Glory at Erfurt and Humiliation in Spain
(1808-1809)
The cloud of misfortune which overshadowed the French armies in Spain
and Portugal gradually grew in size and density until it covered
practically the whole of Europe. Encouraged by the success of the
insurgents in the Iberian Peninsula and the triumph of British arms in
Portugal, both Austria and Germany took courage and prepared to throw
off the yoke. In Austria a _landwehr_, or local militia, designed
to number 180,000 of the young men of the country, came into being;
in Prussia patriotic clubs sprang up on all hands, while such able
statesmen as Stein, who had been Minister of State for Trade, and
Scharnhorst, a skilful officer and organiser, worked nobly in the
interests of military reforms which were destined to bear much good
fruit in due course.
Napoleon was more immediately concerned with the intentions of the
former Power. To a certain extent he had clipped the wings of the
Prussian eagle by forcing the King into an undertaking that for the
next ten years his army should not exceed 40,000 troops. This did not
prevent many civilians being quietly drafted into a reserve for future
service, or the formation of a school of thought with the highest
patriotic ideals. The Emperor’s policy was thoroughly sound. By still
holding the fortresses of Glogau, Stettin, and Küstrin, and reducing
the number of national troops to a minimum, the French troops which
had been kept in Prussia since the campaign of her humiliation were
set free for service in the South. Napoleon already knew of Austria’s
warlike disposition, and was even a little uncertain as to Russia.
Suspicion was mutual, and as he was about to set out for Spain to take
command of his troops, he thought it advisable to “sound” the temper of
his ally personally.
It was arranged that the Emperor and the Czar should meet at the little
town of Erfurt towards the end of September 1808. No fewer than seventy
sovereigns and princes came to the meeting, including the Kings of
Saxony, Bavaria, Würtemberg, and Westphalia, the Grand Duke Constantine
of Russia, Prince William of Prussia, the Dukes of Saxe-Weimar,
Saxe-Gotha, and Holstein-Oldenburg, together with distinguished
marshals and courtiers. There were reviews, plays in the theatre acted
by the most talented artists in France--Talma having been promised
“a parterre full of kings”--and a stag-hunt on the battle-field of
Jena. Costly presents were exchanged, one of the Czar’s gifts being
a magnificent Persian horse, silvery grey in colour, which Napoleon
afterwards used by a strange coincidence in the battles of Vitebsk,
Smolensk, and Borodino during the Russian campaign. The animal also
accompanied him to Elba.
This great diplomatic performance was magnificently staged. If less
dramatic than Tilsit, it was no less important. The festivities and
conferences between the Emperor and Alexander lasted seventeen days.
They parted on the 14th October, the anniversary of the great fight
which did so much to make Napoleon master of Prussia. The terms of
the Peace of Tilsit had not been kept too scrupulously by either
monarch, and when one is uncertain as to one’s own morality, a strong
suspicion is usually entertained as to that of others. Alexander had
not withdrawn his troops from the Danubian Provinces, which suggested
that he still had in view the partition of the Ottoman Empire, while
Napoleon, until his misfortunes in the Peninsula, had seen fit to
keep a large number of troops in Silesia. Spain and Portugal were
stepping-stones to the East as well as necessary acquisitions for the
enforcement of his Continental System, facts quite well comprehended
by the Czar of all the Russias. Napoleon, who was as well informed
concerning his ally’s weak spot, threw out suggestions for an
expedition to India, and consented to Finland, Moldavia, and Wallachia
being added to the Russian Empire. Alexander returned these courtesies
by approving of Napoleon’s recent moves regarding Naples, Tuscany, and
the Peninsula, and promised to lend his aid should Austria come to
blows with France. “We talked of the affairs of Turkey at Erfurt,” the
Emperor told Las Cases at St Helena. “Alexander was very desirous that
I should consent to his obtaining possession of Constantinople, but I
could never bring my mind to consent to it. It is the finest harbour
in the world, is placed in the finest situation, and is itself worth a
kingdom.” As a concession to Prussia, probably because of the Czar’s
wish, Silesia was to be returned to her former possessor.
Chancellor Pasquier says of Napoleon at Erfurt that “On no other
occasion, perhaps, did the suppleness and craftiness of his Italian
spirit shine to more brilliant advantage.” Boutourlin avers that
notwithstanding these qualities Alexander felt that when the interests
of Napoleon were adversely affected the friendship would not last,
“that the grand crisis was approaching which was destined either
to consolidate the universal empire which the French Emperor was
endeavouring to establish on the Continent, or to break the chains
which retained so many Continental States under his rule.”
