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M. Thiers, in the 20th volume of his Histoire du Consulat et de l’Empire, presents to his reader a tissue of intellectual illusions in his extraordinary account of the last struggle of Napoleon in Belgium. Common sense and history agree that that effort bears many traces of his hero’s genius, though marked by one characteristic mistake, and that it was baffled by the ability of his antagonists, who crushed him at last by superior numbers. This volume, however, has been written to prove that in every move in this famous contest Napoleon was an infallible commander; that victory must have crowned his standards had his inspiration been only understood; and that his final overthrow was due, not to Wellington’s skill or Blucher’s daring—not to British heroism or Prussian valour, but to the errors and fears of his subordinates. Deserting the region of fact and circumstance, M. Thiers leads us into a dream-land, where the Emperor, like a strategic Providence, holds his puny foes in the hollow of his hand, and predestinates his legions to conquest—where the French army performs prodigies beyond the energies of mortal men—where but for Ney, D’Erlon, and Grouchy, the downfal of its adversaries was certain—and where the inability of these satellites to launch the bolts of military fate was the only cause of the final issue. The above and the following remarks are from The Times review—

Why the issue of this campaign was so different from that of many of its splendid forerunners may be accounted for with perfect certainty. The Duke and Blucher were different men, of greater ability, and better united than the Generals of any previous coalition, and the large majority of their troops were capable of heroic exertions. The Duke was not the man to allow an accident of time to ruin an ally, and at the crisis of the campaign, on the 16th, he baffled the Emperor by his tactical skill and the intrepidity of his British infantry. Of the subsequent moves by which he won the greatest battle of modern times, it is enough to say that they defy criticism, while the heroism of two-thirds of his army has not been surpassed in military annals. As for the Prussian troops, their stand at Ligny and their subsequent rally and advance to Waterloo, are worthy of the highest commendation; and Blucher’s celebrated march from Wavre is said to have wrung from Napoleon himself the admission that “it was a flash of genius.” It was this combination of talent and valour, unlike anything he had encountered before, that brought the superior numbers of the allies to bear upon Napoleon at last, and involved him and his army in ruin.

As for the armies that met in this bloody strife, we Englishmen think it enough to say that, except the Belgian and Nassau levies, they all did their duty like soldiers. The weak falsetto of M. Thiers detracts from the manhood of that dauntless cavalry “who rode round our squares like their own,” and from the renown of that veteran infantry “who bore nine rounds before they staggered.” Nor will the heroism of Ligny be forgotten, nor the glory of England at Waterloo fade, because an historian chooses to write that the Prussian army “was well beaten,” and that the “English, excellent in defence, are very mediocre on the offensive.” At this time, surely, a French historian might describe the campaign of 1815 with a candid regard to truth alone, and without pandering to the ignoble worship of military despotism.