The rout behind the Guard was melancholy.
The army yielded suddenly on all sides at once,--Hougomont, La Haie-Sainte, Papelotte, Plancenoit. The cry "Treachery!" was followed by a cry of "Save yourselves who can!" An army which is disbanding is like a thaw. All yields, splits, cracks, floats, rolls, falls, jostles, hastens, is precipitated. The disintegration is unprecedented. Ney borrows a horse, leaps upon it, and without hat, cravat, or sword, places himself across the Brussels road, stopping both English and French. He strives to detain the army, he recalls it to its duty, he insults it, he clings to the rout. He is overwhelmed. The soldiers fly from him, shouting, "Long live Marshal Ney!" Two of Durutte's regiments go and come in affright as though tossed back and forth between the swords of the Uhlans and the fusillade of the brigades of Kempt, Best, Pack, and Rylandt; the worst of hand-to-hand conflicts is the defeat; friends kill each other in order to escape; squadrons and battalions break and disperse against each other, like the tremendous foam of battle. Lobau at one extremity, and Reille at the other, are drawn into the tide. In vain does Napoleon erect walls from what is left to him of his Guard; in vain does he expend in a last effort his last serviceable squadrons. Quiot retreats before Vivian, Kellermann before Vandeleur, Lobau before Bulow, Morand before Pirch, Domon and Subervic before Prince William of Prussia; Guyot, who led the Emperor's squadrons to the charge, falls beneath the feet of the English dragoons. Napoleon gallops past the line of fugitives, harangues, urges, threatens, entreats them. All the mouths which in the morning had shouted, "Long live the Emperor!" remain gaping; they hardly recognize him. The Prussian cavalry, newly arrived, dashes forwards, flies, hews, slashes, kills, exterminates. Horses lash out, the cannons flee; the soldiers of the artillery-train unharness the caissons and use the horses to make their escape; transports overturned, with all four wheels in the air, clog the road and occasion massacres. Men are crushed, trampled down, others walk over the dead and the living. Arms are lost. A dizzy multitude fills the roads, the paths, the bridges, the plains, the hills, the valleys, the woods, encumbered by this invasion of forty thousand men. Shouts despair, knapsacks and guns flung among the rye, passages forced at the point of the sword, no more comrades, no more officers, no more generals, an inexpressible terror. Zieten putting France to the sword at its leisure. Lions converted into goats. Such was the flight.
At Genappe, an effort was made to wheel about, to present a battle front, to draw up in line. Lobau rallied three hundred men. The entrance to the village was barricaded, but at the first volley of Prussian canister, all took to flight again, and Lobau was taken. That volley of grape-shot can be seen to-day imprinted on the ancient gable of a brick building on the right of the road at a few minutes' distance before you enter Genappe. The Prussians threw themselves into Genappe, furious, no doubt, that they were not more entirely the conquerors. The pursuit was stupendous. Blucher ordered extermination. Roguet had set the lugubrious example of threatening with death any French grenadier who should bring him a Prussian prisoner. Blucher outdid Roguet. Duhesme, the general of the Young Guard, hemmed in at the doorway of an inn at Genappe, surrendered his sword to a huzzar of death, who took the sword and slew the prisoner. The victory was completed by the assassination of the vanquished. Let us inflict punishment, since we are history: old Blucher disgraced himself. This ferocity put the finishing touch to the disaster. The desperate route traversed Genappe, traversed Quatre-Bras, traversed Gosselies, traversed Frasnes, traversed Charleroi, traversed Thuin, and only halted at the frontier. Alas! and who, then, was fleeing in that manner? The Grand Army.
This vertigo, this terror, this downfall into ruin of the loftiest bravery which ever astounded history,--is that causeless? No. The shadow of an enormous right is projected athwart Waterloo. It is the day of destiny. The force which is mightier than man produced that day. Hence the terrified wrinkle of those brows; hence all those great souls surrendering their swords. Those who had conquered Europe have fallen prone on the earth, with nothing left to say nor to do, feeling the present shadow of a terrible presence. Hoc erat in fatis. That day the perspective of the human race underwent a change. Waterloo is the hinge of the nineteenth century. The disappearance of the great man was necessary to the advent of the great century. Some one, a person to whom one replies not, took the responsibility on himself. The panic of heroes can be explained. In the battle of Waterloo there is something more than a cloud, there is something of the meteor. God has passed by.
At nightfall, in a meadow near Genappe, Bernard and Bertrand seized by the skirt of his coat and detained a man, haggard, pensive, sinister, gloomy, who, dragged to that point by the current of the rout, had just dismounted, had passed the bridle of his horse over his arm, and with wild eye was returning alone to Waterloo. It was Napoleon, the immense somnambulist of this dream which had crumbled, essaying once more to advance.
