The Conquest of the Conqueror
(1814-1821)
The Allies now had the upper hand beyond the shadow of a doubt.
Napoleon the Conqueror--for he has surely as much right to that title
as William of Normandy--who had used the greater part of Europe as a
parade ground for his matchless legions, who had overturned thrones and
founded a dynasty in the modern nineteenth century, had been defeated
in two great campaigns. It is difficult to realise that he was now
only forty-four years of age, in the prime of life, but “One grows
old quickly on battlefields,” as he once remarked. His astounding
energy, physically if not mentally, was wearing out. Superactivity is a
consuming fire.
[Illustration: 1814
By J. L. E. Meissonier
By permission of Messrs. Goupil & Co.]
Although the Allies had brought the Emperor to his knees, or almost
so, there was considerable difference of opinion among them as to
their next step. He had lost much; the Confederacy of the Rhine was
shattered, the greater part of Germany was unshackled, disasters had
occurred in Italy, the British were masters of the Peninsula, yet his
enemies wanted more. The Czar and England were the most determined;
Prussia, Sweden and Austria were lukewarm. They eventually agreed to
give the Emperor another chance, to offer terms humiliating without
doubt, but affording him an opportunity of restoring peace to
Europe, a blessing long desired but now absolutely necessary. The
boundaries of France were to be the Rhine, the Pyrenees, and the Alps.
He could accept them or choose the only alternative--war. The proud
nature of the man, the memory of former conquests, more especially of
the time when Alexander and Frederick William III. had been as so much
clay in his hands, made a negative answer practically certain, and
accordingly the terms of the Allies were refused.
France was all but exhausted; Napoleon could raise not more than
200,000 troops against the 620,000 men who were with the Allies.
Still, he argued, it was worth the risk. The brilliant, dashing days
when he could take the offensive were gone, and in its turn Paris was
the objective of the enemy. On the 29th January 1814, four days after
he had left the capital, Napoleon attacked and defeated Blücher at
Brienne; at La Rothière on the 1st February, Blücher having received
reinforcements, the reverse was the case, the Emperor losing several
thousand men. There was again an offer of peace, more humiliating
than before, which met with no more favourable response. On the
10th February the Emperor was victorious at Braye, on the 11th at
Montmirail, on the 12th at Château-Thierry, on the 13th at Vauchamp.
It was but the final glory of the sun as it sinks below the horizon.
In the middle of the following month Wellington, having compelled
the French to retire from the Peninsula, after an extremely arduous
campaign, crossed the Pyrenees and occupied Bordeaux, while Napoleon
fought desperately at Craonne and Laon without decisive result,
Marmont’s corps sustaining heavy losses. The Emperor now turned his
attention to the main army under Schwarzenberg, but was obliged to
fall back upon St Dizier. Meanwhile Marmont and Mortier were taking
measures for the defence of Paris, upon which the Allies were marching.
The Marshals did their best but were overwhelmed, and eventually,
acting on the advice of Napoleon’s brothers, Joseph and Jerome,
arranged an armistice. Paris, the scene of so much splendour and glory
under the Imperial _régime_, capitulated. The Emperor, marching to the
relief of the capital when it was too late, heard the awful news from
some straggling soldiers at a post-house while his carriage-horses were
being changed. “These men are mad!” cried the Emperor, “the thing is
impossible.” When he found that the announcement was only too true,
large beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. “He turned to
Caulaincourt,” writes Macdonald, “and said, ‘Do you hear that?’ with a
fixed gaze that made him shudder.”
Napoleon retired to Fontainebleau and discussed the terrible situation
with Oudinot, Maret, Caulaincourt, Ney, Macdonald, Berthier, Lefebvre
and others. He asked Macdonald what opinions were held by his soldiers
as to the surrender of Paris, and whether they would be willing to make
an attempt to regain the city.
