The Franco-German War -- Friday, July 15, 1870, 6 p.m. -- My
friends "confident of France being able to chastise the insolence
of the King of Prussia" -- I do not share their confidence; but
do not expect a crushing defeat -- Napoleon III.'s presence
aggravated the disasters; his absence would not have averted them
-- He himself had no illusions about the efficiency of the army,
did not suspect the rottenness of it -- His previous endeavours
at reorganization -- The real drift of his proposed inquiries --
His plan meant also compulsory service for every one -- Why the
legislature opposed it -- The makeshift proposed by it --
Napoleon weary, body and soul -- His physical condition -- A
great consultation and the upshot of it -- Dr. Ricord and what he
told me -- I am determined to see and hear, though not to speak
-- I sally forth -- The streets on the evening of Friday, the
15th of July -- The illuminations -- Patriotism or Chauvinism --
The announcement of a bookseller -- What Moltke thought of it --
The opinion of a dramatist on the war -- The people; no
horse-play -- No work done on Saturday and Sunday -- Cabmen -- "A
man does not pay for his own funeral, monsieur" -- The northern
station on Sunday -- The departing Germans -- The Emperor's
particular instructions with regard to them -- Alfred de Musset's
"Rhin Allemand" -- Prevost-Paradol and the news of his suicide --
The probable cause of it -- A chat with a superior officer -- The
Emperor's Sunday receptions at the Tuileries -- Promotions in the
army, upon what basis -- Good and bad officers -- The officers'
mess does not exist -- Another general officer gives his opinion
-- Marshal Niel and Leboeuf -- The plan of campaign suddenly
altered -- The reason -- The Emperor leaves St. Cloud -- His
confidence shaken before then -- Some telegrams from the
commanders of divisions -- Thiers is appealed to, to stem the
tide of retrenchment; afterwards to take the portfolio of war --
The Emperor's opinion persistently disregarded at the Tuileries
-- Trochu -- The dancing colonels at the Tuileries.
After the lapse of thirteen years, it is difficult to put the exact hour
and date to each exciting incident of a period which was absolutely
phenomenal throughout. I kept no diary, only a few rough notes, because
at that time I never thought of committing my recollections to paper,
and have, therefore, to trust almost wholly to my memory; nevertheless I
am positive as to main facts, whether witnessed by myself or
communicated to me by friends and acquaintances. I remember, for
instance, that, immediately after the declaration of war, I was warned
by my friends not to go abroad more than I could help, to keep away as
much as possible from crowds. "You are a foreigner," said one, "and that
will be sufficient for any ragamuffin, who wants to do you a bad turn,
to draw attention to you. By the time you have satisfactorily proved
your nationality you will be beaten black and blue, if not worse."
The advice was given on Friday, the 15th of July, about six in the
afternoon; that is, a few hours after the news of the scenes in the
Chamber of Deputies and the Senate had spread, and when the centre of
Paris was getting gradually congested with the inhabitants of the
faubourgs. My friends were men of culture and education, and not at all
likely to be carried away by the delirium which, on that same night and
for the next week, converted Paris into one vast lunatic asylum, whose
inmates had managed to throw off the control of their keepers; yet there
was not a single civilian among them who had a doubt about the eventual
victory of France, about her ability "to chastise the arrogance of the
King of Prussia," to put the matter in their own words.
"To try to be wise after the event" is a thing I particularly detest,
but I can honestly affirm that I did not share their confidence,
although I did not suspect for a moment that the defeat would be so
crushing as it was. I remembered many incidents that had happened during
the previous four years of which they seemed conveniently oblivious; I
was also aware, perhaps, of certain matters of which they were either
profoundly ignorant, or professed to be; but, above all, I took to heart
the advice, tendered in the shape of, "You are a foreigner;" and though
I feared no violence or even verbal recrimination on their part, I chose
to hold my tongue.
