Kitabı oku: «The Camp-fires of Napoleon», sayfa 21

THE CAMP-FIRE AT MONTEREAU

A distinguished historian, (Alison,) expresses the opinion that the greatest displays of Napoleon’s genius were made during his first campaign in Italy, and the next to the last in his career, in France. In spite of his triumphs at Lutzen, Bautzen and Leipsic, he was compelled to retreat upon France, into which he was followed by the overwhelming forces of the allies. His throne was threatened on all sides. His army was but a handful compared with that of his enemies. Yet by his lightning movements, masterly combinations and indomitable resolution, he gained a succession of dazzling victories, and for a time seemed likely to drive his foes from France. We can only show this astonishing man during one portion of this unparalleled campaign.

It was the 16th of February, 1814. Having conquered the Russians at Montmirail, Napoleon had left the Duke of Ragusa—the Judas of the Emperor—in command of that portion of the army, and flown to the army of the Seine, commanded by the Dukes of Belluno and Reggio. He proceeded to Guignes by way of Crecy and Fontenay.

The inhabitants lined the road with carts, by the help of which the soldiers doubled their distances; and the firing of cannon being heard, the artillery drove on at full speed. An engagement had been obstinately maintained since noon by the Dukes of Belluno and Reggio, in the hope to keep possession of the road by which Napoleon was expected; an hour later the junction of the forces would have been difficult. The arrival of the Emperor restored full confidence to the army of the Seine. That evening he contented himself with checking the allies before Guignes; and the next morning the troops were seasonably reinforced by General Treilhard’s dragoons, who had been detached from the army in Spain. Couriers dispatched to Paris entered the suburbs escorted by crowds of people who had anxiously assembled at Charenton. On the 17th the troops quitted Guignes and marched forward. The allies instantly knew that Napoleon was returned. General Gerard’s infantry, General Drouet’s artillery, and the cavalry of the army of Spain did wonders. The enemy’s columns were driven back in every direction, and left the road between Mormars and Provins covered with the slain. The Duke of Belluno had orders to carry the bridge of Montereau that same evening; and the imperial guard lit their camp-fires round Nangis, the Emperor sleeping at the castle.

In the course of the evening, one of those lures by which he was too often inveigled arrived in the shape of a demand for a suspension of hostilities, brought by Count Parr from the Austrians. He availed himself of this opportunity of transmitting a letter from the Empress to her father, and of writing one himself. Napoleon at the same time, however, had spirit to write to Caulaincourt to revoke his carte blanche, saying it was to save the capital, but the capital was now saved; that it was to avoid a battle, but that the battle had been fought, and that the negotiations must return to the ordinary course. The allies had the assurance to reproach Buonaparte with this, as a receding from his word according to circumstances, when they themselves encroached upon him with every new advantage and every hour, as fast as the drawing aside the veil of hypocrisy would let them.

In the meantime, the Duke of Belluno was encamped at the bridge of Montereau. Early on the morning of the 18th, Napoleon was vexed to hear that the bridge was not yet captured; but that the camp-fires of the duke were burning amidst troops at rest, when great efforts were demanded of them. The Emperor hurried to that point. But the Wurtemberg troops had established themselves there during the night.

Napoleon ordered forward the Bretagne national guard and General Pajol’s cavalry. General Gerard came up in time to support the attack, and Napoleon himself arrived to decide the victory. The troops took possession of the heights of Surville, which command the confluence of the Seine and the Yonne; and batteries were mounted which dealt destruction on the Wurtemberg force in Montereau. Napoleon himself pointed the guns. The enemy’s balls hissed like the wind over the heights of Surville. The troops were fearful lest Napoleon, giving way to the habits of his early life, should expose himself to danger; but he only said, “Come on, my brave fellows, fear nothing; the ball that is to kill me is not yet cast.” The firing redoubled; and under its shelter the Bretagne guards established themselves in the suburbs, while General Pajol carried the bridge by so vigorous a charge of cavalry, that there was not time to blow up a single arch. The Wurtemberg troops, inclosed and cut to pieces in Montereau, vainly summoned the Austrians to their aid. This engagement was one of the most brilliant of the campaign. Their success encouraged the troops, roused the country people, and stimulated the ardor of the young officers; but nothing could revive the spirits of the veteran chiefs. Hope does not return twice to the human breast. Several of the most distinguished officers were deeply depressed.

