FROM THE RHINE TO THE SEINE
"The Emperor Napoleon must become King of France. Up to now all his
work has been done for the Empire. He lost the Empire when he lost his
army. When he no longer makes war for the army, he will make peace for
the French people, and then he will become King of France."--Such were
the words of the most sagacious of French statesmen to Schwarzenberg.
They were spoken on April 15th, 1813, when it still seemed likely that
Napoleon would meet halfway the wishes of Austria. Such, at least, was
Talleyrand's ardent hope. He saw the innate absurdity of attempting to
browbeat Austria, and strangle the infant Hercules of German
nationality, after the Grand Army had been lost in Russia.
If this was reasonable in the spring of 1813, it was an imperative
necessity at the close of the year. Napoleon had in the meantime lost
400,000 men: and he could not now say, as he did to Metternich of his
losses in Russia, that "nearly half were Germans." The men who had
fallen in Saxony, or who bravely held out in the Polish, German, and
Spanish fortresses, were nearly all French. They were, what the
_triarii_ were to the Roman legion, the reserves of the fighting
manhood of France. That unhappy land was growing restless under its
disasters. In Spain, Wellington had blockaded Pamplona, stormed St.
Sebastian, thrown Soult back on the Pyrenees in a series of desperate
conflicts, and planted the British flag on the soil of France, eleven
days before Napoleon was overthrown at Leipzig. Then, pressing
northwards, in compliance with the urgent appeals of the allied
sovereigns, our great commander assailed the lines south of the
Nivelle, on which the French had been working for three months, drove
the enemy out of them and back over the river, with a loss of 4,200
men and 51 guns (November 10th).[385]
The same tale was told in the north. The allies were welcomed by the
secondary German princes, who, in return for compacts guaranteeing
their sovereignty, promised to raise contingents that amounted in all
to upwards of a quarter of a million of men. Bernadotte marched
against the Danes and cut off Davoust in Hamburg, where that Marshal
bravely held out to the end of the war. Elsewhere in the north
Napoleon's domination quickly mouldered away. Bülow, aided by a small
British force, invaded Holland early in November; and, with the old
cry of _Orange boven_, the Dutch tore down the French tricolour and
welcomed back the Prince of Orange. In Italy, Eugène remained faithful
to his step-father and repulsed all the overtures of the allies: but
Murat, whose allegiance had already been shaken by the secret offers
of the allies, now began to show signs of going over to them, as he
did at the dawn of the New Year.[386]
Meanwhile Napoleon had arrived at Paris (November 9th). He found his
capital sunk in depression, and indignant at the author of its
miseries. Peace was the dearest wish of all. Marie Louise confessed it
by her tears, Cambacérès by his tactful reserve, and the people by
their cries, while the sullen demeanour or bitter words of the
Marshals showed that their patience was exhausted. Evidently a
scapegoat was needed: it was found in the person of Maret, Duc de
Bassano, whose devotion to Napoleon had reduced the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs to a highly paid clerkship. For the crime of not
bending his master's inflexible will at Dresden, he was now cast as a
sop to the peace party; and his portfolio was intrusted to
Caulaincourt, Duc de Vicenza (November 20th). The change was salutary.
The new Minister, when ambassador at St. Petersburg, had been highly
esteemed by the Czar for his frank, chivalrous demeanour. Our
countrywoman, Lady Burghersh, afterwards testified to his personal
charm: "I never saw a countenance so expressive of kindness,
sweetness, and openness."[387] And these gifts were fortified by a
manly intelligence, a profound love of France, and by devotion to her
highest interests. The first of her interests was obviously peace; and
there now seemed some chance of his conferring this boon on her and on
the world at large.
On November the 8th and 9th Metternich had two interviews at Frankfurt
with Baron St. Aignan, a brother-in-law of Caulaincourt, and formerly
the French envoy at Weimar. The Austrian Minister assured him of the
moderation of the allies, especially of England, and of their wish for
a lasting peace founded on the principle of the balance of power.
France must give up all control of Spain, Italy, and Germany, and
return to her natural frontiers, the Rhine, the Alps, and the
Pyrenees. Lord Aberdeen, our ambassador to Austria, and Count
Nesselrode, the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs, were present at
the second interview, and assented to this statement, the latter
pledging his word that it had the approval of Prussia. Aberdeen added
his assurance that England was prepared to relax her maritime code and
sacrifice many of her conquests in order to attain a durable peace. To
these Frankfurt overtures Napoleon charged Maret to answer in vaguely
favourable terms, and to suggest the meeting of a European Congress at
Mannheim. The effect of this Note (November 16th) was marred by the
strange statement--"a peace based on the independence of all nations,
both from the continental and the maritime point of view, has always
been the constant object of the desires and policy of the Emperor
[Napoleon]."[388]
Metternich in reply pointed out that the French Government had not
accepted the proposed terms as a basis for negotiations. The new
Foreign Minister, Caulaincourt, sent off (December 2nd) an acceptance
which was far more frank and satisfactory; but the day before he
penned it, the allies had virtually withdrawn their offer, as they had
told him they would do if it was not speedily accepted. They had all
along decided not to stay the military operations; and, as these were
still flowing strongly in their favour, they could not be expected to
keep open an offer which was exceedingly favourable to Napoleon even
at the time when it was made, that is, before the support of the
Dutch, of the Swiss, and of Murat was fully assured.
It may be well to pause for a moment to inquire what were the views of
the allied Governments, and of Napoleon himself, at this crisis when
Europe was seething in the political crucible. Had Metternich the full
assent of those Governments when he offered the French Emperor the
natural frontiers? Here we must separate the views of Lord Aberdeen
from those of the British Cabinet, as represented by its Foreign
Minister, Lord Castlereagh: and we must also distinguish between the
Emperor Alexander and his Minister, Nesselrode, a man of weak
character, in whom he had little confidence. Certainly the British
Cabinet was not disposed to leave Antwerp in Napoleon's hands.
