AFTER THE DOWNFALL
The remnant of the Waterloo army, as mustered and officially reported
to Paris on July 1, 1815, after it had been withdrawn by convention
with the Allies beyond the Loire, numbered some 23,000 of all arms.[46]
The soldiers had their Eagles with them. The Eagles were still the
standards of the army, although all was over with Napoleon, and he had
set out on his flight from Malmaison to the coast near Rochfort--to
find the _Bellerophon_ awaiting him there.
[Sidenote: PRESENTED AFTER WATERLOO]
The last occasion on which an Eagle of Napoleon’s Army had its part on
parade was one day, near the Loire, with a regiment not at Waterloo.
It was when the news of Napoleon’s abdication reached its colonel. He
was Colonel Bugeaud of the 14th of the Line, in after years the famous
Marshal who gained Algeria for France. As it happened, the 14th had
not long received their Eagle from the “_Champ de Mai_.” It had been
brought by the deputation of the regiment sent to Paris to receive it
at the hands of the Emperor, but had not yet been formally presented on
parade, owing to the regiment being on the march from the south-eastern
frontier of France. The 14th joined the rallied remnants of the
Waterloo army to the south of the Loire, and there Colonel Bugeaud made
the presentation of the Eagle. For the occasion he made use of the
Napoleonic formula of address at such ceremonies, but with a variation
to suit the altered situation. He took the opportunity to remind the
regiment that, if the Chief had fallen, they yet owed allegiance to
their country. “Soldiers of the 14th,” began the colonel, “here is your
Eagle. It is in the name of the nation that I present it to you. If the
Emperor, as it is stated, is no longer our Sovereign, France remains.
It is France who confides this Eagle to you as your standard; it is
ever to be your talisman of victory. Swear that as long as a soldier
of the 14th exists no enemy’s hand shall touch it!” “We swear it!”
responded the soldiers all together, and then the officers stepped
forward in front of the ranks, waving their swords and again shouting,
“We swear it!”
The end for the Eagles of Napoleon came on August 3, 1815. On that
day the Ministerial decree was promulgated, abolishing them and the
tricolor flag, and disbanding the entire Army. The white Bourbon flag
was restored once more, with a new form of Army organisation, which
substituted “Departmental Legions” in the place of regiments. As in
the year before, it was notified that all Eagles were to be sent to
the Artillery dépôt at Vincennes for destruction there, according to
law--the metal of the Eagles to be melted down, their silken tricolor
flags to be burned.
The date of the final disbandment was fixed for September 30, and in
almost every case there was a pathetic scene when the hour came for the
soldiers to take their last farewell of their Eagles. “On the day of
the disbandment,” describes one officer, speaking of his own regiment,
“we all paraded, and the roll was called for the last time. Then the
Eagle was passed solemnly down along the line, the band playing a
funeral march. The officers and soldiers, all in tears, after saluting
it, embraced and kissed the Eagle. It was then escorted back to the
colonel’s quarters to be packed up in a box and forwarded, according to
the official instructions, by carrier to the Ministry of War, thence to
go to Vincennes.”
[Illustration: LA REVUE DES MORTS.
From a picture by R. Demoraine.]
[Sidenote: ON THE DAY OF THE LAST PARADE]
In a few cases, where the senior officers knew that they had nothing
to hope for in the way of consideration from the new _régime_, the
Eagles were publicly broken up at the last parade by the colonels
themselves, with a blacksmith’s hammer or pioneer’s hatchet, and the
silken tricolor flags cut to pieces, after which the metal fragments,
together with the shreds of the flags, were distributed as keepsakes
among officers and men. That being done, all silently dispersed, never
to reassemble. In some other cases, as had happened a twelvemonth
previously, the Eagles disappeared before the last parade--the officers
in the various regiments having arranged for one of themselves to
retain the Eagle of the corps privately, either by agreement or after
drawing lots.
It was in this way that what Napoleonic Eagles and flags are now at the
Invalides came to be there. They were kept hidden by their possessors
until after the Revolution of July, 1830, and then, on the formation
of the present collection of standards and trophies being officially
sanctioned, most of those at present exhibited were brought to light
and presented, either by those who had been treasuring them in secret,
or by their heirs and families.
Three Waterloo Eagles are at the Invalides: those of the 2nd Grenadiers
of the Guard, and of the 25th and 26th of the Line; these last two
of the regiments in the columns charged by the Scots Greys and the
Royals. In addition to the Eagles, there are at the Invalides several
standards that saw service on the battlefield under Napoleon and
survived the vicissitudes of war: seven flags of infantry, and as
many of artillery, one cuirassier standard, and five other cavalry
standards. Most of these originally bore Eagles on their staves, but
those Eagles are now wanting.[47]
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES
[1] “The Eagle for each standard,” said Napoleon, going into details
with Berthier, “must be made ‘strong and light’--‘_Il convient de la
rendre à la fois solide et légère._’” “An Eagle looking to its left,
with wings half expanded, and with its talons grasping a thunderbolt,
as in the old Roman standard,” was the approved design: the bird
measuring eight inches from head to feet, and in the spread of its
wings from tip to tip, nine and a half inches. Below the thunderbolt,
as base and support, was a tablet of brass, three inches square;
bearing in raised figures the number of the regiment. The weight of the
whole--the Eagle was to be of copper, gilded over--was just three and
a half pounds avoirdupois, and a stout oaken staff was provided, eight
feet long and painted _bleu impérial_, to which the silken regimental
colour was attached; the flag being thirty-five inches along the staff
and thirty-three lengthwise, in the fly.
[2] The drawings made and laid before Napoleon at Saint-Cloud are in
existence, preserved among the archives of the Ministry of War in Paris.
[3] All armies, as a fact, owe to Napoleon the introduction of the
practice of inscribing on the colours of a regiment the names of
battles in which that regiment has won honour; nowadays an essential
feature of the war-flags of all nations. It originated after Napoleon’s
first campaign as General Bonaparte, at the head of the Army of Italy;
and, together with the inscriptions of quotations of passages from his
despatches, was introduced by him as a device to aid in developing
military spirit and a sense of _esprit de corps_ among the soldiers.
The Directory promptly censured the innovating young general for acting
without having first referred the matter to Paris. They sent orders
that all such inscriptions were to be forthwith deleted from the
flags. Napoleon, however, refused to obey; and the regiments of his
Army supported him. One and all protested against the removal of their
titles to fame, the first appearance of which on their flags had been
hailed with enthusiasm. In the result the Directory deemed it advisable
to accept the situation; and after that, in turn, the flags of the
regiments of the other Republican armies elsewhere were authorised to
display similar decorations of their own. The practice in due course
was adopted in the other armies of Europe.
[4] The sending of an invitation to the Pope had been finally decided
on in July, after a series of protracted discussions in the Imperial
Council of State.
[5] One of the Eagles so presented by Napoleon on that afternoon is
now at Madrid. It is a trophy that is absolutely unique. Upwards of
a hundred and thirty of Napoleon’s Eagles, the spoils of war, now
decorate cathedrals, chapels, and arsenals in the capitals of Europe;
but there is only one French naval Eagle now in existence, the trophy
at Madrid; the Eagle of a line-of-battleship named the _Atlas_.
Every French line-of-battleship was represented on the Champ de Mars
and received its Eagle. “Tous les vaisseaux,” to quote the words of
M. Le Brun, in his _Guerres Maritimes de France_, “étaient gratifiés
d’une aigle et d’un drapeau à leur nom, donnés par l’Empereur à son
couronnement, ou avaient assisté et prêté serment des députations du
port et de l’Armée Navale; chaque vaisseau avait envoyé sa députation
composée de trois officiers, trois officiers mariners, et quatre
gabiers ou matelots.”
The Eagle of the _Atlas_ was received on the Field of Mars by the
ship’s deputation of three officers, three warrant officers, and four
seamen, sent from Toulon, where the _Atlas_ then was in harbour with
Admiral Villeneuve’s fleet, which Nelson was watching. The _Atlas_
crossed the Atlantic in the Toulon fleet with Nelson in pursuit,
returned to Europe, fought in the indecisive battle off Cape Finisterre
in July 1805, and was so shattered in the fight, in which the ship only
just escaped capture, that she was left behind for repairs at Ferrol
when Villeneuve put to sea finally, to meet his fate at Trafalgar. The
_Atlas_ had to remain there and fell into the hands of the Spaniards in
1808, at the time of the national uprising against Napoleon. Thus the
naval Eagle passed into Spanish possession.
The crew of the _Atlas_ were taken by surprise, while the ship was in
dock at Ferrol, by the Spanish regiment of Navarre in garrison there
when the news of the Rising of May 2 at Madrid reached Galicia. They
were trapped and pounced down upon. The ship was seized by a sudden
assault, the officers and men being made prisoners to the provincial
Junta, before they had a chance of concealing or making away with their
Eagle.
In other cases elsewhere, undoubtedly, the naval Eagles were somehow
disposed of surreptitiously. It is very remarkable that not a single
French naval Eagle came into British hands on board the thirty odd
ships of the line which we captured between 1805 and 1814 during the
war with Napoleon. At Trafalgar, according to a French officer on
board the French flagship, the _Bucentaure_, they had one. Describing
the approach of the _Victory_, at the outset of the battle, says the
officer: “A collision appeared inevitable. At that moment Villeneuve
seized the Eagle of the _Bucentaure_ and displayed it to the sailors
who surrounded him. ‘My friends,’ he called out, ‘I am going to throw
this on board the English ship! We will go and fetch it back or die!’
(‘Mes amis, je vais la jetter à bord du vaisseau Anglais! Nous irons
la reprendre ou mourir!’) Our seamen responded to these noble words by
their acclamations.” Admiral Villeneuve, all the same, did not throw
any Eagle on board the _Victory_; nor was one found in the _Bucentaure_
during the forty-eight hours that the ship was in our possession after
the battle, previous to her wreck in the storm at the entrance to Cadiz
harbour. None too were found on board any of Nelson’s other prizes.
As to that, also, what was done with, or became of, the Eagles of the
five battalions serving as marines in the French fleet at Trafalgar,
officers and men of which were taken prisoners by us--those of the 2nd
of the Line, the 16th, 67th, 70th, and 79th?
At the Field of Mars all eyes were on the six hundred and fifty
officers and men of the Naval Brigade as they marched round the arena
to receive their Eagles. Soldiers everybody was familiar with. There
was nothing particular about them which had not been seen before. But
a French sailor was not often seen away from his port; and to Paris
man-of-war’s men were things quite new and strange. And, besides, were
they not “nos braves marins,” who were going to clear the way for the
“Invasion Flotilla” and the “Army of England”; to strike the blow that
should sweep from the path of the Emperor “ce terrible Nelson!” One
and all gazed in wonder at the sailors: the captains in their long,
swallow-tailed blue coatees barred with gold lace, white breeches, and
high top-boots; the sprightly “_aspirants_,” or midshipmen, in cut-away
jackets and little round hats with turned-up brims; the showy “Marins
de la Garde,” wearing broad-topped shakos edged with yellow braid,
over which tall red tufts nodded, red-cuffed and yellow-braided blue
jackets, and blue trousers striped with yellow; the other sailors of
the fleet in massed squads, in shiny black flat-brimmed hats, blue
jackets studded with brass buttons, red waistcoats, red, white, and
blue striped pantaloons, wide in the leg, “a l’Anglaise,” and shoes
with round steel buckles. Such a sight the good people of Paris had
never witnessed before, and they gazed at it rapturously with all their
eyes, and shouted their loudest “Vive la Marine!”
