So far then has gone the tide of Napoleon's success, ever mounting. But now, in 1808, we begin to see it turn towards the ebb, and again it is England, though on land this time, that is chief in so turning it, for now begins the story of what we call the Peninsular War, waged in Spain and Portugal.
At first it is a story of England, of Wellington, on the defensive. Napoleon in person is in command of the French. He is once more called away eastward, to deal with Austria, and again he deals with her drastically. Once more he crushes her armies and extorts from her a peace which gives a large slice of her territories to France.
And something more it now pleased him to take from Austria, a daughter of the great house of Habsburg as his wife—for he had obtained a divorce from his first wife. The daughter of the oldest, proudest family in the whole Western world was thus married to the Corsican adventurer, become Emperor of the French!
It appeared indeed as if there was nothing in Europe which he might not take, if he so pleased. He treated spiritual power when it was opposed to him precisely as he dealt with kings, for the Pope's reply to his annexation of the papal dominions in Italy was to excommunicate him; and that excommunication Napoleon countered by sending soldiers to climb the walls of the Vatican, the Pope's palace in Rome, and bring out the Pope a prisoner.
Still Wellington stood firmly against his troops on a line near the boundary between Spain and Portugal, holding back the tide. Russia, despite Napoleon, had opened her ports to British ships, wherefore once more he declared war upon her. And now, marching into the heart of Russia in the autumn days, which constantly grew shorter, of 1812, he came to Moscow to find it in flames and its inhabitants gone. Destroy the enemy's army in the field had always been Napoleon's maxim, but now he found no enemy to destroy. That enemy had all the East on which he might fall back. To pursue farther would be madness. Through the snows of winter, with the Cossacks hanging on their flanks and rear and taking every opportunity to attack, began that return of the French Grand Army from Russia which is one of the most pathetic scenes in all the story.
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.