"This nation," wrote Castlereagh to Aberdeen on November 13th, "is
likely to view with disfavour any peace which does not confine
France within her ancient limits.... We are still ready to
encounter, with our allies, the hazards of peace, if peace can be
made on the basis proposed, satisfactorily executed [_sic_]; and
we are not inclined to go out of our way to interfere in the
internal government of France, however much we might desire to see
it placed in more pacific hands. But I am satisfied we must not
encourage our allies to patch up an imperfect arrangement. If they
will do so, we must submit; but it should appear, in that case, to
be their own act, and not ours.... I must particularly entreat you
to keep your attention upon Antwerp. The destruction of that
arsenal is essential to our safety. To leave it in the hands of
France is little short of imposing upon Great Britain the charge
of a perpetual war establishment."[389]
Thenceforth British policy inclined, though tentatively and with some
hesitations, to the view that it was needful in the interests of peace
to bring France back to the limits of 1791, that is, of withdrawing
from her, not only Holland, the Rhineland and Italy, but also Belgium,
Savoy, and Nice. The Prussian patriots were far more decided. They
were determined that France should not dominate the Rhineland and
overawe Germany from the fortresses of Mainz, Coblentz, and Wesel. On
this subject Arndt spoke forth with no uncertain sound in a
pamphlet--"The Rhine, Germany's river, not her boundary"--which proved
that the French claim to the Rhine frontier was consonant neither with
the teachings of history nor the distribution of the two peoples. The
pamphlet had an immense effect in stirring up Germans to attack the
cherished French doctrine of the natural frontiers, and it clinched
the claim which he had put forward in his "Fatherland" song of the
year before. It bade Germans strive for Trèves and Cologne, aye, even
for Strassburg and Metz. Hardenberg and Stein, differing on most
points, united in praising this work. Even before it appeared, the
former chafed at the thought of Napoleon holding the left bank of the
Rhine. On hearing of Metternich's Frankfurt offer to the French
Emperor, he wrote in his diary: "Propositions of peace without my
assent--Rhine, Alps, Pyrenees: a mad business."[390]
Frederick William's views were less pronounced: in fact, his proneness
to see a lion in every path earned for him the _sobriquet_ of
Cassandra in his Chancellor's diary. But in the main he was swayed by
the Czar; and that autocrat was now determined to dictate at Paris a
peace that would rid him of all prospect of his great rival's revenge.
Vanity and fear alike prescribed such a course of action. He longed to
lead his magnificent Guards to Paris, there to display his clemency in
contrast to the action of the French at Moscow; and this sentiment was
fed by fear of Napoleon. The latter motive was concealed, of course,
but Lord Aberdeen gauged its power during a private interview that he
had with Alexander at Freiburg (December 24th): "He talked with great
freedom: he is more decided than ever as to the necessity of
perseverance, and puts little trust in the fair promises of
Bonaparte.--'_So long as he lives there can be no security_'--he
repeated it two or three times."[391] We can therefore understand his
concern lest the Frankfurt terms should be accepted outright by
Napoleon. Metternich, however, assured him that the French Emperor
would not assent;[392] and, as in regard to the Prague Congress, he
was substantially correct.
Here again we touch on the disputed question whether Metternich played
a fair game against Napoleon, or whether he tempted him to play with
loaded dice while his throne was at stake. The latter supposition for
a long time held the field; but it is untenable. On several occasions
the Austrian statesman warned Napoleon, or his trusty advisers, that
the best course open to him was to sign peace at once. He did so at
Dresden, and he did so now. On November 10th he sent Caulaincourt a
letter, of which these are the most important sentences:
" ... M. de St. Aignan will speak to you of my conversations [with
him]. I expect nothing from them, but I shall have done my duty.
France will never sign a more fortunate peace than that which the
Powers will make to-day, and tomorrow if they have reverses. New
successes may extend their views.... I do not doubt that the
approach of the allied armies to the frontiers of France may
facilitate the formation of great armaments by her Government. The
questions will become problematical for the civilized world; but
the Emperor Napoleon will not make peace. There is my profession
of faith, and I shall never be happier than if I am wrong."
The letter rings true in every part. Metternich made no secret of
sending it, but allowed Lord Aberdeen to see it.[393] And by good
fortune it reached Caulaincourt about the time when he assumed the
portfolio of Foreign Affairs. Its substance must therefore have been
known to Napoleon; and the tone of the Frankfurt proposals ought to
have convinced him of the need of speedily making peace while Austria
held out the olive branch from across the Rhine. But Metternich's
gloomy forecast was only too true. During his sojourn at Paris he had
tested the rigidity of that cast-iron will.
In fact, no one who knew the Emperor's devotion to Italy could believe
that he would give up Piedmont and Liguria. His own despatches show
that he never contemplated such a surrender. On November 20th he gave
orders for the enrolling of 46,000 Frenchmen _of mature age_--"not
Italians or Belgians"--who were to reinforce Eugène and help him to
defend Italy; that, too, at a time when the defence of Champagne and
Languedoc was about to devolve on lads of eighteen.
He was equally determined not to give up Holland. On the possession of
this maritime and industrious community he had always laid great
stress. He once remarked to Roederer that the ruin of the French
Bourbons was due to three events--the Battle of Rossbach, the affair
of the diamond necklace, and the victory of Anglo-Prussian influence
over that of France in Dutch affairs (1787). He even appealed to
Nature to prove that that land must form part of the French Empire.
"Holland," said one of his Ministers in 1809, "is the alluvium of the
Rhine, Meuse, and Scheldt--in other words, one of the great arteries
of the Empire." Before the last battle at Leipzig he told Merveldt
that he could not grant Holland its independence, for it would fall
under the tutelage of England. And even while his Empire was crumbling
away after that disaster, he wrote to his mother: "Holland is a French
country, _and will remain so for ever_."[394]
Russia, Prussia, and Britain were equally determined that the Dutch
should be independent; and if Metternich wavered on the subject of
Dutch independence, his hesitation was at an end by the middle of
December, for a memorandum of the Russian diplomatist, Pozzo di Borgo,
states that Metternich then regarded the Rhine boundary as ending at
Düsseldorf: "after that town the river takes the name of Waal."[395]
Such juggling with geography was surely superfluous; for by that time
the Frankfurt terms had virtually lapsed, owing to Napoleon's belated
acceptance; and Metternich had joined the other allied Governments
that now demanded a more thorough solution of the boundary question.
