"I gave him my hand, and said,— "There is my faith, come with us if you will.' "He conducted us safely to Switzerland. Heaven bless that man! I never saw him more, but I remember his curling whiskers, and that keen eye, which said a giant could not drive but an infant might lead him. We came to Lausanne; the poor countess threw herself weeping into my arms. 'You are safe, dear Minette, I cannot wish you to be otherwise; you will leave me now.' "No, mademoiselle, not till you also are safe,' I said. "We disguised ourselves then as two peasants, and took the costume of Alsace. Mademoiselle looked beautiful, but it was too delicate a beauty to attract sudden notice from the rude people. "She wore the short orange petticoat of the country, with black stockings and a black boddice; her head covered with the usual coiffure of orange riband, almost scarlet in colour, very broad, with a large bow on the top. But she looked so pale and feeble, that those who were not near enough to see her lovely features, or meet the gaze of her earnest, deep blue eyes, which were almost always hidden beneath their deep eyelid, were little likely to notice her; and these rude people see beauty so differently from more refined minds! The soldiers let her pass with scarcely a glance; I, on the contrary, had more colour than ever. I could not keep it down. I trembled, yet felt a kind of delight at the danger in which I had placed myself,-one is so enthusiastic at seventeen! my eyes sparkled as if I were in joy. I dare not put the orange riband in my hair, I wore black, that looked more sober. "We entered the gates of Strasburg carrying a basket on a marketday. Mademoiselle had kept the ring with the lock of hair tied to it; but when we were installed in a humble lodging she knew not how to send it to M. de Renzi with safety. "Listen, mademoiselle,' I said. 'I shall go to the Place this evening; mousieur will be there, will he not?' "Perhaps. But what then?' แ "Give me his ring, and let us see what then.' "She gave it; I went on the Place d'Armes. There was a multitude of panaches* there. You may think- -a girl of seventeen years, and I was pretty then they said-very pretty. Well, the panaches were a little tiresome, but that was no matter when there was an end in view. But there was one who would not pay me any attention-a brave young officer, with the air of a lord and a look-ah! there was sorrow in it. I wanted him to notice me; but no, he could not spare me a glance. "At last I accidentally caught his eye; he saw the ring hanging loosely on the point of my finger. I knew that I was right in my guess. His heart was beating more quickly then than mine, and thus you see we were in correspondence in a single minute while utter strangers to one another. I was seated on a bench, and some minutes afterwards that gallant-looking young officer came and threw himself carelessly on the other end of it. Some of the panaches were looking on; but no matter, I managed to say the name of the street and number of the house, and the words, 'Your cousin Minette from the country, en paysan.' "So in the evening a fine young countryman came in a blouse and working-day dress to inquire for his cousin Mademoiselle Minette. Νο one in the world would have known him-at least, no one but the young countess. Oh, what a meeting was theirs! Well, it is strange now when I think of them and of myself, what time does, to be sure! I thought that poor young bride would have died on the spot, she lay like a broken lily in his arms, and never shed a tear or spoke a word. "But when she regained a little strength she spoke so courageouslyI could not have thought it. I had left them alone; but she came suddenly and called for me. She made me stay there, and then she said, 666 Henri, this girl is our guardian angel. I tell you in her presence what I know her heart will approve. * Officers' plumes. I will never be your wife in this land of blood. If you will forsake it—if you will fly with me to England, come. I will bear all, brave all; but never shall our children She buried her face in her hand, groaned, and was silent. "Now what was to be done? Escape appeared almost impossible, and a stay in Strasburg was full of danger. My good fortune, however, did not forsake me; in fact, I had a mission to do, and mademoiselle was in some degree right when she said I was sent by her guardian angel; but certainly the instruments they employed for me were not always like the good angel's. "There was always some one or other to take a fancy to me-not in the way of my poor Inclination, but some one, you know, who just liked bright eyes and pink cheeks, and so I was tormented by a horrible creature whom I hated in my heart. He was an agent of the revolution-pah! I always thought of a slaughterhouse when he was near me." "At least, you were not so complaisant with him as with your voiturier," said the