It was half-past three on the morning of June 12th when Napoleon
entered his carriage and set out for the Belgian frontier. On the
13th he was at Avesnes, on the 14th at Beaumont. One who was near the
imperial carriage, on its rapid course from Paris, states that the
Emperor was often asleep during the day; and that he declared that he
was utterly worn out by his three months’ toil. Little wonder. A man
who had gone through the tremendous ordeal which Napoleon had passed
since his return from Elba--an ordeal which taxed soul, mind, and
body--was fortunate in being left with any strength at all. His actual
hours of labor had been an average of fifteen per day, to say nothing
of the anxieties, the discouragements, and the humiliations which made
such enormous demands upon his fortitude, his patience, his tact, his
powers of self-control.
Asked at St. Helena what had been the happiest period of his life,
Napoleon answered, “The progress from Cannes to Paris.”
But however elated he may have been during that bloodless re-conquest
of an empire, the illusion that all France rejoiced in his return soon
passed away. The indifference of Paris chilled him. The absence of many
a companion-in-arms who had fought under his eagles was depressing. The
knowledge that he would have to accept fettering conditions, and the
services of men who denounced him the year before, mortified him. To
Count Molé he declared that had he known how many concessions he would
have to make, he would never have left Elba.
These were concessions to those who were called Republicans, and
who were dreaming of popular self-government--for which Napoleon
did not believe that France was prepared. Having become an Emperor,
he was naturally opposed to a republic. Besides, a man of his vast
superiority over other men naturally believes that he can achieve the
best results when given a free hand. With pathetic earnestness he had
appealed to the Legislative to help him save France from her enemies,
reminding them of the decadent Roman senate which had wrangled over
vain abstractions while the battering-rams of the barbarians thundered
against the walls. To no purpose. Until his power had been fully
re-established by victory over the Allies, the Legislative would remain
factious and obstructive; should the Allies triumph, the Legislative
would be ready to renounce him, as in 1814.
And where were his old comrades? Where were those who had grown famous
under his flag, made great by his lessons, rich and powerful by his
munificence?
Lannes had fallen, during the awful days of Wagram. Duroc had been
disembowelled by a cannon ball, in one of the bloody struggles of 1813.
Junot had killed himself in a fit of madness. LaSalle had thrown away
his life, on the Danube, in a needless cavalry charge. The gallant
Poniatowski, of the royal house of Poland, had gone to a watery grave
in the Elster, after the Titanic struggle at Leipsic. Bessières,
Commander of the Old Guard, who had led the great cavalry charges at
Eckmuhl and at Wagram, had met a soldier’s death, at the head of his
men, at the battle of Lutzen. Oudinot had shown incapacity during 1814,
and Napoleon would have no more to do with him. Souham had acted the
traitor; and when he came to seek command again, Napoleon said, “What
do you want of me? Can’t you see that I do not know you any more?”
Masséna renewed his allegiance to the Emperor, and sought military
command; but he was too old and feeble for active service, and Napoleon
disappointed his hopes of getting the 9th division. Suchet was put in
command of the Army of the Alps. Jourdan was made Governor of Besancon.
Brune also renewed his allegiance--an act for which the White Terror
was to inflict upon him a horrible penalty. Gouvion Saint-Cyr had
disobeyed Napoleon’s orders in 1814, and had commanded his troops to
resume the white cockade, after the 20th of March, when the Chamber
voted Napoleon’s deposition. The Emperor now exiled him to his castle.
Sérurier and the elder Kellerman had voted for deposition, but Napoleon
punished neither. Marshall Moncey would have been willing to take
command again under the Emperor, but, as he had published a violent
order of the day against Napoleon in 1814, he was not given a military
appointment, but, like Lefebre, he was raised to the Chamber of Peers.
Bernadotte sat firmly on the throne of Sweden, ready to renew the fight
against his countrymen, to insure the reward of his treachery--Norway.
Marmont, in mortal terror of the vengeance which his base betrayal
of Paris deserved, had fled with the Bourbons across the Rhine.
