order, though nobody could conceive what was the meaning of all this, while the cannon were yet thundering before the city.  We soon learned that the allies had sustained a total defeat; that an Austrian prince, the archduke Ferdinand, had lost an arm, and been taken prisoner with 40,000 men; and that an immense quantity of artillery had been captured.  This intelligence had been forwarded by marshal Ney from the field of battle, and preparations were instantly made to celebrate the victory.  A regiment of the French guards marched to the promenade before the city—­now, alas! an offensive sewer,—­and, agreeably to command, expressed their exultation in the acquisition of these new laurels by a loud Vive l’empereur! Of the citizens, but a very small portion took part in their joy; for what else could they have expected from such a victory than inevitable death by famine?  The more intelligent shook their heads; and in truth there were but too many reasons to suspect the truth of the account.  If you asked the wounded, who in troops either hobbled or were carried in at the gates, the answer, was, Les Cossaques ont encore la meme position—­(The Cossacks are still in the same position).  None of them had heard any thing about captured cannon, but they well knew that they had themselves lost five pieces that morning.  I was unable to comprehend how the French commander-in-chief, possessing in so eminent a degree the quality of a correct military coup d’oeil, could so early announce that he had won the battle, when such numerous armies of the allies had but just arrived upon the field, and had not yet fired a single shot.  Country-people, who had fled from the neighbourhood of Grimma, declared that a fresh army of Russians, under general Bennigsen, was in full march towards that place.  In truth, only a small part of the allied forces had yet been engaged.  Bennigsen, the crown-prince of Sweden, and field-marshal Bluecher, had not yet entered the lists.  If this fiction was intended merely to pacify our king at the expense of truth, it was evident that this object could not be attained without compromising him;—­a kind of treatment wholly unmerited by a prince who was never guilty of wilful falsehood[4].

In the midst of these rejoicings for the victory, the thunder of the artillery was again heard from Lindenau.  The tremendous roar was almost immediately repeated from Taucha, Wiederitsch, and Breitenfeld.  The Swedish army and that of Bluecher were now engaged.  We again repaired to our lofty station.  There was not a point round the city where the fatal engines were not dealing forth destruction.  We knew not which way first to direct the glass.  “Only look here,” cried one.  “Oh! that’s nothing at all,” replied another, “you must come this way.”—­“You none of you see any thing,” exclaimed a third:  “you must look yonder—­there the cavalry are cutting away—­and hark how the fresh artillery is beginning to fire.”  It was