Negotiation between the provisional government of Paris and the
allies—Col. Macirone’s mission—The author crosses the barrier of the
French army, misses the colonel, and is detained on suspicion—Led
before Marshal Davoust, Prince d’Eckmuhl and commander-in-chief of the
forces at Vilette—The marshal’s haughty demeanour, and the
imprecations of the soldiery—A friend in need; or, one good turn
deserves another—Remarks of a French officer on the battle of
Waterloo—Account of the physical and moral strength and disposition of
the army at Vilette—Return of the _parlementaires_—Awkward mistake of
one of the sentries—Liberation of the author—Marshal Davoust’s
expressions to the negotiators.
In the month of July, 1815, there was a frequent intercourse of
_parlementaires_ between the commissioners of the French government and
the allies. Davoust, Prince d’Eckmuhl, commanded the French army
assembled at Vilette and about the Canal d’Ourk, a neighbourhood where
many thousand Russians had fallen in the battle of the preceding summer.
I had the greatest anxiety to see the French army; and Col. Macirone
informing me that he was to be sent out with one of Fouché’s despatches
to the Duke of Wellington, I felt no apprehension, being duly armed with
my _sauf-conduit_, and thought I might take that opportunity of passing
the Barrier de Roule, and strolling about until Macirone’s carriage
should come up. It however drove rapidly by me, and I was consequently
left in rather an awkward situation, not knowing the localities, and the
sentry refusing to suffer me to re-enter.
I did not remain long in suspense, being stopped by two officers, who
questioned me in French somewhat tartly as to my presumption in passing
the sentries, “who,” said they, “must have mistaken you for one of the
commissaries’ attendants.” I produced my passport, which stood me in no
further advantage than to ensure a very _civil_ arrest. I was directly
taken a long way to the quarters of Marshal Davoust, who was at the time
breakfasting on grapes and bread in a very good hotel near the canal. He
showed at first a sort of austere indifference that was extremely
disagreeable to me: but on my telling him who I was, and every thing
relating to the transaction, the manifestation of my candour struck him
so forcibly, that he said I was at liberty to walk about, but not to
repass the lines till the return of the _parlementaires_, and further
inquiry made about me. I was not altogether at my ease: the prince was
now very polite; but I knew nobody, and was undoubtedly a suspicious
person. However, I was civilly treated by the officers who met me, and
on the contrary received many half-English curses from several soldiers
who, I suppose, had been prisoners in England. I was extremely hungry
and much fatigued, and kept on the bank of the canal, as completely out
of the way of the military as I could.
I was at length accosted in my own language by an elderly officer, tall
and _distingué_ in his appearance.
“Sir,” said he, “I think I have seen you in England?”
“I have not the honour to recollect having met you, sir,” replied I.
“I shall not readily forget it,” rejoined the French officer: “do you
remember being, about two years since, in the town of Odiham?”
“Very well,” said I.
“You recollect some French officers who were prisoners there? There were
two ladies with you.”
These words at once brought the circumstance to my mind, and I answered,
“I do now recollect seeing you perfectly.”
“Yes,” said my interlocutor, “I was one of the three officers who were
pelted with mud by the _garçons_ in the streets of Odiham; and do you
remember striking one of the _garçons_ who followed us, for their
conduct?”
“I do not forget it, sir,” said I.
“Come with me then,” pursued he, “and we’ll talk it over in another
place.”
The fact had been as he represented. A few French officers, prisoners at
Odiham, were sometimes, as they told me, roughly treated by the mob.
Passing by chance one day with Lady Barrington and my daughter through
the streets of that town, I saw a great number of boys following,
hooting and hissing the French officers, and throwing dirt at them. I
struck two or three of these idle dogs with my cane, and rapped at the
constable’s door, who immediately came out and put them to
flight,—interfering, however, rather reluctantly on the part of what he
called the “d—d _French_ * * * *.” I expressed and felt great
indignation; the officers thanked me warmly, and I believe were all
shortly after removed to Oswestry: they were much disliked on that side
of London.
