melbourne observer. 121017b. october 17, 2012. part b. pages 23-38

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, October 17, 2012 - Page 23www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

4 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, October 17, 2012 www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Showbiz PeopleLong Way To The Top

10th Anniversary ReunionPhoto Souvenir by Carbie Warbie

●●●●● Col Joye●●●●● Ian Moss ●●●●● Jon Stevens

●●●●● Little Pattie●●●●● Brian Cadd ●●●●● Jim Keays

●●●●● Glenn Shorrock●●●●● Michael Chugg ●●●●● Steve Albi, lead singer Mi-Sex


Melbourne PeopleHello Dolly! Opening Night

Barbirra Music TheatrePhotos: Malcolm Threadgold

●●●●● Program seller Margaret Gordon-Addison,Assistant Secretary of Babirra Music Theatre. ●●●●● Reviewer Peter Kemp chats with Joan Amos

●●●●● Life members of Babirra Music Theatre, from left,Stuart Gordon-Addison, Mac Harris and Steve Wright.

●●●●● Graham Philpott (left), Owen Davies (President of Babirra Music Theatre),Stephanie Philpott and John White.

●●●●● Sergey Kishishian and Anna Voinsky.

●●●●● President of Mountain District Musical Society,Jo Buckingham.

●●●●● Victoria Zainal’s parents Rhondda and DarrollPowell came from Adelaide for opening night.

●●●●● Cameron Osborne from CLOC Musical Theatre(left) with Brian Amos, Radio Eastern 98.1.

●●●●● Marie Ryan from 96.5 Inner FM with husband John. ●●●●● Naomi Osborne, vocal coach for Hello Dolly!●●●●● Robert Brockbank and Sue Schwark travelledfrom Adelaide to see Victoria Zainal as Dolly Levi.

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www.MelbourneObserver.com.au Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, October 17, 2012 - Page 27

chateau, the only ruin now remaining of themanor of Hougomont, rises in a crumblingstate,— disembowelled, one might say. Thechateau served for a dungeon, the chapel for ablock-house. There men exterminated eachother. The French, fired on from every point,—from behind the walls, from the summits of thegarrets, from the depths of the cellars, throughall the casements, through all the air-holes,through every crack in the stones,— fetchedfagots and set fire to walls and men; the reply tothe grape-shot was a conflagration.In the ruined wing, through windows garnishedwith bars of iron, the dismantled chambers ofthe main building of brick are visible; the En-glish guards were in ambush in these rooms; thespiral of the staircase, cracked from the groundfloor to the very roof, appears like the inside ofa broken shell. The staircase has two stories;the English, besieged on the staircase, andmassed on its upper steps, had cut off the lowersteps. These consisted of large slabs of bluestone, which form a heap among the nettles.Half a score of steps still cling to the wall; on thefirst is cut the figure of a trident. These inacces-sible steps are solid in their niches. All the restresembles a jaw which has been denuded of itsteeth. There are two old trees there: one is dead;the other is wounded at its base, and is clothedwith verdure in April. Since 1815 it has taken togrowing through the staircase.A massacre took place in the chapel. The inte-rior, which has recovered its calm, is singular.The mass has not been said there since the car-nage. Nevertheless, the altar has been left there— an altar of unpolished wood, placed against abackground of roughhewn stone. Four white-washed walls, a door opposite the altar, two smallarched windows; over the door a large woodencrucifix, below the crucifix a square air-holestopped up with a bundle of hay; on the ground,in one corner, an old window-frame with theglass all broken to pieces — such is the chapel.Near the altar there is nailed up a wooden statueof Saint Anne, of the fifteenth century; the headof the infant Jesus has been carried off by alarge ball. The French, who were masters of thechapel for a moment, and were then dislodged,set fire to it. The flames filled this building; itwas a perfect furnace; the door was burned, thefloor was burned, the wooden Christ was notburned. The fire preyed upon his feet, of whichonly the blackened stumps are now to be seen;then it stopped,— a miracle, according to theassertion of the people of the neighborhood. Theinfant Jesus, decapitated, was less fortunate thanthe Christ.The walls are covered with inscriptions. Nearthe feet of Christ this name is to be read:Henquinez. Then these others: Conde de RioMaior Marques y Marquesa de Almagro(Habana). There are French names with excla-mation points,— a sign of wrath. The wall wasfreshly whitewashed in 1849. The nations in-sulted each other there.It was at the door of this chapel that the corpsewas picked up which held an axe in its hand;this corpse was Sub–Lieutenant Legros.On emerging from the chapel, a well is visibleon the left. There are two in this courtyard. Oneinquires, Why is there no bucket and pulley tothis? It is because water is no longer drawn there.Why is water not drawn there? Because it is fullof skeletons.The last person who drew water from the wellwas named Guillaume van Kylsom. He was apeasant who lived at Hougomont, and was gar-dener there. On the 18th of June, 1815, his fam-ily fled and concealed themselves in the woods.The forest surrounding the Abbey of Villiers shel-tered these unfortunate people who had beenscattered abroad, for many days and nights.There are at this day certain traces recogniz-able, such as old boles of burned trees, whichmark the site of these poor bivouacs tremblingin the depths of the thickets.Guillaume van Kylsom remained atHougomont, “to guard the chateau,” and con-cealed himself in the cellar. The English dis-covered him there. They tore him from his hid-ing-place, and the combatants forced this fright-ened man to serve them, by administering blows