There was too, in addition to the sailors, one Eagle deputation
the strange appearance of which attracted special curiosity and
interest that afternoon. Everybody gazed in wonder at a group of
strapping-looking foreigners of all ages who marched along by
themselves, got up as light infantrymen, with green tufted shakos and
bright green uniforms. They belonged to one of the Emperor’s newest
creations; and were the Eagle escort of Napoleon’s “Irish Legion.” They
had come to the Field of Mars to receive the only Eagle that Napoleon
ever gave to a foreign regiment in his service, with a flag designed
specially for them, of “Irish Green,” as it was described, of silk,
fringed with gold cord, inscribed on one side in letters on gold:
“Napoléon, Empereur des Français, à la Legion Irlandaise,” and bearing
on the other a golden harp, uncrowned, and the words “L’Indépendance
d’Irlande.” Two ex-patriated men of good Irish family, refugees escaped
from the penalty of treason under English law for their part in the
Rising of ’98, seven years before, headed the deputation; a Captain
Tennant and a Captain William Corbet. In the ranks of the regiment
the deputation represented marched other Irish refugees, who had shed
English blood at Wexford and Enniscorthy; fugitives from political
justice before that who had had a part in the attempted raids of Hoche
and Humbert; “Wild Geese” who had made their flight overseas after the
fiasco of 1803; and a sprinkling of French-born Irish, some of whom had
worn the red coat of the old Irish Brigade in the Royal Army of France,
grandsons of the men of Fontenoy. Napoleon had enrolled his Irish
Legion just a twelvemonth before, in view of a descent on Ireland from
Brest simultaneously with the crossing of the Straits of Dover from
Boulogne. At the request of those who first came forward to enlist, he
had uniformed the corps in the “national” green, in place of the former
red coat which had been the historic colour of the old French-Irish
regiments ever since James the Second, under the Treaty of Limerick,
carried over to France the remains of the army that had fought for him
at the Boyne. The Eagle the Irish Legion received on the Field of Mars
faced Wellington in Spain, and narrowly escaped falling into Blücher’s
hands in Germany in 1813. It was hidden away after Fontainebleau,
and reappeared during the “Hundred Days,” finally to disappear after
Waterloo.
[6] Pigtails, too, were missing; for the first time at a military
display of the kind in Paris. Even the soldiers of the Revolution,
the rank and file, had kept up the old style of clubbed-hair. The new
_régime_, however, had altered all that. “Le petit tondu” (“The little
shorn one”), a camp-fire nickname for Napoleon, from his close-cropped
head, had made every soldier cut his hair short; by a general order
of six months before. The order, it may be mentioned incidentally, at
first nearly raised a riot in the Imperial Guard, and led to a number
of duels between “les canichons,” the “lap-dogs” or “poodles,” as
the men who obeyed the order at the outset were sneeringly dubbed by
comrades who refused to do so, and the others.
[7] Ney rode up to head the 6th Light Infantry at the outset,
immediately after a chaffing challenge to Murat. The two, who had been
operating together during the previous days, had had some difference
over their methods of attack. Said Murat arrogantly on one occasion,
after Ney had been laboriously trying to get into his brother-marshal’s
head an elaborate scheme of his proposed tactics: “I don’t follow your
plans. It is my way not to make mine till I am facing the enemy!”
Ney, on the morning of Elchingen, got his chance to pay Murat back.
They were together, riding close to Napoleon, with all the staff near
by, and not far from the Danube bank. As the guns began to open, Ney
suddenly turned and laid hold of Murat’s arm. Giving his colleague a
rough shake, before the Emperor and everybody, Ney exclaimed: “Now,
Prince, come on! Come along with me! and make your plans in the face
of the enemy!” The astonished Murat drew himself back, whereupon
Ney spurred up his horse and dashed forward; “galloping off to the
river-bank, he plunged into the water up to his horse’s belly amidst a
shower of cannon-balls and grape, to direct the mending of the bridge.”
That done, he galloped on to head the leading column of attack across
the bridge.
[8] Napoleon himself, it so chanced at the outset, heard the fierce
cannonading from afar, and, becoming suddenly alarmed at what might be
happening, was thrown into a fever of anxiety over it; into a state of
violent agitation. It was on the evening of November 11. Napoleon just
then was on his way to take up his quarters at the Abbey of St. Polten,
whence only a few miles intervened between him and Vienna. As he was
nearing St. Polten he was suddenly alarmed by “the smothered, distant
echo of heavy firing, which was not even interrupted by night.” So one
of the aides de camp on the Emperor’s staff, De Ségur, describes. “What
unforeseen danger could suddenly have overtaken Mortier? It was almost
certainly he who, going forward with an advanced guard of five thousand
men, had unexpectedly come across Kutusoff with forty thousand. It was
impossible, though, at first, to imagine the destruction of the marshal
and his unhappy division.”
At St. Polten they listened, and in the end feared for the worst.
“One could only offer up prayers and await the decision of fate! The
wide and deep Danube separated us from the marshal. This stream had
just delivered over to the enemy one of Mortier’s generals, who in
despair had tried to make his escape in a boat. Everything announced a
catastrophe: the Emperor no longer doubted it. In his anxiety, as he
drew nearer to the sound of the combat, while advancing from Moelkt
to St. Polten, the fear of a reverse usurped the place of Napoleon’s
former confidence of victory. Now, his agitation increasing with the
noise of the firing, he despatched everybody for news: officers, aides
de camp; every officer who happened to be near him. With his mind
full of Mortier’s peril he suspended the progress of the invasion.
He stopped Bernadotte and the flotilla behind at Moelkt. He recalled
Murat, dashing on for the gates of Vienna; and Soult, following Murat.
Not indeed until three on the next afternoon, the 12th of November,
was Napoleon’s anxiety allayed by the arrival of an aide de camp from
Mortier.”
[9] It was to one of these retreating columns that the historic “Ice
Disaster” happened. Every one knows the story, as related in Napoleon’s
Austerlitz Bulletin, and mentioned also by Ségur, Marbot, and Lejeune
in their memoirs, how a column from the Russian left wing tried to
escape over the frozen surface of the lake of Satschan, how Napoleon
turned a battery on them while in the act of crossing the ice and
broke it, and how “thousands of Russians, with their horses, guns,
and waggons, were seen slowly settling down into the depths.” The
actual facts are recorded in the recently discovered report of the
“Fischmeister” (or overseer) of the Carp Fishery of Satschan Lake,
setting forth the results of draining off the water in the spring
of 1806. There were found at the bottom, recorded the Fischmeister,
twenty-eight cannon, one hundred and fifty dead horses, but only three
human corpses. The column, it would appear, had been composed of five
batteries of artillery, and when the ice was broken, the guns, all but
the two nearest the shore, sank through and dragged the horses with
them to the bottom; but the gunners, it would seem, were all able to
scramble out, except the three unfortunates who had been either hit by
French round-shot, or were entangled in the harness of their teams. The
loss of human life was therefore, presumably, only three men out of the
five hundred or so who must have been riding on, or with, the guns.
[10] Incidentally, that Christmas Day morning of the Schönbrunn review
has an interest for us in this country. Napoleon left the palace for
the review in a vile temper, which no doubt was one reason why he
vented his spleen so savagely on the unfortunate soldiers of the 4th
in his speech of censure. This was probably the prime cause. Late on
the night before, on Christmas Eve, a courier from Paris had arrived at
the Imperial head-quarters, bringing the defeated Admiral Villeneuve’s
Trafalgar despatch, his “Compte Rendu,” written while Villeneuve was a
prisoner on his way to England, and dated from “A bord de la frégate
Anglaise _Euryalus_--le 15me Novembre 1805.” It had been sent to France
under a flag of truce, as an act of international courtesy, and the
Minister of Marine forwarded it to Napoleon. The news of the disaster
had reached the Emperor some five weeks before, at Znaim in Moravia, a
fortnight before Austerlitz; first, from some Austrian officers taken
prisoners by Augereau in the Tyrol, then from the English papers. It
had been enough then to give him a bad night, and make him morose for a
week. Now that he learned the story from his own admiral, it made him
more furious than ever. The original despatch received by Napoleon at
Schönbrunn that Christmas Eve exists, with its pathetic closing appeal,
the pitiless response to which sent Admiral Villeneuve to a suicide’s
grave. “Profondément pénétré,” it ran, as written by Villeneuve’s own
hand, “de toute l’etendue de mon malheur et de toute la responsibilité
que comporte un aussi grand désastre, je ne désire rien tant que d’être
bientôt à même d’aller mettre aux pieds de S.M. ou la justification
de ma conduite ou la victime qui doit être immolée, non a l’honneur
du pavillon, qui, j’ose le dire, est demeuré intact, mais aux manes
de ceaux qui auroient péri par mon imprudence, mon inconsidération ou
l’oubli de quelqu’un de mes devoirs.”
[11] The spectacles which Marshal Davout wore at Auerstadt--an
extremely primitive-looking pair of goggles in thick-rimmed
frames--were picked up on the field, and are treasured to this day by
the family of the present Duc d’Auerstadt.
[12] Gudin’s division was officially returned as having lost 124
officers and 3,500 men.
[13] Davout’s cocked hat, with one end shot away and a bullet-hole
through the crown, is now one of the battle relics of Napoleon’s wars
kept at the Invalides.
[14] In his instructions to Ney in regard to the trophies taken,
Napoleon wrote this, specially with reference to a number of flags
belonging to Prussian regiments elsewhere which had been temporarily
stored at Magdeburg: “Les drapeaux prussiens pris dans l’arsenal de
Magdeburg ne signifient rien: donnez l’ordre qu’ils soient brûlés, mais
vous ferez porter en triomphe par votre premier division les drapeaux
pris à la garnison, pour être remis par vous à Berlin à l’Empereur. On
ne doit porter en triomphe que les drapeaux pris les armes à la main,
et brûler ceux pris dans les arsenaux.”
[15] The _Moniteur_ made this notification in addition: “The Emperor
has ordered a series of eight pictures, sixteen feet by ten, each,
with life-size figures, from MM. Gérard, Lethière, Gautherot, Guérin,
Hennequin, Girodet, Meynier, and Gros. The pictures are intended for
the galleries of the Tuileries, and will depict the most memorable
events of the campaign in Germany.” They are now in the Louvre, badly
“skied,” and only paid heed to by the batches of recruits who from
time to time are conducted round to see them under the guidance of
under-officer instructors as lecturers.
[16] The hat that Napoleon wore at Eylau is kept in the little crypt
beside Napoleon’s tomb in the Invalides. It is the identical one
represented in the colossal picture of the battle by Gros, to be seen
at the Louvre, and was given to Gros for the picture. At the second
Funeral of Napoleon in 1840, it figured beside the coffin, with the
Emperor’s decorations and the sword Napoleon wore at Austerlitz.