My French friend told me that his two comrades at Odiham were killed—the
one at Waterloo, and the other by a waggon passing over him at
Charleroi, on the 16th of June; and that scarcely an officer who had
been prisoner at his _dépôt_ at Oswestry had survived the last campaign.
He gave me in his room near Vilette wine, bread, and grapes, with dried
sausages well seasoned with garlic, and a glass of eau-de-vie. I was
highly pleased at this rencontre. My companion was a most intelligent
person, and communicative to the utmost extent of my curiosity. His
narrative of many of the events of the battles of the 16th and 18th ult.
was most interesting, and carried with it every mark of candour. The
minutes rolled away speedily in his company, and seemed to me indeed far
too fleeting.
He had not been wounded, though in the heat of both engagements. He
attributed the loss of the battle to three causes:—the wanton
expenditure of the cavalry; the uncovering of the right wing by Grouchy;
and the impetuosity of Napoleon, in ordering the last attack by the old
guard, which he should have postponed till next day. He said he had no
doubt that the Belgian troops would all have left the field before
morning. He had been engaged on the left, and did not see the Prussian
attack; but said, that it had the effect of consolidating all the
different corps of the French army into a confused mass, which lost the
battle.
He told me that Napoleon was forced off the field by the irresistible
crowds which the advance of the English cavalry had driven into
disorder, while there was not a possibility of rallying a single
squadron of their own. His episodes respecting the occurrences of that
day were most affecting, and I believe true.
In this agreeable society my spirits mounted again, and I soon acquired
courage sufficient to express my great anxiety to see the army, adding,
that I durst not go alone. My friend immediately took me under his arm,
and walked with me through the whole lines, introducing me to several of
his comrades, and acting throughout in the kindest and most gentlemanly
manner. This was precisely the opportunity I had so long wished for of
viewing the French troops, which were then full of impetuosity and
confidence, and eager for battle. Neither the Russians nor Austrians had
reached Paris, and it was supposed Davoust would anticipate the attack
of the other allies, who only waited for the junction of these powers
and their heavy artillery to recommence operations. The scene was so new
to me, so impressive, and so important, that it was only on my return
home my mind got steady enough to organise its ideas, and permit me to
take coherent notes of what I had witnessed.
The battle of Waterloo was understood to have dispersed so entirely the
French army,—that powerful and glorious display of heroes and of arms
which a very few days previously had passed before my eyes,—that
scarcely ten men (except Grouchy’s division) returned in one body to
Paris; and those who did return were in such a state of wretchedness and
depression, that I took for granted the spirit of the French army had
been _extinguished_—their battalions never to be rallied—their courage
thoroughly cooled! I considered that the assembly in the vicinity of
Vilette could not be numerous, and was more calculated to make a show
for better terms than to resist the conquerors. How great then must have
been my astonishment when the evening parades turned out, as the
officers informed me, _above sixty-five thousand infantry_, which, with
artillery and cavalry, reached together near 80,000 men. I thought
several of the privates had drunk rather too much: but whether sober or
not, they seemed to be all in a state of wild, enthusiastic
excitement—little removed from insubordination, but directly tending to
hostility and battle. Whole companies cried aloud, as the superior
officers passed them, “_Mon Général—à l’attaque!—l’ennemi!
l’ennemi!—allons! allons!_” others shouted “_Nous sommes trahis!
trahison! trahison! à la bataille! à la bataille!_” Crowds of them, as
if by instinct or for pastime, would rush voluntarily together, and in a
moment form a long column, then disperse and execute some other
manœuvre; while others, dispersed in groups, sang in loud chorus sundry
war songs, wherein _les Prusses_ and _les Anglais_ were the general
theme.
I had no conception how it was possible that, in a few days after such a
total dispersion of the French army, another could be so rapidly
collected, and which, though somewhat less numerous, the officer told me
evinced double the enthusiasm of those who had formed the defeated
corps. They had now it is true the stimulus of that defeat to urge them
desperately on to retrieve that military glory which had been so awfully
obscured; their artillery was most abundant; and we must never forget
that the French soldier is always better informed, and possessed of more
_morale_ than our own. In truth, I really do believe there was scarcely
a man in that army at Vilette who would willingly have quitted the field
of battle alive, unless victorious.