Algerian. "You would not bribe him with a kiss ?" "I gave him many, nevertheless," the pretty old woman replied. "Yes, those kisses were the worst part of my rôle-a token of love without love. Wasn't it hard? But no matter, I had a purpose to gain; what I wanted to steal was worth a kiss or two, though it is hard to be kissed by those we do not love." "To steal! What was that?" "His passport. He had shewn it to me tout en règle. He expected to be sent to Nantes to execute a few thousand murders; it was made out for himself and suite, as he generally had some companions. "As soon as I had got possession of this passport the young countess and I took a great bundle of clothes and left the town as two washerwomen. M. de Renzi went out for an evening ride and rode farther than he ought in duty to have done. A friend at some distance from the city provided him with a change of dress and other disguises. We were soon en route. "A British ship-of-war was watching about for fugitives, and after some fearful hazards they got safe to it. The captain received them so well! All was over then; they would soon be in England, she would soon be his wife, and he would be an exile. I left them on the deck of the English ship." The pretty old woman wiped a tear from her brilliant eyes. "And they did not take you ?" our Algerian ejaculated, gazing on the little old dame as if he could have verily taken her himself. "Take me! ah! the exiles!" And the three notes of admiration were sufficiently explanatory of her brief reply. 66 Well, you saved them ?" "Yes, I saved them; I thank God for that." "And what did do with your self then ?" you “I returned to Vevay. My poor father was glad; I made his latter days pass more pleasantly: he did not live long. My dear mother was then alone. I had loved her fondly. I lived for her then, and carried on for her my father's business. We were together some years. I had lovers enough-at least, more than I wanted; but I never loved any but my Inclination. He was heard of no more, so all I could do was to listen when they spoke of love, and to smile, and refuse to believe; and then they would call me a coquette, but I was not so; and they would leave me, and I would wish they had never come, for it caused them sorrow; and when another came it would be the same all over again." "What a pity!" cried her listener. Well, but when my mother died it was different with me. The heart feels so strange when it has nothing to do! My hands and feet did not move so quickly then." "And you never saw your heroine again, nor the hero you saved ?" "I did not say so. Yes, I saw them; it was in the year 1815. I was standing leaning over the halfdoor of my house--it was all my own then, a lonely one-the sun was going down behind the mountains at the other side the lake. There, I just see it now, and that golden path over the blue water, and the reddened snow on the mountains. I was looking at it; all this makes one think of times that are gone, where is the use of it? But just then crack comes the postilion's whip, sounding in the echoes of the hills, crack-crack -crack. Ah, here is more of them!' said the neighbours, and every one ran out to look, for a little time before we should have wondered less at the sound of cannon than at the noise of the postilion's whip. Every day now we saw travellers dashing along. "But the carriage stopped, the postilion spoke to a man in the street, and then crack went the whip again, and it came on to my door. A fine youth was on the outside, and a lady and gentleman and some sweet little girls within. The lady I did not recognise; she was pale, and her brow had the marks of care. She had the face of one who had only just put on joy, and could not yet let it be much seen. And a grave, thoughtful man was beside her, who smiled, but like one to whom smiles were "And there was the countess weeping in my arms, and laying her two hands on my shoulders, and pushing me back to look in my face, and then saying I was not old and worn with care like her, and then turning to smile on her husband, who kept pressing his youngest little boy into my arms and calling all the children to come and embrace the woman who had saved their parents and reunited them. And when I looked at her, then I saw it was indeed that lovely and terrified girl grown into a careful, anxious, yet still loving woman. "The exiles' lot had been theirs, and they still wore the exiles' looks. And the neighbours all stood round and wondered, for they had never heard a word of my adventures." "Well," said our fine gentleman, after a pause, and I almost thought he wiped a tear from his eye, "did your manner of life change then? They did something for you, did they not ?" "I wanted nothing to be done for me," the little old woman rather proudly answered. "They could not bring the dead to life. As to any thing else I had more than I wanted. They