[17] A gallant young officer of the Guard was the first man to break
through the Russian line in front. With half a dozen grenadiers he made
a dash forward, just as the chasseurs made their attack. Captain Ernest
Auzoni--that was the young officer’s name--caught sight of a Russian
flag a few paces from him, and, calling on the men of his company, led
straight at it, cutting his way through. “Courage!” he shouted. “Brave
comrades! Follow me!” Auzoni, describes Caulaincourt, “rushed forward
sword in hand, followed by his company, and penetrated the compact
centre of the Russian column: his sudden assault broke their ranks, and
our grenadiers burst in through the passage opened to them by the brave
Auzoni.”
Napoleon, from his post near at hand, was also an eye-witness of the
captain’s daring. On the Russians falling back after the routing of the
column, as the Guard were re-forming for a fresh advance, he summoned
Auzoni and the men of his company before him. “Captain Auzoni,” began
Napoleon as they stood in front of him, “you well deserve the honour
of commanding my ‘veteran’ _vieux moustaches_; you have most nobly
distinguished yourself. You have won an officer’s cross and an annuity
of two thousand francs. You were made captain at the beginning of the
campaign, and I hope you will return to Paris with still higher rank.
A man who earns his honours on the field of battle stands very high in
my estimation!” Turning then to the soldiers, Napoleon added: “I award
ten crosses to your company!” With an enthusiastic cheer the company
marched off to rejoin their comrades, and as Caulaincourt puts it, “the
same men advanced to meet the enemy’s fire with a degree of courage and
enthusiasm which is impossible to describe.”
The brave young Guardsman captain, though, did not see Paris again.
Auzoni met his fate at Eylau. He fell later in the day, in another
charge, in which he took a second Russian flag. Napoleon himself
discovered him, lying at the last gasp among the mortally wounded
on the field. It was next day, as Napoleon, in accordance with his
invariable practice, was riding over the scene of the battle.
“Near a battery which had been abandoned by the enemy,” to use again
the words of Caulaincourt, “about 150 or 200 French grenadiers were
lying dead, surrounded by four times their number of Russians. They
were lying weltering in a river of blood, amid broken gun-carriages,
muskets, swords, and other _débris_. They had plainly fought with the
most determined fury, for every corpse showed numerous and horrible
wounds. A feeble cry of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ was heard as we rode up.
It came from the middle of this mountain of dead, and all eyes were
turned instantly to the spot whence the voice proceeded. Half concealed
beneath a tattered flag lay a young officer whose breast was decorated
with an order. He was still alive, and, though covered with many
wounds, as we stopped by him he managed to raise himself so as to rest
on his elbow. But his handsome face was overcast with the livid hue of
death. He recognised the Emperor, and, in a feeble, faltering voice,
exclaimed: ‘God bless your Majesty! Farewell, farewell! Oh, my poor
mother!’ He turned a look of supplication towards the Emperor, and with
that, with the words on his lips, ‘To my country, to dear France--my
last thoughts!’ he fell back dead.
“Napoleon seemed riveted to the spot. ‘Brave men!’ he exclaimed. ‘Brave
Auzoni! Noble young fellow! Ah, this is a frightful scene! The annuity
shall go to his mother: let the order be presented for my signature
as soon as possible!’ Then, turning to Surgeon Ivan, who accompanied
him, he said: ‘Examine poor Auzoni’s wounds and see what can be done
for him!’ Nothing however, could be done: the brave youth was beyond
medical aid.”
[18] The Old Guard was recruited from the _élite_ of the Line. After
every battle soldiers who had been particularly prominent in the
fighting were specially transferred to the Old Guard; a form of
advancement much coveted among the rank and file. At all times there
was great competition to enter the Guard, and every regimental colonel
kept “waiting lists,” in anticipation of vacancies, on which names
were sometimes down for years. Service in the Old Guard meant, in
addition to the prestige of enrolment in so favoured a corps, life amid
the gaieties and pleasures of Paris, with increased pay and personal
privileges; and the highly estimated honour of a special weekly
inspection by the Emperor himself in the Courtyard of the Carrousel, at
which Napoleon invariably walked in and out among the ranks, talking to
the men; and any Guardsman who had a grievance might then personally
lay it before the Emperor. The private in the Guard drew seven sous a
day as compared with the one sou pay of the private of the Line. Off
duty, the private of the Guard ranked on an equality with a sergeant of
the Line, and in army social circles was entitled to be addressed by
the Linesmen he met as “Monsieur.”
Only men of unblemished record were qualified for admission to the
Old Guard. A colonel of a Line regiment on one occasion sent a man
into the Guard who turned out a _mauvais sujet_. Napoleon ordered the
unfortunate colonel to be publicly reprimanded on parade, and confined
to his quarters for three days; and further had his name and offence
put in General Army Orders, issued for universal circulation from
the War Office, and posted up at the head-quarters of every regiment
throughout the service.
[19] Baron Lejeune, on the Imperial staff at Wagram, who was clever
with his pencil, was specially desired by Napoleon to design the
costume for the Eagle-Guard, as he himself relates. “Anxious to confer
distinction on those brave fellows who had taken part in the actual
defence of the flag, the Eagle of their regiment, Napoleon conceived
the idea of giving them a costume and equipment which should mark
them out as specially honoured, and at the same time be suitable to
the duties they had to perform. The Emperor therefore sent for me and
asked me to make a sketch of a costume such as he wished to give to
what he called his ‘Eagle-Guard,’ or those non-commissioned officers
whose office it was to surround and defend the actual standard-bearers.
The chief weapons of each were to be a pistol, a sword, and a lance,
so that in the heat of the battle they would never have to trouble
themselves about loading a gun. There was to be gold on their
epaulettes, sword-belts, and helmets. I made a drawing and took it
to the Emperor, and he sent it to the Minister of War with his own
instructions on the subject.”
[20] Colonel Lejeune was again called in to design the decoration for
the Order, and has recorded what Napoleon said to him. “‘The Order of
the Golden Fleece,’ he said, ‘is typical of victory; my Eagles have
triumphed over the Golden Fleeces of the King of Spain and the Emperors
of Germany, so I mean to create for the French Empire an Imperial Order
of the Three Golden Fleeces. The sign of this order shall be my own
Eagle with outspread wings, holding in each of its talons one of the
ancient Golden Fleeces it has carried off; whilst hanging from its
beak it will proudly display the Fleece I now institute.’ He then took
a pen and roughly marked out the size I was to make my drawing.... I
made the drawings as desired, and he issued the order accordingly. The
institution of the new Order was duly announced in the _Moniteur_;
but the terms of the treaty of peace compelled him to suppress a
distinction the chief aim of which had been to humiliate the conquered
countries of Spain and Austria.”
[21] They were to be merely identifying tokens. “If by misfortune,”
Napoleon went so far as to say, “fanions should fall into the enemy’s
hands, it will be apparent from their plain appearance that their
capture is a matter of no account.” “Une affaire sans conséquence” were
Napoleon’s words.
[22] It was during the battle at Ratisbon that Napoleon, according
to the story, was wounded for the only time in his life, and had to
dismount, and, in the sight of the dismayed soldiers, have his wound
dressed by a surgeon, the news causing consternation through the ranks
of the whole army far and wide. Indeed, only this year there was
placed in the Army Museum at the Invalides, as an historic relic of
the highest interest, “the fragment of a shell that struck Napoleon at
Ratisbon on the 23rd of April, 1809, and gave him the only wound he
ever received in battle.” The truth is revealed in M. Combes’ journal,
which, after telling how Napoleon carefully concealed everything
which might detract from his reputation among his soldiers for
invulnerability, enumerates his wounds in detail. After his death half
a dozen scars were found on his body. There was the mark of a wound on
his head, a hole above his left knee, either from a bayonet or a lance,
the mark of the injury received at Ratisbon, another on one hand, and
on the body the scars of sword cuts and slashes.
[23] As to this last trophy, it was unfortunate from our point of
view--since Fate willed that the 5th of the Line should lose its
colours to an enemy--that one of the original Battalion Eagles of the
corps had previously, in accordance with Napoleon’s order of 1808, been
returned to Paris. The half-winged Eagle of the 5th would have made
a notable trophy for Chelsea Hospital. While heading an attack on an
Austrian field-work in Masséna’s battle at Caldiero on the Venetian
frontier in November 1805, the Eagle was smashed from its staff by a
grape-shot and dashed violently to the ground, with one wing shattered.
At the same time the battalion recoiled before the terrific fire with
which its charge was met. The Eagle saved the honour of the corps.
Picking its battered remains up and waving it at arm’s-length above his
head, with a shout of “Come on, comrades! follow the Eagle,” one of
the officers rushed with it through the _mêlée_ to the front and led
the forlorn-hope onset that stormed the post. After that, the Eagle,
lashed to the stump of its broken pole, went through the battle to the
end, doing its part in rallying the battalion round it, to keep at
bay greatly superior numbers of the enemy until relief arrived. There
had been almost a mutiny in the 5th in 1808 when they were ordered to
return their battle-scarred ensign to the Invalides, but the order was
obeyed. Otherwise the half-winged Eagle would have been at Chelsea now.
[24] The present imitation Eagle at Chelsea was specially cast in brass
from a mould of one of other trophies; one of the Eagles of the 82nd
being used as the model. The imitation wreath was made from a sketch
by an old officer of the Hospital staff. The Eagle and wreath were
specially reproduced in order that the Barrosa Eagle trophy should be
represented among the Peninsular and Waterloo Eagles displayed together
at the head of the catafalque on the occasion of the lying-in-state at
Chelsea of the remains of the Duke of Wellington, seven months after
the theft. The dummy is in the Chapel at Chelsea now, with a brass
tablet beneath it notifying that it is not the original Eagle, set
up where the Barrosa Eagle used to be, in front of the organ-loft.
The existing staff, however, is genuine. It is the Eagle-pole that
the thief threw away in his fright; the staff actually borne by the
Porte-Aigle of Napoleon’s 8th of the Line under fire at Austerlitz and
Friedland; the identical staff inclined in salute with the Eagle to
Napoleon on the throne on the Day of the Eagles on the Field of Mars.
[25] In a letter from an officer of the 87th, published in the London
papers, it is stated that the regiment also captured the Eagle of the
French 47th, but “the man who had charge of it was obliged to throw it
away, from excessive fatigue and a wound. We had been under arms for
thirty-two hours before the action began.”
[26] The successor to the 8th of the Line of the Grand Army in the
Army of the Third Napoleon was, in its turn, no less unfortunate than
its predecessor. The Eagle of the 8th of the Line of the Army of the
Second Empire is now at Potsdam, one of the spoils of the war of
1870–1. It was carried through the streets of Berlin in the triumphal
parade of the Prussian troops on their return home after the war, and
after that, was deposited over the vault of Frederick the Great in the
Church at Potsdam in the presence of the old Kaiser Wilhelm, Moltke,
Von Roon, and other leaders of the victorious host. It bears these
“battle-honours,” inscribed on its silken flag, among them “Talavera”:
“AUSTERLITZ
1805.
