(1806-1807.)
THE Emperor had left Bamberg, and was hastening to the assistance of
the King of Saxony. Our armies, which had been gathered together with
the surprising rapidity that always defeated the plans of the enemy,
were marching onward. The first skirmishes took place at Salfield,
between Marshal Lannes and the vanguard of Prince Hohenlohe, commanded
by Prince Louis of Prussia. The latter, who was brave to rashness,
fought in the ranks until, coming to a hand-to-hand conflict with a
quartermaster and refusing to surrender, he fell covered with wounds.
His death disheartened the Prussians, while it increased the ardor of
our troops. “If,” says the Imperial bulletin, “his last moments were
those of a bad citizen, his death was glorious and deserving of regret.
He died as every good soldier must wish to die.”
I am ignorant whether, in Prussia, Prince Louis was considered to have
preferred his own glory to the interests of his country by promoting the
war. It may have been imprudent to commence it when he did; doubtless
the right moment for declaring would have been at the formation of the
coalition in the preceding year; yet the feelings of the Prince were,
even at this time, shared by a great number of his countrymen.
For some days the bulletins gave accounts of several partial engagements
which were but the prelude to the great battle of the 14th of October.
The Prussian Court was described as being in great confusion, and
despotic advice was given to those princes who are led into hesitation
by consulting the multitude on great political interests above its
comprehension! As if nations, having reached their present degree of
enlightenment, could continue to intrust the money taken from their
coffers, and the men levied from among their ranks, to their rulers,
without ascertaining the uses to which the gold and the soldiers are to
be put!
On the 14th of October the two armies met at Jena, and in a few hours
this important battle decided the fate of the King of Prussia. The
renowned Prussian cavalry could not resist our infantry; confused orders
caused confusion in the ranks; a great number of Prussians were killed
or taken prisoners; several general officers lay dead on the field of
battle; the Prince of Brunswick was severely wounded, and the King was
forced to fly. In fact, the rout was complete. Our bulletins were full
of the praises of Marshal Davoust, who had in truth greatly contributed
to the success of the day, and the Emperor willingly acknowledged this.
He was not usually so ready to render justice to his generals. When the
Empress questioned him on his return about the eulogiums he had allowed
to be lavished on Davoust on this occasion, he answered her, laughingly:
“I can heap upon him as much glory as I please; he will never be strong
enough to carry it.”
On the evening of the battle a whimsical adventure happened to M. Eugène
de Montesquiou. He was an orderly officer, and was sent by the Emperor
to the King of Prussia with a letter, to which I shall presently allude.
He was detained all day at the Prussian headquarters, where the defeat
of the French was considered certain, and they wished him to witness it.
He remained, therefore, an agitated but inactive spectator of the course
of events. The generals, and Blücher in particular, affected to give
alarming orders in his presence. Toward evening the young man, involved
in the flight of the Prussians, was endeavoring to rejoin our camp. On
his way he met with two Frenchmen, who joined him, and the three
together contrived to get hold of eighteen disbanded Prussians, whom
they brought in triumph to the Emperor. This capture greatly diverted
him.
The battle of Jena was followed by one of the rapid marches which
Bonaparte was wont to impose on his army in the hour of victory. No one
ever knew better how to profit by victory than he; he bewildered the
enemy, leaving him not a moment’s repose.
The town of Erfurt capitulated on the 16th. The King of Saxony was
slightly reprimanded for having yielded to the King of Prussia, by
giving him the entry of his states and taking part in the beginning of
the war, but his prisoners were restored to him. General Clarke was made
Governor of Erfurt.
