الفصل الفصل 80 · THE UNEXPECTED

There were three thousand five hundred of them. They formed a front a

quarter of a league in extent. They were giant men, on colossal horses.

There were six and twenty squadrons of them; and they had behind them

to support them Lefebvre-Desnouettes’s division,—the one hundred and

six picked gendarmes, the light cavalry of the Guard, eleven hundred

and ninety-seven men, and the lancers of the guard of eight hundred and

eighty lances. They wore casques without horse-tails, and cuirasses of

beaten iron, with horse-pistols in their holsters, and long

sabre-swords. That morning the whole army had admired them, when, at

nine o’clock, with braying of trumpets and all the music playing “Let

us watch o’er the Safety of the Empire,” they had come in a solid

column, with one of their batteries on their flank, another in their

centre, and deployed in two ranks between the roads to Genappe and

Frischemont, and taken up their position for battle in that powerful

second line, so cleverly arranged by Napoleon, which, having on its

extreme left Kellermann’s cuirassiers and on its extreme right

Milhaud’s cuirassiers, had, so to speak, two wings of iron.

Aide-de-camp Bernard carried them the Emperor’s orders. Ney drew his

sword and placed himself at their head. The enormous squadrons were set

in motion.

Then a formidable spectacle was seen.

All their cavalry, with upraised swords, standards and trumpets flung

to the breeze, formed in columns by divisions, descended, by a

simultaneous movement and like one man, with the precision of a brazen

battering-ram which is effecting a breach, the hill of La Belle

Alliance, plunged into the terrible depths in which so many men had

already fallen, disappeared there in the smoke, then emerging from that

shadow, reappeared on the other side of the valley, still compact and

in close ranks, mounting at a full trot, through a storm of grape-shot

which burst upon them, the terrible muddy slope of the table-land of

Mont-Saint-Jean. They ascended, grave, threatening, imperturbable; in

the intervals between the musketry and the artillery, their colossal

trampling was audible. Being two divisions, there were two columns of

them; Wathier’s division held the right, Delort’s division was on the

left. It seemed as though two immense adders of steel were to be seen

crawling towards the crest of the table-land. It traversed the battle

like a prodigy.

Nothing like it had been seen since the taking of the great redoubt of

the Muskowa by the heavy cavalry; Murat was lacking here, but Ney was

again present. It seemed as though that mass had become a monster and

had but one soul. Each column undulated and swelled like the ring of a

polyp. They could be seen through a vast cloud of smoke which was rent

here and there. A confusion of helmets, of cries, of sabres, a stormy

heaving of the cruppers of horses amid the cannons and the flourish of

trumpets, a terrible and disciplined tumult; over all, the cuirasses

like the scales on the hydra.

These narrations seemed to belong to another age. Something parallel to

this vision appeared, no doubt, in the ancient Orphic epics, which told

of the centaurs, the old hippanthropes, those Titans with human heads

and equestrian chests who scaled Olympus at a gallop, horrible,

invulnerable, sublime—gods and beasts.

Odd numerical coincidence,—twenty-six battalions rode to meet

twenty-six battalions. Behind the crest of the plateau, in the shadow

of the masked battery, the English infantry, formed into thirteen

squares, two battalions to the square, in two lines, with seven in the

first line, six in the second, the stocks of their guns to their

shoulders, taking aim at that which was on the point of appearing,

waited, calm, mute, motionless. They did not see the cuirassiers, and

the cuirassiers did not see them. They listened to the rise of this

flood of men. They heard the swelling noise of three thousand horse,

the alternate and symmetrical tramp of their hoofs at full trot, the

jingling of the cuirasses, the clang of the sabres and a sort of grand

and savage breathing. There ensued a most terrible silence; then, all

at once, a long file of uplifted arms, brandishing sabres, appeared

above the crest, and casques, trumpets, and standards, and three

thousand heads with gray moustaches, shouting, “Vive l’Empereur!” All

this cavalry debouched on the plateau, and it was like the appearance

of an earthquake.

All at once, a tragic incident; on the English left, on our right, the

head of the column of cuirassiers reared up with a frightful clamor. On

arriving at the culminating point of the crest, ungovernable, utterly

given over to fury and their course of extermination of the squares and

cannon, the cuirassiers had just caught sight of a trench,—a trench

between them and the English. It was the hollow road of Ohain.

It was a terrible moment. The ravine was there, unexpected, yawning,

directly under the horses’ feet, two fathoms deep between its double

slopes; the second file pushed the first into it, and the third pushed

on the second; the horses reared and fell backward, landed on their

haunches, slid down, all four feet in the air, crushing and

overwhelming the riders; and there being no means of retreat,—the whole

column being no longer anything more than a projectile,—the force which

had been acquired to crush the English crushed the French; the

inexorable ravine could only yield when filled; horses and riders

rolled there pell-mell, grinding each other, forming but one mass of

flesh in this gulf: when this trench was full of living men, the rest

marched over them and passed on. Almost a third of Dubois’s brigade

fell into that abyss.

This began the loss of the battle.

A local tradition, which evidently exaggerates matters, says that two

thousand horses and fifteen hundred men were buried in the hollow road

of Ohain. This figure probably comprises all the other corpses which

were flung into this ravine the day after the combat.

Let us note in passing that it was Dubois’s sorely tried brigade which,

an hour previously, making a charge to one side, had captured the flag

of the Lunenburg battalion.

Napoleon, before giving the order for this charge of Milhaud’s

cuirassiers, had scrutinized the ground, but had not been able to see

that hollow road, which did not even form a wrinkle on the surface of

the plateau. Warned, nevertheless, and put on the alert by the little

white chapel which marks its angle of junction with the Nivelles

highway, he had probably put a question as to the possibility of an

obstacle, to the guide Lacoste. The guide had answered No. We might

almost affirm that Napoleon’s catastrophe originated in that sign of a

peasant’s head.

Other fatalities were destined to arise.

Was it possible that Napoleon should have won that battle? We answer

No. Why? Because of Wellington? Because of Blücher? No. Because of God.

Bonaparte victor at Waterloo; that does not come within the law of the

nineteenth century. Another series of facts was in preparation, in

which there was no longer any room for Napoleon. The ill will of events

had declared itself long before.

It was time that this vast man should fall.

The excessive weight of this man in human destiny disturbed the

balance. This individual alone counted for more than a universal group.

These plethoras of all human vitality concentrated in a single head;

the world mounting to the brain of one man,—this would be mortal to

civilization were it to last. The moment had arrived for the

incorruptible and supreme equity to alter its plan. Probably the

principles and the elements, on which the regular gravitations of the

moral, as of the material, world depend, had complained. Smoking blood,

over-filled cemeteries, mothers in tears,—these are formidable

pleaders. When the earth is suffering from too heavy a burden, there

are mysterious groanings of the shades, to which the abyss lends an

ear.

Napoleon had been denounced in the infinite and his fall had been

decided on.

He embarrassed God.

Waterloo is not a battle; it is a change of front on the part of the

Universe.