“They share our grief,” the Marshal replied, “and I come now to declare
to you that they will not expose Paris to the fate of Moscow. We
think we have done enough, have given sufficient proof of our earnest
desire to save France from the calamities that are now crowding upon
her, without risking an attempt which would be more than unequal,
and which can only end in losing everything. The troops are dying of
hunger in the midst of their own country, reduced in number though
they are by the disastrous events of the campaign, by privation,
sickness, and, I must add, by discouragement. Since the occupation
of the capital a large number of soldiers have retired to their own
homes, and the remainder cannot find enough to live upon in the forest
of Fontainebleau. If they advance they will find themselves in an open
plain; our cavalry is weakened and exhausted; our horses can go no
farther; we have not enough ammunition for one skirmish, and no means
of procuring more. If we fail, moreover, as we most probably shall,
what remains of us will be destroyed, and the whole of France will be
at the mercy of the enemy. We can still impose upon them; let us retain
our attitude. Our mind is made up; whatever decision is arrived at,
we are determined to have no more to do with it. For my own part, I
declare to you that my sword shall never be drawn against Frenchmen,
nor dyed with French blood. Whatever may be decided upon, we have had
enough of this unlucky war without kindling civil war.”
The Emperor was quite calm; he met his defeat with less apparent
concern than in the old days when a minor error had instantly provoked
a violent outburst of temper. Taking up a pen he wrote an offer of
abdication on behalf of his son. Again and again he endeavoured to win
his old comrades-in-arms to his side ere he realised that the game was
up. On the 11th April 1814, he signed his own dismissal, making no
conditions, surrendering everything.
“The Allied Powers,” he wrote, “having declared that the Emperor was
the sole obstacle to the re-establishment of peace in Europe, the
Emperor, faithful to his oaths, declares that he renounces, for himself
and his heirs, the thrones of France and Italy, and that there is no
sacrifice, not even that of life, which he is not ready to make for the
interest of France.”
With mock generosity the Allies gave the former Emperor of the West the
tiny island of Elba as his future kingdom, an army of 400 men, and an
income of 2,000,000 francs a year--which was never paid. The Empress
and her son were granted the duchies of Parma, Placentia and Guastalla
and an ample subsidy, and the remaining members of the Bonaparte family
had no reason to complain of their treatment.
Napoleon’s activity in his miniature possession, which is 17½ miles
wide and 12 miles from North to South, has been likened to a bluebottle
under a glass tumbler. He certainly imported considerable energy into
his administration, erected fortifications, built roads, created a
make-believe navy, and annexed the adjacent island of Palmaiola. It was
all useful dust to throw into the eyes of those who watched. On the
29th April 1814, Napoleon had set sail for Elba in the _Undaunted_, a
British vessel commanded by Captain Ussher; less than a year later,
on the 26th February 1815, he stepped on board the French brig
_Inconstant_ for his last desperate adventure. With 1050 troops he had
decided to invade France, to “reach Paris without firing a shot.”
He had chosen a favourable time for putting into action the scheme
on which he had been secretly brooding. The Allies still quarrelled
amongst themselves, the Czar in particular showing a disposition
towards the others more warlike than pacific; some 300,000 troops had
been released from German fortresses, Spanish prisons, and British
hulks, and might rally around him; the Bourbons, who had been replaced
in power, were anything but popular, and people were beginning to
talk about “the good old times” when the insatiable French appetite
for glory had been appeased. On the first day of March the Commander
and his little army landed near Cannes and pushed on to Grenoble as
quickly as possible. The garrison did not seem particularly anxious
to listen to his overtures. Unbuttoning his coat he declaimed to the
soldiers, “Here is your Emperor; if any one would kill him, let him
fire!” This dramatic appeal was irresistible. The detachment instantly
joined him, followed by many others as he marched in the direction of
Paris. Peasants who would have heard with unfeigned delight of his
assassination ten months before, now saluted and cheered him as he
rode at the head of his rapidly increasing army, which included Ney
and the 6000 soldiers who had been sent to capture him. The new king
deemed it advisable to leave Paris; on the following day Napoleon
entered it and was again in the Tuileries. Without losing a moment he
began to reconstruct the Government. Great Britain, Russia, Austria,
and Prussia, declared him an outlaw, a step less serious than their
agreement to keep 600,000 troops under arms “till Bonaparte should have
been rendered absolutely incapable of stirring up further troubles.” At
the commencement of hostilities the Emperor had 125,000 men, the Allies
210,000.
Of Napoleon’s campaign in Belgium little need be said. It was short
and it was decisive. On the 16th June 1815, he won his last victory
at Ligny, where he defeated the Prussians under Blücher, Wellington
gaining the battle of Quatre Bras against Ney. Two days later
Wellington and Blücher routed the French on the field of Waterloo. The
Iron Duke afterwards told Thomas Creevey that it was “the nearest run
thing you ever saw in your life.”
[Illustration: The Flight from Waterloo
By A. C. Gow, R.A.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.]