I hold no brief for the late Emperor, but I sincerely believe that he
was utterly averse to the war. I, moreover, think that if he had
consented to remain in Paris or at St. Cloud, the disaster would have
happened all the same. He had no illusions about the efficiency of his
armies, though he may not have been cognizant of the thorough rottenness
of the whole. But to have said so at any time, especially during the
last four years, would have been simply to sign the death-warrant of his
dynasty. He endeavoured to remedy the defects in a roundabout way as
early as October, '66, by appointing a commission to draw up a plan for
the reorganization of the army. Apparently, Napoleon wanted larger
contingents; in reality, he hoped that the inquiry would lay bare such
evidence of corruption as would justify him in dismissing several of
the men surrounding him from their high commands. But both those who
only saw the apparent drift as well as those who guessed at the real one
were equally determined in their opposition. It was the majority in the
Legislature which first uttered the cry, immediately taken up by the
adversaries of the regime, "If this bill becomes law there will be an
end of favourable numbers." In fact, the bill meant compulsory service
for every one, and the consent of the deputies to it would at once have
forfeited their position with their electors, especially with the
peasantry, to whom to apply the word "patriotism" at any time is
tantamount to the vilest prostitution of it.
Of the makeshift for that law I need say little or nothing. Without a
single spy in France, without a single attache in the Rue de Lille,
Bismarck was enabled by that only to determine beforehand the effects of
one serious military defeat on the dynasty of the Emperor; he was
enabled to calculate the exact strength of the chain of defence which
would be offered subsequently. The French army was like the Scotch lad's
porridge, "sour, burnt, gritty, cold, and, ---- it, there was not enough
of it." It is not underrating Bismarck's genius to say that a man of far
inferior abilities than he would have plainly seen the course to pursue.
Was Napoleon III. steeped in such crass ignorance as not to have had an
inkling of all this? Certainly not; but he was weary, body and soul,
and, but for his wife and son, he would, perhaps willingly, have
abdicated. He had been suffering for years from one of the most
excruciating diseases, and a fortnight before the declaration of war the
symptoms had become so alarming that a great consultation was held
between MM. Nelaton, Ricord, Fauvel, G. See, and Corvisart. The result
was the unanimous conclusion of those eminent medical men that an
immediate operation was absolutely necessary. Curiously enough, however,
the report embodying this decision was only signed by one, and not
communicated to the Empress at all. It may be taken for granted that,
had she known of her husband's condition, she would not have agitated in
favour of the war, as she undoubtedly did.
It was only after the Emperor's death at Chislehurst that the document
in question was found, but I happened to know Dr. Ricord intimately, and
most of the facts, besides those stated above, were known to me on that
memorable Friday, the 15th of July, 1870. As I have said already, I
thought it wiser to hold my tongue.
But though determined _not to speak_--knowing that it would do no
earthly good--I was equally determined _to see and to hear_; so, at
about eight, I sallied forth. The heat was positively stifling, and it
was still daylight, but, in their eagerness to show their joy, the
Parisians would not wait for darkness to set in, and, as I went along, I
saw several matrons of the better classes, aided by their maids, make
preparations on the balcony for illuminating the moment the last rays of
the sun should set behind the horizon. I distinctly say matrons of the
better classes, because my way lay through the Chaussee d'Antin, where
the tenancy of an apartment on the first, second, or third floor implied
a more than average income. I was, and am, aware that neither refinement
nor good sense should be measured by the money at one's command, but
under similar circumstances it is impossible to apply any other valid
test. In the streets there was one closely wedged-in, seething mass, and
the noise was deafening; nevertheless, at the sight of one of those
matrons thus engaged there was a momentary lull, followed immediately by
vociferous applause and the cry of "Les meres de la patrie." From a
cursory glance upward, I came to the conclusion that the progeny of
these ladies, if they were blessed with any, could as yet contribute but
very little to the glory of the nation; still, I reflected, at the same
time, that they had probably brothers and husbands who, within a few
hours, might be called to the front, "nevermore to return;" that,
therefore, the outburst of patriotism could not be called an altogether
cheap one. In fact, none but the thoroughly irreclaimable sceptic could
fail to be struck with the genuine outburst of national resentment
against a whole nation on the part of another nation, which, as I take
it, means something different from unalloyed patriotism. It was a
mixture of hatred and chauvinism, rather than the latter and more
elevated sentiment. The "sacred soil of France"--though why more sacred
than any other soil, I have never been able to make out--was not
threatened in this instance by Prussia; carefully considered, it was not
even a question of national honour offended for which Paris professed
itself ready as one man to draw the sword, and yet the thousands in the
street that night behaved as if each of them had a personal quarrel to
settle, not with one or two Germans, but with every son and daughter of
the Fatherland.