which commands it only a gun’s length away.Hougomont has two doors,— the southern door,that of the chateau; and the northern door, be-longing to the farm. Napoleon sent his brotherJerome against Hougomont; the divisions of Foy,Guilleminot, and Bachelu hurled themselvesagainst it; nearly the entire corps of Reille wasemployed against it, and miscarried;Kellermann’s balls were exhausted on this he-roic section of wall. Bauduin’s brigade was notstrong enough to force Hougomont on the north,and the brigade of Soye could not do more thaneffect the beginning of a breach on the south,but without taking it.The farm buildings border the courtyard on thesouth. A bit of the north door, broken by theFrench, hangs suspended to the wall. It consistsof four planks nailed to two cross-beams, onwhich the scars of the attack are visible.The northern door, which was beaten in by theFrench, and which has had a piece applied to itto replace the panel suspended on the wall, standshalf-open at the bottom of the paddock; it is cutsquarely in the wall, built of stone below, of brickabove which closes in the courtyard on the north.It is a simple door for carts, such as exist in allfarms, with the two large leaves made of rusticplanks: beyond lie the meadows. The disputeover this entrance was furious. For a long time,all sorts of imprints of bloody hands were vis-ible on the door-posts. It was there that Bauduinwas killed.The storm of the combat still lingers in this court-yard; its horror is visible there; the confusion ofthe fray was petrified there; it lives and it diesthere; it was only yesterday. The walls are in thedeath agony, the stones fall; the breaches cryaloud; the holes are wounds; the drooping, quiv-ering trees seem to be making an effort to flee.This courtyard was more built up in 1815 than itis today. Buildings which have since been pulleddown then formed redans and angles.The English barricaded themselves there; theFrench made their way in, but could not standtheir ground. Beside the chapel, one wing of the

Hougomont,— this was a funereal spot, the be-ginning of the obstacle, the first resistance, whichthat great wood-cutter of Europe, called Napo-leon, encountered at Waterloo, the first knot underthe blows of his axe.It was a chateau; it is no longer anything but afarm. For the antiquary, Hougomont isHugomons. This manor was built by Hugo, Sireof Somerel, the same who endowed the sixthchaplaincy of the Abbey of Villiers.The traveller pushed open the door, elbowed anancient calash under the porch, and entered thecourtyard.The first thing which struck him in this paddockwas a door of the sixteenth century, which heresimulates an arcade, everything else havingfallen prostrate around it. A monumental aspectoften has its birth in ruin. In a wall near the ar-cade opens another arched door, of the time ofHenry IV., permitting a glimpse of the trees ofan orchard; beside this door, a manure-hole,some pickaxes, some shovels, some carts, anold well, with its flagstone and its iron reel, achicken jumping, and a turkey spreading its tail,a chapel surmounted by a small bell-tower, ablossoming pear-tree trained in espalier againstthe wall of the chapel — behold the court, theconquest of which was one of Napoleon’sdreams. This corner of earth, could he but haveseized it, would, perhaps, have given him theworld likewise. Chickens are scattering its dustabroad with their beaks. A growl is audible; it isa huge dog, who shows his teeth and replacesthe English.The English behaved admirably there. Cooke’sfour companies of guards there held out for sevenhours against the fury of an army.Hougomont viewed on the map, as a geometri-cal plan, comprising buildings and enclosures,presents a sort of irregular rectangle, one angleof which is nicked out. It is this angle whichcontains the southern door, guarded by this wall,

VOLUME II. COSETTE.CHAPTER I

WHAT IS MET WITH ON THE WAYFROM NIVELLES

Continued on Page 24

●●●●● Victor Hugo

Last year (1861), on a beautiful May morning, atraveller, the person who is telling this story, wascoming from Nivelles, and directing his coursetowards La Hulpe. He was on foot. He was pur-suing a broad paved road, which undulated be-tween two rows of trees, over the hills whichsucceed each other, raise the road and let it fallagain, and produce something in the nature ofenormous waves.He had passed Lillois and Bois–Seigneur-Isaac.In the west he perceived the slate-roofed towerof Braine-l’Alleud, which has the form of a re-versed vase. He had just left behind a woodupon an eminence; and at the angle of the cross-road, by the side of a sort of mouldy gibbet bear-ing the inscription Ancient Barrier No. 4, a pub-lic house, bearing on its front this sign: At theFour Winds (Aux Quatre Vents). Echabeau,Private Cafe.A quarter of a league further on, he arrived atthe bottom of a little valley, where there is waterwhich passes beneath an arch made through theembankment of the road. The clump of sparselyplanted but very green trees, which fills the val-ley on one side of the road, is dispersed over themeadows on the other, and disappears grace-fully and as in order in the direction of Braine-l’Alleud.On the right, close to the road, was an inn, witha four-wheeled cart at the door, a large bundleof hop-poles, a plough, a heap of dried brush-wood near a flourishing hedge, lime smoking ina square hole, and a ladder suspended along anold penthouse with straw partitions. A young girlwas weeding in a field, where a huge yellowposter, probably of some outside spectacle, suchas a parish festival, was fluttering in the wind.At one corner of the inn, beside a pool in whicha flotilla of ducks was navigating, a badly pavedpath plunged into the bushes. The wayfarerstruck into this.After traversing a hundred paces, skirting a wallof the fifteenth century, surmounted by a pointedgable, with bricks set in contrast, he found him-self before a large door of arched stone, with arectilinear impost, in the sombre style of LouisXIV., flanked by two flat medallions. A severefacade rose above this door; a wall, perpendicu-lar to the facade, almost touched the door, andflanked it with an abrupt right angle. In themeadow before the door lay three harrows,through which, in disorder, grew all the flowersof May. The door was closed. The two decrepitleaves which barred it were ornamented withan old rusty knocker.The sun was charming; the branches had thatsoft shivering of May, which seems to proceedrather from the nests than from the wind. A bravelittle bird, probably a lover, was carolling in adistracted manner in a large tree.The wayfarer bent over and examined a ratherlarge circular excavation, resembling the hol-low of a sphere, in the stone on the left, at thefoot of the pier of the door.At this moment the leaves of the door parted,and a peasant woman emerged.She saw the wayfarer, and perceived what hewas looking at.“It was a French cannon-ball which made that,”she said to him. And she added:—“That which you see there, higher up in the door,near a nail, is the hole of a big iron bullet aslarge as an egg. The bullet did not pierce thewood.”“What is the name of this place?” inquired thewayfarer.“Hougomont,” said the peasant woman.The traveller straightened himself up. Hewalked on a few paces, and went off to lookover the tops of the hedges. On the horizonthrough the trees, he perceived a sort of littleelevation, and on this elevation something whichat that distance resembled a lion.He was on the battle-field of Waterloo.

