France a Republic.
Simultaneously with victory at Valmy, France broke from the cocoon of monarchical forms and proclaimed herself a Republic. Even while the battle was raging, the National Convention in Paris were engaged in this deliberation, this liberation. The Republic of France dates from September 20th, 1792. And under the regrettable excesses of the Revolution, the reactionary repression of the First Empire, of the Bourbon restoration, the revolt of 1830, of 1848, even to Sedan and the hour—the spirit of democracy, of liberty and independence born Sept. 20th, 1792, has flourished and flourishes indestructibly, imperishably.
And yet as Dumouriez said, “France (revolutionary) was within a hair’s breadth of destruction.” And had victory gone that day to the allies, the throne of Louis XVI. would have been reinstated on foundations so firm that centuries would not shake it. For in La Vendee and throughout Brittany there was at that time a strong uprising in favor of the throne: men such as the admirable old Marquis de la Rouarie were abandoning the Revolutionary cause and turning decisively back to monarchical principles; moreover the recent atrocious September massacres had alienated the more conservative and thoughtful men throughout France. Never was the time more propitious for the return of the mild and humane Louis XVI., the re-establishment of the monarchy, the substitution of Reform for Revolution, and of concessive peace for fratricidal war. But by that hair’s breadth republican France won; and that winning mustered out the gentlemanly old regime and ushered in the arrogant awful new.
The spirit of Valmy flies eagle-free over the world today. It is the spirit making possible the face to face and hand to hand fight between the laborer and the capitalist, the soldier and the king, woman and man: and that Spirit tells strange and terrible tales of victory.
[Chapter XVII.]
WATERLOO
Waterloo stands for the sudden darkening of the blazing comet, Napoleon; and for the return of France to the realm of the real after twenty-five years of hysterical unreality. Consequentially, too, Waterloo meant the relaxation of the terrible war-tension which had held rigid both Europe and the civilized world. The victor-trampling of Napoleon’s troops was heard on this side of the Atlantic; and our second war with England (1812-1814) was, in great measure, both in origin and in purposeless conclusion, the result of that victor-trampling.
After Waterloo (June 18, 1815) the war-weary world snapped tension and sank to rest; tho’ perhaps the secret terror tremor was not utterly stilled until six years later (May 5, 1821) when Napoleon, Man of Destiny, lay dead at St. Helena.
Youth may idolize Napoleon, age may condemn: but so long as human nature is what it is, we ordinary mortals—knowing the difficulties that attend success, eminence, excellence; knowing the almost insuperable obstacles that bar the way to supremacy, be it cosmopolitan, national, provincial, municipal, or parochial—will ever regard with loving wonder the man who won excellence and world-wide supremacy.
It has been said that a base man or a thoroughly selfish man cannot truly love or inspire love. Whom did Napoleon love? History answers Napoleon. Yet Napoleon certainly inspired love. Josephine, the army, the Old Guard devotedly loved Napoleon. In the song from the French “To Napoleon” beginning with the line, “Must thou go, my glorious Chief”, some ardent admirer lamenting Napoleon’s downfall and doom cries out:
“My chief, my king, my friend, adieu!
Never did I droop before;
Never to my sovereign sue,
As his foes I now implore:
All I ask is to divide
Every peril he must brave;
Sharing by my hero’s side
His fall, his exile, and his grave.”
And elsewhere we read that at Napoleon’s farewell “all wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer, who had been exalted from the ranks by Bonaparte. He clung to his master’s knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted.”
Too bad Nap didn’t die with the Old Guard. At La Belle Alliance in the midst of that last square of his death-devoted friends and lovers Napoleon should have died. “The Guard dies, it does not surrender” replied that gallant band as they awaited the last terrible onslaughts of the victor-breathing troops and thus were they hewn down even to a man. And while this slaughter of his Guard was going on, Napoleon, urged and aided by Marshal Soult, was galloping away from the field. Too bad Napoleon didn’t die at Waterloo.