EVIL TIDINGS.
It was in the last days of November, 1805. After the victory of Ulm,
the Emperor Napoleon had established his headquarters in Brunn, where
he seemed to wait for his adversaries to attack him. There was no longer
one enemy opposed to him; he had no longer to cope with Austria alone,
but also with Russia, whose emperor was now at Olmutz with the Emperor
of Austria, for the purpose of agreeing with him on the plan of
operations by which Napoleon was to be defeated. The Russian army had
already formed a junction with the Austrian forces, and even the Russian
life-guards, the elite of their army, had left Russia in order to
accompany their emperor to the great decisive battle.
But Napoleon had likewise brought his guards along, and these splendid
troops were impatient and eager to fight the last decisive battle with
the Austrians and with “the hordes of the Russian barbarians.”
Napoleon, however, still hesitated; his plans apparently had not been
matured, and he seemed undecided whether to advance still further or to
content himself with the victories he had already obtained.
This last alternative was urged on him by his generals, who believed the
victory of Ulm to be so brilliant a triumph that the French army might
repose on its laurels, instead of drawing the sword once more.
Napoleon, however, did not assent to these views of his generals.
“If we had to cope only with the Austrians we might be satisfied, but
there are the Russians, too, and it will be necessary for us to send
them home. We must give them their passports.”
Greatly elated at this idea, the emperor ordered his horse to be brought
to him.
“We will examine the country a little,” he said to his generals;
“accompany me, gentlemen.”
And surrounded by his brilliant staff, consisting of the most
illustrious and victorious officers of his army, the emperor rode out
far into the plain between Brunn and Vichau, crowned all around with
hills and mountains. His bold, searching glances surveyed the country
in every direction; not a height, not a tree, not a ravine, escaped his
attention; he examined every thing, and seemed to engrave them on his
soul. It was near nightfall when he returned with his generals from
this long ride to his headquarters. He had all day been taciturn and
absorbed, and none of his generals had been permitted to participate
in his plans and observations. He had only sometimes directed their
attention by a laconic word or by a wave of his hand to some peculiarity
of the landscape, and the generals had received these words and gestures
like the mysterious hints of an oracle, with the most respectful
attention, in order to weigh them in their minds, and to indelibly
engrave them in their memory. On his arrival at the door of his
headquarters, the emperor turned his pale, grave face once more to the
plain which they had just left.
“Gentlemen,” he said, in a loud voice, “study that part of the country
as closely as possible; you will have to play a role in it within a
few days. General Suchet, on the left side of your division there is an
isolated mound, commanding your entire front. Cause fourteen cannon
to be placed on it in the course of the present night.” [Footnote:
Napoleon’s own words. Vide “Memoires du Duc de Rovigo,” vol. ii., p.
169.] He nodded to the gentlemen and entered his cabinet.
He paced his room for a long while with folded arms, compressed lips,
and a gloomy air.
“I need a few days more,” he muttered. “If they should attack me now,
quickly and resolutely, I must succumb; if they give me three days’
time, however, I shall defeat them.”
When he then stooped musingly before his desk, he suddenly noticed the
papers lying on it.
“Ah,” he said, hastily seizing a large, sealed letter, “a courier,
who has brought dispatches in my absence! From the minister of the
navy--news from the fleet!”
He broke the seal hurriedly and unfolded the paper. While reading it his
mien became still more gloomy; a cloud of anger settled on his expansive
brow, and his cheeks, which had hitherto only been pale, turned livid.
The glance which he now cast toward heaven would have reminded the
spectator of the Titans who dared to hurl their missiles even at the
Sovereign Deity; the words muttered by his quivering lips were an angry
oath.
With this oath he crumpled up the paper in his hand, threw it down and
stamped on it; then, as if ashamed of his own violence, he sank down
on a chair, and laid his hands slowly, and with a deep sigh, on his
trembling, pale face. The modern Titan had now found out for the
first time that there was a God enthroned in heaven more powerful than
himself; for the first time an invisible hand had stopped him in his
hitherto victorious course.
The paper he had just trampled under foot announced to him the first
great defeat, the first check his grand schemes had met with.
The French fleet had been completely beaten and almost annihilated by
the English at Trafalgar. [Footnote: October 21, 1806.] England,
the only enemy who had constantly opposed Napoleon in a menacing and
fearless manner, detested England had gained a magnificent triumph.
She had destroyed the whole naval power of France, and won a brilliant
victory; a victory which humiliated France and overwhelmed her with
disgrace. It is true it was a dearly-bought victory for England, for
Nelson, her greatest naval hero, had paid for his immortal triumph with
his life. The French admiral, Villeneuve, who was defeated at Trafalgar,
had not even been lucky and wise enough to expiate his ignominy by
his death; he had fallen, a despairing prisoner, into the hands of the
English, and served as a living trophy to the triumphant conqueror’s.
[Footnote: Admiral Villeneuve was released by the English government.
Napoleon banished him to Rennes, where he committed suicide on the 26th
of April, 1806, by piercing his heart with a pin.]