FRIEDLAND
1807.
TALAVERA
1809.
ANVERS
1832.
ZAATCHA
1849.
SOLFERINO
1859.”
[27] Southey, in his _History of the Peninsular War_, makes this ugly
suggestion in regard to the Eagle trophies of Salamanca: “It is said
that more than _ten_ were captured, but that there were men base enough
to conceal them and sell them to persons in Salamanca who deemed it
good policy, as well as a profitable speculation, to purchase them
for the French.” It may be, as to that, that Marmont’s army lost more
than the two Eagles now at Chelsea. It is of course possible that
camp followers and Spanish peasants of the locality, wandering over
the battlefield to strip and plunder the dead on the day after the
battle, when Wellington and the army were miles away, picked up Eagles
on the scene of so tremendous a disaster for the French. They might
easily traffic in them with French agents at Salamanca, well aware of
their value if they could be secretly restored to their regiments. It
is, however, inconceivable that British soldiers could have acted as
alleged and been guilty of the dastardly crime that Southey hints at.
Four Eagle-poles, with screw tops and the Eagles gone, were found on
the field by British burying-parties; but those were all, and one of
the four may have been the pole of the Eagle of the 62nd.
[28] As to Napoleon’s opinion in regard to the preservation of trophies
so acquired, see his memo to Ney at Magdeburg, quoted in Chapter V., as
footnote to page 141.
[29] Napoleon had given permission to his marshals in Spain to grant
colonels of regiments, in certain circumstances, discretionary
powers as to the disposal of their Eagles. Colonels were authorised,
when their regiments were proceeding on what might be considered
“exceptionally hazardous service,” or when operating in difficult
country, to keep the Eagles back, and leave them in camp or in a
fortress. That is how Wellington in 1812 came to find the Eagles of the
13th and 51st of the Line at Madrid.
[30] On July 28, 1813, in a skirmish in the Pyrenees, the 40th (now the
2nd Somersetshire Regiment) surrounded and captured the French 32nd of
the Line, rounding its First Battalion up in a valley and charging it
with the bayonet, 24 officers and 700 men being taken. The Eagle had
been thrown into a rapid mountain torrent in sight of our men, during
the retreat of the 32nd, but it was impossible to prevent it, or to
recover the Eagle afterwards.
[31] Others of the Eagles had narrow escapes during the Peninsular
War. In the fighting south of the Douro, near Grijon, on the day
before Wellington’s passage of the river at Oporto, the 31st Light
Infantry all but lost their Eagle on being charged by the British
14th and 20th Light Dragoons. The 31st broke in confusion before the
British onset, and only rallied some miles from the battlefield. “Our
losses,” described one of the officers, “were very heavy, but our
Eagle, which had been in extreme peril in the encounter, was happily
saved.” Again, in the pursuit up the mountain side after the defeat of
Girard’s Division at Arroyo dos Molinos, the Eagles of the 34th and
40th of the Line escaped capture--although both regiments were all but
annihilated--to Marshal Soult’s expressed relief. In reporting the
reverse to Napoleon, Soult added this by way of solatium: “L’honneur
des armes est sauvé; les Aigles ne sont pas tombés au pouvoir de
l’ennemi.” After Talavera, the Eagle of the 25th of the Line was picked
up on the battlefield by a party of the King’s German Legion--it was
sent to Hanover and is now in Berlin; also, during the battle, the
British 29th took two Eagle-poles in a charge, but with the Eagles
unscrewed from the tops and removed by the Eagle-bearers at the last
moment and carried out of the fight under their coats.
[32] Elsewhere are other permanent trophies of the campaign, spoils
of another kind. Nine hundred and twenty-nine of Napoleon’s cannon
fell into Russian hands, mostly abandoned during the retreat, without
attempt at defence. Of these, most are fittingly kept at Moscow; they
number 875, and are exhibited in the arsenal, or mounted as trophies in
the public squares in the Holy City. As with the flags, they are not
all French. Those bearing the French Imperial cypher, the letter “N”
surmounted by the Eagle and Napoleonic crown, number less than a half
of the total. The French guns number 365; the bulk of the collection
being made up of artillery from allied and vassal states: 189 Austrian
cannon, 123 Prussian, 70 Italian, 40 Neapolitan, 34 Bavarian, 22 Dutch,
12 Saxon, 8 Spanish, 5 Polish, with 7 Westphalian, Würtemburg, and
Hanoverian pieces. The Prussian and Austrian guns, most of them, it is
fair to say, were not captured from the contingents serving with the
Grand Army in Russia: they formed part of the artillery marching with
Napoleon’s main column; they belonged to the French army, and were
manned by French gunners, being spoils from the Austerlitz, Wagram,
and Jena campaigns, turned to account to form field batteries for the
French army. Innumerable other reminders of the fate of the Grand
Army are preserved all over Russia: soldiers’ arms and accoutrements,
personal belongings and decorations of French officers and men,
fragments of uniforms, helmets, swords and lances, pistols and muskets;
relics mostly picked up on battlefields or by the wayside along the
route of the retreat. The muskets serve to illustrate incidentally,
in the variety of the woods used for their stocks, the makeshifts to
which, some time before 1812, the demands of Napoleon’s armaments had
reduced France: the musket-stocks of oak, chestnut, elm, beech, maple,
of even poplar and deal, tell a tale of exhausted supplies of the
walnut and ash woods ordinarily used in the manufacture of firearms.
The total of 75 Eagles and other standards is no extravagantly
large array of trophies, remembering the overwhelming nature of the
catastrophe to the Grand Army in Russia. Of the 600,000 soldiers
who mustered round their regimental colours at the crossing of the
Niemen at the outset of the campaign, 125,000 were killed in fight,
and 193,048, according to the Russian official returns, were taken
prisoners. In round numbers 250,000 died on the line of march during
the retreat, from cold, hardships, and starvation, or were killed as
stragglers by the Cossacks and peasants. The mementoes also of their
grim fate exist to-day in Russia. The graves of most of them may be
seen all along the railway line from Wilna to Moscow, which follows
closely the route of Napoleon and the Grand Army, over country the same
in appearance now as then; a dreary, wind-swept, lonesome plain, broken
only by vast stretches of dark, monotonous birch and pine forests, with
here and there narrow ravines, and strips of hilly ground, amid which
wind chill and sluggish rivers. At intervals huge mounds, looking like
embankments or ancient barrows of enormous size, rise over the flat
expanse of plain. They are the graves of the French dead. It took three
months to destroy the remains of the dead soldiers and of some 150,000
horses which perished in the campaign. The ghastly task was carried out
locally by the peasantry, under an urgent Government order, so as to
prevent the outbreak of pestilence in the spring from the vast numbers
of unburied corpses that strewed the track of the ill-fated host. The
bodies, when the snow thawed, were dragged together and collected in
heaps each “half a verst long and two fathoms high,” over 500 yards
long and some 14 feet high. At first, efforts were made to burn them,
but the supply of firewood failed, and the stench all over the country
was unbearable. The corpses were then hauled into shallow trenches
alongside, and quicklime and earth heaped over them, making the mounds
now to be seen along the railway, on either side of the old post-road
from Wilna to Moscow, the route of Napoleon’s retreat. In the province
of Moscow, 50,000 dead soldiers and 29,000 dead horses were so disposed
of before the middle of February; in the province of Smolensk, by
the end of the month, 72,000 dead soldiers and 52,000 horses; in the
province of Minsk, 40,000 human corpses and 28,000 horses; to which,
later on, when the ice had melted, 12,000 more dead soldiers were
added, the bodies found in the Beresina; in the province of Wilna, also
by the end of February, 73,000 dead soldiers, with 10,000 dead horses.
There were, in addition, very many never accounted for: dead stragglers
who had perished in the forests, their remains being devoured by the
wolves; and those who were massacred--beaten to death, or buried alive,
or burned alive--by the peasants in places away from the line of march.
Such was the appalling loss of life that attended the Moscow campaign,
and which the trophies represent. In the circumstances, in proportion,
the toll is hardly a large one.
[33] The wolves killed many of the stragglers as they wandered in
search of food or shelter from the cold, away from the retreating
columns. They followed in the track of the Grand Army to the last,
across Germany to the Rhine. It is the fact, indeed, that the presence
of wolves to-day in the forest lands of Central Europe is largely due
to the tremendous incursion of ravenous brutes from Russia which swept
in huge swarms in rear of Napoleon’s ill-fated host.
[34] Coignet, then a lieutenant of the Old Guard, thus speaks of the
horrors of those latter days immediately following the Beresina: “The
cold continued to grow more intense; the horses in the bivouacs died
of hunger and cold. Every day some were left where we had passed the
night. The roads were like glass. The horses fell down, and could not
get up. Our worn-out soldiers no longer had strength to carry their
arms. The barrels of their guns were so cold that they stuck to their
hands. It was twenty-eight degrees below zero. But the Guard gave up
their knapsacks and guns only with their lives. In order to save our
lives, we had to eat the horses that fell upon the ice. The soldiers
opened the skin with their knives, and took out the entrails, which
they roasted on the coals, if they had time to make a fire; and, if
not, they ate them raw. They devoured the horses before they died. I
also ate this food as long as the horses lasted. As far as Wilna we
travelled by short stages with the Emperor. His whole staff marched
along the sides of the road. The men of the demoralised army marched
along like prisoners, without arms and without knapsacks. There was no
longer any discipline or any human feeling for one another. Each man
looked out for himself. Every sentiment of humanity was extinguished.
No one would have reached out his hand to his father; and that can
easily be understood. For he who stooped down to help his fellow would
not be able to rise again. We had to march right on, making faces to
prevent our noses and ears from freezing. The men became insensible to
every human feeling. No one even murmured against our misfortunes. The
men fell, frozen stiff, all along the road. If, by chance, any of them
came upon a bivouac of other unfortunate creatures who were thawing
themselves, the newcomers pitilessly pushed them aside, and took
possession of their fire. The poor creatures would then lie down to die
upon the snow. One must have seen these horrors in order to believe
them.... But it was at Wilna that we suffered most. The weather was so
severe that the men could no longer endure it: even the ravens froze.”
[35] One of those who presented arms before Napoleon at the Rheims
review died, just twenty years ago, as the last French survivor of
Trafalgar--André Manuel Cartigny. At Trafalgar he had been a powder-boy
on board the celebrated _Redoutable_, from the mizen-top of which the
bullet was fired which killed Nelson. He paraded at Rheims among the
remnant of survivors of Napoleon’s last battalion left of the Seamen of
the Guard, and was present a month later at the historic farewell at
Fontainebleau.