The bulletins of this period are especially remarkable. Bonaparte was
angry at having been deceived by the Emperor Alexander. He had
calculated on the unchanging neutrality of Prussia; he was mortified at
English influence on the Continent; and his ill humor was perceptible in
every word dictated by him. He attacked in turn the English Government,
the Prussian nobility, whom he wished to denounce to the people, the
young Queen, women, etc. Grand and noble expressions, often of a
poetical nature, were strangely contrasted with abusive terms. He
gratified his resentment and anger, but he lowered himself by giving
such expression to his own feelings, and, above all, he sinned against
Parisian good taste. We were beginning to grow accustomed to military
wonders, and the form in which intelligence of them was transmitted to
us was freely criticised. After all, the attention that nations pay to
the words of kings is not so foolish as it may appear. The words of
sovereigns, even more than their actions, reveal their dispositions, and
the disposition of their ruler is of primary importance to subjects. The
King of Prussia, who was now pushed to extremity, asked for an
armistice: it was refused, and Leipsic was taken.
The French marched across the battle-field of Rossbach, and the column
erected there in commemoration of our former defeat was removed and sent
to Paris.
On the 22d of October M. de Lucchesini came to our headquarters. He
brought a letter from the King of Prussia, the publication of which,
said the “Moniteur,” was forbidden by the secrecy necessary in
diplomatic affairs. “But,” it continued, “the Emperor’s reply was
considered so admirable that a few copies of it have been made; we have
procured one, and we hasten to lay the letter before our readers.”
Every determination taken by the Emperor, from the greatest to the
least, seems partly founded on the lion’s reason in La Fontaine’s
fable—“_Because my name is Lion_.”
“The Prussians are surprised at the briskness of our pursuit; they are
probably accustomed to the manœuvres of the Seven Years’ War.” And when
they asked for three days’ truce, in order to bury their dead—“Think of
the living,” replied the Emperor, “and leave to us the care of burying
the dead. That needs no truce.”
The Emperor reached Potsdam on the 24th of October. As may be supposed,
he visited Sans-Souci, and reminiscences of Frederick the Great are to
be found in the bulletins. “The handsome Emperor (the Czar) and the
lovely Queen” received fresh insults in these documents, from which we
gathered that a war with Russia would follow the Prussian war. Paris was
thrown into consternation; the news from the seat of war was read
publicly at the theatres, but the only applause that greeted it was
hired. “War, nothing but war, is all that is left to us.” Such words as
these, uttered with more or less of wrath or grief, struck ominously on
the ear of the adherents of the Emperor, yet they could not contradict
them.
On the same day, the 25th of October, the fortress of Spandau
capitulated.
To all these accounts of the war was added a letter supposed to be
written by a private soldier from a town in the duchy of Brunswick. It
contained enthusiastic praise of French valor, which it attributed to
the military system adopted in our army. “It is also certain,” continues
the writer, “that any soldier who can say to himself, ‘It is not
impossible for me to become a Marshal of the Empire, a Prince, or a
Duke, as it has happened to others,’ must be greatly encouraged by that
thought. It was quite another thing at Rossbach. The French army was
commanded then by gentlemen who owed their military rank only to their
birth, or to the patronage of a Pompadour; and the troops were of
so-called soldiers, on whose track, after their defeat, were found
nothing but pigtails and powdering-bags.”
When the Emperor made his entry into Berlin on the 26th of October, in
the midst of acclamations, he vented his displeasure on those among the
Prussian nobles who were presented to him. “My brother the King of
Prussia,” he said, “ceased to be King from the day on which he failed to
have Prince Louis hanged, when he dared to go and break his Minister’s
windows.” And to Count Nesch he said roughly, “I will bring the nobles
of this Court down so low that they shall be obliged to beg their
bread.”
By violent speeches of this kind, which were published, the Emperor not
only gratified his anger against the instigators of the war, but
imagined that he fulfilled obligations toward our Revolution. Although
he was a determined counter-revolutionist, he was obliged from time to
time to render some homage to the ideas which, by a fatal deviation, had
produced his own accession. A mistaken longing for equality, a noble
desire for liberty, were the causes of our civil discord; but in his
thirst for power he gave us no encouragement toward that freedom which,
if we succeed in obtaining it, will be the most glorious conquest of our
times, but limited himself, in his bargain with the age, to advancing
equality only. The love of liberty is an unselfish sentiment, which a
generous ruler ought at the present day to foster in his people; but
Bonaparte only sought to aggrandize his own power. Sometimes, with
entire forgetfulness of his own origin, he spoke and acted as if he were
a king by the grace of God, and then every word of his became, as it
were, feudal; while at other times he affected a sort of Jacobinism, and
then he would abuse legitimate royalty, treat our old memories with
disdain, and denounce the nobility to the plebeians of every country.