CHAPTER IIHOUGOMONT

Observer Classic BooksFrom Page 27with the flats of their swords. They were thirsty;this Guillaume brought them water. It was fromthis well that he drew it. Many drank there theirlast draught. This well where drank so many ofthe dead was destined to die itself.After the engagement, they were in haste to burythe dead bodies. Death has a fashion of harass-ing victory, and she causes the pest to followglory. The typhus is a concomitant of triumph.This well was deep, and it was turned into asepulchre. Three hundred dead bodies were castinto it. With too much haste perhaps. Were theyall dead? Legend says they were not. It seemsthat on the night succeeding the interment, feeblevoices were heard calling from the well.This well is isolated in the middle of the court-yard. Three walls, part stone, part brick, andsimulating a small, square tower, and folded likethe leaves of a screen, surround it on all sides.The fourth side is open. It is there that the waterwas drawn. The wall at the bottom has a sort ofshapeless loophole, possibly the hole made by ashell. This little tower had a platform, of whichonly the beams remain. The iron supports of thewell on the right form a cross. On leaning over,the eye is lost in a deep cylinder of brick whichis filled with a heaped-up mass of shadows. Thebase of the walls all about the well is concealedin a growth of nettles.This well has not in front of it that large blue slabwhich forms the table for all wells in Belgium.The slab has here been replaced by a cross-beam, against which lean five or six shapelessfragments of knotty and petrified wood whichresemble huge bones. There is no longer eitherpail, chain, or pulley; but there is still the stonebasin which served the overflow. The rain-wa-ter collects there, and from time to time a bird ofthe neighboring forests comes thither to drink,and then flies away. One house in this ruin, thefarmhouse, is still inhabited. The door of thishouse opens on the courtyard. Upon this door,beside a pretty Gothic lock-plate, there is aniron handle with trefoils placed slanting. At themoment when the Hanoverian lieutenant, Wilda,grasped this handle in order to take refuge in thefarm, a French sapper hewed off his hand withan axe.The family who occupy the house had for theirgrandfather Guillaume van Kylsom, the old gar-dener, dead long since. A woman with gray hairsaid to us: “I was there. I was three years old.My sister, who was older, was terrified and wept.They carried us off to the woods. I went there inmy mother’s arms. We glued our ears to theearth to hear. I imitated the cannon, and wentboum! boum!”A door opening from the courtyard on the leftled into the orchard, so we were told. The or-chard is terrible.It is in three parts; one might almost say, in threeacts. The first part is a garden, the second is anorchard, the third is a wood. These three partshave a common enclosure: on the side of theentrance, the buildings of the chateau and thefarm; on the left, a hedge; on the right, a wall;and at the end, a wall. The wall on the right is ofbrick, the wall at the bottom is of stone. Oneenters the garden first. It slopes downwards, isplanted with gooseberry bushes, choked with awild growth of vegetation, and terminated by amonumental terrace of cut stone, with balus-trade with a double curve.It was a seignorial garden in the first Frenchstyle which preceded Le Notre; today it is ruinsand briars. The pilasters are surmounted byglobes which resemble cannon-balls of stone.Forty-three balusters can still be counted on theirsockets; the rest lie prostrate in the grass. Al-most all bear scratches of bullets. One brokenbaluster is placed on the pediment like a frac-tured leg.It was in this garden, further down than the or-chard, that six light-infantry men of the 1st, hav-ing made their way thither, and being unable toescape, hunted down and caught like bears intheir dens, accepted the combat with twoHanoverian companies, one of which was armedwith carbines. The Hanoverians lined this bal-ustrade and fired from above. The infantry men,replying from below, six against two hundred,intrepid and with no shelter save the currant-bushes, took a quarter of an hour to die.One mounts a few steps and passes from thegarden into the orchard, properly speaking.There, within the limits of those few square fath-oms, fifteen hundred men fell in less than anhour. The wall seems ready to renew the com-bat. Thirty-eight loopholes, pierced by the En-