Napoleon could no longer repress his dissatisfaction. He reproached General Guyot in the presence of the troops, with having suffered the enemy to surprise some pieces of artillery the preceding evening. He ordered General Digeon to be tried by a council of war for a failure of ammunition on the batteries: but afterwards tore the order. He sent the Duke of Belluno, who had suffered the Wurtembergers to surprise the bridge of Montereau before him, permission to retire; and gave the command of his corps to General Gerard, who had greatly exerted himself during the campaign. The Duke repaired to Surville to appeal against this decision; but Napoleon overwhelmed him with reproaches for neglect and reluctance in the discharge of his duties. The conduct of the Duchess was also made a subject of complaint; she was Lady of the Palace, and yet had withdrawn herself from the Empress, who, indeed, seemed to be quite forsaken by the new court. The Duke could not for some time obtain a hearing; the recollections of Italy were appealed to in vain; but, mentioning the fatal wound which his son-in-law had received in consequence of his delay, the Emperor was deeply affected at hearing the name of General Chateau, and sympathized sincerely in the grief of the marshal. The Duke of Belluno resuming confidence, again protested that he would never quit the army. “I can shoulder a musket,” said he: “I have not forgotten the business of a soldier. Victor will range himself in the ranks of the Guard.” These last words completely subdued Napoleon. “Well, Victor,” he said, stretching out his hand to him, “remain with me. I cannot restore the command of your corps, because I have appointed General Gerard to succeed you; but I give you the command of two divisions of the Guard; and now let every thing be forgotten between us.”

The Emperor was victorious. But victory only served to fill him with false hopes. He triumphed again and again. But it was of no avail. The forces of the enemy were overwhelming; and at the moment when it seemed most likely that he could save France, the disgusting treachery of Marmont and Augereau, two men whom he had raised from the dust, as it were, brought about his ruin. He found, like many other great characters of history, in their hour of adversity, that the men who were most indebted to him were the men upon whom it were most unsafe to rely.

THE CAMP-FIRE AT ARCIS

While the allies held anxious councils, and were filled with apprehensions at almost every movement of Napoleon in his mighty struggle for his throne, he continued to strike vigorous blows at his thronging enemies. He triumphed at Craonne, and took possession of Rheims. The Austrians, under Schwartzenberg, were compelled to retreat. On the 17th of March, Napoleon broke up his head-quarters at Rheims, and advanced by Epernay to attack the rear of the Austrian army. On the 20th, his advanced guard encountered an Austrian division at Arcis-sur-Aube. The conflict became fierce. The Austrians brought up fresh battalions, supported by cannon; and Napoleon found that instead of attacking a rear guard in retreat, he was in front of the whole of the grand army in its advance on Paris.

This was unfortunate for the Emperor’s calculations. He conceived himself to be acting upon the retreat of the allies, and expected only to find a rear guard at Arcis; he was even talking jocularly of making his father-in-law prisoner during his retreat. If, contrary to his expectation, he should find the enemy, or any considerable part of them, still upon the Aube, it was, from all he had heard, to be supposed his appearance would precipitate their retreat towards the frontier. It has also been asserted, that he expected Marshal Macdonald to make a corresponding advance from the banks of the Seine to those of the Aube; but the orders had been received too late to admit of the necessary space being traversed so as to arrive on the morning of the day of battle.

Napoleon easily drove before him such bodies of light cavalry, and sharp-shooters, as had been left by the allies, rather for the purpose of reconnoitring than of making any serious opposition. He crossed the Aube at Plancey, and moved upwards, along the left bank of the river, with Ney’s corps, and his whole cavalry, while the infantry of the guard advanced upon the right; his army being thus, according to the French military phrase, a-cheval, upon the Aube. The town of Arcis had been evacuated by the allies upon his approach, and was occupied by the French on the morning of the 20th March. That town forms the outlet of a sort of defile, where a succession of narrow bridges cross a number of drains, brooks, and streamlets, the feeders of the river Aube, and a bridge in the town crosses the river itself. On the other side of Arcis is a plain, in which some few squadrons of cavalry, resembling a reconnoitring party, were observed manœuvring.