It was, perhaps, a quarter after eight when I found myself in the
Chaussee d'Antin, and the distance to the Boulevard des Italiens was
certainly not more than two hundred and fifty yards; nevertheless, it
took me more than half an hour to get over it, for immediately on my
emerging into the main thoroughfare I looked at a clock which pointed to
nine. Two things stand out vividly in my memory: the first, the
preparations of several business houses to illuminate on a grand scale,
there and then; _i. e._ the putting up of the elaborate crystal devices
used by them on the 15th of August, the Emperor's fete-day. It was
exactly a month before that date, and a neighbour of an enthusiastic
tradesman remarked upon the fact. "I know," was the answer; "I'll leave
it there till the 14th of next month, and then I'll add two bigger ones
to it." On the day proposed, not only were there none added, but the
original one had also disappeared, for by that time the Second Empire
was virtually in the throes of death. The second thing I remember was
the enormous strip of calico outside a bookseller's shop, with the
announcement, "Dictionnaire Francais-Allemand a l'usage des Francais a
Berlin." In less than two months I read the following; it was an extract
from the interview between Bismarck and Moltke on the one side and
General de Wimpffen on the other, on the eve of the capitulation of
Sedan: "You do not know the topography of the environs of Sedan,"
replied General von Moltke; "and, seeing that we are on the subject, let
me give you a small instance which thoroughly shows the presumption, the
want of method, of your nation. At the beginning of the campaign, you
provided your officers with maps of Germany, when they utterly lacked
the means of studying the geography of their own country, seeing that
you had no maps of your own territory." I could not help thinking of the
bookseller, and wondering how many dictionaries he sold during those
first few days.
I did not get very far that night, only as far as the Maison d'Or, where
I was perforce obliged to stop and look on. I stood for nearly an hour
and a half, for there was no possibility of getting a seat, and during
that time I only heard one opinion adverse to the war. It was that of a
justly celebrated dramatist, who is by no means hostile to either the
Emperor or the Empire, albeit that he had declined several years ago to
be presented to Napoleon when Princess Mathilde offered him to do so. He
positively hates the Germans, but his hatred did not blind him to their
great intellectual qualities and to their powers of organization. "It is
all very fine to shout 'A Berlin!'" he said; "and it is very probable
that some of these bellowers (braillards) will get there, though not in
the order of procession they expect; they will be in front, and the
Germans at their backs." He spoke very low, and begged me not to repeat
what he had said. "If I am mistaken, I do not want to be twitted with
having thrown cold water on the martial ardour of my countrymen; if I am
right, I will willingly forego the honour of having prophesied the
humiliation of my countrymen." That is why I suppress his name here, but
I have often thought of his words since; and when people, Englishmen
especially, have accused him of having contributed to the corruption of
the Second Empire by his stage works, I have smiled to myself. With the
exception of one, he has never written a play that did not teach a
valuable moral lesson; but he is an excellent husband, father, and son,
though he is perhaps not over generous with his money.
I am bound to say that, though the noise on the Boulevards was terrific,
and the crowds the densest I have ever seen in Paris or anywhere, they
refrained from that horse-play so objectionable in England under similar
circumstances. Of course there were exceptions; such as, for instance,
the demonstration at the Prussian Embassy: but, in the main, the
behaviour was orderly throughout. I do not know what might have been the
result of any foreigners--German or otherwise--showing themselves
conspicuously, but they were either altogether absent, or else concealed
their nationality as much as possible by keeping commendably silent.
Nevertheless, the Parisian shopkeeper, who is the most arrant coward on
the face of the earth where a crowd is concerned, put up his shutters
during the whole of Saturday and Sunday, except those who professed for
cater for the inner man. I doubt whether, on the first-named day, there
was a single stroke of work done by the three or four hundred thousand
of Parisian artisans. I exclude cabmen, railway porters, and the like.
They had their hands full, because the exodus began before the war news
was four and twenty hours old. Our own countrymen seemed in the greatest
hurry to put the Channel between themselves and France. If the enemy had
been already at the gates of Paris their retreat could have been
scarcely more sudden. The words "bouches inutiles" had as yet not been
pronounced or invented officially; but I have a notion that a cabman
suggested them first, in a conversation with a brother Jehu. "Voila des
bouches utiles qui s'en vont, mon vieux," he said, while waiting on the
Place Vendome to take passengers to the railway. Until then I had never
heard the word used in that sense.
