Napoleon Against Great Odds: The Emperor and the Defenders of France, 1814

NAPOLEON AGAINST GREAT ODDS

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NAPOLEON AGAINST GREAT ODDS The Emperor and the Defenders of France, 1814 Ralph Ashby

Copyright 2010 by Ralph Ashby All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Ashby, Ralph. Napoleon against great odds : the emperor and the defenders of France, 1814 / Ralph Ashby. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-313-38190-4 (acid-free paper)—ISBN 978-0-313-38191-1 (ebook) 1. Napoleonic Wars, 1800–1815—Campaigns. 2. Wars of Liberation, 1813–1814. 3. Napoleon I, Emperor of the French, 1769–1821—Military leadership. 4. France. Armee. Grande Armee—History. I. Title. DC236.75.A84 2010 940.20 7—dc22 2010003457 ISBN: 978-0-313-38190-4 EISBN: 978-0-313-38191-1 14 13

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This book is also available on the World Wide Web as an eBook. Visit www.abc-clio.com for details. Praeger An Imprint of ABC-CLIO, LLC ABC-CLIO, LLC 130 Cremona Drive, P.O. Box 1911 Santa Barbara, California 93116-1911 This book is printed on acid-free paper Manufactured in the United States of America

Contents

List of Abbreviations List of Illustrations Acknowledgments 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

vii ix xi

The 1814 Campaign—Introduction and Controversy Prelude to Invasion—From Moscow to Paris Napoleon Creates a New Army—Again Infantry Cavalry Artillery, Engineers, and Other Troops Imperial Guard National Guard Napoleon’s Campaign of 1814 Civilians and Partisans The Battles of Fere-Champenoise The Fall of Paris French Casualties in 1814—Desertion, Disease, and Death Epilogue and Conclusions

1 11 21 43 57 63 71 79 87 123 143 153 169 177

Notes Sources and Works Cited Index

193 219 225

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List of Abbreviations

CN Correspondance de Napoleon Ier ML Correspondence between Napoleon and Marie-Louise SH Service Historique de l’Armee de Terre (Military Archives at Vincennes)

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List of Illustrations

FIGURES

1.1 1.2 3.1 3.2 4.1 4.2 5.1 5.2 6.1 7.1 7.2 9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4 10.1 11.1 11.2 12.1 12.2 12.3

Tsar Alexander I Field Marshal Bl€ ucher Napoleon, dictating to his secretaries Henri Clarke, Minister of War Infantry advancing under heavy fire Infantry recruits drilling French chevau-l eger lancers Russian ‘‘Irregular’’ Cavalry French deserters arrested Old Guard Grenadiers Young Guard Infantry in the attack Napoleon at the Battle of Brienne Napoleon at the Battle of Montereau Prince Schwarzenberg Napoleon in battle Scene of the French Campaign of 1814 Marshal Marmont Pacthod’s troops at Fere-Champenoise Empress Marie-Louise Napoleon’s son, ‘‘The King of Rome’’ Defense of the Clichy Gate

6 7 33 37 46 49 60 62 68 72 76 92 106 118 121 131 144 149 156 157 160 ix

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List of Illustrations

MAPS

3.1 9.1 12.1

The Invasion of France, January 1814 Napoleon’s Campaign of 1814 The Battle of Paris, March 30, 1814

35 90 159

TABLES

4.1 New Soldiers Added to the 28th and 54th Line Infantry 4.2 Employment of Recruits of the 54th Line (End of 1813) 13.1 Casualties among Recruits in the 28th and 54th Line Infantry 13.2 Casualties among French Soldiers by Year (1805–1814)

52 54 170 174

Acknowledgments

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ny writer will at times feel as if he is working all alone, while the rest of the world is unaware of his labors and completely disinterested in offering any support or assistance. Such a conceit is the furthest thing from reality, certainly in the case of this book. In fact, often enough I had the help of a virtual army of supporters over the years— Napoleon himself would have been happy to have had such enthusiastic and voluntary aid in 1814! First tip of the hat (with a metaphorical bow and flourish) must go to David P. Jordan. His reputation as a scholar of the French Revolution and Napoleon precedes him, but no one other than myself can know just how essential were his insights while acting as my dissertation advisor. Anyone who has ever worked or studied with him will attest to his unexcelled critical intelligence and the elegance of his verbal and written expression. I cannot possibly overstate the extent of his influence on my own development as a historian, nor can I ever thank him enough. Next honors go to faculty members (past and present) of the University of Illinois at Chicago History Department. William A. Hoisington came to my aid at key moments, and indeed acted in the role of lynchpin for the whole project more than once. His help was given with the utmost kindness and generosity. Every single piece of advice Dr. Hoisington ever gave me worked out marvelously well—an astonishing feat for anyone! Richard S. Levy not only served on my dissertation defense committee, but his irreplaceable wit helped to make the pursuit of a career in history both attractive and enjoyable. In similar fashion, James Cracraft helped encourage and refine my development as a writer of history. Both men gave me unfailing support. Robert Messer, also serving on my defense committee, provided valuable and critical advice. Clare Crowston (University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign) generously agreed to serve on the defense xi

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Acknowledgments

committee, and gave the benefit of her fresh insight. I want to thank here others at University of Illinois at Chicago who helped me more than they can know. Laura Hostetler is a wonderful and generous scholar who has been helpful well beyond any reasonable expectation. The late Bentley Gilbert, whose gruff exterior thinly masked deep warmth and subtle humor, is missed by all who knew him. I owe a great deal to the seemingly infinite kindness of Michael Alexander and Linda Van Puyenbroeck. The late Stanley Mellon helped to nurture my love of French history, while Gerald A. Danzer helped to nurture my love of teaching. I regret not being able here to mention the rest of the talented and helpful people at University of Illinois History whom I have known and worked with, but my thanks to all of them. Gene Beiriger gave my teaching career a jump start for which I am forever in his debt. He has been friend, mentor, and commiserating White Sox fan over the years. Gene Beiriger brought me to Barat College, and anyone who ever taught or studied there remembers the place as almost magical. The passing of that institution remains a true tragedy. My thanks to all the faculty, staff, and students I worked with at Barat. They are too many to mention here, but I do want to name Jacqueline Hara, and I want to thank James Brask and Robert Arnoldt, veterans like myself, but who served longer and sacrificed more, in a much harder war. Research for this book would have been impossible without the ready help of the military and civilian personnel at the Service Historique de l’Arm ee de Terre at the Chateau of Vincennes in France. Also helpful on this side of the Atlantic are the people working in DePaul University Library’s Special Collections. Thanks to the late Colonel John Elting, who responded to my research correspondence literally from his deathbed. Thanks also to Andrew Wiest at the University of Southern Mississippi. I want to thank my current and recent colleagues at Eastern Illinois University. Anita Shelton, the department chair, has given me both opportunity and the best possible support. Thanks to David K. Smith for the opportunity to write for H-France. Special thanks to James Z. Schwartz, Charles Foy, and Amy Schneidhorst for moral support and some key advice regarding my book prospectus. My gratitude for moral support extends to the rest of the History faculty at Eastern Illinois University. Thanks to Michael Millman of Praeger/ABC-Clio, who had the courage to take on this project as editor. Speaking of courage, I want to thank and remember here the men I served with in the United States Army, and also those I trained with briefly in the United States Marine Corps. I wish also to thank my friends outside of academia who have consistently shared my interest in history. To name one would require me to name all, but they should know that their supportive and genuine interest served often to encourage my continued efforts.

Acknowledgments

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Mere thanks here is inadequate for the memory of my late parents, who saw to it that I loved learning, and who gave me opportunities that they never had. Thanks to Terri, my only sibling and a long-time supportive confidant. Finally, and by far most importantly, I want to thank my wife Dara and my daughters Hayley and Sarah. They have been simply wonderful during all my efforts; a constant source of support and joy.

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CHAPTER 1

The 1814 Campaign—Introduction and Controversy

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t the end of 1813, France faced imminent invasion by colossal enemy forces. Three hundred thousand Prussians, Russians, and Austrian Empire troops were on the Rhine. An Anglo-SpanishPortuguese army of over 100,000 advanced on the Pyrenees. More enemy forces were gathering from all over Europe to attack France. Napoleon’s costly campaign in Germany in 1813 had left him with less than 80,000 men to cover the Rhine. His desperate plans for defending France in 1814 involved raising 936,000 new troops. In fact, only about 120,000 recruits arrived in time to serve in active units.1 This striking statistic is generally interpreted as being due to war weariness and opposition to Napoleon’s regime. After almost a quarter century of warfare, France was physically and morally exhausted. Likewise, Napoleon’s political capital was tapped out after the disaster of 1812 in Russia and the defeat in Germany in 1813.2 But was it as simple as that? Were there really some 800,000 deserters and insoumis (draft dodgers) skulking about France in 1814? Did France fall in 1814 because there were few Frenchmen willing or able to defend their country? Were most Frenchmen unwilling to fight any longer for a France ruled by Napoleon? Was war-weariness and disenchantment with the Emperor so prevalent as to cancel out a patriotic response to foreign invasion?3 These questions are not easily answered. Shedding light on these questions requires more than retelling the story of the Campaign of France in 1814. This book will outline the campaign to establish a context, but the focus is on Napoleon’s army in 1814, as well as on partisans and other civilians who defended France. We cannot dismiss 1814 France as warweary to the point of virtual military helplessness without looking at those Frenchmen who did fight in 1814. 1

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The Campaign of 1814 in France has not received the attention of some other Napoleonic campaigns.4 In the historiography of the period, accounts of Waterloo and of the 1812 Russian Campaign overwhelm those of the invasion of France in 1814, especially in English-language works. Henry Houssaye’s 1814, originally published in 1888, remains the classic Frenchlanguage account of the campaign. The best-known English-language history of 1814 is F. Loraine Petre’s Napoleon at Bay, 1814, originally published in 1914. French-language works on 1814 published in the last one hundred years are more plentiful than English-language ones. For obvious reasons, the Campaign of 1814 has left more of an impression in France than elsewhere, although the campaign remains obscured by what might appear to be the grander triumphs and more catastrophic disasters that marked the Napoleonic era. This is not to say that the campaign has been ignored. The story of the campaign has been told in fine fashion by a number of authors. The 1814 invasion of France contained elements of drama and pathos that are difficult to ignore. Indeed, a great deal of legend and lore has grown up around the campaign, a tradition that no historian can easily disregard. This quasi-romantic atmosphere is exemplified among English-language accounts by R. F. Delderfield’s Imperial Sunset: The Fall of Napoleon, 1813–1814. The main protagonists of most accounts of the invasion of France are the French recruits, nicknamed the ‘‘Marie-Louises’’ after Napoleon’s second wife and Empress. The embattled Emperor himself becomes a heroic figure again, struggling against overwhelming odds, as his egregious and tragic character flaws fade in the face of the treachery, greed, and pettiness of his numerous enemies. This book does not intend to dispel the legends of 1814, but rather to help explain them. This is a military history, but one that includes the view from the ‘‘ground level.’’ An examination of the people who fought for the Empire in its death throes can provide a particularly revealing picture of Napoleonic France. We can gain a good picture of the conditions of their service. Uniforms, weapons, equipment, and training (matters that are prosaic but important) are explored, as are the backgrounds of the men in service, including a look at their ages and civilian occupations. The ‘‘Marie-Louises,’’ it turns out, were not a homogeneous lot. Most importantly, how the defenders of France performed on campaign and in action must be considered. The range of behaviors includes everything from epic heroism to desertion on an alarming scale. The defenders of France did not fight in a vacuum. Two vital factors affecting them were the attitudes of the French civilians and the leaders who were ostensibly directing the defense of France. Again, the range of behaviors displayed by both leadership and citizenry varied wildly. Napoleon himself, needless to say, played the central leadership role. It is impossible to write about the defenders of France in 1814 without also

The 1814 Campaign

3

discussing Napoleon.5 The rest of the French military and political leaders were in some instances dedicated, intelligent, and efficient, while in other cases either incompetent or disloyal to the Empire. How civilians responded to invasion depended upon a variety of factors, but we see everything from citizens opening their cities and towns for the advancing Allies, to civilians taking up arms and fighting, either in fortified places or as partisans. The story of the defenders of France in 1814 must include civilians and leaders, as well as soldiers. Extant histories of 1814 tend to focus on a particular aspect or portion of the campaign. Though not long in duration, the campaign was very complex—militarily, politically, and diplomatically—making it difficult for a history to cover all aspects of the invasion of France in depth. Houssaye neatly divided the campaign into three phases and insists that his history, while covering the entire campaign, emphasized the final phase, ‘‘the least well-known and the most dramatic.’’6 The question of who was willing to defend France is both complex and potentially controversial. Despite a certain atmosphere of romance surrounding the heroic ‘‘Marie-Louises,’’ it is true that, to some extent, factors of war-weariness and divided political loyalties helped make Napoleon’s 1814 lev ee en masse a failure. He commanded only 120,000 new recruits out of a theoretical mobilization of 936,000. Outside of exhaustion and Napoleon’s political bankruptcy, how can this be explained? A sober look at the reality behind the figures is necessary. Napoleon’s estimates of available manpower were probably optimistic or wishful thinking—a tendency of his later career. The figure of 936,000 called to service is a composite total computed by historians. Napoleon did not attempt to call up so many all at once. The figure includes not only a series of conscriptions in late 1813 and early 1814, but also the mobilization of National Guard units. More importantly, the disruption caused by the Allied invasion, combined with shortages of weapons and supplies, along with the shortness of the campaign, made mobilization extremely problematic, regardless of the willingness of recruits to come forward. Finally, in addition to recruits who made it into their units in time to take the field, the numbers of civilians and partisans who participated in the campaign at one time or another cannot be known with any certainty. Avoiding military service was nothing new in 1814. Desertion is as old as warfare and draft dodging as old as conscription. Frenchmen called to service under the Republic and Empire had always been able legally to ‘‘purchase’’ substitutes, and prices for remplacants were high in 1814 (4,509 francs on average). They were even higher in 1809 (5,167 francs on average).7 There was much opposition to conscription in 1814, exacerbated by the experiences of over two decades of bloodletting and recent military disasters. Evasion of service occurred, and on a large scale, but interpreting such evasion as a wholesale rejection of Napoleon and

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his Empire by the French people may be reading too much into the numbers. Still, the problem of the popular French response to invasion in 1814 remains a valid question. Why did the people not spontaneously rise up in arms? Why was there not a replication of the early days of 1792 and 1793? Napoleon certainly made attempts to cultivate a patriotic nostalgia for those heady days, even going so far as to have Paris street musicians play the formerly proscribed Marseillaise.8 But 1814 was a long way from 1792. The phrase ‘‘bled white’’ (Bourbon white?) comes to mind. To make matters worse, the enemies of France had armies far more numerous in 1814 than any the First Republic had ever faced, although it is doubtful that most French lads facing conscription knew the size of the Allied armies. Yet there was resistance to the Allied invasion, and it appeared that resistance was on the increase just as the campaign ended. Again, the campaign was very short—far too short, as it turned out, for Napoleon’s purposes. There are several ways to interpret the efforts (or lack thereof) on the part of the French in 1814. In the minds of many Frenchmen in 1814, France was no longer linked to the person of the Emperor. For them, Napoleon had ceased being the embodiment of the glory and progress France had achieved since 1789. Certainly, the quagmire in Spain and the reverses of 1812–1813 in Russian and Germany had done much to damage the idea of Napoleon as the personification of a glorious (and continually victorious) France. His relationship to a redeemed and sanitized Revolution was even more complex and problematical. Worse, the invasion of France could be and was perceived as the Emperor’s own fault.9 This was certainly the point of Allied propaganda, which suggested that they warred not so much against France as against the Emperor. The Allies had learned much about wartime propaganda since the awkward Brunswick Manifesto of 1792. The ‘‘liberation’’ rhetoric long utilized by the French was co-opted in cunning fashion by the invading Coalition in 1814. Does this mean then that deliberately avoiding service was the rule? Felix Markham describes draft evasion in 1814 as ‘‘wholesale,’’ and he is not alone.10 How many deserters and draft dodgers were there? There is little agreement on the numbers. Estimates vary from 100,000 to ‘‘hundreds of thousands.’’ More confusion as to actual numbers of those evading the late 1813 and early 1814 conscriptions is added by the fact that there were significant numbers of deserters and insoumis ‘‘at large’’ from the drafts of previous years.11 There never was a complete tally of all the deserters and draft dodgers in 1814 because there was no way to document them accurately. Only recruits who showed up could actually be counted. The estimates are generally based upon the assumption that the total number of recruits called for, minus those that served in active units, equals the total number of deserters. However, not all of those who failed to serve in

The 1814 Campaign

5

units during the campaign were deliberately avoiding service. There were several other factors that accounted for the shortfall, as subsequent chapters will show. The idea of 800,000 deserters and draft dodgers (an implication rather than a figure cited) is too high an estimate. On the other hand, estimates of only 100,000 deserters are based on the partial figures noted by Napoleon in his own correspondence. The Emperor and his bureaucracy never had the time or resources to tally up the total number of deserters and draft dodgers for 1814. The best expert on desertion in France in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic periods, Alan Forrest, presents us with another conundrum. In discussing conscription he states that, ‘‘By 1814 there is no doubt that Napoleon had succeeded in implanting habits of obedience that would have seemed inconceivable even twenty years before.’’12 This would seem to contradict the idea that draft evasion was the automatic response of the vast majority of those called in 1814. How could it be true that there was ‘‘wholesale evasion’’ on the one hand, and yet that ‘‘habits of obedience’’ prevailed at the same time? What of the recruits that did show up? Did they come forward out of loyalty to Napoleon or out of patriotism? Or was it simply a matter of ‘‘habits of obedience?’’ There is another dimension to the problem of explaining Napoleon’s shortfall of recruits in 1814. John Elting, an American military historian of Napoleon’s army, made a casual observation that sounds almost like heresy in the face of most interpretations: Because it was a time of harried tribulation, the records are uncertain. But it is evident that most of the young conscripts who actually received their ‘‘greetings’’ obeyed. Of the 50,000 who passed, cold and hungry, through the main depot of Courbevoie in the three months of the 1814 campaign, only one in a hundred deserted.13

The figures are based only on desertions among recruits who had already reported for duty, but the implication is that the recruits reflected the mood of many of their countrymen. By this reasoning, the low turnout was the result of bureaucratic incompetence on a massive scale. But why would so many conscripts not have received their summons? The Allies disrupted Napoleon’s plans by not delaying their invasion until the spring of 1814, a course they seriously debated. Tsar Alexander I of Russia and the Prussian Field Marshal Bl€ ucher advocated immediate invasion, and these two men would remain the most consistent champions of an aggressive strategy throughout the campaign. Most other Coalition military and political leaders were more cautious, but Alexander’s growing prestige and Bl€ ucher’s lobbying, combined with Napoleon’s unwillingness to meet Allied peace demands, finally swung the decision in favor of a winter invasion. The Allied debate was affected by political and diplomatic

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Figure 1.1 Tsar Alexander I. (From W. M. Sloane’s Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1901.)

considerations as much as military ones. Ironically, Alexander’s and Bl€ ucher’s aggressiveness were not based so much on a thoughtful, calculated strategy as on a desire for revenge and the ultimate defeat of Napoleon.14 When Coalition forces crossed the Rhine as 1813 waned into 1814, they disrupted the Imperial bureaucracy to an extent that is impossible to determine. Although the invasion itself was not entirely a surprise, its timing came before the wheels of administrative machinery had begun to turn. Allied horsemen (especially Cossacks) created a sense of panic, even before they began to fan out across the French countryside. Napoleon’s civilian subordinates and military administration were overburdened by his demands for ever greater numbers of new troops. Even had all administrators been completely loyal and enthusiastic (which many were not), they would have had trouble coping with the pressures placed upon them. Because conscription had to be effected by civilian bureaucrats at the local level, one war-weary or politically disloyal administrator could have a disproportionate impact. In the ensuing chaos, a huge number of potential recruits were probably never called upon. Elting’s observation is at least partly correct. Most authorities agree that the bureaucracy was in disarray

The 1814 Campaign

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Figure 1.2 Field Marshal Bl€ ucher, Commander of the Allied Army of Silesia. (From W. M. Sloane’s Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1901.)

in 1814, but many have missed the significant impact this must have had on conscription efforts. Still, of those who were called upon, a significant but unknown proportion declined to report for duty. There simply is no reliable way to determine the breakdown of what percentage never got the call, and what percentage refused to hear it. When reports from local officials were made, they noted with alarm that in some cases only about one quarter the number of draftees called showed up. They also noted, however, that the records were a mess. Many men who were listed as eligible for conscription were in fact ineligible either because they were married, dead, or already serving.15 If we assume that such reports are roughly representative of the norm, a broad assumption in any case, then nearly half the numbers Napoleon called for were either ineligible or were not notified of their conscription. Bureaucratic failure goes far to explain the low turnout among draftees, but it does not explain the lack of volunteers. Perhaps the ‘‘habits of obedience’’ had more power than any vague impulse to put oneself in harm’s way for the sake of the Emperor and la patrie. Along the same lines, is it not more understandable that a potential recruit would avoid service for the simple motive of self-preservation rather than some principled opposition to the tyranny of the Emperor? While this makes common sense, it

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Napoleon Against Great Odds

should be added that civilian displeasure with Napoleon could have an indirect effect. If a potential recruit was reluctant to serve, a prevailing atmosphere of discontent among the local population might make draft evasion a more socially acceptable choice for him. Civilians (to include veterans) in other localities might look askance at someone who shirked duty. Local political attitudes had been a factor influencing draft evasion throughout the Wars of Revolution and Napoleonic Wars.16 Indeed, the attitude of the civilian population in any country that practices conscription often has a strong impact, one way or the other, on how acceptable avoiding service is. The small turnout of recruits to defend France in 1814 was due to multiple causes. Unfortunately, the complex combination of causes has been neglected in attempts to portray a clear picture. Interpretations of the failure of Napoleon’s 1814 lev ee en masse have generally been painted in strokes too broad. The failure was not just due to war-weariness and disaffection with Napoleon, although these were vitally important factors. They provide an easy answer, but an incomplete one. In addition to the bureaucratic breakdown, there were logistical handicaps that had little or nothing to do with the attitudes of the French people. The military statistics are skewed by the fact that Napoleon badly overestimated available manpower, although France was far from being completely out of men.17 There was a lack of spontaneity in French mobilization efforts, and much of the blame for that can be laid at the feet of the Emperor. The ‘‘habits of obedience,’’ however effective they may have been for most of the years of the Empire, were no substitute for genuine patriotic enthusiasm. That there was some genuine patriotism involved in the defense of France is also certain, which adds to the complexity of the overall situation. War-weariness, patriotism, politics, bureaucratic chaos, logistical shortages, localism, Allied military activity, and propaganda all had their effects. Not to be overlooked are the very real human emotions of fear and anger. All of these factors combined to produce the final turnout of defenders of France in 1814. The most important commodity Napoleon lacked in 1814 was not political support, but time.18 The rapidity of the Allied invasion left insufficient opportunity for Napoleon to rebuild an army in 1814. It is true that a greater degree of political support would have served to partly alleviate the shortage of time available to the Emperor. Lefebvre describes the machinery of the Imperial administration as ‘‘paralyzed.’’ He goes on to note that many officials ‘‘foresaw the Emperor’s downfall. They were therefore anxious to provide for their future, and made common cause with the royalists or even came to terms with the enemy.’’19 Insofar as this was the case, it was more a matter of self-interest than politics. It could also be seen as a matter of self-fulfilling prophesy, rather than prescience on the part of the officials in question.

The 1814 Campaign

9

The Emperor could have chosen other courses of action that would have created more political support and enthusiasm, although it might be bold to suggest that anything he could have done would have created a force able to turn back the huge Allied armies. Whatever policies he chose, he would have benefited from more time in which to implement them. At the risk of counterfactual speculation, it is clear that if the Allies had decided to delay their invasion until spring, Napoleon probably would have been able to create a large new army for the defense of France.20 In one of the most revealing samples of Napoleon’s copious correspondence in the fall of 1813, he spoke of having seven months until May for the mobilization of a new army.21 It was not simply a lack of men that crippled the French forces in 1814. In fact, a strong argument could be made that a shortage of recruits was the very least of Napoleon’s problems, as he could not adequately arm and clothe all of those who showed up in training depots. The figure of 120,000 men so often cited refers only to troops who actually made it into the field to fight. It does not include tens of thousands more who remained in depots untrained or without weapons. There was a lack of every kind of military resource, from recruits, to weapons, to uniforms, to training. All of these factors had only one correction: additional time. Napoleon’s defeat in 1814 was at once a military, political, and diplomatic defeat. As with any political or military leader, Napoleon had options, and his choices ultimately led to failure. The fact that he combined the roles of political and military leader only highlighted the intimate connection between war and politics. His political miscalculations led him to military mistakes, and vice-versa. This is not to detract from the brilliance of Napoleon’s 1814 campaign. The conduct of the campaign itself is often regarded as one of Napoleon’s best in both strategic and tactical terms, although even in purely military terms, Napoleon’s 1814 campaign was not flawless, as several authorities have pointed out.22 In any case, the conduct of war is not only strategy and tactics. Napoleon knew this as well or better than anyone in history, and yet the axiom eluded him at crucial junctures. His efforts to arouse and exploit French patriotism were inadequate. Whether or not French defeat in 1814 was a forgone conclusion is not the point. Napoleon, for all the brilliance of his campaign, could have done better in terms of the coordination of political and military efforts. A study of the defenders of France in 1814 makes this clear. There were, apart from the Emperor’s mistakes, other failures of leadership. Napoleon, after the campaign, blamed a few of his subordinates for the final defeat in 1814. This was of course self-serving (and habitual). Only the most ardent of Napoleon’s apologists believe that it was the fault of a handful of ‘‘traitors’’ that France fell. On the other hand, the performance of some of the Emperor’s subordinates did leave much to be desired. In some cases, they had a decisive negative impact on the outcome of the campaign. Some of the more important failures of leadership are addressed

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in subsequent chapters. This is not done to excuse Napoleon, but to put the performance of the defenders of France into better perspective. For all of the importance of the political questions of 1814, France was ultimately overwhelmed by a superior combination of enemy forces. Domestic support aside, the Emperor could not continually match military resources against the bulk of Europe. Military resources, it must again be emphasized, involve far more than numbers of men. Much of the story of 1814 reminds one of the old verse, ‘‘for want of a nail, etc.’’ Napoleon at one time had at his disposal vast military resources, but he squandered them in Russia in 1812 and in Germany in 1813, not to mention in Spain from 1808 through 1813. Every defeat had political repercussions for Napoleon, but the actual losses in materiel had direct consequences. After the mind-staggering losses in Russia in 1812, the Emperor cashed in his impressive stockpile of military resources to create a new army. The loss of that army in Germany in 1813 left him in the most acute military bind, even had he continued to enjoy overwhelming political support. Indeed, in terms of population rather than influence, Napoleon did maintain significant political support, especially among the peasantry, although the numbers are impossible to quantify. He sometimes underestimated the resiliency of his political support, complaining to Metternich in 1813: Your Sovereigns born to the throne can let themselves be beaten twenty times and return to their capitals. I cannot do this because I am an upstart soldier. My domination will not survive the day when I cease to be strong and therefore feared.23

If that had been a completely accurate assessment, Napoleon would have lost his throne even before the 1814 campaign began. Despite the enormous political damage caused by the defeats of 1812 and 1813, it would take the capture of Paris by enemy armies to guarantee his downfall. He might well have pondered the injustice of the fact that the ‘‘Sovereigns born to the throne’’ could lose Vienna (twice), Berlin, and Moscow and still rule. Yet even he would return to his capital, in 1815. The controversies of 1814 will not be settled for all time here. The aim here is to present the defenders of France as evidence and as a crucial part of the story. The fall of Napoleon cannot be completely understood without them. They are a reflection of their Emperor in 1814: generally resolute, often gallant, but ultimately hamstrung and overwhelmed. The next chapter will take a brief look at the series of events that took Napoleon and France from being the dominant power on the European continent to being the battered victim of invasion. Subsequent chapters will examine the creation of a new French army in 1814, and the makeup of that army. Later chapters will look at the actions of the defenders of France in the campaign itself. A final analysis will close out the chapters.

CHAPTER 2

Prelude to Invasion—From Moscow to Paris

I

n the spring of 1812, Napoleon’s Grande Arm ee was at its height in terms of sheer numbers, weapons, and logistical resources. It is commonly observed that the true apex of Napoleon’s power came in 1807 at Tilsit. Politically, 1807 certainly did mark a high point in the Emperor’s career. He had not yet compromised himself in Spain, and the Continental System had not yet shown itself to be the self-defeating policy that it truly was. In military terms, the French army already had a lower proportion of seasoned veterans in 1808 than it had in 1805, and by 1812 the proportion of veterans still serving was even lower. Still, when compared to most other armies anywhere in the world, France had more than its fair share of highly experienced and well-trained troops in 1812. More to the point, the total numbers of troops at Napoleon’s disposal in 1812 was staggering, especially after considering satellite and allied forces. The 1812 version of the Grande Arm ee was multinational, with large contingents of Germans, Italians, Poles, and others. Aside from such satellite forces, many regiments from the French Empire contained ‘‘Frenchmen’’ from places like Brussels, Amsterdam, Cologne, Turin, and Genoa—the Empire’s borders having been extended to the ‘‘natural frontiers’’ and beyond. The forces that were to invade Russia numbered 449,000 men, with l65,000 more mobilized as a ‘‘second line’’ to back up the invasion.1 Over 600,000 troops faced east. Beyond this impressive total, the Empire had garrisons, reserves, and National Guards. Each French infantry regiment had a ‘‘depot’’ battalion back in France, the number of these battalions coming to 156. In addition, there were another twenty-four line battalions left behind to guard the Empire.2 Thousands more men were available in artillery batteries, cavalry depots, and Imperial Guard reserves. 11

12

Napoleon Against Great Odds

There were also National Guards, the first ban of which represented another eighty-eight battalions.3 Nor was this all. There were armies fighting in Spain; Marmont’s field army alone had nearly 50,000 troops.4 Troop strength for all of Spain neared 200,000. There were also garrisons throughout the Italian peninsula and in Illyria. When one begins to tally it all together, one realizes that the vision of a million men under arms would be far too low a guess. Napoleon’s invasion of Russia, viewed in retrospect, is generally deplored as a colossal blunder of grand strategy. Such a judgment becomes obvious in light of the end result of the campaign.5 Ironically, the Emperor’s massive invasion force initially was so overpowering that the Russians had little choice but to withdraw deep into their own territory. Until the Russian army could gather sufficient forces, the idea of giving battle was out of the question. The vast size of the Russian territories left plenty of room for retreat. A Russian policy of ‘‘scorched earth’’ had a brutal logic to it, although many villages and farms escaped burning.6 It mattered little. Sizeable towns and supplies of foodstuffs were spread so widely in the enormous spaces of the Russian countryside that a large invading army was bound to have difficulties. By contrast, Germany and Italy, laid thick with farms and towns, and usually devoid of partisans, had proved to be ideal for the French system of supply. Russia was not. In the end, the distances, the bad roads, the weather (both summer and winter), combined with the very size of the Grande Arm ee, created a logistical nightmare far beyond the capacity of the Emperor’s carefully prepared supply system. Under normal circumstances, French armies had successfully maintained themselves by living ‘‘off the land,’’ a method that was supplemented by supply trains and depots. Ideally, the area of operations would not only provide food, but also other types of supplies that armies consumed: shoes, shirts, horses, horseshoes, blankets, spare wheels, and so on. The more supplies that could be obtained locally, the less strain on supply lines going back to depots and bases. The larger the army and the longer the distances, the more complicated the supply situation became, especially if the area of operations was not capable of providing an abundance and variety of supplies. French armies had suffered from such factors during their operations in Spain, and the much greater distances in Russia magnified the difficulties for the huge Grande Arm ee.7 During the summer advance and pursuit of the retreating Russians, Napoleon’s army was badly weakened by losses due to lack of sufficient supplies. The vital matter of finding enough drinking water for thousands of men and horses proved to be the worst problem. Weakened soldiers fell out of ranks, and cavalry horses died by the thousands.8 Despite the heavy attrition, Napoleon couldn’t bring himself to halt his advance long enough to solve the supply situation. Instead, he made the logistical crisis worse as he pressed on in an attempt to catch the

Prelude to Invasion

13

Russian army and bring it to battle. The Russians turned to fight before the Grande Arm ee reached Moscow. They did so not only because it seemed imperative to defend the old city, but because the invading army marching on the gates of Moscow was a fraction of the size it had been at the beginning of the campaign. It had shrunk through severe attrition and through successive detachments left behind to guard hundreds of miles of supply lines. Napoleon’s main force by September numbered about 130,000 men. He had about 92,000 more in detachments operating against forces elsewhere in Russia, and over 40,000 along his supply lines or in reserve. Thus, total forces operating against Russia at this point were over 260,000 men. Considering the starting strength of the Grande Arm ee, it becomes clear that Napoleon had already lost tens of thousands of troops (either dead or incapacitated) during the summer advance into Russia, due mostly to supply difficulties.9 The largest battle of the campaign, Borodino, proved to be an indecisive bloodbath. Claimed as a victory by both sides, in many ways it was a defeat for both sides. The Russians lost about 45,000 men, over a third of their strength, and had to give up Moscow to the invaders. As the Russian commander Kutusov said after the battle, ‘‘Napoleon is a torrent . . . but Moscow is the sponge that will soak him up.’’10 Napoleon’s own heavy losses at Borodino (roughly 30,000) made a profound impression on the Emperor and affected his subsequent actions. The debate over who emerged victorious from the tragic carnage at Borodino rages to this day. Russian claims to victory are reinforced by the power of Tolstoy’s War and Peace and by the final outcome of the campaign. Still, the battle itself caused less than 7 percent of Napoleon’s total losses in 1812. Napoleon claimed victory based on the fact that his troops pushed the Russians out of a strong defensive position and went on to take Moscow, although this proved a hollow triumph.11 Napoleon’s occupation of Moscow was rendered futile by the great fire in that city and Tsar Alexander’s refusal to parley. After evacuating the burned and useless capital, Napoleon failed to push the Russian forces away from his intended route of retreat southwest of Moscow, through Malojaroslavets. The Russians had put up a stiff fight before being driven back at that town, but Kutusov was about to withdraw his army. Napoleon, not knowing this, made the fateful decision to abandon efforts to find an alternate line of retreat.12 Instead, he retreated along the devastated line of his original advance, a route with no supplies to offer at all. The coming of winter only sealed the fate of an army that was already crippled and hungry. The troops couldn’t retreat fast enough to reach their supply bases before they froze, starved, and died. Napoleon’s failure in Russia was a double one. He had failed to win a decisive victory on the battlefield, and he had failed fully to appreciate the enormous logistical difficulties presented by operations in Russia. His

14

Napoleon Against Great Odds

supply situation and resulting losses were critical even before the arrival of winter. Napoleon did not heed these warning signs. By the end of the campaign, the Grande Arm ee had undergone a shocking transformation from the most awe-inspiring military formation on earth to a tattered remnant of half-starved refugees. Over half a million men had been lost. Napoleon claimed to have been undefeated by the Russians in battle, and a tendentious argument to that effect could be made.13 Napoleon’s claim, however, was quite beside the point. His army was gone. It had withered under the weight of its own numbers in the vastness of Russia itself. The destruction of the Grande Arm ee had the most profound consequences for Europe and for Napoleon. There were detrimental consequences for Napoleon in terms of diminished prestige and Imperial morale. Less subjective was the indirect result of diminished prestige, the quick alignment of Prussia with Russia and Sweden, to be joined later in 1813 by Austria, and still later by other German states. The clear and objective consequence of the Russian invasion was Napoleon’s vastly diminished military resources, certainly another calculation in Prussian and Austrian decision-making in 1813. To make the point another way, it is easy to see that if Napoleon had foregone the Russian invasion, his Empire would have remained virtually unassailable, at least by purely military means. A slight variant on this counterfactual made by one historian suggests a similar point: ‘‘The Empire would not have developed into something different and better, would have remained an exploitative . . . system, but it would not soon have crumbled from within.’’14 Even granting that the Spanish campaign was also a blunder of grand strategy, Napoleon could have continued to pour an unending supply of troops into that bottomless pit and still have possessed more than adequate force to face any other threat. The fact is that he did invade Russia, and he lost an incredible number of men, horses, and materiel there. Napoleon worried about the political fallout of the Russian campaign, and his hasty return to France at the end of 1812 was partly motivated by the abortive coup of General Malet.15 Subjective political trends were not the main problem. The very real losses in terms of military strength had totally changed the overall strategic situation in Europe. Napoleon’s political hold on the French Empire remained surprisingly solid. It was indeed fortunate for Napoleon that his military establishment throughout the Empire was of such a nature that, even in the wake of the Russian disaster, he was able to gather up sizeable forces to carry on a campaign in Germany in 1813. At the same time, much of what was lost in Russia was irreplaceable, at least in the short term, and the short term was what Napoleon was forced to deal with. Experienced soldiers, the men with qualifications to make officers and noncommissioned officers (NCOs), could not be replaced. The devastating loss of huge numbers of cavalry and artillery horses could not easily be made good. Quality and balance

Prelude to Invasion

15

clearly had to take a back seat to the simple necessity of creating an army with sufficient numbers to face an increasingly powerful coalition of enemies. Napoleon responded to the task of recreating the Grande Arm ee in 1813 with intelligence and creativity. Massive conscription was the obvious recourse, but there were other measures taken in addition to conscription. The French navy was large but had for years been blockaded and neutralized by the British Royal Navy. In 1813, it was able to render service to the Emperor by providing artillery gunners plus twenty battalions of marines for the army. This added at least 16,000 veteran troops to the army.16 About 20,000 troops were pulled from the Spanish theatre, although Spain remained a drain on French resources and would eventually become a front from which the Allies would invade France.17 French troop strength in Spain continued to top the 100,000 mark right up until 1814.18 Significantly, part of the National Guard was called upon to provide a large number of frontline troops. Napoleon had reorganized the National Guard in 1812, dividing it into three bans. The first ban was composed of men aged from twenty to twenty-six, the second ban was for men twentysix to forty, and the third ban was for men from forty to sixty. The first ban, as mentioned before, was activated for the security of France during the Russian Campaign.19 Now, in the emergency of 1813, this first ban of eighty-eight ‘‘cohorts’’ was converted into regular infantry regiments—the 135th through the 156th Regiments d’Infanterie de Ligne. The municipal Garde de Paris was converted into the 134th Line Infantry Regiment. Some National Guards entered the artillery.20 After this conversion process, the rest of the National Guard had to be reorganized again, a process that will be discussed in later chapters. All of Napoleon’s efforts in 1813 succeeded in creating an army. The drawback was that the nature of the measures taken depleted the potential military resources of France. The 1813 version of the Grande Arm ee represented the stockpiled vestiges of Napoleon’s military power of previous years, plus a considerable outpouring of able-bodied French manhood. This had vital implications for any future military efforts. Defeat was something the Empire could not afford. By early April 1813, Napoleon was able to put an army of around 200,000 men into the field against the Russians and Prussians. More were on the way. It was an impressive feat of organization, but the new army had ‘‘a great deal of bravery, but little staying power.’’21 Undertrained and inexperienced troops had a tendency to fall along the wayside under the rigors of fast-paced marching and fighting. Napoleon would continue to add to his forces, but the Allied forces grew greater still. When the Austrian Empire joined the Coalition, the numbers instantly shifted decisively against the French. Further defections of German satellites made the balance of manpower (and horsepower) an exponentially negative one for

16

Napoleon Against Great Odds

Napoleon—illustrated most dramatically at Leipzig when Saxon regiments went over to the Allies on the field of battle. Although Napoleon conducted the 1813 Campaign in Germany for the most part with competence, if not brilliance, he committed costly errors. His diplomacy failed to keep Austria aligned with France, or at least neutral, although either of these conditions would certainly have required some territorial concessions. The Austrian diplomat Metternich was keeping all of his options open in any case. His territorial demands included Illyria, the Inn Quarter, and Salzburg. He might have been willing to accept less, although he later claimed that he made demands that he knew Napoleon would reject.22 The Emperor made poor choices when assigning missions and commands to his subordinates in 1813, although his ability to delegate tasks had once been a particular strength. Relegating Marshal Davout to command the defense of Hamburg was to have repercussions beyond the campaign in Germany, as he would still be holding out in that city when the Allies invaded France the following year. Davout, with the battle titles Prince of Eckm€ uhl and Duke of Auerst€ adt, was Napoleon’s most consistent battlefield subordinate, and was certainly overqualified for the task of holding Hamburg, especially once he had stabilized the situation there. The judgment of several military historians can be summed up: Napoleon’s employment of his subordinates seems peculiar. Davout, with a comparatively small force of raw troops and almost no cavalry, was left tied to Hamburg – while Oudinot commanded four corps!23

Marshal Oudinot’s chief talent seemed to consist of receiving and recovering from wounds. He survived at least twenty-two injuries sustained in the service of France over the course of his military career.24 The Marshal had wounds from musket balls, saber cuts, grapeshot and a fall from a horse. Oudinot had one ear nearly shot off at Wagram, but it was reattached via some skillful stitching. Grit, however, was no substitute for technical skill. Oudinot had commanded nothing larger than a division in combat until 1809. This did not match the record of Davout, who had with a single corps defeated the main Prussian army at Auerst€adt in 1806, and who had played a major role in most of Napoleon’s victories, including Austerlitz and Wagram. Napoleon could have used Davout’s skills to better advantage in 1813. This was the most obvious example of bad judgment. There were many other errors of a similar gravity. All commanders, even the greatest, commit errors from time to time. Sometimes, they get away with it. At other times, one error is enough to precipitate disaster. There is a matter of ‘‘luck,’’ and Napoleon’s share of that nebulous quality had about run out. More concretely (and more to the point), he had very little ‘‘wiggle room’’ in 1813. Many authorities suggest

Prelude to Invasion

17

that Napoleon experienced a decline in his own military abilities later in his career—although to what degree a diminution of ‘‘genius’’ took place could be argued indefinitely. ‘‘Military genius’’ is probably an overused phrase anyway, but an individual possessing it must rely at least partly on physical health, as well as intellectual prowess. Here we can pin down at least part of Napoleon’s problem. He had declined physically to the point where the tremendous demands and strains of campaigning affected his powers of concentration: his decisiveness slowed, and his former soaring energies were reduced to something like mortal levels.25 The Campaign of 1813 culminated in the Battle of Leipzig, or the Battle of the Nations as it is sometimes called. This battle (October 16–19) was the largest of the Napoleonic Wars and has been rightly regarded as a watershed event, especially by German writers, although the Englishlanguage histories wish to focus on Waterloo. Waterloo was an intense oneday clash that ended the Hundred Days. It epitomized the high drama that often characterized the period, and it was Napoleon’s last battle. Yet the Armageddon-like struggle of Leipzig some twenty months prior to Waterloo was in many ways more decisive and more historically significant. Napoleon has been taken to task for fighting the battle at Leipzig at all— or at least for not breaking it off before it had dragged on for four days while the massive Allied armies concentrated there. Wellington himself, although not present, appreciated the full significance of Leipzig and the nature of Napoleon’s error in fighting there: It has always occurred to me that if Bonaparte had not placed himself in a position that every other officer would have avoided, and had not remained in it longer than was consistent with any notions of prudence, he would have retired in such a state, that the Allies could not have ventured to approach the Rhine.26

The French had to fight at Leipzig with their backs to a river—never an enviable position for an army. Allied reinforcements gave them about a two-to-one numerical advantage over the French. For all of that, Napoleon conducted the battle itself in respectable fashion, and it could have boiled down to the equivalent of a massive rear-guard action when he finally made the decision to retreat. At that point, however, the tight spot he had put his army in combined with a piece of bad luck and resulted in disaster. Napoleon arranged to have his army withdraw across a bridge over the Elster, and then to have that bridge blown up to slow any Allied pursuit. An incompetent engineer officer left the bridge in the charge of a corporal, who blew up the bridge prematurely, leaving the better part of four of Napoleon’s corps trapped on the wrong side of the river. Although the Allies had suffered brutally in terms of casualties at Leipzig, Napoleon’s losses were irreparable. The balance of casualties had been in favor of the French until the bridge incident, but that disaster cost

18

Napoleon Against Great Odds

Napoleon about 30,000 men, sending his total losses at Leipzig to 68,000 as against 54,000 for the Allies.27 Part of the force trapped in Leipzig included a Polish corps, a significant loss since the Poles were the most steadfast of all Napoleonic auxiliaries. The German satellites had dropped away before, during, and after Leipzig. The 1813 version of the Grande Arm ee was wrecked, and Napoleon had to withdraw from Germany posthaste, a decision that would have been best made before the battle. There was still some sting left in the Emperor’s forces, however. An abortive Austro-Bavarian attempt to cut off the French at Hanau before they could reach the relative safety of the Rhine served to give Napoleon a chance to leave Germany with a final, albeit minor, victory. The condition of the French army at this point is well illustrated in the words of Captain Barres: We arrived on the banks of the Rhine . . . in a state of complete dissolution. We had covered our track with the relics of our army. At every step we took we left behind us corpses of men and carcasses of horses, guns, baggage, tatters of our one-time glory. It was a horrible spectacle, that wrung the heart with agony. To all these woes were added yet others that further aggravated our grievous situation. Typhus broke out in our disorganized ranks in terrifying fashion. Thus one may say that on leaving Leipzic [sic] we were accompanied by all the plagues that can devour an army.28

The typhus that Barres mentions was a major problem that not only affected the army along the Rhine, but that would spread to parts of the civilian population. Outbreaks ravaged what was left of the army and also continued to hit individual units as new recruits arrived, as we shall see. The physical condition of the troops was bad enough, but defeat at Leipzig and the prospect of the enemy advancing into France had undermined morale. While there is little evidence that there was much in the way of diminished loyalty to Napoleon per se in the army, the moral condition of the troops at this point would be best characterized as depressed and fatigued. One of the soldiers commented, ‘‘Parbleu! We have done a good job—we pursued the Russians to Moscow so we could bring them back to France.’’ In like fashion, another wrote, ‘‘We ran all the way to Moscow to conjure up Cossacks and lure them to the banks of the Seine.’’29 Now, Napoleon again had to create a new army—this time to defend France. Looking back to 1812, the Russian campaign had cost as many as 570,000 soldiers and a good 200,000 horses.30 Despite that shocking disaster, France had responded well to Napoleon’s call to arms in the spring of 1813, according to Caulaincourt: The entire French nation overlooked his reverses and vied with one another in displaying zeal and devotion. It was as glorious an example of the French

Prelude to Invasion

19

character as it was a personal triumph for the Emperor, who with amazing energy directed all the resources of which his genius was capable into organizing and guiding the great national endeavor. Things seemed to come into existence as if by magic.31

Yet at the end of 1813, the ‘‘magic’’ was wearing thin. The army that had been created with such great efforts had been ‘‘devoured,’’ to use Barres’ phrase. After this last German campaign, Napoleon brought back to France barely 80,000 troops, plus perhaps 40,000 stragglers.32 Typhus would ravage even these battered ranks. The situation was not helped by the fact that over 100,000 veteran French troops (including Davout’s force in Hamburg) had been stranded in garrisons throughout Germany during the hasty retreat after Leipzig.33 Aside from the unavailability of critical numbers of veteran troops, and beyond the catastrophic loss of human life, the horses, weapons, uniforms, and other materiel lost in 1813 were for all practical purposes irreplaceable. When the Emperor asked for more men and more sacrifices, the people of France could, with justification, respond, ‘‘Encore?’’