glish at irregular heights, are there still. In frontof the sixth are placed two English tombs ofgranite. There are loopholes only in the southwall, as the principal attack came from that quar-ter. The wall is hidden on the outside by a tallhedge; the French came up, thinking that theyhad to deal only with a hedge, crossed it, andfound the wall both an obstacle and an ambus-cade, with the English guards behind it, the thirty-eight loopholes firing at once a shower of grape-shot and balls, and Soye’s brigade was brokenagainst it. Thus Waterloo began.Nevertheless, the orchard was taken. As theyhad no ladders, the French scaled it with theirnails. They fought hand to hand amid the trees.All this grass has been soaked in blood. A battal-ion of Nassau, seven hundred strong, was over-whelmed there. The outside of the wall, againstwhich Kellermann’s two batteries were trained,is gnawed by grape-shot.This orchard is sentient, like others, in the monthof May. It has its buttercups and its daisies; thegrass is tall there; the cart-horses browse there;cords of hair, on which linen is drying, traversethe spaces between the trees and force thepasser-by to bend his head; one walks over thisuncultivated land, and one’s foot dives into mole-holes. In the middle of the grass one observesan uprooted tree-bole which lies there all ver-dant. Major Blackmann leaned against it to die.Beneath a great tree in the neighborhood fell theGerman general, Duplat, descended from aFrench family which fled on the revocation ofthe Edict of Nantes. An aged and falling apple-tree leans far over to one side, its wound dressedwith a bandage of straw and of clayey loam.Nearly all the apple-trees are falling with age.There is not one which has not had its bullet orits biscayan.6 The skeletons of dead treesabound in this orchard. Crows fly through theirbranches, and at the end of it is a wood full ofviolets.* A bullet as large as an egg.Bauduin, killed, Foy wounded, conflagration,massacre, carnage, a rivulet formed of Englishblood, French blood, German blood mingled infury, a well crammed with corpses, the regi-ment of Nassau and the regiment of Brunswickdestroyed, Duplat killed, Blackmann killed, theEnglish Guards mutilated, twenty French bat-talions, besides the forty from Reille’s corps,decimated, three thousand men in that hovel ofHougomont alone cut down, slashed to pieces,shot, burned, with their throats cut,— and all thisso that a peasant can say today to the traveller:Monsieur, give me three francs, and if you like,I will explain to you the affair of Waterloo!

On the 18th of June, 1815, he relied all the moreon his artillery, because he had numbers on hisside. Wellington had only one hundred and fifty-nine mouths of fire; Napoleon had two hundredand forty.Suppose the soil dry, and the artillery capable ofmoving, the action would have begun at sixo’clock in the morning. The battle would havebeen won and ended at two o’clock, three hoursbefore the change of fortune in favor of thePrussians. What amount of blame attaches toNapoleon for the loss of this battle? Is the ship-wreck due to the pilot?Was it the evident physical decline of Napoleonthat complicated this epoch by an inward dimi-nution of force? Had the twenty years of warworn out the blade as it had worn the scabbard,the soul as well as the body? Did the veteranmake himself disastrously felt in the leader? Ina word, was this genius, as many historians ofnote have thought, suffering from an eclipse?Did he go into a frenzy in order to disguise hisweakened powers from himself? Did he beginto waver under the delusion of a breath of ad-venture? Had he become — a grave matter in ageneral — unconscious of peril? Is there an age,in this class of material great men, who may becalled the giants of action, when genius growsshort-sighted? Old age has no hold on the ge-niuses of the ideal; for the Dantes and MichaelAngelos to grow old is to grow in greatness; is itto grow less for the Hannibals and theBonapartes? Had Napoleon lost the direct senseof victory? Had he reached the point where hecould no longer recognize the reef, could nolonger divine the snare, no longer discern thecrumbling brink of abysses? Had he lost hispower of scenting out catastrophes? He whohad in former days known all the roads to tri-umph, and who, from the summit of his chariotof lightning, pointed them out with a sovereignfinger, had he now reached that state of sinisteramazement when he could lead his tumultuouslegions harnessed to it, to the precipice? Was heseized at the age of forty-six with a suprememadness? Was that titanic charioteer of destinyno longer anything more than an immense dare-devil?We do not think so.His plan of battle was, by the confession of all,a masterpiece. To go straight to the centre of theAllies’ line, to make a breach in the enemy, tocut them in two, to drive the British half back onHal, and the Prussian half on Tongres, to maketwo shattered fragments of Wellington andBlucher, to carry Mont–Saint-Jean, to seize Brus-sels, to hurl the German into the Rhine, and theEnglishman into the sea. All this was containedin that battle, according to Napoleon. Afterwardspeople would see.Of course, we do not here pretend to furnish ahistory of the battle of Waterloo; one of the scenesof the foundation of the story which we are re-lating is connected with this battle, but this his-tory is not our subject; this history, moreover,has been finished, and finished in a masterlymanner, from one point of view by Napoleon,and from another point of view by a whole pleiadof historians.7* Walter Scott, Lamartine, Vaulabelle, Charras,Quinet, Thiers.As for us, we leave the historians at loggerheads;we are but a distant witness, a passer-by on theplain, a seeker bending over that soil all madeof human flesh, taking appearances for reali-ties, perchance; we have no right to oppose, inthe name of science, a collection of facts whichcontain illusions, no doubt; we possess neithermilitary practice nor strategic ability which au-thorize a system; in our opinion, a chain of acci-dents dominated the two leaders at Waterloo;and when it becomes a question of destiny, thatmysterious culprit, we judge like that ingeniousjudge, the populace.