[36] General Dupont, an officer of the highest promise and with an
exceptionally brilliant record, Ney’s right-hand man, and chief
divisional leader on many battlefields, a special favourite also with
Napoleon (“a man I loved and was rearing up to be a marshal,” were
Napoleon’s words of him), while on the expedition which was to win him
the bâton, at the head of 25,000 men, let himself be surrounded and
cut off; trapped among the gorges of the Sierra Morena by a horde of
peasants backed up by Spanish regulars; and then, in spite of a final
chance that offered for him to force his way through, surrendered to
the enemy. He had committed “_une chose sans exculpe; une lacheté
insultante_,” declared Napoleon in savage fury on hearing of the
surrender. Those who had had part in it, declared the Emperor, should
“die on the scaffold”--“ils porteront sur l’échaffaud la peine de
ce grand crime national!” He had Brigadier Legendre, Dupont’s Chief
of the Staff, who had been released on parole, brought before him
at Valladolid, and heaped on the wretched, broken man the bitterest
reproaches and revilings; beside himself in his wrath. Not a word in
reply, in explanation, would he listen to. Before the Imperial Guard on
parade, and the assembled Imperial Staff, Napoleon finally gripped the
general by the wrist and shook it passionately. An onlooker, another
officer, describes the scene: “A nervous contraction of the muscles
seemed to seize the Emperor. ‘What, General!’ he ejaculated, his voice
quivering with fury. ‘Why did not your hand wither when it signed that
infamous capitulation!’” Legendre was cashiered: Dupont (who had been
ill and was wounded during the battle) was cashiered, degraded from the
Legion of Honour, and kept under police _surveillance_ as long as the
Empire lasted.
What became of the other two Eagles, those of the “Garde de Paris” and
of the Second Battalion of the 5th Light Infantry, and the fourteen
Reserve Battalion flags that were taken at Bailen is unknown. They
are not in Spain, although one trophy indirectly associated with the
disaster is now at Madrid, the admiral’s flag of Admiral Rosily, who
was at Cadiz with the French squadron which Dupont was marching to
rescue. It is kept as a trophy in the Museo Naval of Madrid. Rosily had
charge of the five French ships of the line which escaped into Cadiz
after Trafalgar. When Spain rose against Napoleon, they were placed in
danger from the garrison of Cadiz; being at the same time unable to put
to sea because a British fleet blockaded the port. Dupont’s army was
specially sent to bring away the 4,000 soldiers and sailors on board,
who were then to abandon the ships. Just before Dupont reached Bailen,
the Spaniards attacked Rosily, bombarding his ships with heavy cannon,
and mortars and a gunboat flotilla, and he had to surrender, his
admiral’s flag being carried off by the Spaniards, ultimately to find
its way to its present resting-place.
[37] Years later these trophies were again brought to light, and by
degrees, one at a time, or two or three together, found their way once
more to the Hôtel, where they form part of the present collection.
Among those now in the Invalides are six of Frederick the Great’s
trophies annexed at Berlin by Napoleon in 1806; six Austrian and
Bavarian flags, also of the Seven Years’ War period, removed by
Napoleon from Vienna; an old German flag taken by Marshal Turenne, and
in earlier times hung in Notre Dame; five Austrian colours of unknown
origin; one Russian flag-trophy from Austerlitz; one Prussian standard
from Jena; and a number of Spanish and Portuguese flags from the
Peninsular War.
Three British regimental flags, originally captured by Napoleon’s
Polish lancers at Albuera, found their way back in this manner to
the Invalides. They were taken at Albuera in the first part of the
battle, when, under cover of mist and rain squalls, the French cavalry,
circling round one flank, swooped down on the leading British brigade
before its regiments could form in square. Of the five other British
flags at present in the Invalides, four were taken on March 8, 1814,
just three weeks before the burning of the trophies, and had not yet
reached Paris. They were taken from us in very tragic circumstances--at
the disastrous attempt to storm the fortress of Bergen-op-Zoom; but the
details of that painful story nor the identification of the flags do
not concern us here. One of the four flags is kept beside Napoleon’s
tomb. The fifth flag purports to have been a British sloop-of-war’s red
ensign and to have been captured in the Baltic in December 1813, in an
action of which the British Admiralty has no record, and the French
account is only a tradition. It again, apparently, had not reached
Paris by March 1814.
[38] To the Army, Louis XVIII. was only a King imposed on them by their
enemies; by the triumphant enemies of France, the European Coalition.
He was merely the “_protégé_ of foreign bayonets,” placed over them
by the English and Prussians; “l’émigré rentré en croupe derrière un
cosaque!” To the soldiers he only personified defeat and disaster; and
the memories that they gloried in had been of set purpose obliterated
by him and his creatures. The very charter under which he had assumed
authority was dated the 19th year of his reign, as though Napoleon had
never been. He had proscribed their Eagle standards before which all
Europe had trembled. By his ordinances he had abolished and insulted
the memory of their victories. In addition he had disbanded and turned
adrift their officers, and had left them to starve, without the pay
that was their due, in wretchedness and rags.
Fuel was added to the fires of disaffection in the ranks by the tales
that went round of every barrack-room of personal ill-usage of and
affronts to officers who had won the respect of all on campaign, and
before the enemy under fire. _Ci-devant_ colonels and captains in
long-forgotten corps of the old-time Royal Army were appointed at one
stride Lieutenant-Generals and Major-Generals on the Active List,
ousting and sending into unemployment men, whom Napoleon himself had
picked out for command, whose names were household words to the Army.
In almost every regiment officers who had grown grey in war-service
before the enemy, who had won distinction on a hundred battlefields,
were shelved; set aside for _émigrés_, who, a quarter of a century
before, had been boy subalterns in the army of the _ancien régime_, and
had not set foot in France since they fled the country at the outbreak
of the Revolution. These were brought back and posted wholesale as
colonels and _chefs de bataillon_ all through the Army, superseding
and driving into poverty veterans who had raised themselves to their
ranks and positions through personal merit and war-service, and had
qualified step by step in the different grades. At a _levée_ one day,
after a review before the Duc de Berri, a grey-headed old regimental
officer stepped forward, according to custom, and made a request to
have granted to him for his services the Cross of St. Louis. “What have
you done to deserve it?” was the Prince’s reply, uttered in a cold and
sneering tone. “I have served in the Army of France for twenty years,
your Royal Highness!” “Twenty years of robbery!” was the cruel and
insolent answer as the Duc de Berri turned his back on the veteran. The
words were repeated everywhere among the soldiers and had the worst
effect. Another tale that caused deep resentment throughout the Army
was that of the treatment which Marshal Ney had received at Court when
protesting against rudeness which had been shown by certain ladies of
title to his wife one day at the Tuileries. They had openly insulted
the Maréchale Ney by making sarcastic and contemptuous comments on her
comparatively lowly birth. Marshal Ney personally complained to the
King, but was coldly referred to the Court Chamberlain. He laid his
complaint before that functionary and was personally rebuffed “in a
harsh and insolent manner”--as the only reply to which the Marshal with
his wife had withdrawn from Paris altogether. And more than one other
officer of eminence, it was told, had in like manner been forced to
cease attendance at Court. When the moment came for the reappearance of
Napoleon in their midst, the Army was more than ready to receive their
old leader with open arms and rally once more to the Eagles.
[39] It was the action of Marshal Ney that sealed the fate of the
Bourbon _régime_.
Ney had accepted the Restoration as bringing peace to exhausted France;
he had given in his allegiance to the Bourbons. Angry and sick at heart
as he was over the ill-treatment meted out to his brother officers,
and the humiliations that the new _régime_ had inflicted on the Army,
and sore over personal grievances of his own, he had, in spite of
all, loyally held back from intriguing against the restored dynasty.
Napoleon’s leaving Elba, when he first heard the news, he condemned
outspokenly as a crime against France. Impulsive and headstrong by
nature, he forgot his grievances, and hastened to Paris to offer his
sword to the King. Napoleon, he said to the King at the interview at
the Tuileries, which was immediately granted him, was a madman and
deserved to be brought to Paris “like a bandit in an iron cage.” So
hostile witnesses at Ney’s court-martial declared, though Ney himself
emphatically denied using any words of the kind. His services were
accepted gladly, for Ney was the most popular of all the marshals
with the soldiers, and he was sent to lead the army against Napoleon.
Besançon was proposed as his head-quarters, and he betook himself there.
Almost at once, however, anxieties and doubts beset Ney. On taking
up his command he found but few regiments available. He was promised
reinforcements, but none arrived, and while he waited, no news of the
rapidly altering situation reached him from Paris. Meanwhile the news
came steadily in from all sides that the soldiers could not be trusted
to oppose Napoleon. Ney was still loyal to the Bourbons, and he moved
his troops nearer the line of advance Napoleon was taking; to Lons le
Saulnier, midway between Besançon and Lyons. To officers who hinted
that the soldiers would not fight if Napoleon appeared, Ney answered
angrily: “They _shall_ fight. I will take a musket and begin the firing
myself! I will run my sword through the first man who hesitates!”
But events were moving too fast: the tide of Bonapartism was rising
visibly on all sides. Napoleon, Ney heard, was being received
everywhere with acclamation; the soldiers were said to be declaring
for him by thousands. Already in every garrison the soldiers were
displaying their old Eagle cap-badges and tricolor cockades. “Every
soldier in the Army,” relates Savary in his Memoirs, “had preserved
his tricolor cockade and the Eagle-badge of his shako or cap. It
was needless for any order to be given for their resumption; that
had been done on the first intelligence of the Emperor’s landing in
France.” Everywhere too, officers who had kept back and hidden the
old regimental Eagles and tricolor standards, were bringing them out
openly. In regiments where the Ministerial order had been obeyed and
the Eagles sent to Paris for destruction, the soldiers now took out the
Bourbon arms from the white flags, substituting a tricolor shield for
the royal shield with the three fleurs-de-lis.
Ney next began to doubt what line of conduct he ought to adopt. On
one side was his oath of allegiance to the King. On the other was the
prospect of a civil war which would be ruinous to France, which he, at
the head of his army, had it in his power to prevent. It became borne
in on him as his duty to the country in the circumstances to throw his
influence on the side of his old comrades and Napoleon. His personal
grievances against the Bourbons rankled in his mind, and self-interest
urged him to go with the stream; but it was rather a sense of duty
and patriotism, to avert a civil war, that impelled Ney to take the
action that he did. His final decision was influenced by an insidiously
worded letter from Napoleon, playing on Ney’s personal feelings and
calling him by his old name of “the Bravest of the Brave.” The letter
was brought to him by two secret emissaries on the night of March 13,
who urged on the marshal that his soldiers were about to abandon him,
and that it was impossible for him single-handed to hope to stem the
current of national feeling. That and the letter turned the scale. Ney
decided to abandon the cause of the Bourbons.
Assembling his troops on parade next day, he publicly declared for
Napoleon in a fiery proclamation addressed to the Army. “Officers,
under-officers, and soldiers,” Ney began, reading out the proclamation
from on horseback in front of the assembled battalions, “the cause
of the Bourbons is lost for ever! The dynasty adopted by the French
nation is about to reascend the throne. To the Emperor Napoleon, our
Sovereign, alone belongs the right of reigning in our dear country.”
The proclamation concluded with these words: “Soldiers, I have often
led you to victory. I will now conduct you to that immortal phalanx
which the Emperor Napoleon is leading towards Paris. It will arrive
there within a few days, when our hopes and our happiness will be for
ever realised. Long live the Emperor!”