Never did he seek to establish the true rights of nations; and the
unostentatious aristocracy of letters and of a noble civilization was
far more displeasing to him, in reality, than that of titles and
privileges, which he could make use of as he pleased.
On the 29th of October M. de Talleyrand left Mayence to join the
Emperor, who had sent for him. M. de Rémusat felt much regret at his
departure. He had found his society a great resource; the somewhat
solemn idleness of court life made them necessary to each other. M. de
Talleyrand, having recognized both the trustworthiness and the superior
abilities of my husband, would throw aside this habitual reserve in his
company, and would confide to him his views on passing events and his
opinion of their common master. An aristocrat by taste, by conviction,
and by birth, M. de Talleyrand approved of Bonaparte’s repression of
what he regarded as the excesses of the Revolution; but he would have
wished that a headstrong temper and a determined will had not led the
Emperor aside from a course in which his own prudent counsels might have
guided him aright. He was thoroughly conversant with the European
political situation, and better versed in the law of nations than in
their true rights, and he propounded with accuracy the diplomatic course
that he would have had the Emperor follow. He was alarmed at the
possible preponderance of Russia in Europe, and was in favor of founding
an independent power between us and the Russians. For this reason he
encouraged the ardent, though vague, desires of the Poles. “A kingdom of
Poland,” he used to say, “ought to be established. It would be the
bulwark of our independence; but it ought not to be done by halves.”
With his head full of this plan, he started to join the Emperor,
resolving on advising him to turn his brilliant success to good account.
After M. de Talleyrand’s departure, M. de Rémusat wrote me that the
dullness of his life was extreme. The Court at Mayence was monotonously
regular. There, as elsewhere and in all places, the Empress was gentle,
quiet, idle, and averse to take anything on herself, because, whether
far or near, she dreaded the displeasure of her husband. Her daughter,
who was delighted to escape from her wretched home, spent her time in
diversions of a nature somewhat too childish for her rank and position.
Hortense rejoiced with her mother over the promising qualities of her
little son, then full of life and beauty, and very forward for his
years.
The German princes came to pay their court at Mayence; great banquets
were given; elegant costumes were worn; there was much walking and
driving about, and great eagerness for news. The Court wanted to return
to Paris; the Empress wanted to go to Berlin; and there, as elsewhere,
all was dependent on the will of one man.
In Paris life was dull, but tranquil. The absence of the Emperor was
always a relief: if people did not speak more freely, they seemed better
able to breathe, and this sense of alleviation was especially to be
observed in persons connected with his Government. The impression
produced by the Emperor’s victories became weaker every day; and a
tangible proof was thus afforded to the world that lasting national
enthusiasm could no longer be kindled by success in war.
Prince Eugène’s army was marching onward in Albania, and Marshal Marmont
was holding in check the Russians, who were moving on that side. A fresh
proclamation was issued by the Emperor to his soldiers: it announced a
rupture with Russia and an onward march, promised fresh triumphs, and
alluded to the “love” of Bonaparte for his army. Marshal Brune,
commanding the reserves stationed at Boulogne, issued on this occasion a
curious order of the day, which was published by command in the
“Moniteur”:
“SOLDIERS: You will read at mess, every day for a fortnight, the
sublime proclamation of his Majesty the Emperor and King to the
Grand Army. You will learn it by heart; each one of you will
shed tears of courage, and will be filled with the irresistible
enthusiasm inspired by heroism.”
In Paris, no one was moved to tears, and the prolongation of the war
filled us with dismay.
