mours_.

To this ring of 300,000 fighters Napoleon could oppose scarcely half
as many. Yet the French fought on, if not for victory, yet for honour;
and, under the lead of Prince Poniatowski, whose valour on the 16th
had gained him the coveted rank of a Marshal of France, the Poles once
more clutched desperately at the wraith of their national
independence. Napoleon took his stand with his staff on a hill behind
Probstheyde near a half-ruined windmill, fit emblem of his fortunes;
while, further south, the three allied monarchs watched from a higher
eminence the vast horse-shoe of smoke slowly draw in towards the city.
In truth, this immense conflict baffles all description. On the
north-east, the Crown Prince of Sweden gradually drove his columns
across the Parthe, while Bluecher hammered at the suburbs.

Near the village of Paunsdorf, the allies found a weak place in the
defence, where Reynier's Saxons showed signs of disaffection. Some few
went over to the Russians in the forenoon, and about 3 p.m. others
marched over with loud hurrahs. They did not exceed 3,000 men, with 19
cannon, but these pieces were at once effectively used against the
French. Napoleon hurried towards the spot with part of his Guards, who
restored the fight on that side. But it was only for a time. The
defence was everywhere overmatched.

Even the inspiration of his presence and the desperate efforts of
Murat, Poniatowski, Victor, Macdonald, and thousands of nameless
heroes, barely held off the masses of the allied Grand Army. On the
north and north-east, Marmont and Ney were equally overborne.[382]
Worst of all, the supply of cannon balls was running low. With
pardonable exaggeration the Emperor afterwards wrote to Clarke: "If I
had then had 30,000 rounds, I should to-day be the master of the
world."

At nightfall, the chief returned weary and depressed to the windmill,
and instructed Berthier to order the retreat. Then, beside a
watch-fire, he sank down on a bench into a deep slumber, while his
generals looked on in mournful silence. All around them there surged
in the darkness the last cries of battle, the groans of the wounded,
and the dull rumble of a retreating host. After a quarter of an hour
he awoke with a start and threw an astonished look on his staff; then,
recollecting himself, he bade an officer repair to the King of Saxony
and tell him the state of affairs.

Early next morning, he withdrew into Leipzig, and, after paying a
b