The declaration came as fire to a train of gunpowder. Ney had hardly
uttered a dozen words before frantic exclamations and shouts burst
forth; shakos and caps and helmets were raised and waved on muskets and
swords, amid tumultuous cries of “Vive l’Empereur!” “Vive le Maréchal
Ney!” The men broke their ranks and rushed headlong round Ney, catching
hold of him and kissing his hands and feet and uniform: “those not near
enough kissing his embarrassed aides de camp.” Shouted some: “We knew
you would not leave us in the hands of the _émigrés_!” The marshal at
the close was escorted back to his quarters amid a crowd of excited
soldiers cheering frantically.
The scene there was very different. Arrived in his quarters, Ney
found himself at once surrounded by a group of anxious and nervous
staff-officers and aides de camp. Said some: “You should have informed
us of it before, M. le Maréchal! We ought not to have been made
witnesses of such a spectacle!” One or two officers protested and
resigned on the spot. One aide de camp, indeed, a former _émigré_,
broke his sword in two and flung the pieces at Ney’s feet. “It is
easier,” he exclaimed passionately, “for a man of honour to break iron
than to break his word.”
“You are children,” was the marshal’s answer. “It is necessary to do
one thing or the other. What would you have me do? Can I stop the
advancing sea with my hands? Can I go and hide like a coward to avoid
the responsibility of events I cannot alter? Marshal Ney cannot take
refuge in the dark! There is but one way to deal with the evil--to take
one side and avert civil war. So we shall get into our hands the man
who has returned, and prevent his committing further follies. I am not
going over to a man, but to my country.”
[40] The silken standard flags attached below the Eagles were plainer
in design than the flags of 1804 and 1808. They were of the ordinary
pattern of the national banner, three vertical bands of colour, edged
with golden fringe. Lettered in gold on the white central band of the
flag was the Imperial dedication, worded similarly to the inscription
on the older flags, and on the reverse the names of the battles in
which the corps had taken part--“Austerlitz,” “Jena,” etc.
[41] Napoleon left Paris for the front on the early morning of June 12,
after spending several hours in his cabinet, issuing orders and making
arrangements for the carrying on of the Government in his absence.
Caulaincourt, acting for the time being as Foreign Minister, was with
Napoleon until the last moment, and witnessed his departure. “The
clock struck three, and daylight was beginning to appear. ‘Farewell,
Caulaincourt!’ said the Emperor, holding out his hand to me, ‘Farewell!
We must conquer or die!’ With hurried steps he passed through the
apartments, his mind being evidently fully taken up with melancholy
thoughts. On reaching the foot of the staircase, he cast a lingering
look round him, and then threw himself into his carriage and drove
away.”
[42] Trafalgar, on the French side, it may be added by the way, had a
distinguished representative at Waterloo in the person of the officer
at the head of the Artillery of the Imperial Guard, General Drouot.
He had fought against Nelson as a major of artillery doing duty in
the French fleet. His ship was one of the few that escaped into Cadiz
after the battle, whence he was recalled to join the Grand Army in the
Jena campaign. Drouot was the officer who, during the retreat from
Moscow--where he brought the artillery of the Guard through without
losing a gun--“washed his face and shaved in the open air, affixing
his looking-glass to a gun-carriage, every day, regardless of the
thermometer!”
[43] Napoleon--it may be of general interest to add--passed the
whole of the day, between the review in the forenoon and late in the
afternoon when he rode forward to witness the Guard start for the last
charge, on the ridge of high ground near Rossomme, So the memoirs of
the officers of his staff unanimously record. At no time was he near
the so-called “observatory,” in regard to which there has recently been
a controversy, based on the publication of a letter by the eminent
surgeon, Sir Charles Bell, who was at Waterloo, and rendered very
valuable service to the wounded. This is the story as told in his
letter by Dr. Bell:
“About half a mile of ascent brought us to the position of Bonaparte.
This is the highest ground in the Pays Bas. I climbed up one of the
pillars of the scaffolding, as I was wont to do after birds’ nests....
We got a ladder from the farm-court; it reached near the first
platform. I mounted and climbed with some difficulty; none of the rest
would venture.... The view was magnificent. I was only one-third up the
machine, yet it was a giddy height. Here Bonaparte stood surveying the
field.
“This position of Bonaparte is most excellent; the machine had been
placed by the side of the road, but he ordered it to be shifted. The
shifting of this scaffolding shows sufficiently the power of confidence
and the resolution of the man. It is about sixty feet in height. I
climbed upon it about four times the length of my body, by exact
measurement, and this was only the first stage. I was filled with
admiration for a man of his habit of life who could stand perched on a
height of sixty-five feet above everything, and contemplate, see, and
manage such a scene.”
Mention of the scaffold-platform is also made by Sir Walter Scott, who
rode over the field in August 1815. Sir Walter gives this version, in a
letter to the Duke of Buccleuch:
“The story of his (Napoleon’s) having an observatory erected for him
is a mistake. There is such a thing, and he repaired to it during
the action; but it was built or erected some months before, for the
purpose of a trigonometrical survey of the country, by the King of the
Netherlands.”
Thomas Kelly, an enterprising London publisher, went further. He had a
picture of the erection drawn, and brought it out as a popular print
in October 1815, under the title of “Bonaparte’s Observatory to view
the Battle of Waterloo.” The print shows a three-tiered structure,
apparently quite lately constructed, with three platforms, and ladders
leading from one platform to the other. Napoleon himself is depicted
on top, his spy-glass at his eye, and with two staff officers in
attendance.
There certainly was a structure of the kind on the field. Such a thing,
in a dilapidated condition, is to be seen in miniature on the Siborne
model of the battlefield at the Royal United Service Institution. It
is made to scale, and in its essential features bears out Dr. Bell’s
description. It stands close to the “wood of Callois” by the Nivelle
road, rather more than a mile to the south of Hougoumont. It has only
one platform, whence it would overlook the trees and give a good view
of the battle.
On the other hand, in addition to the silence of all Napoleon’s
officers on the subject, we have this plain statement from Frances Lady
Shelley, an intimate friend of the Duke of Wellington, who was in Paris
during the occupation after the battle and was also taken over the
battlefield by the Duke of Richmond some three months after Waterloo.
It appears in her recently published Diary, at p. 173, and may be taken
as settling the fate of the story of “this towering and massive perch,”
“that wonderful scaffold,” “that huge scaffolding,” “part of Napoleon’s
equipment at Waterloo,” as a modern historical writer calls it.
This is what Lady Shelley wrote at the time:
“Throughout the battle of Waterloo Napoleon remained on a mound, within
cannon shot, but beyond the range of musketry fire. He certainly was
not in the observatory after the battle began; nor could he have from
that spot directed the movements of his troops. That observatory was
built for topographical reasons by a former Governor of the Netherlands
something like a century ago.”
[44] The “fanion” of the second battalion of the 45th shared the fate
of the regimental Eagle. It fell to Private Wheeler of the 28th, the
“Slashers,” the present 1st Battalion of the Gloucestershire Regiment.
The 28th, on the left of Picton’s line, had, like the Highlanders,
charged forward among the French, following close after the Greys.
Wheeler, after a fierce fight with the bearer of the “fanion,” in which
he was severely wounded, bayoneted the French sergeant and carried off
the trophy. It disappeared in an unexplained manner some days later,
during Wellington’s march on Paris, while being forwarded to the Duke’s
head-quarters.
[45] The news of Waterloo reached Paris just twenty-four hours earlier
than it reached London--during the night of Tuesday, June 20. How it
was broken to the French capital forms a story little less dramatic
than the other story of how the news of Waterloo arrived in London. In
Paris they had had news of the successful opening of the campaign. On
the 18th, just as Napoleon was holding his last review, before Waterloo
opened, the “triumphal battery” of the Invalides was firing a _feu
de joie_ in honour of victory over Blücher at Ligny. On Monday and
Tuesday, the 19th and 20th, Napoleon’s Ligny Bulletin, with details,
was published in the _Moniteur_. When the cafés closed that evening,
there was as yet no word of Waterloo. But at that same moment the news
was arriving--in a private message to Carnot, the Minister of the
Interior. What had happened leaked out first at his house.
“On that evening,” describes M. Edgar Quinet, “several persons were
assembled at the house of M. Carnot, and they vainly asked him for
news. To evade these importunate questions, Carnot went to a card-table
and sat down with three of his friends. He from whom I have this story
sat opposite the Minister. By chance he raised his eyes and looked at
Carnot; he saw his countenance, serious, furrowed, with tears pouring
down it. The cards were thrown up; the players rose. ‘The battle is
lost!’ exclaimed Carnot, who could contain himself no longer.” The news
spread through Paris like wild-fire. It was not believed at first; the
catastrophe was too stunning, too terrible. To that succeeded a gloomy
stupor (une morne stupeur).
“They had not long to wait. All was known next morning. The astounding
news of the rout of the army in Belgium, and the still more astounding
news of the arrival of Napoleon in Paris, were spread through the great
city almost simultaneously, and stirred to the depths its restless and
volatile population. Twice before had Napoleon suddenly returned to
Paris--from Moscow, from Leipsic--and each time alone, without an army.
Thus had he again presented himself.”
[46] The Campaign of the Hundred Days, it has been estimated, from
first to last cost Napoleon in round numbers, in killed, wounded, and
prisoners taken in the field:
Ligny (Killed and wounded) 10,000
Quatre-Bras (Killed and wounded) 4,300
Waterloo (Killed and wounded) 29,500
Waterloo (Prisoners unwounded) 7,500
Wavre (Killed and wounded) 1,800
Lesser actions (Killed and wounded) 2,100
------
Total 55,200
======
Out of the 126,000 men with whom Napoleon took the field, he lost some
43 per cent. of his army in the week between June 15 and 22.
[47] Five Eagles were on show in London in the autumn of 1815, in
the so-called “Waterloo Museum,” having been acquired somehow on the
occupation of Paris. Two were described as the Eagles of the 5th of
the Line and of the Seamen of the Guard, and two as National Guard
Eagles--all four having been presented at the _Champ de Mai_. The fifth
purported to be the Eagle of the “Elba Guard.” None of the five had
ever been in action.