Behind these horses, at a place called Clermont, the Prince Royal of Wurtemberg, whose name has been so often honorably mentioned, was posted with his division, while the elite of the allied army was drawn up on a chain of heights still farther in the rear, called Mesnil la Comptesse. But these corps were not apparent to the vanguard of Napoleon’s army. The French cavalry had orders to attack the light troops of the allies; but these were instantly supported by whole regiments, and by cannon, so that the attack was unsuccessful; and the squadrons of the French were repulsed and driven back on Arcis at a moment, when, from the impediments in the town and its environs, the infantry could with difficulty debouch from the town to support them. Napoleon showed, as he always did in extremity, the same heroic courage which he had exhibited at Lodi and Brienne. He drew his sword, threw himself among the broken cavalry, called on them to remember their former victories, and checked the enemy by an impetuous charge, in which he and his staff officers fought hand to hand with their opponents, so that he was in personal danger from the lance of a Cossack, the thrust of which was averted by his aid-de-camp, Girardin. His Mameluke, Rustan, fought stoutly by his side, and received a gratuity for his bravery. These desperate exertions afforded time for the infantry to debouch from the town. The Imperial Guards came up, and the combat waxed very warm. The superior numbers of the allies rendered them the assailants on all points. A strongly situated village in front, and somewhat to the left of Arcis, called Grand Torcy, had been occupied by the French. This place was repeatedly and desperately attacked by the allies, but the French made good their position. Arcis itself was set on fire by the shells of the assailants; and night alone separated the combatants by inducing the allies to desist from the attack.

The French remained masters of the field, which they had maintained against nearly treble their number. They had not gained a victory, but they had fought one of their most glorious battles, and Napoleon had displayed not only the full blaze of his genius, but had shown the allies that he was still the valorous hero of Arcola. Many of the houses of Arcis were blazing when the wearied heroes kindled their camp-fires along the Aube. Upon the distant heights of Mesnil la Comptesse, the watch-fires of the enemy were to be seen, and the sky was redly illumined as far as the eye could penetrate. Napoleon had retired to his head-quarters, to rest his weary body, but not to sleep. He had but twenty-seven thousand men, and he was before a strong position, occupied by eighty thousand troops. He was busy in examining his maps, when an aid, Girardin, entered and announced the arrival of Marshals Macdonald and Oudinot, and General Gerard, with their detachments. A few moments afterwards, those brave commanders entered. Napoleon received them with much apparent gratification. Others of his generals also arrived, and a council was held to determine upon the course to be pursued. Macdonald was the most influential of the Emperor’s advisers at this time. His great good sense, cool, steady courage, and honest heart, had won upon Napoleon’s favor, and he listened to his counsel with much attention and consideration. In a former part of his career, he had treated Macdonald very unjustly. In his darker hours, he found the marshal’s great worth, and ever afterwards spoke of him in the highest terms.

The character of Macdonald could be read in his broad, Scotch countenance. His expression was honest, penetrating and determined. He was above all meanness. He lacked enthusiasm; but he had a mind that could calmly work in the midst of the most terrible excitement. He never appeared to be ruffled. The tone of his voice was always dry, even, and steady, as if it was out of the power of the ordinary human emotions to gain an influence over him. Napoleon eagerly asked the advice of the renowned marshal, and received a prompt reply—that retreat was necessary; and it would be well if it could be effected in the face of an overwhelming enemy. Oudinot and Gerard concurred in Macdonald’s opinion; indeed, there seemed to be a prevailing idea, that immediate retreat was necessary, and Napoleon acquiesced. But the manner of it was not so easy to determine. The army was in a difficult position. The line of retreat on either side of the Aube was rendered dangerous by the numerous defiles, where an enemy might attack with advantage. Finally, it was decided to retreat on both sides of the Aube, as a method of presenting a smaller mark to an enemy in pursuit, and of hurrying through the dangerous defiles. The council then dissolved into a conversational party, but the spirits of the generals seemed under the shadow of a cloud. There was scarcely one of them who did not apprehend a speedy termination of the fearful struggle in which they were engaged. To all Napoleon’s expressions of his grand designs, for which he had no means, they gave the reply of a shake of the head, or indicated the obstacles. Napoleon could see that their enthusiasm and confidence had been dissipated by the disasters which their glorious efforts had been unable to avert from the French arms. The demeanor of the Emperor was calm and dignified. He was Emperor of France and at the head of an army still. He was even victorious. But there was no lightness in his look or speech.