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CHAPTER 3

Napoleon Creates a New Army—Again

C

aulaincourt and others had been impressed with the way the Emperor rallied himself after the Russian catastrophe. They were about to witness an even greater personal effort. After Leipzig, Napoleon went to work to repair the damage and to prepare for the impending crises as soon as possible. Despite being engaged in a large-scale retreat with his entire army, a complex and dangerous task, Napoleon found time to compose one of his famous ‘‘Bulletins’’ to put Leipzig in the best possible light. The report was ready by October 24, five days after the battle, and was sent off for publication in the Moniteur. The Emperor did not hesitate to identify and blame the hapless engineer colonel who had been put in charge of the bridge (although the corporal who actually blew it up remained anonymous) and made certain to point out the treachery of the Saxons. The overall performance of the French troops was presented as worthy of victory.1 On October 25, still in the course of withdrawing from Germany, Napoleon sent a flurry of messages to Paris. One letter instructed Prince Cambaceres (Imperial Arch-Chancellor) to meet with the Minister of War, the Director of Conscription, the Minister of Police, and the Minister of the Interior. The Emperor noted that the 120,000 conscripts that he had already called for would be insufficient. Napoleon alluded to calling up early 140,000 conscripts normally due in 1815, but indicated vaguely that he did not have much confidence in such a measure. He spoke of trying to get 60,000 to 80,000 recruits aged twenty-five years or more, and further estimated that there were 100,000 draft dodgers and deserters in France that could be rounded up.2 In additional letters to Cambaceres and to Clarke, the Minister of War, Napoleon spoke of raising funds and indicated that he 21

22

Napoleon Against Great Odds

would probably return soon to Paris to direct such matters.3 The Emperor reiterated his desire to get some older conscripts: It is necessary that I get men, not children. No one is braver than our youths; but, without the least violence, they fill the hospitals, and at the same time, at the least uncertainty, youth shows the character of its age. It is necessary to have men to defend France.4

Napoleon had learned from the experiences of 1813, and his words were to prove prophetic. The sticking point was that recruits in their mid-twenties, however ideal they might be in theory, were not a luxury available in abundance. Conscription under the Empire was maintained by a well-organized and well-established bureaucracy, and virtually everyone was familiar with the ‘‘rules.’’ Potential draftees were categorized by ‘‘classes’’ that corresponded with the year twenty years after the year of their birth. For example, men in the class of 1813 were all those born in the year 1793.5 Married men were exempt, and, as mentioned previously, replacements could be ‘‘purchased.’’ There were other exemptions, pertaining mainly to various professions deemed essential. When recruits were drafted from a class, it would normally be done by lottery. Not all those theoretically eligible would be chosen, and each class would contain many undrafted individuals. A class could therefore be called upon more than once, and it could also be called upon early. Because Napoleon wanted to try to draft recruits in their twenties, he would have to go back to earlier classes, although one problem was that it was more likely that these individuals would be married or otherwise unavailable by 1814. Deserters and draft dodgers were another problem. Napoleon considered them apparently in desperation. They might well have included older men, but they could hardly have been considered an ideal source of reliable recruits. The usual tool employed for rounding up such refractaires were the colonnes mobiles.6 These ‘‘mobile columns’’ were temporary organizations thrown together from regular troops, National Guards, gendarmes, douaniers, or any combination of such armed men. Their job was literally to hunt down those who were avoiding service. When the Allied invasion came, Napoleon would have to call upon second-line units that normally would have been considered suitable for duty with the colonnes mobiles and use them instead for garrison or even combat duties. The colonnes mobiles did not disappear entirely, however, and some continued to operate during the campaign in France.7 In any case, gathering up a significant number of deserters from previous drafts would be extremely problematic during 1814, especially considering an accumulation of additional deserters and draft dodgers from new drafts. Still in the middle of completing his retreat to the Rhine, Napoleon’s mind raced ahead in contemplation of what he thought should be a

Napoleon Creates a New Army

23

reasonable number of readily available mature National Guard recruits in France: France has a population of 40 millions; a respectable result would be raising three battalions per million, this would make one battalion of 840 men for each department of 333,000 inhabitants. The departments will form these battalions by drawing on all types of unmarried men aged 23 or more, and by receiving all married men willing to volunteer, or those who will enlist for bonus money . . . this should make a supplement of 84,000 men.8

The Emperor’s powers of calculation were undiminished, yet his optimism was forced. Napoleon’s manpower estimates, here as on other occasions, are largely guesswork. He was not working with solid numbers, but only extrapolating from a combination of census and other records. The information available was not always accurate. For one thing, a France of ‘‘40 millions’’ refers to an Empire stretching beyond the Rhine and the Alps, and so his estimates included departments that would soon be occupied by the Allies and out of his control. Napoleon seems to be trying to convince not only his ministers, but also himself that his requests are perfectly reasonable. Perhaps, he thought, if he himself was in Paris to force through the implementation of such recruiting measures the manifold and inherent difficulties could have been overcome. His ministers in Paris, however, had neither the energy nor force of will to pursue Napoleon’s projects as he wished. Ironically, the lack of initiative and independent decision-making on the part of the Emperor’s subordinates was largely the result of his own policies. Napoleon was the quintessential micromanager, demanding, difficult to please, and suspicious of independent initiatives. The result was to sap the motivation of some of his best lieutenants. The Emperor had set up his government so that the best results were obtained only under his direct supervision. Unfortunately, until he had his army safely across the Rhine, he would not be able to devote himself completely to the necessary recruitment measures. It is clear that he did not feel that he could simply leave the army, as he had in Russia at the end of 1812. Napoleon’s decision not to abandon the army as he had in Russia (and in Egypt in 1799) illustrated a contrast in behavior that he felt no need to discuss. It is unlikely that his motives had anything to do with scruples. This was a different strategic situation. France was threatened now, and he apparently considered that a quick return without the army had no particular political benefit. There was a potential benefit for mobilization purposes, but Napoleon apparently saw the immediate crisis facing the army as an issue more demanding of his personal attention, at least for the time being. Ironically, once the army seemed to be out of danger, Napoleon would return to Paris to direct mobilization efforts, but based partly on the wishful assumption that the Coalition would not invade France until spring.

24

Napoleon Against Great Odds

One source of manpower that Napoleon had tapped in previous years was that of non-French populations. This would be impossible in 1814. Except for the Kingdom of Italy, which continued to fight under the direction of Napoleon’s stepson Eugene, all of the former French satellites would either go over to the Allies or be overrun by them. Eugene had his own manpower problems and could spare nothing for the Emperor. Napoleon had contemplated having Eugene withdraw his army from Italy and bring it across the Alps to aid in the defense of France. He later abandoned this idea. The Italian troops of Eugene’s army were fighting well on their home soil against the Austrians, but might well desert if removed to France. Eugene also had ‘‘French’’ regiments with his army, but they were composed mostly of Piedmontese.9 Still, there were a tiny number of foreigners that would serve with the French in 1814. Remnants of the army of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, optimistically estimated as numbering as many as 3,000 by the Emperor, accompanied Napoleon during his retreat to the Rhine. He made certain to address these loyal Poles as ‘‘allied troops . . . the representatives of your nation.’’ They would serve to the very end of the 1814 campaign.10 A few battalions of Swiss troops would also serve with the French in 1814.11 Napoleon’s recruiting efforts by proxy were interrupted by the attempt of the Austro-Bavarian force under Wrede to cut off his retreat on October 30. The ensuing Battle of Hanau, as previously mentioned, resulted in a French victory. It also resulted in an opportunity for favorable propaganda on the Emperor’s part—an opportunity he hastily seized in composing and forwarding a Bulletin the very next day. Napoleon was intuitive enough to anticipate the morale problems back in France and was making every effort he could to deal with such problems, as he simultaneously conducted his retreat and sent instructions to his ministers. On November 1, he sent twenty captured enemy flags from the most recent battles to be presented to Empress Marie-Louise in Paris.12 He would later find it necessary to send more specific instructions to the unimaginative Minister of War to make sure that the flags were paraded all through Paris and to make the presentation with great ceremony.13 Napoleon had made it to Mayence, but he still wanted to remain with the army until it could rest and reorganize, so his efforts at raising a new army had to continue at long distance for the time being. At the same time, he was painfully aware that France was vulnerable, but he did not want that perception underlined. For example, he instructed his ministers not to raise a panic over the lack of available muskets for new troops, a shortage that Napoleon had already noted.14 There had been large reserve supplies of muskets at one time, but these had already been depleted in 1813 during the massive mobilization efforts after the Russian disaster. Accordingly, the Emperor sent instructions calling for the manufacture of 30,000 muskets per month, a number that ‘‘absolutely no doubt’’ was attainable. He

Napoleon Creates a New Army

25

pointed out that there was no longer any need to send muskets to the satellites that had abandoned France, and that there was also no need to equip National Guard units with new muskets—they could make do with captured muskets of various caliber.15 By November 6, it had become clear to Napoleon that he could not remain much longer with the army in the field, although he would have liked to complete his reorganization efforts there. A growing sense of frustration is evident in his correspondence, and his decision to leave the army was not easily made. There was another flurry of messages, and Napoleon left Mayence and headed for Saint-Cloud on November 7, with the idea of proceeding to Paris from there after a stopover to get some work done.16 At Saint-Cloud, Napoleon sat down to examine the conscription situation. He noted that the director of conscription had already promised 150,000 new recruits, but that that number would not be enough: If it is true that the conscriptions of the years XIII and XIV [1804 and 1805], estimated at 600,000, have only furnished 120,000 men, then there will remain 480,000 still available, although taking away for marriages and deaths . . . but add the years 1806 and 1807, one could still get . . . 100,000 men.17

Adding this hypothetical 100,000 with the promised 150,000 rendered a still insufficient total of 250,000. Napoleon wanted yet another 125,000 from new drafts of other past classes. He also considered the estimate for the Class of 1815 too low at 160,000. A draft of 200,000 would be more like it. All totaled, these various measures gave the Emperor an estimate of nearly 500,000 new troops, the minimum target he deemed necessary in order to defend all of France.18 With the strategic threat coming not only from across the Rhine, but also from Spain, and potentially from coastal areas as well, Napoleon knew he needed all the men he could get. It is interesting to note that the Emperor was fairly conservative in his estimates of the number of men he would be able to get from the older classes of 1804 through 1807. Despite what had been an efficient bureaucracy (at least in theory until 1814), it does not appear that it was clear to anyone exactly how many men from classes going back that far remained alive and single. The estimates were little more than hunches on the Emperor’s part. Local records pertaining to men eligible for conscription were notoriously inaccurate throughout the years of the Republic and Empire. This was sometimes due to incompetence or corruption, but more often to the inherent difficulty of the task of keeping track of people. Individuals moved from place to place, got married, or died more frequently than the records could be updated for conscription purposes. All too often the records would even fail to indicate that a man was already serving in the army. Other errors such as misspelled names or incorrect birth dates added

26

Napoleon Against Great Odds

more confusion.19 Also, despite Napoleon’s reservations about young recruits, he was willing to up the ante on the Class of 1815 (mostly eighteenyear-olds) without any evidence that an additional 40,000 recruits could be squeezed out of that conscription. Desperation continued to contend with logic. On the other hand, Napoleon’s requisitions may well have been deliberate overestimates made in hopes of putting the spur to conscription efforts. This would be entirely consistent with his personality and his motivational methods. Those wishing to avoid service did not necessarily have to flee or hide in the woods. Various methods of evasion had made their appearance from the earliest days of conscription during the Republic. The most desperate recourse during the years of conscription was self-mutilation. Cutting off fingers or thumbs and knocking out teeth (so as to be unable to tear the paper ammunition cartridges as per drill) were some of the self-inflicted pre-emptive injuries. Sometimes there would be accomplices to these injuries, or at least those willing to testify that the injuries were indeed the results of accidents, because this method of evasion was as illegal as any other.20 A far less painful way (physically, at least) to render oneself ineligible for conscription was simply to get married. Except for the lev ee en masse of 1793, only bachelors could be legally drafted. Naturally, this loophole produced all sorts of abuses. Some young men suddenly found widows and spinsters over the age of seventy irresistible. More commonly, very young men would rush into marriage much sooner than the average age. There was a boom in the ‘‘marriage broker’’ business, but even when a broker was not involved, money usually was. ‘‘Marriages of convenience’’ were usually far cheaper than buying a substitute. The marriage loophole was especially attractive during the wars of the Revolution when divorces were so much easier to come by. Even after the Code Napol eon made divorce more difficult, marriage remained a viable way to avoid conscription. Also, officials who were looking for ways to keep the locals happy could sometimes facilitate whatever arrangements were necessary. Although there was a rise in the rate of marriage during the Empire, there was not a corresponding rise in the birthrate. There were many reasons for this, including increased contraception, but the nature of some of these marriages is certainly a factor in the discrepancy. Interestingly, the marriage rate saw a slight decline in 1814, probably due to the chaos and disruption brought on by invasion at the beginning of the year, followed by the absence of conscription after the campaign. Also, because married men in the National Guards were mobilized during the campaign, there was less incentive to marry as a means of avoiding service.21 All mobilization efforts in 1814 were hampered by a lack of money. Government reserves had been exhausted, and French finances were in disarray. Napoleon had no choice but to dip into his personal funds, the

Napoleon Creates a New Army

27

Tr esor des Tuileries. At the beginning of 1814 he had 75 million left, which he would spend down to 10 million within a few short months. This was really the only way to finance the mobilization. Raising taxes was a futile gesture. Additional money came in at a trickle, people being reluctant to pay their taxes under the circumstances. Local officials in some instances were equally reluctant even to attempt to collect taxes. Even those who would normally be inclined to do so found the prospect risky in some areas.22 The mood of the country did appear to be less than ideal for the purposes of raising the hundreds of thousands of troops that Napoleon demanded. We cannot quantify ‘‘war-weariness,’’ but it was widespread and intense enough to affect mobilization. It is also fair to say that the French people were not of one mind at the end of 1813. As Houssaye pointed out: After twenty-five years of revolution and war, France would have liked a rest. But France, and we mean by that the immense majority of the countryside, four fifths of the population, did not at all desire the fall of Napoleon.23

There was no poll taken at the time. There is no hard evidence to back up Houssaye’s assertion other than the generally accepted fact that French peasants were mostly loyal to Napoleon. Bonapartist sympathy was traditionally strong among the peasantry, but hardly universal. Even if Houssaye’s assumption was close to the truth, the problem, theoretically speaking, was that last fifth—Frenchmen other than peasants. Because this ‘‘last fifth’’ included the bureaucracy and manufacturing establishments, this was potentially a serious weakness. Napoleon did take measures to bolster national morale through propaganda, but without really admitting that there was a morale problem. He also never addressed the fact that additional conscription, in and of itself, could hurt both morale and his own political stock. He was aware that he was having political problems, but he behaved in a manner that showed he was unaware of their extent. Then too, it was not yet certain that the Allies would invade France immediately. There was the possibility that they might wait for spring. Even Napoleon, for all his sense of urgency, correctly observed that the Allies did not appear eager to cross the Rhine, at least as of November 20.24 He was still hoping that he had until the following May to complete his mobilization efforts. At the same time, the Emperor was also aware that with the battered remnants of his field army, the frontiers were very inadequately garrisoned, even with the hasty mobilization of National Guard units in Alsace and elsewhere. The Allies could cross the Rhine virtually anytime they so desired. There was no guarantee that there would be nearly enough time for conscription to produce a trained army to resist invasion, regardless of how the people felt about the prospect.

28

Napoleon Against Great Odds

Napoleon needed to buy time. That was the least he hoped to gain from negotiations with the Allies that took place in November. Initially, it appeared that the Allies, or most of them, were inclined to allow France her ‘‘natural frontiers,’’ which would include the entire left bank of the Rhine. Napoleon responded vaguely at first, thinking perhaps of Italy (beyond the ‘‘natural frontier’’ of the Alps) but also trying to delay any Allied military action. He suggested a Congress for the purpose of negotiations, which would certainly have achieved the optimal degree of delay. Napoleon could not know that an Allied council of war on November 7 had ostensibly agreed not to wait until spring to invade, but to do so as soon as practicable, although even this decision hung in part on the negotiations. Tsar Alexander and Prussian Field Marshal Bl€ ucher still pushed for immediate invasion, while the Austrians preferred to wait. Napoleon’s diplomatic delaying tactics at this juncture can be seen as a serious political miscalculation.25 Napoleon’s priorities at this point were more military than political or diplomatic. The Emperor saw the need to gain time to form his army as the most pressing need, but if he had accepted the terms immediately it would probably have had an excellent effect on morale in France. This was especially true because the Allies likely would have been thrown into dissension among themselves over the terms, there being little real agreement within the Coalition.26 Napoleon’s hand would be forced by a number of factors. Although he might have expected that the terms of the negotiations would be secret, the Allies had no qualms about publicly exploiting the fact that Napoleon appeared to be rejecting perfectly reasonable peace terms. The French Emperor was not unaware of the public opinion problems this posed. Also, Holland, faced with early invasion, was in partial revolt and in any case slipping out of the Emperor’s grip. By the end of November, Napoleon thought that he should provisionally accept the ‘‘natural frontiers’’ as a basis for peace. It was too late. The Allies now insisted on the frontiers of 1792, although they must have known that Napoleon would reject such demands. He did, and the Allies again took advantage of a propaganda opportunity by making public on December 4 the Declaration of Frankfurt, which blamed Napoleon personally for continuing the war. This document was intended for French consumption, and 20,000 copies were printed for that purpose.27 The language of the document contained traces of arrogance, but much of the wording was apt and persuasive: The allied powers are not at war with France, but with that haughtily announced preponderance . . . which, to the misfortune of Europe and of France, the Emperor Napoleon has for too long a time exercised outside the boundaries of his Empire. Victory has led the allied armies to the Rhine. The first use which their Imperial and Royal majesties have made of victory has

Napoleon Creates a New Army

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been to offer peace to His Majesty, the Emperor of the French. The allied sovereigns desire that France should be strong, great, and happy. . . . The powers confirm to the French Empire an extent of territory which France never knew under its Kings, because a valiant nation should not lose rank for having in its turn experienced reverse in an obstinate and bloody conflict, in which it has fought with its usual courage. But the powers . . . desire a state of peace which, by a wise distribution of power and just equilibrium, may preserve henceforth their peoples from the innumerable calamities which for the past twenty years have weighed upon Europe.28

The sincerity of both sides during the diplomatic interlude was very much in doubt anyway—Britain never would have accepted continued French control of the Low Countries. As things worked out, the Allies ended up by drawing a propaganda advantage from the negotiations, whether or not that had been their intention all along. The Emperor’s other diplomatic effort at the end of 1813, an attempt to secure his southern frontier by offering peace and the Spanish throne to Ferdinand VII (‘‘El Deseado’’), seemed at first to bear fruit, but eventually came to nothing.29 With the invasion pending, French enthusiasm was at low ebb. Lefebvre puts it bluntly: ‘‘Napoleon became downright unpopular.’’30 Houssaye is more optimistic, but he does not deliberately misrepresent or ignore serious morale problems in certain parts of the country. He addresses the overall issue of war-weariness, and of serious draft resistance, including bands of deserters and refractaires who armed themselves and resorted to banditry.31 It is safe to say that the Emperor could not and did not count on a popular response to his call for the people to come to the defense of France. Indeed, despite some rhetorical flourishes, his call to arms consisted for the most part of a half-hearted series of tentative edicts, as we shall see. Napoleon’s lev ee en masse was an oxymoron. He was unwilling to attempt to mobilize the whole population of France all at once. As he himself put it: ‘‘Rouse the nation, when the Revolution has destroyed the nobles and priests and I myself have destroyed the Revolution?’’32 He had shown the same sort of reluctance in 1812 when he refused to free the Russian serfs and set them against their masters. Napoleon feared social chaos more than he feared enemy armies. Reflecting the uncertain mood, Napoleon’s Legislative branch would show resistance for the first time. He had called upon them to issue a report, which he expected to be the usual rubber stamp of his policies. On December 29, the Corps Legislatif formally called attention to the ills befalling the French nation and recommended that the Emperor come to terms with the Allies immediately: The fatherland is threatened at all points along its frontiers; commerce is annihilated, agriculture languishes, industry is expiring; and there is not a Frenchman

30

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who has not in his family or his fortune a cruel wound to heal. . . . conscription has become for all France an odious scourge . . . a barbarous and aimless war has swallowed up youths torn away from education, agriculture, commerce, and the arts. Are the tears of mothers then the patrimony of Kings? . . . The genius of a true hero, who spurns glory at the expense of the blood and repose of the people, finds true glory in the public weal which is his work.33

Napoleon naturally prevented the publication of such words. He quickly prorogued the Corps Legislatif (but not the Senate) in a move that was intended to squelch dissention but which did nothing to improve national morale. Napoleon had pondered whether or not to prorogue the Legislature, and at least one advisor (Boulay) strongly argued against such a course. No doubt proroguing them was a mistake, compounding what was probably a mistake in calling for a report from the Legislature in the first place. The strongly worded report of the Legislature was largely the work of L’Aine, a lawyer from Bordeaux.34 Before he sent the politicians packing, Napoleon addressed them in a tone of outrage that was a mix of genuine anger and calculation. He undercut the main thrust of their report by focusing on a passage complaining of the supposed corruption of the retired Marshal Massena. You make remonstrances; is this a time, when the foreigner invades our provinces, and 200,000 Cossacks are ready to overflow our country? . . . Why did you not make your complaints in private to me? . . . We should wash our dirty linen in private. . . . You call yourselves Representatives of the Nation. It is not true; you are only Deputies of the Departments. . . . The Representatives of the People! I alone am the Representative of the People. Twice have twenty-four million Frenchmen called me to the throne: which of you dares to undertake such a burden? . . . I am the Throne.35

Napoleon had not forgotten his Rousseau, nor his Louis XIV. The legislators had to recognize his authority, because it came from ‘‘the people,’’ even if only as a theoretical entity. When speaking of 24 million Frenchmen calling him to the throne, Napoleon is citing the plebiscites, which had approved him as First Consul for Life, and later as Emperor of the French. The plebiscites (a brilliant if rather cynical political tactic) resulted in overwhelming numbers of ‘‘yes’’ votes. If he was hesitant to bring about a true rising of the people, he still wanted as much popular support as he could get. Enthusiastic support for continued warfare, however, did not seem to be forthcoming. The creation of a new army would have to continue to rely on Napoleon’s own efforts and that of a bureaucracy that, to some degree at least, was simply going through the motions. Indeed, in some cases, local officials sympathetic to a possible Bourbon restoration do appear to have actually hindered conscription and other mobilization efforts.36

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31

The malaise, however, did not pervade the French army. Many military men and their families were dismayed by what appeared to be the attitude of their countrymen. As the wife of Marshal Oudinot remembered: Beginning with this period, one could remark in men’s minds that general tendency towards selfishness which has nowadays become the almost universal rule. The enemy was advancing with great strides, and yet it must be admitted that our people were more occupied with mutual recriminations than with preparations for the common defense. It was clear that the army would have to act alone, without the assistance of the people, which was not yet aroused.37

This observation was written well after the fact, although it is similar to vaguely expressed sentiments recorded in several military memoirs.38 Other soldiers immediately expressed their disappointment in the apparent lack of enthusiasm among the citizenry. One officer’s letter, written to his parents at the end of 1813, was typical: ‘‘The public spirit is detestable.’’39 Similarly, Marshal Mortier noted, ‘‘The inertia is everywhere the same.’’40 We should not assume, however, that the army itself was entirely immune to war-weariness. A major in the Imperial Guard wrote late in 1813, ‘‘People think the Emperor will at last make peace, else the enemy might march into France. Everyone longs for a rest. . . . May he make peace!’’41 Some in the military had understandably lost confidence in Napoleon due to the disasters in Russia and Germany. The 1814 campaign would reveal a lack of spirit among some officers even at the highest levels. Despite such exceptions, and despite Houssaye’s depiction of a monolithic Bonapartist peasantry, the army represented the single most reliable element of the Emperor’s political support. The reaction of military men to what they perceived as a lack of support from civilians was based in emotion and subtleties. ‘‘War-weariness’’ is a vague expression, because the concept itself is impossible to qualify or quantify. It would manifest itself differently in different parts of the population. Various regions of France had traditionally differed in their degree of support (or opposition) for both the Revolution and later Napoleon. The economy of the city of Bordeaux, for example, was harmed by having its maritime trade disrupted, first by the wars, and then by the Continental System. Not surprisingly, there was a fair proportion of Royalists in the town.42 Beyond localism, there were an infinite number of political, psychological, and social variables. Individuals would respond to the invasion differently at different times, depending on circumstances. The campaign of 1814 (and later the Hundred Days) illustrate that war-weariness is not an incurable condition. Not all Frenchmen were indifferent to the invasion, as would eventually become clear by growing resistance as the campaign progressed. Civilian resistance will be examined further in a later chapter.

32

Napoleon Against Great Odds

Meanwhile, Napoleon himself, now directing the creation of a new army from Paris, was galvanized to ever greater activity by the approach of the Coalition forces, part of which were already crossing through Switzerland as early as December 21.43 It was clear that the Allies were not going to wait until spring but would soon invade France. Christmas day saw the Emperor sending directives and exhortations to his Ministers and lieutenants. He immersed himself in the thousand details of what went into creating an army. The Emperor could envision all necessary items and imagine methods to acquire them. Nothing escaped his attention and nothing was too minor for his consideration. To Clarke he wrote of his dissatisfaction with the lack of progress weapons factories in Paris were thus far making.44 Anticipating the arrival of new recruits and a lack of uniforms to give them, he wrote to Daru, the director of war administration: It is necessary 1st [sic] to get hold of all the cloth that can be found in France, good and bad, and establish great workshops in Lille . . . Metz, and Paris, in such a manner that these three places make 3,000 complete uniforms per day. . . . If you could establish in Paris several shops and these could produce 2,000 uniforms per day, this would be a good result. The circumstances have become very urgent, it is necessary to take strong measures. I know there are many hatters in Lyons doing nothing, and who could furnish you with a large quantity of shakos.45

The mention of shakos is just one example of the Emperor’s attention to detail. Shakos were the military headwear modeled after the top hats in fashion at the time—they were usually made of felt, reinforced with leather, with a leather visor and metal fittings and chinstraps. Even when facing Allied invasion, organizing an army was a labor of love for Napoleon. Napoleon reiterated his production targets to Minister Daru after receipt of a report from him. Only 400 uniforms a day were being produced at that point. The Emperor wanted 3,000 overcoats and shakos produced per day. He accepted a target of 1,000 uniform jackets per day, along with 2,000 long-sleeved vests, so that in combination with the overcoats every recruit would at least have two layers of wool clothing. He was hoping to be able to fully clothe 30,000 soldiers every ten days, but the results usually fell short, as is discussed in subsequent chapters.46 The day after Christmas the Emperor was even busier. He sent instructions to provide for the immediate defense of Belfort and Besancon. Napoleon’s design was to mobilize and utilize National Guards in the frontier departments and as far as possible to conserve regular army units in order to provide cadres to build upon, and he gave numerous orders to that effect.47 A veritable flood of ink flowed from pens of those taking his dictations. Most dramatically, Napoleon issued an Imperial decree in which he named twenty-six ‘‘commissaires extraordinaires,’’ with one assistant each,

Napoleon Creates a New Army

33

Figure 3.1 Napoleon, dictating to his secretaries. (From O. Browning’s The Fall of Napoleon, 1907.)

to be assigned to cities outside of Paris in order to ‘‘accelerate’’ mobilization efforts locally. These were men of prestige and reputation. This was a clear sign that Napoleon did not feel enough was being done outside of Paris, and was symptomatic of his frustration with his own bureaucracy in the departments.48 His special commissioners were to oversee the following tasks: 1st The levies of the conscription; 2nd The clothing, equipping, and arming of troops; 3rd The supply and provisions of fortified places; 4th The gathering of horses for army service; 5th The levy and organization of national guards.49

It is interesting to observe Napoleon’s priorities at this juncture. He felt confident enough in political terms in Paris to dispatch fifty-two high-profile political allies to the various regions of France, on the assumption that his personal presence in the capital was more than sufficient. It was integral to his overall plans that he would eventually have to leave Paris again and take command of the army in the field, although he hoped to postpone

34

Napoleon Against Great Odds

that day as long as possible so that he could orchestrate mobilization efforts from the capital. Ironically, when he did leave Paris, he would leave fewer political allies there than he himself realized. In any case, raising an army with which to defend France was the most urgent task at hand, and continued to overrule all other considerations in Napoleon’s view. Essentially, he felt that the military situation was far more desperate than the political situation, although clearly the two were interrelated. Political problems constituted an annoying distraction—Napoleon would have preferred to concentrate fully on military mobilization. The impending invasion represented an extremely urgent military danger, which could only be remedied with the availability of an adequate army. Such an army had yet to be created. Napoleon had always relied on the force of his own will to make the creations of his imagination into reality. Now at this crucial moment, he began to fear that the power of the Imperial will no longer effectively extended much beyond his immediate person. The effectiveness of the ‘‘extraordinary commissioners,’’ unfortunately for Napoleon, amounted to very little. They did not compare to the infamous ‘‘representatives on mission’’ who operated during the Wars of the Revolution.50 The Emperor, from all appearances, did not even want them to have that kind of power. Local officials would not need to fear for their heads. Worse, the commissioners were sent out too late to be of any real use. Many of them would be lucky to reach their departments before they were overrun by Allied forces. Napoleon had waited too long, the victim of his own wishful thinking that the Coalition would wait until May to invade. The turnout of recruits continued to vary from region to region. Central and eastern France tended to show the highest incidence of cooperation (one could say a combination of patriotism and habits of obedience). The other extremities of the Empire were less enthusiastic, except for certain coastal cities like Toulon and Marseilles.51 As the year 1813 came to a close, the Coalition forces were crossing the Rhine. The invasion had begun. The Prussian Field Marshal Bl€ ucher commanded the Army of Silesia, about 110,000 troops, mostly Prussians and Russians. Austrian Prince Schwarzenberg commanded the Army of Bohemia, about 210,000 troops, mostly Austrians and Russians. Coalition forces had also been significantly strengthened with large numbers of troops from the German states. In addition, there was Crown Prince Bernadotte’s large Army of the North, which did not enter France proper, but which would later provide reinforcements for Bl€ ucher. As a former French Marshal, Bernadotte’s motives for not wanting to enter France were more political than patriotic. He had hopes of ruling France after the war, but would be an unlikely candidate if he played the role of invader, although Bonapartists (and others) already saw him as a traitor.52 Confronted with these huge invasion armies, Napoleon’s marshals commanding the thin forces along the frontier had little chance. The intent had

Napoleon Creates a New Army

35

Map 3.1 The Invasion of France, January 1814. (Jan Baxter.)

been for the Emperor’s military subordinates to at least delay the enemy advance. With the limited exception of Marshal Mortier, an effective fighting withdrawal appeared to be beyond the capacity of the marshals, much to Napoleon’s frustration. Again, it seemed to him that only his personal intervention could produce positive results. Tied down by his continuing efforts to build an army, Napoleon for the time being hoped that his marshals would rally, at least long enough to give the enemy pause. Meanwhile, now that the invasion had come, the Emperor turned his attention to the political situation and the mood of the country. Addressing the Senate, and the nation, Napoleon emphasized the efforts he had made to make peace. He then continued: My existence has but one end, the happiness of the French people. However, Bearn, Alsace, Franche-Comte, and Brabant shake with invasion. The heartrending cries from those places . . . tear at my soul! I call Frenchmen to the

36

Napoleon Against Great Odds

succor of Frenchmen! I call the Frenchmen of Brittany, of Normandy, of Champagne, of Bourgogne, and all the other departments to the succor of their brothers! Can we abandon them in their hour of need? Peace and deliverance of our territory should be our rallying cry. At the sight of all the people in arms, the enemy will flee or sign the peace that they themselves have proposed. It is no longer a question of recovering the conquests that we have made.53

This was vintage Napoleon, although the appeal of such a dramatic call to arms might have been greater if not for the ill impressions created by the Emperor’s earlier rejection of peace offers and by his dismissal of the Legislature. Furthermore, such direct attempts on the Emperor’s part to drum up a popular response from the people would have been well advised much sooner, although clearly the reality of invasion added credence to Napoleon’s urgings. With the enemy now on French soil, the Emperor began making provisions for the creation of partisan groups, something he should have seen to earlier. Regular army officers native to threatened localities were to lead ee en masse in nine the formation of partisan units.54 A decree for a lev departments, to include the creation of partisan groups and ‘‘free corps’’ was made on January 4. A general would be in charge of each lev ee in the nine departments (Bas-Rhin, Haut-Rhin, Vosges, Montblanc, Isere, C^oted’Or, Jura, Doubs, Haute-Sa^ one).55 These measures were not made universal to all the departments of France, as one might expect given the gravity of the situation. Only those areas most vulnerable to immediate Allied activity were given Imperial instructions for a lev ee en masse at this point, despite Napoleon’s attempts to foster a popular war effort throughout France. A reasonable explanation for this particular approach would be that Napoleon felt that the organization of franc tireurs and partisans in the interior of France could only distract efforts away from regular conscription and mobilization efforts that were already supposed to be taking place. His object, after all, was the formation of an army which he would be able to command in the field, and with which he would repel the enemy invasion. A loosely organized network of local defenses and partisans would not be able to achieve decisive results, even if they could cause the invaders difficulties. Besides the military logic, there were political considerations. As so often in his later career, Napoleon was torn between different possibilities. He wanted the Allied invasion to cause a patriotic and energetic response, but he did not want it to cause panic and a loss of confidence. It was almost as if he were afraid that he might ‘‘rouse the people’’ too much. Local anti-Coalition ‘‘insurgencies,’’ however necessary under the circumstances, no doubt made Napoleon uneasy, given his sense of organization and personal control of details. Partisan warfare by nature is difficult

Napoleon Creates a New Army

37

to control from higher command levels. It is essentially voluntary, informal, and even unprofessional from the standpoint of a career soldier. Napoleon would not hesitate, therefore, to try to direct the details of local organizations of resistance as far as possible. His order of January 8 instructed all douaniers (customs officers), forest rangers, gendarmes, and even retired military personnel on pension to make themselves available to the generals in charge of the lev ee en masse.56 This order makes logical sense, but it also shows Napoleon’s desire to inject the popular resistance with a degree of experience, professionalism, and discipline. He does not specifically mention the example of Spanish, Tyrolese, or Russian partisans (he was always loathe to give such groups credit), but he knew from bitter experience that partisan warfare caused difficulties for invading armies. If the French were to employ partisan warfare, he wanted it to be as efficient as possible. Meanwhile, the Emperor was still desperately seeking the basic materials needed to create the regular army he wanted to field. The shortage of muskets remained a serious problem. In early January he ordered the navy to turn over 10,600 muskets from various magazines and ships in port. Having stripped the navy of most of its marines the previous year, there was only so much more to be drawn from this resource—but perhaps this was one way to help fill the crippling gap in musket supply.57 Without muskets, recruits could not even be trained. On January 9, Napoleon scribbled a note to Clarke, ‘‘Is it true that at Saint-Etienne there are 12,000 muskets that are not perfect, but could serve . . . ?’’58

Figure 3.2 Henri Clarke, Minister of War. (From W. M. Sloane’s Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1901.)

38

Napoleon Against Great Odds

Another obstacle to the formation of a regular field army was a lack of experienced noncommissioned officers (NCOs; sous-officiers). The raw recruits would need them as much as they needed clothing and weapons, but veteran corporals and sergeants were scarce indeed in 1814. Napoleon had one solution on January 10: I am assured that there are in Les Invalides 700 to 800 individuals whose wounds are healed and who are willing to serve. If this is so, they would be a precious source of sous-officiers. Authorize Marshal Serurier to secretly hold a council in which the surgeons could be called upon to give their advice. I am assured that, among the veterans who are in Paris, one could also find a good number of individuals who could serve as soldiers and sous-officiers. . . . if this is so, they could serve in the formation of six new regiments of Young Guard that I am going to field. I need 540 sergeants and 1,080 corporals.59

Here is military logic combined with desperation. Veterans who had left the service and who were living in Paris were the last and quickest source of sous-officiers that Napoleon could find in the middle of January 1814. At the same time, the physical condition of such men would have to be questionable at best. Those veterans from the Invalides, even with wounds ‘‘healed,’’ could easily include men without a full count of all their body parts. The willingness of veterans to serve, their proven courage, and their experience were assets that would have to offset any other weaknesses in the Emperor’s calculations. Commissioned officers in sufficient quantities were also a problem, although they were not needed in the numbers required for NCOs. A tiny handful of French officers from the Westphalian army became available with the demise of that German satellite state, but few new sources of officers could be found.60 Ironically, there was actually a surplus of cavalry officers of higher rank, because so many cavalry units had been combined due to the severe losses suffered by that arm. On January 12, Napoleon composed a lengthy ‘‘note on the actual situation of France.’’61 He drastically downplayed potential enemy strength and made extravagant calculations of the numbers of detachments the Coalition would have to make to blockade isolated French garrisons. Napoleon suggested that any immediate attempt by the combined forces of Schwarzenberg and Bl€ ucher to advance on Paris could only be made with about 80,000 men: ‘‘Such an operation would therefore be foolish, but we must plan against it.’’ In fact, the two Allied commanders could have cut their numbers in half with detachments, and still have had over 150,000. The Emperor’s estimate of current French strength, however, was only slightly exaggerated. We cannot know whether Napoleon actually believed the enemy numbers set down in his note. He had reason to minimize enemy strength, both to himself and others. Included in the note was an outline of

Napoleon Creates a New Army

39

the overall plan of action, beginning with the exhortation ‘‘never to make any preparation to abandon Paris, and to bury ourselves in its ruins, if necessary.’’ Such fiery rhetoric was becoming more frequent on the Emperor’s part, although his tendency toward hyperbole and sweeping generalizations, often made for dramatic effect, were nothing new. Was the idea of fighting until Paris was in ruins to be taken figuratively, or literally? His military subordinates were familiar with his use of figurative language. In more concrete style, Napoleon went on to describe still more mobilization efforts, including gathering anywhere from 60,000 to 100,000 sacks of grain in Paris, enough to last ‘‘four or five months.’’62 Paris was to be garrisoned and defended independently of the operations of the main field army. The fall of the capital would be a political and military disaster, that much was clear. Crucial to the plan of campaign that the Emperor was developing was the formation of a second army at Lyons. While the main army, commanded by Napoleon, held the enemy in front of Paris, this second army from Lyons could strike northward at the right moment and threaten the enemy rear and communications. This plan had all the boldness and simplicity that characterized the Bonaparte of old. It made sense for Lyons, as the second city of France, to be the formation center of a second army. All mobilization efforts were to some degree local to begin with. Why not utilize Lyons to best effect? Unfortunately, all of Napoleon’s plans relied upon too many variables. Sufficient quantities of men, horses, weapons, and other equipment for all forces were only the most obvious problems. Time was a resource that was running out with stunning rapidity as the Allies advanced. Finally, a second army would need a commander able to operate in an aggressive and timely fashion. Napoleon would give command at Lyons to Marshal Augereau, a veteran as experienced and weary as France itself in 1814.63 Weary battle-scarred French Marshals were familiar in 1814. Marshals Marmont, Macdonald, and Victor continued to fall back from the Coalition invasion. To delay the enemy advance significantly would have required a supreme effort combined with great skill and energy, qualities that depended on Napoleon’s presence. Apart from General Maison’s ‘‘army’’ of 15,000 operating in Belgium, French forces defending the Rhine numbered little over 50,000 troops, widely dispersed.64 They barely slowed the advance of the hundreds of thousands under Schwarzenberg and Bl€ ucher. The Army of Silesia and the Army of Bohemia each invaded along separate routes, but both easily outnumbered the French forces in their path. This put all of Napoleon’s efforts at risk. He could not much longer continue to oversee mobilization efforts in Paris. He would have to take command in the field. If possible, the junction of Schwarzenberg and Bl€ ucher had to be prevented.

40

Napoleon Against Great Odds

The steady progress of the Allied armies seemed to prove Napoleon’s point that his focus on military matters was the correct approach. Never mind that broader political support might enhance military efforts. Of all people, the Emperor had in the past understood the close relationship of military matters and politics, but now he made no attempt to court the services of Jacobins or to mend fences with political opponents. ‘‘If I fall I will not bequeath France to the Revolution from which I rescued her,’’ is the blunt statement attributed to him.65 On the other hand, he did accept the services of certain men of the Revolution who came forward of their own accord. Lazare Carnot, the old ‘‘Organizer of Victory’’ as a member of the Committee of Public Safety, was the most obvious example: The offer of an arm sixty years old is, without doubt, but little, but I thought that the example of a soldier whose patriotic sentiments are known, might have the effect of rallying to your eagles a number of persons hesitating as to the part which they should take and who might think that the only way to serve their country was to abandon it.66

Napoleon instantly took the offer. The old Republican would be made a general of division in Napoleon’s Imperial army, with rank effective as of January 25. Interestingly, Carnot was assigned to take charge of the defense of Antwerp, an important post militarily, but outside the heartland of la patrie.67 He could have been put to better use. Revolutionary relics like Carnot and a few Republicans, the playing of La Marseillaise, all of this was little more than window-dressing. Napoleon saw small risk in such symbolism, so long as he was required to make no political promises or compromises. The question was how many Frenchmen would respond to symbolism, or to patriotic examples such as Carnot’s? Could political opponents put differences aside for the sake of France? Could they rise above ‘‘faction,’’ as Napoleon might say? In essence, could they decide that the Coalition was a greater danger to France than Napoleon himself was? Before he could bring himself to depart Paris, the Emperor spent a few days in last minute preparations and instructions. Officers of the Imperial Guard were to be detailed to all city offices to recruit volunteers.68 Food supplies were to be forwarded to the army. National Guard artillery companies were to be formed for the defense of Paris. Recruits were dispatched to reinforce Lyons.69 Subsequent orders dealt more directly with organizing the army in the field in preparation for operations against the Allies. Napoleon was still dissatisfied with the sum of French military preparations, but the enemy drew near, and he would ride out to meet them. In his absence, his wife, the Empress Marie-Louise, would be Regent, with the help of advisors. Joseph Bonaparte, still referred to as ‘‘king’’ by his

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brother, would be the Emperor’s lieutenant-general in Paris. Napoleon had made Joseph King of Spain in 1808, but that title was obviously meaningless in 1814. Now the erstwhile King of Spain would command the National Guard in Paris (seconded by Marshal Moncey) and he would also advise Marie-Louise.70 Joseph was to be the man in charge in the capital, subject to directives from Napoleon. Could the Emperor have found a lieutenant far abler than his brother to command in Paris? Certainly, but Napoleon obviously felt that the maintenance of Imperial authority required a family member in the hour of crisis. This was all too familiar a priority. Napoleon had often sacrificed efficiency for the sake of the prestige of the Bonaparte dynasty. The Emperor’s brothers had been foisted upon kingdoms and armies as rulers and commanders, as if nepotism would somehow legitimize the ‘‘upstart general.’’ In reality, it was not so much a matter of legitimacy as the symbolism of power. Joseph, his Spanish throne a recent and unhappy memory, was not up to the task handed him in Paris. As Colonel Marbot generously noted, Joseph was ‘‘the best of men, and the most unmilitary.’’71 On January 24 the Emperor summoned the commanders of the twelve National Guard legions of Paris to the Tuileries. These officers, generally of the bourgeois elite or noble, were not the staunchest Bonapartists in 1814. Napoleon, dressed in his old campaign uniform and clearly ready to depart, greeted them. At his side was his wife, and in her arms was his son, not quite three years old. Looking the men in the eye, Napoleon turned on the old Bonaparte magic: ‘‘I entrust the Empress and the King of Rome— my wife and my son—to your courage.’’ ‘‘Vive l’Empereur!’’ shouted the National Guardsmen, tossing their hats, waving their arms, and clustering around the little family, pledging their loyalty.72 There is no reason to doubt their sincerity at that moment. Napoleon left Paris in the predawn hours of January 25. He would never see his wife and son again. The Emperor had left lengthy instructions for Joseph. Some of these concerned the forces designated for the defense of Paris, including the twelve legions of National Guard there. Added to these were various other detachments, including some Imperial Guards and the students of the Polytechnique military college. Roughly 30,000 troops garrisoned the capital, although the bulk of these were National Guardsmen in various states of readiness. Napoleon also addressed matters of the continuing mobilization. Paris was the destination of most new recruits. Napoleon estimated the arrival there of 300 or 400 conscripts each day, a fairly reasonable guess based on what had turned up so far. Napoleon addressed the political situation in Paris only indirectly. He hinted in the vaguest possible terms at the remote possibility of civil disturbances, but suggested that there would be plenty of troops available to handle any such situation. As a final note, he mentioned the expected arrival of some National Guard troops under

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the command of General Pacthod. These were the National Guards who would later distinguish themselves at the Battle of Fere-Champenoise, the subject of a later chapter.73 Surprisingly, the Emperor did not give detailed instructions regarding the fortification of Paris, although he had already provided for a few ‘‘palisades’’ and artillery redoubts. Little else had been done. In what would be an ironic bow to political considerations, the prevalent theory is that he did not want to alarm the Parisians by throwing up extensive earthworks around the capital.74 The problem with this interpretation is that Napoleon never made such concerns plainly explicit. At most, he implied vaguely that preparations for the defense of the capital be done discreetly. It does seem puzzling that Napoleon, who regularly obsessed over details, would neglect to give a complete plan for making Paris into a fortress. By contrast, Napoleon had drawn up for Carnot painfully detailed plans for the defense of Antwerp, complete with the number and position of redoubts, the number of cannons for each redoubt, and the number of laborers necessary for the work. It was a redundant waste of the Emperor’s energy, which would have been put to better use with similarly detailed plans for the defense of Paris. The job of organizing a defense of Antwerp was well within Carnot’s capabilities, even without such specific instructions.75 Any vague concerns about fortifying Paris being bad for morale also run counter to Napoleon’s rhetoric about defending Paris until it crumbled into ruins. It is clear that his entire campaign was designed to defend the capital. Was the absence of specific fortification instructions an uncharacteristic oversight? Why give specific instructions for gathering grain in Paris to last through a long siege, but not provide for the fortifications necessary to withstand a siege? Could Napoleon have possibly assumed that his subordinates in Paris would have enough sense and initiative to take the necessary measures to turn the city into a fortress? If this was the case it was a fatal miscalculation. The issue of the defense of Paris would be raised again during the campaign, and it will be discussed further in later chapters. Before a brief description of Napoleon’s celebrated campaign of 1814, the next several chapters will examine the army he had patched together and which would have to do the marching and fighting. That army was not only a reflection of the Emperor’s efforts, but of all the realities that faced France in 1814.

