paralyse their movements.  Were they likely to persist in their Hurrah on Paris (at this period the Cossack vocabulary was in vogue), when they knew Napoleon to be posting himself between them and their own resources, and at the same time relieving and rallying around him all the garrisons of the great fortresses of the Rhine?  Would not such conduct be considered as entirely out of the question by superstitious adherents to the ancient technicalities of war?  Would not Schwartzenberg at least abandon the advance and turn to follow him, who still fancied that no one could dream of conquering France without having ruined Napoleon?  But—­even supposing that the allied powers should resist all these suggestions and proceed upon the capital—­would not that great city, with Marmont and Mortier, and the national guard, be able to hold the enemy at bay for some considerable space; and, during that space, could the Emperor fail to release his garrisons on the Rhine, and so place himself once more at the head of an army capable, under his unrivalled guidance, of relieving France and ruining her invaders, by a great battle under the walls of Paris?

It must be added, in reference to Napoleon’s choice among these difficulties, that ere now the continuance of the warfare had much exacerbated the feelings of the peasantry, who, for the most part, regarded its commencement with indifference.  The perpetual marches and counter-marches of the armies, the assaults and burnings of towns and villages, the fierce demeanour of the justly embittered Prussians, and the native barbarism of the Russians, had spread devastation and horror through some of the fairest provinces of France.  The desolation was such that wolves and other beasts of prey appeared, in numbers which recalled the ages of the unbroken forest, amidst the vineyards and gardens of Champagne.  All who could command the means of flight had escaped; of those that remained there were few who had not, during three months, suffered painful privations, seen their cottages occupied by savage strangers, and their streams running red with the blood of their countrymen.  The consequence was that the peasantry on the theatre of the war, and behind it, were now in a state of high excitement.  Might not the Emperor, by throwing himself and his sorely diminished, but still formidable, band of veterans among them, give the finishing impulse, and realise at length his fond hope of a national insurrection?

While Napoleon was thus tossed in anxiety by what means to avert, if it were yet possible, from Paris, the visitation of those mighty armies, against whom energies, such as he alone possessed, had been exerted in vain—­the capital showed small symptoms of sympathising with him.  The newspapers had announced nothing but victories; but the truth could not fail to penetrate in spite of all this treachery.  The streets were daily traversed by new crowds of provincialists, driven or terrified from their dwellings.