“On the morning of the 18th,” relates Sir Hussey Vivian, who led a
British brigade, “about eleven o’clock, our advanced posts were driven
in, and we saw the enemy’s column advancing to attack us.
“The firing soon began, and about one o’clock one of the most desperate
attacks I ever witnessed was made on the centre and left centre of our
line; this was defeated, and repeated twice, the armies constantly
mixed actually with each other, and the French always covering each
attack by the most tremendous cannonade you can possibly imagine. With
respect to the particular situation in which my brigade was placed,
it did not suffer much until towards the last attack; the ground on
the left did not admit of the cavalry advancing, and I, being on the
left of all, consequently suffered only from the cannonade. About six
o’clock, however, I learnt that the cavalry in the centre had suffered
dreadfully, and the Prussians about that time having formed to my left,
I took upon myself to move off from our left, and halted directly to
the centre of our line, where I arrived most opportunely at the instant
that Bonaparte was making his last and most desperate effort. And never
did I witness anything so terrific: the ground actually covered with
dead and dying, cannon shot and shells flying thicker than I ever heard
musquetry.
“In this state of affairs I wheeled my brigade into line close (within
ten yards) in the rear of our infantry, and prepared to charge the
instant they had retreated through my intervals (the three squadron
officers were wounded at this instant). This, however, gave them
confidence, and the brigades that were literally running away halted
on our cheering them and again began fighting. The enemy on their part
began to waver. The Duke observed it, and ordered the infantry to
advance. I immediately wheeled the brigade by half-squadrons to the
right and in column over the dead and dying, trotted round the right of
our infantry, passed the French infantry, and formed lines of regiments
on the first half-squadrons. With the 10th I charged a body of French
Cuirassiers and Lancers infinitely superior to them, and completely
routed them. I then went to the 18th, and charged a second body that
was supporting a square of Imperial Guards, and the 18th not only
defeated them, but took fourteen pieces of cannon that had been firing
grape at us during our movement. I then, with the 10th, having reformed
them, charged a square of infantry, Imperial Guards, the men of which
we cut down in the ranks, and here the last shot was fired--from this
moment all was deroute.... I never saw such a day, nor any one else.”
In confirmation of the last statement Sir Harry Smith, who also fought
under Wellington in this campaign, says “I had never seen anything to
be compared with what I saw,” excepting only “one spot at New Orleans,
and the breach of Badajos.” He adds a description of the field as he
observed it on the following day:
“At Waterloo,” he writes, “the whole field from right to left was a
mass of dead bodies. In one spot, to the right of La Haye Sainte, the
French Cuirassiers were literally piled on each other; many soldiers
not wounded lying under their horses; others, fearfully wounded,
occasionally with their horses struggling upon their wounded bodies.
The sight was sickening, and I had no means or power to assist them.
Imperative duty compelled me to the field of my comrades, where I had
plenty to do to assist many who had been left out all night; some had
been believed to be dead, but the spark of life had returned. All over
the field you saw officers, and as many soldiers as were permitted to
leave the ranks, leaning and weeping over some dead or dying brother
or comrade. The battle was fought on a Sunday, the 18th June, and I
repeated to myself a verse from the Psalms of that day--91st Psalm,
7th verse: ‘A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy
right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee.’ I blessed Almighty God
our Duke was spared, and galloped to my General, whom I found with some
breakfast awaiting my arrival.” In Sir Harry’s opinion “Napoleon fought
the battle badly, his attacks were not simultaneous, but partial and
isolated, and enabled the Duke to repel each by a concentration.”
A fleeting glimpse of the fallen Colossus as he rushes towards Paris
is afforded us by Alexandre Dumas, then staying with his mother at the
posting-house of Villers-Cotterets, about fifty-five miles from the
capital. The novelist had seen the Emperor pass through the little town
before the crushing conflict. He had then been accompanied by General
Letort and Jerome Bonaparte. Says Dumas:
“At seven o’clock a courier arrived; he was covered with mud, his horse
shook from head to foot, and was ready to drop with fatigue. He ordered
four horses to be ready for a carriage which was following him, then he
leapt on his horse and set off on his journey again.
“It was in vain we questioned him; he either knew nothing or would not
say anything.
“The four horses were taken out of the stables and harnessed in
readiness for the carriage: a rapidly approaching heavy rumble
announced it was coming, soon we saw it appear round the corner of the
street and draw up at the door.
