at aurora England and Germany have a magnificent radiance. They
are majestic because they think. The elevation of level which they
contribute to civilization is intrinsic with them; it proceeds from
themselves and not from an accident. The aggrandizement which they have
brought to the nineteenth century has not Waterloo as its source. It is
only barbarous peoples who undergo rapid growth after a victory. That is
the temporary vanity of torrents swelled by a storm. Civilized people,
especially in our day, are neither elevated nor abased by the good or
bad fortune of a captain. Their specific gravity in the human species
results from something more than a combat. Their honor, thank God! their
dignity, their intelligence, their genius, are not numbers which those
gamblers, heroes and conquerors, can put in the lottery of battles.
Often a battle is lost and progress is conquered. There is less glory
and more liberty. The drum holds its peace; reason takes the word. It is
a game in which he who loses wins. Let us, therefore, speak of Waterloo
coldly from both sides. Let us render to chance that which is due
to chance, and to God that which is due to God. What is Waterloo? A
victory? No. The winning number in the lottery.

The quine [11] won by Europe, paid by France.

It was not worth while to place a lion there.

Waterloo, moreover, is the strangest encounter in history. Napoleon and
Wellington. They are not enemies; they are opposites. Never did God,
who is fond of antitheses, make a more striking contrast, a more
extraordinary comparison. On one side, precision, foresight, geometry,
prudence, an assured retreat, reserves spared, with an obstinate
coolness, an imperturbable method, strategy, which takes advantage
of the ground, tactics, which preserve the equilibrium of battalions,
carnage, executed according to rule, war regulated, watch in hand,
nothing voluntarily left to chance, the ancient classic courage,
absolute regularity; on the other, intuition, divination, military
oddity, superhuman instinct, a flaming glance, an indescribable
something which gazes like an eagle, and which strikes like the
lightning, a prodigious art in disdainful impetuosity, all the mysteries
of a profound soul, associated with destiny; the stream, the plain, the
forest, the hill, summoned, and in a manner, forced to obey, the despot
going even so far as to tyrannize over the field of battle; faith in
a star mingled with strategic science,