INDEX
Alexander, Czar of Russia, 96, 104, 109, 111, 275, 292, 318, 324, 326
Aspern, Battle of, 204–10;
Eagle buried on the battlefield, 204;
two Eagles lost at, 205;
at bay in the burning village, 207;
Napoleon demands to see both Eagle and colonel, 208
Auerstadt, Battle of, 127, 133–6;
Davout under fire at, 134–5;
Eagles under fire at, 135;
Napoleon and the Third Corps, 136
Augereau, Marshal, 37, 145, 155, 156, 157, 158, 164, 169;
wounded at Eylau, 158;
sends Marbot to save a regiment, 179;
in disgrace, 364
Austerlitz, Eagles in the battle:
Eagle of the 15th Light Infantry rescued by the Commandant, 101;
Eagle of the 111th rallies the regiment, 102;
Eagle of the 108th in peril, 103;
Eagle of the 10th Light Infantry rescued, 106;
Eagle of the 24th Light Infantry lost, 108;
fate of Eagle of 4th, 108–10;
Eagle of the Chasseurs of the Guard saved by a dog, 112, 113;
trophies sent to Notre Dame, 120–121;
trophies disappear in 1814, 342
Barrosa, Battle of, trophy stolen from Chelsea Hospital, 227–8;
Colonel Vigo-Roussillon’s narrative, 229–31;
how the 87th advanced, 229;
fighting with their fists, 231;
French colonel and General Graham, 230;
French account of taking of “Eagle with Golden Wreath,” 232–3;
as reported in the _Moniteur_, 233;
Napoleon refuses to replace lost Eagle, 234;
the “Aiglers,” 235
Battalion Eagles, abolished, 183, 187–8;
Napoleon’s anger at the Amsterdam review, 188;
some supplied surreptitiously, 188;
final orders issued, 189
“Battle-honours,” as first authorised by Napoleon, 14, 15;
adopted in other armies, 14;
only selected names allowed, 191;
on the flag of the Old Guard, 315;
abolished at the Restoration, 350
Beauharnais, Eugène, Viceroy of Italy, 29, 204, 275, 88
Berlin, insolence of Prussian officers, 124;
their fate, 146;
Napoleon’s triumphant entry, 144–6;
in the uniform of a French general, 145;
demeanour of the citizens, 145;
French soldiers in the streets, 143;
march through, of Davout’s corps, 143–4;
parade of captured Prussian flags in, 144;
deputation of Senate carries trophies to Paris, 147
Bernadotte, Marshal, 38, 98, 112, 139, 144, 151, 152, 295, 364;
surprised at Möhringen, 150
Berthier, Marshal, chief of the general staff of Grand Army, 10, 11,
39, 40, 41, 125, 145, 188, 194, 195, 288, 296, 322, 323, 364;
on campaign with Napoleon, 39–41;
at an Eagle presentation, 194
Bessières, Marshal, 29, 38, 110, 111, 177, 364
Borodino, in the battle, 269–72;
Eagles have several narrow escapes, 270–2;
soldier’s personal narrative, 270
Boulogne Camp, 10, 15, 19, 58, 61
British trophies, destroyed at the Invalides, 333–5;
naval flags among them, 335;
the trophies now there, 344
Brune, Marshal, 34, 39, 363
Caesar, Eagle of, adopted by Napoleon, 9, 10
Cambronne, General, 355, 60
Campaign of 1813, fate of Eagles in: at the battles of the Katzbach,
Dennewitz, Kulm, Grossbeeren, 298;
Irish Legion saves its Eagles, 294–5;
heroic feat of a soldier, 295–6;
a short-sighted colonel, 297;
the Eagle of the 17th escapes, 297–302;
one lost in first day’s fighting at Leipsic, 303;
Eagles buried or flung into the Elster, 304–305;
dashing rescue by young officer, 306;
Eagles after the capitulation of Dresden, 306–307;
Eagle lost in a river in Eastern France, 307–8;
“One against eight,” 308
Caulaincourt, 169, 172, 173, 305, 322, 323, 373, 374
“_Champ de Mai_,” 1815, 362–72;
distribution of Eagles to the Last Army at, 369–72;
why so called, 362;
varying opinions on effect of, 372
Champ de Mars, presentation of Eagles on, 15, 16, 20–1, 22–3, 43–59;
personages who were there, 28–9, 31, 32, 35–42;
taking the oath, 46–7;
the final contretemps, 56–7
Chapel Royal, Whitehall, reception of Wellington’s trophies in, 226,
242, 430–1
Charlemagne, Eagle and Insignia of, 8, 9, 27, 44
Chasseur Eagles ordered to be withdrawn, 182
Chasseurs, 4th, deputation to Napoleon, 31
Chasseurs of the Guard, 25, 111, 416–20
Chelsea Hospital, trophies, 214, 227, 243, 255;
Barrosa trophy stolen, 227–8
Clark-Kennedy, Sir A. K., takes an Eagle at Waterloo, personal
narrative, 399, 401, 402, 403
Cock proposed as National Emblem, Napoleon objects to it, 3, 4, 6
“Cou-cous,” barrack-room nickname for the Eagles, 53;
adventure of one at Jena, 133
Cüstrin, surrender of fortress, 126, 142
Danube flotilla in Austerlitz campaign, 82–3
Davout, Marshal, 19, 29, 42, 98, 100, 101, 103, 4, 14, 34, 35, 36,
143, 145, 166, 167, 267, 268, 269, 275, 363, 369
Decoration of “Trois Toisons d’Or” proposed for Eagles, 186
De Coster, Napoleon’s Waterloo guide, 377, 386, 397
D’Erlon, General Drouet, at Waterloo, 381, 382, 384, 388, 392
Disbandment of the Grand Army, Eagles at, 434–5
Donzelot, General, at Waterloo, 391, 392, 410
Dragoon Eagles ordered to be withdrawn, 182
Dresden, surrender of, 1813, fate of the Eagles at, 307, 348–349
Dupont, General, 64, 65, 66, 82, 83, 86–91, 93, 94, 106, 135;
surrender of Bailen, fate of, 336, 7, 338;
Minister of War at the Restoration, harsh conduct of, 349, 350
Dürrenstein, combat at: Napoleon’s alarm on hearing sudden cannonade,
81–2;
forlorn-hope charge of the 100th and 103rd to save the Eagles, 89;
heroism of Marshal Mortier at, 90;
Eagles of the 9th and 32nd taken and retaken, 91;
just saved at the last, 93
Durutte, General, at Waterloo, 391, 410
Eagle lost in Masséna’s retreat found in a river in Spain and now at
Chelsea, 259–60;
of Chasseurs of the Guard at Waterloo, 415;
captured at Bailen recovered at Cadiz by French officer, 337
“Eagle with the Golden Wreath,” taking of, at Barrosa, 231–3;
fate of, at Chelsea, 227;
origin of the Wreath, 235, 6
“Eagle Guard,” institution of, after Eylau, 183–6;
why Napoleon created it, 182;
costume designed for Napoleon by Baron Lejeune, 185
Eagles, allowed by Napoleon to be kept back on occasions, 260;
ordered to be withdrawn from Spain, 261;
proscribed at the Restoration, 246, 350, 434–6;
those now at Invalides, 307–8, 435;
two that were taken and retaken at Waterloo, 403–4;
how all but two got through in the end, 420–1
“Elba Guard,” Eagle of the, 353–5
Elchingen, Ney’s heroism at, 66–8
Elephant proposed as National Emblem, 5
Ewart, Sergeant Charles, of the Scots Greys, takes an Eagle at
Waterloo, personal account, 396, 397, 398
Eylau Campaign, twelve Eagles lost, 166;
Eagle of the 9th Light Infantry lost at Möhringen and found in a
Russian ammunition wagon, 151–3;
two Eagles taken on first afternoon of Battle of Eylau, 154;
the 14th and 24th annihilated, and their Eagles carried off by
Cossacks, 155–63;
Marbot’s daring ride and narrow escape, 158–63;
10th Light Infantry and 28th also annihilated and Eagles lost, 164;
the 25th saves its Eagle, but loses all its officers, 165–7;
Eagles of the 18th and 51st taken, 166–7;
narrow escapes of the Eagles of the 17th and 30th, 168–9;
four cuirassier regiments lose their Eagles, 169;
Eagle of the Old Guard shot down, 172–3;
two more Eagles lost at Friedland, 175–6
“Fanions,” institution of, 183, 190;
ordered for all second and third and extra battalions, 183;
regulation colours of, 190;
Napoleon’s opinion of their value, 190
“First Grenadier of France,” Heart of the, narrow escapes in battle,
164–5, 382
Flag on the Eagle, design and details of, 10, 12–14, 191–3, 371
Flags lost under the Republic recovered in arsenal at Innsbrück, 79;
Marshal Ney presents on parade, 79;
Napoleon’s special Bulletin, 80
Fleur-de-lis proposed as National Emblem, 4, 7
Fontainebleau, Eagle of the Old Guard at, 312–14
Frederick the Great, 123, 124, 127, 134, 137, 144, 148, 149, 239,
292, 293, 330, 332, 336, 344;
his sword seized by Napoleon at Potsdam, 148, borne through the
streets of Paris, 149;
fate at the Invalides, 330, 332, 336
Garcia Hernandez, action at, French square broken by the Hanoverian
Dragoons, 255–8, 400
Gazan, General, 82, 83, 86, 92, 94, 95, 232, 233, 262
Golden Wreaths voted by Paris municipality for Eagles of Jena and
Friedland, 177, 235–8;
Napoleon orders the Austerlitz Eagles to be also decorated, 236
Gough, Major Hugh, commanding 87th at Barrosa, 222, 235
Graham, General, at Barrosa, 228, 229, 233
Grätz, combat at, special inscription, “One against ten,” placed on
Eagle of the 84th, 202–4
Grouchy, General, 363, 385, 389, 390, 410, 411, 421, 422
Guillemin, Porte-Aigle, of 8th of the Line, killed at Barrosa, 232
Günsburg, storming of the bridge of, in the Ulm Campaign, heroism of
Eagle-bearer of the 59th, 63–5
Halle, rearguard, action at, after Jena, 125, 136–7
Haslach, brilliant defence by Dupont, 65–6
Horse Grenadiers after Waterloo, British officer’s tribute to,
414–415
Horse Guards Parade, display of captured Eagles on, 217–27, 241–2,
429–31
Hussar Eagles ordered to be withdrawn, 182
Ice disaster at Austerlitz, 114–15
Invalides, on the day of the destruction of the Eagles, 30;
Frederick the Great’s sword and Jena trophies sent to, 148, 149;
destruction of trophies at, in 1814: no orders till too late, 328–9;
holocaust in the Court of Honour, 331–9;
Russian officer sent to demand an account, 339–42;
dome gilded by order of Napoleon from Moscow, 338;
attempt at salvage of trophies, 339;
Napoleonic trophies now at, 344, 435
Irish Legion Eagle, presented by Napoleon on the Field of Mars, 51;
narrow escape of coming to Chelsea, 293;
saved from the Prussians in 1813, 294
Jena Campaign, in the battle, 127–133;
Napoleon and the Eagle of the 64th at Jena, 129;
Eagle of the 76th at bay, 131;
Eagle pocketed by a soldier, 132–3;
Eagle of the 111th of the Line at Auerstadt, 135;
Eagle of the 32nd at Halle, 136–7;
Eagles paraded at the surrender of Magdeburg, 140;
in the triumphal march through Berlin, 144;
trophies paraded in Paris, 147–9;
half trophies recovered in 1814, 343
Jourdan, Marshal, 39, 363
Katzbach, incident in battle at the, colonel sacrifices his life for
