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Page 31
The fighting had continued up to this point. Indeed, after the flag of
truce, a regiment of my men, who had been fighting their way through
toward where we were, and who did not know of a flag of truce, fired
into some of Sheridan's cavalry. This was speedily stopped, however. I
showed General Sheridan General Lee's note, and he determined to await
events. He dismounted, and I did the same. Then, for the first time,
the men seemed to understand what it all meant, and then the poor
fellows broke down. The men cried like children. Worn, starved and
bleeding as they were, they would rather have died than have
surrendered. At one word from me they would have hurled themselves on
the enemy, and have cut their way through or have fallen to a man with
their guns in their hands. But I could not permit it. The great drama
had been played to its end. But men are seldom permitted to look upon
such a scene as the one presented here. That these men should have
wept at surrendering so unequal a fight, at being taken out of this
constant carnage and storm, at being sent back to their families; that
they should have wept at having their starved and wasted forms lifted
out of the jaws of death and placed once more before their
hearthstones, was an exhibition of fortitude and patriotism that might
set an example for all time.
SEDAN.
BY VICTOR HUGO.
The Second Empire of the French was pounded to powder in a bowl. This
is literal, not figurative. To attempt to describe Sedan after Victor
Hugo has described it for all mankind were a work futile and foolish.
To Hugo we concede the palm among all writers, ancient and modern, as
a delineator of battle. His description of the battle of Waterloo will
outlast the tumulus and the lion which French patriotism has reared on
the square where the last of the Old Guard perished. His description,
though not elaborate, is equally graphic and final. He was returning,
in September, 1871, from his fourth exile. He had been in Belgium in
banishment for about eighteen years. It is in the "History of a Crime"
that he tells the story. He says that he was re-entering France by the
Luxembourg frontier, and had fallen asleep in the coach. Suddenly the
jolt of the train coming to a standstill awoke him. One of the
passengers said: "What place is this?" Another answered "Sedan." With
a shudder, Hugo looked around. He says that to his mind and vision, as
he gazed out, the paradise was a tomb. Before substituting his words
for our own, we note only that nearly thirteen months had elapsed
since Louis Napoleon and his 90,000 men had here been brayed in a
mortar. Hugo's description of the scene and the event continues as
follows:
The valley was circular and hollow, like the bottom of a crater; the
winding river resembled a serpent; the hills high, ranged one behind
the other, surrounded this mysterious spot like a triple line of
inexorable walls; once there, there is no means of exit. It reminded
me of the amphitheatres. An indescribable, disquieting vegetation,
which seemed to be an extension of the Black Forest, overran all the
heights, and lost itself in the horizon like a huge impenetrable
snare; the sun shone, the birds sang, carters passed by whistling;
sheep, lambs and pigeons were scattered about; leaves quivered and
rustled; the grass, a densely thick grass, was full of flowers. It was
appalling.
I seemed to see waving over this valley the flashing of the avenging
angel's sword.
This word "Sedan" had been like a veil abruptly torn aside. The
landscape had become suddenly filled with tragedy. Those shapeless
eyes which the bark of trees delineates on the trunks were gazing--at
what? At something terrible and lost to view.
In truth, that was the place! And at the moment when I was passing by,
thirteen months all but a few days had elapsed. That was the place
where the monstrous enterprise of the second of December had burst
asunder. A fearful shipwreck!
The gloomy pathways of Fate cannot be studied without profound anguish
of heart.
On the thirty-first of August, 1870, an army was reassembled, and was,
as it were, massed together under the walls of Sedan, in a place
called the Givonne Valley. This army was a French army--twenty-nine
brigades, fifteen divisions, four army corps--90,000 men. This army
was in this place without anyone being able to divine the reason;
without order, without an object, scattered about--a species of heap
of men thrown down there as though with the view of being seized by
some huge hand.
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