Murat was at Konigsberg with the Imperial staff, left in supreme
command by the Emperor, and already thinking of his own sunny
kingdom of the Mediterranean, and the ease and the glory of it. In
a few weeks he, too, must tarnish his name.
"I make over the command to you," he said to Prince Eugene; and
Napoleon's step-son made an answer which shows, as Eugene showed
again and again, that contact with a great man makes for greatness.
"You cannot make it over to me," he replied. "Only the Emperor can
do that. You can run away in the night, and the supreme command
will devolve on me the next morning."
And what Murat did is no doubt known to the learned reader.
Macdonald, abandoned by Yorck with the Prussian contingent, in great
peril, alone in the north, was retreating with the remains of the
Tenth Army Corps, wondering whether Konigsberg or Dantzig would
still be French when he reached them. On his heels was
Wittgenstein, in touch with St. Petersburg and the Emperor
Alexander, communicating with Kutusoff at Vilna. And Macdonald,
like the Scotchman and the Frenchman that he was, turned at a
critical moment and rent Wittgenstein. Here was another bulldog in
that panic-stricken pack, who turned and snarled and fought while
his companions slunk homewards with their tails between their legs.
There were three of such breed--Ney and Macdonald, and Prince Eugene
de Beauharnais.
Napoleon was in Paris, getting together in wild haste the new army
with which he was yet to frighten Europe into fits.
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