Those persons who wish to gain a clear idea of the battle of Waterloo
have only to place, mentally, on the ground, a capital A. The left limb
of the A is the road to Nivelles, the right limb is the road to
Genappe, the tie of the A is the hollow road to Ohain from
Braine-l’Alleud. The top of the A is Mont-Saint-Jean, where Wellington
is; the lower left tip is Hougomont, where Reille is stationed with
Jérôme Bonaparte; the right tip is the Belle-Alliance, where Napoleon
was. At the centre of this chord is the precise point where the final
word of the battle was pronounced. It was there that the lion has been
placed, the involuntary symbol of the supreme heroism of the Imperial
Guard.
The triangle included in the top of the A, between the two limbs and
the tie, is the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean. The dispute over this
plateau constituted the whole battle. The wings of the two armies
extended to the right and left of the two roads to Genappe and
Nivelles; d’Erlon facing Picton, Reille facing Hill.
Behind the tip of the A, behind the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean, is the
forest of Soignes.
As for the plain itself, let the reader picture to himself a vast
undulating sweep of ground; each rise commands the next rise, and all
the undulations mount towards Mont-Saint-Jean, and there end in the
forest.
Two hostile troops on a field of battle are two wrestlers. It is a
question of seizing the opponent round the waist. The one seeks to trip
up the other. They clutch at everything: a bush is a point of support;
an angle of the wall offers them a rest to the shoulder; for the lack
of a hovel under whose cover they can draw up, a regiment yields its
ground; an unevenness in the ground, a chance turn in the landscape, a
cross-path encountered at the right moment, a grove, a ravine, can stay
the heel of that colossus which is called an army, and prevent its
retreat. He who quits the field is beaten; hence the necessity
devolving on the responsible leader, of examining the most
insignificant clump of trees, and of studying deeply the slightest
relief in the ground.
The two generals had attentively studied the plain of Mont-Saint-Jean,
now called the plain of Waterloo. In the preceding year, Wellington,
with the sagacity of foresight, had examined it as the possible seat of
a great battle. Upon this spot, and for this duel, on the 18th of June,
Wellington had the good post, Napoleon the bad post. The English army
was stationed above, the French army below.
It is almost superfluous here to sketch the appearance of Napoleon on
horseback, glass in hand, upon the heights of Rossomme, at daybreak, on
June 18, 1815. All the world has seen him before we can show him. That
calm profile under the little three-cornered hat of the school of
Brienne, that green uniform, the white revers concealing the star of
the Legion of Honor, his great coat hiding his epaulets, the corner of
red ribbon peeping from beneath his vest, his leather trousers, the
white horse with the saddle-cloth of purple velvet bearing on the
corners crowned N’s and eagles, Hessian boots over silk stockings,
silver spurs, the sword of Marengo,—that whole figure of the last of
the Cæsars is present to all imaginations, saluted with acclamations by
some, severely regarded by others.
That figure stood for a long time wholly in the light; this arose from
a certain legendary dimness evolved by the majority of heroes, and
which always veils the truth for a longer or shorter time; but to-day
history and daylight have arrived.
That light called history is pitiless; it possesses this peculiar and
divine quality, that, pure light as it is, and precisely because it is
wholly light, it often casts a shadow in places where people had
hitherto beheld rays; from the same man it constructs two different
phantoms, and the one attacks the other and executes justice on it, and
the shadows of the despot contend with the brilliancy of the leader.
Hence arises a truer measure in the definitive judgments of nations.
Babylon violated lessens Alexander, Rome enchained lessens Cæsar,
Jerusalem murdered lessens Titus, tyranny follows the tyrant. It is a
misfortune for a man to leave behind him the night which bears his
form.