Meanwhile, the Emperor remained at Berlin, where he had established his
headquarters. He announced in his bulletins that the great Prussian army
had vanished like an autumnal mist, and he ordered his lieutenants to
complete the conquest of all the Prussian states. At the same time a
war-tax of one hundred and fifty millions was raised; the towns
surrendered one by one—Küstrin and Stettin first, Magdeburg a little
later. Lübeck, which had offered resistance, was stormed and horribly
pillaged; there was fighting in every street; and I remember that Prince
Borghese, who took part in the assault, gave us some particulars of the
cruelty practiced by the soldiers in that unfortunate town. “What I then
saw,” he told us, “gave me an idea of the bloodthirsty intoxication
which resistance at first, and victory afterward, can produce in
soldiers.” He added: “At such a moment every officer is a mere soldier.
I was beyond all self-control; I felt, like everybody else, a sort of
passionate longing to exert my strength against people and things. I
should be ashamed to recall some absurdly horrible acts which I
committed. In the midst of imminent danger, when one must cut one’s way
with the sword, with everything around in flames, when the thunder of
cannon or the rattle of musketry mingles with the cries of a dense
crowd, in which are people pressing in every direction, either seeking
others or trying to escape from them, and all this in the narrow space
of a street, then a man loses his head completely. There is no act of
atrocity or of folly that he will not commit. He will wantonly destroy
without profit to anybody, and will give himself up to an uncontrollable
delirium of evil passions.”
After the fall of Lübeck, Marshal Bernadotte remained there some time as
governor of the town, and it was then that he began to lay the
foundation of his future greatness. He behaved with perfect equity, and
did his best to assuage the evils that had been caused by war. Strict
discipline was maintained among his troops; the gentleness of his
bearing attracted and consoled, and he won the admiration and sincere
affection of the people.
During the Emperor’s stay at Berlin, the Prince of Hatzfeld, who had
remained there, and who, said the bulletins, “had accepted the post of
governor,” kept up a secret correspondence with the King of Prussia, in
which he gave full accounts of the movements of our army. One of his
letters was intercepted, and the Emperor gave orders for his arrest and
trial before a military court. His wife, who was with child, was in
despair; she obtained an audience of the Emperor, and threw herself at
his feet. He showed her the Prince’s letter, and when the poor young
wife gave way to her sorrow, the Emperor, moved with pity, bade her
rise, and said to her: “You have the original document, on which your
husband may be condemned, in your own hand. Take my advice; profit by
this moment to burn it, and then there will be no evidence to condemn
him.” The Princess, without a moment’s delay, threw the paper in the
fire, and bathed the Emperor’s hands with her tears. This anecdote made
a greater impression on Paris than all our victories.
Our Senate sent a deputation to Berlin with congratulations on so
triumphant a campaign. The Emperor intrusted the envoys, on their return
to Paris, with the sword of Frederick the Great, the ribbon of the Black
Eagle worn by him, and several flags, among which, says the “Moniteur,”
“there are several embroidered by the hands of that fair Queen whose
beauty has been as fatal to the people of Prussia as was the beauty of
Helen to the Trojans.”
Every day our generals invaded some new district. The King of Holland
had advanced into Hanover, which was again being attacked by us; but all
at once we heard that he had returned to his own states, either because
he disliked acting merely as one of his brother’s lieutenants, or
because Bonaparte preferred that his conquests should be made by his own
generals. Marshal Mortier took possession of the city of Hamburg on the
19th of November, and an enormous quantity of English merchandise was
confiscated. A number of auditors belonging to the Council of State were
sent from Paris; among them were M. d’Houdetot and M. de Tournon. These
auditors were made Intendants of Berlin, Bayreuth, and other towns. By
these young and active proconsuls the conquered states were governed in
the interests of the conqueror, and victory was immediately followed by
an administration which turned it to the best advantage.
The Emperor gained the affections of the young of every rank, by giving
them opportunities for action, for self-assertion, and for exercising an
absolute authority. Thus, he often said, “There is no conquest I could
not undertake, for with the help of my soldiers and my auditors I could
conquer and rule the whole world.” We may suppose that the habits and
the despotic notions that these young men brought back into their own
country were rather perilous when the government of French provinces was
confided to them. Most of them found it difficult not to rule those
provinces like a conquered country. These young men, who were raised
early in life to such important posts, are at the present time idle and
without prospects, owing to the straitening of our territory. They fret
under their enforced idleness, and form one of the most serious
difficulties with which the King’s Government is confronted.
