The Emperor of Germany and the excessively smart Alexander of Russia
sat on dead-head hill and watched the game with interest, but in
spite of my repeated efforts to get them to do so, were utterly
unwilling to cover my bets on the final result. The second half
opened brilliantly. Murat made a flying wedge with our centre-rush,
threw himself impetuously upon Kutusoff, the Russian half-back,
pushed the enemy back beyond the goal posts, and the game was
practically over. The emperors on dead-head hill gave it up then and
there, and the championship of 1805 is ours. We understand England
disputes this, but we are willing to play them on neutral ground at
any time. They can beat us in aquatic sports, but given a good,
hard, real-estate field, we can do them up whether Wellington plays
or not."
"It was a glorious victory," wrote Fouche to the Emperor, "and it has
had a great effect on Paris. You are called the Hinkey of your time,
but I still think you erred in not losing that leg. Can't you work
in another coronation somewhere? You haven't acquired a new throne
in over six months, and the people are beginning to murmur."
Bonaparte's reply was immediate.
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