There was perpetual recurrence
of the striking antithesis which happened at Brussels before Waterloo,
when the roll of the distant cannon at Quatre Bras mingled with the
music of the duchess's ball. The coldest reserve is apt to melt rapidly,
and the most skillful coquetry is brought to bay, when opposed to
pleading urged possibly for the last time. Those were days of rebuke and
blasphemy to "the gentlemen of England who sat at home at ease;" and
even the Foreign Office "irresistibles" could hardly hold their own.
What chance have the honeyed words of the accomplished civilian against
the simple eloquence of the soldier, who speaks with his life in his
hand? Truly there were many conquests then achieved of which the world
knew nothing, for the victor never came back to claim his prize.
When the funeral of the Great Duke went by, it was easy to find fault
with some of the details of that pretentious pageant; but which of us
was cool enough to criticise, on the gray February morning, when the
Guards marched out? There were practiced veterans enough to be found in
their ranks; and each of these perhaps could number some who loved him
dearly; but none in the column won such hearty sympathy as those "trim
subalterns, holding their swords daintily," who went forth to their doom
gayly and gallantly, as if pestilence were not lying in ambush at
fever-stricken Varna, and lines of hungry graves waiting for their prey
in the bleak Chersonese.
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