The Prussian Campaign
(1806)
Pitt breathed his last soon after the defeat of the allies at
Austerlitz, and three months after the death of Nelson. Lord Chatham’s
son, no less a martyr to his country than the hero of Trafalgar, had
been bent “on putting Europe to rights.” Scarcely had 1806 been ushered
in before the Emperor of the French gave fresh evidence to the world
that he, too, had a similar ambition. Austria, still smarting from
the wounds inflicted by the lash Napoleon had so unsparingly used, an
invalid not yet convalescent, and unable to offer any resistance, was
again the victim.
For many centuries the ruling King of Austria had been Emperor of
the Holy Roman Empire, although many of the German States had become
practically independent in all but name. It was here that the ruler of
France did not hesitate to wound. To strengthen his position he formed
the Confederation of the Rhine, whereby sixteen states of various
sizes, including Bavaria, Würtemberg, Baden, and Hesse-Darmstadt
severed themselves from the Germanic Empire and entered into an
offensive and defensive alliance with him as Protector. The new
arrangement added 63,000 soldiers to Napoleon’s reserves, and provided
additional barriers against his enemies. On his part he agreed in case
of war to put 200,000 men in the field on behalf of the Confederation.
Well might the Prussian minister at Paris assert that his master “saw
around his territories none but French soldiers or vassals of France,
ready to march at her beck.” Prussia was almost hemmed in by the new
Confederation; moreover the Grand Army continued to remain in Germany.
For a month or two there was a faint glimmer of hope that the continued
war between France and England might cease. Charles James Fox, Foreign
Secretary and leading figure in the Grenville administration, was not
without admiration for Napoleon, and more or less informal negotiations
for peace were opened. There was an exchange of courtesies, Fox sending
particulars of a plot to assassinate the Emperor to Talleyrand,
Napoleon releasing a few British prisoners from French fortresses. When
Napoleon really showed his hand he disclosed a suspicious eagerness to
obtain Sicily, the possession of which would be of great importance in
his cherished scheme of establishing the supremacy of France in the
Mediterranean. The Emperor hungered and thirsted after sea-power; it
was the one world left for him to conquer.
Hanover was held out as bait to Great Britain, quite regardless
of anything Prussia might have to say in the matter. It was this
unscrupulous juggling with other folk’s possessions on the part of
Napoleon that kept the Continent in so unsettled a state. None knew
who next might be bartered or overrun by French troops, irrespective
of previous agreements. When Napoleon played cards he cheated; in
political matters his morality was no more conspicuous. His sense of
right and wrong had long since given way to an egotism which recognised
no law, and placed himself above all codes of ordinary conduct. De
Tocqueville said of him: “He was as great as a man can be without
virtue.”
The peace overtures came to nought. The King of Prussia entered into an
alliance with Russia, and began to mobilise his army. His soldiers were
for up and doing regardless of the consequences, and effected a foolish
disdain of their antagonists which is well shown by Varnhagen von Ense,
then a student at Halle, in his “Memoirs.”
“During the whole summer,” he relates, “we had heard of warlike
movements interrupted by hopes of peace; but after Napoleon
had obtained a firm footing in Germany by means of the Rhenish
Confederation, all idea of peace was at an end, and every one in
Prussia called loudly for war. Prussian troops were to be seen in and
near Halle on their way to the south and west, and the desire for war
grew stronger every day. Some hot-headed fellows were furious if peace
was hinted at, or if the superiority of the Prussians over the French
was not at once acknowledged. I distinctly remember meeting an officer
who asserted that the war was as good as ended--that nothing could now
save Bonaparte from certain destruction. When I attempted to talk of
French generals, he interrupted me by saying, ‘Generals! whence should
they spring? We Prussians, if you like it, have generals who understand
the art of war; who have served from their youth up: such men will
drive the tinkers and tailors, who date only from the Revolution,
before them like sheep....’ This put me out of temper, and I answered
bluntly, that a man became a general not by accident of birth, but by
actual service; that a man’s former condition was nothing; a tinker or
a tailor might make as good a general as a drill sergeant.”
The reference to “accident of birth” is to the fact that before
the battle of Jena (1806) practically every Prussian officer was
an aristocrat, a rule which it will be remembered from a previous
reference in this work obtained in the French army before the
Revolution.
During a journey to Berlin, undertaken in his holidays, Varnhagen
tells us that he was “reminded all along the road, that we were on
the eve of some great event; in every direction we met soldiers in
larger or smaller detachments, with artillery and baggage waggons. In
Treuenbriezen I saw old Field Marshal von Müllendorf on his way to
join the army; war was no longer doubtful, and it was thought that the
presence of one of Frederick the Great’s heroes would fill the troops
with the enthusiasm of that period, and incite them to fresh victories.