was there that the lion has been placed, the in-voluntary symbol of the supreme heroism of theImperial Guard.The triangle included in the top of the A, be-tween the two limbs and the tie, is the plateau ofMont–Saint-Jean. The dispute over this plateauconstituted the whole battle. The wings of thetwo armies extended to the right and left of thetwo roads to Genappe and Nivelles; d’Erlon fac-ing Picton, Reille facing Hill.Behind the tip of the A, behind the plateau ofMont–Saint-Jean, is the forest of Soignes.As for the plain itself, let the reader picture tohimself a vast undulating sweep of ground; eachrise commands the next rise, and all the undula-tions mount towards Mont–Saint-Jean, and thereend in the forest.Two hostile troops on a field of battle are twowrestlers. It is a question of seizing the oppo-nent round the waist. The one seeks to trip upthe other. They clutch at everything: a bush is apoint of support; an angle of the wall offers thema rest to the shoulder; for the lack of a hovelunder whose cover they can draw up, a regi-ment yields its ground; an unevenness in theground, a chance turn in the landscape, a cross-path encountered at the right moment, a grove,a ravine, can stay the heel of that colossus whichis called an army, and prevent its retreat. Hewho quits the field is beaten; hence the neces-sity devolving on the responsible leader, of ex-amining the most insignificant clump of trees,and of studying deeply the slightest relief in theground.The two generals had attentively studied theplain of Mont–Saint-Jean, now called the plainof Waterloo. In the preceding year, Wellington,with the sagacity of foresight, had examined itas the possible seat of a great battle. Upon thisspot, and for this duel, on the 18th of June,Wellington had the good post, Napoleon the badpost. The English army was stationed above,the French army below.It is almost superfluous here to sketch the ap-pearance of Napoleon on horseback, glass inhand, upon the heights of Rossomme, at day-break, on June 18, 1815. All the world has seenhim before we can show him. That calm profileunder the little three-cornered hat of the schoolof Brienne, that green uniform, the white reversconcealing the star of the Legion of Honor, hisgreat coat hiding his epaulets, the corner of redribbon peeping from beneath his vest, his leathertrousers, the white horse with the saddle-clothof purple velvet bearing on the corners crownedN’s and eagles, Hessian boots over silk stock-ings, silver spurs, the sword of Marengo,— thatwhole figure of the last of the Caesars is presentto all imaginations, saluted with acclamationsby some, severely regarded by others.That figure stood for a long time wholly in thelight; this arose from a certain legendary dim-ness evolved by the majority of heroes, andwhich always veils the truth for a longer or shortertime; but today history and daylight have arrived.That light called history is pitiless; it possessesthis peculiar and divine quality, that, pure lightas it is, and precisely because it is wholly light,it often casts a shadow in places where peoplehad hitherto beheld rays; from the same man itconstructs two different phantoms, and the oneattacks the other and executes justice on it, andthe shadows of the despot contend with the bril-liancy of the leader. Hence arises a truer mea-sure in the definitive judgments of nations.Babylon violated lessens Alexander, Romeenchained lessens Caesar, Jerusalem murderedlessens Titus, tyranny follows the tyrant. It is amisfortune for a man to leave behind him thenight which bears his form.

- Continued on Page 33

Page 28 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, October 17, 2012

CHAPTER iiiTHE EIGHTEENTH OF JUNE, 1815

Let us turn back,— that is one of the story-teller’srights,— and put ourselves once more in theyear 1815, and even a little earlier than the ep-och when the action narrated in the first part ofthis book took place.If it had not rained in the night between the 17thand the 18th of June, 1815, the fate of Europewould have been different. A few drops of wa-ter, more or less, decided the downfall of Napo-leon. All that Providence required in order tomake Waterloo the end of Austerlitz was a littlemore rain, and a cloud traversing the sky out ofseason sufficed to make a world crumble.The battle of Waterloo could not be begun untilhalf-past eleven o’clock, and that gave Bluchertime to come up. Why? Because the groundwas wet. The artillery had to wait until it be-came a little firmer before they could manoeu-vre.Napoleon was an artillery officer, and felt theeffects of this. The foundation of this wonderfulcaptain was the man who, in the report to theDirectory on Aboukir, said: Such a one of ourballs killed six men. All his plans of battle werearranged for projectiles. The key to his victorywas to make the artillery converge on one point.He treated the strategy of the hostile generallike a citadel, and made a breach in it. He over-whelmed the weak point with grape-shot; hejoined and dissolved battles with cannon. Therewas something of the sharpshooter in his ge-nius. To beat in squares, to pulverize regiments,to break lines, to crush and disperse masses,—for him everything lay in this, to strike, strike,strike incessantly,— and he intrusted this task tothe cannon-ball. A redoubtable method, and onewhich, united with genius, rendered this gloomyathlete of the pugilism of war invincible for thespace of fifteen years.

CHAPTER ivA

Those persons who wish to gain a clear idea ofthe battle of Waterloo have only to place, men-tally, on the ground, a capital A. The left limb ofthe A is the road to Nivelles, the right limb is theroad to Genappe, the tie of the A is the hollowroad to Ohain from Braine-l’Alleud. The top ofthe A is Mont–Saint-Jean, where Wellington is;the lower left tip is Hougomont, where Reille isstationed with Jerome Bonaparte; the right tip isthe Belle–Alliance, where Napoleon was. At thecentre of this chord is the precise point wherethe final word of the battle was pronounced. It

CHAPTER vTHE QUID OBSCURUM OF BATTLES

Every one is acquainted with the first phase ofthis battle; a beginning which was troubled, un-certain, hesitating, menacing to both armies, butstill more so for the English than for the French.It had rained all night, the earth had been cut upby the downpour, the water had accumulatedhere and there in the hollows of the plain as if incasks; at some points the gear of the artillerycarriages was buried up to the axles, thecircingles of the horses were dripping with liq-uid mud. If the wheat and rye trampled down bythis cohort of transports on the march had notfilled in the ruts and strewn a litter beneath thewheels, all movement, particularly in the val-leys, in the direction of Papelotte would havebeen impossible.


Victoria Pictorial Historic Photo Collection

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Famed Canadian gardens were once pits

Bubbly’s break from tradition

ObserverMelbourne

Travellers’ Good Buys

ObserverMelbourne Wines & Liqueurs

withDavidEllis

withDavidEllis

■ Victoria’s Chandon Wines has re-leased an interesting bubbly that’sbeen made without the use of the tra-ditional sugar dosage afterdisgorgement – instead topping upeach bottle after its disgorgement withits own wine.

And they’ve capped with a crownseal like those used on beer and soft-drink bottles, saying it’ll ensure thewine can’t be compromised by adodgy cork.

