I am
afraid the good God will not permit me to pull down Bonaparte from
his throne. He knows I should then be too happy, and therefore says,
'Gotthold Leberecht Blucher, I have permitted thee to bring
Bonaparte to the brink of ruin; now thine armies are close to Paris,
and will, without thee, get into the city. Go, therefore, old boy,
and have thine eyes cured!' Well, I will comply with God's will, and
go to some place and have myself healed, where they know better how
to do it than our doctors here. I have been told that there are
excellent oculists at Brussels, and Brussels is not very far from
here. I will, therefore, go there."
"The field-marshal intends to retreat, then?" said Christian,
laconically.
"Retreat!" cried Blucher, angrily. "Who takes the liberty of saying
that Field-Marshal Blucher intends to retreat?"
"I take that liberty," said Christian. "The field-marshal intends to
retreat from the inflammation of his eyes."
"Why, yes; that is an enemy from which it is no disgrace to
retreat."
"A retreat is always a retreat," said Christian, with a shrug, "and
if you carry out your intention you will no longer be called Marshal
Forward!"
"I do not care to be called so now!" exclaimed Blucher. "The
inflammation of my eyes has made me desperate; I shall lose my sight
if I stay here, and then they will lead me by the nose like a blind
bear.
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