CHAPTER 4

Infantry

I

nfantry formed the backbone of all Napoleonic era armies. The most obvious reason for this was that foot soldiers were the easiest (and cheapest) to train and equip. Cavalry and artillery both required horses, which were expensive to acquire and maintain. Infantry did not require the specialized equipment and technical training needed by cavalry and artillery. At the same time, infantry provided flexible all-purpose troops, ideal for garrisons and essential on the battlefield. Well-drilled infantry could repulse cavalry charges, usually by forming squares (a complicated but standard maneuver of the era). Infantry could also protect friendly artillery against enemy cavalry or infantry. Foot soldiers could advance over rough terrain that cavalry and artillery sometimes could not pass. Sometimes there would be fighting in buildings or towns, and in such environments, only infantry could operate well. Napoleon and other commanders would have loved to have more horsemen and cannons on any battlefield, but they had to rely upon their cheap masses of foot soldiers to give the army form. All of this would be especially true for the French in 1814. Limited time and resources dictated that infantry would form a higher percentage than usual of Napoleon’s army. As of January 25, the French armies in the field in Champagne (excluding garrisons) consisted of almost 53,000 infantry, just under 13,000 cavalry, and a little over 5,000 artillery and engineer troops. French forces overall, especially in garrisons, were mostly infantry. National Guards were almost exclusively made up of infantry, although there were some artillery units. The forces assembling in Paris and Lyons, including new recruits, would likewise consist largely of infantry.1 Cavalry and artillery would be in short supply, and this would hamper effectiveness. 43

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As flexible as infantry might be, they could not inflict the damage that artillery could, nor could they charge flanks or pursue as cavalry could. More worrisome was the fact that many French infantry units would not have time to train and drill sufficiently. Drill and training were essential to the effectiveness of infantry units. Poorly drilled troops would not be able to form square or maneuver properly in line or column formations. All of this was crucial to survival on the battlefield. Untrained troops would not be able to deliver disciplined volley fire, making for less effective musketry. Even the fairly minimal arms and equipment required for a foot soldier would be difficult to acquire in adequate numbers for many infantry battalions in 1814. Indeed, the size and formation of infantry battalions would be far more haphazard than what Napoleon had ever deemed remotely acceptable before. The crushing demands of limited time combined with the spotty influx of recruits and materiel played havoc with the military bureaucracy. The organization of units reflected this. In theory, a French infantry battalion was to have six companies, each company of roughly one hundred men. Two of the six companies in a battalion were designated as ‘‘elite’’ (grenadiers, carabiniers, or voltigeurs). A field-strength of 500 or so was fairly normal for an infantry battalion. A French infantry regiment would have anywhere from two to five battalions (plus a ‘‘depot’’ battalion), although the battalions of a regiment did not always serve together in the same location. This organizational scheme applied to all of Napoleon’s ‘‘regular’’ infantry, which included both Line Infantry Regiments (Regiments d’Infanterie de Ligne) and Light Infantry Regiments (Regiments d’Infanterie L eg ere). Line and Light Infantry were equipped and organized identically, with minor uniform variations. The main difference was that Light Infantry troops were supposed to be trained as ‘‘skirmishers.’’ Troops deployed in skirmish formation moved quickly and fought in open order rather than shoulder to shoulder. Spread out and sometimes using terrain as cover, they made tough targets and could fire independently, harassing enemy formations while screening friendly ones. Light Infantry was not always deployed as skirmishers. The loose formations could be effective in the right circumstances, but were highly vulnerable to enemy cavalry or infantry bayonet charges. Therefore, the Light Infantry battalions would frequently use the same close order line or column formations as their fellows in Line battalions. The exact formations and tactics used by skirmishers would vary according to training and situation. We do not have complete information regarding the tactics used by French skirmishers, because military regulations and drill books of the period did not always spell out precisely the methods used. Captains of units deployed as skirmishers would keep company musicians nearby to serve as a rallying point. The key was to maintain some control and the ability to reform into close formation.2

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The importance of drill and training for Napoleonic infantry cannot be overemphasized. Fighting ‘‘Indian style,’’ as Americans termed it, might work for ambushes or isolated encounters, but unformed troops on the battlefield would be swept aside or annihilated. That was why Spanish guerillas avoided large ‘‘set-piece’’ battles. Even skirmishers required discipline and precise tactics. Musketry could cause heavy casualties, but only when fired in disciplined volleys at very short ranges. The bayonet was a weapon of intimidation when presented as a metallic hedgerow in the hands of well-formed infantry. Unformed troops would usually yield before the advance of disciplined ranks, rather than wait to be skewered. Hand-tohand combat between opposing infantry a la Hollywood was quite rare, although not unknown, especially when fighting in towns or buildings. The extent, frequency, and nature of hand-to-hand combat during the Napoleonic Wars are topics of conjecture and controversy. According to Baron Larrey, Napoleon’s Surgeon-General, bayonet wounds from one melee totaled five, as against 119 wounds from musket balls. So, even in the closest combat, soldiers were more likely to shoot than stab.3 The idea of artillery and musket fire was to try to break up the formations of enemy infantry, making them more vulnerable to the threat of infantry bayonets or cavalry sabers. Panicky infantry, fleeing in disorder, could be cut to pieces by enemy cavalry. On the other hand, often it was the units that refused to yield in the face of heavy fire that suffered the highest casualties. When faced with heavy enemy fire combined with the threat of cavalry attack, infantrymen had an unenviable choice. They could be ridden down and hacked to death if they ran, or be torn to pieces by flying metal if they stood. As far as the actual effects of musketry went, there were extreme variations, depending upon numerous factors. Training, weather, smoke, and the quality of the weapons and ammunition all figured into how deadly musket volleys would be. The single most important factor was probably range. Most infantry, with the exception of some light troops and rifle units, were not really trained to fire at individuals. Instead, massed volleys pointed in the general direction of opposing formations of the enemy were used. Prussian and British experiments with volley fire at targets provided a rough idea of the effectiveness of musketry. Most tacticians agreed that formed infantry should hold their fire until the enemy was at close range, but units sometimes fired at longer ranges, apparently in an effort to keep the enemy as far away as possible. There were isolated instances in which musketry at 200 yards was effective. Usually, at ranges of over 200 yards, musketry had little effect, no matter how many bullets were fired. The closer the enemy, the more deadly the musketry would become, until at ranges inside of 80 yards a single volley from one battalion might, under very ideal conditions, strike down half the men in the front ranks of an opposing battalion. Even if such deadly results did not always occur,

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Figure 4.1 Infantry advancing under heavy fire. (From Erckmann-Chatrian’s The Conscript, 1906.)

close-range musket fire was often devastating. Little wonder then that both officers and enlisted men were sometimes eager to charge enemy infantry and resolve matters with the bayonet (or, more properly, the threat of the bayonet) as quickly as possible. Instead of shooting deadly showers of lead at each other, one side might have the opportunity to run away, and so live to fight another day.4 The experience of battle for infantrymen during the Napoleonic Wars is something that several historians have attempted to reconstruct, but any descriptions of what fighting was actually like are, at best, teased out of various letters, memoirs, and second-hand renderings. The average infantryman, even if literate, was usually not the self-reflective soldier of later wars. Letters and others accounts of the period (with a few notable exceptions) can sometimes strike a reader as sketchy and not particularly concerned with personal experiences or details regarding combat. Memoirs by French cavalrymen are more readily available. The veracity of some of these splashy accounts has been called into question. Marbot’s memoir is perhaps the quintessential example of ‘‘feats remembered with advantage.’’ Parquin’s memoir gives us as much detail concerning his amorous adventures as it

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does his combat experiences. Our grasp of the experience of Napoleonic combat is moderately enhanced by some 19th-century literature. Tolstoy, a Crimean War veteran, gives us soldiers who are very much in touch with their thoughts and emotions in battle. Stendhal (born Henri Beyle) was himself a veteran of Napoleon’s armies and also paints a very personal view of combat in La Chartreuse de Parme, albeit from a cavalryman’s perspective. Other 19th-century novels, such as those by Erckmann-Chatrian, were written after ‘‘interviews’’ with veterans, but they are not necessarily free from considerable embellishment. From these various sources, we can gather that most infantrymen found battle a chaotic, deafening, smoked-filled, frightening experience. Indeed, the disorienting nature of battle, along with limited literary ability, help to explain the sketchy nature of most firsthand accounts. Having comrades struck down literally at one’s elbow could have a profoundly disturbing effect. Morale would suffer accordingly. Every soldier killed or wounded could result in another soldier breaking ranks and running. Other men would fall down and ‘‘play possum.’’ Eventually, entire battalions could panic, break, and stampede to the rear. Officers saw it as their duty to keep the men in line and rally them if necessary. Discipline and training were deemed essential to morale. Personal pride and a desire not to let one’s comrades down are also impulses (stress-inducing ones) that counteract simple human fear and self-preservation instincts in combat. This aspect of military psychology may seem to be a concept developed in more recent times, but the essence of the idea is evident in the writings of Tolstoy and Stendhal, as well as in some of the personal accounts written by soldiers of the period. It has been a universal truth throughout human history. During the campaign in Germany in 1813, Napoleon realized that the hasty construction of a new army would leave limited time for training. He therefore gave priority to training in the formations of battle columns and squares, so that the infantry could at least protect themselves from enemy cavalry.5 In 1814, even these basics would have to be rushed through. The men would be lucky if they had time to learn their manual of arms. Under normal circumstances, Napoleon liked to have all of his military units as uniformly organized, equipped, and trained as possible. Efficiency and order had always been hallmarks of the Emperor’s army. Such considerations would, to a large degree, go by the boards in 1814. The urgent need to put units in the field, and limited resources, would dictate how infantry battalions were organized. The results were chaotic. Surprisingly, a few battalions were at (or above) full strength as of late January. The 6th battalion of the 67th Line Infantry Regiment had a total of 921 men, including officers. Also large was the 6th battalion of the 79th Line Infantry Regiment, with 816 men. Both battalions were in reserve at Orleans on January 21. The 67th had recently received 94 new recruits,

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while the 79th had received 350. More common were understrength units, such as the 142nd Line Infantry Regiment, which numbered only 95 men on January 25. The 3rd battalion of the 50th Line Infantry Regiment started the campaign with only 190 men. The 1st battalion of the 29th Light Infantry Regiment started out with 264 men, operating in only two companies rather than the standard six.6 The state of training in various units was anything but uniform. Houssaye estimates that 80 percent of new recruits in January had not yet completed their most basic training.7 The campaign began before there had been enough time for many conscripts to arrive at depots, let alone train. Ideally, soldiers would advance through l’ ecole du soldat, in which they learned their manual of arms and basic drill, and then proceed to training in platoon and company formations.8 The new troops in 1814 faced the daunting prospect of completing their training on the march or in action. Most of them never were trained up to the standards of the Grande Arm ee of years past. Officers inspecting the new soldiers had varied opinions on their quality, and no doubt the quality varied. The evaluation of one officer stated, ‘‘This conscription does not measure up to precedent.’’ Other reports contradict, noting that the recruits were ‘‘robust’’ or of ‘‘strong constitution.’’ The state of training was another matter. An inspection report notes that the new recruits of the 6th battalion of the 118th Line Infantry Regiment were not trained at all. The men of the 4th battalion of the 70th Line Infantry had not completed their training. By contrast, the 274 men of the 1st battalion of the 2nd Light Infantry were all veterans. The 66th Line Infantry Regiment was not unusual in that it had ‘‘some corporals young in age and length of service.’’ Many reports repeat observations on inadequate training, but also remark on the enthusiasm, ‘‘bon volont e’’ and esprit of the new soldiers.9 The good spirits of the soldiers were all the more remarkable in view of the deficiencies and shortages in weapons, clothing, and equipment. The muskets of the 2nd and 4th Light Infantry Regiments were described as ‘‘very bad: they need repairs [or] they will soon be out of service.’’ Other units were described as having some weapons of foreign manufacture. Many soldiers had only one flint each for their muskets. Spare flints had been standard practice. A lost or broken flint rendered an infantryman’s musket useless except as a staff for his bayonet.10 More appalling were the cases of certain units such as the 5th Light Infantry which had 545 men but only 150 muskets, or the 115th Line Infantry which had 289 muskets to distribute among 2,344 men! Obviously, such units could not yet take their place with the army in the field.11 Somewhat more auspiciously, the 3rd battalion of the 122nd Line Infantry had 500 muskets for 656 men, with the rest of the weapons on order from Paris. Some of the weapons shortages were in fact made good during the campaign, an example being the 3rd battalion of the 50th Line as of late February. All 303 men had

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muskets in ‘‘good condition’’ although many were missing bayonets.12 Along the same lines, the 4th battalion of the 70th Line had enough muskets for its 306 men, but was short 161 bayonets.13 Availability and quality of uniforms and clothing also varied wildly from unit to unit. In theory, an infantryman would have shirts and linen, two pairs of shoes, breeches (culottes), trousers, gaiters, a long-sleeved waistcoat, a uniform jacket, an overcoat (capote), and a shako.14 The 264 men of the 139th Line were an exception in having uniforms that were ‘‘new and complete.’’ The 3rd battalion of the 122nd Line, on the other hand, needed more overcoats, waistcoats, trousers, and shakos. The 3rd battalion of the 50th Line, while enjoying the luxury of having enough muskets, suffered from a lack of uniform jackets, waistcoats, and breeches.15 The 4th battalion of the 70th Line was short on shakos, trousers, and overcoats.16 Most regiments lacked at least some clothing or uniform items. For example, the 6th battalion of the 118th Line had all items except uniform jackets. They would have to wear their overcoats over their waistcoats during a winter campaign. Likewise, the 6th battalions of the 2nd Light Infantry and the 23rd Light Infantry had no uniform jackets or shakos. Their headgear would consist of a bonnet de police, a soft cloth cap normally worn for fatigue duty. The 6th battalion of the 67th Line also wore the bonnet. Many individuals in other units would have to make do with these caps. The cloth caps may have been more comfortable, but shakos were

Figure 4.2 Infantry recruits drilling. The recruits are wearing long-sleeved waistcoats and bonnets de police. (From R. H. Horne’s The History of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1896.)

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Napoleon Against Great Odds

functional as well as stylish. The tall leather-reinforced shakos provided at least a degree of protection against sabers, bayonets, and the flying debris of battle. Of more immediate concern to many recruits was the lack of sufficient quantities of linen and shoes. Most soldiers had partial supplies of such items, but very few had spares.17 Many of the other multifarious odds and ends that Napoleonic soldiers normally carried were in painfully short supply in 1814. Cartridges were not abundant, but fortunately were an item that could be quickly produced. A ‘‘cartridge’’ consisted of a charge of gunpowder and a lead ball packaged in paper, which according to drill was to be pulled from a cartridge box, torn open with the teeth and quickly loaded into the musket. A shortage limited drill and target practice, further diminishing the effectiveness of the troops. There were also limited numbers of gibernes (cartridge boxes) which required a fair amount of leather and some semi-skilled assembly. The 4th Battalion of the 70th Line Infantry, for example, had only eighty-three gibernes for 306 men.18 Although most French troops had gibernes, those without cartridge boxes would have to fumble for their cartridges in their pockets. There was also a shortage of backpacks, although such items could be improvised and did not affect drill or training.19 Napoleon knew that his infantry would suffer from the logistical difficulties imposed by limited time and resources. It was not simply a matter of shouting ‘‘la patrie en danger’’ and waiting for men to flock to the colors. In desperation he had quickly thrown together an army, and the infantry would have to make do with whatever men, uniforms, weapons, and equipment were available. His appreciation of the military readiness of French infantry at the beginning of the campaign was accurate. Napoleon’s wishful thinking applied mainly to the difficulties the Coalition forces would face during their invasion. He hoped that they would make huge detachments to garrison their supply lines, and equally hoped that those supply lines would be overburdened. To a certain extent, these were reasonable expectations, but not to the degree that Napoleon was counting on. One more significant factor affecting the manpower and supply resources available to the regular Line and Light Infantry units was that Imperial Guard infantry units had priority in such matters. This included several newly formed ‘‘Young Guard’’ units, which would absorb almost half the new recruits available. The Imperial Guard is the subject of a later chapter, but it is important to note here that Napoleon’s insistence on maintaining the strength of Guard units hurt his ability to field regular infantry units. Theoretically, the pick of both volunteers and conscripts would go to the Young Guard units. Guard conscripts were supposed to be tall and educated.20 This left regular infantry units with recruits who were often either short, illiterate, or both. A closer look at these ‘‘Marie-Louises’’ seems appropriate. How young and how small were these conscripts who, cheerfully or not, made do with skimpy supplies of weapons and uniforms? What did they do before heeding

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the call of the Emperor? Were they the dregs of society, eager to respond to the conscription for food and pocket change? Were they exclusively from the social classes most likely to support Napoleon? Or were they simply a random cross-section of French males who happened to get their conscription summons in a timely fashion? Since most authorities emphasize the idea of a large percentage of men avoiding service, was there some readily identifiable attribute held in common by the recruits, and peculiar to them? The rolls of those coming into the 28th and 54th Line Infantry Regiments in late 1813 and early 1814 will be used here. The 28th Line distinguished itself during the campaign, while a small detachment of the 54th was present at La Fere Champenoise. Otherwise, the two regiments were not untypical and have been chosen randomly. The rolls do not always indicate whether a man was a substitute or a volunteer (a distinction which after all was a matter merely of motive rather than volition). Often, rolls leave blank the space regarding how a recruit entered the regiment. When this information is recorded, most are listed as conscripts. There were twenty-three listed as substitutes, and ten listed as volunteers, but this would appear to be an incomplete total in each case. Most of the recruits of the 54th have their departments of origin listed. Nearly all of them came from the departments of Soiret, L’Aisne, and Loire-et-Cher.21 These ‘‘Marie-Louises’’ were not the teenagers of legend. Napoleon’s directive to get ‘‘men not children’’ was partially successful. Of 703 recruits in the 54th, none were from the class of 1815. Those born in 1793 (aged twenty to twenty-one) represent the single largest group with 249, roughly 34 percent of the total. Only 76 (nearing or past their twentieth birthday) were born in 1794. One recruit, Jean Dominique Giozdano, was under eighteen. The rest of the incoming soldiers were born in 1792 or earlier. This means that the majority of new soldiers in the 54th was over the age of twenty-one. Most were in their early or mid-twenties. There were a few older recruits, either volunteers or substitutes. They were seasoned, but hardly decrepit. The oldest, Jean Pierre Marache, was nearly forty, and Joseph Godelle was next in seniority at age thirty-seven. Regulations required that substitutes over the age of thirty-eight had to be veterans, so Marache for certain was a veteran. Some of the other older volunteers and substitutes may have been veterans as well, although the vast majority of recruits would have had no military experience whatsoever. The maximum age for substitutes was forty-two, by regulation.22 The 28th Line Infantry received a smaller number of recruits, but the ages break down along similar lines. Again, 1793 leads the way with 57 of 223 incoming soldiers. The 28th did receive an influx of veterans from the 114th Line, which was being broken up.23 Many of these did not have their dates of birth listed on the rolls. The table below excludes the incoming troops of the 28th with unlisted birth dates who were veterans being transferred from the 114th. It also excludes the one underage volunteer.

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TABLE 4.1 New Soldiers Added to the 28th and 54th Line Infantry Year of birth 1794 1793 1792 1791 1790 1789 1788 1784–1787 1774–1783 Unknown Total

Age range in early 1814

Number of recruits

19–20 20–21 21–22 22–23 23–24 24–25 25–26 26–30 >30 — —

125 306 73 51 93 86 65 19 16 46 880

Sources: SH 21 yc 263 and 21 yc 455; Controlees aux troupes.

Included are the rest of new troops coming into the 28th and 54th Line Infantry Regiments. Some of the recruits had their birth dates listed according to the Revolutionary calendar, no doubt using their birth certificates. Those dates are converted here. A fairly large number from the 54th had birthdays that were either unknown or unlisted, and those men are included. By any standards, most of these recruits were very young men, but their average age was in fact much higher than the average age of new recruits in modern day armies! This flies in the face of the old myths wherein Napoleon callously drafted mere lads of fifteen and sixteen years of age. This would have meant calling up the Classes of 1817 and 1818. No such thing was done in 1814. Young teenagers, such as Giozdano, did in fact enlist, but as volunteers. Some may have lied about their age. Such cases were exceptional. The truth of the matter is that most new recruits in 1814 were conscripts over the age of nineteen. The recorded heights (given in centimeters) of the recruits of the 28th Line do show a pretty compact group of men. They were generally short, even by the standards of the day. Converted into English inches, we have the tallest man coming in at about 50 900 . The shortest measured just under 40 1100 .24 Most of the recruits were only a few inches over five feet tall. There was a requirement in the 1790s that recruits were a minimum of five feet tall, but this was progressively reduced until, by 1814, there was for all practical purposes no height requirement. Recruits as short as 40 800 were not unknown. As a group, the recruits of the 28th if inspected by the Emperor would comfortably see eye-to-eye with him.25 Some of the younger men were probably still growing, but because males typically gain no height after age twenty-one, the overall short stature of the recruits was not necessarily a sign of immaturity. Shortness can, however, give

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the impression of youth. French civilians observing the ‘‘Marie-Louises’’ could easily have had their preconceived notions about the recruits confirmed (although the term ‘‘Marie-Louise’’ also applied to the Young Guard recruits, supposedly taller lads). Young soldiers, even if in their twenties, could pass for ‘‘beardless youths’’ for a number of reasons. Males often do not gain heavy facial hair until their late twenties. Also, the vast majority of soldiers did not grow beards or mustaches anyway. Facial hair, other than sideburns, did not come into style until the mid-19th century. The civilian styles of the early 1800s called for a clean-shaven appearance. Military regulations reinforced this rule for peasant recruits otherwise immune to the dictates of fashion. In Napoleonic era armies, certain units (grenadiers, hussars, etc.) could wear mustaches, but most regular troops shaved whenever possible. Each battalion was supposed to have one pioneer (sapeur), armed with an axe, who would be distinguished by his uniform and the fact that he wore a beard. Such an appearance was considered exotic. All of this was of course common knowledge, yet the idea of the ‘‘beardless youths’’ persisted. What of the employment of the recruits before they were drafted or volunteered? From what walks of life were the recruits drawn? The roster of the 28th does not list occupations. The 54th lists occupations for recruits who entered the regiment towards the end of 1813, but does not include them for the later arrivals. Once the invasion started the records become much less detailed. Typically the recruits were hired hands or day laborers. Of 518 men with recorded occupations, 242 were listed as laboureur or manoevre. This was basically the single most common occupation in France for young men from peasant families, which as we have seen still formed the vast majority of the French population. The rest of the men show a remarkable variety of occupations, especially considering that most of them had to be unmarried. Significantly, fifty-seven men were listed as unemployed (sans etat) or with employment ‘‘unknown.’’ Some of these might have been volunteers (or substitutes) in dire need of cash. Again, the rolls do not always list the method of enlistment. Surprisingly, the recruits included one student of surgery, who for some reason enlisted as an infantry private. Perhaps his training was put to use during the campaign. For purposes of the following table, artisans (shoemakers, tailors, etc.) and skilled laborers (masons, carpenters, etc.) are lumped together. Unusual employment (student, sailor, etc.) is grouped under miscellaneous. Farmers, gardeners, and winegrowers are placed together. Such men would be self-employed or agricultural specialists, so they fall into a different category from the day laborers and hired hands. The sampling may not be broad enough to allow generalizations, but it yields useful results. The breakdown of occupations shows that the 54th, a regular infantry unit, did not require its recruits to be literate, although many of the artisans probably were. The preponderance of laborers is also

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TABLE 4.2 Employment of Recruits of the 54th Line (End of 1813) Occupation Laborers Artisans Domestic servants Farmers Woodcutters/woodsmen Miscellaneous Miners Unemployed/unknown Total

Number of recruits 242 65 61 55 20 11 7 57 518

Source: SH 21 yc 455. Note: Men who could serve as barbers, bakers, carpenters, and so on were considered ‘‘artisans’’ in French regiments, which tried to be self-sufficient rather than rely on civilian contractors.

not surprising given the youth and single marital status of most of the men. While some of the artisans and farmers might be considered ‘‘middle class’’ by modern American standards, the rolls show a distinct lack of bourgeois and professional types. Members of the bourgeoisie, if they were in the service, would likely be officers, officer cadets, or in the Young Guard. The same would hold true for most young men of noble heritage. Otherwise, members of wealthier classes would be married and exempt from the draft or, if single, could afford to hire substitutes. The recruits of the 54th would make up a fairly typical cross section of occupations during the First Empire, except for the glaring but unsurprising absence of the wealthier classes. Some of the unemployed may well have seen their draft summons as not unwelcome. Indeed, they would be a likely source of substitutes, although the rolls of both the 28th and 54th indicate substitutes inconsistently. For that matter, those recording such information may not have asked recruits whether or not they were substitutes. Aside from the unemployed, however, there was little material motivation for a man to obey his summons, other than an impulse to obey the law. Napoleon did enjoy a good degree of support among peasants, and the rolls of the 54th can be seen as a reflection of this. On the other hand, since peasant laborers made up a hefty proportion of young Frenchmen, it may indicate nothing other than the pervading demographics of France. Some of the conscripts may well have been predisposed to serve, for various reasons. Patriotism, cash, even the mirage of military glory, all had power to draw men to the army. But many recruits may indeed have been men who simply happened to receive their summons before bureaucratic chaos became widespread, as Elting suggested. This theory receives some support from the fact that 518 of the 703 recruits in the 54th entered the regiment before the invasion began. The bare bones style of the regimental

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records as of December 1813 conjures images of harried military bureaucrats, rushing recruits through the paperwork with no time for detailed questions. By the same token, we cannot tell if these later recruits contained a higher percentage of volunteers, which might be expected once the invasion began. If there were such a thing as a typical ‘‘Marie-Louise’’ in 1814, he would have been a young peasant laborer approaching his twenty-first birthday. He would stand just over five feet tall, although a shako, if he had one, would give the image of a little extra height. He would probably be dressed in a grayish overcoat and carry a musket, ideally in working condition. On the other hand, the regimental rolls indicate that such a ‘‘typical’’ soldier represented less than half of the new recruits. As a group, they were fairly diverse. If they had all been teenagers, their lack of training may have hurt them more, but tough peasants, farmers, and woodsmen in their twenties were at least able to handle the hard marching of a winter campaign. To be sure, some of the domestic servants turned soldier might have had trouble keeping up. The recruits in general were to show themselves particularly vulnerable to disease. This is not surprising among men brought together in close quarters for the first time in their lives, especially during a typhus epidemic. This was the regular infantry that was supposed to provide the ‘‘backbone’’ of the French army in 1814. That they performed as well as they did is a credit to them, and to their leaders, including Napoleon. As we have seen, fielding infantry units was an effort facing myriad difficulties. Providing for the other arms was even more difficult.

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CHAPTER 5

Cavalry

C

avalry of the Napoleonic era was divided into various types of regiments with specialized functions. Light cavalry, in addition to their combat and pursuit functions, performed reconnaissance and screening duties. They were mounted on the fastest horses. Heavy cavalry, by contrast, were mounted on the largest horses, selected for strength, not speed. The men would likewise be the largest and strongest. Heavy cavalry included the cuiraissier regiments, in which the men wore metal helmets and breastplates and wielded oversized swords. Such heavy units served as shock troops on the battlefield and were ill suited for reconnaissance or screening missions. Medium cavalry, such as dragoons, were the jack of all trades. They could perform both battlefield and screening duties adequately, although perhaps less well than their more specialized comrades. Standard cavalry weaponry included sabers, carbines (or short muskets), and pistols. Most Napoleonic armies, including the French, possessed lancer regiments, generally mounted on light cavalry horses. All of these regiments had their own dashing uniforms. Cavalry traditionally were the ‘‘glamour boys’’ of the army.1 French cavalry had been the best-drilled and organized in Europe during most of the Napoleonic period.2 The disasters of 1812 and 1813 changed all that. Cavalry attrition in Russia had been heavy even before the retreat, and during the retreat horses became a food source of last resort. The French cavalry was virtually wiped out in Russia. Including artillery and transport horses as well as cavalry, the total in 1812 amounted to a loss of over 200,000 horses. The tremendous loss of horses in Russia left the Grande Arm ee seriously hampered in 1813. The shortage of horses to supply cavalry regiments only became worse in 1814.3 French cavalry had 57

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long enjoyed the luxury of being able to draw upon a supply of horses from most of Europe. After the Russian disaster Napoleon had to rebuild a cavalry arm virtually from scratch—although his best efforts only resulted in partial success. Horses were gathered from far and wide (especially from Germany) to supply the army’s needs at least partially in 1813.4 In 1814, with the satellites and Empire beyond the Rhine gone, such a rebuilding feat would not be possible. The specialized nature of most cavalry regiments only compounded the difficulty of getting sufficient quantities of the right kind of horses for the various units. Heavy horses in limited numbers from Normandy were still attainable in 1814, but light cavalry horses were scarce. More maddening was the fact that not only did new recruits for the cavalry require training, but so did the horses. This was an area in which the losses in Russia proved irreparable. The available remounts were mostly untrained. The colorful cavalry might attract more volunteers than the infantry, but this did not guarantee any equestrian experience on the part of recruits. All of the factors that made fielding infantry units so difficult in 1814 were magnified when it came to putting cavalry units together. A lack of adequate numbers of cavalry would be a severe impediment for Napoleon in 1814. He would have difficulty protecting his flanks on the battlefield. If the enemy were defeated, pursuit would suffer. Reconnaissance to determine the enemy’s moves and whereabouts, and screening his own moves, would have to be performed with minimal numbers of troopers. Napoleon was aware that the Allies had a huge edge in numbers of cavalry, especially light cavalry, although he did not realize (or refused to realize) how dire the inequity was. Cossacks were not necessarily known for their prowess on the field of battle but were extremely dangerous as scouting or raiding parties. They were available to the Allies in large numbers in 1814, augmented by other Russian irregular cavalry such as Bashkirs and Kalmuks. While Cossacks were ‘‘irregular’’ cavalry, they had long since been formed into organized military units (regiments or ‘‘pulks’’). Kalmuks and Bashkirs were irregular cavalry from the Steppes of Russia. Kalmuks carried spears or lances, while Bashkirs were actually armed with bow and arrows! When compiling the strengths of cavalry attached to the opposing field armies operating in Champagne in late January 1814, totals show that the French had just under 13,000 horsemen, while the Allies had over 56,000 cavalry troops, including Cossacks.5 Allied light cavalry could roam the French countryside virtually at will, negating much of the advantage that the French should have enjoyed fighting on their own soil. With vastly outnumbered light cavalry to contest the swarming enemy, the only counter was garrisoned towns and villages. This in itself was a major problem, because there was not enough regular infantry to provide for widespread garrisons. National Guards and armed civilians (both the subjects of later chapters) would have to fight off Coalition

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cavalry raids as best they could on their own. The Allied advantage in light cavalry (roughly four to one) was one of the factors that caused internal disruption in France from the earliest days of the invasion.6 A look at the situation and inspection reports regarding the French cavalry in 1814 shows the almost insurmountable difficulties faced by these units. Many of the regiments available after the 1813 campaign were in tiny cadres, and efforts to rebuild around them were almost futile. Many regiments were lumped together in cavalry depots, initially for purposes of training and supply. The main depot was at Versailles, commanded by General Preval.7 One group of 505 recruits was to provide replacements for the 7th and 8th Cuiraissiers, the 5th Dragoons, and the 1st, 2nd, and 4th Light Lancers. As of January 13, they were lucky enough to have all of their weapons and equipment. Unfortunately, as the inspection report notes The quality of the men is good enough, but most of them know absolutely nothing. The officers and sous officiers therefore have to throw them onto the backs of their horses. The horses are also good . . . but they are like the men, they cannot dress ranks.8

A provisional regiment, totaling 949 men combined from thirteen separate regiments left Versailles on January 20. The inspection report states that most of the men still did not know how to mount their horses. They lacked an unspecified number of weapons. They were missing various items of equipment: most of the men had no overcoats, and many were missing linen and footwear (although uniforms varied in color and cut, depending on the regiment, the basic clothing items for cavalry were the same as for infantry).9 Another report recommended that a column scheduled to depart on January 25 be held back. It consisted of 260 men assigned to 15 different regiments. They suffered from shortages of uniforms, weapons, equipment, harnesses, linen and footwear.10 Other units were attempting to form while waiting for the delivery of horses. The 22nd Chasseurs a Cheval had 508 officers and men on January 3, but only 136 horses. More horses were supposed to arrive by January 8. The unit also had only 210 carbines (although they had bayonets for them) and 121 shakos. The commanding officer optimistically ordered 550 meters of green cloth, and 150 meters of white cloth to complete the uniforms of the regiment. Chasseurs a Cheval wore green jackets, with collars and cuffs in regimental colors. The officer also ordered tricolor cloth, probably for cockades.11 The dragoon brigade at Orleans at about the same time was better supplied with mounts, having 1,106 horses for 1,242 officers and men, plus 348 draft horses for their attached artillery.12 The depot at Versailles eventually turned out better-prepared units as the campaign progressed, but small, and rather late in the game. One group of 800

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men combined from eleven different regiments left the depot on February 22, ‘‘completely uniformed, armed, and equipped, and with horses well harnessed.’’13 The organization of the cavalry arm was even more haphazard than that of the infantry. Grouping together light and heavy cavalry cadres was necessary under the circumstances, but such ‘‘provisional’’ regiments would have difficulty operating according to recognizable tactical doctrine. Functioning on the battlefield at all would only be possible if the recruits had been able to improve their training and riding skills on the march. Some of the groups of combined regiments were never intended for use together in battle, but rather only to ride together to the front where they could provide reinforcements for units already in the field. Even with reinforcements, some regiments of the same type had to be combined in order to form units large enough to serve. An example would be the 1st Provisional Regiment of Hussars, combined from several smaller regiments and totaling 272 men. Other hussar regiments were also combined into provisional regiments. Most provisional regiments were quite small, sometimes under 200 men.14 The reinforcements designated for different cavalry regiments were often ridiculously small in number. The numbers were partly tied to the types of horses and men available, and partly determined by need. Thus, in one column we see 127 reinforcements for the 17th Dragoons, but 27 for the 8th Cuiraissiers, and only 21 for the 1st Chevau-L eger Lanciers.15 As was the case with the regular infantry, regular cavalry had to deal with the fact that Imperial Guard cavalry regiments had priority. Drawing off resources was not quite to the extent of the infantry, because Napoleon

Figure 5.1 French chevau-l eger lancers. These troops were one of several categories of French light cavalry and would be expected to perform both reconnaissance and combat missions.

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only created three new Young Guard cavalry regiments, while he ordered the formation of twelve new Young Guard infantry regiments.16 Nonetheless, remounts and replacements for the existing Imperial Guard regiments would limit what was available for the regular units. The Imperial Guard cavalry regiments attempted to use veterans when possible, and most of the new conscripts did go to the regular cavalry units. There was little Napoleon could do about his lack of cavalry in 1814. Scrapping and redistributing his Guard cavalry would have served little purpose, because they were his largest and best cavalry regiments at that point. There was a surplus of cavalry officers at Versailles, but there was no serious suggestion to form mounted units entirely of officers. Their job was to help with the training and wait until a sufficient number of troopers could be formed into a unit, and then lead them to the field. This was frustrating for experienced officers like Colonel Marbot, who had to cool his heels in Versailles, despite requests to be sent to the field army. His unit of 200 men was supposed to be ready by the end of March, but by then the enemy would be at the gates of Paris. Marbot estimated that there were as many as 18,000 troopers still without horses in Versailles at the end of the campaign, and that is close to accurate. Reports and Napoleon’s correspondence confirm that there were 18,000 recruits at Versailles when Napoleon left Paris in late January, and over 8,000 were mounted there during the course of the campaign (after January 24). New recruits kept arriving every day, almost at the same rate as the badly trained troopers riding out to reinforce Napoleon’s army. Even had the acquisition of horses been able to keep pace with the arrival of recruits (which it could not), there were still 10,000 men who waited over three months in Versailles and never received horses! Smaller regimental depots outside of Versailles also contained men for whom there were no horses, so overall the numbers of cavalry recruits who had come forward to serve but never saw any duty in field units was significant. The specialization of cavalry regiments contributed to a logistical nightmare, but the French system of reinforcements and remounts under the Empire was probably the most efficient way of dealing with the problem. By assembling different types together under temporary training and marching columns, some progress was made. The only other solution would have required doing away with the different types of cavalry regiments, but such a revolution in military doctrine would have created as many difficulties as it solved, and there still would not have been sufficient numbers of mounts. Requisitioning horses could possibly have been more efficient throughout France in 1814. This was another area in which a combination of factors had an impact. A harried and disorganized bureaucracy, limited funds, unenthusiastic horse dealers, and enemy activity all made the procurement of horses more difficult than it already was. By the end of the campaign the exhaustion of funds available for purchasing horses slowed the mobilization

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Figure 5.2 Russian ‘‘Irregular’’ Cavalry. The Coalition invading France enjoyed a huge numerical edge in mounted troops, augmented by large numbers of Russian Cossacks. (From R. H. Horne’s The History of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1896.)

of cavalry reinforcements down to a crawl. General Preval, the commandant of the cavalry depot at Versailles, managed to procure about 1,000 horses on credit in mid-March, and had collected about 6,000 over the course of the month. Toward the end of March he wrote to Clarke saying that he could provide no more mounted reinforcements for the time being because he had no money. To make matters even worse, once they were in French territory, the invading Allies began grabbing up some of the small numbers of available horses in areas they occupied.17 Limited time and limited political support again hurt Napoleon’s efforts. Other than somehow gathering more horses more quickly Napoleon did about everything that could be done to provide his army with mounted troops. He had optimistically estimated that the depot at Versailles could turn out about 1,000 mounted men every ‘‘three or four days.’’18 About half that number would have been a more accurate guess. Ironically, once again, sufficient numbers of recruits was not the problem. Thousands of untrained recruits never received mounts. Horses, equipment, money, and time were all sorely lacking. The end result was pathetic. Although there were still some excellent French cavalry units in 1814, overall there had been a dramatic decline both in quantity and quality. In place of the well-drilled beau sabreurs of years past were ill-clothed recruits, tossed into their saddles and awkwardly grasping their swords. Arrayed against them were hordes of mounted men in the tens of thousands, consisting largely of veterans, from all over Central and Eastern Europe.

CHAPTER 6

Artillery, Engineers, and Other Troops

A

rtillery was the arm in which Napoleon originally served as a young officer, and it was the arm least affected by the emigration of noble officers during the Revolution. The dirty work of the cannon had been disdained by much of the nobility. Artillery officers therefore came from the bourgeoisie, or from lesser noble families (or even Corsican ones). Before the Revolution, career artillery officers could not look forward to advanced rank, but the payoff for the Republic came as a result of retaining most of these experienced officers. The standards of French artillery were high and remained so throughout the days of the Revolution and the Empire. Napoleon often gave the artillery his special attention and continually strengthened it. His partiality is revealed in one of his generalizations, ‘‘It is with artillery that one makes war.’’1 Artillery was the most deadly weapon on the Napoleonic battlefield, and its fire could be demoralizing to the enemy. Cannonballs of solid metal were the most commonly used ammunition. Artillery crews would aim low and ‘‘bounce’’ the cannonballs into massed enemy ranks, with gory results. The projectiles were of low velocity by modern standards. Whether hurtling silently through the air or bounding along the ground, the cannonballs were visible to the troops who were their targets—an unnerving sight. Cannonballs (also called ‘‘round shot’’ or ‘‘solid shot’’) were most effective when used against densely packed column or square formations. Howitzers and other types of guns could also fire explosive shells. The shells were notoriously unreliable, including numbers of ‘‘duds.’’ Sometimes shells would explode too soon (thereby giving Francis Scott Key the image of ‘‘bombs bursting in air’’). Shells could also land on the ground and ‘‘fizzle’’ before bursting (as described by Tolstoy depicting the mortal wounding 63

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of Prince Andrei). When shells did explode on target, they could wreak considerable havoc, especially among cavalry horses. At very close range, artillery could use ‘‘canister.’’ This ammunition consisted of cans jammed full of bullets or bits of scrap metal. When fired, the can would disintegrate and the bullets fly out as from a giant shotgun, creating the most horrifying carnage. There were variations on this method, including the ‘‘chain shot’’ used by General Bonaparte to destroy the Vendemaire uprising.2 French artillery was unsurpassed for its accuracy and rate of fire during the Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars. French gunners were renowned for their iron courage in battle, sometimes standing by their guns to the last man.3 Even in the aftermath of the Russian disaster, the stockpiled numbers of replacement cannon and trained artillerists allowed Napoleon to rebuild good quality artillery batteries for the 1813 version of the Grande Arm ee.4 The main difficulty facing French artillery in 1813 was acquiring a sufficient quantity of horses. Horses were required for the artillery train, which carried ammunition, and for pulling the guns themselves. Artillery batteries in support of cavalry units were supposed to have individually mounted gunners. These were the ‘‘horse artillery’’ (artillerie a cheval), and such units required an even greater number of horses than conventional artillery. Although most of the artillerymen of the 1813 army were trained veterans, many of them did not know how to ride, so ‘‘foot’’ batteries, in which the gunners simply marched alongside their horsedrawn cannon, were easier to form than horse batteries.5 Naturally, the problem of getting enough horses for the artillery was even worse in 1814. Artillery would have had priority when it came to supply of horses.6 During the campaign, General Griois was given 100,000 francs for the purpose of acquiring replacement horses for his artillery locally.7 Even General Preval, in command at the main cavalry depot in Versailles, did not always have those kinds of funds for purchasing horses. As desperately as Napoleon needed cavalry, he was absolutely adamant about having horses to pull his cannon on the battlefield. He believed that with enough artillery he could defeat any foe. The quality of the gunners was another matter. Untrained conscripts simply were not adequate replacements for artillerists. Artillerymen by default had to include trained veterans, even if they had not seen combat. There simply was not enough time to collect and train recruits for the artillery. At most, batteries would be ‘‘rounded out’’ with promising conscripts and volunteers. Each cannon crew had to have at least somebody who knew what they were doing. The problem was with numbers. In 1814, Napoleon would have to scrape for both men and horses to flesh out his artillery. Ironically, there were more than enough cannon to go around. There were still 400 cannon remaining unused in the main depot at Vincennes when the campaign ended.8 As the campaign progressed, there would be losses amongst trained gunners, while at the same time the

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French captured cannon that they could not supply crews for. At one point Napoleon demanded reinforcements from Paris in the form of two complete companies of trained artillerymen.9 One source of trained artillerists was the so-called cannoniers gardes-c^ otes, essentially units that guarded French ports during the Revolution and Napoleonic Wars. In 1811, the Emperor considered the training and discipline of these artillerists substandard. He attempted to upgrade them with a series of inspections and by sending the officers for additional training.10 With the emergency of 1814, Napoleon took the calculated risk of stripping part of his coastal defenses to provide his army with gunners. There were nine regiments of cannoniers gardes-c^ otes. At least part of all nine was to be sent to reinforce the army. Detachments from the 1st, 3rd, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th regiments were sent to the main artillery depot at Vincennes. Parts of the 2nd and 4th regiments were dispatched as reinforcements for Augereau in Lyons.11 The real invasion of huge Coalition armies from across the Rhine was obviously a greater threat than any hypothetical invasion from the sea by January. Most available British forces were already under Wellington operating out of Spain, while some were in Holland. This meant that any coastal operations against France by the British, the main Allied naval power, would certainly take more time to prepare. Meanwhile, Napoleon had a field army that was desperate for gunners. If there had been more time, more artillerists could have been trained and the surplus cannon parked at Vincennes put to use. This, of course, assumed the availability of more horses. Theoretically, the elite companies of grenadiers in regular infantry battalions had some artillery training, but disbanding them and pressing them into service as gunners would have further weakened the infantry, which as we have seen had more than its share of problems. As it was, the quality of the French artillery in 1814 could not maintain the high standards it had previously known. The gardes-c^ otes gunners were not used to operating artillery in the field under combat conditions, although at least they knew how to load and fire. Conscripts, even after training, lacked experience.12 Fortunately there were veterans to provide balance, but French artillery in 1814 would not automatically outclass their opponents—an advantage they had enjoyed in years past. Worse, there were not adequate supplies of artillery ammunition, even for the guns that had crews. Napoleon needed more time for enough munitions to be manufactured and forwarded to the army.13 This shortage continued to worry him throughout the campaign. Writing to Clarke after two days of fighting, he pointed out: The Old Guard [artillery] fired 10,000 rounds [yesterday]. It is necessary to replace these as soon as possible. God knows how many we fired today! It is necessary therefore to send as many munitions as possible.14

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Later in the campaign, Napoleon made the same problem clear to Joseph: Greater energy is needed in the manufacture of artillery munitions. There are only 40,000 rounds left at Vincennes. What is that? If I have a great battle I could go through 80,000 to 100,000 rounds.15

Such limitations had the potential to nullify the French artillery as an effective arm during 1814. Fortunately for Napoleon, complete exhaustion of artillery ammunition never occurred during the campaign, largely because he made replenishment a priority. The production of munitions naturally put a strain on the overall French war effort. To what extent this may have indirectly hurt other mobilization and supply efforts would be impossible to calculate fully. The artillery arm had also traditionally included the pontonniers, the bridge builders of the army. There was some professional rivalry between the artillery and the engineers, both of whom felt that the pontonniers should be attached to them. This debate was moot in 1814, because most of the bridging equipment (or bridge ‘‘train’’) had been lost in Germany.16 Engineers could build bridges with materials gathered locally, but this was a much slower process than throwing a pontoon bridge across a river. Until such equipment could be replaced, Napoleon’s mobility would be hampered. Bridge building was a duty shared by artillery pontonniers and engineers, but fortifications were another matter. Engineers were specialists in building fortifications and in siege warfare in general.17 Engineers could be used in combat, where their ability to breach walls was useful against enemy positions in buildings. Napoleon normally attached at least one company of engineers to each infantry corps. These engineer companies included both officers and enlisted men.18 In 1814, it would prove to be difficult to have enough engineer units to go around. Engineer companies would vary in strength, like most other types of units in 1814. For example, on January 25, the 2nd corps would have 153 engineers attached, while the 6th corps would have 322.19 Engineers, like artillerymen, could not simply be conscripted and put in the field. Training engineers took time. There were few recruits available with suitable backgrounds or experience. Members of the Bridges and Roads service, and some civilian surveyors, were incorporated into the military engineers.20 With his pools of trained military personnel dried up, the Emperor turned to members of his impressive Imperial civil service. There was little else Napoleon could do to provide his army with engineers. Officers for engineer units were especially difficult to come by. One solution was to detach some officers from the army on the Spanish front, although that army could not be left entirely without engineer officers.21 Napoleon would still be scrambling to acquire engineers and working on their organization well after taking the field.22

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The shortage of engineer units was no small problem considering French dependency on fortifications in 1814. The ability to create improved positions was an absolute necessity when on the defense against larger Allied numbers. While just about any able-bodied person can use a shovel, the design and placement of fortifications was a highly specialized military science. More engineer officers and units could have been useful not only with the field army, but also in Paris (assuming that Joseph would have put them to use). Napoleon may have had this shortage in mind when he neglected to give detailed instructions for the fortification of the capital. He may have considered extensive earthworks unfeasible until more engineer troops could be made available. This was an area in which Carnot, a former engineer officer, might have been able to provide some useful advice, had he been posted in Paris. He had been made busy, however, providing an effective defense for Antwerp. Another specialized force that would be hard hit in 1814 was the Gendarmerie. They were organized as a national police force during the Consulate and became the Gendarmerie Imp eriale in 1804. The organization numbered 30,000 at its height before the Russian campaign. The Gendarmerie included mounted units, in which the men owned their horses. Their duties were many during the Empire. They served as police within France and were part of the colonnes mobiles hunting down deserters. Detachments also served as military police with the Grande Arm ee on all of its campaigns. A branch of the Gendarmerie specialized in counterguerilla operations in Spain. Napoleon had traditionally used veterans to replace lost gendarmes and would only allow the most highly qualified conscripts and volunteers into the Gendarmerie.23 This exclusive policy was reversed in 1814. Gendarmes had their horses pulled in an effort to provide mounts for the cavalry. Other gendarme units (and individual gendarmes) were taken into the Imperial Guard or attached to the field army. Eight hundred veteran gendarmes, recently relieved of their duties in Spain, distinguished themselves in battle during the campaign.24 Unfortunately, cannibalization measures undermined the ability of the Gendarmerie to perform their internal security and colonnes mobiles duties. Those that remained in rear areas were overburdened, and the dearth of horses made them no longer ‘‘mobile.’’25 Napoleon understandably wanted to use the gendarmes, some of his best men, to strengthen his army, which was in desperate need. This was probably the best policy in the short run, because even a full-strength Gendarmerie functioning internally would have needed ample time to hunt down insoumis and refractaires. Such reluctant recruits would also have taken a long time to train and distribute among units. If the Allies had waited until spring to invade, it would have made more sense to keep more mounted gendarmes in colonnes mobiles trying to round up deserters and draftdodgers.

