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 19th June a small band of officers retreating from the field found Ney asleep at Marchiennes, “the first repose he had had for four days,” and they did not disturb him for orders.  “And indeed what order could Marshal Ney have given?” The disaster of the day, the overwhelming horror of the flight of the beaten army, simply crushed Ney morally as well as physically.  Rising in the Chambers he denounced all attempt at further resistance.  He did not know, he would not believe, that Grouchy was safe, and that the army was fast rallying.  Fresh from the field, with all its traces on him, the authority of Ney was too great for the Government.  Frightened friends, plotting Royalists, echoed the wild words of Ney brave only against physical dangers.  Instead of dying on the battle-field, he had lived to ensure the return of the Bourbons, the fall of Bonaparte, his own death, and the ruin of France.