“The master of the post came forward and stood stupefied. I took hold
of his coat tails and asked: ‘It is he? the Emperor?’
“‘Yes.’
“It was indeed the Emperor, just in the same place and carriage, with
one aide-de-camp near him and one opposite him, as I had seen him
before. But his companions were neither Jerome nor Letort. Letort was
killed, and Jerome was commissioned to rally the army by Laon.
“It was just the same man, it was just the same pale, sickly, impassive
face, but his head was bent a little more forward on his chest.
“Was it merely from fatigue, or from grief at having staked the world
and lost it?
“As on the first occasion, he raised his head when he felt the carriage
pull up, and threw exactly vague look around him which became so
penetrating when he fixed it upon a person or scanned the horizon,
those two unknown elements behind which danger might always lurk.
“‘Where are we?’ he asked.
“‘At Villers-Cotterets, sire.’
“‘Good! eighteen leagues from Paris?’
“‘Yes, sire.’
“‘Go on.’”
In his second abdication, signed on the 22nd June, the Emperor declared
that his public life was finished, and proclaimed his son as Napoleon
II., Emperor of the French. But the child for whom his father had
anticipated so glorious a career in 1811, who had been born with the
mighty title of King of Rome, was never destined to wear the crown of
France. That insignia of royal rank was donned once more by Louis XVIII.
The mighty conqueror had run his course. He threw himself on the mercy
of the nation to which he had shown no mercy, and which he had hated
with exceeding hatred. Great Britain consigned him to the island rock
of St Helena, far away on the broad bosom of the Atlantic, and in the
well-known picture by the late Sir W. Q. Orchardson, “Napoleon on the
‘Bellerophon,’” we see Napoleon taking his final farewell of France.
He stands alone, bearing, in place of the weight of Empire, the almost
insupportable burden of shattered hopes. Gone dynasty and throne and
kindred, everything that was worth while in his complex life, but the
Imperial Dignity will never be discarded. He remains Napoleon the
Great. The rigidity of the mouth and the stern and unbending demeanour
tell you that the will is still unconquered.
[Illustration: Napoleon on Board the “Bellerophon”
By Sir W. Q. Orchardson, R.A.
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.]
His “star” had led him far from insignificant Ajaccio and was now
leading him still further. Unknown lad, cadet, lieutenant, general,
emperor, statesman, constructor, destructor, he had been all, and more.
Destiny had now set him a far more difficult task, namely, to reign
over himself. In this he was perhaps less successful than myriads who
have gone down to the grave in silence, and whose names find no place
in the printed page or the scrolls of history. In lonely St Helena,
isolated from other human habitation, spied on by soldiers of the army
which had done so much to bring about his downfall, but surrounded
by a little band of men who refused to desert him in his last days
of trial and despair, he spent the remainder of a life which had
been lived to the full. Sometimes his old enthusiasm would revive as
he reviewed the history of a campaign, at others he would show the
capriciousness of a spoilt child at the over-conscientious sense of
duty displayed by Sir Hudson Lowe, the Governor of the island. It is
perhaps a more dramatic ending to so marvellous a story than if he had
fallen in battle. Many men have met their death in that way, but there
has been but one Imperial prisoner at St Helena, the exiled monarch
whose soul took its flight on the stormy night of the 5th May 1821.
“The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings;
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.”
“I desire that my ashes may repose on the banks of the Seine, in the
midst of the French people I have loved so well,” wrote Napoleon in his
will, and the nation responded with emotion to the wish of its great
Son. They forgot that he had lavished French treasure and resources as
a spendthrift, that his insane ambitions had brought them financial and
political ruin; they forgave him that he had led the youth of France
to the shambles and had bereaved their homes of fathers, of husbands,
of brothers, of sons. They remembered only that he had glorified
France, and in the midst of beautiful Paris they raised the most noble
Tomb that the genius of modern times has conceived. It is a sacred
place of pilgrimage to every son and daughter of France, and men and
women of other nations pass, a continual stream, before the massive
sarcophagus which--oh, irony of fate!--was hewn out of a Russian
quarry, the memorial tribute of Czar Nicholas I. to his brother’s
mighty antagonist. None who enters that quiet place fails to bow the
head before those ashes, and we, too, perhaps from afar, may reflect
one moment upon the vanity of human glory and ponder the eternal truth:
“Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.”
