part in stolid dejection, while others flung them away with every sign of indecent joy.[32] As if the elements themselves conspired to enhance the brilliance of Napoleon’s triumph, the sun, which had been obscured for days by storm-clouds and torrents of rain, now shone brightly forth, bathing the scene in the mild radiance of autumn, lighting up the French forces disposed on the slopes of that natural amphitheatre, while it cast deep shadows from the long trail of the vanquished beneath.  The French were electrified by the sight:  the fatigues of their forced marches through the dusty heats of September, and the slush, swamps, and torrents of the last few days were all forgotten, and they hailed with jubilant shouts the chief whose sagacity had planned and achieved a triumph hitherto unequalled in the annals of war.  “Our Emperor,” said they, “has found out a new way of making war:  he no longer makes it with our arms, but with our legs."[33]

Meanwhile the other Austrian detachments were being hunted down.  Only a few men escaped from Memmingen into Tyrol:  the division, which, if properly supported, might have cut a way through to Noerdlingen three days earlier, was now overwhelmed by the troops of Murat and Lannes; out of 13,000 foot-soldiers very few escaped.  Most of the horsemen succeeded in joining the Archduke Ferdinand, on whose track Murat now flung himself with untiring energy.  The beau sabreur swept through part of Ansbach in pursuit, came up with Ferdinand near Nuremberg, and defeated his squadrons, their chief, with about 1,700 horse and some 500 mounted artillerymen, finally reaching the shelter of the Bohemian Mountains.  All the rest of Mack’s great array had been engulfed.

Thus closed the first scene of the War of the Third Coalition.  Hasty preparations, rash plans, and, above all, Mack’s fatal ingenuity in reading his notions into facts—­these were the causes of a disaster which ruined the chances of the allies.  The Archduke Charles, who had been foiled by Massena’s stubborn defence, was at once recalled from Italy in order to cover Vienna; and, worst of all, the Court of Berlin now delayed drawing the sword.

Yet, even amidst the unstinted boons that she showered on Napoleon by land, Fortune rudely baffled him at sea.  When he was hurrying from Ulm towards the River Inn, to carry the war into Austria, he heard that the French navy had been shattered.  Trafalgar was fought the day after Mack’s army filed out of Ulm.  The greatest sea-fight of the century was the outcome of Napoleon’s desire that his ships should carry succour to his troops in Italy.  For this voyage the Emperor was about to substitute Admiral Rosily for Villeneuve:  and the unfortunate admiral, divining that resolve, sought by a bold stroke to retrieve his fortunes.  He put to sea, and Trafalgar was the result.  It would be superfluous to describe this last and most splendid of Nelson’s exploits; but a few words as to the bearing of this