The ground itself spoke sufficiently.  Never was field of battle more terribly eloquent.  Its marked features; its ruins covered with blood; the streets, the line of which could no longer be recognized but by the long train of the dead, whose heads were crushed by the wheels of the cannon, the wounded, who were still seen issuing from the rubbish and crawling along, with their garments, their hair, and their limbs half consumed by the fire, and uttering lamentable cries; finally, the doleful sound of the last melancholy honours which the grenadiers were paying to the remains of their colonels and generals who had been slain—­all attested the extreme obstinacy of the conflict.  In this scene the Emperor, it was said, beheld nothing but glory:  he exclaimed, that “the honour of so proud a day belonged exclusively to Prince Eugene.”  This sight, nevertheless, aggravated the painful impression which had already seized him.  He then advanced to the elevated plain.

CHAP.  IV.

Can you ever forget, comrades, the fatal field which put a stop to the conquest of the world, where the victories of twenty years were blasted, where the great edifice of our fortune began to totter to its foundation?  Do you not still figure to yourselves the blood-stained ruins of that town, those deep ravines, and the woods which surround that elevated plain and convert it, as it were, into a tented field?  On one side were the French, quitting the north, which they shunned; on the other, at the entrance of the wood, were the Russians, guarding the south, and striving to drive us back upon their mighty winter.  In the midst of this plain, between the two armies, was Napoleon, his steps and his eyes wandering from south to west, along the roads to Kalouga and Medyn, both which were closed against him.  On that to Kalouga, were Kutusoff and one hundred and twenty thousand men, ready to dispute with him twenty leagues of defiles; towards Medyn he beheld a numerous cavalry:  it was Platof and those same hordes which had just penetrated into the flank of the army, had traversed it through and through, and burst forth, laden with booty, to form again on his right flank, where reinforcements and artillery were waiting for them.  It was on that side that the eyes of the Emperor were fixed longest; it was there that he received the reports of his officers and consulted his maps:  then, oppressed with regret and gloomy forebodings, he slowly returned to his head-quarters.

Murat, Prince Eugene, Berthier, Davoust and Bessieres followed him.  This mean habitation of an obscure artisan contained within it an Emperor, two Kings, and three Generals.  Here they were about to decide the fate of Europe, and of the army which had conquered it.  Smolensk was the goal.  Should they march thither by Kalouga, Medyn or Mojaisk?  Napoleon was seated at a table, his head supported by his hands, which concealed his features, as well as the anguish which they no doubt expressed.