At daybreak the camp-fires of the army were extinguished, and the order of retreat given. It was a masterly exploit. With his small army, the Emperor retreated through the difficult defiles, in the face of a whole Austrian army; and though pursued and annoyed, sustained but little loss.

But what availed these miracles of generalship? The struggle was quickly decided, by irresistible numbers and sickening treachery.

Paris was surrendered by Marmont, while still capable of defence, and the enemy gained possession of Lyons by the same means. All hope was lost, and the Emperor was advised by Macdonald and others of his most faithful friends, to comply with the terms of the allies and abdicate his throne. He resisted as long as there was a shadow of hope, and then obeyed stern necessity. The enemies of France were supreme. The sovereign of her choice was consigned to the little island of Elba, and the detested Bourbons were restored in the person of Louis XVIII.

We will not dwell upon the leave-taking of the Emperor—how he kissed the eagles, and embraced the veterans of Fontainebleau. It is not within our scope. It is enough to know, that such victories as Montereau, Arcis and Montmirail, won in the last hours of his imperial power, sustained the glory of Napoleon’s genius, and proved that no treason, “coming like a blight over the councils of the brave,” could annihilate his title to immortal remembrance.

THE CAMP-FIRE AT WATERLOO

Napoleon had returned to France. He had landed at Cannes with but a few soldiers as a guard; but he had been swept up to the imperial throne of Paris upon a mighty wave of popular enthusiasm. All Europe had arisen in arms against the choice of the nation. The campaign of the Hundred Days had commenced. At the head of a hundred and twenty thousand men, the Emperor had advanced to attack Wellington and Blucher, with two hundred and fifty thousand.

In order to escape from the danger which might result from too great an inferiority of numbers, Napoleon strove, from the commencement of the campaign, to separate the English from the Prussians, and manœuvred actively to throw himself between them. His plan was strikingly successful on the 16th at the battle of Ligny; Blucher, being attacked alone, was completely beaten, and left twenty-five thousand men on the field of battle. But this enormous loss did not materially enfeeble an army which had such masses of soldiers in line, and behind, still more numerous reserves. In the position in which the Emperor found himself, he required a more decisive advantage, a victory which should annihilate the army of Blucher, and allow him to fall upon Wellington next, in order to crush him in his turn. This successive defeat of the English and Prussians had been most skilfully prepared by the orders and instructions he dispatched on all sides. But, we cannot too often repeat it, his destiny was accomplished; and fatal misunderstandings deceived the calculations of his genius. Moreover, he had himself a presentiment that some unforeseen incident would disarrange his combinations, and that fortune had more disasters in store for him. “It is certain that in these circumstances,” he said to his suite, “I had no longer in myself that definitive feeling; there was nothing of former confidence.” His presentiments were too soon realized.

At daybreak on the 17th, Grouchy, at the head of thirty-four thousand men, was dispatched in pursuit of the enemy, who had fled in two columns by way of Tilly and Gembloux, with orders to proceed to Wavres. About seven in the morning, the Emperor galloped forward with Count Lobau’s cavalry towards Quatre-Bras, which place he expected to find in possession of Ney; the latter, however, had not been able to retrieve his error of the 16th, and remained facing the position of the British, although now occupied only by their rear-guard, which made off as soon as its commander perceived the approach of Lobau’s horsemen. Pursuit was immediately given, Napoleon hoping that he might yet be able to overtake and defeat the English. In consequence of the state of the roads, from the heavy rains, it was near four o’clock before the retreating column reached the plain of Waterloo, and nearly seven before the troops were in position on the rising ground in front of Mount St. Jean.