Apropos of cabmen, I heard a story that day for the truth of which I
will, however, not vouch. There was a cab-stand near the Prussian
Embassy, and most of the drivers knew every one of the attaches, the
latter being frequent customers. On the Saturday morning, a cab was
called from the rank to take a young attache to the eastern railway
station. He was going to join his regiment. On alighting from the cab,
the attache was about to pay his fare; the driver refused the money. "A
man does not pay for his own funeral, monsieur; and you may take it that
I have performed that office for you. Adieu, monsieur." With that he
drove off. True or not, the mere invention of the tale would prove that,
at any rate, the lower middle classes were cocksure of the utter
annihilation of the Germans.
I happened to have occasion to go to the northern station on the Sunday,
to see some one off by the mail. That large, cold, bare hall, which does
duty as a waiting-room, was crowded, and a number of young Germans were
among the passengers; respectable, stalwart fellows who, to judge by
their dress, had occupied good commercial positions in the French
capital. Most of them were accompanied by friends or relations. They
seemed by no means elated at the prospect before them, and scarcely
spoke to one another. As a matter of course, they were scattered all
over the place, in groups of three and four. I noticed that there was an
exceedingly strong contingent of sergents de ville, and several couples
of officiers de paix--what in England we should call superintendents of
police. The latter had evidently received particular instructions, for
they had posted, as much as possible, a sergent de ville close to every
group. At first I mistook the drift of the supervision, but it was soon
explained to me when one of the officiers de paix came up to a group
somewhat larger than the others. "Messieurs," he said very politely,
"vous etes Allemands, et je vous prierai de vous mettre ensemble, afin
de pouvoir vous proteger, s'il y a besoin." I heard afterwards that,
amidst all his weighty occupations, the Emperor himself had given orders
to have the Germans especially protected, as he feared some violence on
the part of the Parisians.
During the next week the excitement did not abate, but, save for some
minor incidents, it was the same thing over and over again: impromptu
processions along the main thoroughfares to the singing of the
"Marseillaise" and the "Chant du Depart," until the crowds had got by
heart Alfred de Musset's "Rhin Allemand," of which, until then, not one
in a thousand had ever heard.
Meanwhile the news had spread of the suicide of Prevost-Paradol, the
newly appointed French ambassador at Washington, and the republicans
were trying to make capital out of it. According to them, it was
political shame and remorse at having deserted his colours, despair at
the turn events were taking, that prompted the step. These falsehoods
have been repeated until they became legends connected with the fall of
the Second Empire. To the majority of Englishmen, Prevost-Paradol is not
even a name; talented as he was, Frenchmen would have scarcely known
more about him if some politicians, for purposes of their own, had not
chosen to convert him into a self-immolated martyr to the Imperialist
cause--or, rather, to that part of the cause which aimed at the recovery
of the left banks of the Rhine. I knew Prevost-Paradol, and he was only
distinguished from hundreds of thousands of Frenchmen in that his
"France Nouvelle" was a magnificent attempt to spur his countrymen's
ambition in that direction; but this very fact is an additional argument
against the alleged cause of his self-destruction. He shot himself
during the night of the 10th and 11th of July, when not the most
pessimistically inclined could foresee the certainty of a war, and,
least of all, the disastrous result of it to France. Those who would
know the real cause of Prevost-Paradol's suicide had better read a short
tale that appeared anonymously in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ of
February, 1860. The hero of "Madame de Marcay" is none other than the
brilliant journalist himself, and the germs of suicidal mania were so
plainly discernible in him, as to make those who knew the writer wonder
that he had not killed himself long before he did.
I have already said that the excitement did not abate, but the more
serious-minded began to look critical, and, among the latter, curiously
enough, there were a good many superior officers in the army. They were
too loyal to express openly their want of confidence in their leaders,
but it was evident enough to the careful listener that that want of
confidence did exist. I had a conversation during that week with one of
the former, whose name, for obvious reasons, I must suppress; and this
is, as far as I can remember, what he said, knowing that he could trust
me. "There is not a single properly drawn ordnance map of France at the
War Office; and if there were, there is not a single man in power there
who would know how to use it. I doubt whether there is a settled plan of
campaign; they'll endeavour to conduct this war as they conducted the
Crimean, Italian, and Mexican wars--that is, on the principle which
stood them in such good stead in Algeria, though they ought to know by
this time how very risky those experiments turned out, especially in
'59; and I have no need to tell you that we are going to confront a
different army from that of the Austrians or the Russians, Todleben
notwithstanding. The African school of warfare ought to be played out by
now, but it is not. To a certain extent, the Emperor is to blame for
this. You remember what his uncle said: 'There is not a single general
of whose draught I am not aware. Some will go up to their waists; others
up to their necks; others, again, to over their heads; but the latter
number is infinitely small, I assure you.' The Emperor is not in the
same position with regard to the capacity of his generals, let alone of
his officers."