wished me to go to live with them, for Monsieur de Renzi was to have his wife's property and to bear her murdered father's title, and all the children were made to beg me to go with them. "But when they were gone I was more alone than ever. I had seen her with her husband and her children, and I often said to myself, The woman that does not provide a home for her heart is a fool.' Certainly I had been robbed of mine; but now I began to feel that any thing was better than to live solely for oneself. I told you that the old widower my father wanted me to marry had a son a good many years older than myself. He had married, and his wife died, and left two sweet children, whom I loved fondly. They were almost always with me; they loved me, and I could not do without them. The father told me he would marry again, and I could not bear to think that those children might have a step-mother who would not make them happy. Perhaps this was only a trick of his-I do not know; but when he saw my anxiety he persuaded me it was better to prevent the danger and be the step-mother myself. It was for the children's sake I did it; but I certainly did not feel so desirous to save them from a cruel stepmother until after I had seen the countess and her happy family. Besides, he declared I had been his first love, and there is a great deal in that, especially when the man is a widower. So very soon after the exiles had passed through Vevay on their return home I married the father of those children, and they are content with their stepmother. "And there-there-there !" cried the pretty old woman, tugging a great wicker-basket from under the seat, "there is my house, and there are the children looking for me! Stop, stop, conducteur! this is Vevay. What nonsense to write up on that post The road for Italy!' Bon jour, mes amis! bon jour! Ah, I forgot to tell you in my story that the Revolutionists guillotined their friend Monsieur Emile. Bon jour! bon jour!" PRINCIPAL CAMPAIGNS IN THE RISE OF NAPOLEON. No. IX. THE CAMPAIGN OF WAGRAM. CHAPTER I. Battles of Abensberg, Landshut, and Eggmühl. THE events of Tilsit had raised Napoleon to the highest station he was destined to attain during his extraordinary career. His power was still to be augmented, his conquests to be extended, and Fortune long continued to smile upon him; but his success was no longer unstained by disaster. Hitherto he seemed to have commanded events-his prosperity had known no check, his course of victory no bound; and it required all the splendour of the naval triumphs of England-the thunder-bursts of Aboukir and Trafalgar, to convince even the wise and reflecting that this "man of destiny" was not invincible. Still it was only at a distance and on the ocean that he had experienced defeat; now the land also was to witness his reverses, and see the yet unconquered Eagles trampled in the dust by the hated Leopards of England. But many a stubborn battle had yet to be fought ere that gigantic power, formed by revolutionary force and fraud, should be fairly overthrown. The nefarious treaty of Tilsit had reduced Prussia to a second-rate power; and the Czar, acceding to the views of Napoleon, and joining the policy of France, had sanctioned whatever steps the modern Charlemagne might adopt towards the Pyrenean Peninsula, only reserving to himself in return, the right to tear Finland from his ally Sweden, and seize upon the Wallachian and Moldavian provinces belonging to unoffending Turkey. It was also arranged that Denmark and Portugal should be forced to join the new alliance against England, that European Turkey should be divided between the contracting parties, and a combined expedition undertaken against British India. History has scarcely a more unprincipled compact to shew; and it is to be regretted that the seeds of just punishment which it contained should have extended their influence to only one of the offending parties. The invasion of Spain, and the treacherous seizure of the Spanish crown, were the first steps that followed on this treacherous compact. The Peninsular war proved the consequence, and the very first event of the contest excited the deepest possible interest in Europe. French armies, deemed almost invincible, were defeated by undisciplined peasants; and troops, before whom the strongest fortresses had fallen without striking a blow, were now foiled by open cities, defended only by unwarlike burghers. The hopes of oppressed nations began to revive; in Germany the enthusiasm was universal, and Austria, collecting the resources of her yet powerful empire, took the field against France, resolved to strike one more blow for her own and the world's freedom. As early as the Prussian war, the cabinet of Vienna were already conscious that the existence of the monarchy would, at no distant period, have to be contended for in the open battle-field. This was more than once avowed