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Figure 6.1 French deserters arrested by the colonnes mobiles. The French troops in the illustration appear in uniforms similar to regular line infantry, but are probably National Guards. Some well-heeled National Guard units had uniforms virtually identical to line infantry, except for the buttons and metal fittings on their shakos. The mounted man on the left is a Gendarme. (From W. M. Sloane’s Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1901.)

Another organization that was taken into the army in 1814 was the Corps de Douanes (the Customs Service). Douaniers were recruited from well-off individuals, including veterans. They bought their own dark green uniforms and paid for their weapons. They were often mounted. As customs officials, they were supposed to be above bribery. Douaniers were responsible for curbing smuggling, a serious problem during the attempted implementation of the Continental System. Eventually, Napoleon pressed some of them into service with the colonnes mobiles. Douaniers started to be transferred into the field army as early as 1813. As we have seen, douaniers were also called upon to help organize partisan groups in 1814. Gardes Forestiers, roughly equivalent to forest rangers, were also used to hunt for deserters. This resource had declined in value by 1814. Army correspondence noted that many of the Gardes Forestiers were too old or too sick to effectively perform their duties. Nonetheless, some Gardes Forestiers did indeed see service in 1814.26 In addition to taking numbers of these various internal security organizations into the regular army in 1814, Napoleon put some of them in the Imperial Guard.27 As was the case with gendarmes, the absence of the douaniers made life easier for draft dodgers and deserters. Indeed, those inclined not to report for duty may have been further tempted by the

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apparent lack of activity on the part of the dreaded colonnes. Again, shortterm strength was the priority, even if inflated numbers of refractaires created a messy situation. Napoleon had to weigh the disadvantages of weakening potential colonnes mobiles forces into the balance. He never directly addressed the issue of a disappointing turnout of recruits, although his creation of the ‘‘extraordinary commissioners’’ was an indirect admission that there was a problem. He was so busy scrambling to equip the recruits that he did have that he could never concentrate fully on the problem of the no-shows. On the other hand, he was aware of the advantages of the colonnes mobiles, or he never would have maintained them for so long.28 They did not foster good will, but they enforced ‘‘habits of obedience.’’ Napoleon had to hope that patriotism or enthusiasm for his cause would eventually augment habits of obedience and result in more cooperation. Meanwhile, if he could not at least field some sort of army capable of holding the Allies until spring, then gathering more recruits successfully would not even matter. To stop the Allies he needed trained troops, immediately. Ideally, he could inflict a defeat on the invaders that would bring them to peace terms that he could accept, thus making long-term mobilization plans moot. The Emperor’s short-term plans relied upon having at least part of his army be of the highest possible quality. Napoleon assumed that the Imperial Guard would provide just such an elite body. Artillery and engineers of the regular army had their counterparts in the Imperial Guard, just as infantry and cavalry did. The same held true for other smaller specialized organizations, such as the gendarmes. All Guard units drew off scarce men and equipment from the regular army in 1814. The next chapter will deal with the Imperial Guard, which in many ways was a ‘‘second army.’’

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CHAPTER 7

Imperial Guard

N

apoleon did not invent Guards regiments. The Russians had a fairly large Imperial Guard of their own, whose senior regiments, the Preobrezhenskii and Semenovskii, were founded by Peter the Great.1 The Prussians and the British had their Guards regiments as well, as did most of the German states. Napoleon felt that having an Imperial Guard was important as a matter of prestige. The original Imperial Guard units were created from what had been the ‘‘Consular Guard’’ before 1804. As in most things, Napoleon took his version of Imperial Guards to levels and in directions that other monarchs would not have envisioned. It would at once be an instrument of Imperial prestige, an elite military reserve, an inducement for soldiers to serve well, and an incentive for potential soldiers to enlist. The original Imperial Guard regiments formed in the early days of the Empire were composed of veterans who had distinguished themselves. These units eventually became known as the ‘‘Old Guard,’’ a unique military meritocracy. It represented the largest collection of hardened veterans anywhere in the world. The Old Guard included regiments of infantry, cavalry, artillery, engineers, gendarmes, and even a battalion of sailors (marins) who served on land as marines and engineers. Originally, to enter the Old Guard a soldier had to have ten years’ service. This requirement was later reduced to eight years. There was no literacy requirement for entry into the Old Guard, although most of the men could read and write, and some even learned from their comrades after coming to the Guard. Old Guard soldiers were in their late twenties or in their thirties and had spent a significant part of their lives in the army. When they became too old for active service, they would be honorably discharged, with good benefits.2 For most of the 71

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Napoleonic Wars, the Emperor had been loathe to commit the Old Guard in battle, regarding them as irreplaceable and as his ultimate reserve. Some units had been in the thick of the fray, notably the Guard Cavalry at Austerlitz. Old Guard infantry regiments were never heavily engaged before the Russian retreat. The Guard Cavalry was used somewhat more frequently. Besides their clash at Austerlitz, they made a charge at the Battle of Eylau. Guard Cavalry, spearheaded by a newly created Polish regiment, charged at Somosierra in Spain in 1808. The Guard Artillery was active during the Wagram campaign in 1809 and played an increasingly important role in subsequent campaigns. Napoleon refused to commit his Young Guard infantry at Borodino, but freely used a greatly expanded Young Guard in Germany in 1813. In general, the Old Guard regiments had stood in reserve during battles. That would change in 1814.3 The main drawback of the Old Guard was that its veteran ‘‘recruits’’ could otherwise have been employed as noncommissioned officers (NCOs) for the regular army.4 This is a valid critique from a modern military perspective, but Napoleon was not going to forego his prestigious Guard. On the contrary, he would continually expand the Imperial Guard, adding nonveteran units. His Guard would be larger than any other in the world. The relatively small ‘‘Middle Guard’’ was created in 1807 from ‘‘velites,’’ essentially cadets that had been attached to the Imperial Guard. The first Young Guard regiments were created in 1809. Their officers and NCOs were veterans, but the rank and file was composed of picked conscripts. As previously mentioned, they were the strongest and best-educated

Figure 7.1 Old Guard Grenadiers. (From Coignet’s The Narrative of Captain Coignet, 1890.)

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recruits available. Unlike the Old Guard veterans, the recruits for the Young Guard had to be literate. Like pooling veterans into Old Guard regiments, drawing off the ‘‘cream’’ of all available recruits in such a manner for the Young Guard also seems questionable as a military policy. In the long run, it cannot have helped the overall quality of the army. Regardless, Napoleon kept adding to the Young Guard, mostly by creating new infantry regiments, although he would also add cavalry and artillery to its complement. In 1814, when the Imperial Guard made up such a large proportion of the army, Young Guard regiments were used in virtually every battle, and Old Guard units fought in several. So far from breaking up Guard units to use as cadres and reinforcements for the army, Napoleon made plans to create twelve new Young Guard infantry regiments in 1814. As previously mentioned, such an expansion of the Young Guard did not prove to be immediately possible. Napoleon did manage to field six new regiments, rather than the originally planned twelve. The new regiments would be the 14th, 15th, and 16th Tirailleurs, and the 14th, 15th, and 16th Voltigeurs.5 The creation of new units, plus replacements for the existing Young Guard units, took a large percentage of the new recruits. Over 50,000 of the 120,000 fielded went through the main depot for the Young Guard at Courbevoie. Even with requirements for the Young Guard relaxed, about 6,000 of these recruits wound up in regular line units.6 The expansion of the Young Guard in 1814 demanded lower standards for recruits, at least in terms of height. Literacy was one thing, but to take such a large percentage of recruits from the ‘‘tallest’’ renders the term relative. A height requirement of five feet was considered minimal for the Young Guard in 1814. The Young Guard was also the destination of choice for most volunteers. Volunteers could be younger than the average conscript, and Napoleon’s Guard recruiters were unconcerned about matters of age. The ‘‘Marie-Louises’’ of the Young Guard included a number of strong and precocious teenagers, some as young as sixteen.7 Volunteers were still far outnumbered by conscripts, however, and the majority of Young Guard recruits were therefore at least nineteen or in their early twenties. Unfortunately, the regimental rolls of Young Guard new recruits are not available for the year 1814, so observations on the composition of these regiments must remain general. It is probable that the lack of records for Young Guard recruits in 1814 is another reflection of bureaucratic chaos. The situation was certainly made more difficult by the creation of entirely new regiments. There were separate records for officers, and these still exist.8 At first glance, Young Guard recruits closely resembled their line infantry counterparts. Their uniforms and equipment were of slightly better quality, but they were of similar design. Shakos were regulation headwear for Young Guard regiments, whereas the Old Guard infantry were instantly

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recognizable in their tall bearskin hats. The only way quickly to identify a Young Guard shako was to observe the white ‘‘V’’ shaped bands on the sides of the hats.9 In terms of social class, it was logical that the literacy requirements for Young Guard recruits impacted the makeup of the regiments. There would be more of the bourgeoisie than in line units. Artisans had long been largely a literate group, so most of them would be eligible for the Young Guard. Peasants who could read and write were no longer so rare as they once had been and were present in the Young Guard, but not in a clear majority, as they were in regular regiments. The rise of basic literacy in France was not due to Napoleon. He rejected government-sponsored education at the primary level, leaving such efforts to church and private schools. His government did, however, establish forty-five lyc ees for purposes of secondary education. Only about 15 percent of students at the lyc ees received full scholarships, so the sons of peasants would have been in a minority. Many Young Guard recruits could have attained their literacy without attending a lyc ee, but a good proportion probably had attended these schools.10 In any case, within the new regiments, there was a stark contrast between the young recruits and their battle-scarred NCOs, veterans culled from the Invalides, and the streets of Paris. Napoleon’s decision to have a large ‘‘elite’’ force despite dwindling resources and a deteriorating military situation may remind some of Hitler’s expansion of the ‘‘Waffen SS’’ late in World War II. Like many comparisons between the two men, this one illustrates Hitler’s deliberate emulation of Napoleon. But if Hitler’s motives were largely a matter of emulation (and a stubborn refusal to learn from the Emperor’s mistakes), Napoleon’s intent in 1814 is harder to explain. He hoped that the ‘‘excellent spirit’’ of the Guard would extend to its new recruits. He also thought that perhaps the organization of Guard units could be accomplished more promptly. The Emperor was trying to encourage volunteers, and by creating a large number of Imperial Guard ‘‘slots’’ he succeeded to some degree. This would be in keeping with his overall attitude in 1814. He wanted people to support the Empire for what it was, rather than for the Revolution it had come from. The Imperial Guard represented the glory of France under Napoleon. Playing La Marseillaise was a concession to the past. The song meant more to Napoleon than to many of the recruits. The younger ones would scarcely remember it and maybe not even know it. Napoleon was torn again between conflicting impulses in 1814. He seemed nostalgic for the days when he was a young commander, yet he demanded complete loyalty to the current system. He wanted a large Imperial Guard and a popular uprising against the invaders. It would be difficult to have things all ways. The Imperial Guard, as it expanded, came to represent an odd mix of social classes. The veterans of the Old Guard, largely of peasant origin, had evolved as part of what should be considered the ‘‘military class’’ of

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the First Empire. Their careers and loyalties rested with Napoleon. The establishment of the Young Guard made the Imperial Guard as a whole a more diverse organization in terms of social origins. By 1813, however, Napoleon was growing dissatisfied with the relative lack of members of the wealthier classes in the military. He could not bring himself to do away with the legality of purchasing substitutes, but at the same time he saw that the policy had detrimental effects. One solution was to entice (or coerce) the rich into the Guard. To that end, Napoleon created the Gardes d’Honneur, four regiments of light cavalry to be added to the Imperial Guard in 1813. The criterion for entry into these regiments was money. Recruits for the Gardes d’Honneur were sons of the nobility and bourgeoisie who could afford to buy substitutes. Indeed, many of them had already done so. They also had to pay for their own uniforms, equipment, and horses. The Emperor exerted pressure on the departments by giving each one a quota of recruits to fill for the new regiments. If enough volunteers did not come forward in a department, recruits could be ‘‘designated.’’ In 1813, he was still able to push through such projects. Some members of the poor nobility had their equipment and mounts paid for by wealthy families without sons. In return, the recruits of the Gardes d’Honneur received promises of promotion after a year’s service, the prestige of wearing fancy uniforms, and the privilege of belonging to Napoleon’s Imperial Guard. The veterans from other regiments, revealing a wily sense of French politics, nicknamed these recruits ‘‘the hostages.’’ Initially, members of the new regiments behaved like spoiled brats, amazed that their request to have servants accompany them went unfulfilled. They saw little action in 1813 until the Battle of Hanau.11 By 1814, the Gardes d’Honneur were seasoned, but also depleted. They had initially been 10,000, but were down to 4,202 officers and men, with only 3,539 horses. The remaining men were noted for their esprit and ‘‘bon volont e.’’ The horses on hand were also of good quality. Their uniforms had held up well, except for the pantalons, which had worn out and needed to be replaced. The replacement leg wear issued for 1814 were too short and of poor quality. The Gardes were well armed with fine sabers, but they lacked pistols. No attempt was made to bring these regiments back up to their previous strength. Quite the contrary, as 100 of them were detached for staff duty, while another 700 were detailed to provide men for new units. The result was Gardes d’Honneur regiments that were much smaller than the 1813 versions, but of better quality.12 Napoleon created three new cavalry regiments for the Imperial Guard in  1814. They were light cavalry ‘‘Scout’’ regiments (Eclaireurs). They were fielded with the enemy superiority in irregular light cavalry in mind. Their duties would primarily be screening and reconnaissance. Although creating units for that specific purpose made sense, there was no particular reason to designate them as part of the Imperial Guard. This was Napoleon’s choice,

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however, and to that end he endeavored to include as many veterans as possi ble in their ranks. The 1st Eclaireurs was composed partly of men drawn from  the Gardes d’Honneur, as mentioned earlier. The 2nd Eclaireurs was formed largely of conscripts, although riders from the Imperial mail service fleshed out the unit and at least added experienced horsemen. The officers were cav alry veterans. The 3rd Eclaireurs was composed entirely of Polish veterans. All three regiments were given small horses and light equipment.13 Napoleon hoped to make further use of mounted Polish veterans to counter the abundance of enemy Cossacks.14 The men and horses were not available in the numbers he hoped. He did have two regiments of lancers, which had been designated as French regiments through 1813, but which were actually composed of Poles. In 1814, these were renamed the 1st and 2nd lancer regiments of the ‘‘Corps Polonais.’’ Also part of this organization was the ‘‘Krakus’’ regiment, referred to as ‘‘Polish Cossacks.’’ All of these units were ‘‘attached’’ to the Imperial Guard, although they were not designated as Guard regiments. Guards or not, they suffered from a severe shortage of mounts, a situation that did not improve as the campaign progressed. The 1st Lancers had 442 officers and men, but only 339 horses, while the 2nd had 410 officers and men with 259 horses. The ‘‘Krakus’’ regiment was worse off, with 1,006 officers and men and only 484 mounts.15 These regiments are not to be confused with the original Polish Lancers of the Imperial Guard, which ranked as an Old Guard regiment.

Figure 7.2 Young Guard Infantry in the attack. Young Guard troops were sent into action frequently in both the 1813 and 1814 campaigns. (From Coignet’s The Narrative of Captain Coignet, 1890.)

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There were a significant number of foreigners in the Imperial Guard in 1812, due chiefly to the fact that so many non-Frenchmen had been included in the French Empire. In 1814, the Imperial Guard was almost exclusively French, with the exception of these Polish units. Most of these Poles were survivors of the 1813 campaign, although it appears that some of them were in depots in France, or were veterans and others who had settled in France. Also attached to the Imperial Guard (but not technically a Guard unit) was the Vistula Regiment, a Polish infantry unit.16 It was ironic that Napoleon could still find Poles willing to fight for him while he was reduced to defending French soil. He had often failed in his promises to them, and his creation of the ‘‘Grand Duchy of Warsaw’’ had not been the reconstitution of the great Poland of their dreams. By 1814 even that ‘‘duchy’’ had ceased to exist, overrun by Coalition forces. The powers that had originally partitioned Poland (Russia, Prussia, and Austria) were the same ones that were now invading France. The expatriate Poles fought out of hatred for those they saw as their oppressors. Unfortunately for Napoleon, many Frenchmen did not share the passion of this Polish contingent. Despite the fact that the Imperial Guard units had priority in matters of recruits and supplies, shortages still had an impact. Horses, as we have seen, were difficult to obtain in adequate numbers for almost all units. Replacements for units that had been through the 1813 campaign were also hard to come by. Because of this, the infantry regiments of the Young Guard varied in strength, although not nearly to the extent of the regular infantry. The Young Guard 7th Voltigeurs was strong at 954 officers and men, while the 5th Voltigeurs had 529, and the 8th Voltigeurs only 510. Unit strength for any regiment would fluctuate on a daily basis. For example, in the January 24 report for the 2nd Young Guard Division, ten men were in the hospital and not included in regimental strengths. After January 25, casualties and the arrival of new recruits would cause larger fluctuations.17 Despite difficulties, Young Guard units were generally larger and better equipped than line units. The matter of training, however, remained limited by the shortage of time. In 1813, Napoleon gave orders that the Young Guard (in contrast to the line units) be given extra time to complete thorough tactical training. The recruits had drilled in the formations of line, columns, and square, and had even practiced simulated bayonet charges.18 In 1814, such detailed and varied training would be an unattainable luxury. The quality of training in the Young Guard would hardly be more uniform than that in the line units. Ironically, some of the line regiments probably had a higher percentage of veterans than did some of the Young Guard regiments. All of that was apparently beside the point. Napoleon succeeded in having a large Imperial Guard in 1814, if in little else.

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CHAPTER 8

National Guard

T

he National Guard had its origins in the early days of the French Revolution. The militias of Paris and other cities became ‘‘National Guards’’ in the summer of 1789 after the fall of the Bastille. The name ‘‘Gardes Nationales’’ was significant in itself, a deliberate contrast to ‘‘Royal Guards,’’ or ‘‘King’s Guards.’’ All European states had Guards regiments that proudly bore royal titles, but the soldiers of this new French organization were ‘‘Guards’’ of the nation and of the people. At least that was the theory and the inspiration in 1789. The first commander of the National Guards was Lafayette, under whose command they reached their maximum strength of two million in 1791.1 The uniform of the National Guard was in the new tricolor scheme, blue coats with white lapels, red cuffs, and red collars. Eventually, this would be the prescribed uniform for French line regiments, replacing the white coat of the Bourbons. National Guardsmen were supposed to pay for their own uniforms, so membership could not consist of poorer citizens. Some Guardsmen, though not poor, were far from rich. Other National Guard units were composed almost entirely of the well off.2 The National Guard as a whole was traditionally treated as an important bourgeois institution in the first years of the Revolution. National Guard units had a mixed history during the Revolution. Because they were formed locally, their makeup and politics varied from unit to unit. They could play a moderate or even a reactionary role at times, as well as being in the vanguard of the Revolution. This was especially the case once Revolutionary France was at war. Although National Guard units were formed locally and ordinarily served in their home areas, many provincial units made themselves available for service with the army 79

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and thus became ‘‘f ed er es’’—‘‘federated’’ National Guards. Some of these units marched first to Paris before going to the field to fight the Austrians and Prussians in 1792 and ended up being a crucial part of the August 10 assault on the Tuileries. The f ed er es of La Marseillaise fame were the most famous example of this type of unit. The song derived its title from the fact that it was sung by the men from Marseilles as they marched into Paris.3 The last revolutionary action of National Guardsmen was the ill-advised participation of some of them in the attempted royalist coup against the Directory in October of 1795. The young General Bonaparte used cannon to blast down reprobate Guardsmen and their civilian comrades in the streets of Paris. The crushing of the ‘‘Vendemaire’’ uprising was a crucial step in Bonaparte’s career, establishing him as politically reliable, someone the government could entrust with high command—at least until he in turn overthrew the Directory in late 1799. The results of Vendemaire for the National Guard were less auspicious. After 1795, the National Guard for all practical purposes ceased to exist, except for some small informal units. Their former political significance was over.4 Ironically, the man who had done so much to contribute to the demise of the National Guard would resurrect it ten years later. In 1805, the Emperor Napoleon decided to re-establish the National Guard as a reserve and security force. Faced with the Third Coalition, Napoleon’s decision was based more on military than political calculations. Insofar as politics were concerned, the newly organized units were to be the National Guards of the Empire, not the Revolution. National Guard units were given suitably neo-Classical designations. Battalions were called ‘‘cohorts,’’ and four cohorts together formed a ‘‘legion.’’ Like their Revolutionary predecessors, the National Guard legions were formed locally. The whole idea of having National Guards, at least for Napoleon, was that local units would be easily formed and best suited for local security duties. He provided a blueprint for their organization. Each cohort would contain two elite companies (grenadiers and chasseurs) consisting of retired veterans, or of men able to pay for their own uniforms, like the old National Guard. The other eight companies of each cohort apparently did not always have uniforms. The uniforms themselves were almost identical to those of Line Infantry regiments, except that the buttons and metal fittings were white metal, instead of yellow.5 As mentioned previously, the National Guard was reorganized again in 1812. The greatest change in the second reorganization was a huge expansion. Theoretically, the Guard was now to include all able-bodied males, including married men, who had not served in the military. Their main duties would be internal security, which would encompass duty with the colonnes mobiles to round up deserters and draft dodgers. Not all the National Guards could be uniformed or equipped, even in 1812. The ‘‘reorganization’’ in fact had little impact on most existing National Guard units.

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The expanded National Guard was divided into three ‘‘bans,’’ according to age groups. The second and third bans remained for the most part inactive, untrained, and unequipped. The first ban, however, consisted of eightyeight ‘‘cohorts’’ and was a supplement, set apart from the rest of the National Guard. This first ban, consisting of single men twenty to twentysix years old, had priority in matters of equipment and uniforms. It was quickly provided with shakos and long-sleeved waistcoats, and later given uniform jackets identical to those worn by the Line Infantry regiments. It was this first ban of about 78,000 men who were converted into Line Infantrymen in the wake of the Russian disaster. Thus, Napoleon was able to strengthen his regular army in 1813, but the National Guard had to be reorganized again.6 The force that had been created as an ‘‘internal security’’ reserve was instead gobbled up by the huge losses of the army in Germany in 1813. According to Napoleon’s directives of 1813, the National Guard was again divided into three categories. The elite companies of existing units were combined to form ‘‘legions’’ of grenadiers and chasseurs. The next group formed the ‘‘urban’’ units, cohorts urbaines. They contained men ages twenty through forty. They were supposed to provide for local defense in 1814, although many of them did not have muskets. Finally, there was the National Guard ‘‘sedentary’’ (sedentaire) category, encompassing all males twenty through sixty who were not in other units. This group represented ‘‘a mass impossible to arm and difficult to deploy,’’ in the opinion of Marshal Jourdan. ‘‘It would be dangerous to attempt to use them against regular troops.’’7 In fact, the sedentaire group for the most part existed only on paper. The neat tripartite organization ordained by the Emperor was only approximated. This became all too apparent in 1814. It had been difficult enough to create a new army in 1813, and the National Guard had obviously been a low priority. As long as they had been able to aid in forming colonnes mobiles to round up deserters, their organization was deemed adequate. With the invasion of 1814, however, the National Guards suddenly became a necessary military resource, regardless of their state of preparedness. Napoleon had hoped that the activation of local National Guard units along the frontier would slow the Allied advance, but even his regular forces had not been able to accomplish that to any significant degree. Napoleon realized that he had little in the way of materiel to spare for the National Guard. Most of their units would be employed for local defense, near their own homes. This made sense and was the most that could be expected. Even at that, their numbers, weaponry, and training were all lacking, and the National Guard could not guarantee the internal security of France against raids and incursions of enemy light cavalry. Stockpiles of muskets and other equipment that had been available in 1812 were long gone, used up in the rebuilding efforts of the regular army

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for the 1813 campaign in Germany. Some resources were earmarked for the use of National Guard legions and cohorts, and some units were even called upon to serve in the field alongside the regular army. The quality of various National Guard units ranged from useless to surprisingly solid. There were significant differences between the National Guard and the rest of Napoleon’s military forces in 1814. For one thing, the National Guards would contain a far higher percentage of family men, the regular army recruits being almost all bachelors, except for some of the volunteers. Regular and Imperial Guard battalions, regardless of where they were formed, usually contained men from two or more departments. National Guard cohorts and legions normally drew on a single locality or department, so the men literally were for the most part ‘‘friends and neighbors.’’ Regionalism affected numbers and esprit of National Guards. Uniforms had to take a back seat to the pressing need for weapons. If muskets in sufficient quantities were very difficult to obtain for regular army recruits, they were nearly impossible to get for the National Guard. ‘‘If there were 50,000 to 60,000 arms to give, we could have the world,’’ Napoleon contended.8 Writing from the field in early February, he alerted the Minister of War Clarke: There are at Montereau 4,000 . . . national guards; are there majors to command them? They lack 3,000 cartridge pouches (gibernes) and 3,000 muskets. . . . These troops are no longer national guards but truly troops of the line, since they are composed of men who have already marched two hundred leagues to help defend the capital. It is necessary to arm them and place them in a state of service. . . . I want you to do the same for the national guards of Meaux and Soissons. . . . Charge someone to follow the organization of these 20,000 men who have voluntarily left their homes and who will desert if they are misused.9

This last observation was to prove particularly astute. Napoleon was indeed correct that there were large numbers of men were willing enough to come forward to defend France, if there had been weapons for them. Lacking enough muskets, the Emperor later formulated a partial solution: The artillery has a large quantity of pikes: it is necessary to give them to the national guards who are assembling in the environs of Paris. This will be for the third rank. Print instructions on how to use them. It is also necessary to send pikes to the departments; this will be better than pitchforks. . . . If there are enough of these pikes, distribute them in the villages and towns around Paris.10

To resort to such an archaic weapon may seem the epitome of desperation, but there was a recent precedent. Pikes had been widely distributed during the Revolution in an attempt to arm every able-bodied Frenchman. During

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the journ ees and early Revolutionary wars, pikes acquired symbolic importance as the weapon of the sans-culottes, a tradition that Napoleon was certainly aware of. Like the playing of the Marseillaise, arming large numbers of citizens with pikes could be seen as a blend of politics and nostalgia. Carnot had been an especial proponent of the pike during the Revolution. Pikes were manufactured in huge numbers in the 1790s, and the French had equipped entire battalions with them during 1792–1794, although few such units saw action in the field against Coalition troops. Napoleon gave no instructions for the manufacture of pikes in 1814, optimistically hoping that there would be sufficient stocks of the old weapons available somewhere. Any manufacturing efforts were to concentrate on muskets. As usual, the Emperor preferred to benefit from imagery without political commitment, and did not specifically mention the Revolutionary implications of pikes. He did specify how he wanted the pikes used in the hands of the National Guards. Because infantry normally fought in lines three ranks deep, Napoleon thought that pikes in the hands of the third rank would be better than nothing.11 For the rest, he hoped that the National Guardsmen could be provided with muskets, cartridges, and cartridge boxes. Because this meant that at least two thirds of the men would need muskets, it remained a wish largely unfulfilled. Napoleon also thought it was important to provide individual National Guard units with regular army officers, especially if the units were to serve in the field. When he asked about muskets for his National Guards, he also raised the issue of ‘‘majors’’ to command them. Such officers were indeed dispatched to command several National Guard ‘‘battalions,’’ a term used interchangeably with ‘‘cohorts’’ by army administrators. Regular army majors and even colonels were detached from their regiments and acted as ‘‘advisors’’ to the colonels of National Guard units. National Guards assembled at Meaux had officers provided from the 34th Line Infantry, the 4th and 5th Light Infantry, and the 2nd Marine Regiment.12 As for uniforms, many of the National Guards from the departments had to make do with the clothes on their backs. Napoleon observed that he had with the field army 4,000 National Guards from Brittany wearing round peasant hats and wooden shoes. They had no cartridge boxes, but they did have good muskets, and that was what mattered most. ‘‘I have gotten good service from them,’’ affirmed the Emperor.13 Because the civilian clothing of the National Guards was often inadequate or worn out during campaigning, attempts were made to provide them with uniform items. This created more strain on the hard-pressed supply services. One officer complained, ‘‘The Regiments of the Line have at least as much need of effects as do the National Guards.’’14 There was competition between line and National Guard units over scarce gaiters and trousers. Throughout the army there was a high demand for coats and other clothing items crucial for hard campaigning. Certain types of items

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such as shoes could wear out quickly. Despite the obvious supply difficulties, Napoleon wrote from the field to Count Daru, the Minister of War Administration: Why haven’t you sent me what is necessary to cover these poor national guards? Expedite to Nogent 6,000 shakos, 12,000 pairs of shoes, 6,000 cartridge boxes (gibernes), 6,000 haversacks, 6,000 overcoats, and 6,000 longsleeved waistcoats. By these means I can reasonably clothe 6,000 national guards.15

The National Guardsmen who were with the field army in mid-February were a valuable enough asset that Napoleon wanted to provide for them. Men without shoes or overcoats were worthless during a winter campaign. Many other commanders had low expectations of the National Guard units. Staff officers making up lists of garrison units recorded the urban cohorts in red ink, to further distinguish them from the regular units, listed in black.16 Some National Guard units did seem excessively reticent about putting themselves in harm’s way. Clarke wrote to the garrison commandant of Orleans noting that as of March 12, the sedentaires of that town had yet to be organized, although they had been given specific instructions to do so.17 National Guards in the department of Cher managed to delay their activation and requested that they be allowed to continue to serve only in their own area, giving a lack of uniforms and the need for local security as their reasons for wishing to remain in their own department.18 Units that were activated were unlikely to stay at full strength if they remained in their own districts. National Guardsmen would simply go home whenever they felt family needs required their presence. Technically, this was desertion.19 The tendency to take ‘‘French leave’’ and head home was more likely if the enemy seemed not to pose any immediate threat. On the other hand, some National Guardsmen might want to stick close to home and protect their families if they thought there was a danger of Cossack raids in their area. Some desertion statistics are instructive. Between February 25 and March 2, 1814, a cohort from the department of Seine-Inferieure had 109 desertions out of 334 men. During the same period, a cohort from the Somme department had 112 desertions out of a total of 443. A tiny cohort from L’Eure had more deserters than actives. Only 53 men remained active, while 85 had deserted during the week in question. By contrast, 290 men from L’Oise remained with the colors and their cohort suffered only 15 desertions.20 All of these departments, including L’Oise, were in a cluster just to the northwest of Paris. The campaign was taking place to the east of Paris, so the area that was home to these cohorts saw no fighting. Most of the men probably saw little reason to march around drilling with muskets or pikes when there were families, farms, and businesses to

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take care of. The cohort from the L’Oise, for some reason, was more imbued with military esprit. The quality of regular army and Imperial Guard units varied in 1814, but this was true to a far greater extent when it came to National Guard units. There were simply so many more variables. Local politics and loyalties were only part of the picture. Enemy activity, or the perceived threat of enemy activity, would also be important. The numbers and quality of veterans in any particular unit would affect the quality of the cohort or legion in question. This would be true in the case of NCOs and officers, especially unit commanders. Many veterans in the National Guard were well past their prime. Some may well have been nostalgic for their ‘‘glory days,’’ while others had long since had their fill of fighting. The ‘‘habits of obedience,’’ as well as genuine feelings of patriotism, played their part as well. The availability of uniforms, weapons, and other equipment would also affect training and effectiveness, and also morale. Some well-heeled National Guard units had always provided for their own uniforms, although this did not necessarily guarantee that such units were more ardent in 1814. As we have seen, Napoleon thought well of some units that had no uniforms at all. The way in which particular National Guard units were used could also determine how they performed. If a cohort or legion were taken out of its home area, then it would be more difficult for the men to desert. They would escort supplies or prisoners, or even see combat duty. Unfortunately, this defeated part of the purpose of the National Guard, which was to provide for local defense. Local service also made the National Guards less of a burden to the supply system, at least in theory. Perhaps more important to morale than where the units served were the officers who commanded them. Garrisons in large towns, colonnes mobiles, and National Guards serving in divisions with the field army had regular army generals as commanders. As the attitudes and policies of individual generals varied, so too did the performance of the men under their command. The problem with the National Guard in 1814 was that it could not act as a substitute for a true lev ee en masse such as had been seen in the early wars of the Revolution. Although it was supposed to include all able-bodied males between twenty and sixty, the younger and single men were (theoretically) earmarked for conscription. The overreaching inclusiveness of the National Guard might have struck many as an unfair loophole created to press long-exempt married men into service. There were specific orders for local National Guard units to mobilize, but in reality this could only be done in a manner that remained largely voluntary in nature. Because membership in the National Guard in 1814 for most men was nominal, orders to mobilize were difficult to implement, or even define. If the men of a locality, carrying whatever weapons they had, gathered in the village square and marched around for a half-hour before dinner, did this mean that the National Guard there had been ‘‘activated?’’

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War weariness and a general lack of enthusiasm were evident in the disappointing mobilization of the National Guard in 1814. Yet here too, time constraints played a role. Even men who might otherwise have been willing to serve in the local National Guard must have seen little point in doing so if officers, weapons, and other equipment were not available. There was little time for units to organize, let alone wait for supplies and train. War weariness provided the backdrop, and lack of materiel and time provided excuses. Despite this, there was mobilization of National Guard units, although the numbers would be hard to pin down, especially in areas where there was no fighting. There are few detailed extant reports, no doubt due to hasty mobilization and sketchy reporting from the departments outside of Paris. A few reports do provide interesting details. National Guards were often tasked as prisoner escorts. Prisoners-of-war being held inside France, both from the current and previous campaigns, complicated the problem of internal security. Escaped prisoners (including in at least one case large numbers of Spaniards) added their numbers to the chaotic mix of deserters and Coalition raiders in the countryside.21 In areas where there was enemy activity, men who had never mobilized as National Guards would end up fighting anyway, if only to defend their homes. This would include partisans and other informal groups of combatants, the subject of a later chapter. Napoleon needed the services of men besides young bachelors. Through the National Guard, he was able to draw upon a larger population, although not to the degree he would have liked. He did get the services of several thousand National Guards in his field army, as we have seen. In addition to this, thousands more served for at least part of the campaign in garrisons, as escorts, and in the colonnes mobiles. We have also seen that many thousands of National Guards left their homes and came forward as volunteers, but could not be employed in units because of a lack of weapons, clothing, and officers. Like many of the French military efforts in 1814, the mobilization of the National Guard was a partial success. It was not nearly enough.

CHAPTER 9

Napoleon’s Campaign of 1814

N

apoleon joined his ‘‘Grand’’ army on the night of January 25 (although some authorities have Napoleon joining the main force on January 26, but early in the morning). Enemy detachments had already advanced to within 130 miles of Paris.1 Most of Napoleon’s campaign would be fought within a hundred miles of his own capital. He still hoped to prevent the juncture of the armies of Bl€ ucher and Schwarzenberg, although elements of both forces were nearly in contact with each other. Now that Napoleon was with his army (regardless of its condition), he thought he could make the enemy pay for their rapid and careless advance into French territory. This would require a very energetic campaign, and based on the evidence since 1812, some may have questioned whether the Emperor was up to it. As Owen Connelly pointed out: A very different Napoleon made his appearance in the Russian Campaign of 1812. He was withdrawn, kept to his command tent . . . held incessant reviews but seldom checked the condition of his troops in the field. . . . Napoleon was, in fact, middle-aged and out of condition from the soft life he had led since 1809. He was fat, which made him slightly effeminate in appearance. He did not stay on top of developments because of fatigue . . . embarrassment at his appearance kept him from his usual close contact with the troops.2

How was this man, now even older and more tired, supposed to wage an active campaign? He had rebounded to some extent in 1813, but his defeat in Germany, besides resulting in the destruction of another French army, further tarnished his reputation. Historians have pondered a decline in Napoleon’s military abilities later in his career, but the idea that this 87

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decline was one of intellect would seem unlikely. His strategic and tactical tendencies were similar throughout his career: he planned carefully, but was often aggressive to the point of recklessness. Many of his early victories were ‘‘near run affairs,’’ to paraphrase Wellington. His physical decline was an objective fact, but to what degree this impacted his effectiveness as a commander is the stuff of speculation. In 1814, to almost universal astonishment, Napoleon found within himself new reserves of energy. He would get over any ‘‘embarrassment at his appearance.’’ This was no time for vanity. Whether he was the lean and dashing Bonaparte of 1796 or a short pudgy man in a gray coat was beside the point. In 1814, Napoleon led his troops in the field and exposed himself to danger almost as never before. Setting out to join his army, he turned to Berthier, his chief-of-staff, and said, ‘‘Come, we must repeat the campaign of Italy.’’3 Berthier was a veteran of the American Revolution and had served Napoleon during and ever since the Italian campaign, a period of over seventeen years. He was older, sicker, and probably more tired than Napoleon, but he would do his best.4 The Emperor would be able to inspire a last effort out of some of his subordinates. He would do the same with his soldiers. There was good reason for Napoleon to recall his first Italian campaign. The small army he now commanded was comparable in many ways to the ragged and ill-equipped troops he led in 1796. While the army of the young General Bonaparte contained a higher percentage of veterans and trained soldiers, the 1814 army possessed the most experienced veterans in the world in the Old Guard.5 The comparison between the two armies was not simply a matter of nostalgia for Napoleon, but a way of rationalizing his optimism. He had won before with a small makeshift army against stiff odds. Why not again? The biggest difference between 1796 and 1814 was the enemy that the French army was fighting. Here was the real problem. The Allies had increased not only in quantity, but also in quality. Years of fighting the French had taught even the most hidebound Allied military thinkers some lessons. Many younger commanders and officers had spent their entire careers fighting against the best Napoleon could throw at them, and had benefited from hard experience. The Prussian army had been completely reformed since 1806. Many of the Coalition’s newest members had been states within the now defunct Confederation of the Rhine. The armies of these German states had been armed, organized, and trained under French tutelage. They had served under Napoleon in many campaigns and included seasoned veterans, as did the other Allied forces. The Allied armies in 1814 had their own share of raw conscripts and supply difficulties, and Coalition commanders continued to make strategic and tactical errors that would compromise their armies. Despite this, it was a mistake for Napoleon to assume that he would face the same level of military

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inefficiency that he had exploited in Italy in 1796–1797. Most importantly, he was not facing only the forces of the Austrian Empire, whose allies had been distant in 1796. Napoleon’s little army of 1814 would have to take on armies of the Austrian Empire, Russian Empire, Prussia, and numerous German states. Napoleon could maneuver to attack detachments of the Allied forces, but this would be more difficult than taking on the piecemeal series of forces the Austrians had dispatched against him in 1796–1797. To seek to ‘‘repeat the campaign of Italy’’ was like trying to catch lighting in the same bottle, twice. According to the prevalent values of the 19th century, the Campaign of 1814 was a glorious one, especially for the French. For generations, Frenchmen reading about the campaign could always take comfort in the fact that their countrymen fought so well and so bravely despite the tremendous odds against them. For postmodern readers, the heroism displayed by men on both sides is almost appalling in its bloody and tragic consequences. ‘‘Glory’’ has lost much of its cachet over the last two centuries. Yet genuine courage (as opposed to blind hatred or fanaticism) still appeals, even when futile or misdirected. We feel admiration mixed with pity for the brave, and even more pity for the innocent victims caught up in the merciless sweep of warfare. Napoleon would barely escape total defeat within the first two weeks of his arrival with the army. He decided to take the offensive and the risk was great, for the forces of Bl€ ucher (Army of Silesia) and Schwarzenberg (Army of Bohemia) were already within supporting distance of one another. Napoleon intended to attack Bl€ ucher before Schwarzenberg could join him. He hoped to catch Bl€ ucher’s Prussians and Russians at St. Dizier, but a clash at that town on January 27 indicated to Napoleon that the Prussian Field Marshal was not there with his main force. Bl€ ucher had advanced to Brienne, where Napoleon had gone to school as a boy. The aggressive ‘‘Marshal Vorwarts,’’ as Bl€ ucher was nicknamed, did not have his army concentrated, and was not aware that the French Emperor was about to attack. In the nick of time, Bl€ ucher had the luck to receive some captured messages and so was warned of the impending French attack.6 This was not the last time that French dispatches would be captured. It was another example of the advantages superior numbers of light cavalry gave to the Allies. French riders carrying dispatches were in great danger, and Napoleon could hardly afford to provide them with escorts. Napoleon fought his first battle of 1814 at Brienne, about 105 miles southeast of Paris, on January 29. He hurled his troops forward as they came up, not wanting to waste a minute. Neither side was fully concentrated at first, although each would eventually have about 30,000 troops in the battle (Bl€ ucher had 53,000 troops around Brienne, but only succeeded in concentrating a portion of them in time to get into the fight).7 The fight was urgent, fierce, and desperate. For many French recruits, this was their

90

Map 9.1 Napoleon’s Campaign of 1814. (Jan Baxter.) 1) Battle of Brienne, January 29. Napoleon drives back Bl€ ucher and forward elements of the Army of Silesia. 2) Battle of La Rothiere, February 1. Following up his success at Brienne, Napoleon pursues Bl€ ucher to La Rothiere, unaware the Army of Silesia has been significantly reinforced by elements of the Army of Bohemia. The large Coalition forces attack and defeat Napoleon on his own soil.

