“Thou hast done wickedly,” said the king when he heard who Napoleon was, “in that thou hast presumed to fight battles and win victories without any commission from me.  Go, nevertheless, and lose an arm, a leg, and an eye in my service, then shall thy offence be forgiven thee.”

And Napoleon raised a great army, and gained a great battle for the king, and lost an arm.  And he gained another greater battle, and lost a leg.  And he gained the greatest battle of all; and the king sat on the throne of his ancestors, and was called Louis the Victorious:  but Napoleon had lost an eye.  And he came into the king’s presence, bearing his eye, his arm, and his leg.

“Thou art pardoned,” said the king, “and I will even confer a singular honour upon thee.  Thou shalt defray the expense of my coronation, which shall be the most splendid ever seen in France.”

So Napoleon lost all his substance, and no man pitied him.  But after certain days the keeper of the royal wardrobe rushed into the king’s presence, crying “Treason! treason!  O Majesty, whence these republican and revolutionary pantaloons?”

“They are those I deigned to receive from the rebel Buonaparte,” said the king.  “It were meet to return them.  Where abides he now?”

“Saving your Majesty’s presence,” they said, “he lieth upon a certain dunghill.”

“If this be so,” said the king, “life can be no gratification to him, and it were humane to relieve him of it.  Moreover, he is a dangerous man.  Go, therefore, and strangle him with his own pantaloons.  Yet, let a monument be raised to him, and engrave upon it, ’Here lies Napoleon Buonaparte, whom Louis the Victorious raised from the dunghill.’”

They went accordingly; but behold!  Napoleon already lay dead upon the dunghill.  And this was told unto the king.

“He hath ever been envious of my glory,” said the king, “let him therefore be buried underneath.”

And it was so.  And after no long space the king also died, and slept with his fathers.  But when there was again a revolution in France, the people cast his bones out of the royal sepulchre, and laid Napoleon’s there instead.  And the dunghill complained grievously that it should be disturbed for so slight a cause.

And Napoleon withdrew his hand from the hand of Loyalty, saying, “Pish!” And his eyes opened, and he heard the booming of the sea, and the buzzing of the flies, and felt the heat of the sun, and saw that the sugar he had dropped into his sangaree had not yet reached the bottom of the tumbler.

III.—­Concerning Daniel Defoe