I only know that he
was a very great one, and that the things in which he dealt were also so
great that it is impossible to judge him by any ordinary standard.
Let him rest silently, then, in his great red tomb at the Invalides, for
the workman's work is done, and the mighty hand which moulded France and
traced the lines of modern Europe has crumbled into dust. The Fates
have used him, and the Fates have thrown him away, but still it lives,
the memory of the little man in the grey coat, and still it moves the
thoughts and actions of men. Some have written to praise and some to
blame, but for my own part I have tried to do neither one nor the other,
but only to tell the impression which he made upon me in those far-off
days when the Army of England lay at Boulogne, and I came back once more
to my Castle of Grosbois.
THE END
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