to Mr. Adair, the British ambassador, who urged them to join the Russians and Prussians, then making the gallant stand in Poland described in our last Number. But the Austrians placed no reliance on the firmness of the allies, and confessed that they were too feeble and too ill prepared for resistance should they be left alone in the arena. A fair opportunity was thus lost, while the insults daily heaped by Napoleon on the Austrians rendered war every day more certain and more inevitable. A rude and vulgar letter addressed by him to the Emperor Francis, immediately after the interview of Erfurt, placed this in the clearest light possible; and the But cabinet of Vienna, fully sensible that force alone could enable them to maintain an independent attitude, made great and rapid armaments, which, as Napoleon could brook no independence, already led to repeated demands for explanation, and on more than one occasion a rupture had been expected. On the 30th of July, 1808, the French minister already declared that war would be inevitable, unless Austria counteracted the effects of her armaments by measures of a different tendency;" adding, as a threat—what was a better motive for arming than disarming-that "the French troops now in Germany and Italy were . doubly as numerous as at the period of the battle of Austerlitz." Napoleon, who, by his constant aggressions, had placed himself in a position of hostility towards every independent power, naturally looked upon all defensive measures as so many acts of preparation directed against his own supremacy, which was rising to a height certain, at no distant period, to crush the remains of the Austrian monarchy beneath its ponderous and overgrown weight. French armies of vast strength covered Italy and Germany, and pressed heavily on the drained and impoverished lands, forced to maintain their rapacious hordes, to the very ruin of the children of the soil. Entire provinces had been annexed to France since the treaty of Presburg; kingdoms had been rendered tributary and reduced to vassalage; the Pope, a sovereign and independent prince, who had crossed the Alps to crown Napoleon, had been despoiled of the greater part of his dominions, simply because he refused to acknowledge the supremacy of the modern Charlemagne, and declare war against England, a power which the pontiff said had given him no offence. Turkey, the ancient ally of France, had been sacrificed to the grasping ambition of Russia, in order to gain the autocrat's sanction to Napoleon's usurpation of the Spanish crown, an act of treachery unparalleled in history. What faith and reliance could be placed on the forbearance of a ruler at once so powerful and unprincipled? It was perfectly evident that the independence of nations could be maintained by the force of arms alone, and yet Napoleon declared, by his note of the 30th of July, that "to arm was to render war inevitable;" a declaration which almost amounted to a claim of superiority, and was followed, as usual, by torrents of vulgar abuse poured out from the columns of the Moniteur against the Emperor Francis and his government. Count Metternich, the Austrian ambassador at Paris, was also assailed at a public levee in the same rude style in which Lord Whitworth had been assailed before. The unexpected resistance which the French experienced in the Peninsula had, however, prevented Napoleon from sooner turning his arms against Austria, and the same cause had, no doubt, encouraged the cabinet of Vienna to proceed with what they termed "the organisation" of their new military system." Though Austria had been greatly reduced by the previous wars, the monarchy still contained a population of 23,000,000 inhabitants, honourably distinguished for bravery and devoted attachment to their sovereign and native land. The revenue of the state amounted to about 14,000,000. sterling, and thus furnished the government with considerable resources. Austria was, in fact, too great a power to sink without a struggle; and as a war for the very existence of the state was deemed inevitable, the time for striking the blow alone remained to be fixed. The Spanish contest, which called so large a portion of the French army across the Pyrenees, seemed to indicate the hour of promise, when Austria might hope to resume her ancient rank among nations, and, if Fortune favoured her efforts, liberate Germany from the yoke of slavery which was crushing to the earth the very genius and nationality of her people. It was a noble cause and aspiration, enthusiastically shared in not only by the Austrian nations, but by all the nations of Germany; and though Providence did not will that success should crown the generous effort, it must ever redound to the glory of those by whom it was so bravely attempted. Austria had displayed great energy and resources in preparing for the long-anticipated contest. Since 1806, |