I saw him with a smiling countenance making the most confident promises
of victory out of his carriage window to the surrounding crowd; he then
drove off amid the loud huzzas of the assembled multitude. The soldiers
were singing jovial songs, and rejoicing that at last they were to be
led against the enemy; everywhere were to be seen the stragglers and
others rushing to join the army. The noise died away after leaving
Potsdam--an unusual stillness prevailed, and the fine summer weather
soon banished from my thoughts all save the objects and expectations
which more immediately concerned myself.”
Music and merriment were not to last for long. All too soon sunshine
turned to rain, pride of race to national disaster. But it taught the
Prussians a lesson they never forgot, even if they were slow to learn,
and the full fruits of it were reaped on the field of Waterloo nine
years later.
At first Napoleon felt confident that the military preparations in
Prussia were nothing but bluff, and although war was decided upon at
Berlin on the 7th August 1806, and an ultimatum sent to Paris on the
25th September, it was not until the 7th October that Napoleon heard
of it, for he was then with his army. By the following day many of his
troops had crossed the frontier. His fighting force numbered, in all,
some 190,000 men, that of his opponents some 40,000 less, under the
chief command of the Duke of Brunswick, a veteran over seventy years
of age who had seen service in the wars of the Warrior King. With the
French eagles marched many soldiers of the Confederation, evidence of
the value of the policy of Napoleon to surround himself with vassal
states. It was a somewhat one-sided bargain, for it was considerably
more likely that he, in pursuing his aggressive projects, would call
upon his allies more frequently than they upon him. Prussia was aided
by Russia in the later stages of the campaign, for it was not until
after the battle of Jena that the Czar’s slow-moving forces were
available. Saxony completed what might have been a most formidable
triple alliance.
The Prussian general’s great hope was that he might be able to cut off
Napoleon’s communications with France, but he was far too cumbersome
in his movements to catch so nimble an adversary. The Emperor divined
the plan, gave orders for an immediate concentration of his troops,
and turned the tables by threatening the Prussian communications with
Berlin. To Bernadotte was given the task of clearing the way for the
main army. On the 9th October an affray took place between Saalburg
and Schleiz, where there was an extensive wood, and the Prussians were
forced to give way after a lengthy resistance. The French afterwards
marched to Schleiz and carried the place. Murat, who had put himself
in possession of Saalburg on the previous day, also accomplished much
difficult work. More important was the action fought near Saalfeld
between Lannes and Suchet and Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, in
which the young prince--he was but thirty-three years of age--lost his
life while fighting against desperate odds. The infantry he commanded
fell into disorder, and soon got altogether out of hand. The Prince
had now but five squadrons of cavalry on which he could rely, and he
determined to die rather than surrender. He gave the order to charge,
was wounded in several places, and at last fell from his horse, the
victim of a fatal sword-thrust from a hussar. He certainly exhibited
the contempt for death which Napoleon recommended to his chasseurs
about this time. “My lads,” said he, “you must not fear death; when
soldiers brave death, they drive him into the enemy’s ranks.”
The campaign was speedily decided. While the Emperor was closing
upon the allied forces concentrated near Weimar and Jena under the
King and Prince Hohenlohe respectively, a very foolish movement was
decided upon. A large portion of the Prussian forces were detached
for the relief of Naumburg, leaving but 47,000 men to face the French
should they appear. The unexpected happened; for on the same day the
Landgrafenberg, a steep hill whose summit, well-nigh inaccessible but
commanding a magnificent bird’s-eye view of the army Napoleon had
marked for destruction, was unexpectedly occupied by the French. Almost
superhuman exertion was required to haul up the heavy artillery so that
it might be placed in the most advantageous positions for the coming
conflict. Napoleon invariably discarded his trappings of state during
a campaign and assumed the duties of a common soldier when necessity
demanded, as on this occasion. He showed himself ready and willing to
take his share in what the troops called “the dirty work.” He laid
mines for the blasting of rocks which blocked progress up the rugged
heights, tugged at the ropes by which the cannon were hauled to the
wind-swept ridge, and did not retire to his tent until he was perfectly
satisfied in his own mind that nothing had been left undone which might
contribute to the discomfiture of the enemy.
