These also failed: a symbol in name and in flag and in valour of that great, once good, and very ancient thing which God now disapproved.
The strong line of Coburg was turned. It was turned and must roll back upon itself. Its strict discipline preserved it, as did the loose order of the Republican advance and the maddened fatigue of the young men who had just conquered: for these could work a miracle but not yet achieve a plan. The enemy fell back in order, sombre, massed and regular, unharassed, towards the Sambre. The straggling French soldiery, wondering that the fighting had ceased (but wisely judged incapable of pursuit), possessed the main road unhindered; next day they drank with their comrades in Maubeuge.
In this way was accomplished what a principal critic of the art of war[[45]] has called “The chief feat of arms of the Republic.”
[45]. Napoleon Buonaparte.
It was somewhat past noon.
Oct. 16, 1793. In Paris, just past noon.
Upon that scaffold before the gardens which had been the gardens of her home and in which her child had played, the Executioner showed at deliberation and great length, this way and that on every side, the Queen’s head to the people.