Augereau had offered his services, but he was no longer the Augereau of
Castiglione, and the Emperor could not overlook the personal insult to
which the recreant Marshal had subjected him on the high-road, while
on his way to Elba. Macdonald, who had led the great charge against
the Austrian center at Wagram, had taken service under the Bourbons,
and refused to serve Napoleon again. Mortier was ready for the final
campaign and joined the army, but, falling sick, sold his chargers to
Ney and took no part in the fighting of the Hundred Days. Berthier,
the favorite of his chief, the bosom friend, the constant companion;
Berthier, of whom Napoleon was so fond that he petted him like a spoilt
child and would not dine in his tent until Berthier came to share the
meal--Berthier had put on the King’s uniform, accepted high position
in his household, and fled the country upon the Emperor’s return. At
the castle of Bamberg, in Bavaria, he saw the Russians pouring by on
their march to France. Overcome by the miseries of his situation, the
remorseful traitor threw himself from an upper window and died on the
pavement below.
_Where was Murat?_ The most brilliant cavalry officer that the world
ever saw had offered his sword to Napoleon, and had been spurned. God!
what a mistake. The Emperor, who had retained Fouché, and given a
command to Bourmont, might well have trusted his own brother-in-law,
who had everything to gain by a victory which would restore the
fortunes of all the Napoleonic connection. But Murat had appeared in
arms against France, and this Napoleon would not forgive. Besides,
he had attacked the Austrians, with whose Emperor there is reason to
believe that Napoleon had come to an understanding before leaving
Elba. Murat’s insane conduct not only brought ruin upon himself, but
destroyed whatever chance Napoleon had to detach Austria from the
Alliance. So it was that Murat was in concealment at Toulon while the
battle raged at Waterloo.
Greatest of Napoleon’s Marshals was Davout, the victor of Auerstadt--a
greater feat of arms than Napoleon’s own triumph at Jena on the same
day. But he was wasted during the Hundred Days. He begged hard for a
command, but the Emperor chose to have him remain in Paris, Minister of
War, and thus the great soldier who might have given such a different
account of the Prussians, had he instead of Grouchy been sent after
them, sat useless in the office in Paris, while the cannon roared at
Fluerus, at Ligny, at Quatre Bras, at Wavre, at La Belle Alliance.
Soult was a commander of ability, and he was loyal and full of zeal;
but he had long held independent command, had practically no experience
as a staff-officer; and yet he applied for and was given the position
of Chief of Staff. This unfortunate choice proved to be one of the
principal causes of the disaster of the campaign.
_And where was Ney?_ Where was Napoleon’s “Bravest of the brave”?--the
heroic figure that had held the rearguard all through the horrors of
the Retreat from Moscow; the impatient lieutenant who had almost used
threats of personal violence to his Emperor to compel him to sign the
first abdication; the turn-coat who had gone over to the Bourbons, and
who had promised the King to bring Napoleon to Paris in an iron cage?
The torrent which was bearing the exile back to his throne proved too
strong for Ney; and when his own troops cried, “_Vive L’Empereur!_” Ney
was swept off his feet. When the big-hearted, impulsive man began to
make explanations and denials, Napoleon stopped him with, “Embrace me,
Ney.”
Weeks afterward, when the Marshal felt that the Emperor must have
learned about the iron cage threat, he was clumsy enough to mention
the matter to Napoleon, and to claim that he merely made the remark to
deceive the King as to his real design, which was to go over to the
returning Emperor. Napoleon said nothing, but gave Ney one of those
looks which made even Vandamme grow ill at ease.
Mortified, feeling that he had blundered throughout,--in 1814 and in
1815,--Ney withdrew to his estate.
Only at the last moment, and then out of pity, did Napoleon send word
to Ney that he might serve. The message was fatal--for it cost Napoleon
his throne, and Ney his life.
It was not until the 12th of June that Ney set out for the army, and he
was so ill prepared that he made the journey to Avesnes in a coach, and
from there to Beaumont in a peasant’s cart. It was that evening that he
bought from Marshal Mortier the horses he rode into battle. At the head
of his army, Napoleon was cordial to his old lieutenant. “I am glad to
see you, Ney. You will take command of 1st and 2nd Army Corps. Drive
the enemy on the Brussels road, and take possession of Quatre Bras.”
* * * * *
What of the composition and temper of the army with which the great
Captain was to make his last campaign?
The officers did not possess the confidence of the troops, and were
themselves without confidence in the star of Napoleon. Even those
generals who were at heart his friends and were ready to die by him,
had little or no hope of success. How could it be otherwise? Napoleon
could not inspire others with a faith which he did not himself feel;
and we have overwhelming evidence to the effect that he was depressed,
filled with forebodings.
