f the sword, no more comrades, no more officers, no more
generals, an inexpressible terror. Zieten putting France to the sword at
its leisure. Lions converted into goats. Such was the flight.

At Genappe, an effort was made to wheel about, to present a battle
front, to draw up in line. Lobau rallied three hundred men. The entrance
to the village was barricaded, but at the first volley of Prussian
canister, all took to flight again, and Lobau was taken. That volley of
grape-shot can be seen to-day imprinted on the ancient gable of a brick
building on the right of the road at a few minutes' distance before you
enter Genappe. The Prussians threw themselves into Genappe, furious, no
doubt, that they were not more entirely the conquerors. The pursuit was
stupendous. Blucher ordered extermination. Roguet had set the lugubrious
example of threatening with death any French grenadier who should bring
him a Prussian prisoner. Blucher outdid Roguet. Duhesme, the general
of the Young Guard, hemmed in at the doorway of an inn at Genappe,
surrendered his sword to a huzzar of death, who took the sword and slew
the prisoner. The victory was completed by the assassination of the
vanquished. Let us inflict punishment, since we are history: old
Blucher disgraced himself. This ferocity put the finishing touch to the
disaster. The desperate route traversed Genappe, traversed Quatre-Bras,
traversed Gosselies, traversed Frasnes, traversed Charleroi, traversed
Thuin, and only halted at the frontier. Alas! and who, then, was fleeing
in that manner? The Grand Army.

This vertigo, this terror, this downfall into ruin of the loftiest
bravery which ever astounded history,--is that causeless? No. The shadow
of an enormous right is projected athwart Waterloo. It is the day of
destiny. The force which is mightier than man produced that day. Hence
the terrified wrinkle of those brows; hence all those great souls
surrendering their swords. Those who had conquered Europe have fallen
prone on the earth, with nothing left to say nor to do, feeling the
present shadow of a terrible presence. Hoc erat in fatis. That day the
perspective of the human race underwent a change. Waterloo is the
hinge of the nineteenth century. The disappearance of the great man was
necessary to the advent of the great century. Some one, a person to whom
one replies not, took the responsibility on himself. The panic of heroes
can be explained. In the battle of Waterloo there is some