91

3) Battle of Champaubert, February 10. Napoleon locates an unsupported Russian corps and destroys it. 4) Battle of Montmirail, February 11. Napoleon’s forces defeat more detachments from the Army of Silesia. 5) Battle of Chateau-Thierry, February 12. French forces defeat yet another portion of the Army of Silesia and drive it across the Marne. 6) Battle of Vauchamps, February 14. Bl€ ucher attacks Napoleon and is badly defeated in this lopsided French victory. 7) Battle of Nangis, February 17. Napoleon turns his forces on Schwarzenberg and drives back forward elements of the Army of Bohemia in a series of actions. 8) Battle of Montereau, February 18. Napoleon wins the battle and captures key bridges. 9) Battle of Bar-sur-Aube, February 27. French forces under Marshal Oudinot, left to face Schwarzenberg, are defeated by the Army of Bohemia. 10) Surrender of Soissons, March 3. General Moreau surrenders the fortified city of Soissons, handing the Army of Silesia a key bridge across the Aisne River. 11) Battle of Craonne, March 7. Napoleon’s forces barely win the field in this bloody battle. 12) Battle of Laon, March 9–10. Napoleon’s forces fight badly outnumbered against the Army of Silesia. Napoleon loses the battle and the French suffer irreparable casualties. 13) Battle of Reims, March 13. Napoleon pounces on an isolated Allied corps and wins easily. 14) Battle of Arcis-sur-Aube, March 20–21. Napoleon’s army fights against vastly superior numbers. The Allied Army of Bohemia wins. 15) Battle of Fere-Champenoise, March 25. Marshals Marmont and Mortier are defeated by large Allied forces. 16) Battle of St. Dizier, March 26. Unaware that the main Allied armies are driving directly on Paris, Napoleon defeats a Coalition detachment. 17) Battle for Paris, March 30. Badly outnumbered French forces defend the capital, but the outcome is never in doubt. The surrender of Paris is arranged during the night.

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‘‘baptism of fire,’’ yet they appear to have for the most part pressed their attacks as ardently as did the veterans, even if their formations and volleys were ragged. With the issue very much in doubt, Napoleon took charge. To his staff he said, ‘‘I wish to sleep in the chateau of Brienne’’ and galloped to the front lines. Turning to the troops, he shouted, ‘‘Soldiers! I’ll be your colonel, I’ll march in front. I’ll command—Brienne must be taken.’’ Even old Berthier was caught up in the moment and personally helped recapture a cannon from some Cossacks. A common military tenet is that raw troops are impacted to a very great degree by examples of personal leadership. Napoleon certainly thought as much, as did most other commanders of the age, and their actions in pursuit of victory were often a result of such beliefs.8 The French seized the chateau of Brienne after nightfall. During the vigorous assault, soldiers of the 56th Line Infantry nearly captured Bl€ ucher and his ucher and his army escaped, narrowly. Killed, chief of staff Gneisenau!9 Bl€ wounded, and missing on both sides were high for a battle of this size and relative brevity. Prussian and Russian losses were about 4,000, and the French lost roughly 3,000. High-ranking French officers made themselves conspicuous in attempts to encourage the raw troops. Rear-Admiral Baste, the

Figure 9.1 Napoleon personally leading troops at the Battle of Brienne. (From Coignet’s The Narrative of Captain Coignet, 1890.)

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commandant of the Imperial Guard Marins, was killed while leading Young Guard infantry. Oft-injured Marshal Oudinot was once again listed among the wounded, a cannonball having grazed both his thighs. The tough Frenchman was back in the saddle for the next battle, three days later.10 Napoleon had just missed dealing Bl€ ucher a decisive blow and certainly would have won a greater victory if not for the captured messages. Had he nabbed Bl€ ucher, it would have taken a lot of steam out of the Allied invasion, depriving the Coalition of its most aggressive commander. This would have been a potentially decisive ‘‘fortune of war.’’ The tables could turn quickly, however. The night of Brienne, after the battle, Napoleon rode forward and had a close encounter with a Cossack. At the Emperor’s side, Colonel Gourgaud drew a pistol and shot the charging Cossack out of his saddle.11 More Cossacks poised to strike nearby were driven off by a charge of mounted French staff officers. This incident illustrated yet another danger posed by the seemingly omnipresent Allied cavalry. Napoleon was undaunted. Quite the contrary, he was encouraged by the performance of his new army. He decided to press Bl€ ucher and followed him the next day to La Rothiere, five miles southeast of Brienne. The Battle of La Rothiere was nearly the end of the campaign. Schwarzenberg was able to send Bl€ ucher reinforcements, including Bavarians and W€ urtembergers, and the Allies had 110,000 men on the battlefield on February 1. Napoleon faced them with a mere 40,000. He was unaware of the extent of Allied strength on the field as their advance was initially obscured by a morning blizzard, so had no idea he was outnumbered at odds of worse than 10 to 4.12 Before the battle he did not have good overall intelligence of enemy strength and location. The Coalition superiority in cavalry numbers made reconnaissance difficult for the French before La Rothiere, and not for the last time. The Allies, on the other hand, were very much aware of Napoleon’s presence and his approximate strength. An admiring Bavarian officer noted (after the snow slackened) that the French Emperor personally helped set up cannon positions 300 paces from the Allied lines.13 Napoleon, by the time he realized that he was under attack by such large forces, had little choice but to stand and fight. His overaggressiveness had put the new army in an extraordinarily dangerous position and now the only hope was to try to hang on until nightfall, and then retire under cover of darkness. The performance of the heavily outnumbered French troops at La Rothiere was admirable—for most of the day. This was a brutal battle for the troops of both sides. The weather was miserable, a factor which soldiers almost always seem to take note of despite the deadly hazards of battle. Hard-pressed French recruits and veterans held their ground for hours against Bl€ ucher’s headlong attacks. Many Coalition soldiers also performed feats of extraordinary valor. Some Allied infantry advanced in bayonet charges without firing—their gunpowder was wet from the snow.14 The snow came intermittently throughout the day, sometimes heavily, adding to the confusion of battle. Once battle was joined, the snowfall tended to

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work somewhat to the advantage of the badly outnumbered French. Coalition artillery, superior in numbers, had difficulty sighting their targets. Coalition attacks were slowed down or even misdirected. Finally, the view of the field being at least partially obstructed, many of the French recruits would not necessarily have had their nerve eroded by the sight of huge numbers of attacking Allied columns. At one point, Napoleon personally led a counterattack by Young Guard infantry to stabilize his position. By evening, Allied numbers began to tell and the French were driven out of La Rothiere. Many French artillerists were unable to extract their guns from the snow-covered mud, and the Allies captured about seventy cannon.15 Almost 2,000 French (many of them wounded) were taken prisoner.16 Despite these humiliating blows, most of the French troops, including conscripts, had fought hard. Physical exhaustion is frequently a key contributor to collapse of morale, and such exhaustion is often only a matter of time when fighting in circumstances such as those faced by the French at La Rothiere. The effectiveness of the French defense for most of the battle resulted in stiff casualties for the Allies. Losses were about 6,000 for each side, although the Allies could much better afford casualties.17 Napoleon was able to get his damaged army away, protected by snow, darkness, and an effective rear guard artillery barrage, but he had been beaten on his own soil. Napoleon’s first concern after La Rothiere was for his army, rather than any negative public morale effects of the defeat. His first instructions on the night of the battle were for the evacuation of his wounded men. All available vehicles, including artillery caissons and commandeered civilian carriages, were to be utilized for this purpose. The evacuation of available food supplies also received priority.18 A self-absorbed cynic Napoleon certainly was, but he sometimes displayed the instincts of a good commander who at least appeared to care for his men, albeit by the standards of the day. He was a soldier first, and in moments of crisis this complex character often seized upon the role of soldier, almost as if by force of habit. This would not be the last time that the Emperor would find himself immersed in the urgent details of commanding his army in the field. Politics and governing by proxy would have to wait. In fact the immediate repercussions of the defeat were all too apparent. By February 3, Napoleon had retreated over twenty-five miles westward to Troyes, and his beaten army lost 4,000 deserters in the two days after La Rothiere. The citizens of Troyes, so far from cheering the soldiers or offering succor, shuttered themselves in their homes and hoarded supplies.19 The troops needed food badly, but Napoleon would not order supplies taken by force—not in France. A French general later sympathetically granted that the civilians in Troyes saw the retreating troops merely as harbingers of approaching danger.20 It looked like the end for Napoleon and his army. The Allies certainly thought as much. The triumphant mood that followed La Rothiere dominated the high command of the Coalition forces. Tsar

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Alexander exclaimed to Bl€ ucher, ‘‘This victory crowns all the others,’’ and the Russian general Sacken wrote, ‘‘As of this date, Napoleon ceases to be a danucher’s Army gerous foe.’’21 The exuberance engendered overconfidence. Bl€ of Silesia and Schwarzenberg’s Army of Bohemia, having achieved their juncture and won a victory, now separated and continued their advances on Paris as before, along different routes. The only military factors that favored such a counter-intuitive separation were that supply matters would be simplified ucher (with the and the armies should be able to move more speedily.22 Bl€ smaller of the two armies) would take the northerly route, roughly along the south bank of the Marne, and Schwarzenberg would take the southerly route, generally along the Seine. Both rivers converged on Paris. One Russian corps, augmented by Cossacks, would form a thin link between the two armies.23 Napoleon was quick to grasp the potential breathing space that the Allied armies had granted him by separating. His instincts led him to desire offensive action to exploit this separation, and an attack against the Army of Bohemia (with Tsar Alexander present) was his preference. Bl€ ucher’s optimism and aggressive advance with the Army of Silesia soon forced Napoleon to temporarily abandon any designs against the Army of Bohemia, however. Bl€ ucher was driving towards Paris. The main problem was a lack of precise intelligence concerning the whereabouts of all of Bl€ ucher’s troops. The French disadvantage in cavalry continued to make reconnaissance difficult. Clearly, Bl€ ucher’s moves had to be countered. Meanwhile, Napoleon successfully evaded the cautious Schwarzenberg’s Army of Bohemia. Throughout the campaign, Schwarzenberg’s slow and cautious military approach reflected the diplomatic and political approach of his masters, Metternich and Emperor Francis I.24 Napoleon’s attention at this point was inevitably divided between the campaign and correspondence with Paris. He continued to send Joseph some very specific and necessary military advice, especially concerning the organization of new troops gathering there. Napoleon pointed out that it was preferable to form smaller companies of about fifty to sixty men, rather than attempt to form companies of one hundred. This would allow for the quicker formation of larger numbers of small battalions.25 As far as the negative impact of the battle at La Rothiere went, the Emperor had little sympathy for the fears of his lieutenants back in Paris. He took Prince Cambaceres to task for allowing the depressing spectacle of the Empress spending forty hours praying in the wake of the defeat. ‘‘Has everyone in Paris gone crazy?’’ demanded Napoleon.26 He was gentler when writing directly to Marie-Louise, as he did three times on February 7 alone. The notes were frequent but short and to the point. The last note of the 7th was typical: My Darling, I have just received the courier of the 6th. Your letter grieves me deeply; it tells me you are discouraged; those who are with you have lost their

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heads. I am quite well and I hope my affairs will take a turn for the better, but I do beg you to cheer up and take care of yourself. If I were to hear you did not know how to keep well, it would distress and hurt me. You know how I love you. Good-bye my dearest Louise, have courage for those about you. A kiss to the little King. All my love.27

It was not as if Napoleon did not contemplate the possibility of defeat, but he understood the worthlessness of panic. While his outnumbered cavalry probed for Bl€ ucher, the Emperor wrote a long rambling letter, ostensibly to stiffen Joseph’s backbone: I repeat . . . Paris will never be occupied while I live. . . . If Talleyrand favors the opinion of those who wish to leave the Empress in Paris if it is evacuated by our forces, then it is treason. . . . I repeat, beware of this man . . . he is surely the greatest enemy of our House. Hold to the counsel I give. If a battle is lost and there is news of my death . . . have the Empress and King of Rome leave for Rambouillet; order the Senate, Council of State, and all the troops to reunite below the Loire. . . . In any case, it is possible that, if the enemy approaches Paris, I will defeat them; after that anything could happen. It is also possible that I could make peace in a few days . . . If I die, then my son rules and the Empress becomes regent, for the honor of the French, they do not let themselves be taken and they retire to the last village with their last soldiers. . . . I’d sooner that my son’s throat were cut than see him raised in Vienna as an Austrian prince . . . You do not know the French nation: the results it is capable of in these great events is incalculable.28

The letter shows that the Emperor was not immune from stress. It contains an odd mix of optimism, realism, fanaticism, hyperbole, and premonitions of death. Moodiness on Napoleon’s part was to be expected. In addition to the military difficulties directly occupying his thoughts, he had recently received news that King Murat and Queen Caroline of Naples (his brother-in-law and sister) had gone over to the Allies. News from the diplomatic front was not good either. The Allies had agreed to negotiate at the time of the Battle of Brienne, on January 29, but by the time the ‘‘Congress of Chatillon’’ convened the first week of February, La Rothiere had occurred. Caulaincourt, the Emperor’s representative, could only get an offer of peace with the French frontiers of 1789. A settlement with the ‘‘natural frontiers’’ was definitely off the table.29 Realistically, in the aftermath of La Rothiere, Napoleon could hardly have hoped for better terms. He had given his envoy carte blanche to negotiate, but Caulaincourt would not agree to the Allies’ terms without bringing them to his Emperor. Napoleon agonized, but could not find it within himself to accept terms that would leave France with no territorial gains after over twenty years of warfare. He would instead gamble on a military reprieve. Napoleon’s decision here is entirely in character, and

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yet in many ways inexcusable. He passed up an opportunity for peace, as well as a chance (not quite his last) to save his throne, all despite his desperate situation and the recent defeat at La Rothiere, not to mention the suffering of his people and soldiers.30 The state of the army was pitiable. The troops had received no food supplies since La Rothiere and the army was, in Napoleon’s own words, ‘‘dying of hunger.’’31 The Emperor’s solution to emotional turmoil was to immerse himself in work and detail. He prodded the commissariat for food supplies. He continuously bombarded Joseph and Clarke with instructions for the ongoing task of building up the army. Napoleon noticed that desertion was an especial problem among ‘‘French’’ troops who were not ethnically French. The 11th Hussar Regiment numbered 150 troopers, most of whom were Dutch. After La Rothiere, forty of them deserted, taking precious horses along. Specific instructions were given that no Dutch or Belgian recruits were to be given mounts at the cavalry depot at Versailles.32 Turning to the problem of an abundance of cannon but a shortage of horses with which to move them from the artillery depot in Vincennes, the Emperor suggested pressing into service the drivers and horses of commercial freight handlers, since ‘‘under the circumstances’’ they were not doing business anyway.33 He again addressed the matter of building smaller battalions, rather than trying to bring them up to full strength, ‘‘since we have more cadres than conscripts, it is better to have six battalions of 400 men than three battalions of 800 men.’’34 Clarke, Joseph, and others were incredibly slow to grasp the concept of forming smaller units. Napoleon was quite right in observing that this sort of organizational adjustment made perfect sense in light of the fact that there was a higher ratio than usual of officers to recruits. The problem was that he had selected subordinates in Paris who lacked imagination, drive, and anything more than the most moderate organizational ability. Napoleon took heart from a few positive developments. Reinforcements snatched from the Spanish front had arrived with the main army. Marshals Soult and Suchet were hard pressed by Wellington and his allies, but the Emperor regarded this threat as far away and of secondary importance. In any case, Napoleon expected Soult and Suchet only to delay, rather than stop the Allies advancing from Spain. He needed troops in Champagne, and many of the soldiers from the Spanish front were veterans, or at least seasoned by their march from the south. The new arrivals added twentysix small infantry battalions (about 12,000 men) to the army. Napoleon formed them into a corps, which he gave to the semi-competent Marshal Oudinot to command.35 The best news was that the locations of Bl€ ucher’s forces had become clearer. The ardent Prussian commander had blithely strung out the Army of Silesia in the course of his eager advance on Paris. It was instantly clear to Napoleon that he would be able to attack separate elements of Bl€ ucher’s

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army in detail. The Emperor left nearly 39,000 troops (including the reinforcements from Spain) under Oudinot and Victor to keep an eye on the ponderous advance of Schwarzenberg’s Army of Bohemia. Napoleon gathered a smaller force of about 30,000 cold and hungry troops under his personal command to strike northward at Bl€ ucher’s carelessly dispersed army.36 Rapid movement would be difficult. A thaw followed by several days of rain had covered the roads with ‘‘six feet of mud,’’ to use Napoleon’s phrase.37 Some of the troops, weakened by hunger and the harsh conditions, could not keep up the pace. General Griois of the Imperial Guard artillery remembered how his horses struggled to pull the cannons through the mud, but was more horrified to see men who had died along the way: Here several infantry soldiers remained buried in the mud from which they had been unable to extricate themselves; I saw several of these unfortunates; their faces still expressing their anguish and the pitiful efforts they had made before expiring.38

It was a fate the soldiers might have expected in Russia, not in France. Yet it is not so surprising when considering how Napoleon was driving his army desperately hard, and when considering that the troops were weakened by hunger, and that many were not properly clothed for winter. Some of the new recruits, especially those not hardened by outdoor labor in civilian life, were simply not able to handle the physical strain. As difficult as mounting an offensive was for the French in the awful weather conditions, it would equally be difficult for Bl€ ucher to reunite his forces, once he awoke to the fact that he was being attacked. That was why it was so critical to hit him before he realized what was afoot. Napoleon’s blow came on February 10, striking a Russian corps under Olssufiev, at Champaubert, positioned over six miles from the next nearest Allied force. The target had been well chosen. Despite the abundance of Allied cavalry, Olssufiev had none attached to his small force of about 4,000 infantry and 24 cannon.39 The result of the small battle was a smashing French victory. The Russians lost about 1,700 men killed and wounded. Another 1,000 Russians were captured, along with nine cannon. Olssufiev himself was taken prisoner by a nineteen-year-old cavalry conscript. French losses for the battle, including wounded, were under 600, total.40 The Russian general was courteously treated to dinner with the Emperor. The easy triumph had an immediate positive morale effect, the French troops naming the woods at Champaubert ‘‘the enchanted woods.’’41 The conscripts, some of who still did not know how to load their muskets, gained a measure of self-confidence.42 Of concrete strategic benefit, by crushing a small Allied corps and occupying Champaubert, Napoleon had placed himself in the middle of Bl€ ucher’s separated corps.

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This enabled further action against smaller Allied elements which otherwise, had they been united, would have had the Emperor’s force well outnumbered. Fighting on French soil suddenly became an advantage for Napoleon. Local peasants turned out in large numbers to help haul the Emperor’s cannons through the treacherous mud. Pulling along with the horses and grappling with the artillery pieces, they made movement feasible. This display of patriotism was at least partly due to the fact that the countryside in question had already been occupied by Allied armies, and the invaders had behaved badly. Coalition troops had taken supplies by force, and there had been incidents of rape and other violence against the locals.43 It had been a different matter for the civilians in Troyes, just a week prior. They had yet to have their worst fears confirmed. The little victory at Champaubert may also have encouraged the peasants, although some authorities indicate that they began to appear in numbers to help the army shortly before that clash.44 The day after Champaubert was February 11—the Battle of Montmirail. The Russian General Sacken, with a force of Prussians and Russians, attempted to break through towards Bl€ ucher, while Napoleon’s troops stood in their path. Sacken at first actually had Napoleon outnumbered on the field, as the French forces were still coming up during the battle. The Allies had around 18,000 troops to begin the fight, as against 10,500 French. As the French continued to arrive, their numbers rose to about 20,000.45 Fortunately for Napoleon, many of the French troops on hand were Imperial Guard, although a division of conscripts under the command of General Ricard, by all accounts, fought off Allied attacks heroically. Ricard’s division did include the 2nd Light Infantry Regiment, one battalion of which was composed entirely of veterans, although many of these men carried barely functioning old muskets. The rest of the division was largely made up of very raw conscripts with uniforms and equipment of uneven quality.46 The Prussian General Yorck, with about 18,000 additional Allied reinforcements, arrived late in the battle to reinforce Sacken. Infantry regiments of the Imperial Guard, including the veterans of the Old Guard led personally by Marshal Ney, counterattacked.47 Napoleon’s desperation was evident in his use of the irreplaceable veterans of the Old Guard, which he almost never committed to battle before 1814. These highly experienced veterans acquitted themselves as might be expected. One Old Guard regiment of chasseurs a pied advanced, quickly formed square when attacked by Coalition cavalry, drove off the cavalry, smoothly reformed into column of attack, and went stolidly onward to seize a Russian artillery position at bayonet point.48 The arrival of reinforcements on both sides made the Battle of Montmirail a slugfest, but the advantage eventually went to the French.

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French morale had received a boost from the victory of the day before, as well as from the enthusiasm displayed by the local citizenry. Napoleon’s personal leadership also made an impact. At one point in the battle Napoleon sent in the cavalry of the Imperial Guard, including the formerly pampered Gardes d’Honneur. Napoleon addressed them briefly before their attack: ‘‘Young men, there is the enemy. They desire to go to Paris. I charge you with preventing them.’’49 The day ended with the Allies in full retreat. The French captured six flags and seventeen cannon. The victory had cost the French about 2,000 in killed and wounded, including the loss of two generals who had personally led attacks. Accounts of Allied losses vary, but at least 1,000 were taken prisoner. Allied killed and wounded were somewhere between 2,100 and 3,000.50 Napoleon claimed in a letter to Marie-Louise to have captured 7,000 prisoners. He closed the quick note by admitting, ‘‘I am dying of weariness. All my love. Give a kiss to my son.’’51 There was to be no respite for the Allies. Napoleon followed Sacken and Yorck to Chateau-Thierry. February 12 marked the third straight day of battles. Napoleon arrived in the vanguard of the army and observed the Allied position through his spyglass, displaying steady sangfroid as bullets and cannonballs whizzed by.52 The demoralized and disorganized Allied forces at Chateau-Thierry were caught with their backs to the Marne River. The Imperial Guard went into action again. The Guard cavalry succeeded in breaking three Russian infantry squares, a rare occurrence in Napoleonic warfare.53 The men in the squares quickly surrendered once their lines were pierced, a marked contrast to the superhuman tenacity Russian soldiers often displayed. These Coalition troops no doubt were exhausted by the relentless pace of a campaign waged in nasty weather amidst an increasingly hostile population. French attacks by infantry and cavalry continued against the Allied position. The pressure was too much for the forces of Sacken and Yorck. They were badly beaten. The Allies were lucky to escape across the Marne. Napoleon expected the French corps under Marshal Macdonald, which had been covering Paris, to come up from the west and cut off the Allies, but this failed to occur. Macdonald perhaps was not fully aware of the degree of French success and felt his force (about 5,000) was too small to commit. Napoleon, always eager in retrospect to blame others for his ultimate defeat, would fume mightily at Macdonald for failing to render Chateau-Thierry the complete triumph it might have been. This being said, Macdonald’s lack of action does appear to be inexcusable.54 In any case, while most of Sacken and Yorck’s forces escaped, they lost thousands of men, as well as several cannon and virtually all of their baggage trains. The Allies did manage to destroy the bridge over the Marne as they retreated. The French, lacking a mobile bridge train, could not pursue immediately, despite the voluntary assistance of large numbers of local citizens in

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rebuilding the bridge. The shaken Russians and Prussians were only too relieved to get away.55 Napoleon, feverishly excited at the prospect of utterly destroying two Allied corps, was disappointed, and became edgy and moody. He flew into a rage when he discovered that two Imperial Guard cannon were lost during the night and chewed out one of his cavalry commanders for failing to provide an escort for them. Napoleon could be lavish in his use of profanity, as evidenced by the eyewitness (or ‘‘earwitness’’) account of this incident.56 Meanwhile, Schwarzenberg had awakened to the fact that Napoleon was beating up on Bl€ ucher, so it was reasonable to assume that the massive Army of Bohemia must have acquired a huge edge in numbers on any French forces in its front. Accordingly, Schwarzenberg resumed his advance on Paris with more vigor. Napoleon began making plans to turn to face this threat, but it quickly became apparent that Bl€ ucher had not yet learned his lesson. Facing a French screening force under Marshal Marmont, the Prussian commander badly misjudged the situation, as is evident from a letter he wrote his wife on February 13: I have had a bitter three days. Napoleon has attacked me three times in three days with his whole strength and all his Guard, but has not gained his object, and today he is in retreat on Paris. Tomorrow I follow him, then our army will unite, and in front of Paris a great battle will decide all. Don’t be afraid that we will be beaten; unless some unheard-of mistake occurs, that is not possible.57

Napoleon was in fact prepared for Bl€ ucher’s intransigence, and the result was the Battle of Vauchamps on February 14. Each side had a little over 20,000 troops present for this battle, although neither side got all of their men fully engaged. Bl€ ucher launched his attack, full of confidence. He was overextended when the main French force arrived on the field. Ricard’s ‘‘division’’ of conscripts was down to 800 men after five days of marching and fighting, but they went straight into the attack.58 French cavalry under General Grouchy got around the Allied right flank and hit the Coalition forces hard. Soon after, an advance by the Old Guard, amidst cheers of ‘‘Vive l’Empereur,’’ finally convinced the obstinate Bl€ ucher to retreat—a decision many of his thoroughly rattled troops had already made. Grouchy was able to pursue along a parallel route, cutting the Allies off at the pass, so to speak. Mud slowed both pursuit and retreat, but the French smelled blood and Bl€ ucher’s men became increasingly disorganized. French infantry pressed forward while French cavalry snapped at the Allied flanks. Marshal Marmont was ordered to continue the pursuit and his conscripts caught a tired Russian division settling down for dinner and captured many of them, along with their general. The Battle of Vauchamps cost Bl€ ucher about 6,000 men and 16 cannon, while Napoleon’s losses were

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only around 600 men total.59 It was about as complete a triumph as any Frenchman could hope for. Bl€ ucher’s Army of Silesia had been very roughly handled between February 10 and 14. The ebullient Prussian Field Marshal was temporarily chastened.60 Napoleon had beaten a larger force with a smaller one and had suffered only a fraction of the casualties he inflicted on the Russo-Prussian forces. Even given the massive Allied superiority in numbers, they had taken losses proportionately greater than the French. The Army of Silesia had lost about a third of its strength, and the remainder was whipped and demoralized. To add to Allied woes, French partisan warfare was beginning to take shape, as the next chapter will discuss. The battles of February 10–14, 1814, nicely illustrate the highly variable nature of combat during the Napoleonic period. Morale was always a vital factor in determining victory or defeat in this era, and never more so than in this week of battles. French troops, both raw and veteran, generally attacked and defended bravely, unfazed by Allied numbers. The personal example of several French leaders, including Napoleon, was vital. The weather may also have played a role here, the overall dampness tending to reduce the effectiveness of musketry. Also, the highly fluid nature of the clashes, featuring the continual arrival of reinforcements on both sides, lent itself to attacks and counterattacks and limited the opportunity to set up defensive positions from which well-directed musket volleys could be delivered. All of this worked in favor of the French, who had so many poor-quality weapons, not to mention conscripts undertrained in musketry. There still was plenty of musketry, but these battles appear to have emphasized attacks with the bayonet, and Napoleon’s aggressive and relentless methods paid off. As discussed in earlier chapters, bayonet charges rarely resulted in actual hand-to-hand combat, but rather in one side or the other running away, morale being the decisive factor in such cases. During these particular battles, it was the Coalition troops who gave way in the face of French troops, whether Old Guard trudging ahead implacably, or raw recruits charging gallantly over the soggy battlefields. Napoleon had also managed to concentrate his limited cavalry resources for use on the battlefield, and he committed them in well-timed attacks. Allied infantry, sloshing desperately through the mud, could not escape. Napoleon was confident, nearly to the point of glee, after his victories of February 10–14. Clearly, some of Napoleon’s men shared his enthusiasm at this point of the campaign. As one officer of the Imperial Guard affirmed in a letter to his parents, ‘‘affairs are going well. . . . In a few days the fate of France will be decided.’’ He had no time for further details, and indeed letters from French soldiers during this period are rare.61 Napoleon made certain to get the maximum propaganda mileage out of the victories of Champaubert, Montmirail, Chateau-Thierry, and Vauchamps. The battles had all taken place within eighty miles of Paris, so dispatches from the army arrived at the capital in quick succession. There was no time to

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compose any highly descriptive Bulletins—the Emperor was far too busy for that during February 10–14. The letters he sent to Joseph and Marie-Louise were breathless and short, and full of inflated estimates of enemy losses.62 Interestingly enough, he made Marie-Louise responsible for posting news of the victories and for having salutes fired. She shared the duties with Joseph, who wrote the articles for Le Moniteur. Regardless, the victories spoke for themselves and there were both orchestrated and spontaneous celebrations in Paris. People actually sang and rejoiced, while Royalists remained for the moment mute. La Rothiere was forgotten.63 Crowds cheered when Napoleon’s son, the three-year-old King of Rome, stood in a window dressed in the uniform of the National Guards. The little king himself was delighted with the parades and the spectacle.64 Beginning on February 16 and continuing for several days, long lines of Coalition prisoners were marched through the capital, escorted by gendarmes and headed by the captive Russian generals. Parisians lined the route cheering ‘‘Vive l’Empereur’’ and ‘‘Vive Marie-Louise.’’ At the same time, the pathetic appearance of the hungry and weary captives moved many French citizens to pity; it was clear that the Allied decision to invade in winter did have painful consequences for Coalition soldiers. Parisians soon presented the bewildered but grateful Russians and Prussians with garments, pieces of bread, and even money while passing by. These incidents curiously caught the popular imagination, and have been the subject of a several illustrations.65 The Parisians no doubt felt some relief at the opportunity for munificence. Under the surface, the public euphoria was fragile and insecure. Napoleon had little time to gloat over his victories. Bl€ ucher had been removed as a threat, albeit temporarily, but Schwarzenberg’s Army of Bohemia had to be dealt with immediately. There was, as always, divided counsels within the Allied high command. Some pressed for an advance directly on Paris, while others felt that a march northward to assist Bl€ ucher would be the best move. One of the King of Prussia’s advisors derided any headlong advance on Paris observing, ‘‘Paris! Paris! It is by wishing to march there that Bl€ ucher got himself beat up. Do we need to see the Opera of Paris?’’66 Napoleon did not wait for Allied designs to ferment. He would have preferred to finish off Bl€ ucher, but the situation of the Army of Bohemia on the Seine posed too much of a danger. As it was, Schwarzenberg had already driven Marshals Victor and Oudinot back, and news of these setbacks threatened all the positive morale effects gained in Paris by the recent victories. Leaving Marshals Mortier and Marmont to contain Bl€ ucher, Napoleon took the bulk of his army south towards the Seine. Before leaving the vicinity of his recent victories, the Emperor noted that the local peasants had gathered ‘‘more than 40,000 muskets’’ from the muddy battlefields. As usual, Napoleon may have overestimated the numbers, but not by much in this case. The combined losses of the Allies and

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the French during February 10–14 could have accounted for close to that number, and of course a man need not necessarily be wounded to drop his weapon. With the problems of equipment shortages always in mind, the Emperor suggested that the National Guards in Paris send out commissaries to procure some of these weapons.67 While the National Guards certainly could have used the muskets, the peasants had much more in mind than selling the weapons. Having experienced invasion and occupation, they wanted to protect themselves, and kept many of the muskets for their own use. The problem with attacking Schwarzenberg’s Army of Bohemia was that it was so large (about 120,000, not counting detachments throughout eastern France). It was spread out, but its elements were not as widely separated as Bl€ ucher’s dispositions had been. Schwarzenberg had gotten the bulk of his men onto the north bank of the Seine at several different points. It was vital to Napoleon’s plans to strike Schwarzenberg quickly before the Allied commander could concentrate. Since the forces Napoleon was bringing down from the Marne (along with more reinforcements from Paris and Spain) were not yet united with the French under Victor and Oudinot, who had been operating in Schwarzenberg’s front, coordinating this new offensive would be exceedingly difficult. Ideally, Napoleon would have liked to bring his army down around Schwarzenberg’s rear to cut him off, but considered his own forces not sufficiently united for such a move at present. He decided that the Army of Bohemia had advanced too close to Paris to allow for any delay in attacking it. Napoleon’s strategic reasoning at this juncture was not irrational, but does indicate an intemperate impatience. The Emperor was able to accelerate the movement of some of his troops by using wagons and carts temporarily requisitioned from local civilians. This was facilitated by the fact that the roads had dried out a bit. Sources are unclear on the weather at this point, but the rains had stopped, and there may even have been a brief freeze.68 Napoleon was able to attack the westernmost detachments of the Army of the Bohemia in a series of actions on February 17. The actions of February 17 are variously referred to as Nangis, Mormant, and Valjouan. Parts of the fighting occurred in or near all three of these villages. Russian, Austrian, and Bavarian forces of about 4,300 men were crushed, losing over 3,000 in killed, wounded, and captured, with the rest fleeing in disorder. The French lost perhaps 600 men total.69 Napoleon was pleased with the results and expected a rapid exploitation. Unfortunately for his designs, Marshal Victor moved sluggishly and missed a chance to attack a weak Allied force covering the vital bridges at Montereau, where the Seine and Yonne rivers meet. Once Victor did attack Montereau on February 18, the Allies had reinforced their position and the French were repulsed. Furious, the Emperor removed Victor from command, replacing him with General Gerard.70

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The Battle of Montereau developed into a hard-fought affair on February 18. The Allies there were under the command of the Crown Prince of W€ urtemberg. They numbered 15,000 men (11,000 W€ urtembergers and 4,000 Austrians) in a strong position bolstered by twenty-six cannon. The first French attacks had been made by a small force of conscript cavalry under General Pajol, supported by 3,000 National Guards.71 General Pajol was wounded in the arm as his poorly trained horsemen were repulsed. Napoleon came to the battlefield with reinforcements, including Imperial Guards. Pajol, his arm bandaged and in a sling, attacked with his cavalry again. This time his green troopers were more successful, even though many of them were such bad riders that they needed both hands to hang onto their reins, thus being unable even to wield their sabers. One of Pajol’s aides later asserted that the French troopers were trying so desperately to stay in their saddles that they pressed their horses hard with their legs—with the result that their mounts were continuously being spurred. In any case, they stormed forward in a wild charge right through the Allied lines and across the bridges. The success of this cavalry charge has to be credited in large part to the courage and leadership of Pajol. Unfortunately for the French cavalry, Pajol was injured a second time when his horse was killed and fell with him. The cavalry leader was lost for the duration of the campaign. Napoleon praised Pajol, authorized him to return to Paris, and promised him a command as soon as he recovered. He would have to wait until the Hundred Days to make good on the promise.72 Napoleon ordered Marshal Lefebvre to lead staff officers and Imperial aides-de-camp forward to support Pajol’s young troopers. The fifty-sevenyear-old Lefebvre obeyed, ‘‘foaming at the mouth’’ and brandishing his saber as he charged at the head of the group of mounted French officers. Meanwhile, an excited Napoleon dismounted and personally joined the crew of one of his Guard cannons in an exposed position. When the artillerymen urged more caution, he said, ‘‘The cannonball that will kill me has not yet been made.’’73 The Austrians and W€ urtembergers ended the day by fleeing through the streets of Montereau, as townspeople took potshots at them or hurled objects out their windows. Many civilians, otherwise unarmed, simply mocked the discomfited Allies by shouting in German, ‘‘Nach Paris! Nach Paris!’’ (‘‘To Paris!’’), echoing the Coalition soldiers’ earlier boast.74 The French captured fifteen cannon and succeeded in taking all the bridges in the town intact. The Allies had lost about 5,000 men, including 3,400 prisoners. French losses were around 2,000, mostly men killed or wounded as they attacked under heavy fire.75 Napoleon gave orders to gather immediately all muskets and shakos found on the battlefield, and to take from captured prisoners their overcoats, shakos, and cartridge boxes. All of these supplies were to be given to the National Guards. Because the battlefield

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Figure 9.2 Napoleon with Imperial Guard Horse Artillery at the Battle of Montereau. (From R. H. Horne’s The History of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1896.)

was right on the Seine, Napoleon also ordered that the wounded men be evacuated by all available water transport, a method far preferable to having them moved in jolting wheeled vehicles. The unpredictable Emperor could be thoughtful and solicitous, at times. In regard to his wounded men, he was once again in the mode of a responsible commander, for the moment.76 Further east, French forces under Oudinot and others had driven Schwarzenberg’s forces south of the Seine, but the Allies managed to destroy the bridges as they retreated. Napoleon had hoped that his left wing could cut off the Army of Bohemia, but the lack of bridges and a bridge train foiled his plan. Still, Schwarzenberg knew his position was compromised and began to retreat with his entire army. Unable to head him off, Napoleon could only pursue through Montereau. He was frustrated at the delay caused by the lack of bridges but managed to get a large part of his army across the Seine. Napoleon complained by letter to Joseph about spending a full day passing through the narrow defile at Montereau.77 With the French on his heels, Schwarzenberg’s retreat became more urgent. He believed faulty reconnaissance reports to the effect that Napoleon had 180,000 troops in hand (he actually had just over 70,000). Schwarzenberg also directed Bl€ ucher to fall back so that the Army of Bohemia and the Army of Silesia could join forces again.78 Napoleon thought to activate Augereau’s army at Lyons to strike northwards at the rear areas of the Allied armies. He had given orders for the ‘‘Army of Lyons’’ to begin operations, but so far no action had materialized.79 Napoleon now wrote personally to Augereau. The Emperor urged the Marshal to remember the days of ’93 and the ’96 Italian Campaign, during which

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Augereau distinguished himself under the young General Bonaparte. Inspired by such nostalgia and his own recent success, Napoleon advised the aging Marshal: Be the first among the bullets. . . . When Frenchmen see your panache at the advanced posts and they see you expose yourself to the first musket shots, you can make them do whatever you will!80

Conspicuous displays of personal bravery on the part of generals were not uncommon, as we have seen, but Napoleon seems to have become convinced that such methods could now overcome virtually all obstacles. Such ideas had become reinforced in his mind by his recent victories, during which he had exposed himself to extreme danger. He had also seen many of his subordinates, such as Pajol and Grouchy, get good results with personal leadership on the battlefield. Augereau had a fair-sized force of about 27,000 men, including 12,000 reinforcements from the Spanish front.81 He had, however, little motivation to engage in the kind of reckless leadership that Napoleon practiced and advocated. Augereau had had his share of wounds and glory. The Army of Lyons did eventually make tentative advances in the general direction of the enemy, but the contribution of this force overall to the defense of France in 1814 was disappointing at best. Its mere existence and any semblance of activity on its part did alarm the excessively prudent Schwarzenberg, who needed little excuse to order withdrawals.82 Ultimately however, Napoleon would come to regret having placed the responsibility for the ‘‘Army of Lyons’’ in the hands of Augereau. Indeed, creating a second major field army at Lyons at all was probably a mistake in view of the limited resources available. Napoleon was active again on the diplomatic front. The ‘‘Congress of Chatillon,’’ having broken off talks on February 10, had reconvened by February 18. Napoleon had already offered again to accept the ‘‘natural frontiers’’ proposal on February 17, especially in view of his recent successes.83 Thinking hard along these lines, he urged Caulaincourt to raise the issues of gains made by the Coalition members in partitioning Poland, as well as British gains in Asia since 1788. Should not France be accordingly compensated with the ‘‘natural frontiers?’’ Was this not in the interests of the balance of power in Europe? Napoleon went on to say that he would sooner see the Bourbons in power in France with ‘‘reasonable’’ territorial settlements as opposed to accepting the ‘‘infamous’’ propositions of the Coalition.84 Such rhetoric did not have the desired impact. Napoleon was incapable of advancing such ideas with sufficient subtlety while his negotiator Caulaincourt, by contrast, seemed incapable of advancing them with sufficient force. Surely Napoleon could have had peace at this juncture by accepting the frontiers of 1792, or, better yet, by offering a

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compromise of something less than the ‘‘natural frontiers.’’ Napoleon, while in exile on Saint-Helena, later claimed to have made just such an offer. He characterized Allied demands that he settle for the frontiers of 1792 as an ‘‘ultimatum’’ which he justifiably rejected in light of his recent victories. According to Napoleon’s version of events, he made a counteroffer accepting the loss of all of Italy as well as of Holland, but insisted on retaining Belgium, including Antwerp. Unfortunately, these were not terms mentioned in his correspondence at the time, even if they occurred to him later, after the military situation had deteriorated.85 A compromise settlement, coming on the heels of his victories on French soil, certainly would have enhanced the Emperor’s political position in France. He was, however, obsessed with the idea of peace on his terms. Indeed, peace was hardly Napoleon’s priority in any case. His Empire was his priority, and ‘‘peace’’ was only useful or acceptable as a means to an end. Napoleon probably was misreading the political situation and may have felt that he could not remain Emperor if there was no French ‘‘Empire.’’ As so often during 1814, he underestimated his political support. By contrast, his battlefield successes had inflated his estimation of his diplomatic leverage. Tsar Alexander did not help matters with his own intransigence. In a reported conversation with the English diplomat Castlereagh at Chatillon, the Tsar said, ‘‘Know once and for all that I will not always be disposed to bring my troops four hundred leagues to come to your aid. I will not make peace so long as Napoleon remains on the throne.’’86 Napoleon finally resorted to writing directly to his father-in-law, Francis I, Emperor of Austria. He emphasized again issues of balance of power, asserting that the British only wanted to destroy French maritime ability and that Tsar Alexander only wanted revenge for the invasion of Russia (a not altogether incorrect assessment). Napoleon was again seeking to drive a wedge between Austria and the rest of the Coalition, and ended by flattering Francis that the Austrian Empire was the strongest member of the Coalition, and that the interests of Austria were not served by the Coalition.87 It is possible that such a personal appeal to Francis may have borne fruit if issued sooner, but Napoleon’s insistent rejection of Allied proposals prior to February 21 had put the Austrian monarch in an awkward position.88 The Habsburg was not going to be the champion of ‘‘natural frontiers’’ for France. Far worse, Napoleon weakened his diplomatic appeals by insisting on characterizing his proposals as ‘‘ultimatums,’’ making certain to use and emphasize that term in all of his correspondence. The possibility of peace did not go unnoticed by Napoleon’s subordinates, who longed for respite from the rigors of the campaign. It was not unreasonable to expect some rewards for the recent extraordinary efforts and victories, but in the minds of many Frenchmen any honorable peace would have seemed reward enough. In any case, the chimera of a peace

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settlement was a double-edged sword in terms of morale. As Georges Blond observed, ‘‘Nobody wishes to be killed a few days before peace is made.’’89 No rational being wishes to be killed at any time, but such is the fragile nature of morale. There are times when placing oneself in danger seems more acceptable than at others. The inconclusive nature of the peace talks seemed to make a major battle between Napoleon’s reinforced army and the Coalition armies inevitable. The Allied monarchs favored a stand. Schwarzenberg shrugged off their bellicose inclinations and continued to pull his forces back eastwards. He was concerned about partisan activity in his rear, as well as the threat posed by Augereau. Most of all, Schwarzenberg suffered from an overestimation of the size, power, and momentum of Napoleon’s army. On the other hand, the state of the Allied armies after their continued withdrawal was hardly optimal for giving battle. Instead of a major battle, there were a series of skirmishes as the French pursued the Allies in the direction of Troyes.90 Napoleon entered Troyes with his men on February 24, after the Allies evacuated the town. Troyes was the town that had shuttered itself and refused to supply French troops after their defeat at La Rothiere. Now the citizens of Troyes were in the streets, greeting the Emperor and his soldiers with wild acclaim. Having suffered under Allied occupation, the attitude of the civilians here had changed completely. They cheered ‘‘Vive l’Empereur’’ and came forward with bottles of wine that had been hidden from the pillaging Coalition troops.91 Writing from Troyes, Napoleon made time to respond to the flow of dispirited and pessimistic reports of his lieutenants in Paris. He suggested that representatives from areas that had been occupied by the Coalition be sent to Paris to bear witness to the excesses and cruelty of the Allied troops. ‘‘The enemy has committed so many terrors that all of France will be indignant,’’ he asserted. The Emperor stated angrily that the Minister of the Interior (Montalivet) and the Minister of Police (Savary) no more understood the French people than he himself understood the Chinese.92 There was some unpleasant business to attend to in Troyes. Two former emigr es, who had rallied to Napoleon’s cause in earlier days, had displayed the white Bourbon cockade during the Allied occupation, and had even thrown down a tricolor flag to tread upon. These two men, the Marquis de Vidranges, and the chevalier Goualt, had gone on to print and distribute broadsides proclaiming Louis XVIII as King of France. Vidranges had prudently fled along with the Allied troops, but Goualt, who was actually the local National Guard commander, remained behind and was denounced by the suddenly Bonapartist citizenry of Troyes. He made no denials and was quickly executed by firing squad.93 There was a very real opportunity for an armistice at this point, following some tentative proposals by both sides. While Caulaincourt was busy

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with the talks at Chatillon, Napoleon sent General Flahault as his emissary directly to the Allied army. Unfortunately, Napoleon bull-headedly directed Flahault to make any armistice provisional upon a guarantee of the ‘‘natural frontiers.’’94 The exhausted French troops took the opportunity to rest for an hour or two, as cavalry dismounted and infantry stacked arms.95 The talks shortly fell through, predictably enough given Napoleon’s inflexible conditions, and the armies resumed their heavy skirmishing.96 The strategic situation was rapidly changing. While Schwarzenberg continued to withdraw, there were councils of war. The Coalition leaders decided to reinforce the troops facing Augereau. They also had already decided, surprisingly, to separate again the Army of Silesia and the Army of Bohemia. Their juncture had only been partial anyway, and both Bl€ ucher and Schwarzenberg agreed to the separation. This time their reasons were not overconfidence. Schwarzenberg, who intended to withdraw as long as the main French force threatened him, wanted to divert Napoleon’s attention. Bl€ ucher, back to form, was eager to resume his advance on Paris as soon as possible.97 Blucher was not to be left as vulnerable as before. The Coalition had an ace in the hole. Bernadotte, one-time Marshal of France and now Crown Prince of Sweden, commanded the Allied Army of the North. As mentioned earlier, the former soldier of the Republic and Empire did not want to enter France proper. He had dreams of taking over Napoleon’s throne at the war’s end, and the Tsar of Russia championed Bernadotte’s political cause. Alexander and Bernadotte may have been only a party of two in all of Europe in this regard, but they impacted military activities.98 Bernadotte’s large army was kept busy in Belgium and Holland, besieging Carnot in Antwerp and chasing down General Maison around Lille. Now the Allied high command decided to detach a Russian corps (under Winzgerode) and a Prussian corps (under B€ ulow) from Bernadotte and give them instead to Bl€ ucher. Bernadotte frantically protested, but was firmly overruled by the majority. The British vote had extra muscle as they threatened to cut off subsidies to Bernadotte if he continued to object to having the two corps detached from his command. His army in essence was to act as a massive reinforcement depot for Bl€ ucher.99 With the reinforcements, Bl€ ucher’s Army of Silesia would be as strong as ever. It was as if Napoleon’s victories of February 10–14 were wiped out insofar as they affected the total size of Bl€ ucher’s force. The Prussian commander had regained all of his confidence and aggressiveness and soon resumed his advance on Paris along the line of the Marne. Napoleon was slow to believe that Bl€ ucher could again be marching on Paris. There was intelligence regarding the movements of the Russian and Prussian corps detached from Bernadotte, but the information reaching Napoleon was incomplete, and his own optimism blinded him to the implications of such a potential reinforcement to Bl€ ucher. Whatever else was true, it seemed to