The conquest of Prussia was completed, and our troops marched into
Poland. The season was far advanced; they had not seen the Russians, but
it was known that they were approaching; a severe and difficult campaign
was anticipated. The cold was not severe, but the march of our soldiers
was impeded by the marshy soil, in which men, guns, and carriages were
continually sinking. The accounts of the sufferings endured by the army
are terrible. Whole squadrons often sank up to the middle of the men’s
bodies in the marsh, and it was impossible to save them from a lingering
death. Although the Emperor was determined to make the most of his
victories, he felt the necessity of giving some repose to his troops,
and he eagerly accepted the King of Prussia’s offer of a suspension of
hostilities, during which he was to remain on one bank of the Vistula,
and the Prussians on the other. But it is probable that the conditions
he annexed to this armistice were too severe, or perhaps it was only
proposed by Prussia in order to gain time and effect a junction with the
Russians; for the negotiations dragged slowly along, and the Emperor, on
learning the movements of the Russian general, Benningsen, suddenly left
Berlin on the 25th of November. He announced fresh danger and fresh
success to his troops by the following spirited words, with which he
closed his proclamation: “How should the Russians overthrow such
designs? Are not they and we alike the soldiers of Austerlitz?”
A famous decree, dated from Berlin and preceded by a lengthy preamble,
appeared at the same time, in which sundry grievances were set forth.
This decree proclaimed the British Isles to be in a state of blockade,
and it was only a reprisal on the usage of England, who, when she enters
upon a war, declares a universal blockade, and in virtue thereof
authorizes her ships to take possession of all other vessels in
whatsoever seas. The Berlin decree divided the empire of the world in
two, opposing the power of the Continent to the power of the seas. Every
Englishman who should be found either in France or in any state occupied
by us, or under our influence, was to become a prisoner of war, and this
hard enactment was notified to all our sovereign allies. Thenceforth it
was manifest that the struggle which was beginning, between despotic
power in all its ramifications and the strength of such a constitution
as that which rules and vivifies the English nation, could end only by
the complete destruction of one of the assailants. Despotism has fallen,
and, notwithstanding the terrible cost to ourselves, we ought to be
grateful to Providence for the salvation of nations and the lessons
taught to posterity.
On the 28th of November Murat made his entry into Warsaw. The French
were enthusiastically received by those among the Poles who hoped that
the liberty of their country would result from our conquests. In the
bulletin which announced the entry these words occur: “Will the kingdom
of Poland be restored? God alone, who holds in His hand the direction of
events, can be the arbiter of this great political problem.” Thenceforth
Bonaparte’s family began to covet the throne of Poland. His brother
Jérôme had some hopes of obtaining it. Murat, who had displayed
brilliant valor throughout all the campaign, was the first to be sent to
Warsaw, and made his appearance there in the theatrical costume that he
affected—plumed bonnet, colored boots, and richly laced cloak. His
dress resembled that of the Polish nobles, and he flattered himself that
one day that great country would be committed to his rule. His wife
received many congratulations in Paris, and this, perhaps, made the
Emperor, who disliked to be forestalled on any point, change his mind. I
know that the Empress also had hopes of the Polish crown for her son.
When the Emperor, at a later date, became father of a natural son, of
whose fate I am at present uninformed, the Poles fixed their hopes on
that child.
Writers better acquainted with the secrets of diplomacy than I, may
explain why Bonaparte did not carry out, but merely sketched his plans
for Poland, notwithstanding his own personal proclivities and M. de
Talleyrand’s influence and opinions on the subject. It may be that
events succeeded each other with such rapidity, and clashed so rudely,
that due care could not be bestowed on the projected enterprise.
Subsequently to the Prussian campaign and the treaty of Tilsit, the
Emperor often regretted that he had not pushed his innovations in Europe
to the extent of changing every existing dynasty. “There is nothing to
be gained,” he used to say, “by leaving any power in the hands of people
whom we have made discontented. There is no use in half measures; old
works will not drive new machines. I ought to have made all other kings
accessory to my own greatness, and, so that they should owe everything
to me, they ought not to have had any greatness in the past to point to.
