when he appeared on the Champ de Mai the Emperor
affected surprise, saying that he thought Ney had emigrated. At the last
moment Marshal Mortier fell ill. Ney had already been sent for. He
hurried up, buying Mortier's horses (presumably the ill-fated animals who
died under him at Waterloo), and reached the army just in time to be
given the command of the left wing.

It has been well remarked that the very qualities which made Ney
invaluable for defence or for the service of a rear-guard weighed against
him in such a combat as Quatre Bras. Splendid as a corps leader, he had
not the commander's eye to embrace the field and surmise the strength of
the enemy at a glance. At Bautzen in 1818 his staff had been unable to
prevent him from leaving the route which would have brought him on the
very rear of the enemy, because seeing the foe, and unable to resist the
desire of returning their fire, he turned off to engage immediately. At
Quatre Bras, not seeing the force he was engaged with, believing he had
the whole English army on his hands from the first, he let himself at the
beginning of the day be imposed upon by a mere screen of troops.

We cannot here go into Ney's behaviour at Waterloo except to point out
that too little importance is generally given to the fact of the English
cavalry having, in a happy moment, fallen on and destroyed the artillery
which was being brought up to sweep the English squares at close
quarters. At Waterloo, as in so many other combats, the account of Ney's
behaviour more resembles that of a Homeric hero than of a modern general.
To the ideal commander of to-day, watching the fight at a distance,
calmly weighing its course, undisturbed except by distant random shots,
it is strange to compare Ney staggering through the gate of Konigsberg
all covered with blood; smoke and snow, musket in hand, announcing
himself as the rear-guard of France, or appearing, a second Achilles, on
the ramparts of Smolensko to encourage the yielding troops on the glacis,
or amidst the flying troops at Waterloo, with uncovered head and broken
sword, black with powder, on foot, his fifth horse killed under him,
knowing that life, honour, and country were lost, still hoping against
hope and attempting one more last desperate rally. If he had died--ah!
if he had died there--what a glorious tomb might have risen, glorious for
France as well as for him, with the simple inscription, "The Bravest of
the Brave."

Early on the