believed to be of his own formation.

He had sent this marshal to examine the attitude of the enemy.  Bessieres had obeyed:  he had carefully explored the front of the Russian position.  “It is,” said he, “unassailable!”—­“Oh heavens!” exclaimed the Emperor, clasping his hands, “are you sure you are right?  Are you not mistaken?  Will you answer for that?” Bessieres repeated his assertion:  he affirmed that “three hundred grenadiers would there be sufficient to keep in check a whole army.”  Napoleon then crossed his arms with a look of consternation, hung his head, and remained as if overwhelmed with the deepest dejection.  “His army was victorious and himself conquered.  His route was intercepted, his manoeuvre, thwarted:  Kutusoff, an old man, a Scythian, had been beforehand with him!  And he could not accuse his star.  Did not the sun of France seem to have followed him to Russia?  Was not the road to Malo-Yaroslawetz open but the preceding day?  It was not his fortune then that had failed him, but he who had been wanting to his fortune?”