"But he ought to be," I objected; "he interviews a great many of them on
Sunday mornings." I was alluding to the informal levee held at the
Tuileries every week, to which the generals and the general officers by
sea and by land were admitted.
"You are right--he ought to be," was the answer; "and if a great deal of
conscientious trouble on his part could have put him in possession of
such knowledge, he would have had it by this time. Of course, you have
never been present at such a reception; for all civilians, with the
exception of a few ministers, are rigorously excluded. I repeat, the
intention is a good one, but it is not carried out properly. The very
fact that at the outset it met with the most strenuous opposition from
nearly all the ministers and high dignitaries of the Imperial household
ought to have shown his Majesty the necessity of interviewing these
officers alone, without as much as a chambellan in waiting. As it is, do
you know what happens? I will tell you. The Emperor passes before these
officers as they are standing around the room, stops before nearly every
one to ask a question, inviting him, at the same time, to lodge a
protest if necessary against any standing abuse or to suggest a measure
of reform. But the chambellan is close at his heels; the minister for
war, the marshal commanding the Imperial Guard, the military governor of
Paris, are standing but a few steps away. The officer to whom the
question is addressed feels himself tongue-tied; he knows that all these
can hear every word he says, and, rather than be marked by his superiors
as a tiresome meddler, he prefers to hold his tongue altogether--that
is, if he be comparatively honest. Call it cowardice if you like, but
most men will tell you that such cowardice exists in all administrations
whether civil or military. Consequently, the Emperor, though he may know
a good many officers by name and by sight, in reality knows nothing of
their capacities. I may safely say that, for the last fifteen or sixteen
years, there have not been a dozen important promotions, either in the
army or the navy, justified by the 'record of service' of the officer
promoted. Divisions--nay, whole army corps--have been confided to men
who, in the hour of need, will, no doubt, prove very dashing and very
plucky, but who have no more notion of handling large masses of men than
an ordinary drill-sergeant. To use a more striking metaphor--they have
selected the most desperate punters at baccarat to work out complicated
chess problems. What the result will be with such a champion as Von
Moltke, Heaven only knows. There are men at the head of our cavalry
forces who can scarcely hold themselves on horseback; there are others
commanding divisions and even corps-d'armee who know all about bridges,
pontoons, artillery, and so forth, but who could no more execute a
regularly organized retreat or advance than a child. The theory is that
their dash and courage, their reckless, happy-go-lucky, but frequently
successful African system, will make up for their ignorance of tactics
and strategy. Naturally this is an implied rather than an expressed
opinion, for many of those favourites believe themselves to be the
equals in these latter sciences of Jomini and Napoleon, perhaps of
Moltke also. Do not misunderstand me; there are a number of officers in
the French army who have made a careful study of the science of war, and
who, in that respect, would favourably compare with an equal number of
the best instructed German officers, but they have by this time resigned
themselves to keep in the background, because any attempt on their part
to raise the standard of military knowledge has for years been
systematically discountenanced by those nearest to the throne. On the
other hand, the men thus kept at arm's length have not been altogether
satisfied to suffer in silence. I do not mean to say that they have
given vent to their grievances openly; they have done worse, perhaps,
from the point of view of maintaining the discipline of the army. They
have adopted a semi-critical, semi-hostile attitude towards their
superiors. The officers' mess, such as it exists in England, is
virtually unknown on the Continent, and least of all in France. The
unmarried officer takes his daily meals at the table d'hote of an hotel,
and he does talk 'shop' now and then in the presence of civilians. The
criticisms he utters do find their way to the barrack-room, so that by
now the private has become sceptical with regard to the capabilities of
the generals and marshals. The soldier who begins to question the
fitness of his chiefs is like the priest who begins to question the
infallibility of the pope; he is a danger to the institution to which he
belongs."