In fact, the allies were now able to make political capital out of
their recent moderation.[396] On December 1st they issued an appeal to
the French nation to the following effect: "We do not make war on
France, but we are casting off the yoke which your Government imposed
on our countries. We hoped to have found peace before touching your
soil: we now go to find it there."
If the sovereigns hoped by means of this declaration to separate
France from Napoleon, they erred. To cross the Rhine was to attack,
not Napoleon, but the French Revolution. Belgium and the Rhine
boundary had been won by Dumouriez, Jourdain, Pichegru, and Moreau, at
a time when Bonaparte's name was unknown outside Corsica and Provence.
France had looked on wearily at Napoleon's wars in Germany, Spain, and
Russia: they concerned him, not her. But when the "sacred soil" was
threatened, citizens began to close their ranks: they ceased their
declamations against the crushing taxes and youth-slaying
conscription: they submitted to heavier taxes and levies of still
younger lads. In fact, by doffing the mask of Charlemagne, the Emperor
became once more the Bonaparte of the days of Marengo.
He counted on some such change in public opinion; and it enabled him
to defy with impunity the beginnings of a Parliamentary opposition.
The Senate had been puffily obsequious, as usual; but the Corps
Législatif had mistaken its functions. Summoned to vote new taxes, it
presumed to give advice. A commission of its members agreed to a
report on the existing situation, drawn up by Lainé, which gave the
Emperor great offence. Its crime lay in its outspoken requests that
peace should be concluded on the basis of the natural frontiers, that
the rigours of the conscription should be abated, and that the laws
which guaranteed the free exercise of political rights should be
maintained intact. The Emperor was deeply incensed, and, despite the
advice of his Ministers, determined to dissolve the Chamber forthwith
(December 31st). Not content with this exercise of arbitrary power, he
subjected its members to a barrack-like rebuke at the official
reception on New Year's Day.--He had convoked them to do good, and
they had done evil. Two battles lost in Champagne would not have been
so harmful as their last action. What was their mandate compared with
his? France had twice chosen _him_ by some millions of votes: while
_they_ were nominated only by a few hundreds apiece. They had flung
mud at him: but he was a man who might be slain, never dishonoured. He
would fight for the nation, hurl back the foe, and conclude an
honourable peace. Then, for their shame, he would print and circulate
their report.--Such was the gist of this diatribe, which he shot forth
in strident tones and with flashing eyes. He had the copies of the
report destroyed, and dismissed the deputies to their homes throughout
France.
The country, in the main, took his side; and doubtless the national
instinct was sound; for the allies had crossed the Rhine, and France
once more was in danger. As in 1793, when the nation welcomed the
triumph of the dare-devil Jacobins over the respectable parliamentary
Girondins, as promising a vigorous rule and the expulsion of the
monarchical invaders, so now the soldiers and peasants, if not the
middle classes, rejoiced at the discomfiture of the talkers by the one
necessary man of action. The general feeling was pithily expressed by
an old peasant: "It's no longer a question of Bonaparte. Our soil is
invaded: let us go and fight."
This was the feeling which the Emperor ruthlessly exploited. He
decreed the enrolment of a great force of National Guards, exacted
further levies for the regular army, and ordered a _levée en masse_
for the eastern Departments. The difficulties in his way were
enormous. But he flung himself at the task with incomparable _verve_.
Soldiers were wanting: youths were dragged forth, even from the
royalist districts of the extreme north and west and south. Money was
wanting: it was extorted from all quarters, and Napoleon not only
lavished 55,000,000 francs from his own private hoard, but seized that
of his parsimonious mother.[397] Cannon, muskets, uniforms were
wanting: their manufacture was pushed on with feverish haste: Napoleon
ordered his War Office to "procure all the cloth in France, good and
bad," so as to have 200,000 uniforms ready by the end of February; and
he counted on having half a million of effectives in the field at the
close of spring.
Among these he reckoned--so, at least, he wrote to Melzi--"nearly
200,000" French soldiers from Arragon, Catalonia, and at Bayonne. Even
if we allow for his desire to encourage his officials in Italy, the
estimate is curious. Wellington at that time, it is true, had lessened
his numbers by sending back across the Pyrenees all his Spanish
troops, whose atrocities endangered that good understanding with the
French peasantry which our great leader, for political motives, was
determined to cultivate.[398] Yet, despite the shrinkage in numbers,
he drove the French from the banks of the River Nive, and inflicted on
them severe losses in desperate conflicts near Bayonne (December
9th-13th). In fact, the intrenched camp in front of that town was now
the sole barrier to Wellington's advance northwards, and it was with
difficulty that Soult clung to this position. The peasantry, too,
finding that they were far better treated by Wellington's troops than
by their own soldiers, began to favour the allied cause, with results
that will shortly appear. Yet these disquieting symptoms did not daunt
Napoleon; for he now based his hopes of resisting the British advance
on a compact which he had concluded with Ferdinand VII., the rightful
King of Spain.
As soon as he returned to St. Cloud after the Leipzig campaign he made
secret overtures to that unhappy exile;[399] and by the Treaty of
Valençay (December 11th, 1813) he agreed to recognize him as King of
the whole of Spain, provided that British and French troops evacuated
that land. His imagination ran riot in picturing the results of this
treaty. Ferdinand was to enter Spain; Suchet, then playing a losing
game in Catalonia, was quietly to withdraw his columns through the
Pyrenees, while Wellington would have his base of operations cut from
under him, and thenceforth be a negligeable quantity.[400] These
pleasing fancies all rested on the acceptance of the new treaty by the
Spanish Regency and Cortès. But, alas for Napoleon! they at once
rejected it, declaring null and void all acts of Ferdinand while he
was a prisoner, and forbidding all negotiations with France while
French troops remained in the Peninsula (January 8th).
