"Now for the transformation scene," said Bonaparte on the eve of the battle. "If the weather is good we'll make these foreigners wish they had worn running-shoes instead of Wellingtons."But the weather was not clear. It was excessively wet, and by nightfall Bonaparte realized that all was over. His troops were in fine condition, but the rain seemed to have put out the fires of the Commander's genius. As the Imperial Guard marched before him in review the Emperor gazed upon them fondly.
"They're like a picture!" he cried, enthusiastically. "Just see that line.""Yes," returned Ney. "Very like a picture; they remind me in a way of a comic paper print, but that is more suitable for framing than for fighting."The Emperor making no response, Ney looked up and observed that his Majesty had fallen asleep. "That settles it," he sighed. "To-day is the Waterloo of Napoleon Bonaparte. When a man sleeps at a moment like this his friends would better prepare for a wake."And Ney was right. Waterloo was the Waterloo of Napoleon Bonaparte.
The opposing armies met in conflict, and, as the world knows, the star of the great soldier was obscured forever, and France was conquered. Ruined in his fortunes, Bonaparte at once returned to Paris.
"Is there a steamer for New York to-night, Fouche?" he asked, as, completely worn out, he threw himself upon his throne and let his chin hang dejectedly over his collar.
"No, Sire," returned Fouche, with an ill-concealed chuckle. "There is not. You've missed your chance by two days. Then isn't another boat for ten days.""Then I am lost," sobbed Napoleon.
"Yes, Sire, you are," returned Fouche. "Shall I offer a reward to anybody who will find you and return you in good order?""No," replied the Emperor. "I will give myself up.""Wise man!" said Fouche, unsympathetically. "You're such a confounded riddle that I wonder you didn't do it long ago.""Ah, Fouche!" sighed the Emperor, taking his crown out of his wardrobe and crushing it in his hands until the diamonds fell out upon the floor, "this shows the futility of making war without preparing for it by study. When I was a young man I was a student.
I knew the pages of history by heart, and I learned my lessons well.
While I was the student I was invincible. In mimic as in real war Iwas the conqueror. Everything I undertook came about as I had willed because I was the master of facts--I dealt in facts, and I made no mistakes. To-day I am a conquered man, and all because I have neglected to continue the study of the history of my people--of my adopted native land.""Humph!" retorted Fouche. "I don't see how that would have helped matters any. All the history in creation could not have won the battle of Waterloo for you.""Fool that you are!" cried Napoleon, desperately, rising. "Can't you see? Anybody who knows anything about the history of France knows that the battle of Waterloo resulted fatally for me. Had I known that, do you suppose I'd have gone there? Not I! I'd have gone fishing in the South of France instead, and this would not have happened. Leave me! I wish to be alone."Left to his own reflections Bonaparte paced his room for hours.
Then, tapping his bell, he summoned one of his faithful adherents.
"Monsieur le B-," he said, as the attendant entered, "you have heard the news?""Yes, Sire," sobbed Le B-.
"Do I not carry myself well in the hour of defeat?""You do, Your Majesty."
"Am I pale, Le B-?"
"No--no--oh, no, not at all, Sire."
"Tell me the truth, Le B-. We must not let the enemy find us broken when they arrive. How do I look? Out with it.""Out of sight, Sire!" replied Le B-, bending backward as far as he could, and gazing directly at the ceiling.
"Then bring on your invader, and let us hear the worst," ordered Napoleon, encouraged by Le B-'s assurances.
A few days later, Bonaparte, having nothing else to do, once more abdicated, and threw himself upon the generosity of the English people.
"I was only fooling, anyhow," he said, with a sad smile. "If you hadn't sent me to Elba I wouldn't have come back. As for the fighting, you all said I was outside of the pale of civilization, and I had to fight. I didn't care much about getting back into the pail, but I really objected to having it said that I was in the tureen."This jest completely won the hearts of the English who were used to just such humor, who loved it, and who, many years later, showed that love by the establishment of a comic journal as an asylum for bon-mots similarly afflicted. The result was, not death, but a new Empire, the Island of St. Helena.
"This," said Wellington, "will serve to make his jokes more far-fetched than ever; so that by sending him there we shall not only be gracious to a fallen foe, but add to the gayety of our nation."
