The 15th of October, which had been universally expected to give birth to important events, was now quietly passed.  For many weeks the city had not been so tranquil as it was on the night of that day.  Nothing but the incessant Qui vive? at the gates, denoted the presence of the troops.  On my return about eight o’clock from the suburbs, I was suddenly surprised by an unusual phenomenon:  in the direction of Pegau, I saw three white rockets ascend to a great height amid the darkness.  I stood still, and waited to observe what would follow.  In about a minute four red ones rose above the horizon, apparently from Halle.  After this there was nothing more to be seen.  That they were signals could not be doubted, any more than that those signals must have been made by the combined troops.  I concluded that they must have armies in those quarters, and that they were informing one another by these luminous messengers of the points at which they had arrived.  It now became more certain than ever that the 16th would be the great day that should decide the fate of Germany.  I expressed my conjectures to several French officers, that, according to all appearance, fresh armies of the allies were on their march toward Leipzig.  They contradicted me point-blank; partly because, as they said, the crown-prince of Sweden and general Bluecher had been obliged to retreat precipitately across the Elbe, as an immense French army was in full march upon Berlin; and partly because they were convinced that the reinforcements which might be coming up could be of no great consequence; and were confident, that, at all events, they should be perfectly prepared to receive the enemy.  Never did they make so sure of the most complete victory as they did previously to the then approaching engagement.  Besides the French in garrison in the city, there were many German troops, who expressed little hope, and, on the other hand, declared their resolution to make no resistance, but to pass over to the allies, as many of their comrades had already done; and there was no reason to doubt their sincerity.—­Thus passed the second day, between hope and fear.

The dawn of the 16th of October was enveloped in a thick fog.  It was gloomy, rainy, and cold.  It was imagined that the hostile armies, though so eager for the combat, would restrain their ardour to engage till the fog should have cleared away.  Soon after six, however, the thunder of the artillery began to roll from Liebertwolkwitz.  It grew more violent, and approached nearer;—­this was probably the moment when the Austrians stormed that place.  The firing en pelotons was already heard.  From our elevated position we could discern nothing, the dense fog concealing every object at the distance of one hundred paces.  About ten, the artillery thundered along the whole line of battle.  The atmosphere became clearer, and the clouds dispersed.  Every flash from the cannon was distinctly visible on the side of Konnewitz.  Already a thousand