fled。
  Back　to　Paris　he　went。　He　abdicated　in　favour　of　his　small
  son；　but　the　allied　powers　insisted　that　Louis　XVIII；　the
  brother　of　the　late　king　Louis　XVI；　should　occupy　the　French
  throne；　and　surrounded　by　Cossacks　and　Uhlans；　the　dull…eyed
  Bourbon　prince　made　his　triumphal　entry　into　Paris。
  As　for　Napoleon　he　was　made　the　sovereign　ruler　of　the
  little　island　of　Elba　in　the　Mediterranean　where　he　organised
  his　stable　boys　into　a　miniature　army　and　fought　battles　on　a
  chess　board。
  But　no　sooner　had　he　left　France　than　the　people　began
  to　realise　what　they　had　lost。　The　last　twenty　years；　however
  costly；　had　been　a　period　of　great　glory。　Paris　had　been　the
  capital　of　the　world。　The　fat　Bourbon　king　who　had　learned
  nothing　and　had　forgotten　nothing　during　the　days　of　his
  exile　disgusted　everybody　by　his　indolence。
  On　the　first　of　March　of　the　year　1815；　when　the　representatives
  of　the　allies　were　ready　to　begin　the　work　of　unscrambling
  the　map　of　Europe；　Napoleon　suddenly　landed　near
  Cannes。　In　less　than　a　week　the　French　army　had　deserted
  the　Bourbons　and　had　rushed　southward　to　offer　their　swords
  and　bayonets　to　the　‘‘little　Corporal。''　Napoleon　marched
  straight　to　Paris　where　he　arrived　on　the　twentieth　of　March。
  This　time　he　was　more　cautious。　He　offered　peace；　but　the
  allies　insisted　upon　war。　The　whole　of　Europe　arose　against
  the　‘‘perfidious　Corsican。''　Rapidly　the　Emperor　marched
  northward　that　he　might　crush　his　enemies　before　they　should
  be　able　to　unite　their　forces。　But　Napoleon　was　no　longer　his
  old　self。　He　felt　sick。　He　got　tired　easily。　He　slept　when　he
  ought　to　have　been　up　directing　the　attack　of　his　advance…
  guard。　Besides；　he　missed　many　of　his　faithful　old　generals。
  They　were　dead。
  Early　in　June　his　armies　entered　Belgium。　On　the　16th
  of　that　month　he　defeated　the　Prussians　under　Blucher。　But
  a　subordinate　commander　failed　to　destroy　the　retreating　army
  as　he　had　been　ordered　to　do。
  Two　days　later；　Napoleon　met　Wellington　near　Waterloo。
  It　was　the　18th　of　June；　a　Sunday。　At　two　o'clock　of　the
  afternoon；　the　battle　seemed　won　for　the　French。　At　three　a
  speck　of　dust　appeared　upon　the　eastern　horizon。　Napoleon
  believed　that　this　meant　the　approach　of　his　own　cavalry　who
  would　now　turn　the　English　defeat　into　a　rout。　At　four　o'clock
  he　knew　better。　Cursing　and　swearing；　old　Blucher　drove
  his　deathly　tired　troops　into　the　heart　of　the　fray。　The　shock
  broke　the　ranks　of　the　guards。　Napoleon　had　no　further　reserves。
  He　told　his　men　to　save　themselves　as　best　they　could；
  and　he　fled。
  For　a　second　time；　he　abdicated　in　favor　of　his　son。　Just
  one　hundred　days　after　his　escape　from　Elba；　he　was　making
  for　the　coast。　He　intended　to　go　to　America。　In　the　year
  1803；　for　a　mere　song；　he　had　sold　the　French　colony　of
  Louisiana　（which　was　in　great　danger　of　being　captured　by
  the　English）　to　the　young　American　Republic。　‘‘The　Americans；''