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Napoleon that Schwarzenberg and the Army of Bohemia were beaten for the time being. The Emperor decided to again move north and attack Blucher.100 For the second time in the campaign, Napoleon turned away from an army he had beaten (but not destroyed) in order to attack the other Allied army. Ultimately, this strategy could never result in outright military victory. Counting on the forces of Marshals Mortier and Marmont (about 9,000 men), along with other small garrisons, to screen Bl€ ucher’s advance on Paris, Napoleon planned to strike at Bl€ ucher’s rear with 30,000 men. He left 40,000 men, including the corps of Oudinot and Gerard, under the command of Marshal Macdonald to face Schwarzenberg’s Army of Bohemia.101 This seems to be a hefty detachment to contain a force that Napoleon regarded as beaten. Regardless of the size of their forces, the French commanders soon let Napoleon down. They seem to have been infected with his overconfidence, but not with his energy. Hardly had Napoleon left Schwarzenberg’s front when the Austrian pounced on Oudinot’s carelessly deployed corps at Bar-sur-Aube. The French troops there were caught on either side of the river Aube. Over half of Oudinot’s forces could not successfully engage the enemy, nor could the Marshal effectively employ most of his artillery. Shouts of ‘‘Vive l’Empereur,’’ designed to trick the Allies into thinking that Napoleon was still present, failed to have any effect. Despite the desperate resistance of the heavily outnumbered French troops, including the 28th Line Infantry, the actions of February 26–27 on the Aube gave Schwarzenberg his first victory in some time. His Russian, Austrian, and Bavarian force had lost nearly 2,000 men, while the French lost over 3,000.102 Meanwhile, Napoleon moved against Bl€ ucher, ignorant for the moment of the plight of Macdonald’s covering force, now over twenty miles away. Bl€ ucher himself had reverted to his usual hell-for-leather approach, trying to force his way towards Paris, happily unaware that Napoleon was closing in on his rear with 30,000 men. The end of February and the beginning of March was spent in skirmishing and small battles, as Marmont and Mortier blocked Bl€ ucher’s advance forces and as Bl€ ucher gradually awakened to the fact that Napoleon might again be concentrating against him. When this was confirmed, Bl€ ucher quickly moved to extricate himself from his awkward strategic position. He crossed with his army north of the Marne River, and cut the bridges behind him. Napoleon, in hot pursuit but still without bridging equipment, was delayed and could only catch a few stragglers and abandoned wagons.103 He would take the opportunity to write chastising Clarke for having failed to supply his army with a bridging train, and claimed that he could have already destroyed both Schwarzenberg and Bl€ ucher on certain occasions, if only he had had bridging equipment.104 Bl€ ucher still wanted to link up with reinforcements (B€ ulow’s Prussians) coming from the north. His plan was to cross to the north side of the

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flooded Aisne River before Napoleon could catch up to him. There were few suitable crossings, but one very good one at Soissons. The problem was that Soissons was in French hands and strongly fortified, with a good garrison made up mostly of veteran Polish troops whose orders were to hold the town, precisely in order to block Bl€ ucher from crossing the Aisne there. Bl€ ucher directed his newly acquired Russian corps under Winzgerode to attack and take Soissons. At the same time, B€ ulow’s reinforcements were in striking distance of Soissons and would join in the attack.105 The garrison of Soissons repulsed the initial Allied attacks on the night of March 2–3, 1814. Winzgerode decided to try negotiations and offered the French commander, General Moreau, the ‘‘honors of war’’: he was to surrender Soissons but be allowed to evacuate with all of his men. Moreau’s subordinates, a Polish colonel and a French colonel, wanted to refuse these terms, but their commander overruled them. The garrison numbered only 1,000 men and 20 cannon, while Winzgerode and B€ ulow had 40,000 men. The Poles were so angry at being deprived of the opportunity to defend the strong fortifications that it is said they bit their muskets in fury. Moreau marched out of Soissons with his men, neglecting even to destroy the vital bridge over the Aisne. The surrender of Soissons is one of the great controversies of the 1814 campaign. Houssaye devoted an entire chapter to it. Despite being hideously outnumbered, the garrison of Soissons enjoyed the advantage of immensely strong fortifications, which could not have been breached except by siege cannons. Any further Allied assaults could only have been made at great cost. Worse, French reinforcements were on the way, and Moreau need only have held out for a day or so.106 When Napoleon learned what had transpired at Soissons, he was enraged. He ordered the arrest of General Moreau, and claimed that if it were not for this ‘‘treason’’ Bl€ ucher’s army would have been destroyed.107 As always, Napoleon was able to find scapegoats. According to him, every failure on the part of his subordinates deprived him of total and absolute victory. In fairness to Napoleon, military historians have universally condemned Moreau’s conduct. The capture of Soissons certainly made life easier for Bl€ ucher. Moreau was court-martialed and sentenced to death. The end of the campaign and Napoleon’s abdication saved his life. Frustrated and angry, Napoleon crossed the Aisne to the east of Bl€ ucher’s main force, outflanking him. This was made possible when Polish and French cavalry defeated a Cossack detachment and seized an intact bridge at Berry.108 Pushing forward, Napoleon received intelligence of a sizeable Allied force on a plateau at Craonne. Assuming that Bl€ ucher was still trying to retreat, Napoleon concluded that this force was either the rear guard or a covering force for the Army of Silesia. He decided to destroy it. In fact he was facing a very strong force, essentially the left wing of Bl€ ucher’s army. The Battle of Craonne (March 7, 1814) did not go as either side planned. Bl€ ucher had wanted to develop it into a major engagement, but

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could not get all his forces into action. Napoleon did not yet appreciate how numerous and concentrated Bl€ ucher’s army was. Each side had less than 30,000 troops actively engaged in this hard-fought and brutal battle.109 Unlike the rambling fights of mid-February, this was a ‘‘set-piece’’ battle, with plenty of opportunity for both sides to employ the full array of their firepower. Marshal Victor, suitably repentant after having his corps taken away in mid-February, now commanded a new corps made up of Young Guard regiments. He led it valiantly and was soon wounded. General Grouchy was also wounded. French troops attacked under savage Allied cannon and musket fire. They were only too brave, the hail of Coalition missiles inflicting horrendous losses. The Young Guard infantry of the 14th Voltigeur Regiment, mostly new recruits, fought heroically, losing 650 out of 920 men, and 30 out of 33 officers, all either killed or wounded.110 Napoleon finally succeeded in massing eighty-eight cannon against the Russians in the center of the Allied line. It was an impressive tactical feat. The French artillery fire tore into the Coalition troops, giving them little choice but to stumble back out of range, although the badly suffering ucher decided to break off the action Russians withdrew stubbornly.111 Bl€ and had the troops at Craonne fall back on the main position of the Army of Silesia at Laon, about six miles to the northwest. Technically, Napoleon could claim a victory, since he was left in possession of the field. In reality, he had suffered losses he could not afford. The French lost about 5,400 men total, to the Allies 5,000. One Marshal of France had been wounded and one general killed. Six other French generals were wounded. A Russian general had been killed, and several wounded.112 Considering the relatively small size of the forces engaged, it had been an exceptionally bloody day. The idea that sheer courage could overcome all odds obviously had its limits. The heavy casualties among high-ranking French officers also showed that Napoleon’s ideas about leading by personal example involved real risks. Napoleon still obstinately clung to the idea that Bl€ ucher was in retreat and that there was an opportunity to destroy part of the Army of Silesia. Both Bl€ ucher and Napoleon were very much in the dark as to each other’s actual strength and intentions. Bl€ ucher thought Napoleon had 90,000 men (over double the actual number of French in the vicinity) but decided to stand and fight in his strong positions at Laon. Napoleon had already decided to attack Bl€ ucher’s ‘‘rearguard’’ at Laon, even though there was a sharp fight with the actual rearguard of the Army of Silesia on March 8. The Emperor remained unfazed, and was counting on support from Marshal Marmont (about 10,000 men) although he was uncertain as to the exact location of Marmont’s forces.113 Napoleon knew that he had about 37,000 men on hand to open the Battle of Laon on March 9. He also knew that Marmont’s arrival, ideally on

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Blucher’s left flank, would give him 47,000 total. What he did not know was that he was about to attack 85,000 Russians and Prussians. The French attacks started in the predawn hours, at one point spearheaded by 400 Young Guard volunteers under General Boyer. Before the sun came up, the French were literally in the dark. As the battle developed and the fog lifted, the sight of virtually the entire Army of Silesia in strong positions greeted Napoleon and his subordinates. Bl€ ucher, for his part, could not believe the weak forces opposing him and suspected that Napoleon had set a trap for him in an attempt to goad him into a counter-attack. By the evening of March 9, Bl€ ucher had a better appreciation of the true situation.114 Marmont had indeed come up on Bl€ ucher’s left by the end of the day, and his troops had taken the village of Athies. After that, Marmont let his inexperienced men rest for the night, not taking care to check their deployment. It was freezing cold, and the young soldiers huddled around campfires with hardly a sentry posted. Some of the men foraged for food. Artillerymen, mostly converted sailors, also tried to keep warm and let their cannons sit unlimbered and without guards. Marmont, utterly exhausted, bedded down in a chateau about four kilometers behind the lines. Bl€ ucher realized the exposed position of Marmont’s force and decided upon a night attack. Two large columns of Prussians and two of Russians stealthily approached Marmont’s unsuspecting troops and were quickly upon them. At first the Prussians attacked with the bayonet, not wishing to alert the French with the noise of musket fire. Soon the Allies were shouting ‘‘Hurrah!’’ and the roar of thousands of voices spread panic among the French recruits. Conscripts, infantry and cavalry alike, were shortly in full flight. A befuddled Marmont tried in vain to rally his routed troops. He was almost cut off and trapped by Allied cavalry, but was saved by a detachment of 1,000 men commanded by a colonel, plus 125 Old Guard infantry who had been escorting supply wagons. These tiny forces blocked the Coalition horsemen long enough to allow Marmont’s fugitives to escape. The surprise night attack cost Marmont 3,500 men, mostly captured, and 45 of his 55 cannon.115 The outcome of this night attack makes perfect sense. Whatever else their limited training and experience had prepared them for, the recruits of Marmont’s corps were completely unprepared for a surprise attack of this nature. Exhausted, hungry, cold, and carelessly deployed, with a corps commander obviously suffering from extreme fatigue, it was a formula for disaster for the French. For all intents and purposes, this action was the equivalent of a worst-case scenario for the recruits of 1814. Napoleon only became aware of this disaster the next day. He maintained his positions on March 10, figuring that only a bold front could save what was left of Marmont, not to mention the rest of his army, at this point. He was lucky that on this day the seventy-year-old Bl€ ucher, who had been ailing for days, suddenly collapsed completely. Gneisenau, the chief of staff, took over command temporarily. Gneisenau was intelligent

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and methodical, but not nearly as aggressive as old ‘‘Marshal Vorwarts.’’ His attacks on Napoleon’s positions were tentative probes. He decided the French position was too strong to carry, even with an assault by the whole army. Napoleon was able to get his army away under cover of darkness. The two days of battle at Laon had cost the French 6,000 men. The Army of Silesia had lost about 2,000.116 A defeat of such magnitude hurt Napoleon’s cause badly. It was not inevitable. It had been brought about by Napoleon’s stubbornness, although Marmont’s incredible negligence on the night of March 9 had turned a tactical defeat into full-fledged disaster. Final defeat stared Napoleon in the face as he withdrew his battered army. His version of the battle at Laon, written in a letter to Joseph the next day, was a combination of obfuscation and surprising candor: My brother, I have reconnoitered the enemy position at Laon. It is too strong to be attacked without great loss. . . . It is probable that the enemy would have evacuated Laon . . . except for the skirmish of the Duke of Ragusa, [Marmont] who comported himself like a second lieutenant. The enemy has suffered enormous losses; he attacked the village of Clacy five times yesterday and was repulsed each time. The Young Guard melts like the snow. The Old Guard holds steady. My Guard cavalry is strong as well.117

The evocative metaphor of the Young Guard melting like snow was appropriate. They had been hard-used in the battles at Craonne and Laon. Desertion among the Young Guard and the regular troops was to be expected at this point. In the actions between March 7 and March 10, Napoleon had lost nearly 12,000 irreplaceable men. Many of the killed and wounded had been Young Guard conscripts and volunteers, while Marmont’s conscripts accounted for the largest part of those taken captive. Ill tidings appeared from every quarter. The Allies had agreed to the Treaty of Chaumont on March 9.118 By its terms, no party of the Coalition would negotiate separately with Napoleon. Although they remained divided on many war aims and other issues, Napoleon’s diplomatic intransigence had facilitated agreement within the Coalition. Schwarzenberg was pushing hard along the Seine, driving back Macdonald daily. At the approach of Coalition forces, Augereau had gone back into his hole in Lyons. He would soon evacuate the city. In Bordeaux the white cockade and white flag of the Bourbons appeared, and the city was surrendered to the British without a fight on March 12.119 The Allies again began to consider the war won. Napoleon was not yet ready to quit. Searching for any bit of good news, he grasped at a timely piece of surprisingly accurate intelligence. As usual in times of their good fortune, the Allies had gotten careless. A single corps, mostly Russians, commanded by the emigr e St. Priest, had captured Reims from its small garrison. The Allied intent was to maintain a force between the Army of Silesia and the Army of Bohemia.

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Napoleon gathered up his forces and headed for Reims, almost forty miles to the east by southeast of Soissons. Incredibly, the head of his columns reached the town after a bruising march of twenty hours. It was near nightfall on March 13, and St. Priest had no idea what he was facing. The Allied force was about 14,500 strong, and the emigr e commander thought to brush aside the French force confronting him. The Coalition forces were soon hustled back into the town by the roughly 10,000 French troops immediately on hand. Napoleon brought forward several pieces of Guard artillery and blasted his way into the town. General Segur was one of the first into Reims, charging at the head of sixty Gardes d’Honneur. The citizens of Reims, roused by the noise, lit all their windows to aid the attacking French. Segur slashed at Russian infantry from horseback, and received a bayonet wound and a bullet wound. Witnesses noted that his saber was bloody. More of Napoleon’s troops were soon storming through the town, as the surprised Allies fled in panic and confusion. Authorities vary as to the extent of Allied casualties. Coalition losses were at least 3,000 men, and possibly as high as 6,000. French losses are estimated between 700 and 900. For all practical purposes St. Priest’s Allied corps was shattered. St. Priest himself had been killed, hit by a cannonball.120 The Coalition was stunned. Once again, they had written off the Emperor of the French only to see him appear as if by magic and make another Allied corps evaporate. Furthermore, in one quick march Napoleon had placed himself between the Army of Silesia and the Army of Bohemia and was in position to threaten the rear areas of both armies. For the moment, the two main Allied armies were paralyzed.121 The question for Napoleon—what to do next? The precarious stalemate could not last long. His forces were still vastly outnumbered. A move had to be made. Napoleon’s master plan was to move eastward with a striking force and link up with all the garrisons near the Rhine that were currently besieged or blockaded by the Allies. This, combined with the growing partisan activity in the eastern part of France, would sever the supply lines of the Allied armies. It would have been a bold strategic move. The Emperor reluctantly shelved this plan, temporarily. Napoleon decided instead to turn south against Schwarzenberg. The Army of Bohemia had gotten dangerously close to Paris, well within fifty miles of the capital. They had continued their advance emboldened by the news of Laon, until they received the news of Reims. As for Bl€ ucher, he was recovering from his illness and seemed for once to be motionless, stuck around Laon and harassed by partisans. Napoleon again left Marmont and Mortier (with almost 22,000 men) to watch Bl€ ucher in the north. Schwarzenberg had 90,000 men facing Macdonald’s 30,000. Napoleon marched south with only 23,000, but he had his long awaited bridging train, and he was aiming at the rear end of the Army of Bohemia. A blow there should stampede the jumpy Schwarzenberg back eastward once again.122

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The problem with the march south was that Schwarzenberg, as usual enjoying the advantage of ample cavalry for reconnaissance, received intelligence of Napoleon’s move soon after it was underway. He panicked sooner than Napoleon intended and began moving eastward immediately. Macdonald’s battered forces failed to occupy Schwarzenberg’s attention. They did not even manage much of a pursuit of the Army of Bohemia as it suddenly turned tail. Napoleon drove back Allied detachments on March 18 and was crossing to the south side of the Aube River by March 19.123 It was clear that the corps of Schwarzenberg’s army were widely scattered, but it was not clear what the exact dispositions were. Napoleon’s immediate plan was to head for Arcis-sur-Aube, not quite seven miles east up the Aube from his crossing point. He was under the impression that Tsar Alexander and Schwarzenberg were there in person. He also wanted Macdonald’s 30,000 men to link up with him there.124 Schwarzenberg could not guess French intentions, but uncharacteristically decided to halt his retreat, concentrate his forces, and go over to the offensive. This was the last thing Napoleon, or anyone else, expected of the Austrian. As Petre pointed out, ‘‘It was the best thing he did in the campaign.’’125 It was almost as if Schwarzenberg had no more panic left in him. Napoleon had tormented and intimidated him so often that all that was left to Schwarzenberg was resolve. The Austrian commander clearly did not fear Macdonald, no more than Napoleon feared Schwarzenberg. On the other hand, although Schwarzenberg certainly feared Napoleon, he had to know by now that he had a huge advantage in numbers over the French Emperor. On this occasion, Schwarzenberg for once made his decision alone, without being prodded by Tsar Alexander or anyone else. Napoleon was in Arcis-sur-Aube by the early afternoon of March 20. Marshal Ney was sent up the Aube towards the village of Torcy with an advance guard. The Allies did not appear to be in force in the vicinity of Arcis and the Emperor felt satisfied that Schwarzenberg must be continuing a scattered withdrawal. Napoleon rode over to Ney’s position at Torcy, just two kilometers east of Arcis. Suddenly, the French at Arcis were under heavy attack. Napoleon, hearing cannon fire, galloped quickly to Arcis where he found French horsemen fleeing in disorder. Caught up in the rout, Napoleon managed to get shelter in a square formation of Polish infantry— the Vistula Regiment that had wanted so badly to defend Soissons. The Polish square held, and repulsed the Allied cavalry charges. Napoleon, drawing his sword, emerged from the square and charged right at the Allies, as if he were coming straight out of a painting by Gros. As he personally pursued the Coalition horsemen, he galloped past the disordered French cavalry. ‘‘Which of you will pass in front of me?’’ he shouted to his troopers. The rout was halted, and the French cavalry counter-attacked.126 The situation was restored for the moment, but the Army of Bohemia was also marching to the sound of the guns. The odds were absurd.

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Figure 9.3 Prince Schwarzenberg, Commander of the Allied Army of Bohemia. (From R. Friedrich’s Der Herbstfeldzug 1813, 1912.)

Napoleon still did not realize it, but there were 90,000 Coalition troops within striking distance of the battlefield. With Macdonald still many miles away, the best Napoleon could muster would be 23,000. At Torcy, Ney was under attack by large numbers of Austrians and Bavarians. Reinforced by two battalions of Old Guard infantry and gendarmes, Ney held the position all day and into the night. The Bavarians and Austrians took heavy losses in their attacks.127 Old Guard infantry also reinforced the main French position at Arcis, but they soon came under the fire of massed Allied cannon. Napoleon was nearby when a fizzling shell landed near some of his Guardsmen. When he saw the men scatter back away from the shell, Napoleon rode towards them, passing directly over the smoking bomb. Sometimes artillery shells were duds, but not this time. The shell exploded, killing the Emperor’s horse. Napoleon rolled on the ground but was, amazingly, unhurt. An aide brought forward another animal, and Napoleon quickly remounted, while paraphrasing his own bravura of an earlier battle: ‘‘Don’t fear; the shell that will kill me has not been made!’’128 The French artillery dueled with the Allied artillery. Griois, with his Guard gunners, noted that on his right was a company of artillery manned by gardes c^ otes artillerists. Despite their lack of battle experience, they literally stuck to their guns. They suffered heavy losses, especially when their

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caissons were hit and exploded. Griois mentioned that the gardes c^ otes gunners were wearing white uniforms (possibly long-sleeved waistcoats). He admired the courage of these makeshift artillerists, but regretted their inexperience, which caused them to position their caissons too close to their guns, resulting in the explosions and considerable carnage. Griois also saw a nearby infantry battalion stand steady under heavy fire. At the end of the day, ‘‘they were nothing but a mass of mutilated corpses and smashed weapons.’’129 The fire of the Coalition guns brought a response. The Guard cavalry was ordered to charge and take a position of Allied cannon. They took the guns and fought off a counter-attack by Russian cavalry.130 The struggle continued after sunset, but finally increasing darkness brought an end to the fighting. Despite the desperate nature of the battle, Napoleon still did not believe that Schwarzenberg had concentrated his entire army. The Emperor persisted in the notion that he had fought a fairly strong Coalition detachment on March 20. Schwarzenberg must be retreating, he thought. Napoleon’s little army received welcome reinforcements from Paris on the morning of March 21, almost 10,000 men. The plan was to move forward and drive away the Allied ‘‘detachment.’’ The hills surrounding the area of Arcis obscured the truth of the situation.131 When elements of French cavalry and infantry advanced to the top of a ridge, they were able to see clearly. The Army of Bohemia was stretched out before them, an awesome sight. Receiving the reports, Napoleon lost his illusions and quickly made plans to get his army safely to the north side of the Aube River. The French were on the move before the Allies mounted their attacks. Schwarzenberg had reverted to form, and Tsar Alexander was also worried. The stubborn fight of the day before gave the Allies the impression that the French army must be larger than they thought. When the attacks did come, they were against a well-organized French rear guard. There was some desperate fighting in the streets of Arcis, but in the end Napoleon got his army away, and his engineers blew up the bridge over the Aube.132 If Schwarzenberg had attacked with his whole force early on March 21, he probably would have pushed Napoleon’s army into the Aube and destroyed it. As it was, each army had lost over 3,000 men in two days of fighting.133 Napoleon had to be proud of his troops, but he was quickly running out of options. Obviously major engagements with either the Army of Bohemia or the Army of Silesia were out of the question. The French forces were simply too small. There was still the idea of marching eastward and linking up with the garrisons and partisans to cut the Allied supply lines. Napoleon made up his mind that this bold course was the best one currently available.134 The garrisons isolated in eastern France were not large. Napoleon thought that altogether they would add 12,000 men to his main force. He

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had long entertained the idea that his garrisons in eastern France could be used to attack enemy communications, if only he could get specific orders to garrison commanders.135 Nobody could put a number on those waging partisan warfare in the east of France, but it was still on the increase. Napoleon was still waiting for Macdonald to link up with him. He further gave orders for Mortier and Marmont, who were covering Bl€ ucher’s army, to march to join the main force. All of these moves together meant leaving virtually no force at all between Paris and the two main Allied armies.136 Napoleon did not consider this a problem. He felt that the nature of his descent on the Allied supply lines would be so threatening that Bl€ ucher and Schwarzenberg would have no choice but to follow him eastward away from Paris. He was almost right. Napoleon did not see the need to send a detailed outline of his plans to Joseph or Clarke, but he did sum up his idea in a short letter to MarieLouise written on March 23: On the 21st the enemy army formed up in battle array for the purpose of covering the advance of his convoys towards Brienne and Bar-sur-Aube. I decided to make for the Marne and his line of communications, in order to push him back further from Paris and draw nearer to my fortifications. I shall be at St. Dizier tonight. Goodbye my darling. A kiss to my son.137

The rider carrying this dispatch was intercepted and captured by Coalition cavalry. It was a disastrous piece of bad luck for Napoleon, but hardly unpredictable given the numbers of Allied horsemen roaming the countryside. When the note was brought to him, Bl€ ucher had the letter translated and copied—and then courteously forwarded the original to Marie-Louise! The Prussian quickly sent additional translated copies to Schwarzenberg.138 By the night of March 23, all members of the Allied high command knew Napoleon’s plans, his intent, and even his initial line of march. Even with this information, a council of war at Schwarzenberg’s headquarters discussed retreat. A refined version of a retrograde movement involved linking up with Bl€ ucher and establishing a new supply route through Holland, since it was too late to prevent Napoleon from cutting the existing supply lines. The French Emperor had correctly assessed the anxiety his move would cause the Coalition. He had of course wanted to present the Allies with their severed supply lines as a fait accompli, so that they would have no time to set up new routes. Then they would have had to move east towards him. More captured dispatches arrived at Allied headquarters early on March 24. This time the letters had been sent from Paris by several of Napoleon’s ministers. They were to inform Napoleon that the political situation in Paris was very unstable. Savary, the Minister of Police, included a detailed report on the alarming extent of Royalist and other subversive activity.

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The ministers also complained that Paris was weakly defended. Schwarzenberg did not consider the information important. Tsar Alexander saw the captured dispatches after Schwarzenberg had read them, and felt that this new information changed everything. Another debate ensued, but the commanders gradually fell in line with Alexander’s insistence that the Allied armies should march immediately on Paris.139 The new Coalition plan called for the Army of Bohemia and the Army of Silesia to make a juncture as they marched towards Paris. The idea of setting up a new line of supply through Holland was retained. A cavalry force of about 10,000 was to be detached to follow Napoleon. It was a subtle twist. Napoleon would think that the Allies were pursuing him just as he had planned. Bl€ ucher was overjoyed when informed of the new plan, stating, ‘‘I was sure my brave brother Schwarzenberg would be of the same opinion as myself. Now we shall soon be done with the business.’’140 In fact, Bl€ ucher had already decided that he should move on Paris even without seeing the latest captured dispatches, and his ‘‘brave brother’’ Schwarzenberg had not initially been of his opinion. None of that mattered now. Both Allied armies were marching directly on Paris. The only forces in their path were a few small units and the 20,000 men of Marmont and Mortier. The two marshals had received

Figure 9.4 Napoleon in battle. (From Erckmann-Chatrian’s The Conscript, 1906.)

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Napoleon’s orders to join him and had begun their march, but suddenly found themselves confronted by the armies of the Coalition. Napoleon, already over thirty miles to the east of Marmont and Mortier, was aware of none of this.141 He had no idea that, for all practical purposes, his Campaign of 1814 was over. The campaign shows perhaps more clearly than any other Napoleon both at his best and at his worst. He had thrown himself totally into fighting the campaign, refusing to take proper advantage of diplomatic opportunities in the meanwhile. Stubbornness, pride, and wishful thinking contributed to ultimate defeat, but he had won victories largely due to his own energy and courage in battle. Even with his personal example, it was incredible that his makeshift army fought so bravely against enormous odds. Most of the men had performed at least as well as could be expected, and many had done far better than Napoleon had any right to expect. The bravery (and inexperience) of the troops in many cases speaks for itself. One factor contributing to the zeal of French soldiers in this campaign that has been generally overlooked is the fact that they had the opportunity to witness first hand the excesses committed by Coalition troops against civilians. The simple virtue of courage was complemented by the more frightening emotions of anger, hatred, and desire for revenge. Napoleon was not the only one who wrote about what the Allies did in the countryside. Unfortunately, he was not just making it up for propaganda purposes. He was not even exaggerating very much. The Allies inadvertently stiffened the resolve of many of Napoleon’s troops. Equally unintentional was the fact that the Allies roused an exasperated populace to take up arms against them. The level of partisan activity cannot be measured in precise numbers, but it was significant enough to figure into Napoleon’s plans. The next chapter will take a closer look at the resistance of partisans and French civilians against the Allied armies.

CHAPTER 10

Civilians and Partisans

B

oth sides assumed at the beginning that there would be some partisan activity and resistance on the part of French civilians when the Coalition invaded. Not all Allied troops were as eager and bloodthirsty as one young Prussian lieutenant, but part of a letter to his parents gives an idea of what some soldiers felt: Let the whole of France rise up against us. May these bloodhounds poison wells, undermine towns and do whatever else their horrible idol inspires with deceitful design. All this will avail them nothing. We shall wash our hands in the blood of vengeance and cheer loudly if thousands of them whimper and moan in the most hellish agony.1

This attitude, while not universal, was all too prevalent among some of the Allies. Years of French occupation throughout Europe required vengeance, and the people of France were suitable targets. The expectation that the populace would be hostile anyway made the rationalization that much more dangerous. This ran counter to the official position of the Coalition, which claimed that their war was only against Napoleon. The invasion was depicted as ‘‘liberation.’’ The dissonance between rhetoric and reality would eventually cause serious difficulties for the Coalition. Napoleon’s decidedly ambivalent attitude towards partisan warfare has been discussed to some extent in previous chapters. At the outset, he tried to organize partisan activity along disciplined military lines and sought to have army officers act as partisan leaders. We have also seen that his initial idea was to limit the extent of ‘‘informal’’ units to the areas of France that were immediately threatened with invasion. The Allied decision not to wait 123

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until spring to invade, and the rapidity of their advance, rendered Napoleon’s preparations for partisan warfare woefully inadequate. He first gave specific orders for the organization of partisan warfare on January 1, 1814, and a decree for a lev ee en masse in nine threatened departments (but not throughout France) was made on January 4. The decree called for a general to be placed in charge of the lev ee in each of the nine departments, and it also called for regular army officers native to those areas to be sent to help form and lead partisan units. Napoleon wanted the generals to organize the population, form partisan units, and name the officers for those units.2 Early January was already far too late to initiate such measures. By the time officers and generals could be selected and dispatched to the departments in question, those areas were already being overrun by Coalition forces. The issue of a lack of preparation for partisan warfare is not specifically dealt with in most authorities (although there are exceptions). In strategic terms, it was easy for Napoleon (and for subsequent historians) to underestimate the potential of friendly partisan warfare in France. This initial ambivalence was, in fact, a very serious flaw in his overall concept for the defense of France.3 Napoleon’s cherished idea of a disciplined, organized resistance to the invasion went largely unfulfilled, partly because regular officers could not reach the invaded areas behind Coalition lines. General Berckheim was specifically chosen to be in charge of the ‘‘insurrection’’ in Alsace, but instead ended up commanding conscript cavalry units in the main field army before the campaign was over.4 Napoleon did not give up on the notion of trying to have army officers as partisan leaders. As late as March 27, an Imperial Guard captain who happened to have been born in the Vosges was ordered to infiltrate enemy lines to reach the partisan groups active in his native region. He succeeded by disguising himself as a wagon driver.5 There was no guarantee that French army officers were particularly suited for partisan warfare anyway. Certainly they would have been useful for purposes of instilling discipline and organization, but most regular officers were trained only in ‘‘conventional’’ tactics. Most of these officers would have been able to set up an ambush, using regular troops. Beyond that, they did not usually have any experience attacking isolated foragers, couriers, or stragglers. Most light infantry officers knew a little about ‘‘bushwacking,’’ and some cavalry officers had experience raiding small depots or garrisons. Rather than casting about for officers native to the regions where they would operate, Napoleon might have been better advised to select such officers, or, better yet, those who had themselves fought against guerillas in Spain, or who had experience against Cossacks and partisans in Russia. On the other hand, he was pressed for time, and he may have felt it was an easier matter to find out an officer’s birthplace than to peruse his resume. The few French officers that had distinguished

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themselves against guerillas went largely unrecognized anyway. Promotion went to those who had displayed courage on the battlefield in high-profile situations, not to those who operated efficiently against ‘‘bandits.’’6 Insofar as selecting officers for partisan operations went, Napoleon may also have felt that political considerations trumped tactical ones. Again, Napoleon’s entire view of partisan operations was problematical to begin with. He begrudged crediting partisans who had resisted his aims in Spain and elsewhere. Generally, he dismissed the Spanish guerillas as bandits and criminals: It is out of laziness, not out of heroism, that the Spanish peasant prefers the dangers of a smuggler’s life, or a highwayman’s, to the labors of cultivating the soil. The Spanish peasants have seized the opportunity of taking up this nomadic, smuggler’s existence which is so well suited to their taste and to the relief of their extreme poverty. There’s nothing patriotic about that.7

Despite such sweeping denunciations (made for the benefit of a captive audience) Napoleon had enough military sense to realize that guerilla groups posed very real difficulties for an invading army, even if he verbalized such assessments only indirectly. He observed correctly that it was the presence of Wellington’s forces in Spain that made the organization and activities of the guerillas possible to begin with. He also suggested that even if the English were driven out of the Iberian Peninsula, it would take at least some months to clear the country of ‘‘isolated bodies of rebels.’’8 While Napoleon’s sense of military discipline may have led him to view the notion of French partisan groups with ambivalence, he could not ignore entirely the military potential of guerillas that would, this time, be operating on his side. The fact that he made any provisions (however halfhearted or inadequate) for partisan warfare at all was tacit admission of the value of such groups. There was a political consideration too, that the Emperor never articulated but suggested by his approach. He likely considered that partisan groups forming on their own would owe the Imperial government no particular allegiance. He did not want guerilla groups of Jacobins, or of ‘‘smugglers and highwaymen,’’ for that matter. Limiting the area of partisan activity and placing partisan groups directly under military supervision was a compromise solution to the potential problem of guerillas formed of criminals or of the politically unorthodox. Not many partisan units acquired the level of formal military organization that Napoleon had envisioned. A small handful of ‘‘partisan’’ units had names, including the 1st Corps Franc de la Seine, Voluntaires de la Meurthe, and Voluntaires Partisans.9 Such units were sometimes engaged fighting in the field alongside regular French battalions, rather than operating behind enemy lines. The 1st Corps Franc de la Seine, for example, was involved in the battle outside of Paris.10 The entire concept of

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partisans and guerilla warfare is something that became far more familiar to military men and the public at large during the 20th century. In 1814, the methods of the guerilla were not something that would necessarily or immediately occur to people. It is true that something similar to ‘‘guerilla’’ operations could be considered the oldest form of warfare, and peasant rebellions were certainly an old story. At the same time, the appearance of informal partisan bands operating in a significant way within the framework of modern military operations was something new, at least in Europe, during the Napoleonic Wars. One advantage that Wellington had in Spain was that he had some experience in irregular warfare in India. Historians have noted that guerilla warfare had gone into a period of decline in early modern Europe until the period of the Napoleonic Wars. Along the same lines, Clausewitz stated, ‘‘In the civilized parts of Europe, war by means of popular uprisings is a phenomenon of the nineteenth century.’’ The term guerilla (‘‘little war’’ in Spanish) existed before 1808, but its current meaning dates from the resistance in Spain after that year.11 As we shall see, the resistance of many French citizens was more in the nature of defending their hometowns, very often in conjunction with regular troops or National Guards. In fact, some of the most notable French successes against guerillas in Spain had come while defending fortified towns. French soldiers (and therefore many retired veterans) often had an aptitude for improvised defense in rear areas.12 Something closer to our idea of ‘‘guerilla warfare’’ usually occurred when French citizens had been pushed to the point of rage by the misbehavior of invading Coalition troops. As such, it did not flare up to a significant degree until later in the campaign. One notable exception was a partisan group that organized itself in Alsace in early January, without waiting for the formality of a commanding general or any regular army officers. The leader of this group was an ironworks supervisor, suitably named Wolf. The group started with about 500 men, including an odd assortment of old veterans, montagnards, woodsmen, and even smugglers. Nicolas Wolf was Alsatian, and did not use a pseudonym. His group started out by defending their hometown, Rothau, against attack from Bavarian troops in early January. Eventually the partisans evacuated the town and operated from the countryside. This single group was active for the duration of the campaign, inflicting perhaps as many as 3,000 casualties on Coalition troops.13 Eventually, the departments of eastern France would see the most intense partisan activity of the campaign. While groups like Wolf’s were not large, their early activity no doubt contributed to Allied retributions in Alsace, setting up an environment for increased retaliation and escalating violence by the locals. Most of the excesses committed by Coalition troops were unprovoked, especially in regions such as Champagne where initially there was little civilian resistance and no partisan activity. The official Allied policy was that the invaders came as friends, even liberators. A major problem, however, was

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another official policy—requisitions. Imitating years of French logistical doctrine, the Allies sought to minimize the strain on their supply lines by obtaining as many supplies as possible from local sources. Because individual military commanders had the power to make requisitions, the demands could reach inordinate levels. In contrast to Napoleon’s bureaucrats in 1814, the Coalition armies were not shy about making certain that the French people coughed up all available resources. The town of Langres was made to supply the Allies with 2,200 breeches, 1,000 shirts, 1,000 gaiters, 500 white coats, and 500 brown coats. The town of Vicq (population 1,000) produced 560,000 pounds of bread in eight days for Russian troops. From five departments in the area of operations, Prince Hohenlohe demanded huge quantities of wine and food supplies, including 1.8 million kilograms of flour and 1,000 beef cattle. So far from paying for the supplies, he required in addition a contribution of 150,000 francs, in coin. When General Griois went to the town of Chambry to acquire remounts during the campaign, the peasants were very relieved to receive payment for their horses, the Coalition having by that point gained the reputation for taking animals without paying.14 Certainly, the French had famously made demands for supplies, everywhere their armies had marched in Europe over the two previous decades. Sometimes they at least made a show of paying for them, although they often used redeemable ‘‘certificates’’ rather than cash. The French had also extracted large sums from various lands, frequently in the guise of taxation when it came to satellites. Many of the Allied invaders of France in 1814 appear to have been in a great hurry to even the score. To make matters much worse, lower-ranking Allied officers and soldiers decided to supplement the official requisitions with their own collection methods. High-ranking officers (often nobles accustomed to preferential treatment) got first choice. The soldiers wanted their share too. Coalition troops quickly got out of hand. Scouting and foraging parties roamed far from the main Allied depots. They had little motivation to turn in all the supplies they found, only to have meager rations doled out later. Cossacks were traditionally hard to discipline anyway and did whatever they pleased. As Metternich said, ‘‘War is a nasty business . . . especially so when one wages it with 50,000 Cossacks and Baskirs.’’15 Sadly, it was not only Cossacks who were doing the pillaging. An angry General Yorck commented, ‘‘I had believed that I had the honor to command a corps of Prussian soldiers; I command nothing but a band of brigands.’’16 The reputation of the Cossacks preceded them and among civilians they remained the most feared of the Coalition troops. Shocking stories of rape were soon circulating. It seemed that many Cossacks would rape just about any girl or woman. They did not restrict their crimes to isolated victims, either. Cossacks would mercilessly slash with sabers the arms of weeping parents or relatives who tried desperately to protect wives, mothers, daughters, or sisters from the brutal assaults. Again, it was not only Cossacks who

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committed the crimes. In one appalling incident, some Prussians broke into a school for young girls and raped the directress and all the teachers and servants, although they left the terrified children alone. In some areas women began to disguise themselves as men.17 No one could tell which Allied soldiers were liable to commit rape, or when they might take the notion in their heads. Rape fell short of being ubiquitous, but it was far from uncommon. Coalition troops were liable to seize virtually anything edible, potable, or portable. Alcohol in all forms was highly prized loot, and guzzling the beverages on the spot only made the troops pillage, rape, and abuse civilians more aggressively. Greed drove Cossacks and other soldiers to search out valuables and money. Sometimes civilians were tortured when they refused to reveal the hiding places where their money or jewelry was stashed. More often houses would literally be torn apart in the looting process, the inhabitants forced into the streets while their homes were ransacked. In ChateauThierry, many had clothing taken off their backs and were left barefoot in the snow. People were beaten, or killed outright. Some Cossacks had brought along knouts (leather whips used for beating serfs) and employed them freely. Uncooperative or feisty civilians could expect little mercy from Cossacks, or from other Coalition troops for that matter. Apparently some Coalition soldiers had no qualms about stealing not only from French civilians, but from their Allies as well. A Bavarian officer had his purse stolen by some Austrian soldiers when he briefly left it behind in a room.18 French citizens sought in vain for Coalition officers to discipline their troops. Yorck’s honorable attitude was exceptional, while Bl€ ucher, his superior, did little to dissuade looting. If officers of one Coalition country were notified of pillaging on the part of one of their allies, they would shrug and say they had no authority over the troops in question.19 Trying to rein in rampaging soldiers was difficult, even dangerous. The pervading attitude seems to have been that it was best for morale to let the men do their worst. Some Coalition officers may have been concerned or even disturbed over the excesses, but for the most part they kept silent. Some cruelties resulted from military ‘‘necessities.’’ Cossacks would force locals into service as guides. This was not an unknown military practice, but the Cossacks took it a step further by putting cords around the necks of the ‘‘guides,’’ essentially leashing them. No thought was given to providing food for such hostages. More widespread was burning of houses and towns on orders. Mery-sur-Seine (population 500) was burned to the ground, apparently to delay the advance of French troops heading in the direction of the town by the main road which passed through it.20 The highly fluid nature of the campaign, featuring constant advances and retreats, gave the Allies frequent occasion to engage in arson, in order to deprive the French of shelter, supplies, or tactical advantage. Torching buildings and towns became almost routine, especially during retreats, and intensified once the civilians started fighting back. A Bavarian officer wrote

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to his parents, ‘‘On the retreat almost all the villages on and near the road were burned down. . . . Bar-sur-Aube was totally plundered, because the inhabitants shot at our people with window lead.’’21 The Allies were waging ‘‘scorched earth’’ warfare on their enemy’s soil. During the frequent marches and countermarches, French troops observed the widespread devastation with dismay. Villages deserted and burned, gutted houses, and smoking horizons marked the path of the Coalition armies. Many civilians, having little other choice, took their families and whatever they could carry and hid in the woods.22 They were sometimes successful in keeping food and other supplies out of the hands of Allied troops. When French troops arrived in a town the Allies had passed through, they were usually greeted as heroes. In Chateau-Thierry, Captain Parquin’s troopers received supplies as they rode by: I allowed them to accept, without stopping, the bread, brandy, ham and sausages offered to them by the good citizens who were overjoyed to see French troops again after being made to quarter the Russians and Prussians who had behaved very badly in this unfortified and peaceful town.23

A combination of the massive requisitions, the passage of the armies, and some rather brave hoarding on the part of French civilians, eventually caused supply difficulties for both sides, especially the Allies. Lieutenant Hausmann, who in January had found France pleasant and had looked forward to learning French, wrote his parents in March, saying: I would never have believed that such shortages could occur in this country. During the withdrawal for over one week we received no bread, no meat, no salt; in short, no food at all. And here we sustain ourselves very meagerly with forage parties.24

This kind of suffering literally came with the territory. The Parisians may have been surprised at the haggard appearance of the Allied prisoners they saw paraded through their streets, but only because they really had no clear idea of what was going on in the countryside. Napoleon himself was outraged at the reports of Allied atrocities, although he seems to have been more outraged when he learned that no propaganda value was being derived in Paris. He wrote an angry letter to that effect to General Savary, his Minister of Police: Why don’t you have commissioners go over the countryside from which we have chased the enemy and collect the details of the crimes they have committed? There is nothing better for animating spirits than the account of these details . . . my hair stands on end at the crimes committed by the enemy and the police don’t think to collect a single story. In truth, never have I been worse served!25

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A few of the tales of the excesses committed by Coalition troops may have grown with the telling, but the evidence is widespread and common in all the letters and memoirs of the period. The atrocities were real. Unfortunately for Napoleon, French citizens in Paris, jaded by years of mendacious ‘‘Bulletins’’ and Le Moniteur articles ghost-written by the Emperor, were skeptical. A young officer of the Imperial Guard addressed this issue in a letter to his parents: I would certainly not wish the incredulous to be convinced with their own eyes. I get nothing at all from gazettes and I say only what I have seen. Twenty times tears of rage have filled my eyes at the sight . . . of the horrors they have committed. The most shameless pillage is the least of their infamies: arson, rape, murder, these are the benefits that the liberators bring to France. It seems that women and the aged, rather than being objects of respect, inspire fury in them, it is certainly on these countrymen that the worst horrors have been committed. In the towns, where there is some semblance of order, there are other mercies: they confront a bourgeois in the street, they throw him down and take his boots, his buckles, his shoes, his coat. . . . Messieurs les officiers see all of this, and far from opposing it, they often take part. If the evil hour should arrive, and I hope it never does, that these monsters menace Touraine, hide everything that you hold most precious . . . take refuge in a town where you will always be safe but for goodness sake don’t stay at Amardieres.26

Fare managed only a couple of letters home during the campaign. The constant marching and fighting made letter writing very difficult. If more soldiers had found time to write home (or known how to write to begin with) Napoleon might have garnered more propaganda value from Allied atrocities. Most wars give rise to the types of horrors described by the various eyewitnesses of the 1814 campaign. The suffering of innocent people in war is a universal truth too often ignored. In 1814, however, the atrocities occurred in a compressed period of time, and in a limited geographical area. There was an intensity and a ruthlessness to the crimes that went far beyond the experience of most people that witnessed them.27 It was not unknown for commanders to take firm measures to control their men and limit crimes against civilians during the Napoleonic Wars, but the leadership of the Army of Silesia and the Army of Bohemia failed badly in this regard. The lines from the resurrected La Marseillaise must have seemed all too appropriate—these ferocious soldiers roar, they have come among you to cut the throats of your children and your countrymen—and therefore the expected response could be drawn from the same song—To arms citizens! Form your battalions! Let’s march, let’s march, that an impure blood may soak our fields.28 As mentioned previously, Napoleon in 1814 encouraged the playing of the revolutionary anthem he had formerly discouraged after

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coming to power, although it is unlikely that he anticipated its description of the invaders becoming quite so literal. The Allies managed to stir up more violent opposition to their invasion than Napoleon had initially managed with his ham-handed propaganda. The revenge of the utterly desperate civilians in the countryside should have come as no surprise. They armed themselves as best they could and began to kill Coalition soldiers, however and whenever they could. In some cases locals were able to take advantage of the fact that there had been a certain amount of cooperation (not to say collaboration) with the Allies. This way a man could offer himself as a guide to a small party of Coalition troops and lead them into an ambush—one of the oldest tricks

Figure 10.1 This painting by Vernet completed in 1826 makes clear that memories of the Coalition invasion of France were still fresh. A French peasant family has just been rendered homeless by the invasion. The male head of the family is mortally wounded. He is a cavalry veteran, his Legion of Honor medal just visible inside his jacket, and his carbine on the ground at his side. The young woman is the very picture of strength amid disaster. Almost lost in the chaos, a little boy hides his face in her skirt. In the left distance Russian infantry and Cossacks have set fire to the farm buildings and are seizing the cattle. In the right distance, French peasants and a gendarme exchange fire with the Russians. (Emile Jean Horace Vernet, 1789–1863. Scene of the French Campaign of 1814, 1826, oil on canvas. Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, Gift of the Christian Humann Foundation, 2004.12.)