Not that in my eyes this was of much value—certainly not of value equal
to that of founding a new race; but nevertheless it has a certain
influence over mankind. My sympathy with certain sovereigns, my
compassion toward suffering nations, my fear, I know not why, of causing
an utter overthrow of all things, withheld me. I have been greatly in
the wrong, and perhaps I may have to pay for it dearly.”
When the Emperor spoke in this sense, he took pains to dwell on the
necessity imposed by the Revolution of the renewal of all things. But,
as I have already said, he in his secret heart thought he had done
enough for the Revolution in changing the frontiers of states and the
sovereigns who ruled them. A citizen King, chosen either from among his
own kinsfolk, or from the ranks of the army, ought, he considered, to
satisfy all the citizen classes of modern society by his sudden
elevation; and, provided the despotism of the new sovereign could be
turned to the advantage of his own projects, he should not be interfered
with. It must be owned, however, that if “the spirit of the age,” as
Bonaparte called it, had resulted only in nations being governed by men
whom a lucky chance had drawn from their native obscurity, it was
scarcely worth while to make such a fuss about it. If we are to be ruled
by a despot, surely the despot who can point to the greatness of his
ancestors, and who exercises his authority in virtue of ancient rights
made sacred by ancient glory, or even in virtue of rights whose origin
is lost in the obscurity of ages, is the least mortifying to human
pride.
At the close of the war Poland found that she was free only in that
portion of the country which had been seized by Prussia. His treaties
with the Emperor of Russia, the temporary need of repose, the fear of
displeasing Austria by interfering with her possessions, cramped
Bonaparte’s plans. It may be that they could not have been carried out;
but, being only half attempted, they bore within them the elements of
their own destruction.
The advantages and disadvantages of the continental policy with regard
to the English nation have often been discussed. I am not competent
either to state the objections raised to this system or the reasons for
which many disinterested persons approve of it; still less would I
venture to draw hasty conclusions. The system in question imposed
conditions on the allies of France which were too much in opposition to
their interests to be long endured by them for, although it encouraged
continental industry, it interfered with the luxuries of life, and with
some few of its daily necessaries. It was also felt to be an act of
tyranny. Moreover, it caused every Englishman to share the aversion of
the British Government toward Bonaparte, because an attack upon trade is
an attack on the fountain-head of every Englishman’s existence. Thus the
war with us became a national one for our enemies, and from that time
was vigorously carried on by the English.
Meanwhile I have heard it said by well-informed persons that the
consequence of this rigorous policy would in the end strike a fatal blow
at the English Constitution, and that on this account especially it was
advantageous to pursue it. The English Government was obliged, in order
to act with the same rapidity as the enemy, to encroach little by little
on the rights of the people. The people made no opposition, because they
felt the necessity of resistance. Parliament, less jealous of its
liberties, would not venture on any opposition; and by degrees the
English were becoming a military people. The national debt was
increased, in order to afford supplies to the coalition and the army;
the executive was becoming accustomed to encroachments which had been
tolerated in the beginning, and it would willingly have maintained them
as an acquired right. Thus, the strained situation into which every
Government was forced by the Emperor was changing the Constitution of
Great Britain, and possibly, had the continental system lasted for a
length of time, the English could only have recovered their liberties
through violence or sedition. This was the Emperor’s secret hope. He
fomented rebellion in Ireland; supported as he was by every absolute
sovereign on the Continent, he helped and protected the Opposition in
England by all the means in his power, while the London newspapers in
his pay stirred up the people to claim their liberties.
At a later period I heard M. de Talleyrand, who was greatly alarmed at
this contest, express himself with more warmth than he usually displays
in stating his opinions. “Tremble, foolish people that you are,” said
he, “at the Emperor’s success over the English; for, if the English
Constitution is destroyed, understand clearly that the civilization of
the world will be shaken to its very foundations.”