It was in the troops of the rank and file that confidence lay. These
were in a frenzy of enthusiasm for their Emperor, and of hatred against
his enemies. In their way of judging events, their Captain had never
been defeated. The Russian snows had been the cause of his failure
in 1812, and the treachery of his Marshals had been his ruin in the
Campaign of 1813 and 1814. Nothing but treachery could check him now;
but that there _was_ treason afoot was a universal suspicion among
the men of the rank and file. “Don’t trust the Marshals,” they were
constantly saying; and even at Waterloo a soldier ran from the ranks,
caught the bridle rein of the white Arabian mare that the Emperor rode,
and exclaimed, “Sire, don’t trust Marshal Soult! He betrays you!”
“Be calm. Trust Marshal Soult, and trust me,” was Napoleon’s reply.
Evidently here was an army that would strike with terrific force, but
which might _break all to pieces on the field at the slightest evidence
of bad faith on the part of its commanders_.
At the very outset, Soult’s unfitness for his position as Chief of
Staff was demonstrated. When orders to concentrate the army were flying
as fast as couriers could bear them, Napoleon came upon the cavalry
of Grouchy, at Laon, before that officer had stirred a step. _He had
received no orders._ Had Napoleon been the vigilant, quickly resolute
Captain of old, his Chief of Staff would have been dismissed at once.
Like the leak in the dyke, _such_ a mistake indicated the danger of a
colossal disaster. In person, Napoleon had to order Grouchy forward;
and practically the same thing had to be done with the corps of
Vandamme. Soult had sent marching orders to that officer _by a single
courier_, whose horse fell with him, breaking his leg; and the poor
fellow lay there all night with the undelivered order.
Both of these delays were felt throughout the campaign. The cavalry had
to make a forced march of 20 leagues and this tired the horses; and in
the cavalry charges of the following days the mounts of the French were
jaded, while those of the enemy were fresh. Vandamme’s failure to get
his orders caused the combination of the Emperor to fall short of what
it ought to have accomplished, and this in turn caused other losses to
the end of the campaign.
Even at this late day the armies of Blücher and Wellington were spread
over a front line of 35 leagues. The base of the Prussians was Liege;
that of the English, Brussels and Ghent. The point of contact of the
two armies was the road from Charleroi to Brussels. Napoleon determined
to seize this road, strike the Allies at the point of contact and
drive them apart, so that he could crush each in detail. This done, he
believed that Austria would withdraw from the Alliance, the Belgians
rise in his favor, Italy assert her friendship for him, and all France
unite against the Bourbons. If these very probable changes should
take place, he could either conclude an honorable peace with Russia,
Prussia, and Great Britain, or he could safely defy them.
* * * * *
On the 14th of June the Emperor slept among his troops. Next morning he
addressed them in the order of the day:
“Soldiers, to-day is the anniversary of Marengo and Friedland, which
twice decided the fate of Europe. We were too generous after Austerlitz
and Wagram. And now banded together against us, the sovereigns we left
on their thrones conspire against the independence and the most sacred
rights of France. They have begun by the most iniquitous aggression.
Let us march to meet them; are we not the men we were then? The time
has come for every Frenchman who loves his country to conquer or to
die.”
The army of 124,000 men to whom those burning words were addressed
had been swiftly concentrated within cannon-shot of the enemy, before
Blücher or Wellington had the faintest idea of what had happened.
While it was possible for the French Emperor to strike at once, with
the crushing weight of the whole army, _three days_ were necessary to
Blücher and Wellington. _How did they get those three days?_ Through
the blunders and disobedience of Napoleon’s own officers. Contributing
immensely to the same result was the refusal of Wellington’s officers
to obey the orders which he sent from Brussels and which, had they been
obeyed, would have left Quatre Bras in the hands of the French, and put
Napoleon in overwhelming numbers _between_ the scattered forces of his
enemies. To have destroyed them would have been child’s play for such a
captain.
On the 15th of June, Wellington wrote to the Czar of Russia stating his
intention to take the offensive at the end of the month. As to Blücher,
that indomitable but short-sighted soldier was writing to his wife, “We
shall soon enter France. We might remain here a year, for Bonaparte
would never attack us.”
About the time that the wife of “Marshal Forwards” was reading this
reassuring letter, the Prussian army was flying before the French
Emperor, and old Blücher himself, unhorsed and bruised almost to
unconsciousness, had escaped capture because of the darkness, and was
being borne off the lost field of Ligny.