  so　he　said；　‘‘will　be　grateful　and　will　give　me　a　little　bit
  of　land　and　a　house　where　I　may　spend　the　last　days　of　my　life
  in　peace　and　quiet。''　But　the　English　fleet　was　watching　all
  French　harbours。　Caught　between　the　armies　of　the　Allies
  and　the　ships　of　the　British；　Napoleon　had　no　choice。　The
  Prussians　intended　to　shoot　him。　The　English　might　be　more
  generous。　At　Rochefort　he　waited　in　the　hope　that　something
  might　turn　up。　One　month　after　Waterloo；　he　received　orders
  from　the　new　French　government　to　leave　French　soil　inside
  of　twenty…four　hours。　Always　the　tragedian；　he　wrote　a　letter
  to　the　Prince　Regent　of　England　（George　IV；　the　king；　was
  in　an　insane　asylum）　informing　His　Royal　Highness　of　his
  intention　to　‘‘throw　himself　upon　the　mercy　of　his　enemies　and
  like　Themistocles；　to　look　for　a　welcome　at　the　fireside　of　his
  foes　。　。　。
  On　the　15th　of　July　he　went　on　board　the　‘‘Bellerophon；''
  and　surrendered　his　sword　to　Admiral　Hotham。　At　Plymouth
  he　was　transferred　to　the　‘‘Northumberland''　which　carried　him
  to　St。　Helena。　There　he　spent　the　last　seven　years　of　his
  life。　He　tried　to　write　his　memoirs；　he　quarrelled　with　his
  keepers　and　he　dreamed　of　past　times。　Curiously　enough　he
  returned　（at　least　in　his　imagination）　to　his　original　point　of
  departure。　He　remembered　the　days　when　he　had　fought　the
  battles　of　the　Revolution。　He　tried　to　convince　himself　that
  he　had　always　been　the　true　friend　of　those　great　principles　of
  ‘‘Liberty；　Fraternity　and　Equality''　which　the　ragged　soldiers
  of　the　convention　had　carried　to　the　ends　of　the　earth。　He
  liked　to　dwell　upon　his　career　as　Commander…in…Chief　and
  Consul。　He　rarely　spoke　of　the　Empire。　Sometimes　he
  thought　of　his　son；　the　Duke　of　Reichstadt；　the　little　eagle；
  who　lived　in　Vienna；　where　he　was　treated　as　a　‘‘poor　relation''
  by　his　young　Habsburg　cousins；　whose　fathers　had　trembled　at
  the　very　mention　of　the　name　of　Him。　When　the　end　came；
  he　was　leading　his　troops　to　victory。　He　ordered　Ney　to　attack
  with　the　guards。　Then　he　died。
  But　if　you　want　an　explanation　of　this　strange　career；　if
  you　really　wish　to　know　how　one　man　could　possibly　rule　so
  many　people　for　so　many　years　by　the　sheer　force　of　his　will；
  do　not　read　the　books　that　have　been　written　about　him。　Their
  authors　either　hated　the　Emperor　or　loved　him。　You　will
  learn　many　facts；　but　it　is　more　important　to　‘‘feel　history''
  than　to　know　it。　Don't　read；　but　wait　until　you　have　a　chance
  to　hear　a　good　artist　sing　the　song　called　‘‘The　Two　Grenadiers。''
  The　words　were　written　by　Heine；　the　great　German
  poet　who　lived　through　the　Napoleonic　era。　The　music　was
  composed　by　Schumann；　a　German　who　saw　the　Emperor；
  the　enemy　of　his　country；　whenever　he　came　to　visit　his　imperial
  father…in…law。　The　song　therefore　is　the　work　of　two
  men　who　had　every　reason　to　hate　the　tyrant。
  Go　and　hear　it。　Then　you　will　understand　what　a　thousand
  volumes　could　not　possibly　tell　you。
  THE　HOLY　ALLIANCE