That night the English bivouacked on the field they were to maintain in the battle of the morrow. Between six and seven, Napoleon reached Planchenois; and perceiving the enemy established in position, fixed his head-quarters at the farm of Cailloux, and posted his followers on the heights around La Belle Alliance. The reinforcements received by the Duke of Wellington during the 16th and 17th, had raised his army to seventy-five thousand men, who were supported by two hundred and fifty pieces of cannon. Napoleon’s forces have been estimated at seventy thousand men, and about two hundred and forty pieces of cannon; it must, however, be borne in mind, that the Duke could not depend on the Belgian, Nassau, and Hanoverian troops.

“Never,” says Alison, “was a more melancholy night passed by soldiers than that which followed the halt of the two armies in their respective positions on the night of the 17th of June, 1815.

“The whole of that day had been wet and cloudy; but towards evening the rain fell in torrents, insomuch that, in traversing the road from Quartre-Bras to Waterloo, the soldiers were often ankle deep in water. When the troops arrived at their ground, the passage of the artillery, horse, and wagons over the drenched surface had so completely cut it up, that it was almost every where reduced to a state of mud, interspersed in every hollow with large pools of water. Cheerless and dripping as was the condition of the soldiers, who had to lie down for the night in such a situation, it was preferable to that of those battalions who were stationed in the rye-fields, where the grain was for the most part three or four feet high, and soaking wet from top to bottom. The ground occupied by the French soldiers was not less drenched and uncomfortable. But how melancholy soever may have been their physical situation, not one feeling of despondency pervaded the breasts either of the British or French soldiers. Such was the interest of the moment, the magnitude of the stake at issue, and the intensity of the feelings in either army, that the soldiers were almost insensible to physical suffering. Every man in both armies was aware that the retreat was stopped, and that a decisive battle would be fought on the following day. The great contest of two-and-twenty years’ duration was now to be brought to a final issue: retreat after disaster would be difficult, if not impossible, to the British army, through the narrow defile of the forest of Soignies: overthrow was ruin to the French. The two great commanders, who had severally overthrown every antagonist, were now for the first time to be brought into collision; the conqueror of Europe was to measure swords with the deliverer of Spain. Nor were sanguine hopes and the grounds of well-founded confidence wanting to the troops of either army. The French relied with reason on the extraordinary military talents of their chief, on his long and glorious career, and on the unbroken series of triumphs which had carried their standards to every capital in Europe. Nor had recent disasters weakened this undoubting trust, for the men who now stood side by side were almost all veterans tried in a hundred combats: the English prisons had restored the conquerors of Continental Europe to his standard, and for the first time since the Russian retreat, the soldiers of Austerlitz and Wagram were again assembled round his eagles. The British soldiers had not all the same mutual dependence from tried experience, for a large part of them had never seen a shot fired in battle. But they were not on that account the less confident. They relied on the talent and firmness of their chief, who they knew, had never been conquered, and whose resources the veterans in their ranks told them would prove equal to any emergency. They looked back with animated pride to the unbroken career of victory which had attended the British arms since they first landed in Portugal, and anticipated the keystone to their arch of fame from the approaching conflict with Napoleon in person. They were sanguine as to the result; but, come what may, they were resolute not to be conquered. Never were two armies of such fame, under leaders of such renown, and animated by such heroic feelings, brought into contact in modern Europe, and never were interests so momentous at issue in the strife.”