Equally disappointing were affairs in Italy. On the 11th of January,
Murat made an alliance with Austria, and promised to aid her with a
corps of 30,000 Neapolitans, while she guaranteed him his throne and a
slice of the Roman territory. Napoleon directed Eugène, as soon as
this bad news was confirmed, to prepare to fall back on the Alps. But,
in order to clog Murat's movements, the Emperor resolved to make use
of the spiritual power, which for six years he had slighted. He gave
orders that the aged Pope should be released from his detention at
Fontainebleau, and hurried secretly to Rome. "Let him burst on that
place like a clap of thunder," he wrote to Savary (January 21st). But
this stagey device was not to succeed. Even now Napoleon insisted on
conditions with which Pius VII. could not conscientiously comply, and
he was still detained at Tarrascon when his captor was setting out for
Elba.
Three days after Murat's desertion, Denmark fell away from Napoleon.
Overborne by the forces of Bernadotte, the little kingdom made peace
with England and Sweden, agreeing to yield up Norway to the latter
Power in consideration of recovering an indemnity in Germany. To us
the Danes ceded Heligoland. Thus, within three months of the disaster
at Leipzig, all Napoleon's allies forsook him, and all but the Danes
were now about to fight against him--a striking proof of the
artificiality of his domination.
By this time it was clear that even France would soon be stricken to
the heart unless Napoleon speedily concentrated his forces. On the
north and east the allies were advancing with a speed that nonplussed
the Emperor. Accustomed to sluggish movements on their part, he had
not expected an invasion in force before the spring, and here it was
in the first days of January. Bülow and Graham had overrun Holland.
The allies, with the exception of the Czar, had no scruples about
infringing the neutrality of Switzerland, as Napoleon had consistently
done, and the constitution, which he had imposed upon that land eleven
years before, now straightway collapsed. Detaching a strong corps
southwards to hold the Simplon and Great St. Bernard Passes and
threaten Lyons, Schwarzenberg led the allied Grand Army into France by
way of Basel, Belfort, and Langres. The prompt seizure of the Plateau
of Langres was an important success. The allies thereby turned the
strong defensive lines of the Vosges Mountains, and of the Rivers
Moselle and Meuse, so that Blücher, with his "Army of Silesia," was
able rapidly to advance into Lorraine, and drive Victor from Nancy.
Toul speedily surrendered, and the sturdy veteran then turned to the
south-west, in order to come into touch with Schwarzenberg's columns.
Neither leader delayed before the eastern fortresses. The allies had
learnt from Napoleon to invest or observe them and press on, a course
which their vast superiority of force rendered free from danger.
Schwarzenberg, on the 25th, had 150,000 men between Langres, Chaumont,
and Bar-sur-Aube; while Blücher, with about half those numbers,
crossed the Marne at St. Dizier, and was drawing near to Brienne. In
front of them were the weak and disheartened corps of Marmont, Ney,
Victor, and Macdonald, mustering in all about 50,000 men. Desertions
to the allies were frequent, and Blücher, wishing to show that the war
was practically over, dismissed both deserters and prisoners to their
homes.[401]
But the war was far from over: it had not yet begun. Hitherto Napoleon
had hurried on the preparations from Paris, but the urgency of the
danger now beckoned him eastwards. As before, he left the Empress as
Regent of France, but appointed King Joseph as Lieutenant-General of
France. On Sunday, January 23rd, he held the last reception. It was in
the large hall of the Tuileries, where the Parisian rabble had forced
Louis XVI. to don the _bonnet rouge_. Another dynasty was now
tottering to its fall; but none could have read its doom in the faces
of the obsequious courtiers, or of the officers of the Parisian
National Guards, who offered their homage to the heir of the
Revolution.
He came forward with the Empress and the King of Rome, a flaxen-haired
child of three winters, clad in the uniform of the National Guard.
Taking the boy by the hand into the midst of the circle, he spoke
these touching words: "Gentlemen,--I am about to set out for the army.
I intrust to you what I hold dearest in the world--my wife and my son.
Let there be no political divisions." He then carried him amidst his
dignitaries and officers, while sobs and shouts bespoke the warmth of
the feelings kindled by this scene. And never, surely, since the young
Maria Theresa appealed in person to the Hungarian magnates to defend
her against rapacious neighbours, had any monarch spoken so straight
to the hearts of his lieges. The secret of his success is not far to
seek. He had not commanded as Emperor: he had appealed as a father to
fathers and mothers.
It is painful to have to add that many who there swore to defend him
were even then beginning to plot his overthrow. Most painful of all is
it to remember that when, before dawn of the 25th, Marie Louise bade
him farewell, it was her last farewell: for she, too, deserted him in
his misfortunes, refused to share his exile, and ultimately degraded
herself by her connection with Count Neipperg.
Heedless of all that the future might bring, and concentrating his
thoughts on the problems of the present, the great warrior journeyed
rapidly eastwards to Châlons-sur-Marne, and opened the most glorious
of his campaigns. And yet it began with disaster. At Brienne, among
the scenes of his school-days, he assailed Blücher in the hope of
preventing the junction of the Army of Silesia with that of
Schwarzenberg further south (January 29th). After sharp fighting, the
Prussians were driven from the castle and town. But the success was
illusory. Blücher withdrew towards Bar-sur-Aube, in order to gain
support from Schwarzenberg, and, three days later, turned the tables
on Napoleon while the latter was indulging in hopes that the allies
were about to treat seriously for peace.[402] Nevertheless, though
surprised by greatly superior numbers, the 40,000 French clung
obstinately to the village of La Rothière until their thin lines were
everywhere driven in or outflanked, with the loss of 73 cannon and
more than 3,000 prisoners. Each side lost about 5,000 killed and
wounded--a mere trifle to the allies, but a grave disaster to the
defenders.
