Victor Hugo on Waterloo

Imagine a vast undulating ground; each ascent is commanded by the next ascent and all the undulations ascend to Mont St. Jean, where they form the forest.

Continuing The Battle of Waterloo,
with a selection from Les Miserables by Victor Hugo published in 1862. This selection is presented in 6 easy 5 minute installments. For works benefiting from the latest research see the “More information” section at the bottom of these pages.

Victor Hugo (1802-1885) was the great French novelist. His most famous book (from which this passage is taken) used passages of non-fiction history to provide background for his fictional story. The quality of writing is evident throughout.

Previously in The Battle of Waterloo.

Time: 1815
Place: Waterloo Crossroads, 9 miles south of Brussels

Those who wish to form a distinct idea of the battle of Waterloo need only imagine a capital A laid on the ground. The left leg of the A is the Nivelles road, the right one the Genappe road, while the string of the A is the broken way running from Ohaine to Braine l’Alleud. The top of the A is Mont St. Jean, where Wellington is; at the left lower point Reille is with Jerome Bonaparte; the right lower point is La Belle Alliance, where Napoleon is. A little below the point where the string of the A meets and cuts the right leg, is La Haye Sainte; where the left cuts it, is Hougomont; and in the center of this string is the exact spot where the battle was concluded. Here the lion is placed, the involuntary symbol of the heroism of the Old Guard.

The triangle comprised at the top of the A between the two legs and the string is the plateau of Mont St. Jean; the dispute for this plateau was the whole battle. The wings of the two armies extend to the right and left of the Genappe and Nivelles roads, D’Erlon facing Picton, Reille facing Hill. Behind the point of the A, behind the plateau of St. Jean, is the forest of Soigne.

As for the plan itself, imagine a vast undulating ground; each ascent is commanded by the next ascent and all the undulations ascend to Mont St. Jean, where they form the forest.

The two generals had attentively studied the plain of Mont St. Jean, which is called at the present day the Field of Waterloo. In the previous year, Wellington, with prescient sagacity, had examined it as suitable for a great battle. On this ground and for this duel of June 18th, Wellington had the good side and Napoleon the bad; for the English army was above, the French army below.

All the world knows the first phase of this battle; a troubled, uncertain, hesitating opening, dangerous for both armies, but more so for the English than for the French.

It had rained all night; the ground was saturated; the rain had collected in hollows of the plain as in tubs; at certain points the ammunition-wagons had sunk in up to the axletrees and the girths of the horses; if the wheat and barley laid low by this mass of moving vehicles had not filled the ruts and made a litter under the wheels, any movement, especially in the valleys, in the direction of Papelotte, would have been impossible.

The action was begun furiously, more furiously perhaps than the Emperor desired, by the French left wing on Hougomont. At the same time Napoleon attacked the center by hurling Quiot’s brigade on La Haye Sainte and Ney pushed the French right wing against the English left, which was leaning upon Papelotte.

The attack on Hougomont was, to a certain extent, a feint, for the plan was to attract Wellington there and make him strengthen his left. This plan would have succeeded had not the four companies of guards and Perponcher’s Belgian division firmly held the position and Wellington, instead of massing his troops, found it only necessary to send as a reinforcement four more companies of guards and a battalion of Brunswickers. The attack on the French right on Papelotte was serious; to destroy the English left, cut the Brussels road, bar the passage for any possible Prussians, force Mont St. Jean, drive back Wellington on Hougomont, then on Braine l’Alleud and then on Halle — nothing was more distinct. Had not a few incidents supervened, this attack would have succeeded, for Papelotte was taken and La Haye Sainte carried.

There is a detail to be noticed here. In the English infantry, especially in Kemp’s brigade, there were many recruits and these young soldiers valiantly withstood our formidable foot and they behaved excellently as sharpshooters. The soldier when thrown out an tirailleur, being left to some extent to his own resources, becomes as it were his own general: and these recruits displayed something of the French invention and fury. These novices displayed an impulse and it displeased Wellington.

After the taking of La Haye Sainte, the battle vacillated.

There is an obscure interval in this day, between twelve and four; the middle of this battle is almost indistinct and participates in the gloom of the mélée. A twilight sets in and we perceive vast fluctuations in this mist, a dizzying mirage, the panoply of war at that day, unknown in our times; flaming colbacks, flying sabre-taches; cross-belts; grenadier bearskins; hussar dolmans; red boots with a thousand wrinkles; heavy shakos enwreathed with gold twist; the nearly black Brunswick infantry mingled with the scarlet infantry of England; the English soldiers wearing clumsy round white cushions for epaulettes; the Hanoverian light-horse with their leathern helmets, brass bands and red horsetails; the Highlanders with their bare knees and checkered plaids and the long white gaiters of our grenadiers — pictures, but not strategic lines; what a Salvator Rosa, but not a Gribeauval, would have revelled in.

A certain amount of tempest is always mingled with a battle, quid obscurum, quid divinum. Every historian traces to some extent the lineament that pleases him in the hurly-burly. Whatever the combination of the generals may be, the collision of armed masses has incalculable ebbs and flows; in action the two plans of the leaders enter into each other and destroy their shape. The line of battle floats and winds like a thread, the streams of blood flow illogically, the fronts of armies undulate, the regiments in advancing or retiring form capes or gulfs and all these rocks are continually shifting their position: where infantry was, artillery arrives; where artillery was, cavalry dash in; the battalions are smoke. There was something there, but when you look for it, it has disappeared; the gloomy masses advance and retreat; a species of breath from the tomb impels, drives back, swells and disperses these tragic multitudes.

Wolfgang Menzel begins here. William Siborne begins here. Victor Hugo begins here.

More information here and here, and below.

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