Such were the terrible tidings which Napoleon had just received; it was
the first thunderbolt which the God of heaven had hurled down upon the
powerful Titan.
But the Titan did not feel crushed by it; the thunderbolt only served to
fan the fire in his breast.
He rose from his seat, and his eyes flashed with anger.
“I cannot be everywhere,” he said, aloud, “but my enemies shall soon
find out that I am here, and I shall know how to avenge the disgrace of
Trafalgar by a brilliant victory.” [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.]
The door behind him opened at this moment, and the chief of the imperial
cabinet, M. de Bourrienne, entered.
“Sire,” he said, “the two Austrian envoys, Count de Giulay and Count
Stadion, have returned, and beg your majesty to grant them an audience.”
“So late at night!” exclaimed the emperor. “Why did they not come in the
daytime?”
“They pretend to have been detained by the impassable state of the
roads, but assert to be able to lay before your majesty some highly
important intelligence, which would seem entirely calculated to bring
about the conclusion of peace so longed for by Austria.”
“Let the gentlemen come in,” said the emperor, after a short reflection,
and he placed his foot again on the crumpled paper, as if he wished to
choke the secret of its contents, so that it might not betray itself
to the Austrians. Bourrienne had gone out, and the two Austrian envoys,
Count Giulay and Count Stadion, now appeared on the threshold.
“You return to me,” said the emperor, hastily, to them; “my conditions
have been accepted, then? I told you I should not negotiate separately
with Austria, but that I should require Russia to participate in the
negotiations, and to be included in the treaty of peace on which we
might agree. You come, then, in the name of the Emperors of Austria and
Russia?”
“No, sire,” said Count Stadion, respectfully, “we come only in the name
of Austria.”
“The emperor, our august master,” began Count Giulay--but Napoleon
interrupted him quickly.
“I shall listen to you only if you are authorized to speak in the name
of the two emperors,” said Napoleon. “I already told you so yesterday,
and I do not see what should induce me to-day to change my mind. The
state of affairs is precisely the same.”
“Pardon me, sire, it is not,” said Count Giulay, firmly.
The emperor fixed a piercing glance on him, as if he wished to read in
the innermost recesses of his heart.
“And why is it not the same?” he asked, while his eye slowly turned
toward the foot, under which he concealed the sinister dispatch.
“Your majesty was yesterday pleased to say that Austria, although she
might boast of the active support of Russia, could never count on the
assistance of Prussia, and that Prussia’s neutrality was as useful to
France as Russia’s active support to Austria.”
“Why do you repeat the words I uttered yesterday?” asked the emperor,
impetuously.
“Sire, because Prussia is no longer neutral,” said Count Stadion,
solemnly.
“Because Prussia is ready to become, like Russia and England, the active
ally of Austria,” added Count Giulay.
Napoleon’s flashing, gloomy eyes looked alternately at the two Austrian
envoys.
“How did you obtain that information?” he asked at last.
“Sire, from his majesty the Emperor of Russia. He has concluded a treaty
with the king at Potsdam, by which Frederick William III. declares his
readiness to participate in the campaign and to assist Austria, unless
your majesty should condescend to accept the conditions which the King
of Prussia is to propose as mediator between the coalition and France.”
“Ah, the King of Prussia is going to propose conditions to me?”
exclaimed Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you know those
conditions?”
“The King of Prussia will propose to your majesty to surrender the crown
of Italy, not to disturb the princes of Italy in their possessions and
independence, to recognize the independence of the German empire, of
Holland, of Switzerland, to--”
“Enough!” said Napoleon, impatiently. “The Emperor Alexander has taken
the liberty to tell you a story, and your credulity must have greatly
delighted him. Can you seriously believe that the King of Prussia
would in his infatuation go so far as to hope that I should accept
propositions of so ridiculous a description? Truly, even if I were a
vanquished and humiliated emperor, I should stab myself with my own
sword rather than submit to such a disgrace. It seems I have not yet
engraved my name deeply enough into the marble tablets of history, and
I shall prove to these overbearing princes, who believe their legitimacy
to be the Gorgon’s head they only need show in order to crush me--I
shall prove to them WHO I AM, AND TO WHOM the future belongs, whether
to THEM or to ME! However, it is unnecessary to say so much about things
which do not exist.”
“Sire, the treaty of Potsdam DOES exist,” said Count Stadion. “The envoy
whom the King of Prussia has sent off to lay its stiputions before your
majesty would have reached your headquarters already if he had travelled
as rapidly as the Emperor Alexander, who left Potsdam simultaneously
with him.”
“Well, let him come; I shall see, then, whether you have told me a story
or not,” replied Napoleon. “If the King of Prussia has dared to do this,
by God, I will pay him for it! [Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.--Vide
Hormayer. vol. i., and Hausser’s “History of Germany,” vol. ii., p.
680.] But this does not change my resolutions and plans in any respect.
I shall enter into negotiations with Austria only on condition that
Russia participates in them. State it to those who have sent you, and
now farewell.”
He nodded to the two gentlemen, and turning his back to them, stepped
to the window. Only when a slight jarring of the door told him that they
had withdrawn, the emperor turned around and commenced again, his hands
folded behind his back, slowly pacing the room.