This just-released Z*D Blanc deBlancs 2008 is a bone-dry sparklermade from Chardonnay grapessourced from vineyards in Strathbogie90-mnutes north-east of Melbourne,the Yarra Valley also just a little wayout of the city, and the King Valley inVictoria’s north-east. Fruit from eachregion was fermented separately andthen brought together into the finalblend.

The result is a very elegant andbalanced wine with a crisp and re-freshing finish. The aromas are ar-chetypal Chardonnay green applesand citrus, and the palate offering niceflavours of pears and white peach withhints of fresh-baked pastry.

At $39.95 it’ll go well with mostkinds of party-room canapés and fin-ger food, or if you prefer it at the maintable, go for oyster starters followedby grilled lobster.

●●●●● Italian Garden on what was the tennis court outside the family home (now a restaurant)

with the effervescent Jennie, everyone of them being offered a cup oftea, a biscuit and a chat and a look ather garden.

On one particular day, not realisingwho Jenny was, a visitor offered hera few cents as a tip for her hospitality:quick as a flash she replied: “Oh no,Sir, you don’t know old Mrs Butchart,she’d never allow it.”

On another, visitors walkingaround the gardens were aghast to lookinto the old quarry and see Jennie,dress swirling and under her trade-mark straw hat, swinging down thequarry walls in a rented bosun’s chair,popping hundreds of ivy cuttings intoevery little nook and cranny.

Soon after she bought a farmyardof manure-enriched soil and had it de-livered to aboard a fleet of horse-drawn carts, and once again askedRobert if he had some labourers tohelp her spread it over the quarry floor.Robert took great pride in his wife’sefforts, and when his quarry finallyand officially closed in 1916, he turnedhis attention to assisting Jennie anddeveloping his own interest in exoticbirds, collecting from around the worldnumerous species from peacocks thatstrutted their front lawn, to ducks forthe ponds Jennie had created in thequarry, pigeons and parrots… andanimals from bears to zebras for asmall menagerie.

He also collected quirky statuesand castings to scatter amid the gar-dens.By the 1920’s an amazing 50,000people a year were pouring throughthe Butchart’s place during thewarmer Canadian months, all beingwelcomed free of charge to admirethe quarry floor that Jennie had turnedinto a spectacular Sunken Garden,plus a Japanese Garden, an ItalianGarden on what had been their tenniscourt, a Rose Garden on their once-kitchen garden, and a Star Pond.

Within a few years Jennie andRobert had a whopping 20ha of gar-dens, re-named their home“Benvenuto,” Italian for “Welcome,”and had hired staff to serve Teas andother refreshments.

Visitors by the mid-1930s werecoming by their bus-loads, and freeadmission remained the case until1941 when a small fee had to be in-troduced to meet maintenance costs.

Today more than one million visi-tors invade the Butchart Gardens ev-ery year, marvelling at 400,000Spring flowering tulips, 400,000 an-nuals in flower from March to Octo-ber, more than 3000 roses, the Japa-nese and Italian Gardens, and Jennie’sartificial lake that’s now home toscores of duck species from aroundthe world. In all 700 varieties of bed-ding plants blossom through March toOctober.

The Butchart Gardens are still fam-ily owned and run, and the original“Benvenuto” that once had such luxu-ries as its own bowling alley and anindoor swimming pool is a restaurantand offices.

The gardens are open daily from9am (1pm Christmas Day,) and do notclose until 9pm mid-June to early Sep-tember, and from December 1 to Janu-ary 6.■ Footnote: And despite the hugenumber of visitors annually, the Gar-dens have never had to put up a no-tice asking visitors not to pick the flow-ers.

■ A New Zealand red to go withlamb shanks and rosemarygravy.

■ Ideal Aussie bubbly for theparty room.

■ It was over a neighbourly cup oftea one day in 1909 that Canadianhousewife Jennie Butchart bemoanedthe fact that her husband Robert’s one-time limestone quarry next door onVancouver Island off Vancouver City,was not only an eyesore, but “that dustfrom it gets in everywhere.”

Her neighbour suggested thatmaybe a nice little lattice screen outthe back would help, and a few dayslater kindly dropped-in with a halfdozen sweet pea plants to grow overthe lattice that Jennie said she’d or-der.

And those half dozen sweet peasprompted Jennie Butchart to start vis-iting her local plant nursery in searchof other annuals and perennials toblock out the dust from Robert’s oldquarry, whose limestone had beenused to make cement.

It was a tiny start to what has be-come one of the world’s grandest andmost-visited private gardens, attract-ing over 1-million goggle-eyed green-thumbs a year.

As her little garden started to ex-pand, Jennie asked Robert if she couldborrow some labourers he still em-ployed to decommission the quarry,to help her prepare more ground forher sprawling displays of floweringshrubs, trees, bulbs and summer bed-ding plants.

Within a few years completestrangers were popping-in for a chat

■ Think New Zealand and wegenerally think the South Is-land and Sauvignon Blancwines, but on the east coast ofthe North Island the Gisborneregion makes some great othervarietals, including Merlot.

One outstanding drop isfrom Giesen, whose 2010 Es-tate Merlot has bounce-from-the-bottle aromas of black-berry, boysenberry and hints ofspice, attributes that are nicelyreflected in the succulent pal-ate.

Ideal at $18.99 to match-upwith lamb shanks and a rose-mary gravy – and while you’reat it, to raise a glass to (then-Lieutenant) James Cook whofirst stepped foot on NewZealand soil in 1769 at whatwas to become the city ofGisborne.