The Emperor was much discouraged. He had put forth his full strength,
exposed his own person to the hottest fire, so as to encourage his
men, and yet failed to prevent the union of the allied armies, or to
hold the line of the River Aube. Early on the morrow he left the
castle of Brienne, and took the road for Troyes; while Marmont, with a
corps now reduced to less than 3,000 men, bravely defended the passage
of the Voire at Rosnay, and, after delaying the pursuit, took post at
Arcis-sur-Aube. The means of defence, both moral and material, seemed
wellnigh exhausted. When, on February 3rd, Napoleon entered Troyes,
scarcely a single _vivat_ was heard. Even the old troops were cast
down by defeat and hunger, while as many as 6,000 conscripts are said
to have deserted. The inhabitants refused to supply the necessaries of
life except upon requisition. "The army is perishing of famine,"
writes the Emperor at Troyes. Again at Nogent: "Twelve men have died
of hunger, though we have used fire and sword to get food on our way
here." And, now, into the space left undefended between the Marne and
the Aube, Blücher began to thrust his triumphant columns, with no
barrier to check him until he neared the environs of Paris. Once more
the Prussian and Russian officers looked on the war as over, and
invited one another to dinner at the Palais-Royal in a week's
time.[403]
But it was on this confidence of the old hussar-general that Napoleon
counted. He knew his proneness to daring movements, and the strong
bias of Schwarzenberg towards delay: he also divined that they would
now separate their forces, Blücher making straight for Paris, while
other columns would threaten the capital by way of Troyes and Sens.
That was why he fell back on Troyes, so as directly to oppose the
latter movement, "or so as to return and manoeuvre against Blücher and
stay his march."[404] Another motive was his expectation of finding at
Nogent the 15,000 veterans whom he had ordered Soult to send
northwards. And doubtless the final reason was his determination to
use the sheltering curve of the Seine, which between Troyes and Nogent
flows within twenty miles of the high-road that Blücher must use if he
struck at Paris. At many a crisis Napoleon had proved the efficacy of
a great river line. From Rivoli to Friedland his career abounds in
examples of riverine tactics. The war of 1813 was one prolonged
struggle for the line of the Elbe. He still continued the war because
he could not yet bring himself to sign away the Rhenish fortresses:
and he now hoped to regain that "natural boundary" by blows showered
on divided enemies from behind the arc of the Seine.
With wonderful prescience he had guessed at the general plan of the
allies. But he could scarcely have dared to hope that on that very day
(February 2nd) they were holding a council of war at Brienne, and
formally resolved that Blücher should march north-west on Paris with
about 50,000 men, while the allied Grand Army of nearly three times
those numbers was to diverge south-west towards Bar-sur-Seine and Sens.
So unequal a partition of forces seemed to court disaster. It is true
that the allies had no magazines of supplies: they could not march in
an undivided host through a hostile land where the scanty defenders
themselves were nearly starving. If, however, they decided to move at
all, it was needful to allot the more dangerous task to a powerful
force. Above all, it was necessary to keep their main armies well in
touch with one another and with the foe. Yet these obvious precautions
were not taken. In truth, the separation of the allies was dictated
more by political jealousy than by military motives. To these political
affairs we must now allude; for they had no small effect in leading
Napoleon on to an illusory triumph and an irretrievable overthrow. We
will show their influence, first on the conduct of the allies, and
then on the actions of Napoleon.
The alarm of Austria at the growing power of Russia and Prussia was
becoming acute. She had drawn the sword only because Napoleon's
resentment was more to be feared than Alexander's ambition. But all
had changed since then. The warrior who, five months ago, still had
his sword at the throat of Germany, was now being pursued across the
dreary flats of Champagne. And his eastern rival, who then plaintively
sued for Austria's aid, now showed a desire to establish Russian
control over all the Polish lands, indemnifying Prussia for losses in
that quarter by the acquisition of Saxony. Both of these changes would
press heavily on Austria from the north; and she was determined to
prevent them as far as possible. Then there was the vexed question of
the reconstruction of Germany to which we shall recur later on.
Smaller matters, involving the relations of the allies to Bernadotte,
Denmark, and Switzerland further complicated the situation: but, above
all, there was the problem of the future limits and form of government
of France.
On that topic there were two chief parties: those who desired merely
to clip Napoleon's wings, and those who sought to bring back France to
her old boundaries. The Emperor Francis was still disposed to leave
him the "natural frontiers," provided he gave up all control of
Germany, Holland, and Italy. On the other side were the Czar and the
forward wing of the Prussian patriots. Frederick William was more
cautious, but in the main he deferred to the Czar's views on the
boundary question. Still, so powerful was the influence of the Emperor
Francis, Metternich, and Schwarzenberg, that the two parties were
evenly balanced and beset by many suspicions and fears, until the
arrival of the British Foreign Minister, Castlereagh, began to restore
something like confidence and concord.
The British Cabinet had decided that, as none of our three envoys then
at the allied headquarters had much diplomatic experience, our
Minister should go in person to supervise the course of affairs. He
reached head-quarters in the third week of January, and what Thiers
has called the proud simplicity of his conduct, contrasting as it did
with the uneasy finesse of Metternich and Nesselrode, imparted to his
counsels a weight which they merited from their disinterestedness.
Great Britain was in a very strong position. She had borne the brunt
of the struggle before the present coalition took shape: apart from
some modest gains to Hanover, she was about to take no part in the
ensuing territorial scramble: she even offered to give up many of her
oceanic conquests, provided that the European settlement would be such
as to guarantee a lasting peace.[405] And this, the British Minister
came to see, could not be attained while Napoleon reigned over a Great
France: the only sure pledge of peace would be the return of that
country to its old frontiers, and preferably to its ancient dynasty.
On the question of boundaries the Czar's views were not clearly
defined; they were personal rather than territorial. He was determined
to get rid of Napoleon; but he would not, as yet, hear of the
re-establishment of the Bourbons. He disliked that dynasty in general,
and Louis XVIII. in particular. Bernadotte seemed to him a far fitter
successor to Napoleon than the gouty old gentleman who for three and
twenty years had been morosely flitting about Europe and issuing
useless proclamations.
Here, indeed, was Napoleon's great chance: there was no man fit to
succeed him, and he knew it. Scarcely anyone but Bernadotte himself
agreed with the Czar as to the fitness of the choice just named. To
the allies the Prince Royal of Sweden was suspect for his loiterings,
and to Frenchmen he seemed a traitor. We find that Stein disagreed
with the Czar on this point, and declared that the Bourbons were the
only alternative to Napoleon. Assuredly, this was not because the
great German loved that family, but simply because he saw that their
very mediocrity would be a pledge that France would not again overflow
her old limits and submerge Europe.