He then stopped before the large table in the middle of the room, and
unrolled one of the maps lying on it. It was a map of southern Germany.
After spreading it on the table, the emperor commenced marking it with
pins, the variously-colored heads of which designated the different
armies of the Russians, Austrians, and French.
The emperor was engaged all night in this task, in studying the map, and
in measuring and calculating the distances some of his troops would have
to march before reaching the field of action. The wax-candles in the
silver chandelier burned down, but he did not notice it; the fire in the
fireplace had gone out, but he did not feel it; the door of his cabinet
was softly opened from time to time, and the pale face of his vale
de chambre Constant, who was evidently exhausted with long waking,
appeared, but the emperor did not heed it. His soul was concentrated
on one idea, on one aim, viz., to pursue the glorious course of his
victories, to humiliate Germany as he had humiliated Italy, and to drown
the echoes of Trafalgar by a brilliant triumph.
Morning was already dawning, when Napoleon at length rose from the table
and commenced again slowly pacing the room.
“Time, time!” he said, “I only need three days for moving up the third
corps, which is already on the march from Bohemia. Time! And yet I must
gain a great and brilliant victory before Prussia allies herself openly
with Austria and Russia against France. If I should not succeed in doing
so, the army of my enemies would be increased by one hundred and
fifty thousand men. Hence,” he said, after a pause, quite merrily and
hopefully, “hence, I must succeed.”
He returned to the map and pointed his finger at it.
“The Austrians are over there at Olmutz,” he said, quickly. “Here,
the Russian guards; there, the united corps of Kutusof and Buxhowden;
farther on, the vanguard under Prince Bagration. If they should advance
now rapidly, resolutely, directly toward my front, the odds would be too
overwhelming; if they should tarry, or if I should succeed in causing
them to hesitate until I have got my Bohemian corps in line, I should
defeat them. Let us try it, therefore; let us feign inactivity and
timidity, so that they may not become active. Cunning is the best ally
of a general; let us try to deceive them.”
He went to his desk, and taking some gilt-edged paper, commenced writing
rapidly.
Fifteen minutes later an orderly requested General Savary to repair to
the emperor’s cabinet.
Napoleon received the general with a kindly smile, but he was silent,
and looked almost irresolutely at the letter he held in his hand.
Suddenly, however, he seemed to come to a firm resolution, and handing
the letter to Savary, he said: “Take this letter to Olmutz; deliver it
to the Emperor of Russia, and tell him that, having learned that he had
arrived at the headquarters of his army, I had sent you to welcome him
in my name. If he should converse with you, and put questions to you,
you know the replies that should be made under such circumstances. Go.”
[Footnote: Napoleon’s own words.--Vide “Memoires du Duc de Rovigo,” vol.
ii., p. 171.]
“And now,” said the emperor, when Savary had left him, “now we will
sleep a little. Constant!”
The door opened immediately, and the VALET DE CHAMBRE entered.
“Ah, I am afraid you have had a bad night of it,” said the emperor,
kindly.
“Sire, your majesty has again been awake all the night long, and--”
“And consequently,” said Napoleon, interrupting him--“consequently you
have been awake, too. Well, console yourself; we shall soon have more
quiet nights; console yourself, and do not report me to the Empress
Josephine when we have returned to Paris. My dear Josephine hates
nothing so much as sleepless nights.”
“Sire, the empress is right; she ought to hate them,” said Constant,
respectfully. “Your majesty, taking no rest whatever in the daytime,
needs repose at least in the night. Your majesty sleeps too little.”
“By doing so I am better off than the sluggards, inasmuch as my life
does not only consist of days, but also of nights,” replied Napoleon,
good-humoredly. “I shall have lived eighty years then in the space of
forty. But be quiet, Constant, I will now comply with your wishes and
sleep.”
Constant hastened to open the door leading to the bedroom.
“Oh, no,” said the emperor, “if I say I will sleep, I do not mean that
I will go to bed. Beds are, on the whole, only good for old women and
gouty old men. When I was second lieutenant, I once made the experiment
not to go to bed for six months, but to sleep on the floor or on a
chair, and it agreed very well with me. Give me the handkerchief for my
head, and my coat, Constant.”
Constant hurried with a sigh to the bedroom in order to fetch the
articles Napoleon had ordered; and while he was wrapping the silken
handkerchief around the emperor’s head, and assisted him in putting on
his gray, well-lined, and comfortable cloth-coat instead of the uniform,
the emperor softly whistled and hummed an air.
He then snugly stretched himself in his arm-chair, and kindly nodding to
Constant, he said: “As soon as General Savary has returned, let him come
in.”
Constant softly glided into the anteroom. He met there some of his
acquaintances.
“I have important news for you, gentlemen,” he said. “We shall fight a
battle in two or three days.”
“Did the emperor tell you so?”
“No, he is not in the habit of speaking of such things. But during the
night-toilet he whistled Marlborough’s air, and he does so only when
there is to be a battle.” [Footnote: “Memoires de Constant,” vol. iv.,
p. 109.]