The field of Waterloo, rendered immortal by the battle which was fought on the following day, extends about two miles in length from the old chateau, walled garden, and inclosures of Hougoumont on the right, to the extremity of the hedge of La Haye Sainte on the left. The great chaussee from Brussels to Charleroi runs through the centre of the position, which is situated somewhat less than three quarters of a mile to the south of the village of Waterloo, and three hundred yards in front of the farm-house of Mount St. Jean. This road, after passing through the centre of the British line, goes through La Belle Alliance and the hamlet of Rossomme, where Napoleon spent the night. The position occupied by the British army, followed very nearly the crest of a range of gentle eminences, cutting the high road at right angles, two hundred yards behind the farm-house of La Haye Sainte, which adjoins the highway, and formed the centre of the position. An unpaved country road ran along this great summit, forming nearly the line occupied by the British troops, and which proved of great use in the course of the battle. Their position had this great advantage, that the infantry could rest on the reverse of the crest of the ridge, in a situation in great measure screened from the fire of the French artillery; while their own guns on the crest swept the whole slope, or natural glacis, which descended to the valley in their front. The French army occupied a corresponding line of ridges, nearly parallel, on the opposite side of the valley, stretching on either side of the hamlet of La Belle Alliance. The summit of these ridges afforded a splendid position for the French artillery to fire upon the English guns; but their attacking columns, in descending the one hill and mounting the other, would of necessity he exposed to a very severe cannonade from the opposite batteries. The French army had an open country to retreat over in case of disaster; while the British, if defeated, would in all probability lose their whole artillery in the defiles of the forest of Soignies, although the intricacies of that wood afforded an admirable defensive position for a broken array of foot soldiers. The French right rested on the village of Planchenois, which is of considerable extent, and afforded a very strong defensive position to resist the Prussians, in case they should so far recover from the disaster of the preceding day as to be able to assume offensive operations and menace the extreme French right.

This is an admirable picture of the position and condition of the respective armies which were to decide the fate of Europe. It could not be improved.

The farm-house of Cailloux, in which the Emperor was busy with his maps and plans, and surrounded by his celebrated marshals, was surrounded with the meagre fires which the guard had kindled; but the rain frequently extinguished them and drove many of the veterans to seek the shelter of sheds.

Napoleon displayed all his usual activity and dispatch. He dictated orders to be conveyed to the different commanders of columns with the rapidity of lightning. Every body near him was kept in a state of feverish excitement, except the calm and steady Soult, whom it seemed impossible to move. There, too, was the stalwart Ney, whom the storms of battle could not even scar—ready for any duty, no matter how hopeless the performance. There also was the brave but reckless Jerome, who was destined to earn a high fame on the morrow. Berthier, who had so long been a fixture by the side of Napoleon, was not there, he had deserted the man from whose glory he had borrowed beams. But there was Maret, Bertrand, the steady Drouot, of the Old Guard, Gorgaud and Labedoyere—a galaxy of bravery and talent—such as was wont to surround the Emperor. All were busy noting down instructions, and replying to the swift questions of the tireless man whom they obeyed. Without, the rain was heard dripping incessantly. Drouot let fall an expression of opinion that, in consequence of the deluge, the ground would be impracticable for artillery.

“We shall see, it is not yet morning,” replied the Emperor. Then he leaned his head upon his hand, and thought—perhaps in the way of presentiment of disaster—but no expression of apprehension escaped his lips. Grouchy would keep Blucher in check, and Wellington would be crushed. Fortune might yet be favorable. But the heavens had quenched the last camp-fire of Napoleon.

About ten o’clock at night, Napoleon sent a dispatch to Grouchy, to announce that the Anglo-Belgian army had taken post in advance of the forest of Soignes, with its left resting on the hamlets of La Haye and Ohain, where Wellington seemed determined on the next day to give battle; Grouchy was, therefore, required to detach from his corps, about two hours before daybreak, a division of seven thousand men, and sixteen pieces of artillery, with orders to proceed to St. Lambert; and, after putting themselves in communication with the right of the grand army, to operate on the left of the British.

Meanwhile, the Duke of Wellington being in communication with Blucher, was promised by him that the Prussian army should advance to support the British on the morning of the 18th.

The rain, which had not ceased during the night, cleared off about five o’clock in the morning; and at eight it was reported by the officers who had been sent to inspect the field, that the ground was practicable for artillery. The Emperor instantly mounted his horse, and rode forward towards La Haye Sainte, to reconnoitre the British fine.

By half-past ten o’clock the two armies were arrayed, and impatient for orders to commence the battle. The Emperor proceeded to the heights of Rosomme, where he dismounted to obtain a clear view of the whole field; and there stationed his guard, as a reserve, to act where emergency might require. Meanwhile, the English remained silent and steady, waiting the commands of their chief; who, with telescope in hand, stood beneath a tree, near the cross-road, in front of his position, watching the movements of his opponents.