Though their tumultuous excitement certainly at this time bore the
appearance of insubordination, my conductor assured me I was mistaken in
forming such a judgment: he admitted that they durst not check that
exuberant zeal on the instant; but added, that when the period arrived
to form them for battle, not a voice would be heard—not a limb move,
till the attack commenced, except by order of their leaders; and that if
the _traitors in Paris_ suffered them once more to try their fortune, he
did not think there was an individual in that army who entertained a
doubt of the result.
In the production of this confidence, party spirit was doubtless mixed
up: but no impartial observer could deny, that had the troops at Vilette
been heartily joined by the national guards and country volunteers then
within the walls of Paris, the consequence would have been at least
extremely problematical; and if the _marais_ had been armed with pikes,
the whole would have been overwhelming.
The day passed on, and I still strolled about with my polite conductor,
whom I begged to remain with me. He was not an officer of high rank: I
believe a captain of the eighty-first infantry—very thin and worn,
gentlemanly, and had seen long service.
From this crowd of infuriated soldiers, he led me farther to the left,
whither a part of the old guard, who had been I believe quartered at
Montmartre, had been that evening removed. I had, as the reader will
perhaps recollect, a previous opportunity of admiring that unrivalled
body of veteran warriors; and their appearance this evening interested
me beyond measure. Every man looked like an Ajax, exhibiting a firmness
of step and of gesture at once formidable and even graceful. At the same
time, I fancied that there was a cast of melancholy over their bronzed
countenances. When I compare that corps to the ordinary-looking troops
now generally composing the guardians of that once military nation, I
can scarcely avoid sighing while I exclaim _tempora mutantur_! I
returned to the barrier with my friend, after a long walk.
I grew at length impatient; evening was closing, and, if detained, I
must I suppose have bivouacked. To be sure the weather was so fine that
it would have been of no great consequence: still my situation was
disagreeable, and the more so, as my family, being quite ignorant of it,
must necessarily feel uneasy. I was therefore becoming silent and
abstracted, (and my friend had no kind of interest to get me released,)
when two carriages appeared driving toward the barrier where we stood. A
shot was fired by the advanced sentry at one of them, which immediately
stopped. A party was sent out, and the carriage entered: there were two
gentlemen in it, one of whom had received the ball, I believe, in his
shoulder. A surgeon instantly attended, and they proceeded within the
lines. They proved to be two of the _parlementaires_ who had gone out
with dispatches. The wound was not mortal; and its infliction arose from
a mistaken construction, on the part of the sentinel, of his orders.
The other carriage (in which I conceived was Col. Macirone) drove on
without going to the head-quarters of Davoust. My kind companion said he
would now go and try to get me dismissed: he did so, and procured an
order from the adjutant-general for my departure, on signing my name,
address, and occupation, and the name of some person who knew me in
Paris. I mentioned Mr. Phillips, of Lafitte’s, and was then suffered to
depart. It will be imagined that I was not dilatory in walking home,
where, of course, I was received as a _lost sheep_,—no member of my
family having the slightest idea whither I had gone.
The officer, as he accompanied me to the barrier, described to me the
interview between the French _parlementaires_ and Davoust. They had, in
the morning, it seems, made progress in the negotiation, Very much
against the marshal’s inclinations. He was confident of victory, and
expressed himself, with great warmth, in the following emphatic
words:—“Begone! and tell your employer, Fouché, when you return, that
the prince of Eckmuhl will defend Paris till its flames _set this
handkerchief on fire_!”—waving one as he spoke. From what I saw, I do
believe he would have kept his word; and I cannot doubt that if the
dreadful conflict _had_ taken place, the victory on either side would
have cost the conqueror _half_ his army:—situated as they were, and with
the spirit both armaments possessed, they never could have parted
without an almost exterminating carnage.