Here, then, was the strength of Castlereagh's position. Amidst the
warping disputes and underhand intrigues his claims were clear,
disinterested, and logically tenable. Besides, they were so urged as
to calm the disputants. He quietly assured Metternich that Britain
would resist the absorption of the whole of Poland and Saxony by
Russia and Prussia; and on his side the Austrian statesman showed that
he would not oppose the return of the Bourbons to France "from any
family considerations," provided that that act came as the act of the
French nation.[406] And this was a proviso on which our Government and
Wellington already laid great stress.
Castlereagh's straightforward behaviour had an immense influence in
leading Metternich to favour a more drastic solution of the French
question than he had previously advocated. The Frankfurt proposals
were now quietly waived, and Metternich came to see the need of
withdrawing Belgium from France and intrusting it to the House of
Orange. Still, the Austrian statesman was for concluding peace with
Napoleon as soon as might be, though he confessed in his private
letters that peace did not depend on the Châtillon parleys. Some
persons, he wrote, wanted the Bourbons back: still more wished for a
Regency (_i.e._, Marie Louise as Regent for Napoleon II.): others
said: "Away with Napoleon, no peace is possible with him": the masses
cried out for peace, so as to end the whole affair: but added
Metternich: "The riddle will be solved before or in Paris."[407] There
spoke the discreet opportunist, always open to the logic of facts and
the persuasion of Castlereagh.
Our Minister found the sovereigns of Russia and Prussia far less
tractable; and he only partially succeeded in lulling their suspicions
that Metternich was hand and glove with Napoleon. So deep was the
Czar's distrust of the Austrian statesman and commander-in-chief that
he resolved to brush aside Metternich's diplomatic _pourparlers_, to
push on rapidly to Paris, and there dictate peace.[408]
But it was just this eagerness of the Czar and the Prussians to reach
Paris which kept alive Austrian fears. A complete triumph to their
arms would seal the doom of Poland and Saxony; and it has been thought
that Schwarzenberg, who himself longed for peace, not only sought to
save Austrian soldiers by keeping them back, but that at this time he
did less than his duty in keeping touch with Blücher. Several times
during the ensuing days the charge of treachery was hurled by the
Prussians against the Austrians, and once at least by Frederick
William himself. But it seems more probable that Metternich and
Schwarzenberg held their men back merely for prudential motives until
the resumption of the negotiations with France should throw more light
on the tangled political jungle through which the allies were groping.
It is significant that while Schwarzenberg cautiously felt about for
Napoleon's rearguard, of which he lost touch for two whole days,
Metternich insisted that the peace Congress must be opened.
Caulaincourt had for several days been waiting near the allied
head-quarters; and, said the Austrian Minister, it would be a breach
of faith to put him off any longer now that Castlereagh had arrived.
Only when Austria threatened to withdraw from the Coalition did
Alexander concede this point, and then with a very bad grace; for the
resumption of the negotiations virtually tied him to the neighbourhood
of Châtillon-sur-Seine, the town fixed for the Congress, while Blücher
was rapidly moving towards Paris with every prospect of snatching from
the imperial brow the coveted laurel of a triumphal entry.
To prevent this interference with his own pet plans, the susceptible
autocrat sent off from Bar-sur-Seine (February 7th) an order that
Blücher was not to enter Paris, but must await the arrival of the
sovereigns. The order was needless. Napoleon, goaded to fury by the
demands which the allies on that very day formulated at Châtillon,
flung himself upon Blücher and completely altered the whole military
situation. But before describing this wonderful effort, we must take a
glance at the diplomatic overtures which spurred him on.
The Congress of Châtillon opened on February 5th, and on that day
Castlereagh gained his point, that questions about our maritime code
should be completely banished from the discussions. Two days later the
allies declared that France must withdraw within the boundaries of
1791, with the exception of certain changes made for mutual
convenience and of some colonial retrocessions that England would
grant to France. The French plenipotentiary, Caulaincourt, heard this
demand with a quiet but strained composure: he reminded them that at
Frankfurt they had proposed to leave France the Rhine and the Alps; he
inquired what colonial sacrifices England was prepared to make if she
cooped up France in her old limits in Europe. To this our
plenipotentiaries Aberdeen, Cathcart, and Stewart refused to reply
until he assented to the present demand of the allies. He very
properly refused to do this; and, despite his eagerness to come to an
arrangement and end the misfortunes of France, referred the matter to
his master.[409]
What were Napoleon's views on these questions? It is difficult to
follow the workings of his mind before the time when Caulaincourt's
despatch flashed the horrible truth upon him that he might, after all,
leave France smaller and weaker than he found her. Then the lightnings
of his wrath flash forth, and we see the tumult and anguish of that
mighty soul: but previously the storm-wrack of passion and the
cloud-bank of his clinging will are lit up by few gleams of the
earlier piercing intelligence. On January the 4th he had written to
Caulaincourt that the policy of England and the personal rancour of
the Czar would drag Austria along. If Fortune betrayed him (Napoleon)
he would give up the throne: never would he sign any shameful peace.
But he added: "You must see what Metternich wants: it is not to
Austria's interest to push matters to the end." In the accompanying
instructions to his plenipotentiary, he seems to assent to the Alpine
and Rhenish frontiers, but advises him to sign the preliminaries as
vaguely as possible, "_as we have everything to gain by delay_." The
Rhine frontier must be so described as to leave France the Dutch
fortresses: and Savona and Spezzia must also count as on the French
side of the Alps. These, be it observed, are his notions when he has
not heard of the defection of Murat, or the rejection of his Spanish
bargain by the Cortès.
Twelve days later he proposes to Metternich an armistice, and again
suggests that it is not to Austria's interest to press matters too
far. But the allies are too wary to leave such a matter to Metternich:
at Teplitz they bound themselves to common action; and the proposal
only shows them the need of pushing on fast while their foe is still
unprepared. Once more his old optimism asserts itself. The first
French success, that at Brienne, leads him to hope that the allies
will now be ready to make peace. Even after the disaster at La
Rothière, he believes that the mere arrival of Caulaincourt at the
allied headquarters will foment the discords which there exist.[410]
Then, writing amidst the unspeakable miseries at Troyes (February
4th), he upbraids Caulaincourt for worrying him about "powers and
instructions when it is still doubtful if the enemy wants to
negotiate. His terms, it seems, are determined on beforehand. As soon
as you have them, you have the power to accept them or to refer them
to me within twenty-four hours."