羽林军后面的溃退情形真够惨。军队突然从各方面，从乌古蒙、圣拉埃、帕佩洛特、普朗尚努瓦同时一齐折回。在一片“叛徒！”的呼声后接着又起了“赶快逃命！”的声音。军队溃败有如江河解冻，一切都摧折，分裂，崩决，漂荡，奔腾，倒塌，相互冲撞，相互拥挤，忙乱慌张。这是一种空前的溃乱。内伊借了一匹马，跳上去，没有帽子，没有领带，也没有刀，堵在通往布鲁塞尔的那条大路上，同时制止英军和法军。他要阻止军队溃散，他叫他们，骂他们，把住他们的退路。他怒不可遏。那些士兵见了他都逃避，嘴里喊着：“内伊大元帅万岁！”迪吕特的两个联队，跑去又跑来，惊慌失措，好象是被枪骑兵的刀和兰伯特、贝司特、派克、里兰特各旅的排枪捆扎住了。混战中最可怕的是溃败，朋友也互相屠杀，争夺去路，骑兵和步兵也互相残杀，各自逃生，真是战争中惊涛骇浪的场面。罗博和雷耶各在一端，也都卷进了狂澜。拿破仑用他余下的卫士四面堵截，毫无效果，他把随身的卫队调去作最后的挣扎，也是枉然。吉奥在维维安面前退却，克勒曼在范德勒尔面前退却，罗博在比洛面前退却，莫朗在皮尔希面前退却，多芒和絮贝维在普鲁士威廉亲王面前退却。吉奥领了皇上的骑兵队去冲锋，落在英国骑兵的马蹄下。拿破仑奔驰在那些逃兵的面前，鼓励他们，督促他们，威吓他们，央求他们。早晨还欢呼皇帝万岁的那些嘴，现在都哑口无言，他们几乎全都不认识皇上了。新到的普鲁士骑兵飞也似的冲来，只管砍，削，剁，杀，宰割；拖炮的马乱蹦乱踢，带着炮逃走了；辎重兵也解下车箱，骑着马逃命去了；无数车箱，四轮朝天，拦在路上，造成了屠杀的机会。大家互相践踏，互相推挤，踩着死人和活人往前走。那些胳膊已经失去了理性。大路、小路、桥梁、平原、山岗、山谷、树林都被那四万溃军塞满了。呼号，悲怆，丢在稞麦田里的背囊和枪支，被堵住的逢人便砍的去路，无所谓同胞，无所谓官长，无所谓将军，只有一种说不出的恐怖。齐坦把法兰西杀了个痛快淋漓。雄狮都变成了松鼠。那次的溃败情形便是如此。
在热纳普，有人还企图回转去建立防线，去遏止，堵截。罗博聚合了三百人。在进村子处设了防御工事，但是普鲁士的弹片一飞，大家全又逃散了，于是罗博就缚。我们今日还可以在路右，离热纳普几分钟路程的一所破砖墙房子的山尖上看见那弹片的痕迹。普鲁士军队冲进热纳普，自然是因为杀人太少才那样怒气冲天的。追击的情形真凶狠。布吕歇尔命令悉数歼灭。在这以前，罗格已开过那种恶例，他不许法国羽林军士俘虏普鲁士士兵，违者处死。布吕歇尔的狠劲又超过了罗格。青年羽林军的将军迪埃斯梅退到热纳普的客舍门口，他把佩剑交给一个杀人不眨眼的骑兵，那骑兵接了剑，却杀了那俘虏。胜利是由屠杀战败者来完成的。我们既在叙述历史，那就可以贬责：衰老的布吕歇尔玷污了自己。那种淫威实在是绝灭人性的。溃军仓皇失措，穿过热纳普，穿过四臂村，穿过松布雷夫，穿过弗拉斯内，穿过沙勒罗瓦，穿过特万，直到边境才停止。真是伤心惨目！那样逃窜的是谁？是大军。
那种在历史上空前未有的大无畏精神竟会这样惊扰，恐怖，崩溃，这能说是没来由的吗？不能。极大的右的黑影投射在滑铁卢了。那一天是命中注定的。一种超人的权力使那天出现了。因此万众俯首战栗，因此心灵伟大的人也全交剑投降。当年征服欧洲的那些人今日一败涂地，他们没有什么要说的，也没有什么要做的了，只觉得冥冥中有恐怖存在。“非战之罪，天亡我也。”人类的前途在那天起了变化。滑铁卢是十九世纪的关键。那位大人物退出舞台对这个大世纪的兴盛是不可缺少的。有个至高的主宰作了那样的决定。所以英雄们的惶恐也是可以理解的了。在滑铁卢战争中，不但有乌云，也还有天灾。上帝到过了。
傍晚时，在热纳普附近的田野里，贝尔纳和贝特朗拉住一个人的衣襟，不让他走，那人神色阴森，若有所思，他是被溃退的浪潮推到那里去的，他刚下了马，挽着缰绳，惝怳迷离，独自一人转身向着滑铁卢走去。那人便是拿破仑，梦游中的巨人，他还想往前走，去追寻那崩塌了的幻境。