[Illustration: The less deeply shaded portion shows the extent of the
French Empire at the height of Napoleon’s power. The darker part shows
its diminished size after 1815.]
Index
Abensberg, 224
Acre, 101-2
Ajaccio, 15, 34, 39, 41, 44, 52, 55, 92, 105
Alexander I., 123, 178, 298, 306
Alexandria, 94, 95
Amiens (Treaty), 124, 131
Arcola, 85
Aspern, 236, 237
Augsburg, 148, 220
Austerlitz, 150, 153
Auxonne, 34, 39, 41, 42
Avignon, 59, 233
Bagration, Prince, 175, 272, 273, 278
Barras, 71, 72, 107
Bartenstein, Treaty of, 173
Bastia, 38, 39, 54, 55
Bautzen, Battle of, 298
Beauharnais, Josephine de, 72, 139, 249, 250, 251
Beauharnais, Eugene, 119, 140, 241, 268
Bennigsen, General, 168, 169, 173, 176, 177
Beresina River, 289
Berlin, Decree of, 181, 182
Bernadotte, General, 138, 147, 149, 159, 167, 170
Berthier (War Minister), 75, 80, 104, 107, 111, 115, 154, 210, 223,
304
Bessières, Marshal, 119, 138, 200, 296
Bey, Murad, 96, 99, 100, 103
Blücher, General, 167, 296, 297, 298, 303, 307
Bocognano, 54
Bonaparte, Charles, 17, 20
” Letizia, 16, 33, 59
Bonaparte, Louis, 41, 49, 69, 85, 154, 195, 253, 254
” Jerome, 272, 304
” Joseph, 16, 19, 44, 48, 54, 59, 68, 154, 171, 196, 304
” Lucien, 18, 28, 33, 53, 59, 107, 109, 255
” ” (Archdeacon), 18, 33, 44
” Élise, 51
Borodino, Battle of, 277, 278
Boulogne, 133, 139, 143, 153
Bourrienne, 25, 27, 47, 69, 89, 101, 123, 183, 235
Brienne, 22, 27, 28, 303
Brueys, Admiral, 93, 97, 98
Brunswick, Duke of, 164
Burgos, Battle of, 213
Cagliari, 52
Cairo, 95
Campo Formio, Treaty of, 88
Carteaux, 60, 65
Casa-Bianca, Commodore, 98
Charles, Archduke, 88, 147, 150, 221
Charles IV. (Spain), 194, 195, 196
Cintra, Convention of, 204
Clary, Mlle. Désirée, 68
Copenhagen, 123, 188, 189
Corsica, 15, 33, 34, 38, 39, 44, 66, 69, 202
Coruña, Battle of, 216
Danzig, 175
D’Enghien, Duc, 135
Desaix, General, 93, 99, 117, 119
Dnieper River, 289
Doppet, 60, 62, 65
Dresden, 259, 260, 261, 297, 298, 300
Dugommier, General, 61, 63
Dumouriez, General, 57, 58
Duroc, General, 75, 104, 298
Ebelsberg (Ebersberg), 229
Eckmühl, Battle of, 226
El Arish, 100
Elba, Isle of, 141, 167, 259, 306
Erfurt, 207, 208, 211
Essling, 237
Etruria, 191, 195
Eylau, 170, 173
Ferdinand, Archduke, 148
” Prince Louis, 160
” VII., King (Spain), 194, 195, 196
Flushing, 245
Fox, Charles James, 132, 156
Frederick, William III. (Prussia), 178, 239, 291, 292, 297
Fréjus, 105
Friedland, 175, 176
Geneva, 115, 116
Genoa, 66, 92, 113
Godoy, Manuel, 192, 194, 195
Gross-Görschen (Lützen), Battle of, 296
Hanover, 153, 156
Hohenlinden, Battle of, 121
Hood, Lord, 60, 63
Jaffa, 100
Jemappes, Battle of, 57
Jena, Battle of, 158, 159, 160, 162, 173, 194, 207
John, Archduke, 150
Joubert, General, 88
Junot, General, 61, 75, 87, 183, 193, 202, 203, 204, 268
Junot, Madame, 31
Kellerman, General, 119, 138
Kléber, General, 65, 93, 95, 101, 120
Königsberg, 170, 173, 174, 175, 177, 178, 265, 293
Kray, General, 114
Kulm, Battle of, 300
Landgrafenberg, 162
Lannes, Marshal, 80, 104, 107, 108, 116, 117, 119, 138, 161, 226, 227,
