"It
is justice if we march to Paris--to take all from him whom your
majesties still call the Emperor Napoleon, but who, in my eyes, is
nothing but an infamous tyrant, presumptuous enough to put a crown
on his head, and ascend a throne to which he has no right whatever,
and who, moreover, has treated us Germans as though we were his
slaves. Ay, it is justice if we take from the robber of kingdoms,
the braggart winner of battles, all that he has appropriated, and
send him back to Corsica. That would be justice, your majesty; and
if it is not administered, it is a morbid generosity that prevents
it, and which is utterly out of place in regard to him."
The emperor cast a glance full of indescribable satisfaction on the
king, who responded to it with a gentle nod.
"My dear Blucher," said Alexander, kindly, "you have not yet
permitted me to wish you joy of your birthday. God bless you, my
dear field-marshal, and may this year bring us the peace and repose
which one so much needs after the exposures of campaign life, and
especially when he is seventy-one years old!"
"I do not know whether I am as old as that," said Blucher,
indignantly; "I know only that I am by no means desirous of repose,
but rather deem it a great misfortune just now."
The emperor seemed not to have heard him, but continued quietly:
"Yes, certainly, my dear field-marshal, you need retirement; at your
venerable age we should not subject ourselves to such prolonged
fatigues in the field.
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