June 18, 1815, the culmination of the Napoleonic Wars when the forces of the Anglo Allies and the Prussians under the Duke of Wellington and Field Marshal von Blucher triumphed over the French Grand Armee of Napoleon Bonaparte. Within weeks, Napoleon had abdicated and was shipped off to the remote South Atlantic island of St. Helena where he died six years later. The victorious armies of Wellington and Blucher occupied Paris, and the Bourbon King, Louis XVIII, was restored to his throne. The decisions of the Congress of Vienna, however reactionary one might now consider them, preserved a general peace in Europe, with a few exceptions, until the outbreak of another widespread conflict, WWI, in 1914.'
At the left, is an image of what my hero looks like. Actually, he is a member of the Blues and Royals on duty at Horse Guards in London, but as far as I am concerned, he is Robert Prescott. Dont you think he would appeal to any heroine worth writing about? Yum.
“…Robert and I wandered off again, away from the discussions of unworthy royals. We headed across a little bridge to an island in the small lake. As we came off the bridge, the ground was wet and spongy. He placed his arm around my waist, and we continued in the marshy grass. His hand was warm and I wished he would never take it away. I hoped he would leave it there for—oh, the next hundred years?...
I looked back at our footprints in the dewy grass, set off by the sun glinting off our tracks. My shoes were soaked but their ruin was a small price to pay for the lasting image of our side-by-side steps. As I write about it, my heart is full. I can see it as if it had been this morning, not more than thirty years ago.”
Somehow it seems humankind has a hard time learning its lessons, n'est ce pas? Adieu.