235, 236, 237
Leipzig, Campaign of, 291-301
Leoben, 88
Ligny, Battle of, 307
Lobau (Ile Napoléon), 238, 240, 241
Lodi, 80, 81, 85
Lonato, 84
Louis XVI., 37, 48, 49, 50, 57, 58
Lugo, 215-6
Lunéville, Treaty of, 122, 128, 131
Lützen, Battle of, 296
Lyons, 36, 43
Macdonald, Marshal, 113, 229, 241, 243, 244, 290, 293, 300, 304
Madrid, 199, 213
Malta, 93, 96, 125
Mantua, 84, 87
Marbœuf, 20, 21
Marengo, 117, 120
Marie Antoinette, 47, 49
Marmont, Marshal, 104, 107, 147, 148, 241, 245, 304
Marseilles, 38, 60, 68
Masséna, Marshal, 65, 76, 80, 83, 84, 106, 138, 150, 220, 223, 245
Médola, 84
Milan, 76, 79, 82, 83, 116, 140, 182
Millesimo, 77, 79
Montebello, 117
Montenotte Pass, 76
Moore, Sir John, 202, 204, 212, 215, 217
Moreau, General, 113, 114, 121, 122, 135
Mortier, Marshal, 134, 138, 304
Moscow, 275, 279
Munich, 115
Murat, King of Naples, 83, 93, 104, 107, 138, 160, 167, 195, 198, 295
Naples, 113, 196
Nelson, Admiral, 94, 97, 123, 133, 142, 143, 149, 215
Ney, Marshal, 128, 138, 150, 170, 175, 264, 273, 289, 307
Nice, 64, 74, 77
Oudinot, General, 264, 289, 304
Paoli, Pascal, 16, 36, 39, 52, 53
Paris, Occupation of, 304
Parsdorf (Armistice), 115
Pichegru, M., 23, 135, 136
Piedmont, 76, 78, 127
Pitt, William, 125, 132, 140, 155, 211
Pius VI., Pope, 88
” VII., Pope, 233
Prague, 294
Pressburg, Peace of, 153
Pyramids, Battle of the, 96
Quatre Bras, Battle of, 307
Rapp, General, 150, 235
Ratisbon, 220, 221, 223, 224, 228
Rémusat, Madame de, 39
Rivoli, 86
Robespierre, Augustan, 66, 72
” Maximilien, 66
Salicetti, 54, 64, 67
San Domingo, 129, 130
San Stefano, 52
Sardinia, 52, 93
Savary, General, 232
Savoy, 57, 77
Scharnhorst, General, 292, 298
Schönbrünn, Treaty of, 248, 258
Schwarzenberg, General, 264, 290, 304
Smith, Sir Sidney, 101, 102, 103, 193
Smolensk, 207, 274, 275, 286, 289
Soult, Marshal, 138, 147, 167, 213, 215
Staël, Madame de, 89, 183
St Cloud, 108
Stein, H. F. C. (Prussia), 206, 291, 294
St Helena, 50, 312
Strachan, Sir Richard, 245
Tabor, Mt., 102
Talleyrand, 90, 107, 113, 154, 156, 210, 215
Tilsit, Peace of, 180, 191
Trafalgar, Battle of, 144
Treviso (Armistice), 122
Trinidad, 125
Toulon, 53, 56, 59, 60, 63, 92, 93, 141, 142
Turin, 77, 78, 79
Tyrol, 150, 153, 197, 246
Ulm, 115, 148, 153
University of France, 186
Valence, 30, 42
Victor, Marshal, 87, 289
Vienna, 122, 150, 233
Villeneuve, Admiral, 142, 143, 144
Vilna, 266, 268, 270, 290
Vimiero, 203
Vistula River, 169, 175, 293
Vitebsk, 207, 272, 277
Wagram, 241, 244
Walcheren, Island of, 245, 254
Warsaw, 169, 246
Waterloo, 307, 310
Wellesley, Sir Arthur (Duke of Wellington), 188, 202, 203, 204, 303,
307
York, General, 292, 293
Znaym, 245, 246
Zurich, 106
[Illustration]
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; ambiguous hyphens at the
ends of lines were retained.
Text contains several words that sometimes are hyphenated and sometimes
not, such as “battle-field” and “battlefield”; both forms have been
retained here.
Index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Napoleon, by Harold F. B. Wheeler