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in the book. Ploys of almost Biblical tradition also transpired. A Frenchman could pleasantly invite some Cossacks into his home and give them their fill of alcohol as they sat around the table. When the ‘‘guests’’ were sufficiently stupefied, pistols and hunting rifles suddenly appeared in the hands of the host and his servants and the Cossacks were shot down before they could react. Alcohol and smiling faces became weapons that could lure unsuspecting invaders to their deaths. In one case, sixty Cossacks invited themselves into the large home of an unresisting French widow. She waited until they were asleep. Then she and her servants went outside and set fire to the place.29 Some civilians took more direct approaches. Many aided the army in the field in actions that have been discussed in the previous chapter. Providing manual labor, intelligence reports, supplies and materials were all highly valuable forms of assistance voluntarily given to the French army. Lacking weapons, this was the best help civilians could offer. When they did have weapons, they would fight. The action of the civilians participating in the fight against the retreating Allies at the Battle of Montereau was not an isolated incident. Civilians also served to guard and escort prisoners, including captives that they had taken themselves, taking the pressure off National Guards who usually performed such duties.30 Other civilians formed their own informal partisan groups. Some of these were tiny. A local priest led a band of a dozen men, although they were nicely armed with double-barreled hunting pieces. Whatever the size of the groups, they became increasingly effective. Cossacks could not safely sleep in barns, lest they be stabbed to death with pitchforks. Unescorted couriers were waylaid. Small supply convoys were ambushed. Foraging parties and reconnaissance patrols were attacked. The Allies had to tap into their manpower in order to provide larger escorts.31 Peasants and townspeople could not by themselves repel the Allied invasion. They were not sufficiently numerous, organized, or coordinated to be decisive. By the very nature of their origin they were highly localized. Their patterns of activity relied heavily on the actions of the French army as well as on what the invaders did. Of course the Coalition was likely to respond to partisan activity with reprisals, apparently unable to comprehend what had started the problem to begin with. More arson and more pillaging were supposed to deprive partisans of shelter and means of sustenance, although all civilians suffered thereby. Warfare of this nature always tends to get uglier before it is finished. While the Allies continued to wreak havoc in the countryside, the partisan groups grew and multiplied. Reprisals by French civilians could be quite brutal. Apart from immolating or stabbing to death sleeping Cossacks, there were stories that villagers had seized some Bavarian soldiers, blinded them, and crucified them by nailing them to the side of a building.32 Sometimes ‘‘partisan’’ activity really consisted of nothing more than enraged bands of peasants or villagers attacking small groups of Coalition

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soldiers and then disbanding and fleeing into the woods. Other partisan groups became more permanent. Despite their usually informal nature, time had to be a factor in the organization of partisan groups. Potential partisans have always needed time to confer (or conspire), arm themselves, decide where they are going to operate from, what they are going to do, and how and when they are going to do it. As long as the French army was operating in the field and keeping the Allies busy, partisan groups had an opportunity to organize and operate. Eventually the Allies did grow to fear them. They were referred to as the ‘‘blouses bleues,’’ for the blue workingmen’s smocks commonly worn by peasant laborers. Many of them managed to arm themselves with muskets picked up from battlefields. Others made do with hunting rifles, fowling pieces, or other old firearms. When there were not enough firearms to go around, peasants armed themselves with sabers, reaper blades, pitchforks, hatchets, and even butcher knives.33 Sometimes the French army was able to complement partisan activities with strong reconnaissance patrols. Napoleon sent out a detachment of Guard cavalry under Captain Parquin on such a mission, despite the fact that these troopers were irreplaceable. The French horsemen rode three leagues and came across a deserted village in flames. There they surprised some Russian grenadiers who were snoozing around a fire while a huge quantity of looted food stewed in an oversized pot they had taken: In view of the isolated position I was in, I should have had the Russian grenadiers shot immediately for I had come upon them in a village which the enemy had set on fire. But their lives were spared by the Emperor’s order that I should take some prisoners for him. I even went so far as to let them have some of the food they had prepared.34

This group of Russians was indeed lucky to have been caught by Imperial Guard cavalry instead of by French partisans, or they probably never would have awakened from their nap. Many French citizens lived in towns and cities that were never taken or occupied by the Allies during the campaign, but were in the theatre of operations. Some places were besieged or blockaded by Coalition troops early in the campaign, while others maintained garrisons that fought off attacks. A ‘‘blockade,’’ as opposed to a siege, was not necessarily meant to capture a town. The purpose of a blockade was merely to keep the garrison pinned down. It took fewer troops and less effort than a full-blown siege, which normally would require heavy siege guns and engineers. Citizens in besieged or blockaded towns were necessarily impacted by the military action, either directly or indirectly. Sieges of populated areas always raised issues of food supply among the garrison and the citizens of the town. A certain amount of cooperation was advisable. There were also health issues, not least because of the typhus epidemic.35 Soldiers and civilians trapped

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together in a besieged town were very much in danger if the illness appeared. Finally, there was additional risk to civilians if the Allies bombarded a town. Overall, French civilians in such places appear to have been remarkably cooperative with the military, or at least to have endured stoically. In some cases they did far more than endure. Part of the reason for this was that the garrisons of some places included National Guards who were of course friends and relatives of the people living in the town. One of the most dramatic instances of this was the defense of the town of Quesnoy in early March. The garrison was formed partly of the ‘‘sedentary’’ category of National Guards, who manned the cannons. Virtually all of the members of these local units were older family men. They not only served their cannons, but their families assisted in the heavy artillery work of wrestling the guns into place and carrying ammunition.36 A similar incident occurred during the blockade of Besancon. The eighteen-year-old wife of a captain of artillery helped fire a heavy siege cannon.37 Serving on an artillery crew was supposed to require extensive training, but not all the tasks involved were particularly specialized and some could be quickly learned. Moving the cannon and loading required hard work and heavy lifting, but at least some saw the labor as a family affair. No doubt Napoleon would have liked to view such acts as indications of a widespread patriotic response to the invasion, but the incidents were relatively isolated. However isolated, the responses to invasion did begin to add up. Some towns organized their own units to fight off enemy attacks or serve along with the garrisons. When an Allied force advanced on Compiegne, many of the National Guards left their posts and went home to protect their families. A number of townsmen, who inexplicably were not already part of the National Guards, went to the town hall to demand weapons. The men would at least theoretically have been eligible for the sedentaire category of National Guards. As we have seen, such membership often remained strictly theoretical, and many men remained ignorant of any such obligation.38 Their request for weapons was granted and they formed the Tirailleurs de la Ville. As such they helped repulse Coalition attacks in March.39 At Besancon the garrison included three volunteer companies formed of townsmen, as well as two volunteer companies formed from citizens from the surrounding area (the Department of Doubs). It also included three National Guard cohortes urbaines, which were composed of locals. The armed citizens in the garrison of Besancon, plus locally formed National Guards, accounted for about 2,500 men. The garrison also included the remnants of the Swiss ‘‘Neuchatel Battalion,’’ down to eighty-six men, and a depot company of Swiss troops. These were some of the last Swiss units ever in French service.40 The fortified city of Metz included in its garrison 4,750 local National Guards plus about 800 civilian volunteers divided into four companies.

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Some of the volunteers in Metz were only sixteen years old.41 For practical purposes, there was often not much difference between some local National Guard units (especially the sedentaire category) and civilian volunteers. The Regiment des Ardennes, over 750 men, which provided part of the garrisons for Mezieres and Charleville, was called a ‘‘National Guard’’ unit, but appears to have been more in the nature of a quickly organized volunteer group.42 Most civilians in besieged places could do little to aid directly in the defense of their towns, especially if there were weapons shortages or if all available males were already serving. Sometimes they were able to offer moral support, such as when the women of Landau presented a beautiful flag to the National Guards in the garrison. What they were basically doing was presenting a flag to their husbands.43 Not all civilian populations were equally supportive of the military garrisons, but all of them had to suffer the consequences of any sieges or blockades of their towns. Enemy howitzer and mortar bombardments caused casualties indiscriminately. During the siege of Belfort, a number of civilians were killed during a bombardment. Miraculously, a three-day-old infant was completely unharmed when a shell crashed through a roof and exploded under his crib, throwing him clear to a soft landing.44 Such bombardments produced a miniscule fraction of the devastation of the aerial raids of 20th-century wars, but they must have been frightening enough. Far more dangerous and terrifying was the typhus epidemic. Metz was particularly hard hit. As a major military position it saw a large influx of wounded men coming in from Germany at the end of the 1813 campaign. It was besieged early in the 1814 campaign and held out for the duration of the fighting. By the end of the 1814 campaign in early April, 7,289 members of the garrison and 1,294 civilians had died of typhus.45 The typhus epidemic was bad enough in Langres to come to the attention of the Minister of War. Copies of the letter regarding the typhus epidemic in Langres were sent to the Emperor, the Minister of the Interior, and the Commander of the 18th Military Division.46 The town of Maubeuge also reported a serious outbreak of the disease.47 Even though the epidemic had peaked at the end of 1813, it lingered in certain areas. Obviously, besieged or blockaded towns would be especially susceptible to continued incidence of the disease. Any town containing large numbers of wounded or sick soldiers could be in danger. Napoleon was concerned about concentrating too many sick soldiers in one place, and gave specific instructions to spread them out when he heard that Paris had taken in more than 12,000 wounded and sick men.48 Not all Frenchmen suffered in silence, nor did they support the Emperor’s cause. In the Vendee, historically a trouble spot for both Republic and Empire, rebellion smoldered. The French army was hardpressed to find troops to oppose the rebellion which, this time, was on a

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fairly small scale. A few gendarmes and regular infantry detachments were all that could be sent. In one action in early March, eighteen gendarmes lost one man killed and one wounded while fighting off several score of ‘‘brigands.’’49 Such actions were typical of the scale of fighting in the Vendee in 1814. The insurgency did not escalate into a major conflict before the campaign was over.50 While the Vendee was nowhere near the area under invasion, there was always the potential threat of a British landing there, or virtually anywhere along the coast of France for that matter. Napoleon had been forced by the invasion to make low priorities of both coastal defense and internal security. In the southwest corner of France, the Allies under Wellington advanced completely untroubled by any partisan activity whatsoever. The area was hardly a Bonapartist stronghold to begin with. Bordeaux had enjoyed highly profitable wine export business before the Revolution. The wars and the Continental System had hurt the region economically, and Bourbon sympathies ran higher than elsewhere in France. More importantly, Wellington was the one Allied army commander who kept a tight rein on his troops. Looting was absolutely forbidden, on pain of hanging. Troops were to behave correctly towards civilians. Wellington took care of his supply lines, and paid for requisitions in full. Soldiers were allowed to procure supplies for themselves, but only if they paid the asking price, and in coin. They did so, to the delight of the locals. Wellington even took the extra precaution of leaving behind in Spain 20,000 men of his less disciplined units (including most of his Spanish regiments), rather than risk misbehavior on their part in France. Wellington had a keen sense of what factors caused a populace to create and support partisan bands. He had seen for himself how counterproductive French behavior in Spain had been.51 Wellington’s policies were a success. His military advance was eased by the fact that Napoleon constantly drew off portions of Marshal Soult’s troops to reinforce his own army. Bordeaux declared for the Bourbons and handed itself over to Wellington, but a large French garrison left behind in Bayonne maintained itself until the end of the campaign.52 The French garrison in Bayonne numbered 14,000 men who were badly needed elsewhere, although they did tie down Allied troops who had to blockade the city. The surrounding area was, if not sympathetic to the British, eager to do business with them. The mayor of Bayonne issued an order prohibiting civilians from crossing back and forth between French and British lines during the siege.53 Schwarzenberg and Bl€ ucher would have been wise to emulate Wellington, but neither commander was known for the efficient discipline or logistical expertise of their British counterpart. Instead, they grew increasingly worried about partisan activity while continuing to supply French civilians with ample fodder for revenge and reprisals. Late in the campaign, the activity in eastern France was approaching an intensity that

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threatened Allied plans. According to one Coalition corps commander, the Ardennes was filled with French partisans. In the Argonne, 6,000 peasants were ready to fight, although only about 750 had firearms.54 Local civilians, without any organized French military units, were actually able to dislodge small Coalition detachments from the towns of Clermont and Islettes. Partisans repulsed Prussian lancers under Lutzow who had attempted to seize a chateau. Harassed by peasants during his retreat, Lutzow saved his column by passing himself and his men off as Poles— allies of the French.55 French generals were getting reports about partisan successes and some of them began to wax optimistic about the potential effects of the entire countryside in arms against the Coalition. One officer felt certain that 15,000 montagnards were available in the Vosges. Others advocated finding ways of providing the peasants with firearms and ammunition, clearly something easier said than done. Still, there was no denying the evidence. The partisans operating near the main French army, rather than killing Coalition troops in pairs or small groups, were now taking prisoners, and in fairly significant numbers. When Napoleon retook Troyes in late February, civilians managed to gather up 1,200 Allied stragglers.56 One thousand Coalition prisoners were turned over to the French army by peasants between March 25 and March 28.57 In just one action near Bar-sur-Aube, a peasant band captured 172 Austrian soldiers, along with one officer. Some of the French partisans seemed to have realized already that guerilla operations tend to be more successful if the partisans avoid atrocities and show that they are willing to take prisoners. Otherwise, the invading or occupying troops will always fight rather than surrender.58 Napoleon had long since abandoned his notions of limiting partisan activity to areas that had already been invaded. The military situation being what it was, decrees went out to every part of France, calling for the citizens to prepare to defend themselves. Allied troops could appear anywhere, anytime. Proclamations to that effect appeared everywhere. The broadsides would mention the Emperor, but bore the names of local officials as their authors. They all made clear that officers were available to lead volunteers. One proclamation, addressed to the ‘‘inhabitants of Puy-de-Dome,’’ read in part: Enemy detachments threaten our frontiers, and could soon penetrate our territory and attain their goals; to pillage the products of your soil and labor; to engage in violence against your women and children; to commit the atrocities that everywhere have marked their passage. . . . Run to arms, brave Auvergnats! Defend your frontiers, prepare yourselves and repulse those who wish to vomit all the curses of war on your birthplace.59

The rhetoric clearly bears the influence of both Napoleon and La Marseillaise. Surprisingly, similar proclamations appeared even in some ‘‘natural

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frontier’’ departments behind Allied lines. One appeared in Gand in both French and Flemish.60 Despite French localism and sketchy Bonapartist support in some areas, the Coalition did not have a completely firm hold anywhere and had no guarantees that their supply lines would be entirely safe along any route. Even Wellington’s troops began to run into hostile and dangerous territory beyond Bordeaux.61 Commanders on both sides could well accuse Schwarzenberg of being habitually overcautious, but he had cause to be jittery about his lines of communication and supply. The Allies had brought most of their problems on themselves. This is the great irony of French partisan activity in 1814. Better preparation and planning for partisan warfare on Napoleon’s part before the invasion started would certainly have helped his cause. More partisan activity at the beginning would have forced more Allied reprisals early on, which would have initiated a deadly and increasing spiral of partisan warfare. As it was, the Allied rhetoric about wishing only to fight Napoleon and not the French people was widely believed at first (and continued to be believed by many in Paris). In the end, it took the grossest cruelty and lack of discipline on the part of Coalition armies to create the major portion of French partisan activity. Clearly, there were no ‘‘typical’’ partisans. Any Frenchman (or Frenchwoman, for that matter) was a potential partisan, regardless of age, class, condition, or any other variable. Many of the men who eventually fought in partisan groups were supposed to have been serving anyway, either in the army or National Guards. Some of them were certainly individuals who never received notification of their conscription or were never mobilized, while others no doubt were insoumis or even deserters. Engaging in partisan action was beyond politics or considerations of personal safety. The only thing these people had in common was bitter anger directed against Coalition troops. The initial scarcity of partisan activity early in the campaign might tend at first glance to support the idea that the French were generally war-weary and unenthusiastic (or even hostile) toward Napoleon. To a certain extent this was indeed the case and such factors should not be dismissed, but, again, it is easy to exaggerate them. Despite the fact that the Allies assumed there would be some French partisan activity and that Napoleon made some sketchy plans for it beforehand, spontaneous guerilla warfare had not been the norm during the course of the Wars of the Revolution and Napoleonic Wars. Armies had marched destructively back and forth across Europe for over twenty years and in most cases operated unmolested by vengeful citizens in arms. On those occasions when the citizenry of a country did rouse itself against an invading or occupying force, it caught the attention of the world because the event was so exceptionally noteworthy. Both Jomini and Clausewitz, writing with the example of the Napoleonic Wars in mind, noted that guerilla warfare was a rare occurrence.62

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The most obvious example of widespread and effective partisan operations was in Spain during the years of French occupation (1808–1813). There were other popular uprisings during the Napoleonic Wars, and while they bear many similarities to what happened in Spain, none were as long lasting or successful. All of the particular circumstances that created guerilla warfare in Spain were not precisely duplicable elsewhere. For example, the religious motivation was particularly strong in Spain.63 Still, because there were similarities between Spain and guerilla resistance elsewhere during the Napoleonic Wars, we need to examine these factors. First, despite the initial uprising in the city of Madrid, guerilla warfare was not quite so spontaneous nor so universal throughout Spain as is commonly assumed.64 It came about and continued due to a variety of causes. The requisitions and excessive cruelties of the occupying French troops (and their allies) were a major factor in creating resentment and stimulating resistance. Naturally, brutal methods of attempting to repress partisans usually resulted in more violence.65 Even when it was clear that much of Spain would resist French occupation, the idea of guerilla warfare was not the automatic response. The Junta Central, serving as a de facto government in opposition to King Joseph, ordered the equivalent of a lev ee en masse only in December 1808, and did not specifically authorize the forming of partisan bands until April of 1809.66 The fate of regular Spanish army forces also played a role in creating widespread guerilla bands. Initially, the victory of ‘‘regulars’’ at Baylen encouraged volunteers, but it was the frequent defeat and dispersal of Spanish army regiments in subsequent clashes with the French that led so many Spaniards to resort to partisan methods. Many of the guerillas (or partidas, as they were also known in Spain) had been soldiers in regular Spanish regiments. With the defeat or dispersal of these regiments, survivors frequently became guerillas, often still wearing parts of their uniforms and carrying their issued weapons.67 The French logistical system and the large areas of operations in Spain also lent themselves to making guerilla warfare both feasible and effective. In some instances when the French were able to concentrate large garrisons in a relatively limited area, guerilla operations became impossible. Usually, the French did not have sufficient numbers and were too spread out over the vast Spanish countryside. Clausewitz, in his brief analysis of guerilla warfare (which he calls ‘‘The People in Arms’’) notes that partisan operations are more effective if the area of operations is large and the terrain is inaccessible.68 The presence of Wellington’s AngloPortuguese army also diverted French military efforts, allowing breathing space for Spanish partisans, who in turn did the same for Wellington. Regular Anglo-Portuguese army operations were essential to keeping the Spanish guerillas going over a period of five years.69 When we look at other partisan uprisings during the Napoleonic Wars, certain familiar patterns emerge. The Tyrolese did not spontaneously rise

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up as soon as they were annexed to Bavaria by the Peace of Pressburg in 1806. Andreas Hofer and others came forward to lead partisan groups only in 1809, after years of occupation. By then they had the Spanish example before them, but, more importantly, Austria was planning a war with France. The Austrians promised to send a regular army corps to cooperate with the Tyrolese and made good on the pledge once the war started.70 Operating in rough and remote areas, these guerillas were very successful, for a while. There was a religious aspect to the Tyrolese uprising, somewhat reminiscent of Spain. The partisans fought mainly against Bavarian, Wurttemberger, and Italian troops, although there were French units involved. When Austria lost the war after Wagram in July of 1809, the Tyrolese became isolated and were doomed to eventual defeat. Hofer was caught and executed early in 1810.71 The only guerilla warfare during the Napoleonic period that predated that in Spain occurred in the Kingdom of Naples, more specifically, in Calabria. As Owen Connelly pointed out, ‘‘Banditry, especially in Calabria, was a severe problem, decades, even centuries, old.’’72 French forces conquered Naples and beat the regular troops of the Bourbon rulers at the Battle of Morano early in 1806. When the defeated army withdrew to Sicily, a commander was left behind to lead an expected uprising. Nothing much happened at first, the ‘‘guerillas’’ in this case really being bandits interested mainly in plunder, with Neapolitan civilians being the easiest victims. Guerillas only became a problem for the occupation after heavy requisitioning and abuse, including the pursuit of veiled Calabrese women by French soldiers bent on amorous adventures. Again, local guerilla activity flared up when regular troops were introduced on the scene. A small British expedition to Naples won a victory over a French force at the Battle of Maida in July 1806. The invaders soon withdrew in the face of superior numbers. Murat’s French subordinate, General Manhes, effectively ended guerilla resistance by 1811, using a combination of ruthlessness against all who aided the guerillas and amnesty for those who surrendered.73 Russian partisan groups in 1812 also developed along some of the same lines as guerillas in other countries. Again, plundering and misbehavior on the part of the invading troops (especially by marauding stragglers) eventually inspired resentment among the locals.74 As Napoleon’s army advanced deeper into Russia, its long supply lines made a tempting target. Widely dispersed masses of weak and dispirited stragglers during the retreat were ideal guerilla victims. Key to the activities of Russian partisans was the presence of highly mobile ‘‘regular’’ Russian cavalry and Cossacks to assist them. Some Russian soldiers who had been captured by the French managed to escape behind the lines of the Grande Arm ee, and they went on to help form and lead partisan groups. Ironically, Russian military leadership at first hesitated to encourage partisan activity for many of the same reasons that made Napoleon nervous about doing so. The idea of

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undisciplined, uncontrolled peasants in arms worried the aristocratic Russian officers.75 As Clausewitz observed, some leaders objected to partisan warfare ‘‘on political grounds, considering it as a means of revolution, a state of legalized anarchy that is as much a threat to the social order at home as it is to the enemy.’’ The consistency between the views of Napoleon and the Russian aristocracy regarding the dangers of stirring up partisans is all the more remarkable in light of the Emperor’s later assertions (on St. Helena) that he had pondered the idea of liberating the serfs. The only political reorganization in Russia that Napoleon hinted at during the invasion was recreating a large ‘‘White Eagle’’ Poland, to be dominated of course by its own nobility.76 When we look at all these examples of various partisan uprisings during the Napoleonic Wars, it becomes clear that what happened in France in 1814 was actually fairly typical in many respects. With the exception of certain militant bands, people resorted to arms usually only after the invaders had abused them. Counter-measures frequently made matters worse. Partisans were often more active or more successful when regular troops were operating nearby or in conjunction with them. The political leadership of the country sometimes hesitated to take the primary role in launching guerilla warfare. Instead, it occurred as a response to the conditions of invasion. Guerilla warfare usually occurred when occupying forces were weak or distracted, or when they had long supply lines, or when the local terrain was rough or remote. Pre-existing social tensions, as well as local traditions of irregular military service or banditry, also played a role in determining where guerilla warfare occurred in the Napoleonic Wars.77 The French partisans in 1814 were working under a few disadvantages. Unlike the interminable war in Spain, the short campaign in France was over by the time the blouses bleues were becoming effective. Also, as General Guyot noted, the shortage of French cavalry in relation to the abundant Allied cavalry, as well as the relatively open terrain in Champagne were problematical: The inhabitants are courageous and able but this country is too open; we deliver these unhappy souls from the hands of the enemy only to let them be retaken an instant after.78

Such considerations also explain why French partisans became more numerous late in the campaign in areas such as the Ardennes and the Vosges. Not only were they further behind Allied lines, but they were in terrain more ideal for partisan activity. The idea that the level of French partisan activity in 1814 compares poorly to the national uprisings in Spain, the Tyrol, or Russia is generally overplayed. In fact, partisan activity in France in 1814 is very comparable to what happened elsewhere. It simply did not have time or opportunity to

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develop fully, but it was developing in ways that strongly resembled the other uprisings. It is true that most areas of France did not experience popular uprisings, but that is because many areas did not experience invasion. Napoleonic era partisans never existed where invaders were not. In Spain, partisans were widespread because the occupation was total. Indeed, it ended in parts of Spain as the French were driven out of various localities, the erstwhile guerillas generally being unwilling to continue as ‘‘volunteers’’ outside their own region. Also, in those localities where French occupation in Spain was intelligently administered, as in the case of Marshal Suchet in Aragon, there was a noticeable drop in guerilla activity. One Spanish partisan claimed in frustration that, because of Suchet’s policies, the Aragonese were ‘‘indolent, many, even, sympathetic to the invaders.’’79 Localism, as opposed to nationalism, still prevailed among most classes throughout much of Europe. The expectations of the Allies (and some historians ever since) were distorted by misperceptions of how guerilla warfare had actually worked in Spain. Coalition leaders had become convinced by their own rhetoric of ‘‘the people in arms.’’ The problem for historians is that the issues of French apathy and war-weariness overshadow everything that happened in 1814. The impression can become the explanation. Did war-weariness play a role in reducing the level of French partisan activity? Possibly so, but given the circumstances surrounding partisan efforts, even that is not entirely certain. Allied propaganda also had some effect early on, but the most effective anti-partisan policy of all was the ‘‘ounce of prevention’’ method used by Wellington. The final irony is that, small thanks to Napoleon’s own initial plans, French partisan activity finally reached a level high enough to figure into his military strategy at the end of the campaign. Overly optimistic to begin with, he needed little encouragement from subordinates to imagine eastern France in arms against his enemies. This is not to say that his plan to move his army into eastern France would not have worked. The main army, reinforced with the garrisons of eastern France, and working along with the partisans in the region, would have utterly devastated Allied supply lines. In order to make the plan work, Napoleon had to assume that the two main Coalition armies would not march directly on Paris. Failing that, it was necessary for Paris to be defended strongly enough to hold out on its own for at least several days, preferably longer. These were not unreasonable assumptions, but they were extraordinarily risky ones. The Allied capture of Napoleon’s plans and dispatches from his ministers transformed a risky plan into a fatal one for the Emperor of the French.

CHAPTER 11

The Battles of Fere-Champenoise

M

arshals Mortier and Marmont, as we have seen, received Napoleon’s orders to link up with the main French army under his personal command. They attempted to do so to assist in the maneuver into the rear areas of the Army of Silesia and the Army of Bohemia. Instead, they ran smack into the advance guards of those two armies and hastily prepared to defend themselves. The result was two separate actions on March 25, 1814, which took place far from the sight and hearing of Napoleon, operating nearly sixty miles away to the southeast. He had no idea that Bl€ ucher and Schwarzenberg were driving straight for Paris and that the French forces of Marmont and Mortier were the only troops standing in their path. The first (and larger) action involved the French troops under the direct command of Marmont and Mortier. Their force was relatively small, although it did include Young Guards. It also included National Guards. The Marshals had between them about 16,500 men, of which 4,000 were cavalry. They had at least sixty cannon.1 Of the massive Allied forces on their way to Paris, only a portion was engaged at Fere-Champenoise. A large proportion of the Coalition troops at Fere-Champenoise were cavalry, supported by artillery. This could be a deadly combination, if properly used, against infantry. The cavalry could force opposing infantry to form squares. Unless the squares were protected by terrain, they would present easy targets to artillery, which would chew them up and in turn make them vulnerable to cavalry charges. The attacking Allied cavalry eventually numbered at least 10,400 troopers, including Austrians, Prussians, Russians, and W€ urtembergers. They were supported by twenty-two battalions of Allied infantry. The Allies also 143

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had at least eighty cannon. Altogether there were about 28,000 Coalition troops engaged in the battle, giving them nearly two-to-one odds.2 The Allies came up piecemeal, as did the French. Marmont’s corps was first on the field and had to wait for Mortier’s corps. In one of his last truly gallant military gestures, Marmont, when deciding to hold while he waited for Mortier’s men, said, ‘‘It is better to perish with them than to save ourselves without them.’’3 The Allied cavalry superiority soon put the French in an untenable position. Although Marmont and Mortier were defending on high ground, there was no way they could guarantee the security of their flanks. Swarming Coalition horsemen could get around either end of the French defenses. The only option was to attempt a fighting withdrawal, an extremely difficult tactical maneuver, even with the most experienced troops. Otherwise, the entire French force might be cut off and captured when the main Allied force came up. One battalion of conscripts, recruited from Compiegne, had only been in existence for two months. It formed an ugly asymmetrical square in the face of the Allied cavalry attacks. Their commander, an Old Guard veteran, realized there was no time to fix the formation. Shrugging, he combined sarcasm with sound advice. ‘‘Go ahead my little friends, form up like

Figure 11.1 Marshal Marmont. Controversy still swirls around his role in the 1814 campaign. (From W. M. Sloane’s Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1901.)

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a troop of sheep. Hold your fire until they are on top of you, and then take them down, and all of this cavalry will not break into you.’’4 The idea was that a square, even a badly formed one, could help itself if in its first volley it could shoot down enough enemy horses and men close enough to form an instant unwilling and bleeding barricade where they fell. The tactic worked in this case for these conscripts, but the same could not be said for all of the French infantry units on the field. They began to waver. The combination of Coalition artillery fire and cavalry charges was too much. The available French cavalry attempted to counter-charge in order to cover the retreat. A large portion of these troopers were untrained, and their units were a semi-organized hodgepodge of ‘‘march regiments,’’ intended only to be parceled out as reinforcements. A few of the veteran French cavalry regiments made successful charges, but these veteran units were at a fraction of full strength. Overall most of the French horsemen were outclassed as well as outnumbered. Their counter-attacks ultimately proved futile. Russian Imperial Guard cavalry repulsed the French heavy cuiraissier regiments on the field.5 A brief downpour of rain made life more difficult for the infantrymen in the French squares. Their gunpowder was wet and they could only defend themselves with bayonets. A Young Guard infantry regiment, the 14th Tirailleurs, attempting to act as a rearguard, had its square badly shaken by artillery fire and was broken up by a cavalry charge of W€ urtembergers and Austrians. An entire Young Guard infantry brigade, composed of the 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th regiments of Voltigeurs, was caught by Allied cavalry while attempting to withdraw in column formations. Except for the 8th regiment, the brigade was chopped up and the survivors surrendered. A desperate charge by 400 French cavalry reinforcements briefly stemmed the tide and helped prevent total disaster. As it was, Marmont and Mortier had lost thousands of men and at least twenty-four cannon.6 The battle was just winding down when the French and Allies all heard cannons firing in the distance. The cannon fire helped to rally the beaten French—many of the men thought that Napoleon was returning with the main army and began to cheer ‘‘Vive l’Empereur!’’ The gunfire seemed to be coming from the north and slightly to the west. Even if Napoleon had suddenly changed his plans and made an incredible forced march back towards Paris, he would not have been coming from that direction. Marmont and Mortier realized this, even if their men did not. They took advantage of the lull and got what was left of their two corps away. The Allies, satisfied with the day’s results so far, turned most of their cavalry in the direction of the sound of the guns.7 The cannon fire of course did not signal the approach of Napoleon, who was well beyond a day’s march away to the southeast. In fact, a column of Allied cavalry had come upon a large French supply train escorted by less than 4,000 men. These troops made up two under-strength ‘‘divisions’’

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under Generals Pacthod and Amey. The men were mostly National Guards. There were a few tiny battalions of regular infantry in the column, including one from the 54th Line Infantry. There was also a ‘‘provisional’’ regiment made up of new recruits. The column had a miniscule cavalry detachment of one hundred horsemen, and an artillery contingent of sixteen cannon. The supply train included about 200 wagons, half of which were crammed with newly manufactured artillery ammunition, while the other wagons carried provisions including 200,000 rations of bread.8 It was an impressive convoy of supplies, and it had been intended for Napoleon’s main army, but his recent maneuvers had placed him out of range of any immediate logistical support from Paris. Clearly the French war effort was still cranking out significant amounts of materiel, perhaps one of the most surprising and overlooked aspects of the action involving this convoy. Further evidence of French supply production is indicated by a commissariat report from late February listing at that point 100,000 rations of meat and 50,000 rations of bread available for issue to the army. Despite the ravages of war, blockade, and invasion, and despite internal disruption and bureaucratic confusion, the French were able to gather significant amounts of food supplies during the 1814 campaign. Also, there was now a smaller army to supply than had been the case in the past. The main difficulty was getting these supplies to the various garrisons and to the troops in the field. As a result of this logistical obstacle, soldiers often went hungry. Considering shortages and mobilization difficulties, 200 wagons in a single supply convoy in 1814 is a remarkable accomplishment. It would also seem to be an adequate number to support the needs of Napoleon’s field army in 1814, but obviously could not reach its intended destination.9 The National Guards in the escort for this valuable convoy were made up of a collection of small battalions. Pacthod’s men had served in the field during the campaign (although mostly in reserve) and so were not completely raw. Marshal Oudinot had refused to put these National Guards in the front lines at Bar-sur-Aube, so little did he trust their battle worthiness.10 Pacthod’s men had seen a little action in the early phases of the Battle of Montereau in February, when they had supported Pajol’s initial cavalry attack. According to most French authorities, the National Guards at Fere-Champenoise had no uniforms, although Pacthod’s men had been ordered to supply themselves with overcoats and shakos from the captured W€ urtembergers and Austrians after the Battle of Montereau. The policy of using captured clothing items was widespread, but not without problems. There were reports from Clarke that many captured Coalition shakos and overcoats were useless because they were infested with vermin. However, the National Guards were also to take any weapons and gibernes they needed from that battlefield of Montereau. Whatever Pacthod’s men lacked in the way of uniforms, they were at least well armed.11

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The National Guard units present at Fere-Champenoise included men from the departments of Indre-et-Loire, Loire-et-Cher, Eure-et-Loire, Maine-et-Loire, Loiret, Seine-et-Marne, Seine-et-Oise, Calvados, Manche, and Somme, and from the cities of Cherbourg and Rochefort.12 This meant that most of the men were from the Loire valley, departments close to Paris, or the Channel coast, and therefore not from areas that had been directly touched by the invasion. Most of them would have been from rural areas, except for the units from Cherbourg and Rochefort. While their own homes had not yet been touched by invasion, these National Guards had marched over those areas that had been, and no doubt had witnessed the suffering of the civilians and the burning villages in Champagne. Some of the battalions of both the regulars and National Guards were almost too small to make viable column or square formations on the battlefield. In Amey’s division the Manche battalion had only 275 men, the Calvados unit had 187 men, and the battalion from the 46th Line had 287 men.13 Any losses that the National Guards had suffered thus far in the campaign would have been mostly from illness or desertion, so what remained was a fairly hardy group. Delderfield erroneously described the French combatants at Fere-Champenoise as teenagers, while Elting much more accurately described the majority of them as ‘‘respectable fathers of families.’’14 There were probably a few teenagers mixed in with the National Guards, and some among the bachelors in the regular battalions, but, as we have seen, none of these would have been younger than nineteen years old. At first, Pacthod’s and Amey’s total numbers in infantry troops roughly equaled the total numbers of Coalition cavalry confronting them. That situation rapidly changed as more and more Allied horsemen arrived on the field, bringing with them large amounts of artillery. The French were faced again with a deadly tactical combination. The cavalry would leave them little choice but to form square or be outflanked, surrounded, and cut to pieces, while on the other hand the artillery would zero in on the compact squares and hit them with roundshot. Pacthod was an experienced general who had been wounded while commanding a brigade in 1807, and now handled the situation at Fere-Champenoise as competently as any commander could have.15 He attempted to keep his men in columns rather than squares for as long as possible and put some distance between his command and the Coalition troopers. He then had to put some of the units in squares so as to cover the movement of those who were still in column. Pacthod and Amey did not order their battalions to form squares individually, but by brigade.16 The ‘‘brigades’’ were only about battalion size anyway. All of this took very disciplined marching, especially for relatively inexperienced troops encumbered by the presence of numerous supply wagons, but the National Guards and conscripts performed the maneuvers properly. Eventually, Pacthod and Amey had their entire force organized in six squares, which the Coalition cavalry surrounded. The supply wagons had

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to be abandoned. The lives of the men were at stake. The squares repulsed several cavalry charges. Under artillery fire, they continued to march. Marching from square formation was one of the most complicated and difficult maneuvers Napoleonic troops could make, even on a parade ground, let alone on a battlefield under fire, and yet Pacthod and Amey had no choice but to attempt to get their semi-trained troops to do it. Technically, a proper square formation was completely immobile, since all the troops would be facing outward. To move, infantry in a square would normally have to change into some sort of marching formation such as a column and then quickly reform their square. Conceivably, troops in a square could form four ad hoc columns (one from each side) rather than a single large column. They could then quickly align themselves into a square again when they stopped. Either way, it was a complex and dangerous evolution.17 Incredibly, the men executed the maneuvers flawlessly. Even more amazing, they were able to break through the surrounding Allies at one point. Predictably, the continuously reinforced Allies were able to surround the force again. Reformed into four squares, the French laboriously marched in the direction of a distant swamp, which would hopefully provide an escape route and impede the Allied cavalry formations.18 They almost made it. Unfortunately for the Frenchmen, the Allied horsemen on the field eventually numbered about 28,000, odds of roughly seven-to-one. The Allies (mostly Russians here) also had the use of sixtyfour cannon.19 The swarming cavalry hacked and stabbed away at the French with their swords and lances, but it was the cannon that destroyed the squares as the action dragged on for hours. The Allied artillery pulled up so close to the French that the cannonballs would hit one side of a square, rend the men into bloody debris, pass through the middle, and smash into the men on the opposite side of the square. At one point some rounds crashed clear through the French squares and caused casualties among Russian cavalry, attacking from the other side. One French square was blasted virtually to pieces and finally disintegrated, but the survivors, rather than surrender, made their way to the shelter of the adjacent square formation.20 The French volleyed with their muskets, but had to move away from any barriers formed of animal and human corpses, because to stay in place was to present a stationary target for the Allied cannon. Finally, any further movement became impossible. Russian infantry reinforced the Coalition cavalry and artillery. The Allies had closed in too tightly and there was nowhere to go, although some men of one square did get away into the swamp. For the rest of the Frenchmen, there was no escape. They stood and closed the gaps in their steadily shrinking squares. Their musket ammunition was nearly gone. Toward sunset, Tsar Alexander and the Prussian King Frederick-William arrived on the field and witnessed part of the battle. Impressed by the steady courage of the French, they sent their aides to demand surrender to prevent further

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bloodshed. ‘‘I wish to save these brave men,’’ Alexander reportedly said.21 Pacthod, his arm bleeding from a fresh wound, replied to the surrender demands saying, ‘‘Military regulations do not permit me to parley under fire, and my honor prevents me from negotiating so long as you shoot.’’22 The firing died down, and eventually the remaining Frenchmen, their ammunition exhausted, laid down their weapons. Tsar Alexander insisted that Pacthod keep his sword when the wounded French general attempted to hand it over. Between 1,500 and 2,000 Frenchmen lay on the field wounded, dead, or dying. Over 1,500 were taken prisoner, including many who were wounded. A few hundred had escaped into the swamps. All the supply vehicles had been captured. Of the sixteen French cannons, the Allies recorded fifteen captured. Desperate French soldiers had managed to heave one cannon into the swamp to prevent it being taken. Allied casualties for this fierce little battle remain unknown.23 French writers are universally proud of this ‘‘Thermopylae’’ of 1814, and American and British writers are almost equally effusive in their praise of the courage of Pacthod’s and Amey’s National Guards and conscripts. The admiration is justified, but the accounts of the action, while detailed, cannot fully convey the horror experienced by the Frenchmen in the battle. What is perhaps more amazing than the sheer physical courage displayed by these men is how that courage manifested itself in such a stoic and disciplined fashion. The men held steady under point blank artillery fire. They marched in square formation as cannonballs literally ripped their comrades to bits, and closed the gaps in their ranks, trying to step over the mangled, bloody corpses and body parts of their friends and relatives. With deadly iron missiles whistling past their ears, they stood firm as

Figure 11.2 Pacthod’s troops at the Battle of Fere-Champenoise. The illustration shows the National Guards wearing a mix of civilian and military clothing, as they stand courageously in their squares.

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thousands of thundering cavalry poked sabers and lances in their faces. Such a display of courage compels head-shaking admiration, mixed with pity. These novice soldiers, wearing an odd assortment of ragged civilian clothes, wooden shoes, captured uniforms and boots, should by any reasonable expectation have fallen to pieces after a few artillery volleys and one or two cavalry charges. Instead, they performed the most difficult tactical evolutions under impossible conditions, and for several hours. Why and how they did so defies ready explanation. Was it the leadership of Pacthod and the other officers? Was it the things the men had witnessed in Champagne? It could not have been the importance of the supply train they were escorting. They had to abandon that, but they kept on fighting anyway. Most of the men were matured adults—at least in their late twenties or thirties—but some were younger. Many of the National Guards were serving with relatives and men they had known their whole lives, but the regular conscripts for the most part had known their comrades for a few months at best. Surely there were veterans among the National Guards and the regulars, but only a tiny minority. They were not Old Guards. They just fought as if they were. The stand of the men under Pacthod and Amey has quite understandably become the stuff of legend, but unfortunately this can lead to misunderstandings regarding both the facts and the significance of the action. The men in the squares were not callow ‘‘Marie-Louises,’’ at least not for the most part.24 Indeed, at least in terms of average age, they were the type of recruits Napoleon had in mind before the campaign began when he said he wanted ‘‘men, not children.’’ Although there is no record of the daily itinerary of the troops under Pacthod during the campaign, there can be little doubt that he must have drilled his men at every opportunity. Otherwise, their performance at Fere-Champenoise would not have been possible. They made a motley appearance, but were well armed. In short, despite the perceptions of many French generals, they were precisely the sort of units Napoleon would have liked to create more of, given sufficient time and resources. Does this necessarily mean that the troops in the second battle of FereChampenoise were entirely atypical? This is a thorny problem for all such military legends. On the one hand, nations want to honor their war heroes as exceptional men, but on the other hand, there is a desire to see such men as somehow representative of the nation.25 The men have to be perceived as tremendously brave, but what was exceptional about them is the situation they found themselves in. The implication is that another group of their countrymen, finding themselves in the same predicament, might have behaved equally heroically. Heroes have a role to play, but they are not supposed to be the exception that proves the rule. As far as the troops of Pacthod and Amey are concerned, they turned out to be exceptional in that they possessed above-average training, maturity, discipline,

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and cohesiveness. Also, the dire straits at Fere-Champenoise were indeed unusual. As for raw physical courage, one cannot reliably predict it in advance. What we can say is that the heroes of Fere-Champenoise were not the only brave men in the French army in 1814. The two battles of Fere-Champenoise offer an interesting case study of the performance of French troops during the 1814 campaign, not least because they did not have the significant benefit of Napoleon’s personal presence.26 The defeat of the troops (including Young Guards) on the main battlefield was both predictable and understandable. For that matter, the Young Guard never remotely acquired the respect given to their comrades in the Old Guard. Judging the actual quality of various Young Guard regiments would be an iffy business, especially in 1814. Without the extra training of previous years, Young Guard conscripts really had little (if any) advantage over their counterparts in regular infantry regiments. In any case, the outcome of the main battle at Fere-Champenoise makes perfect military sense given the nature of the opposing forces. The smaller battle is more puzzling because of the extraordinary heroism displayed by the French troops. Yet there had been numerous examples of courageous conduct throughout the campaign, including on the part of poorly trained conscripts. Whether or not soldiers were fighting in their own departments, the importance of the idea of defending France as a whole should not be underestimated. The traditional power of regionalism and localism was still strong, but did not trump all other factors. Wherever ‘‘home’’ was, it was somewhere in France for all of the men, and there was a clear danger that the invaders could get to wherever home was eventually. For Frenchmen, defending France ultimately meant defending one’s home. In wartime, the concept of defending a common homeland will create a bond between men, whatever their district of origin might be. The fact that most of the fighting involved keeping the enemy away from Paris, the common capital, is a symbolic issue that also merits consideration. Defending Paris may even have seemed more vital to the ‘‘provincials’’ than it did to some Parisians. Of crucial importance was the issue of leadership in specific actions. Good leaders took whatever slim opportunities there were to drill their men. If nothing else, they worked on march discipline ‘‘on the job’’ and en route during the campaign. Officers could also make an enormous difference with brave personal leadership on the battlefield. The downside was of course the physical risk factor. An officer had to combine courage with a little luck sometimes. Generally speaking, when the French were well led in 1814, they fought very well indeed, regardless of the state of their training or equipment. The combat at Fere-Champenoise is not the only example of this in 1814, but it is the most dramatic one. By the same token, poor leadership could have devastating effects. This was evident at various times in 1814, and played a role in the events described in the next chapter.

