during many ages, of the most warlike nations of Europe, has seen only two more terrible days, the day of Malplaquet and the day of Waterloo.  During many months the ground was strewn with skulls and bones of men and horses, and with fragments of hats and shoes, saddles and holsters.  The next summer the soil, fertilised by twenty thousand corpses, broke forth into millions of poppies.  The traveller who, on the road from Saint Tron to Tirlemont, saw that vast sheet of rich scarlet spreading from Landen to Neerwinden, could hardly help fancying that the figurative prediction of the Hebrew prophet was literally accomplished, that the earth was disclosing her blood, and refusing to cover the slain.448

There was no pursuit, though the sun was still high in the heaven when William crossed the Gette.  The conquerors were so much exhausted by marching and fighting that they could scarcely move; and the horses were in even worse condition than the men.  Their general thought it necessary to allow some time for rest and refreshment.  The French nobles unloaded their sumpter horses, supped gaily, and pledged one another in champagne amidst the heaps of dead; and, when night fell, whole brigades gladly lay down to sleep in their ranks on the field of battle.  The inactivity of Luxemburg did not escape censure.  None could deny that he had in the action shown great skill and energy.  But some complained that he wanted patience and perseverance.  Others whispered that he had no wish to bring to an end a war which made him necessary to a Court where he had never, in time of peace, found favour or even justice.449 Lewis, who on this occasion was perhaps not altogether free from some emotions of jealousy, contrived, it was reported, to mingle with the praise which he bestowed on his lieutenant blame which, though delicately expressed, was perfectly intelligible.  “In the battle,” he said, “the Duke of Luxemburg behaved like Conde; and since the battle the Prince of Orange has behaved like Turenne.”

In truth the ability and vigour with which William repaired his terrible defeat might well excite admiration.  “In one respect,” said the Admiral Coligni, “I may claim superiority over Alexander, over Scipio, over Caesar.  They won great battles, it is true.  I have lost four great battles; and yet I show to the enemy a more formidable front than ever.”  The blood of Coligni ran in the veins of William; and with the blood had descended the unconquerable spirit which could derive from failure as much glory as happier commanders owed to success.  The defeat of Landen was indeed a heavy blow.  The King had a few days of cruel anxiety.  If Luxemburg pushed on, all was lost.  Louvain must fall, and Mechlin, Nieuport, and Ostend.  The Batavian frontier would be in danger.  The cry for peace throughout Holland might be such as neither States General nor Stadtholder would be able to resist.450 But there was delay; and a very short delay was enough for William.  From the field of battle he made