Before leaving Berlin the Emperor issued several decrees, dated thence,
showing that, although he was at the camp, he had both leisure and will
to attend to other pursuits besides those of war. Such were the
appointment of certain prefects, a decree for the organization of the
Naval Office, and one designating the site of the Madeleine, on the
Boulevard, for the monument to be erected to the glory of the French
army. Competition for designs for this monument was invited by circulars
from the Minister of the Interior, which were distributed in every
direction. Numerous promotions were made in the army, and there was a
general distribution of crosses.
On the 25th of November the Emperor departed for Posen. The bad state of
the roads obliged him to exchange his traveling-carriage for a country
wagon. The Grand Marshal of the Palace was overturned in his _calèche_,
and dislocated his collar bone. The same accident happened to M. de
Talleyrand’s carriage, but he escaped without hurt; on account of his
lameness, he had to remain four and twenty hours on the road in his
overturned carriage, until means could be found to enable him to
continue his journey. About this time he took occasion to answer a
letter I had written to him. “I reply to your letter,” he writes, “in
the midst of the mud of Poland; next year, perhaps, I may address you
from the sandy deserts of I know not what country. I beg you to remember
me in your prayers.” The Emperor was only too much inclined to despise
the obstacles that destroyed part of his army. Moreover, it was
imperative to march onward. The Russians were advancing, and he did not
choose to await them in Prussia.
On the 2d of December the Senate was convoked in Paris. The
Arch-Chancellor read a letter from the Emperor, giving an account of his
victories, promising others in the future, and requesting a _senatus
consultum_ which should order an immediate levy of the conscripts of
1807. This levy, in ordinary times, was made in September only. A
commission was appointed for form’s sake. This commission sat in
consultation upon the request for one morning only, and the next day but
one—that is, on the 4th—the _senatus consultum_ was reported.
It was also about this epoch that the dispute between the Academy and
Cardinal Maury was settled. The Emperor decided the question, and a long
article appeared anonymously in the “Moniteur,” which ended with these
words: “The Academy, doubtless, has no wish to deprive a man, whose
great abilities were conspicuous during a time of civil discord, of a
right which custom confers upon him. His admission to the Academy was
another step toward the entire oblivion of past events which can alone
insure the duration of the tranquillity that has been restored to us.
This is a long article on a subject which is apparently of very small
importance; nevertheless, the light in which some persons have
endeavored to place it gives rise to serious consideration. We perceive
to what fluctuations we should once more be exposed, into what
uncertainty we should again be thrown, only that fortunately for us the
helm of the state is in the hands of a pilot whose arm is strong, whose
steering is steady, and who has but one aim in view—the happiness of
the country.”
While Bonaparte forced his soldiers to endure terrible hardships of all
kinds in the prosecution of the war, he lost no opportunity of proving
that nothing interfered with the interest he, in the midst of camps,
took in the progress of civilization.
An order of the day, dated from headquarters of the Grand Army, is as
follows: “In the name of the Emperor. The University of Jena, its
professors, teachers, and students, its possessions, revenues, and other
prerogatives whatsoever, are placed under the special protection of the
commanders of the French and allied troops. The course of study will be
continued. Students are consequently authorized to return to Jena, and
it is the Emperor’s intention to favor that town as much as possible.”
The King of Saxony, subdued by the power of the conqueror, broke off his
alliance with Prussia and concluded a treaty with the Emperor. During a
long reign this prince had enjoyed the blessings of peace and order.
Venerated by his subjects, and occupied solely with their welfare,
nothing but the hurricane of Bonaparte’s success could have brought the
horrors of war among the peaceful valleys of his kingdom. He was too
weak to resist the shock; he submitted, and tried to save his people by
accepting the victor’s terms. But his fidelity to treaties could not
save him, because Saxony subsequently became of necessity the
battle-field on which the neighboring sovereigns contended more than
once for victory.
Meanwhile, Paris and its inhabitants became every day more gloomy. The
bulletins contained only vague accounts of bloody conflicts, with small
results. It was easy to infer, from occasional allusions to the severity
of the season and the ruggedness of the country, that our soldiers had
great obstacles to surmount and much suffering to bear. Private letters,
although cautiously written, or they would not have reached their
destination, betrayed general anxiety and distress. The least movements
of our army were represented as victories, but the Emperor’s very
triumphs involved him in difficulty.