Mention must be made of the interviews which took place at this time
between Napoleon and Wieland and Goethe, two of the greatest literary
geniuses which Germany has given to the republic of letters. Both poets
were fascinated by the magic personality of Napoleon, and both have
left us some record of their conversation with the man who at this
period was in very truth a ruler of kings.
“I had been but a few minutes in the room,” Wieland says, “when
Napoleon crossed it to come to us. I was presented by the Duchess of
Weimar. He paid me some compliments in an affable tone, fixing his
eye piercingly upon me. Few men have appeared to me to possess, in
the same degree, the power of penetrating at a glance the thoughts
of others. I have never beheld anyone more calm, more simple, more
mild, or less ostentatious in appearance. Nothing about him indicated
the feeling of power in a great monarch. He spoke to me as an old
acquaintance would speak to an equal. What was more extraordinary on
his part, he conversed with me exclusively for an hour and a half, to
the great surprise of the assembly. He appeared to have no relish for
anything gay. In spite of the prepossessing amenity of his manners,
he seemed to me to be of bronze. Towards midnight I began to feel
that it was improper to detain him so long, and I took the liberty to
request permission to retire: ‘Go, then,’ said he in a friendly tone.
‘Good-night.’”
The Emperor conferred the Cross of the Legion of Honour on Wieland,
a mark of Imperial favour which he likewise showed to Goethe. The
interview between Napoleon and the latter took place on the 2nd October
1808, in the presence of Talleyrand, Daru, Berthier, and Savary.
“You are a man!” he exclaimed, either in a burst of admiration or of
flattery, and then he asked the poet his age and particulars of his
work, adding that he had read “Werther” seven times and had taken the
volume to Egypt. “After various remarks, all very just,” says Goethe,
“he pointed out a passage, and asked me why I had written so, it was
contrary to nature. This opinion he developed in great clearness. I
listened calmly, and smilingly replied that I did not know whether the
objection had been made before; but that I found it perfectly just....
The Emperor seemed satisfied and returned to the drama, criticising
it like a man who had studied the tragic stage with the attention of
a criminal judge, and who was keenly alive to the fault of the French
in departing from nature. He disapproved of all pieces in which Fate
played a part. ‘Those pieces belong to a dark epoch. Besides, what do
they mean by Fate? Politics are Fate!’”
Even more interesting perhaps, because it so essentially reveals
Napoleon’s outlook on life, was a remark he made at a later meeting at
which both Wieland and Goethe were present. He wished the latter to
treat of the “Death of Cæsar.” “That,” he said, “should be the great
task of your life. In that tragedy you should show the world how much
Cæsar would have done for humanity, if only he had been allowed time
to carry out his great plans.” When we reflect on the events which
had immediately preceded this notable utterance, on the grandiose
schemes which were then being actively promulgated by the speaker for
the conquest of Europe and the advancement of his Empire of the West,
we can understand why Napoleon wished to woo this literary giant to
his cause. “Come to Paris,” Napoleon said in his abrupt, commanding
way, “I desire it of you. There you will find a wider circle for your
spirit of observation; there you will find enormous material for poetic
creations.” But it was not to be; Goethe had other wishes and ideals.
Had he acceded to the despot’s request the result would have been no
more felicitous than that which had attended Voltaire’s removal to the
Court of Frederick the Great. Goethe loved Prussia too well to desert
her, and while he admired Napoleon in some ways he did not admire him
in all.
Peace with Great Britain was suggested by the two Emperors at Erfurt,
but England had far too much to lose to seriously entertain such an
overture. In his reply Canning made it perfectly clear that George
III. was not prepared to break faith with his Portuguese, Sicilian,
and Spanish allies. Both the King and his Minister fully realised the
nature of the undertaking upon which they had embarked, and having put
their hands to the plough there was to be no turning back. Their course
gave rise to many blunders abroad and many heartburnings at home, yet
they loyally followed the precept of the great man whose ashes were now
lying in Westminster Abbey. “England,” said Pitt in his last public
speech, “has saved herself by her exertions, and will, as I trust, save
Europe by her example.”
