emperor received graciously the aid-de-camp of the
vanquished general. On the eve of a battle, the fate of which was so
uncertain, he felt disposed to be indulgent to a defeat; he listened to
all that was said to him respecting the scattered state of his forces in
Spain, and the number of commanders-in-chief, and admitted the justice
of it all; but he explained his reasons, which it enters not into our
province to mention here.

With the return of night also returned the apprehension, that under
cover of its shades, the Russian army might escape from the field of
battle. Napoleon's anxiety was so great as to prevent him from sleeping.
He kept calling incessantly to know the hour, inquiring if any noise was
heard, and sending persons to ascertain if the enemy was still before
him. His doubts on this subject were so strong, that he had given orders
that his proclamation should not be read to his troops until the next
morning, and then only in case of the certainty of a battle.

Tranquillized for a few moments, anxiety of an opposite description
again seized him. He became frightened at the destitute state of the
soldiers. Weak and famished as they were, how could they support a long
and terrible shock? In this danger he looked upon his guard as his sole
resource; it seemed to be his security for both armies. He sent for
Bessieres, that one of his marshals in whom he had the greatest
confidence for commanding it; he wished to know if this chosen reserve
wanted nothing;--he called him back several times, and repeated his
pressing questions. He desired that these old soldiers should have three
days' biscuit and rice distributed among them from their waggons of
reserve; finally, dreading that his orders had not been obeyed, he got
up once more, and questioned the grenadiers on guard at the entrance of
his tent, if they had received these provisions. Satisfied by their
answer, he went in, and soon fell into a doze.

Shortly after, he called once more. His aid-de-camp found him now
supporting his head with both hands; he seemed, by what was heard, to be
meditating on the vanities of glory. "What is war? A trade of
barbarians, the whole art of which consists in being the strongest on a
given point!" He then complained of the fickleness of fortune, which he
said, he began to experience. Seeming to revert to more encouraging
ideas, he recollected what had been told him of the tardiness and
carelessness of Kutusof, and expressed