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Observer Classic Books

www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

From Page 33The affair began late. Napoleon, as we havealready explained, was in the habit of keepingall his artillery well in hand, like a pistol, aimingit now at one point, now at another, of the battle;and it had been his wish to wait until the horsebatteries could move and gallop freely. In orderto do that it was necessary that the sun shouldcome out and dry the soil. But the sun did notmake its appearance. It was no longer the ren-dezvous of Austerlitz. When the first cannonwas fired, the English general, Colville, lookedat his watch, and noted that it was thirty-fiveminutes past eleven.The action was begun furiously, with more fury,perhaps, than the Emperor would have wished,by the left wing of the French resting onHougomont. At the same time Napoleon at-tacked the centre by hurling Quiot’s brigade onLa Haie–Sainte, and Ney pushed forward theright wing of the French against the left wing ofthe English, which rested on Papelotte.The attack on Hougomont was something of afeint; the plan was to draw Wellington thither,and to make him swerve to the left. This planwould have succeeded if the four companies ofthe English guards and the brave Belgians ofPerponcher’s division had not held the positionsolidly, and Wellington, instead of massing histroops there, could confine himself to despatch-ing thither, as reinforcements, only four morecompanies of guards and one battalion fromBrunswick.The attack of the right wing of the French onPapelotte was calculated, in fact, to overthrowthe English left, to cut off the road to Brussels, tobar the passage against possible Prussians, toforce Mont–Saint-Jean, to turn Wellington backon Hougomont, thence on Braine-l’Alleud,thence on Hal; nothing easier. With the excep-tion of a few incidents this attack succeededPapelotte was taken; La Haie–Sainte was car-ried.A detail to be noted. There was in the Englishinfantry, particularly in Kempt’s brigade, a greatmany raw recruits. These young soldiers werevaliant in the presence of our redoubtable infan-try; their inexperience extricated them intrep-idly from the dilemma; they performed particu-larly excellent service as skirmishers: the sol-dier skirmisher, left somewhat to himself, be-

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Observer Crossword Solution No 14

dead or captured. Three thousand combatantshad been massacred in that barn. A sergeant ofthe English Guards, the foremost boxer in En-gland, reputed invulnerable by his companions,had been killed there by a little French drum-mer-boy. Baring had been dislodged, Alten putto the sword. Many flags had been lost, one fromAlten’s division, and one from the battalion ofLunenburg, carried by a prince of the house ofDeux–Ponts. The Scotch Grays no longer ex-isted; Ponsonby’s great dragoons had beenhacked to pieces. That valiant cavalry had bentbeneath the lancers of Bro and beneath the cuir-assiers of Travers; out of twelve hundred horses,six hundred remained; out of three lieutenant-colonels, two lay on the earth,— Hamiltonwounded, Mater slain. Ponsonby had fallen,riddled by seven lance-thrusts. Gordon wasdead. Marsh was dead. Two divisions, the fifthand the sixth, had been annihilated.Hougomont injured, La Haie–Sainte taken, therenow existed but one rallying-point, the centre.That point still held firm. Wellington reinforcedit. He summoned thither Hill, who was at Merle–Braine; he summoned Chasse, who was atBraine-l’Alleud.The centre of the English army, rather concave,very dense, and very compact, was stronglyposted. It occupied the plateau of Mont–Saint-Jean, having behind it the village, and in front ofit the slope, which was tolerably steep then. Itrested on that stout stone dwelling which at thattime belonged to the domain of Nivelles, andwhich marks the intersection of the roads — apile of the sixteenth century, and so robust thatthe cannon-balls rebounded from it without in-juring it. All about the plateau the English hadcut the hedges here and there, made embra-sures in the hawthorn-trees, thrust the throat of acannon between two branches, embattled theshrubs. There artillery was ambushed in thebrushwood. This punic labor, incontestably au-thorized by war, which permits traps, was sowell done, that Haxo, who had been despatchedby the Emperor at nine o’clock in the morningto reconnoitre the enemy’s batteries, had dis-covered nothing of it, and had returned and re-ported to Napoleon that there were no obstaclesexcept the two barricades which barred the roadto Nivelles and to Genappe. It was at the seasonwhen the grain is tall; on the edge of the plateaua battalion of Kempt’s brigade, the 95th, armedwith carabines, was concealed in the tall wheat.

To Be Continued Next Issue

comes, so to speak, his own general. These re-cruits displayed some of the French ingenuityand fury. This novice of an infantry had dash.This displeased Wellington.After the taking of La Haie–Sainte the battlewavered.There is in this day an obscure interval, frommid-day to four o’clock; the middle portion ofthis battle is almost indistinct, and participatesin the sombreness of the hand-to-hand conflict.Twilight reigns over it. We perceive vast fluc-tuations in that fog, a dizzy mirage, parapherna-lia of war almost unknown today, pendantcolbacks, floating sabre-taches, cross-belts,cartridge-boxes for grenades, hussar dolmans,red boots with a thousand wrinkles, heavy sha-kos garlanded with torsades, the almost blackinfantry of Brunswick mingled with the scarletinfantry of England, the English soldiers withgreat, white circular pads on the slopes of theirshoulders for epaulets, the Hanoverian light-horse with their oblong casques of leather, withbrass hands and red horse-tails, the Scotch withtheir bare knees and plaids, the great white gai-ters of our grenadiers; pictures, not strategic lines— what Salvator Rosa requires, not what is suitedto the needs of Gribeauval.A certain amount of tempest is always mingledwith a battle. Quid obscurum, quid divinum.Each historian traces, to some extent, the par-ticular feature which pleases him amid this pell-mell. Whatever may be the combinations of thegenerals, the shock of armed masses has anincalculable ebb. During the action the plans ofthe two leaders enter into each other and be-come mutually thrown out of shape. Such a pointof the field of battle devours more combatantsthan such another, just as more or less spongysoils soak up more or less quickly the waterwhich is poured on them. It becomes necessaryto pour out more soldiers than one would like; aseries of expenditures which are the unforeseen.The line of battle waves and undulates like athread, the trails of blood gush illogically, thefronts of the armies waver, the regiments formcapes and gulfs as they enter and withdraw; allthese reefs are continually moving in front ofeach other. Where the infantry stood the artil-lery arrives, the cavalry rushes in where the ar-tillery was, the battalions are like smoke. Therewas something there; seek it. It has disappeared;