After midnight, he again directs him to accept the terms, if
acceptable: "in the contrary case we will run the risks of a battle;
even the loss of Paris, and all that will ensue." Later on that day he
allows Maret to send a despatch giving Caulaincourt "carte blanche" to
conclude peace.[411] But the plenipotentiary dared not take on himself
the responsibility of accepting the terms offered by the allies two
days later. The last despatch was too vague to enable him to sign away
many thousands of square miles of territory: it contradicted the tenor
of Napoleon's letters, which empowered him to assent to nothing less
than the Frankfurt terms. And thus was to slip away one more chance of
bringing about peace--a peace that would strip the French Empire of
frontier lands and alien peoples, but leave it to the peasants' ruler,
Napoleon.
In truth, the Emperor's words and letters breathed nothing but warlike
resolve. Famine and misery accompany him on his march to Nogent, and
there, on the 7th, he hears tidings that strike despair to every heart
but his. An Anglo-German force is besieging the staunch old Carnot in
Antwerp; Bülow has entered Brussels; Belgium is lost: Macdonald's weak
corps is falling back on Epernay, hard pressed by Yorck, while Blücher
is heading for Paris. Last of all comes on the morrow Caulaincourt's
despatch announcing that the allies now insist on France returning to
the limits of 1791.
Never, surely, since the time of Job did calamity shower her blows so
thickly on the head of mortal man: and never were they met with less
resignation and more undaunted defiance. After receiving the black
budget of news the Emperor straightway shut himself up. For some time
his Marshals left him alone: but, as Caulaincourt's courier was
waiting for the reply, Berthier and Maret ventured to intrude on his
grief. He tossed them the letter containing the allied terms. A long
silence ensued, while they awaited his decision. As he spoke not a
word, they begged him to give way and grant peace to France. Then his
pent-up feelings burst forth: "What, you would have me sign a treaty
like that, and trample under foot my coronation oath! Unheard-of
disasters may have snatched from me the promise to renounce my
conquests: but, give up those made before me--never! God keep me from
such a disgrace. Reply to Caulaincourt since you wish it, but tell him
that I reject this treaty. I prefer to run the uttermost risks of
war." He threw himself on his camp bed. Maret waited by his side, and
gained from him in calmer moments permission to write to Caulaincourt
in terms that allowed the negotiation to proceed. At dawn on the 9th
Maret came back hoping to gain assent to despatches that he had been
drawing up during the night. To his surprise he found the Emperor
stretched out over large charts, compass in hand. "Ah, there you are,"
was his greeting; "now it's a question of very different matters. I am
going to beat Blücher: if I succeed, the state of affairs will
entirely change, and then we will see."
The tension of his feelings at this time, when rage and desperation
finally gave way to a fixed resolve to stake all on a blow at
Blücher's flank, finds expression in a phrase which has been omitted
from the official correspondence.[412] In one of the five letters
which he wrote to Joseph on the 9th, he remarked: "Pray the Madonna of
armies to be for us: Louis, who is a saint, may engage to give her a
lighted candle." A curiously sarcastic touch, probably due to his
annoyance at the _Misereres_ and "prayers forty hours long" at Paris
which he bade his Ministers curtail. Or was it a passing flash of that
religious sentiment which he professed in his declining years?
He certainly counted on victory over Blücher. A week earlier, he had
foreseen the chance that that leader would expose his flank: on the
7th he charged Marmont to occupy Sézanne, where he would be strongly
supported; on the afternoon of the 9th he set out from Nogent to
reinforce his Marshal; and on the morrow Marmont and Ney fell upon one
of Blücher's scattered columns at Champaubert. It was a corps of
Russians, less than 5,000 strong, with no horsemen and but twenty-four
cannon; the Muscovites offered a stout resistance, but only 1,500
escaped.[413] Blücher's line of march was now cut in twain. He himself
was at Vertus with the last column; his foremost corps, under Sacken,
was west of Montmirail, while Yorck was far to the north of that
village observing Macdonald's movements along the Château-Thierry
road.
The Emperor with 20,000 men might therefore hope to destroy these
corps piecemeal. Leaving Marmont along with Grouchy's horse to hold
Blücher in check on the east, he struck westwards against Sacken's
Russians near Montmirail. The shock was terrible; both sides were
weary with night marches on miry roads, along which cannon had to be
dragged by double teams: yet, though footsore and worn with cold and
hunger, the men fought with sustained fury, the French to stamp out
the barbarous invaders who had wasted their villages, the Russians to
hold their position until Yorck's Prussians should stretch a
succouring hand from the north. Many a time did the French rush at the
village of Marchais held by Sacken: they were repeatedly repulsed,
until, as darkness came on, Ney and Mortier with the Guard stormed a
large farmhouse on their left. Then, at last, Sacken's men drew off in
sore plight north-west across the fields, where Yorck's tardy advent
alone saved them from destruction. The next day completed their
discomfiture. Napoleon and Mortier pursued both allied corps to
Château-Thierry and, after sharp fighting in the streets of that
place, drove them across the Marne. The townsfolk hailed the advent of
their Emperor with unbounded joy: they had believed him to be at
Troyes, beaten and dispirited; and here he was delivering them from
the brutal licence of the eastern soldiery. Nothing was impossible to
him.