his Eagle by mistake, 296–7
Kazan Cathedral, St. Petersburg, Napoleonic trophies in, 150, 263–5,
292
Kempt, General, at Waterloo, 393, 407
Keogh, Ensign Edward, 87th Royal Irish Fusiliers, heroic attempt to
capture Eagle at Barrosa, 232
Kleist, General, Governor of Magdeburg, surrenders to Ney, 139, 140–1;
insulted by his officers, 143
Kulm, defeat of Vandamme at, 1813, Eagle of the 17th saved after
extraordinary adventures, personal narrative, 297–302
Lannes, Marshal, 37, 38, 82, 98, 113, 114, 131, 132, 137, 139, 145,
176, 332, 364
Last Eagle presented to a regiment, 433–4
Lefebvre-Desnouettes, General, 34, 288, 364
Legion of Honour decoration affixed to a regimental standard, 186–7
Leipsic, Battle of, fate of the Eagles cut off on right bank of the
Elster, 303–6
Light Infantry Eagles ordered to be withdrawn, 182
Lion proposed as National Emblem of France, 7, 8
Lobau, Count, at Waterloo, 383–384, 390, 416–17
Lübeck, Blücher’s surrender at, and spoils from, 125, 139
Macdonald, Marshal, at Wagram, 210, 211, 283, 293, 294, 318, 364
Mack, General, in Ulm Campaign, 61, 62, 71, 72, 82
Magdeburg, surrender of, to Marshal Ney, 125, 139–143
Mamelukes of the Guard, 24–5, 110
Marbot and the Eagle of 14th at Eylau, 158–63
Marcognet, General, at Waterloo, 391, 393, 394, 395, 397, 410
Marmont, Marshal, 75, 82, 244, 245, 246, 255, 317, 318, 319, 320,
323, 324, 326, 327, 328, 364
Masséna, Marshal, 35, 36, 79, 206, 209, 210, 259, 364, 415;
heroic defence of Aspern, 206–10
Masterton, Sergeant, 87th Royal Irish Fusiliers, captor of Eagle at
Barrosa, 232–3
“Mes braves Enfants de Paris,” Napoleon and 45th of the Line, 395–6
Möhringen, surprise of Bernadotte at, 150–3
Moncey, Marshal, 38, 149, 363
Morlay, Lieutenant, Eagle-bearer of the Old Guard at Eylau, 171
Mortier, Marshal, 29, 38, 81–7, 90–4, 106, 288, 317–19, 320, 324,
326, 363
Moscow Campaign, Russian trophies, spoils, and other mementoes of the
retreat, 263–266;
fate of Eagles at Borodino, 270–1;
Cuirassier regiment loses its Eagle and finds it again, 272;
surprise of Murat, at Vinkovo, 275;
at Wiasma, the only survivor of a regiment, 276–7;
after Wiasma, midnight ride of two officers, 282;
Ney orders the Eagles to be destroyed, 284;
at Krasnoi, loss of the Eagle of the 18th, 285;
concentrated near the Imperial Guard, 287;
at the Beresina, Eagle broken up and buried, 289;
after the Beresina, Eagles buried in the snow, 290
“Moustache,” dog of Chasseurs of Guard, at Austerlitz, 112–13
Murat, Prince, King of Naples, 23, 38, 43, 44, 45, 46, 57, 61, 66,
67, 113, 114, 125, 128, 138, 154, 169, 170, 182, 274, 283, 288,
352, 364
Napoleon: with Berthier on campaign, 40–1;
oration at Eagle presentations, 46;
at the surrender of Ulm, 70–4;
sees the rout of the 4th at Austerlitz, 109–10;
at Eylau, 158–9, 169–170, 172–4;
meeting Eagles on the march, 193;
numerous wounds of, 201;
forlorn-hope attempt to save Paris, 319–23;
during the battle at Waterloo, 386–7, 389–90, 397, 409–10;
witnesses the rout of the Guard, 409;
retreating in the square of the Old Guard, 411–14
Naval Eagle, only one now existing, 46–50
Ney, Marshal, 19, 42, 62, 63, 65–9, 71, 75, 78–9, 80, 82, 130, 131,
136, 139–41, 144, 150, 176, 259, 267, 276–7, 281–6, 288, 291,
293, 303, 318, 336, 354, 357–60, 377, 385, 389, 390–2, 406–8;
superintends the surrender at Ulm, 70–1;
defilade of garrison of Magdeburg before, 140–1;
heroism of, in retreat from Moscow, 281–4, 286;
orders his Eagles to be destroyed, 284;
at Waterloo, 390, 2, 406–8.
Officers’ guard accompanies Eagles throughout Moscow retreat, 286–7,
289–90
Official Eagle regulations and instructions, 11, 12, 13, 188–90, 268–9
Old Guard, full-dress uniform always carried for triumphal parades,
146, 273, 382;
Eagle of, at Eylau, 169, 171–2;
charge of, at Eylau, 170–1;
how recruited and privileges, 179–80;
Eagle of, recrosses the Niemen, 291;
existing Eagle of the Grenadiers, 314–15;
escort Napoleon from Waterloo, 411–415
Oudinot, Marshal, 54, 98, 112, 287, 293, 308, 318, 364
Pack, General, Sir Dennis, at Waterloo, 393, 407
Percy, Major the Hon. Henry (11th Light Dragoons), brings
Wellington’s Waterloo despatch to England, 424–5, 427–428
Petit, General, at Waterloo, 311, 312, 313, 314, 350, 412, 413, 417
Picton, General Sir Thomas, at Waterloo, 246, 389, 393, 394, 399
Pierce, Lieutenant, 66th Regiment, takes Eagle at Salamanca, 253
Polytechnic, school flag burned after surrender of Paris, 327
Pope and the Coronation, Napoleon’s first views as to presence of in
Paris, 3
Pratt, Ensign, 30th Regiment, takes Eagle at Salamanca, 254
Presentation of Eagles by Napoleon in the field, 194–6, 268–9, 305
Prussian army, before Jena, 123–5;
hopeless demoralisation of after, 125–126, 137–8, 142–3;
fugitives from Jena cause break-up of Auerstadt troops, 127–8
Prussian prisoners in France, Napoleon’s orders in regard to, 46, 7
Rapp, Colonel, of the Mamelukes, at Austerlitz, 110–11
Ratisbon, heroic fight in defence, 199;
Eagle of 65th buried in cellar, 197–201
Reception of the Old Guard in Paris after Friedland, 177–9
Regimental numbers abolished by the Bourbons at Restoration, feeling
among the soldiers, 351–2
Reille, General, at Waterloo, 381, 382, 383, 384, 385, 388, 410
Retiro, Madrid, two Eagles taken at surrender of, now at Chelsea,
259–60
Russian Cuirassiers of the Guard at Austerlitz, 108–9
St. Cyr, Marshal, 9, 283, 291, 302, 307, 348, 364
St. Hilaire, General, at Austerlitz and Eylau, 104, 7, 163
St. Petersburg Dragoons take two Eagles at Eylau, 153–4
Salamanca, Battle of, 243–5;
Wellington’s diploma victory, 243;
Marmont carried wounded off the field, 244;
charge of Heavy Cavalry at, three regiments ridden down, 250–2;
two Eagles taken at, 253–5
Saving of the Eagle of the Chasseurs of the Guard at Austerlitz,
418–20
Schönbrunn review after Austerlitz, 4th of the Line censured by
Napoleon at, 116–20
Serrurier, Marshal, Governor of the Invalides, 34, 328, 9, 330, 331,
2, 363
Smolensk, Eagles in the attack on, 267–8;
new regiment wins its Eagle at, 268–9
Soult, Marshal, 19, 29, 41, 42, 58, 98, 99, 100, 103, 4, 12, 13, 14,
16, 127, 129, 139, 155, 163, 164, 197, 337, 363, 377, 385, 386,
390, 414, 416
Spandau, surrender of fortress of, to squadron of hussars, 126
State procession of Napoleon to Champ de Mars for presentation of
Eagles, 24–30
Stettin, surrender of, 126, 138
Styles, Corporal, 1st Royal Dragoons, at Waterloo, takes charge of
captured Eagle, 402
“Temple of Victory” for the trophies of the Grand Army, Napoleon’s
proposals for the Madeleine as, 175
Trophies taken in the Jena Campaign, Napoleon’s disposal of, 138–9,
141, 144, 147–8
Trophy Eagles at Vienna, 204–5, 292
Tyrol Campaign, 1805, storming of the heights before Innsbrück by
Marshal Ney, Eagles signal main attack, 78–9
Ulm Campaign, Eagles in:
Eagle of 59th at Günsburg, 63;
Eagle of the 6th Light Infantry heads the attack at Elchingen, 67–8;
paraded at the surrender of Ulm for the Austrian prisoners to pass
before, 69;
humiliating march past of defeated Austrian army, 69–77;
trophies sent by Napoleon to Paris, 77–8
Vandamme, General, 104, 107, 116, 297, 298, 299, 300, 422
Victor, Marshal, 238, 287, 288, 318, 364
Vigo-Roussillon, Lieut.-Col., of the 8th of the Line, at Barrosa,
229, 230, 231, 233
Villeneuve, Admiral, after Trafalgar, 49, 50, 120, 382
Vincennes, Artillery Depôt of, Eagles sent to, for destruction at the
Restoration, 346–7, 434
Wagram Campaign:
Eagle of the 65th hidden in a cellar at Ratisbon, wrapped in
Austrian flags, unearthed, and presented to Napoleon, 200–1;
“One against ten,” the Eagle of the 84th, 202–4;
Eagle of the 9th buried on the battlefield at Aspern, 204;
Eagles of the 35th, 95th, and 106th taken, 204–5;
Macdonald’s column at Wagram; five regiments rally round their
Eagles, 212–13
Waterloo Campaign:
Eagles in, Napoleon’s parade of, before the battle, 380–2;
taking of Eagle of the 45th, 396–7;
two other Eagles stated to have been taken and recovered, 398–9,
403–5;
“fanion” of the 45th taken and lost while on the march, 399;
taking of the Eagle of the 105th, 400–3;
“fanion” of the 105th found at Abbotsford, 403;
Eagle of the 1st of the Line before Hougoumont saved by colonel,
405;
Eagles of the Guard in the last attack, 406;
Eagles of the 8th and 95th, 408;
Eagle of the Old Guard escorts Napoleon off the field, 412–14;
news of, in London, 426–9;
in Paris, 429.
Wellington, mentioned, 51, 223, 224, 8, 33, 34, 242, 243, 245, 246,
250, 253, 259, 260, 336, 380, 383, 384, 385, 388, 389, 390,
399, 400, 404, 424, 429
_Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.
Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.
Footnotes, originally at the bottoms of the pages that referenced them,
have been collected, sequentially renumbered, and placed at the end of
the main text, just before the Index.
Odd-page running headings appear here as Sidenotes, usually placed near
relevant text. Some of the sidenotes refer to text in footnotes, and
the footnotes in this eBook are at the end of the main text, not on
their original pages.
The index was not systematically checked for proper alphabetization or
correct page references.
The index often shortened page numbers in a sequence, e.g., “144, 51,
52”. In this ebook, those page numbers have been expanded to their full
size, e.g., “144, 151, 152”. However, it is possible that some were
missed.
Page 8: “éploye” was printed that way, without an acute accent on the
final “e”.
Page 68: “Duc D’Elchingen” was printed as “Due D’Elchingen”; changed
here.
Page 387: “A present il est fini” was printed that way, without an
acute accent over the “e” in “present”.
Page 413: “presentaient” was printed that way, without an acute accent
over the first “e”.