We must now glance across the Pyrenees at the strife still going on
in the Peninsula. Had Sir John Moore secured the active and loyal
assistance of the people, as he clearly had a right to expect, all
might have been well with the cause of the allies. The preliminary
successes of the Spaniards, however, had made them over-confident,
and over-confidence is a sure prelude to disaster. Of all their many
mistakes most fatal was their preference for fighting with independent
corps, each under a Captain-General. Instead of joining together in the
common cause there was considerable rivalry and many misunderstandings
between the various forces. As a consequence when Napoleon, feeling
comparatively secure from Austrian menaces because of the Russian
alliance, determined to lead his armies in person, the Spaniards were
but ill organised. Their antagonist, on the contrary, soon had at his
disposal 300,000 trained soldiers divided into eight corps under his
most skilled generals. “In a few days,” the Emperor said before leaving
Paris, “I shall set out to place myself at the head of my army, and,
with the aid of God, crown at Madrid the King of Spain, and plant my
eagles on the towers of Lisbon.” The Spaniards could not muster at the
moment more than 76,000 men, and whereas their cavalry totalled 2000,
that of Napoleon was at least twenty times the number. A reserve of
nearly 60,000 Spaniards was gathering in the rear, but would not be
available for the first desperate onslaught, on the result of which so
much would depend. The British army of some 30,000 was, by a series of
misfortunes, in three divisions and unable to come up with any of the
Spanish armies, which were also separated.
Napoleon began his movements and got into action while his opponents
were thinking of what was likely to happen. Blake’s ragged patriots
were scattered by Lefebvre early in November after having been defeated
at Tornosa and Reynosa. Soult defeated the army under the Count de
Belvidere at Burgos on the 10th November, the Spaniards suffering a
loss of 2000 men and 800 prisoners, as well as their ammunition and
stores. The town, after having been pillaged, became the Emperor’s
headquarters. On the 22nd of the same month Castaños’ forces, augmented
by the men under Palafox, and amounting in all to 43,000, were routed
by the 35,000 troops opposed to them by Lannes. After such a series of
defeats it was not difficult for the Emperor to push towards Madrid,
the outskirts of which he reached, after forcing the Somosierra Pass,
on the 2nd December. The inhabitants made some show of resistance,
but they were so badly organised as to preclude any possibility of
serious defensive measures. Wishing to spare the city from bombardment,
Napoleon sent a flag of truce, and a capitulation was speedily signed.
A soldier who was present thus relates the entry of the French into
Madrid: “A heavy silence,” he says, “had succeeded that confusion
and uproar which had reigned within and without the walls of the
capital only the day before. The streets through which we entered
were deserted; and even in the market-place, the numerous shops of
the vendors of necessaries still remained shut. The water-carriers
were the only people of the town who had not interrupted their usual
avocations. They moved about uttering their cries with the nasal,
drawling tone, peculiar to their native mountains of Galicia, ‘_Quien
quiere agua?_’--Who wants water? No purchasers made their appearance;
the waterman muttered to himself sorrowfully, ‘_Dios que la da_,’--It
is God’s gift,--and cried again.
“As we advanced into the heart of the city, we perceived groups of
Spaniards standing at the corner of a square, where they had formerly
been in the habit of assembling in great numbers. They stood muffled
in their capacious cloaks, regarding us with a sullen, dejected
aspect. Their national pride could scarcely let them credit that any
other than Spanish soldiers could have beaten Spaniards. If they
happened to perceive among our ranks a horse which had once belonged
to their cavalry, they soon distinguished him by his pace, and
awakening from their apathy, would whisper together: ‘_Este caballo es
Español_’--That’s a Spanish horse; as if they had discovered the sole
cause of our success.”
On the 7th December 1808, Napoleon issued a proclamation which was
largely a fierce tirade against England and the English, whose armies
were to be chased from the Peninsula. In the constitution which he
framed for the nation he abolished the iniquitous Inquisition, and the
old feudal system which had held Spain in its shackles for so long,
reduced the number of monasteries and convents by two-thirds, improved
the customs, and endeavoured to institute reforms which would have
been beneficial. “It depends upon you,” the Emperor told the people,
“whether this moderate constitution which I offer you shall henceforth
be your law. Should all my efforts prove vain, and should you refuse
to justify my confidence, then nothing will remain for me but to treat
you as a conquered province and find a new throne for my brother.
In that case I shall myself assume the crown of Spain and teach the
ill-disposed to respect that crown, for God has given me the power and
the will to overcome all obstacles.”