Next it was Blücher's turn. Leaving Mortier to pursue the fugitives of
Sacken and Yorck along the Soissons road, Napoleon left
Château-Thierry late at night on the 13th, following the mass of his
troops to reinforce Marmont. That Marshal had yielded ground to
Blücher's desperate efforts, but was standing at bay at Vauchamps,
when Napoleon drew near to the scene of the unequal fight. Suddenly a
mighty shout of "Vive l'Empereur" warned the assailants that they now
had to do with Napoleon. Yet no precipitation weakened the Emperor's
blow: not until his cavalry greatly outnumbered that of the allies did
he begin the chief attack. Stoutly it was beaten off by the allied
squares: but Drouot's artillery ploughed through their masses, while
swarms of horsemen were ready to open out those ghastly furrows. There
was nothing for it but retreat, and that across open country, where
the charges and the pounding still went on. But nothing could break
that stubborn infantry: animated by their leader, the Prussians and
Russians plodded steadily eastwards, until, as darkness drew on, they
found Grouchy's horse barring the road before Etoges. "Forward" was
still the veteran's cry: and through the cavalry they cut their way:
through hostile footmen that had stolen round to the village they also
burst, and at last found shelter near Bergères. "Words fail me," wrote
Colonel Hudson Lowe, "to express my admiration at their undaunted and
manly behaviour."
This gallant retreat shed lustre over the rank and file. But the sins
of the commanders had cost the allies dear. In four days the army of
Silesia lost fully 15,000 men, and its corps were driven far asunder
by Napoleon's incursion. His brilliant moves and trenchant strokes
astonished the world. With less than 30,000 men he had burst into
Blücher's line of march, and scattered in flight 50,000 warriors
advancing on Paris in full assurance of victory. It was not chance,
but science, that gave him these successes. Acting from behind the
screen of the Seine, he had thrown his small but undivided force
against scattered portions of a superior force. It was the strategy of
Lonato and Castiglione over again; and the enthusiasm of those days
bade fair to revive.
His men, who previously had tramped downheartedly over wastes of snow
and miry cross-roads, now marched with head erect as in former days;
the villagers, far from being cowed by the brutalities of the
Cossacks, formed bands to hang upon the enemies' rear and entrap their
foragers. Above all, Paris was herself once more. Before he began
these brilliant moves, he had to upbraid Cambacérès for his unmanly
conduct. "I see that instead of sustaining the Empress, you are
discouraging her. Why lose your head thus? What mean these _Miserere_
and these prayers of forty hours? Are you going mad at Paris?" Now the
capital again breathed defiance to the foe, and sent the Emperor
National Guards. Many of these from Brittany, it is true, came "in
round hats and _sabots_": they had no knapsacks: but they had guns,
and they fought.
Could he have pursued Blücher on the morrow he might probably have
broken up even that hardy infantry, now in dire straits for want of
supplies. But bad news came to hand from the south-west. Under urgent
pressure from the Czar, Schwarzenberg had pushed forward two columns
from Troyes towards Paris: one of them had seized the bridge over the
Seine at Bray, a day's march below Nogent: the other was nearing
Fontainebleau. Napoleon was furious at the neglect of Victor to guard
the crossing at Bray, and reluctantly turned away from Blücher to
crush these columns. His men marched or were carried in vehicles, by
way of Meaux and Guignes, to reinforce Victor: on the 17th they drove
back the outposts of Schwarzenberg's centre, while Macdonald and
Oudinot marched towards Nogent to threaten his right. These rapid
moves alarmed the Austrian commander, whose left, swung forward on
Fontainebleau, was in some danger of being cut off. He therefore sued
for an armistice. It was refused; and the request drew from Napoleon a
letter to his brother Joseph full of contempt for the allies (February
18th). "It is difficult," he writes, "to be so cowardly as that! He
[Schwarzenberg] had constantly, and in the most insulting terms,
refused a suspension of arms of any kind, ... and yet these wretches
at the first check fall on their knees. I will grant no armistice till
my territory is clear of them." He adds that he now expected to gain
the "natural frontiers" offered by the allies at Frankfurt--the
minimum that he could accept with honour; and he closes with these
memorable words, which flash a searchlight on his pacific professions
of thirteen months later: "If I had agreed to the old boundaries, I
should have rushed to arms two years later, telling the nation that I
had signed not a peace, but a capitulation."[414]
The events of the 18th strengthened his resolve. He then attacked the
Crown Prince of Würtemberg on the north side of the Seine, opposite
Montereau, overthrew him by the weight of the artillery of the Guard,
whereupon a brilliant charge of Pajol's horsemen wrested the bridge
from the South Germans and restored to the Emperor the much-needed
crossing over the river. Napoleon's activity on that day was
marvellous. He wrote or dictated eleven despatches, six of them long
before dawn, gave instructions to an officer who was to encourage
Eugène to hold firm in Italy, fought a battle, directed the aim of
several cannon, and wound up the day by severe rebukes to Marshal
Victor and two generals for their recent blunders. Thus, on a brief
winter's day, he fills the _rôle_ of Emperor, organizer, tactician,
cannoneer, and martinet; in fact, he crowns it by pardoning Victor,
when that brave man vows that he cannot live away from the army, and
will fight as a common soldier among the Guards: he then and there
assigns to him two divisions of the Guard. To the artillerymen the
_camaraderie_ of the Emperor gave a new zest: and when they ventured
to reproach him for thus risking his life, he replied with a touch of
the fatalism which enthralls a soldier's mind: "Ah! don't fear: the
ball is not cast that will kill me."
Yes: Napoleon displayed during these last ten days a fertility of
resource, a power to drive back the tide of events, that have dazzled
posterity, as they dismayed his foes. We may seek in vain for a
parallel, save perhaps in the careers of Hannibal and Frederick.
Alexander the Great's victories were won over Asiatics: Cæsar's
magnificent rally of his wavering bands against the onrush of the
Nervii was but one effort of disciplined valour crushing the
impetuosity of the barbarian. Marlborough and Wellington often
triumphed over great odds and turned the course of history. But their
star had never set so low as that of Napoleon's after La Rothière, and
never did it rush to the zenith with a splendour like that which
blinded the trained hosts of Blücher and Schwarzenberg. Whatever the
mistakes of these leaders, and they were great, there is something
that defies analysis in Napoleon's sudden transformation of his beaten
dispirited band into a triumphant array before which four times their
numbers sought refuge in retreat. But it is just this transcendent
quality that adds a charm to the character and career of Napoleon.
Where analysis fails, there genius begins.
* * * * *