the open spots change place, the sombre foldsadvance and retreat, a sort of wind from thesepulchre pushes forward, hurls back, distends,and disperses these tragic multitudes. What is afray? an oscillation? The immobility of a math-ematical plan expresses a minute, not a day. Inorder to depict a battle, there is required one ofthose powerful painters who have chaos in theirbrushes. Rembrandt is better thanVandermeulen; Vandermeulen, exact at noon,lies at three o’clock. Geometry is deceptive; thehurricane alone is trustworthy. That is what con-fers on Folard the right to contradict Polybius.Let us add, that there is a certain instant whenthe battle degenerates into a combat, becomesspecialized, and disperses into innumerable de-tailed feats, which, to borrow the expression ofNapoleon himself, “belong rather to the biogra-phy of the regiments than to the history of thearmy.” The historian has, in this case, the evi-dent right to sum up the whole. He cannot domore than seize the principal outlines of thestruggle, and it is not given to any one narrator,however conscientious he may be, to fix, abso-lutely, the form of that horrible cloud which iscalled a battle.This, which is true of all great armed encoun-ters, is particularly applicable to Waterloo.Nevertheless, at a certain moment in the after-noon the battle came to a point.

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, October 17, 2012 - Page 37

R A L L Y I N G R E C L I N E D G A L O S H E S L A U N C H E S

A A E E A R O M M A S A I R E A L I I O E

R E S I S T O R M A N E A T E R P R O D U C E R A L A C A R T E

E T E N A S A I G R E S E T E T O H M S H D D

R E S I S T G T A F F E T A C I N R O A D S A M E R E L Y

N S H E E D S E R L Y I N G E R S U S I E E A

E M P OW E R E P R A Y E D F H E D G E D R N A B B I N G

A B R A V A G E M T S H I R T S U R E A C T S U O

E S C A P E S L N O O S E I E T O A D Y N O U T F A L L

S R I E S U R U B E L L A V E I R F I

M E S S E N G E R I M R A N I I T E A R Y U N C E A S I N G

U E M E S A V E A U S T E R E H E L M H L N R

M E A T B A L L P E N P A L C V S T R O D E F O L L I C L E

B L L A P A I M U T E D U D F I T I E

L E A N E S T E N G O R G E S D I N G I E S T C H I P S I N

E N M I OW A E E R T R B S H I R E M O E

S T E P S I N S I R E D M A E V E O U I J A S H E E R E R

E R M E R G E I A G A M C I A A N I F T Y X M

I M P A L E E S T E A L I N P U T T O N E D U P R A N C E

P W L I A R E G E E D L E A S T X I N C H L E

M O A N E D L A M M O A S C E N D S H A C K C E I T H E R

I D M A L L S P N T A O T E E S T U N S E U

M I D G E O D E L I V E R S S U R P R I S E I L E A D S

E E N O T C H R S N T E I W S G O U D A L E

D O R A D O A M A U I U P E N D E D I B I S N A M U S E S

P L Z I T S T N A P E I N E S S V L I M B R X

G E M I N I E L E D G E N O M A D M E W E D N B L A S T S

R B N A S T Y O R U N B O N O H R E G A L L R

M A K I N G S R U M B A A B L E R O L I V E M E S S I A H

U I O B A L I I T N E S C N N U M B T N U

N U R T U R E C O N S I S T S M E C H A N I C U N A I D E D

C S G S I E N S A L A D E Y H S M U D

H O T S H O T S S L E I G H R R A D V I C E C H E M I C A L

E I T O S T A R O R A T I O N N O D E E E E E

D R E S S E S U P T S A R S C N T O N G A M I S T R U S T S

A I X O C N P R E F A C E E C P R G R

E M P A T H Y N H A N O I N T N O R T H R M A L A R I A

B M A U S S I E U C I S T E R N V E Y E L I D N F

G L E E F U L O D A M S E L I E A S E L S S R E A D I L Y

E S S E A R S M M L E G U P C A U S H E R A E

P R I E S T D P I A N I S T H H O A R D E R O S A N E S T

U M T M A M A L T R O T O R R D N I B S H R R

M O P P E D U P N I G H T I E S M A R C H E R S N A M E S A K E

A E I S T Y A E A S H E S E R D O G A S E

S I L E N C E S C O M I N G T O N E U R O S I S B A L D N E S S

CHAPTER viFOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON

Towards four o’clock the condition of the En-glish army was serious. The Prince of Orangewas in command of the centre, Hill of the rightwing, Picton of the left wing. The Prince of Or-ange, desperate and intrepid, shouted to theHollando–Belgians: “Nassau! Brunswick!Never retreat!” Hill, having been weakened, hadcome up to the support of Wellington; Pictonwas dead. At the very moment when the En-glish had captured from the French the flag ofthe 105th of the line, the French had killed theEnglish general, Picton, with a bullet throughthe head. The battle had, for Wellington, twobases of action, Hougomont and La Haie–Sainte;Hougomont still held out, but was on fire; LaHaie–Sainte was taken. Of the German battal-ion which defended it, only forty-two men sur-vived; all the officers, except five, were either


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melbourne observer. 121017b. october 17, 2012. part b. pages 23-38

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