In reality, my informant told me little that was new, though he perhaps
did not suspect that I was so well informed. I had heard most of all
this, and a great deal besides, from a connection of mine by marriage,
whose strictures in the same direction came with additional force,
seeing that he was a frequent and welcome guest at the Tuileries. He was
a general officer, but, with a frankness that bordered on the cynical,
maintained that but for his capital voice and skill at leading "the
cotillon" he would probably have never risen beyond the rank of captain;
"for there are a thousand captains that know a great deal more than I
do, a couple of thousand that know as much as I do, and very few who
know less, none of whom have ever been promoted, and never will be,
unless they earn their promotion at the point of the sword." According
to him, the "records of service" were not as much as looked into at the
periods of general promotions. "A clever answer to one of the Emperor's
questions, a handsome face and pleasing manners, are sufficient to
establish a reputation at the Chateau. The ministers for war take
particular care not to rectify those impulsive judgments of the Emperor
and Empress, because they rightly think that careful inquiries into the
candidates' merits would hurt their own proteges, and those of their
fellow-ministers. This happy-go-lucky system--for a system it has
become--founded upon the most barefaced nepotism, is condoned, by those
who ought to have opposed it with all their might and main at the very
outset, on the theory that Frenchmen's courage is sure to make up in the
end for all shortcomings, which theory in itself is a piece of
impertinence, or at any rate of overweening conceit, seeing that it
implies the absence of such courage in the officers of other nations.
But there is something else. All these favourites are jealous of one
another, and, mark my words, this jealousy will in this instance lead to
disastrous results, because the Emperor will find it as difficult to
comply with as to refuse their individual extravagant demands. The time
is gone by for radical reforms. 'You cannot swap horses while crossing a
stream,' said Abraham Lincoln; and we are crossing a dangerous stream.
The Emperor has, besides, a horror of new faces around him, and to
extirpate the evil radically he would have to make a clean sweep of his
military household."
I must preface the following notes by a personal remark. For private
reasons, which I cannot and must not mention, I have decided not to put
my name to these jottings, whether they are published before or after my
death. I am aware that by doing this I diminish their value; because,
although I never played a political or even a social part in France, I
am sufficiently well known to inspire the reader with confidence. As it
is, he must take it for granted that I was probably the only foreigner
whom Frenchmen had agreed not to consider an enemy in disguise.
While my relative was giving me the above resume, I was already aware
that there existed in the French War Office a scheme of mobilization and
a plan of campaign elaborated by Marshal Niel, the immediate predecessor
of Marshal Leboeuf. I knew, moreover, that this plan provided for the
formation of three armies, under the respective commands of Marshals
MacMahon, Bazaine, and Canrobert, and that the disposition of these
three armies had been the basis of negotiations for a Franco-Austrian
alliance which had been started six weeks previous to the declaration of
war by General Lebrun in Vienna. Up till the 22nd or 23rd of July the
preparations were carried out in accordance with that original project;
the respective staffs that had been appointed, the various regiments and
brigades distributed long ago, were already hurrying to the front, when
all of a sudden the whole of this plan was modified; the three armies
were to be fused into one, to be called "l'armee du Rhin," under the
sole and exclusive command of the Emperor.
Whence this sudden change? The historians, with their usual contempt for
small causes, have endeavoured to explain it in various ways. According
to some, the change was decided upon in order to afford the Emperor the
opportunity of distinguishing himself; the "armee du Rhin" was to revive
the glories of the "grande armee;" there was to be a second edition of
the Napoleonic epic. After the first startling successes, the Emperor
was to return to the capital, and Marshal Niel's plan was, if
practicable, to be taken up once more,--that is, the French troops,
having established a foothold in the enemy's country, were to be divided
again under so many Klebers, Soults, and Neys.
According to others, the Emperor, who until then had been living in a
fool's paradise with regard to the quantity, if not with regard to the
quality, of the forces at his disposal, suddenly had his eyes opened to
the real state of affairs. The six hundred and fifty thousand troops
supposed to be at his disposal had their existence mainly on paper: the
available reality did not amount to more than a third; _i. e._ to about
two hundred and fifteen thousand troops of all arms.
The facts advanced by these historians are true, but they did not
determine the change referred to--at any rate, not so far as the
assumption of the supreme command by the Emperor himself was concerned.
Anxious as the latter may have been, in the interest of his dynasty, to
reap the glory of one or two successful battles fought under his
immediate supervision, he was fully aware of his unfitness for such a
task, especially in his actual state of health. Louis-Napoleon believed
in his star, but he was not an idiot who counted upon luck to decide the
fate of battles. If he had ever fostered such illusions, the campaign of
1859 must have given a rude shock to them, for there he was, more than
once, within an ace of defeat; and no one knew this better than he did.