The story is told by Marbot, who, if he tells the truth, performed
prodigies of valour worthy of D’Artagnan himself. A village priest
pointed out the path which enabled the French troops to ascend the
Landgrafenberg. “Up this path,” the genial Marshal relates, “he led
some officers of the staff and a company of voltigeurs. The Prussians,
believing it to be impracticable, had neglected to guard it. Napoleon
judged otherwise, and, on the report of the officers, went himself to
see it, accompanied by Marshal Lannes and guided by the _curé_. He
found that between the top of the path and the plain occupied by the
enemy, there was a small rocky platform; and on this he determined
to assemble a part of his troops, who should sally forth from it, as
from a citadel, to attack the Prussians. For any one except Napoleon,
commanding Frenchmen, the task would have been impossible; but he,
sending to the engineers and artillery for four thousand pioneer’s
tools, set the infantry to work to widen and level the path, the
battalions taking it in turn, each one for an hour, and as it finished
its task, advancing in silence and forming on the top of the hill....
The nights were very long at this season of the year, and there was
plenty of time to make the path practicable not only for columns of
infantry, but for artillery and ammunition waggons; so that before
daybreak the troops were massed on the Landgrafenberg. The term
_massed_ was never more correct, for the breasts of the men in each
regiment were almost touching the backs of those in front of them. But
the troops were so well disciplined that, in spite of the darkness
and the packing of more than 40,000 men on the narrow platform, there
was not the least disorder, and although the enemy who were occupying
Cospoda and Closevitz were only half a cannon-shot off, they perceived
nothing.”
In the plain below the flaming bivouac fires winked and blinked
like watch-dogs at the Prussian soldiers. Some had already taken
an unconscious farewell of the stars as their weary eyelids closed
upon a scene of natural beauty marred by the stacks of arms, parks
of artillery and baggage waggons, which told of imminent strife and
bloodshed.
At four o’clock in the morning, ere the faintest streak of dawn had
pierced the sky, the French camp was astir, and Napoleon with it. Had
a dragon breathing fire and brimstone presented itself on the field of
Jena Prince Hohenlohe could not have been more surprised than when the
French advance guard suddenly appeared out of a heavy, rolling, autumn
mist. The death-dealing guns began their work, the cavalry and infantry
on either side fought with desperation, and the battle inclined first
to the one side, then to the other. The Prussian troops showed that
notwithstanding long years of inaction there was still some of the
blood and iron of _Unser Fritz_ left in them; but before the reserve
of 20,000 under Rüchel, for whom Hohenlohe had sent, came up, he had
been obliged to write a second despatch urging haste, and confiding
the news that the French cavalry “has driven into one confused mass
the infantry, cavalry, and artillery.” When the reserve appeared on
the field the addition of so large a number of men tended to steady
the Prussians, and it was on seeing them that an impetuous young
French officer, noting the effect, shouted: “Forward! Forward!” to the
Imperial Guard, which had not yet been used. “How now?” asked Napoleon.
“What beardless boy is this who ventures to counsel his Emperor? Let
him wait till he has commanded in thirty pitched battles before he
proffers his advice!”
The day was definitely decided by a magnificent cavalry charge led by
Murat, which caused a rout that only ended at Weimar, the home of the
immortal Goethe, six leagues away.
“The Emperor,” says Savary, “at the point where he stood, saw the
flight of the Prussians, and our cavalry taking them by thousands.
Night was approaching; and here, as at Austerlitz, he rode round the
field of battle. He often alighted from his horse to give a little
brandy to the wounded; and several times I observed him putting his
hand into the breast of a soldier to ascertain whether his heart beat,
because, in consequence of having seen some slight colour in his
cheeks, he supposed he might not be dead. In this manner I saw him two
or three times discover men who were still alive. On these occasions,
he gave way to a joy it is impossible to describe.”
At the same time another battle had been fought and lost by the
Prussians not more than twelve miles distant from the scene of this
terrible carnage. Davout had received instructions to march to Jena
by a route which would enable him to fall on the enemy’s rear while
Napoleon was engaging them. In endeavouring to carry out this manœuvre
the Marshal came directly upon Frederick’s army before Auerstädt.
As regards material strength, the condition of things at Jena was
completely reversed. Here, as we have seen, the Prussians were in the
minority; at Auerstädt the French were very much weaker. Both sides
fought well, and proved themselves worthy of their countrymen who
were engaged in a similar struggle only a few leagues away, but when
the survivors of the two Prussian armies met it was as fugitives with
the common desire to put as great a distance between them and their
pursuers as possible. The King, Prince Henry, Prince William, and
Marshal Möllendorf were wounded, the Duke of Brunswick and General
Schmettau died as a result of injuries they received, and despite the
inability of Davout to continue the pursuit of the stricken enemy, the
corpses of 20,000 Prussians covered the fields of Jena and Auerstädt,
lay in ditches, or almost blocked the roads. Many guns and colours fell
to the spoil of the victors. What would have happened had Bernadotte
and his cavalry come up is too horrible to contemplate.