The distinct advantage with which the campaign had opened made the
Parisians hard to please as the war went on. Much trouble was taken to
keep up the enthusiasm. The bulletins were solemnly read at the
theatres; guns were fired from the Invalides immediately on receipt of
news from the army; poets were paid for hastily written odes, chants of
victory, and interludes, which were splendidly represented at the Opéra,
and on the following day articles written to order commented on the
heartiness of the applause.
The Empress, who was restless, idle, and tired of Mayence, wrote
continually, begging to be allowed to go to Berlin. The Emperor was on
the point of yielding to her, and I learned from M. de Rémusat with
fresh sorrow that in all probability his absence would be prolonged. But
the arrival of the Russians, and the obligation he was under of marching
into Poland, made Bonaparte change his mind. Moreover, he was informed
that Paris was dull, and that the tradespeople were complaining of the
harm done them by the general uneasiness. He sent orders to his wife to
return to the Tuileries, there to keep up the accustomed splendor of her
Court, and we all received commands to amuse ourselves ostentatiously.
Meanwhile, after a few partial engagements, the Emperor determined on
going into winter quarters; but the Russians, who were better used to
the severity of the climate and the rudeness of the country, would not
allow of this, and after measuring their strength in some bloody
encounters, where our success was dearly bought, the two armies met face
to face near the village of Preussisch Eylau, which has given its name
to a sanguinary battle. One shudders even now at the description of that
terrible day. The cold was piercing, and the snow falling fast; but the
opposition of the elements only increased the ferocity of both armies.
For twelve hours they fought, without either side being able to claim
the victory. The loss of men was immense. Toward evening the Russians
retreated in good order, leaving a considerable number of their wounded
on the field of battle. Both sovereigns, Russian and French, ordered the
_Te Deum_ to be sung. The fact is, this horrible butchery was to no
purpose, and the Emperor afterward said that, if the Russian army had
attacked him on the following day, it is probable he would have been
beaten. But this was an additional reason for him to exult over the
victory loudly. He wrote to the bishops, informed the Senate of his
alleged success, contradicted in his own journals the foreign versions
of the event, and concealed as much as possible the losses that we had
sustained. It is said that he visited the battle-field, and that the
awful spectacle made a great impression on him. This would seem to be
true, because the bulletin in which the fact is stated is written in a
very simple style, unlike that of the others, in which he generally
figures in a theatrical attitude.
On his return, he ordered a very fine painting from Gros the artist, in
which he is represented among the dead and dying, lifting his eyes to
heaven, as if praying for resignation. The expression given to him by
the painter is extremely beautiful. I have often gazed at the picture
with emotion, hoping with all my heart—for it still desired to cling to
him—that such had really been the expression of his countenance on that
occasion.
M. Denon, Director of the Museum, and one of the most obsequious
servants of the Emperor, always followed him in his campaigns, in order
to select objects of value in every conquered city, to add to the
treasures of that magnificent collection. He fulfilled his task with
exactness, which, people said, resembled rapacity, and he was accused of
appropriating a share of the plunder. Our soldiers knew him only by the
name of “The Auctioneer.” After the battle of Eylau, and while at
Warsaw, he received orders to have a monument erected in commemoration
of the day. The more doubtful it was, the more the Emperor insisted on
its being held to be a victory. Denon sent to Paris a poetical account
of the Emperor’s visit to the wounded. Many persons have declared that
the painting by Gros represented a fiction, like that of the visit to
the pest-stricken at Jaffa. But why should it be denied that Bonaparte
could sometimes feel?
The subject was open to competition among our principal painters. A
considerable number of sketches were sent in. Gros obtained every vote,
and the choice fell upon him.
The battle of Eylau was fought on the 10th of February, 1807.
[Illustration: One shudders even now at the description of that terrible
day.
For twelve hours they fought without either side being able to claim the
victory.]