The concluding words are noteworthy. Napoleon now regarded himself as
little less than omnipotent. Impelled by the force of his own volition,
into a dangerous situation, he was to find it impossible to draw
back when the nations which he had treated with contempt felt that
self-confidence which alone made Leipzig and Waterloo possible. The
Peninsular War was indeed what Talleyrand prophesied, “the beginning of
the end.”
After considerable hesitation, due to the varying and oftentimes
contradictory accounts which he received as to what was actually
happening in the field, Sir John Moore, having concentrated his troops,
cautiously began to close upon Soult’s army on the banks of the river
Carrion. When Napoleon heard of this he speedily decided to crush the
friends of Spain and Portugal by sheer force of numbers, God, according
to him, being “on the side of the biggest battalions,” a parallel
remark to Nelson’s “Only numbers can annihilate.” Winter had set in
with severity, but disregarding the inclemency of the weather, the
Emperor marched with his 40,000 men along the Guadarrama Pass through
the blinding sleet, traversing no fewer than twenty miles a day for ten
days. Meanwhile Moore had given up hope of attacking and had decided
to retreat as rapidly as possible. Unfortunately his troops did not
follow the example of their noble commander; they broke away from
every restraint, drinking and pillaging whenever they had opportunity.
It is only just to add, however, that at Lugo, when there seemed an
opportunity to contest Soult, who was following in their track, they
stood to arms with a confidence and precision worthy of the best
disciplined regiment in the British service. Lord Paget’s corps, which
covered the retreat, behaved with conspicuous bravery, and succeeded in
worsting some of the chasseurs, the “Invincibles” of the French army.
“Before our reserve left Lugo,” writes a soldier of the 75th Regiment
who endured the hardships of this terrible retreat, “general
orders were issued, warning and exhorting us to keep order, and to
march together; but, alas! how could men observe order amidst such
sufferings, or men whose feet were naked and sore, keep up with men
who, being more fortunate, had better shoes and stronger constitutions?
The officers in many points, suffered almost as much as the men. I have
seen officers of the Guards, and others, worth thousands, with pieces
of old blanket wrapped round their feet and legs; the men pointing at
them, with a malicious satisfaction, saying ‘There goes three thousand
a year’; or ‘There goes the prodigal son, on his return to his father,
cured of his wanderings.’”
On the 11th January 1809, Coruña was reached, and several days
afterwards the welcome sails of the British troop-ships made their
appearance, ready to convey the survivors of the battle to be fought
on the 16th to England and to home. Soult had the advantage of 4000
more troops and of a better position, but lacked ammunition, while the
British general had been able to obtain a supply of new muskets from
the vessels which rode at anchor in the Bay.
It was round the little village of Elvina that the fight raged most
fiercely, for a French battery of eleven guns was placed on a ridge not
more than 600 yards off, and from this commanding position shells were
hurled at the British defenders with ruthless fury. Elvina was taken
by the French and re-captured by the gallantry of Charles Napier, who
led the fearless Irishmen of the 50th regiment. He then endeavoured to
secure the French battery, but without success, and during the charge
he was wounded and made prisoner.
“My brave 42nd,” cried Moore, when the enemy was again advancing on the
village, “if you have fired away all your ammunition, you have still
your bayonets. Recollect Egypt! Remember Scotland! Come on, my brave
countrymen!”
“Sir John,” according to an eye-witness, “was at the head of every
charge.” Indeed, he had several narrow escapes before he received his
death-wound. He was talking to Napier when, records the latter, “a
round shot struck the ground between his horse’s feet and mine. The
horse leaped round, and I also turned mechanically, but Moore forced
the animal back, and asked me if I was hurt. ‘No, sir.’ Meanwhile a
second shot had torn off the leg of a 42nd man, who screamed horribly
and rolled about so as to excite agitation and alarm in others. The
General said, ‘This is nothing, my lads; keep your ranks. My good
fellow, don’t make such a noise; we must bear these things better.’ He
spoke sharply, but it had a good effect, for this man’s cries had made
an opening in the ranks, and the men shrank from the spot, although
they had not done so when others had been hit who did not cry out. But
again Moore went off, and I saw him no more.”
Sir John was struck by a cannon-ball which tore his flesh in several
places and precluded all possibility of recovery. “I hope the people of
England will be satisfied: I hope my country will do me justice,” were
the noble words which passed his parched lips as he lay dying on the
field of victory.
“We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.”