It is almost impossible to overstate the dreadful position in which
the people of Prussia now found themselves. Mr (afterwards Sir) George
Jackson, who had been sent by Fox to obtain accurate information as to
what was passing in Germany, confides to his Diary under date Hamburg,
October 23rd: “Everybody is in despair, everything is upset by the late
disaster that has fallen on the country.... The letters from Berlin
speak of a state of ferment that is indescribable.”
On the 25th October the French entered the capital. In their
despairing condition the good folk of Berlin appear rather to have
welcomed the invaders than otherwise. We will let our friend the Halle
student tell us what happened. “I saw the first French who entered
the town,” he writes. “At about midday an officer, in a blue uniform,
accompanied by three or four chasseurs, rode into the town; they
stopped their horses, hurriedly asked the way towards the municipality,
or the mansion-house, told the idlers to stand off, and galloped away
again. There they were then! Many people still maintained that these
were not French, but Russians. This was evident, said they, from their
green uniforms. But in a quarter of an hour there was no longer room
for doubt; large bodies of cavalry and infantry entered the town, and
on the following day Berlin was filled with Marshal Davout’s troops.
And now began a totally new life among the half-stupefied inhabitants
of Berlin. We breathed again; for, instead of wild unprincipled
plunderers, we found a well-disciplined gay soldiery, who were
disarmed by being addressed in French, and whose officers were, for
the most part, remarkable for courteous manners. This first favourable
impression was not effaced by subsequent rough conduct, although it
was difficult to satisfy the pressing want of so many people. We
still found that we had to thank God, if we were to have enemies
quartered upon us, that they were not worse than these. Nevertheless,
the slovenly, dirty, ragged appearance of these little, mean-looking,
impudent, witty fellows, was a strange sight for eyes which, like ours,
had been used to the neatness and admirable carriage of the Prussians,
and we were the more astonished how such rabble--for they almost
deserved the name--could have beaten such soldiers out of the field....
“On the 27th October,” he continues, “I was taking my usual evening
walk by the so-called Lustgarten, or park, when I was struck by a
new sight. The whole space in the middle, which had been always
kept carefully mown, and even the side-walks towards the palace,
were covered with innumerable watch-fires, round which the soldiers
of the Imperial Guard were grouped in all kinds of attitudes. The
huge fires shone upon these handsome men and their glittering arms
and accoutrements, and the eyes were attracted by the incessantly
recurring national colours of red, blue and white. About 10,000 men
were moving about in this glowing bivouac, near the gloomy-looking
palace in which Napoleon had taken up his abode. The whole scene
made a strong impression upon me, and when I examined the small
details--for every one was allowed to go among the troops--my wonder
was increased; each soldier, in appearance, manner, and authority,
was like an officer--each man seemed a commander, a hero. The men
sang, danced, and feasted till late in the night, while every now
and then small detachments, in an admirable state of discipline,
marched to and fro with drums and music. It was such a sight as I had
never beheld. I stayed there for hours, and could scarcely leave the
spot. The Imperial Guard remained there for some days, and all eyes
were riveted by the beautiful but hated spectacle. But no subsequent
impression equalled that of the first night: the fires burned more
dimly; part of the troops had been detached elsewhere; and at length,
small bodies of cavalry, with their horses ready saddled and bridled
for instant service, were the only troops left in this encampment. The
numerous body-guard in the court of the palace was quite sufficient for
Napoleon’s personal safety.”
But we must return to war and to misery. Strongholds which had hitherto
been thought well-nigh impregnable fell with sickening regularity.
Magdeburg, for instance, surrendered ingloriously to Marshal Ney, and
the garrison of 24,000 able-bodied men marched out and laid down their
weapons, as did 10,000 troops at Erfurt. Custrin, reputed to be one of
the strongest fortresses on the Oder, was handed over to some forty
chasseurs, Stettin surrendered in the same despicable manner. Soult at
Nordhausen, Bernadotte at Halle, and Murat and Lannes at Prenzlow won
important victories which still further weighed down the scales against
Prussia. It seemed as though the army which had started out with so
much noise and bragging would disappear almost to a man. One fragment
still remained, that under Blücher, the rugged old soldier who was to
be in the chase when the fox was at last run to earth at Waterloo. His
total force amounted to about 24,000 men, against whom 60,000 troops
under Soult, Murat, and Bernadotte were pitted. On the 6th November
1806, the latter slaughtered many of the harassed Prussians in the
narrow streets of Lübeck, but Blücher did not capitulate until the
following day, when he was absolutely compelled to do so by the limits
of Prussian territory.