Evening star., 1915-06-13

his star of destiny thai he steadfastly
refused to heed aught else? Can any
human mind describe even imag
inc the feelings of this physically sick
man as the sun goes down on the bat
tlefield OF Waterloo and he hears the
saving cry of Blucher, Blucher?
And how different had that Joyous
shout been ''Grouchy. Grouchy," and
that tardy marshal arrived with his
fresh thousands to succor his emperor
instead of Blucher and his Prussians
TO succor Wellington. And thus chance
and fate combined to wreck the for
tunes of their former king"
Sitting on his horse on the heights
OF Rossome. sometimes almost uucon-
scioHs from the pain OF his maladv
and fatigue, with Il belgian rustic tied
to his saddle in order that he shall
not have run away when the emperor
wishes to ask him questions about the
character OF the surrounding country,
he has seen his grand cavalry butch
cred by the orders of the brave bur
rash Marshal Ney. and his hard and
bloody won field of Waterloo wrested
from his Grasp hy the PruSsians un-
der Rlucher, Perhars he thinks witt
human bitterness Of all his plans TO
forestail this very catastrophe two
DAYS before, AT Ligny and Quatre- Bras.
and who shall say h" is not human y
the iron sinks deep nto his soul'
Il h
II Ney had carried out the orders of
the great master mind there would
have been no Prussian army to turn
the tide at the close of this fateful
day. And had Grouchy followed
Blucher diligently and harassed him.
keeping him In check. instead of
amusing himself at Gembloux" Blu
cher would have never come to save
the Iron Duke. The great master OF
battlefields laid his almost perfect
plans. but chance and fate quilted his
ranks and went over to his enemies.
Has he returned from Elba to the
throne of France for 100 DAYS to see
his star of destiny. that shone so fair
on a hundred fields of battle. go out in
darkness and silence at the cry of
Blucher at Waterloo? He plunges
spurs to his horse to go upon the
field in the midst of the final carnage
and panic in the vain hope that his
presence will stay the rout, even as
at the bridge of Lodi he seized the
tri-color and led his soldiers up to the
very muzzle of the Austrian cannon
and turned panic and defeat into VIC
tory and glory.
But it is never to he again. Tho
star of destiny has gone out forever.
He becomes lost on the battlefield,
moralized, panic-stricken madmen flee
ing from that horror of destruction.
He Is borne along on the tide of the
rout even as he vainly tries to stem
and turn it back. until he is found
wandering like somnsmbulist by
some of his remaining generals.
They seize his bridle-reyl and hurry
him away, for the Prussian cavalry
are cutting the fleeing fugitires to
pieces and were il daylight the capture
of the emperor would be an easy and
almost certain matter. All is lost. The
rout is complete. Sixty thousand dead
and wounded cover the battlefield, and
what is left of the French army is
fleeing in widest confusion toward
Paris or anywhere to escape tho
sabers of the Prussians. who ride them
down and butcher them as they fly.
And even at his very hour the great
armies of Russia and Austria are
about to cross the Rhine and move on
Paris. There will be no French army
to oppose them. The great soldier
conuueror of Europe has been broken
on the wheel of fortune at last: he is
a fugitive, hunted animal