582 Les Miserables
gomont, to the sunken road of Ohain, to Grouchy’s delay, to
Blucher’s arrival, to be Irony itself in the tomb, to act so as
to stand upright though fallen, to drown in two syllables the
European coalition, to offer kings privies which the Caesars
once knew, to make the lowest of words the most lofty by
entwining with it the glory of France, insolently to end Wa-
terloo with Mardigras, to finish Leonidas with Rabellais, to
set the crown on this victory by a word impossible to speak,
to lose the field and preserve history, to have the laugh on
your side after such a carnage,—this is immense!
It was an insult such as a thunder-cloud might hurl! It
reaches the grandeur of AEschylus!
Cambronne’s reply produces the effect of a violent break.
‘Tis like the breaking of a heart under a weight of scorn. ‘Tis
the overflow of agony bursting forth. Who conquered? Wel-
lington? No! Had it not been for Blucher, he was lost. Was
it Blucher? No! If Wellington had not begun, Blucher could
not have finished. This Cambronne, this man spending his
last hour, this unknown soldier, this infinitesimal of war, re-
alizes that here is a falsehood, a falsehood in a catastrophe,
and so doubly agonizing; and at the moment when his rage
is bursting forth because of it, he is offered this mockery,—
life! How could he restrain himself? Yonder are all the kings
of Europe, the general’s flushed with victory, the Jupiter’s
darting thunderbolts; they have a hundred thousand victo-
rious soldiers, and back of the hundred thousand a million;
their cannon stand with yawning mouths, the match is
lighted; they grind down under their heels the Imperial
guards, and the grand army; they have just crushed Napo-