  AS　SOON　AS　NAPOLEON　HAD　BEEN　SENT　TO
  ST。　HELENA　THE　RULERS　WHO　SO　OFTEN
  HAD　BEEN　DEFEATED　BY　THE　HATED
  ‘‘CORSICAN''　MET　AT　VIENNA　AND　TRIED
  TO　UNDO　THE　MANY　CHANGES　THAT　HAD
  BEEN　BROUGHT　ABOUT　BY　THE　FRENCH
  REVOLUTION
  THE　Imperial　Highnesses；　the　Royal　Highnesses；　their
  Graces　the　Dukes；　the　Ministers　Extraordinary　and　Plenipotentiary；
  together　with　the　plain　Excellencies　and　their　army
  of　secretaries；　servants　and　hangers…on；　whose　labours　had
  been　so　rudely　interrupted　by　the　sudden　return　of　the　terrible
  Corsican　（now　sweltering　under　the　hot　sun　of　St。　Helena）
  went　back　to　their　jobs。　The　victory　was　duly　celebrated　with
  dinners；　garden　parties　and　balls　at　which　the　new　and　very
  shocking　‘‘waltz''　was　danced　to　the　great　scandal　of　the　ladies
  and　gentlemen　who　remembered　the　minuet　of　the　old　Regime。
  For　almost　a　generation　they　had　lived　in　retirement。　At
  last　the　danger　was　over。　They　were　very　eloquent　upon　the
  subject　of　the　terrible　hardships　which　they　had　suffered。
  And　they　expected　to　be　recompensed　for　every　penny　they
  had　lost　at　the　hands　of　the　unspeakable　Jacobins　who　had
  dared　to　kill　their　anointed　king；　who　had　abolished　wigs　and
  who　had　discarded　the　short　trousers　of　the　court　of　Versailles
  for　the　ragged　pantaloons　of　the　Parisian　slums。
  You　may　think　it　absurd　that　I　should　mention　such　a
  detail。　But；　if　you　please；　the　Congress　of　Vienna　was　one
  long　succession　of　such　absurdities　and　for　many　months　the
  question　of　‘‘short　trousers　vs。　long　trousers''　interested　the
  delegates　more　than　the　future　settlement　of　the　Saxon　or
  Spanish　problems。　His　Majesty　the　King　of　Prussia　went　so
  far　as　to　order　a　pair　of　short　ones；　that　he　might　give　public
  evidence　of　his　contempt　for　everything　revolutionary。
  Another　German　potentate；　not　to　be　outdone　in　this　noble
  hatred　for　the　revolution；　decreed　that　all　taxes　which　his　subjects
  had　paid　to　the　French　usurper　should　be　paid　a　second
  time　to　the　legitimate　ruler　who　had　loved　his　people　from　afar
  while　they　were　at　the　mercy　of　the　Corsican　ogre。　And　so　on。
  From　one　blunder　to　another；　until　one　gasps　and　exclaims
  ‘‘but　why　in　the　name　of　High　Heaven　did　not　the　people
  object？''　Why　not　indeed？　Because　the　people　were　utterly
  exhausted；　were　desperate；　did　not　care　what　happened　or　how
  or　where　or　by　whom　they　were　ruled；　provided　there　was
  peace。　They　were　sick　and　tired　of　war　and　revolution　and
  reform。
  In　the　eighties　of　the　previous　century　they　had　all　danced
  around　the　tree　of　liberty。　Princes　had　embraced　their　cooks
  and　Duchesses　had　danced　the　Carmagnole　with　their　lackeys
  in　the　honest　belief　that　the　Millennium　of　Equality　and
  Fraternity　had　at　last　dawned　upon　this　wicked　world。　Instead　of
  the　Millennium　they　had　been　visited　by　the　Revolutionary
  commissary　who　had　lodged　a　dozen　dirty　soldiers　in　their　parlor
  and　had　stolen　the　family　plate　when　he　returned　to　Paris　to
  report　to　his　gov