The fusing of the three armies into one was due, first, to the
difficulty, if not impossibility, of constituting three armies with
considerably less than three hundred thousand troops; secondly, to the
inveterate jealousy of his marshals of one another. Napoleon feared, and
justly, that if those three armies went forth under three separate
commands, there would be a repetition of the quarrels that had occurred
during the Austro-Franco war, when Niel accused Canrobert of not having
properly supported him at the right time, and so forth. It will be
remembered that the Emperor himself had to intervene to heal those
quarrels. Under those circumstances, the Emperor thought it better to
risk it, and to take the whole responsibility upon himself.
The Emperor left St. Cloud on the 28th of July. It is very certain that,
even before his departure, his confidence in the late Marshal Niel as an
organizer must have been considerably shaken, and that the words of
Leboeuf, "We are ready, more than ready," sounded already a hollow
mockery to his ear. Here are some of the telegrams which, after the 4th
of September, were found among the papers at the Tuileries. They were
probably copies of the originals, though I am by no means certain that
they were forwarded to St. Cloud at the time of their reception. It
would have been better, perhaps, if they had been.
"Metz, 20 July, 1870, 9.50 a.m. From Chief of Commissariat Department to
General Blondeau, War Office, Paris. There is at Metz neither sugar,
coffee, rice, brandy, nor salt. We have but little bacon and biscuit.
Despatch, at least, a million rations to Thionville."
"General Ducrot to War Office, Paris. Strasburg, 20 July, 1870, 8.30
p.m. By to-morrow there will be scarcely fifty men left to guard
Neuf-Brisach; Fort-Mortier, Schlestadt, la Petite-Pierre, and
Lichtenberg are equally deserted. It is the result of the orders we are
carrying out. The Garde Mobile and local National Guards might easily be
made available for garrison duty, but I am reluctant to adopt such
measures, seeing that your excellency has granted me no power to that
effect. It appears certain that the Prussians are already masters of all
the passes of the Black Forest."
"From the General commanding the 2nd Army Corps to War Office, Paris.
Saint-Avold, 21 July, 1870, 8.55 a.m. The depot sends enormous parcels
of maps, which are absolutely useless for the moment. We have not a
single map of the French frontier. It would be better to send greater
quantities of what would be more useful, and which are absolutely
wanting at this moment."
"From General Michael to War Office, Paris. Belfort, 21 July, 1870, 7.30
a.m. Have arrived at Belfort; did not find my brigade, did not find a
general of division. What am I to do? Do not know where are my
regiments."
"From General commanding 4th Army Corps to Major-General, Paris.
Thionville, 21 July, 9.12 a.m. The 4th Corps has as yet neither
canteens, ambulances, nor baggage-waggons, either for the troops or the
staff. There is an utter lack of everything."
I need quote no further; there were about two hundred missives in all,
all dated within the week following the official declaration of war. It
would be difficult to determine how many of these the Emperor was
permitted to see, but there is no doubt that he had a pretty correct
idea of the state of affairs, for here is a fact which I have not seen
stated anywhere, but for the truth of which I can vouch. For full two
years before the outbreak of hostilities, the Legislature seemed bent
upon advocating all kinds of retrenchment in the war budget. During the
first six months of 1870, the thing had almost become a mania with them,
and the Emperor appealed to M. Thiers, through the intermediary of
Marshal Leboeuf himself, to help him stem the tide of this
pseudo-economy. Thiers promised his support, and faithfully kept his
word; but his aid came too late. The Emperor, however, felt grateful to
him, and, only thirty-six hours before his departure for the seat of
war, he offered him the portfolio of war, again through the intermediary
of Marshal Leboeuf. The offer was respectfully declined, but what must
have been the state of mind of Louis-Napoleon with regard to his
officers, to prefer to them a civilian at such a critical moment? I may
state here that it was always the height of M. Thiers' ambition to be
considered a great strategist and tactician, and also a military
engineer. "Jomini was a civilian," he frequently exclaimed. Those who
were competent to judge, have often declared that Thiers' pretensions in
that direction were, to a certain extent, justified by his talents.
Curiously enough, M. de Freycinet is affected by a similar mania.
Here is a certain correlative to the above-mentioned fact. When, a few
months after the Commune, things were getting ship-shape in Paris, a
large bundle of printed matter was unearthed in the erstwhile Imperial
(then National) Printing Works. It contained, amongst others, a circular
drawn up by the Emperor himself, entitled "A Bad Piece of Economy;" it
was addressed to the deputies, and dated May, 1870; it showed the
presumptive strength of the army of the North-German Confederation as
compared with that of France, and wound up with the following sentence:
"If we compare the military condition of North-Germany with ours, we
shall be able to judge how far those who would still further reduce our
national forces are sufficiently enlightened as to our real interests."
