ventured into the heart of Leon with a British force of 26,000 men. If
he could not save Madrid, he could at least postpone a French conquest
of the south. In this he succeeded; his chivalrous daring drew on him
the chief strength of the invaders; and when hopelessly outnumbered he
beat a lion-like retreat to Corunna. There he turned and dealt the
French a blow that closed his own career with glory and gained time
for his men to embark in safety.

While the red-coats saw the snowy heights of Galicia fade into the
sky, Napoleon was spurring back to the Pyrenees. He had received news
that portended war with Austria; and, cherishing the strange belief
that Spain was conquered, he rushed back to Paris to confront the
Hapsburg Power. But Spain was not conquered. Scattered her armies were
in the open, and even brave Saragossa fell in glorious ruins under
Lannes' persistent attacks. But the patriots fiercely rallied in the
mountains, and Napoleon was to find out the truth of the Roman
historian's saying: "In no land does the character of the people and
the nature of the country help to repair disasters more readily than
in Spain."

There was another reason for Napoleon's sudden return. Rumours had
reached him as to the _rapprochement_ of those usually envious rivals,
Talleyrand and Fouche, who now walked arm in arm, held secret
conclaves, and seemed to have some understanding with Murat. Were they
plotting to bring this ambitious man and his still more ambitious and
vindictive consort from the despised throne at Naples to seize on
power at Paris while the Emperor was engulfed in the Spanish quagmire?
A story ran that Fouche had relays of horses ready between Naples and
Paris for this enterprise.[206] But where Fouche and Talleyrand are
concerned, truth lurks at the bottom of an unfathomable well.

All that we know for certain is that Napoleon flew back to Paris in a
towering rage, and that, after sharply rebuking Fouche, he subjected
the Prince of Benevento to a violent tirade: just as he (Talleyrand)
had first advised the death of the Duc d'Enghien and then turned that
event to his sovereign's discredit, so now, after counselling the
overthrow of the Spanish dynasty, he was making the same underhand use
of the miscarriage of that enterprise. The Grand Chamberlain stood as
if unmoved until the storm swept by, and then coldly remarked to the
astonished circle: "What a pity that so great a man has been so badly
brought up."