Several squares of the Guard， motionless amid this stream of the defeat， as rocks in running water， held their own until night. Night came， death also; they awaited that double shadow， and， invincible， allowed themselves to be enveloped therein. Each regiment， isolated from the rest， and having no bond with the army， now shattered in every part， died alone. They had taken up position for this final action， some on the heights of Rossomme， others on the plain of Mont-Saint-Jean. There， abandoned， vanquished， terrible， those gloomy squares endured their death-throes in formidable fashion. Ulm， Wagram， Jena， Friedland， died with them.

At twilight， towards nine o'clock in the evening， one of them was left at the foot of the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean. In that fatal valley， at the foot of that declivity which the cuirassiers had ascended， now inundated by the masses of the English， under the converging fires of the victorious hostile cavalry， under a frightful density of projectiles， this square fought on. It was commanded by an obscure officer named Cambronne. At each discharge， the square diminished and replied. It replied to the grape-shot with a fusillade， continually contracting its four walls. The fugitives pausing breathless for a moment in the distance， listened in the darkness to that gloomy and ever-decreasing thunder.

When this legion had been reduced to a handful， when nothing was left of their flag but a rag， when their guns， the bullets all gone， were no longer anything but clubs， when the heap of corpses was larger than the group of survivors， there reigned among the conquerors， around those men dying so sublimely， a sort of sacred terror， and the English artillery， taking breath， became silent. This furnished a sort of respite. These combatants had around them something in the nature of a swarm of spectres， silhouettes of men on horseback， the black profiles of cannon， the white sky viewed through wheels and gun-carriages， the colossal death's-head， which the heroes saw constantly through the smoke， in the depths of the battle， advanced upon them and gazed at them. Through the shades of twilight they could hear the pieces being loaded; the matches all lighted， like the eyes of tigers at night， formed a circle round their heads; all the lintstocks of the English batteries approached the cannons， and then， with emotion， holding the supreme moment suspended above these men， an English general， Colville according to some， Maitland according to others， shouted to them， "Surrender， brave Frenchmen!" Cambronne replied， "——-."

{EDITOR'S COMMENTARY: Another edition of this book has the word "Merde!" in lieu of the ——- above.}

羽林军的几个方阵，有如水中的岩石，屹立在溃军的乱流中，一直坚持到夜晚。夜来了，死神也同时来了，他们等候那双重黑影，不屈不挠，任凭敌人包围。每个联队，各各孤立，和各方面被击溃的大军已完全失去联系，他们从容就义，各自负责。有的守着罗松一带的高地，有的守在圣约翰山的原野里，准备作最后的一搏。那些无援无望，勇气百倍，视死如归的方阵在那一带轰轰烈烈地呻吟待毙。乌尔姆、瓦格拉姆、耶拿、弗里德兰①的声名也正随着他们死去。

①这些都是拿破仑打胜仗的地方。　

夜色朦胧，九点左右，在圣约翰山高地的坡下还剩一个方阵。在那阴惨的山谷中，在铁骑军曾经向上奔驰，现在流遍英军的血、盖满英军尸体的山坡下，在胜利的敌军炮队集中轰击下，那一个方阵仍在战斗。他们的长官是一个叫康布罗纳的无名军官。每受一次轰击，那方阵便缩小一次，但仍在还击。他们用步枪对抗大炮，四面的人墙不断缩短。有些逃兵在上气不接下气时停下来，在黑暗中远远听着那惨淡的枪声在渐渐减少。

那队壮士只剩下寥寥几个人，他们的军旗成了一块破布，他们的子弹已经射完，步枪成了光杆，在尸堆比活人队伍还大时，战胜者面对那些坚贞卓绝、光荣就义的人们，也不免如见神明，感到一种神圣的恐怖，英军炮队一时寂静无声，停止了射击。那是一种暂息。战士们觉得在他们四周有无数幢幢鬼魂、骑士的形象、炮身的黑影以及从车轮和炮架中窥见的天色，英雄们在战场远处的烟尘中隐隐望见死神的髑髅，其大无比，向他们逼近并注视着他们。他们在苍茫暮色中可以听到敌人上炮弹的声音，那些燃着的引火绳好象是黑暗中猛虎的眼睛，在他们头上绕成一个圈，英国炮队的火杆一齐靠近了炮身，这时，有一个英国将军，有人说是科维耳，也有人说是梅特兰，他当时心有所感，抓住悬在他们头上的那最后一秒钟，向他们喊道：“勇敢的法国人，投降吧！”康布罗纳答道：“屎！”