It has always been a mystery to me, and to those who were aware of its
existence, why this circular was not distributed at the proper time;
though, by the light of subsequent events, one fails to see what good it
could have done then. Were these events foreseen at the Tuileries as
early as May? I think not. The majority of the Emperor's entourage were
confident that war with Germany was only a matter of time; very few
considered it to be so imminent. One cannot for a moment imagine that
the suppression of this circular was due to accidental or premeditated
neglect; for the sovereign, though ailing and low-spirited, was still
too mindful of his prerogatives not to have visited such neglect of his
wishes, whether intentional or not, with severe displeasure. Nor can one
for a moment admit that the Emperor was hoodwinked into the belief that
the circular had been distributed. His so-called advisers probably
prevailed upon him to forego the distribution of the document, lest it
should open the eyes of the nation to the inferiority of France's
armaments. The only man who had dared to point out that inferiority,
three years previously, was General Trochu, and his book, "l'Armee
Francaise," had the effect of ostracizing him from the Tuileries. The
smart and swaggering colonels who surrounded the Empress did not scruple
to spread the most ridiculous slanders with regard to its author; but
the Emperor, though aware that Trochu was systematically opposed to his
dynasty, also knew that he was an able, perhaps the ablest soldier in
the country. The subsequent failure of Trochu does not invalidate that
judgment. "I know what Trochu could and would do if he were unhampered;
but I need not concern myself with that, seeing that he will be
hampered," said Von Moltke at the beginning of the siege. Colonel
Stoffel, the French military attache at Berlin, was severely reprimanded
by Marshal Niel and by Leboeuf afterwards for his constant endeavours to
acquaint the Emperor with the magnificent state of efficiency of the
Prussian army and its auxiliaries. Ostensibly, it was because he had
been guilty of a breach of diplomatic and military etiquette; in
reality, because the minister for war and his "festive" coadjutors
objected to being constantly harassed in their pleasures by the
sovereign's suspicions of their mental nakedness. "Nous l'avons eu,
votre Rhin allemand.... Ou le pere a passe, passera bien l'enfant," was
their credo; and they continued to dance, and to flirt, and to intrigue
for places, which, in their hands, became fat sinecures. They would have
laughed to scorn the dictum of the first Napoleon, that "there are no
bad regiments, only bad colonels;" in their opinion, there were no bad
colonels, except those perhaps who did not constantly jingle their spurs
on the carpeted floors of the Empress's boudoir, and the parqueted arena
of the Empress's ball-room. The Emperor was too much of a dreamer and a
philosopher for them; he could not emancipate himself from his German
education. The best thing to do was to let him write and print whatever
he liked, and then prevail upon him at the last moment not to publish,
lest it might offend national vanity. Contemptuous as they were of the
German spirit of plodding, they had, nevertheless, taken a leaf from an
eminent German's book. "Let them say and write what they like, as long
as they let me do what I like," exclaimed Frederick the Great, on one
occasion. They slightly reversed the sentence. "Let the Emperor say and
write what he likes, as long as he lets us do what we like; and one
thing we will take care to do, namely, not to let him publish his
writings." They had forgotten, if ever they knew them--for their
ignorance was as startling as their conceit--the magnificent lines of
the founder of the dynasty which they had systematically undermined for
years by their dissipation, frivolity, and corruption: "The general is
the head, the all in all of the army. It was not the Roman army that
conquered Gaul, but Caesar; it was not the Carthaginian army that made
the republican army tremble at the very gates of Rome, but Hannibal; it
was not the Macedonian army that penetrated to the Indus, but Alexander;
it was not the French army which carried the war as far as the Weser and
the Inn, but Turenne; it was not the Prussian army which defended,
during seven years, Prussia against the three greatest powers in Europe,
but Frederick the Great."
And she who aspired to play the role of a Maria-Theresa, when she was
not even a Marie-Antoinette, and far more harmful than even a
Marie-Louise, applauded the vapourings of those misguided men. "Le
courage fait tout," had been the motto for nearly a score of years at
the Tuileries. It did a good deal in the comedies a la Marivaux, in the
Boccacian charades that had been enacted there during that time; she had
yet to learn that it would avail little or nothing in the Homeric
struggle which was impending.