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CHAPTER 12

The Fall of Paris

I

t took the ponderous Allied armies four more days after the battles of Fere-Champenoise to reach Paris. Inadequate French forces failed in a feeble delaying action at Meaux on March 27. In redemptive fashion, a small French and Polish cavalry detachment launched a successful ambush on a Prussian advance guard at Claye-Souilly on March 28.1 The respite was momentary. There were not sufficient forces available to arrest the Allied advance. After over twenty years of warfare, Coalition forces would finally reach the gates of Paris. Still, the French had means of resistance. Would they defend the capital itself? Was a defense feasible? We have seen that when Napoleon left Paris in late January, he had placed its defense in the shaky hands of his brother Joseph. Even given Napoleon’s fixation with the Bonaparte dynasty, the authority conferred on Joseph in 1814 remains puzzling. Joseph had been unable, after all, to hold onto the throne of Spain that Napoleon had given him. Joseph was not quite so enigmatic as his younger brother, but has been variously described as frivolous, handsome, socially adept, soft, unmilitary, intelligent, capable of intrigue, and lacking in judgment.2 The command structure in Paris was actually fairly complex. Marie-Louise was technically the regent, but Joseph acted in the capacity of both her advisor and as Napoleon’s chief lieutenant in Paris. Therefore, he outranked all military and ministerial personnel present. He also had the additional authority of being the National Guard commander-in-chief, while Marshal Moncey commanded the National Guards in Paris. Clarke’s responsibilities as Minister of War did include the mobilization of troops in Paris, and Daru’s responsibilities as Minister of War Administration embraced the production of military supplies in Paris. General Hulin commanded the 1st military division, which 153

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was the Paris region, and in that capacity was responsible for the garrisons of Paris and its faubourgs. Hulin had the distinction of having participated in the storming of the Bastille on July 14, 1789. As such he was a nice token ‘‘Revolutionary’’ in the Paris command.3 It had not been Napoleon’s intention to create an overlapping and topheavy command structure in Paris. Rather, the idea was a division of specific tasks and responsibilities among the men in question. For such a command structure to work, however, a firm guiding hand was required at the top. This was beyond Joseph’s abilities, or even his inclinations. Also, it is important to reemphasize the fact that Napoleon had drained his subordinates in Paris of any motivation to exhibit initiative. Even from the hectic battlefields of Champagne, the Emperor harangued, criticized, and micromanaged. Worse, he had at different times given instructions that could be construed variously, especially by someone of Joseph’s ‘‘unmilitary’’ temperament. At first, Napoleon’s attitude towards the defense of Paris could only be described as unequivocal. On January 12, he had spoken of ‘‘never surrendering Paris’’ and of ‘‘burying ourselves in its ruins.’’4 In his final instructions to Joseph before leaving for the front on January 24, Napoleon had made the defense of Paris a priority, although he failed to leave detailed plans for fortifications.5 Napoleon’s rambling letter from the field on February 8 (written after the defeat at La Rothiere but before the string of victories a few days later) seemed to have caused Joseph a great deal of confusion. The confusion is to some extent understandable. Early in the letter Napoleon wrote, ‘‘Paris will never be occupied while I live.’’ He went on, however, to say that his son and Marie-Louise should not remain in the capital ‘‘if it is evacuated by our forces.’’ Napoleon then gave specific orders to remove Marie-Louise and the King of Rome from Paris ‘‘if a battle is lost and there is news of my death’’[Emphasis added throughout].6 Joseph would interpret this letter as the main rationale for having all personnel of the Imperial Government leave Paris once the Allies arrived at the outskirts of the capital. With certain words and lines emphasized (or perhaps even without such emphasis) it seems that this was not what Napoleon had in mind. Joseph’s perception of his duty makes more sense in light of a much later correspondence from his brother. On March 16, Napoleon wrote to Joseph: You must not permit, in any case, the Empress and the King of Rome to fall into enemy hands. I am going to maneuver in such a way that it is possible that you will go several days without receiving my reports. If the enemy advances on Paris in such force that all resistance becomes impossible, have the Regent evacuate in the direction of the Loire.7

The key here was leaving to Joseph the necessity of deciding at what point enemy strength would create a situation in which ‘‘all resistance becomes impossible.’’ Such a judgment was well beyond Joseph’s military abilities.

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After perfunctory consultation with Clarke, Joseph decided that an effective defense of Paris was not feasible.8 With this as a postulate, he could only be expected to press the Empress to leave Paris with her son. He was not alone in his interpretation of the situation, and Marie-Louise was soon confronted with a baffling array of Frenchmen urging her to flee. Incredibly, the council debating whether Marie-Louise should remain in Paris or not included not only the Imperial Ministers, but also Talleyrand. He suggested that she should remain, and contended later that this was a ploy, since he assumed the council would follow a course opposite to his advice.9 Some sincerely argued that Marie-Louise should stay. They feared, quite reasonably, that the spectacle of the Empress and the King of Rome evacuating the capital could only have the most negative effect on both the army and the populace. Among the few who were against evacuation, Boulay de la Meurthe suggested a radically different course: Marie-Louise, carrying the King of Rome, should be escorted through the faubourgs and to the Hotel de Ville, calling the people of Paris to arms.10 Such bold ideas only mattered if one assumed that a defense of Paris was a military practicality. No one thought that Paris could hold out indefinitely, but if Paris could hold out for at least several days, it would give Napoleon an excellent chance to attack the rear areas of the Coalition armies and force a retreat. But where exactly was Napoleon? Marie-Louise has come in for harsh and rather undeserved criticism regarding her passive attitude during this ultimate crisis. The letter she wrote to Napoleon after being advised to leave Paris shows that she understood the situation only too well: I tell you quite frankly that I am dead against this idea, I am sure it will have a terrible effect on the Parisians, it will rob them of all that courage they would otherwise have summoned up to defend themselves. The National Guard will do nothing anymore, and when you arrive to liberate us, you will find the capital in the enemy’s power.11

The assessment of the erstwhile Habsburg princess was stunningly perceptive and accurate. She continued in the same vein before departing Paris on March 29: My Darling I am writing one more note before leaving. They insist on my going, only M. Boulay and the Duc de Cadore, with myself a third, are opposed to the idea. I should have been quite brave enough to stay, and I am very angry that they wouldn’t let me, especially when the Parisians are showing such eager determination to defend themselves, but my opinion carries no weight at all in this matter. . . . I am certain you won’t like it, it will undermine the courage of the National Guard. . . . I am really angry at having to go, it will have terrible disadvantages for you, but they pointed out to me that my son would be running into danger, and that was why I daren’t contradict once I had seen the letter you wrote to the King [Joseph].12

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It is interesting to note Marie-Louise’s assertion that the Parisians were showing ‘‘eager determination to defend themselves.’’ If she noticed this, why didn’t the men around her? She was right again to notice that to them the judgment of a young woman ‘‘carried no weight’’ in such matters. They apparently assumed that the spirit of the Parisians did not matter. To them, the size and strength of the enemy armies trumped all other factors. It is also interesting that Joseph felt compelled to use Napoleon’s own letter from March 16 as ‘‘evidence’’ to back his argument for evacuation. Napoleon himself obviously was never able to weigh in directly on the debate, not least because the last few letters from Marie-Louise never reached him. Even if they had somehow gotten through enemy lines, there was no time for any reply. Just before Marie-Louise was to leave, some National Guard officers, no doubt remembering their pledge to Napoleon on his departure in January, appealed to her to stay. Immediately countering this, the nervous ministers urged her to hurry on her way. They were terrified of the idea that she might fall into enemy hands. At this point, Marie-Louise appears to have crumbled completely. The precocious King of Rome had literally to be carried out of the Tuileries. Clinging to doors and banisters, he shouted,

Figure 12.1 Empress Marie-Louise. (From G. Kircheisen’s Die Frauen um Napoleon, 1912.)

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‘‘I don’t want to leave my house! I don’t want to go! Since Papa isn’t here, I am the master!’’13 It is ironic that the Empress, a few lower ranking officers and ministers, and a small boy possessed a more martial instinct than the Emperor’s chief subordinates. Marie-Louise would have had to be made of very stern stuff indeed to overrule the decisions of her advisors in Paris and remain there, especially in light of Napoleon’s confusing and contradictory instructions to Joseph. Joseph and the ministers did not follow Napoleon’s instructions to the letter anyway, since he had stated that if the Empress were evacuated the entire government should go with her. Instead, for the time being, only Cambaceres and a few others accompanied her escort out of Paris (having her leave necessitated a significant detachment of precious mounted troopers). Naturally, the departure of the Empress and the King of Rome did indeed have a very adverse effect on morale in Paris, although such judgments are subjective. There was nothing subjective, however, about the numbers of citizens (at least those with horses and vehicles) quitting the capital as quickly as they could. Most people remained in Paris, but not happily. Joseph, in a manner that contradicted his other actions, appealed to the Parisians to defend themselves.14

Figure 12.2 Napoleon’s son, ‘‘The King of Rome.’’ (From G. Kircheisen’s Die Frauen um Napoleon, 1912.)

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Despite the prevailing opinion that Paris was indefensible, there would in fact be a defense of the capital. There seemed little point to such a fight, other than to satisfy early-19th-century notions of honor. On the other hand, there was always the outside chance that if the Allies could be delayed just a little, then the Emperor could suddenly appear and retrieve the situation. There were troops available. Aside from the garrison, there were the battered corps of Marmont and Mortier. Clarke, at the last minute, suddenly occupied himself with instructions for scraping together as many troops as possible and organizing some sort of defense. Joseph stayed for the first part of the battle, but really had no idea what to do. He did not lack physical courage, but was mortally frightened of his responsibility. He passed the buck to Marshals Marmont and Mortier and gave them authority to negotiate the surrender of Paris if they could no longer hold their positions. Joseph then left the city.15 The Allies had decided to make their attack to the north of Paris, with the aim of taking the heights of Montmartre. If they succeeded, at the very least their cannon would then dominate the city. It was a fine enough grand tactical concept, but details of the operation were not particularly well thought-out. They had at least 110,000 troops available, and were able to get about 60,000 of these into attack formations in the predawn hours of March 30. They began their attack on a broad front and quickly got tangled up in a series of uncoordinated assaults on the northern faubourgs.16 The numbers available to the French for the defense of the capital were in flux as the attack began. The remnants of the corps of Marmont and Mortier included regulars, Young Guards, a volunteer battalion, the ‘‘Polish Cossacks,’’ and a few National Guards from the departments. The garrison, including regular and Imperial Guard depot battalions, added themselves to these corps. Small units of cadets also participated in the  fight. These included students from the Ecole Polytechnique, Saint Cyr, and Alfort (a school for army veterinarians). The National Guards of Paris were another matter. Theoretically, there were 30,000 of them, but many of these had no muskets. In any case, most of them declined to take part in the battle. Many National Guards and some gendarmes refused to join the fight on the battlefield, conveniently concluding that it was more important to maintain order within the city. A couple thousand National Guards were given muskets only on the morning of the battle. At most 12,000 Paris National Guards, less than half the number present, actually participated in the defense. In stark contrast, workers and citizens who were not in the National Guard crowded before the Hotel de Ville, clamoring for weapons. Unable to obtain muskets, some civilians made their way to the battle in progress and picked up weapons from the field. Likewise, groups of National Guards and armed civilians from the faubourgs fought near their own doorsteps. The total number of armed men fighting on the French

Map 12.1 The Battle of Paris, March 30, 1814. (Jan Baxter.)

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side, was probably somewhere near 42,000. This would give the Allies an edge of almost 20,000 men initially, with the possibility of adding another 50,000 reinforcements during the battle.17 The Battle of Paris was desperate and bloody, and continued all day. The fighting around the faubourg of Pantin was especially fierce. Despite the absence of the Emperor, the evacuation of the Empress, and the departure of Joseph during the fight, the badly outnumbered Frenchmen on the battlefield fought valiantly to defend the capital. Coalition troops also fought bravely, and their massive columns continued making headlong assaults. One French veteran, mortally wounded, gasped his last words: ‘‘They are too many.’’ Organized Allied forces never got into Paris proper during the battle, although they attacked the barrier at the route to Clichy. Marshal Moncey, in his role as National Guard commander, defended this with a small force he had scraped together in the city. Marmont and Mortier accepted Coalition parleys and began negotiations to surrender the city. They agreed on terms at two in the morning on March 31, 1814. The French army (minus Paris National Guards) would evacuate and retreat intact before the Allies entered the city later the same day. Casualty figures vary, but the battle for the capital had cost each side thousands of killed

Figure 12.3 Defense of the Clichy Gate. Marshal Moncey directs the defense of the Clichy Gate, helping to keep Coalition troops out of Paris proper during the March 30 battle for the city. National Guards serve as makeshift artillery crews in the distance. In the foreground are wounded French troops from line and Imperial Guard detachments. (From W. M. Sloane’s Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1901.)

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and wounded. Losses may have been as high as 9,000 for each side in the battle, brutal casualty rates in proportion to the forces engaged.18 Marmont could have made the decision to continue fighting, since Mortier usually deferred to him. This would have meant fighting in the streets of Paris, something Marmont actually threatened to do during the negotiations with Coalition officers if they insisted on the surrender of the French forces, in addition to the city.19 Street fighting was not unknown during the Napoleonic Wars. Many cities and towns had been the scene of savage fighting, although this had not occurred in any major capital, with the exception of the uprisings in Madrid and Cairo. The decision to fight on would have been a heavy responsibility. Battles in urban areas usually involved some destruction, but it would have put the Allies in an awkward position. Fighting in Paris itself would have partly nullified the Coalition advantage in numbers. Cavalry were almost worthless in street fighting when barricades were present. Such a battle would take considerable time, which meant that the fight could still be in progress if and when Napoleon arrived with his army to descend upon the Allied rear. Marmont declined to take on the burden of this kind of decision. It is difficult to blame him too much, in light of the actions of Joseph. Napoleon had received the news of Fere-Champenoise on March 27. He realized that his plan of drawing the enemy away from Paris had not worked. On the contrary, the two main Coalition armies were advancing on the capital and they had a huge head start on him. Incredibly, his first reaction was to hold stubbornly to his current plan. His Marshals managed to convince him that the only sane plan was to march immediately to the relief of the capital. Accordingly, Napoleon turned his army around and headed hard for Paris. The capital had to hold out, at least for a couple of days. As Napoleon got closer he grew more frantic and impatient. He sent a messenger to Paris to let them know he was on his way. He then decided to ride ahead of the army with some aides for Fontainbleau, eleven miles from the capital, late on March 30. Before dawn his messenger returned with the news that Paris was surrendered. By the time Napoleon’s troops arrived at Fontainbleau on March 31, the Allies were already in Paris.20 Napoleon raved against Joseph and Clarke, but ultimately he had only himself to blame for the fall of Paris. He had had opportunities to end the war and make peace long before things had come to such a pass. He had contradicted himself in various instructions sent to Joseph. Worse, he had put Joseph in charge in the first place. Napoleon’s most egregious mistake regarding Paris, and regarding all of his military plans for 1814, was not making certain that Paris was properly fortified and defended. To neglect this basic task was absolutely inexcusable for a military man like Napoleon. There had been a plan for making Paris into a fortress as early as 1805. It involved building a series of redoubts around the city. Napoleon entertained the plan, and finally rejected it. This rejection was more understandable in 1805 than in 1814.21

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Earlier chapters have discussed some of the possible reasons for Napoleon’s failure to prepare a strongly fortified capital. Examining more closely, none of the explanations make much sense. Many authorities do not address the issue at all, but those that do, as we have seen, generally suggest that he deliberately avoided throwing up earthworks around Paris for political reasons. The idea is that such a measure would damage his prestige, frighten the citizens, and possibly incite unrest in the capital. Most authorities seem to derive this thesis from Houssaye. Houssaye spends a great deal of time discussing the fall of Paris over the course of three chapters, and does deal with the issue of fortifications. He does not, however, place much of the blame on Napoleon. Other authorities have followed suit and likewise have not criticized Napoleon sufficiently for his inadequate attention to the defense of Paris.22 Napoleon has come in for criticism regarding other aspects of the campaign, but has generally gotten an undeserved free pass on this question. Although Napoleon never made his concerns completely plain in 1814, we do know that as ruler of France he had been consistently sensitive about the idea of violence in Paris. He had seen blood flow in the streets of Paris before. Indeed he himself had made blood flow in those streets as a general working for the Directory, when he mowed down the ‘‘Vendemaire’’ rioters with his cannon in 1795. Three years before, as a very young man, he had witnessed the Revolutionary journ ees of June 20 and August 10, 1792, at the Tuileries palace. These events had made a profound impression on him. He later contended that the sight of the dead Swiss guards, and their mutilation at the hands of the crowd, affected him more than any battlefield he saw afterwards. On Saint Helena he remembered, ‘‘I saw well-dressed ladies committing the worst indecencies on the cadavers of the Swiss. . . . rage was in everyone’s hearts, and it showed on their faces.’’23 It was probably the bloodthirsty attitude of the crowd rather than the deaths of the guards that truly disturbed him, since he was famously unemotional about death on the battlefield (or anywhere else, for that matter). Unruly mobs seemed to hold an especial terror for him. It would be no exaggeration to say that they frightened him more than enemy bullets. Napoleon’s lifelong fear of mob violence was manifested on a few occasions. He was certainly frightened when members of the Five Hundred crowded around and threatened him during Brumaire. His cringing behavior in the face of a hostile mob as he was being escorted for embarkation to Elba was the opposite of the magnificent courage he displayed on the battlefield.24 It is therefore not unreasonable to conclude that, even without admitting it, Napoleon was worried about an uprising in Paris in 1814. If such concerns decided him not to order the construction of earthworks around Paris, then it was a strange political calculation. How did it make any sense to attempt to continue to wage a war if morale in the capital was so brittle that the populace would go to pieces if redoubts ringed the city?

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Assuming this was Napoleon’s concern, then his rationalizations must have followed quite a convoluted course in order not to make peace immediately when he had the chance. Worries about poor morale in Paris would have been based on virtually no evidence. On the contrary, when Napoleon made the rounds of Paris on foot in late December 1813, and in January 1814, the workers greeted and acclaimed him enthusiastically (crowds were not so frightening so long as they cheered). Police reports noted that ‘‘only a few bourgeois’’ failed to respond appropriately.25 Finally, why did he order the construction of a limited number of palisades and redoubts, as well as the gathering of grain within Paris? If a ring of redoubts would make the citizens nervous, then why didn’t construction of token defenses frighten them? Didn’t such moves send the same signal—that Paris was threatened with attack? Finally, any concerns over morale in the city were moot if the Coalition captured it. The whole idea is so illogical that it is hard to believe Napoleon entertained such notions. It might be that Napoleon’s reasons for not fortifying Paris were not political so much as practical, but the reasoning for this possibility is weak as well. Surrounding Paris with strong points would have been a major project, but it was feasible. Granted that the political and strategic situations were vastly different, and that military technology had changed, the case that Paris could prepare for and withstand a siege was proven in 1870 against the Prussians. Although there was already a system of fortifications in place (begun in 1840), workers from Paris strengthened and supplemented the system using the time-honored combination of dirt and shovels. For that matter, Napoleon appears to have learned from his mistake of 1814, because during the Hundred Days in 1815, the construction of fortifications around Paris did occur.26 A project of fortifying Paris need not have been expensive. Joseph did send a report to Napoleon that included a plan for fortifying Paris, but it called for raising a special tax of 500,000 francs. The Emperor’s only response was to tell Joseph to start building some redoubts on Montmartre. Without authorization for funding, Joseph failed to do even that much.27 Redoubts made of dirt reinforced with wood cost nothing but the labor of chopping and digging. There were abundant supplies of wood to be had in and around Paris. The Bois de Boulogne and the Bois de Vincennes would have been barely dented in the process of supplying wood for redoubts and fortifications.28 It was true that engineers were in short supply, but certainly a few could have been spared to supervise the construction of redoubts to protect Paris. As for the labor force, it was available in the city. It apparently did not occur to Joseph to ask for voluntary labor from the workers of Paris, nor did it occur to him to employ the garrison of thousands of regular troops and National Guards in building fortifications. Such methods had been used in other French towns and cities. Had Napoleon ordered such a project begun while he was in Paris there would

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have been time to build a series of redoubts around the city and strengthen the whole system with gabions, facines, and trenches. As Alistair Horne noted, ‘‘From Vauban’s day until the Maginot Line, the French have been unrivalled in the building of fortifications.’’29 It seems absurd that this talent went unused at Paris in 1814. As mentioned in earlier chapters, there were hundreds of cannon available at the artillery depot in Vincennes. There were still nearly 400 cannon in Vincennes and another 186 parked in Paris itself. Joseph did figure out that these guns could be used in redoubts around Paris, but could not bring himself to order the construction of such redoubts. He was waiting on specific instructions from Napoleon, as well as on the massive funds he thought necessary for the work.30 While there were not enough horses to put the guns to use in field batteries, there were enough to transport them in a series of small groups at a time and place them in the redoubts sequentially as they were completed. There was no surplus of trained artillery, but crews for the guns could have been fleshed out with workers, volunteers, and National Guards, commanded and trained by officers, noncommissioned officers (NCOs), soldiers, and veterans. We have seen that this was done in other French cities. Had the training of volunteers commenced in December or January (while work on redoubts was going on), that would have been more than sufficient time to turn them into respectable artillerists. For that matter, even if the crews were not particularly efficient, the mere sight of hundreds of cannons placed in redoubts and improved positions around the capital would have given the Coalition commanders pause. Reports of the construction of extensive fortifications might well have had the same effect. The fortification of Paris mainly required some imagination and some effort. Time and resources were scarce, but there was little excuse for not giving some priority to the defense of the capital, especially since the means were at hand. It is true that Napoleon was a very busy man, and his mind was preoccupied with creating a field army, a very necessary task. That said, he did not delegate the task of fortifying Paris to someone qualified to do it. Perhaps it was his by now habitual wishful thinking and mistaken optimism at work. He seems to have focused on the idea that he would be able to keep the invaders away from Paris by fighting the battles in the countryside. The irony is that a strongly fortified Paris would have made his entire plan of campaign easier to execute. Having a defense in the capital that was solid enough to hold out, even for a matter of a few days, would have freed up Napoleon’s movements with his field army. Instead his maneuvers were constantly constrained by the need to cover the approaches to Paris. With the city fortified and able to defend itself independently, Napoleon could have let the Allies advance closer to the bait of the capital while side-stepping them and sweeping behind them in a classic move onto their lines of communications

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and supplies. This was, in fact, similar to the plan he eventually adopted (after his field army had been decimated in battles) but it was flawed by the fact that Paris could not properly defend itself if the Allies did not behave exactly according to plan. Napoleon did make efforts to deceive the Allies as to the true strength of the defenses of Paris. As part of his efforts to split the Coalition during the campaign, he had his chief of staff Berthier write a letter to Schwarzenberg. The letter stated that there were 200,000 men and 500 cannon guarding the capital, and that the heights and approaches were all entrenched. This was meant to discourage the Austrian commander, but the numbers are so inflated that even the ever-cautious Schwarzenberg must have been a bit skeptical. In any case, the dispatches from Paris that were later captured gave the Coalition commanders a better appreciation of the strength of the defenses of Paris.31 Napoleon’s 1814 campaign made good use of a central position as he marched back and forth striking Blucher and Schwarzenberg each in turn. These moves, and the entire campaign, were compromised by the fact that each time he turned to strike either of the Allied armies, he had to leave behind a hefty detachment under a subordinate to face the other Allied army and cover Paris. When he first turned to smash Bl€ ucher in early February, he left Oudinot with 25,000 men and Victor with 14,000 men to face Schwarzenberg, and initially kept only 31,000 for himself.32 He had gotten away with dividing his forces before (notably in Italy) but with a fortified Paris such risky habits would have been unnecessary. The detachments left behind to screen Schwarzenberg (for they were not large enough in any case to stop him) could have been much smaller. His main striking force could have been increased by at least 10,000 men, and without sacrificing mobility. The problem repeated itself throughout the campaign. The worst example was in late February, when Napoleon left a huge detachment of 40,000 men to face Schwarzenberg while he took 30,000 men north to attack Blucher. To make matters worse, Schwarzenberg attacked and pushed back the overly large detachment left to face him.33 Despite the brilliance of the strategic moves, Napoleon’s detachments and deployments actually displayed very poor economy of force. Each time he made a move with his field army, he left a major proportion of his troops in the hands of his subordinates, only to be forced to hurry back and bail them out when they were in trouble anyway. His main striking force, thus compromised, was always too small for decisive results. Because of the need to cover Paris with detachments, he never achieved a true concentration of force. Napoleon’s failure to provide a real plan for the defense of Paris may have been based on an assumption that his subordinates in the capital would take the appropriate measures when the time came. If so, this was blind optimism. The problem was not only his regrettable choice of subordinates, but also the confusing instructions he sent them. Napoleon’s tangled and unclear ideas about having Marie-Louise and the King of Rome evacuate the capital

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have to be seen as a complete misapprehension of the political and morale situation in Paris. His micromanagement stripped his subordinates (especially Joseph) of any semblance of initiative. Seemingly oblivious to this fact, Napoleon flew into rages when they failed to show the very initiative he had drained from them. He rarely so much as acknowledged or encouraged any of their ideas. Napoleon never authorized Joseph’s requests to raise special funds for fortifications. Concerns over adverse public reaction to extra taxation make more sense than other political fears. On the other hand, other than a brief reference to building redoubts on Montmartre, the Emperor said nothing more on the matter of specific plans to fortify Paris.34 Why did he give painfully detailed directives for virtually everything except the defense of Paris? There is no satisfactory answer. We can fault Joseph and Clarke for not going ahead on their own and simply making plans for the defense of Paris. Even if we excuse their inaction in the weeks and months prior to late March, they had a few days warning that the Allies were approaching, and they could then have done much more even in that space of time. Instead Clarke did virtually nothing until the day before the battle, and Joseph only talked. Marbot probably exaggerates the numbers of men and muskets available, but more weapons and recruits could have been gathered up from the areas surrounding Paris in short order. Why, for instance, leave thousands of armed cavalry recruits (without horses) to remain uselessly at Versailles?35 There were also recruits available in the depots at Vincennes and other nearby towns. Why not mobilize workers and volunteers to throw up at least a few more redoubts? This much could have been done in a day or so. The citizens of Saint-Denis (just to the north of Paris) fortified their town without any direction or moneys from Paris, utilizing voluntary labor. Joseph seems to have been completely unable to comprehend that fortifications could be built without a massive expenditure of funds.36 Finally, why not make certain that every available firearm from every nearby town be collected, instead of leaving willing volunteers to go unarmed? Even with all the bungling, the Battle of Paris lasted a whole day. Napoleon’s subordinates failed, and they failed badly. Still, it is the commander-in-chief who is supposed to bear the responsibility, and this was never truer than for the Emperor of the French in 1814. It is no surprise that he did not accept the responsibility at the time (or ever) but blamed Joseph and others. Oddly, he has continued to escape direct responsibility for the fall of Paris, even though it was he who had ultimate political and military authority. His ‘‘military genius’’ blinds many to his misplaced priorities, false optimism, stubbornness, and muddled political perceptions. While many, if not most, Frenchmen were willing to place the blame elsewhere, there were those who, in the years after 1814, did blame Napoleon for the fall of Paris, even if in fairly abstract terms. The poet Auguste Barbier put his feelings about the fall of Paris thus:

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I too suffer from the memory of that humiliating day when they pulled down the statue under the eyes of the foreigner, the day when French women bared their breasts to the Cossacks, but I heap my curses on one man only: ‘Be thou cursed, O Napoleon.’

While Napoleon can hardly be held accountable for the actions of certain individual Parisiennes, the fact that there were Cossacks in Paris at all can well be argued to have been his fault. One benign long-term result of having large numbers of Russians in Paris in 1814 was the contribution of the word ‘‘bistro’’ to the French language.37 In any case, to blame the fall of Paris solely on ‘‘war-weariness’’ would be a misrepresentation. While this factor could be seen as contributing to lack of effort and fuzzy decision-making on the part of the men in charge, it does not explain all of the mistakes made. Morale problems were certainly evident among many of the Paris National Guards, especially after the departure of Marie-Louise and the King of Rome. The fact that the officers of the Paris National Guard tried to have Marie-Louise remain in the city shows that they had been willing to make a defense, at least at one point. After the Empress left with the King of Rome, they may well have seen little point in fighting. They had, in essence, been relieved of their pledge to Napoleon to protect them. At the same time, there were in Paris civilian volunteers willing to come forward and fight, although their numbers are unknown, and many were unable to obtain weapons. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, losing Paris was the end for Napoleon. He made plans to continue the war, encouraged by his soldiers  Paris! A  Paris!’’ The at Fontainbleau who shouted ‘‘Vive L’Empereur! A Marshals argued against further fighting. This could be called war-weariness on their part, but it more closely resembled a sound appreciation of reality. Napoleon at first attempted to abdicate in favor of his son, which would necessitate regency. This option had been nullified in Paris, largely through the machinations of Talleyrand. Talleyrand was supposed to leave Paris with the rest of the ‘‘notables,’’ but purposely left his papers behind so that the guards would turn him back at the barriers. He thus had made himself the person of note remaining in Paris to deal with the Allied sovereigns. It was to be peace, with a return of the Bourbons to the throne of France.38 When Paris fell, Carnot was still holding Antwerp. Davout, far away in Hamburg, was still hanging on after months of siege. Garrisons in Strasbourg, Bayonne, Huningen, Besancon, Mainz, Wesel, Magdeburg, Landau, Bitche, and Licthenberg were all still resisting. In Italy, fortresses at Mantua, Legnano, Venice, and Palmanuova held.39 Compiegne, roughly forty miles from Paris on the Oise River, repulsed Coalition attacks the day after the fall of the capital. The attacks on Compiegne were made by B€ ulow’s Prussian corps, while the town was defended by a few hundred regulars and Young

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Guards, plus about 1,000 local National Guards, whose families brought food and drink to the defenders during the action.40 Even right next to Paris, peglegged General Daumesnil, commander at Vincennes (with a garrison of 1,300) refused to surrender: ‘‘Return my leg, and I’ll turn over Vincennes.’’41 All these places held, while Paris fell. It fell because the Coalition commanders had made taking the capital their priority. As this was their obvious course of action, Napoleon had made covering Paris the objective of his campaign, but without ensuring a strong defense of the city itself. A bold move, both politically and militarily, would have been to put Carnot in charge of defending Paris. It was far too bold for Napoleon, who was not about to put an old Jacobin from the Committee of Public Safety in such an elevated position of responsibility, if even Carnot had been the ‘‘Organizer of Victory,’’ and an engineer officer to boot. Instead, Carnot was used as window dressing and shuffled off to Antwerp. Given that Napoleon wanted to hang on to this important port, he still put Carnot in a very subordinate role, since General Maison was in overall command in Belgium. Putting Carnot in charge of the defense of Paris would have been a signal that Napoleon was embracing the traditions of the Revolution, and not just paying lip service with empty rhetoric against the musical background of La Marseillaise. The Emperor of the French would not embrace the Revolution in 1814. To him the Revolution had been a catharsis, not something to be relived. However much the Revolution had benefited France and himself, it had been traumatic, chaotic, dangerous, frightening. He prided himself that he had in fact ended the Revolution by retaining only what were, in his mind, its most positive accomplishments.42 In 1814, Napoleon consistently took half measures in order to avoid associating himself and his Empire too closely with the Revolution. He might well talk about the ‘‘spirit of ’92,’’ but only in the sense that he would have liked to see a surge of unquestioning patriotism. In fact, although he deluded himself otherwise, he did little to nurture the passions of patriotism. Such passions were dangerous. Patriotism was, in some regards, Revolutionary. Napoleon feared ruining what he thought was a balanced political system, in which all factions had been accommodated and tied to the Empire. The reality was that he had lost support among certain groups, and was not going to regain it by trying to maintain a complacent political coalition that no longer existed. He had nothing to lose by favoring old Revolutionaries, but he was too stubborn fully to realize or acknowledge this. Personally, rather than the spirit of ’92, Napoleon more closely emulated the spirit of ’96, which he also spoke of. The Emperor of the French in 1814 focused his efforts on playing the role of general, fighting a daring campaign in the field, often as if he did not realize that his primary responsibility was as the leader of his nation. After all, he was fighting in Champagne, not northern Italy. His army at least needed a secure anchor behind it, or it needed peace.

CHAPTER 13

French Casualties in 1814—Desertion, Disease, and Death

W

hether or not an army has made a staunch fight is sometimes determined by how many and what sort of casualties it suffered. This may not be fair, or even particularly scientific, but a look at casualties can be instructive. The recurring theme of war-weariness in 1814 almost forces such an examination. If the phenomenon extended to the army, then one would expect desertion to be a major problem. On the other hand, there is the nagging notion that those who fought in 1814 were atypical in their loyalty to Napoleon or their willingness to serve. This may have been true to some extent of the Old Guard and other veterans. In earlier chapters, however, I have argued against the likelihood that the new recruits were aberrant to any significant degree. Morale problems (or a lack of them) in armies can reflect the ‘‘national mood.’’ This being said, it is more usual that proximate factors affect the morale of soldiers. Victory, defeat, food, sleep, physical exhaustion, leaders and comrades; all of these are some of the factors that directly impact military morale. When we examine French casualties in 1814, we can come to the conclusion that at times morale was a problem, but it can be argued that it was far from the worst problem facing the army. As usual, numbers may not lie, but they certainly can mislead. Care must be taken before making any sweeping generalizations. This is especially the case when looking at casualty statistics. Figures are incomplete or conflicting, and different categories of casualties can overlap. For our purposes here, we will first return to the 28th and 54th Line Infantry Regiments and see what fate had in store for our new recruits. We will then look at other statistics, including overall casualties the French suffered in the course of the campaign. 169

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The regimental rolls do not usually tell us whether or not a soldier was wounded, unless the wound was mortal or incapacitating. The rolls are mainly interested in recording how a soldier left the army. For those who died ‘‘in hospital,’’ the rolls do not always tell the cause of death. In most cases this would be sickness (mainly typhus in 1814), but it could also be the result of wounds. The 54th, part of which was besieged in Maastricht, was particularly hard hit by disease. It is also interesting to note that the 54th lists no men as incapacitated by wounds. This means that all those so seriously wounded as to be incapacitated probably died later in hospital. Wounds from which men recovered are not listed. Another striking aspect of the rolls is the low number of those who deserted from the two regiments during the campaign. Those that deserted in the months after the campaign (mostly in June and July 1814) are listed here separately. The recruits listed in Table 4.1 totaled 881 men, but this number excluded veterans who had transferred into the 28th. The total casualties below, therefore, are from a population of 900 soldiers. Of the 202 men who died in hospital, only 21 were in the 28th, while 181 were in the 54th. Most of these deaths were among the newest recruits and among the men besieged in garrisons. The desertion rate during the campaign is exceptionally low, although this may be skewed by the fact that a proportion of the 54th was besieged and many potential deserters may have found it difficult to go ‘‘over the wall.’’ As for the 28th, it contained a higher than average number of veterans, who may have had a stabilizing influence on the new recruits. The devastating toll of those who died in the hospital is ten times that of those dying in battle. There are a number of factors that probably combined to cause this. Besieged troops always suffered disproportionately from sickness, as we saw in the case of Metz and other cities, so this phenomenon among recruits of the 54th is not surprising. Also, there is the vague definition of ‘‘mortally wounded.’’ If a soldier did not die of wounds soon after the battle, then he was not mortally wounded. ‘‘Soon’’ could mean a number of things, but generally no more than a few days. Because there was a tiny detachment of the 54th with Pacthod at Fere-Champenoise, for example, TABLE 13.1 Casualties among Recruits in the 28th and 54th Line Infantry Killed or mortally wounded in action Died in hospital Incapacitated by wounds Taken prisoner Deserted during campaign Deserted after campaign Total Sources: SH 21 yc 263 and 21 yc 455; Controlees aux troupes.

20 202 7 11 8 78 326

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several men could have been horribly wounded by cannon balls, even to the point of limbs torn off, and still not be considered mortally wounded if they survived. Since they would then wind up in hospital, there was an excellent chance that they would become ill and eventually die, perhaps weeks after the battle. The latest recorded deaths in hospital were in May; well after all fighting had ended. While ‘‘in hospital’’ deaths certainly included wounded men, the majority would have been caused by sickness only. The typhus epidemic depleted the remnants of the French army retreating behind the Rhine at the end of 1813.1 Incidence of the disease continued, and not just in besieged towns. Anywhere French armies had marched, and especially in towns holding wounded men, there were outbreaks of typhus, notably in Troyes.2 The rolls of the 28th and 54th confirm that typhus remained a problem. It would seem reasonable to expect that Allied armies also were hit by illness, but that would form a subject for another study. Although French civilians suffered from the illness too, it apparently burned itself out by late spring or early summer of 1814, since no mention of it appears after that either in authorities, letters, or memoirs of the period. Warmer weather could have been a factor here, with fewer people cooped up together indoors, especially with concentrations of sick and wounded men nearby. The large number of desertions from the 28th and 54th after the campaign ended is not necessarily surprising. Although there was a certain amount of demobilization under the First Restoration of the Bourbons, many regiments were to be maintained on active duty. Ninety line infantry regiments and fifteen light infantry regiments would be kept as the backbone of the French army.3 The 28th and the 54th were two of these regiments. With the fighting over, many soldiers understandably felt that they should be discharged. In some cases, this may have reflected Bonapartist sympathies, or at least anti-Royalist feelings. For most of the soldiers, there was no doubt a sense of letdown and emotional exhaustion after months of fighting and high levels of stress. This is not an unusual experience for soldiers of any army, in any age. The men had obeyed their summons and they had fought, but France had been defeated. What were they doing still in the army? It was time to go home. Many Frenchmen would never go home. The 1814 campaign had been hard-fought and bloody, especially considering its short duration and the relatively small scale of most of the battles compared to other Napoleonic campaigns. If we look at some of the individual battles (and, for the sake of consistency, stick to figures given by a single authority), we get a sense of this. At the Battle of La Rothiere, out of a force of about 45,000 men, the French lost 4,600 killed and wounded. Leaving aside the 1,000 captured, this means that over 10 percent of the French engaged had fallen in combat.4 Casualty rates in killed and wounded could exceed 10 percent, as at Arcis-sur-Aube, when 30,000 French suffered about 3,400 such loses.5

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Turning from French defeats to a French victory, the Battle of Montmirail counted 25,000 of Napoleon’s troops engaged and 2,100 killed and wounded, again nearly 10 percent.6 That rate of casualties directly caused by enemy action was a steep one. Obviously, a battle like the second action at Fere-Champenoise is unusual: 3,800 Frenchmen took 1,500 losses in killed and wounded.7 For comparison, we can look at French victories of the ‘‘glory days.’’ Napoleon fought the Battle of Rivoli in 1797 and won with 22,000 men (not counting artillery), taking casualties in killed and wounded of 2,200; exactly 10 percent.8 A more desperate battle could result in a much higher casualty rate. A classic example would be Marengo, where a little over 28,000 men suffered killed and wounded totaling 4,700, over 15 percent.9 We know that casualty figures were, at best, good faith approximations. At worst, they were deliberate distortions, as in the case of Napoleon’s bulletins. Still, even a cursory examination of rates of killed and wounded in 1814 battles shows that, for the most part, the French soldiers of that campaign appear to have compared fairly well to the crack troops of earlier years when it came to standing their ground. This, at least, would be the case on the battlefield. Desertion, in 1814 as at other times in other armies, tended to be a problem in between battles. This would be especially true after a defeat, or when rations were short. The situation after La Rothiere, when Napoleon lost thousands as deserters, is the most striking example of both these factors coming into effect at the same time. Another interesting but unsurprising phenomenon is the high ratio of officers killed and wounded. Officers, from Marshals down to sous-lieutenants, often had to lead by example. This put them in the forefront during both attacks and defensive stands. Most often they were not deliberately singled out or picked off by enemy sharpshooters. It was just a matter of being conspicuously exposed. When troops did decide to break ranks and run away in battle (a not uncommon occurrence in most armies of the period), an officer attempting to rally them would be especially vulnerable. Ten officers from the 28th Line Infantry were killed or wounded in a single action in the Battle of Bar-sur-Aube. Another eight were killed or wounded at Arcis-sur-Aube.10 By contrast, seven new recruits of the 28th were killed in battle during the entire campaign.11 In some actions, officer casualties could reach alarming proportions if a unit were heavily engaged. At the Battle of Brienne the 18th Line Infantry lost two officers killed and twenty more wounded.12 This would be nearly half the officer complement of a regiment with two battalions present.13 Even an ‘‘easy’’ victory like Vauchamps could be deadly for officers. The 10th Light Infantry had one officer killed and three wounded there.14 Heavy casualties among officers were nothing new in 1814. This was the nature of Napoleonic period warfare. An example would be the brutal battle of Eylau in early 1807, where the 55th Line Infantry lost sixteen

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officers killed and wounded.15 Officers who did not brave enemy fire could not expect to rise in rank. Worse, their honor and courage could be called into question. Increased rank was not necessarily a guarantee of safety. Marshals and generals had to exercise a certain amount of prudence to effectively control and direct their troops, but if there was a crisis or a desperate situation, such high-ranking officers would often place themselves at the head of their troops, and sometimes pay the price. The total French casualty estimates from 1814 indicate that desertion was to some degree a real problem. Many regiments experienced higher desertion rates than the 28th and 54th Line Infantry Regiments. Different desertion rates in different regiments could occur for any number of reasons. Previous chapters have shown that almost every regiment started the campaign with varying levels of training, uniforms, weapons, and other equipment, and all of these could affect morale. Regionalism could be a factor in some regiments, although only National Guard units were recruited exclusively from one department (or city) each. The quality of leadership always has a major impact on morale. Events during the campaign would account for swings in morale: the availability of food and other supplies, whether or not a unit was in garrison or constantly moving, and numbers of battle casualties could all strain or reinforce the tolerance of individual soldiers for continued military service. Another factor to consider for French desertion in 1814 is that it was actually an easier matter for soldiers to desert than in any previous campaign. They were fighting in their own country. They knew where to hide, they could blend in with civilians, or they could even go home in some cases. When far away in foreign lands, especially in places crawling with hostile partisans, desertion appeared less inviting.16 Perhaps the main problem in trying to determine desertion rates is that officers recording the information in the first place would not necessarily know for sure whether a soldier who was missing had indeed deserted. After the chaos surrounding a battle, a soldier might be missing, and if none of his comrades had seen what happened to him, then it was possible he was a deserter, but one could never be entirely sure. Stragglers were another problem if they never caught up with their unit. What precisely had happened to them? The group of infantrymen that Griois saw dead in the mud had not deserted. They had died either from hypothermia, malnutrition, exhaustion, or a combination of all three. Griois did not know what regiment they belonged to, nor would he have had time to notify their commander even if he did. One solution for authorities compiling statistics from different types of reports is to employ the ‘‘disappeared’’ category. This includes deserters, to be sure. It also includes all deaths not witnessed or recorded. The chart below also places prisoners in the same column as ‘‘disappeared.’’ The large number in this category for the 1812 campaign speaks for itself. Desertion

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TABLE 13.2 Casualties among French Soldiers by Year (1805–1814) Year

Killed or mortally wounded

1805 1806 1807 1808 1809 1810 1811 1812 1813 1814

2,000 5,000 7,500 2,500 19,000 9,000 7,500 9,000 16,500 7,000

Died in hospital 7,000 16,000 33,000 16,000 32,000 33,000 23,000 26,000 51,000 52,000

Prisoners or disappeared — 2,000 2,000 1,000 14,000 11,500 3,500 154,000 124,000 53,000

Source: Data from Owen Connelly, The French Revolution and Napoleonic Era, 233. Note: The bloodiest year on the battlefield was 1809, which may surprise some observers. The Austrian Empire that year fought very tenaciously, Wagram being an even bloodier battle than Borodino. Also, the French were fighting a two-front war, being engaged simultaneously against Austria as well as against the Spanish and their British and Portuguese allies. Important to remember for all casualty statistics is that none of them includes minor wounds, which would in fact be the most common type of injury suffered.

accounts for only a small minority of these losses for that year. Most of the men who ‘‘disappeared’’ did so almost literally, never rising from their last sleep on the retreat from Russia, and left behind as pathetic little snowcovered mounds. Another thing to keep in mind, especially for 1812, is that the casualties recorded refer to ethnic French only, actually a minority of the army that invaded Russia. Thus we see that for Frenchmen from within pre-Revolutionary borders, the 1813 campaign in Germany was deadlier still when compared to the disaster in Russia of the previous year. Further commentary follows the chart. The battle casualties for 1814 appear lighter compared to the two years preceding, until one considers how much smaller the French army was by then. The battle deaths for 1812 include all those who were killed in the Grande Arm ee in battles in Russia, plus those who fell in Spain during the course of the same year. Not only was the 1814 version of the French army much fewer in numbers, but the campaign itself was much shorter, yet they lost only 2,000 less in action than they did in 1812. The troops defending France in 1814 were indeed hard-used on the battlefield, and the number of killed and mortally wounded was proportionally high. The horrendous numbers of men dying in hospital in 1813 and 1814 give witness to the devastation wrought by the typhus epidemic. The total numbers are not far from the proportions of battle deaths to deaths in hospital that turn up in the rolls of new recruits in the 28th and 54th Line Infantry. Deaths in hospital had gone up during the course of the

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Napoleonic Wars, partly because of the increase in the size of the armies. Again, however, in 1814 we see massive deaths from sickness even though the army is smaller. The percentage of such deaths had gone up dramatically in relation to the total numbers serving. Likewise, the numbers of troops who ‘‘disappeared’’ in 1814 account for a major proportion of Frenchmen serving that year. Included in the category are prisoners, a total inflated in 1814 by significant numbers of French troops surrendered in garrisons besieged in various towns in Germany. While some garrisons held out, as we have seen, the Allies were able to take many French-held towns in Germany, while the main campaign was being fought in France. Many of the men in the ‘‘disappeared’’ category in 1814 had in fact died, only not on the field of battle and not in hospital. An unknown but heavy percentage was deserters. All of this is actually consistent with the nature of the army and the campaign. The defenders of France in 1814 could fight gallantly, even ferociously, on the battlefield. They could then turn into stragglers or deserters during the bruising marches, countermarches, retreats, and advances. Men with slight wounds could be likely to fall behind, or even decide to desert. Atrocious weather, lack of training and experience, ragged uniforms, worn-out shoes, and short rations did not help. The rigors of the campaign hurt the Allies too, as evidenced by the poor condition of the prisoners paraded through Paris, as well as the numerous Coalition stragglers captured by French partisans late in the campaign (short rations also increased the numbers of Allied stragglers and marauders). The difference was that the Allies could better absorb their losses. Desertion was a problem, and it did deplete the already thin ranks of the French military in 1814. It was not, however, nearly as serious a problem as disease and the overall poor condition of the troops. Although the totals give 53,000 ‘‘disappeared’’ as opposed to 52,000 ‘‘died in hospital,’’ we have to consider that a significant percentage of those listed as ‘‘disappeared’’ were, in fact, dead. Others in this category (including wounded men) were taken prisoner on the field of battle. The category would also include stragglers killed or captured by Coalition cavalry. Adding together all those who died from various causes shows that there were substantially more deaths than desertions. Thousands more who received light wounds are not recorded under any category. None of the French casualty statistics from 1814 are particularly surprising. That is precisely the point. Every category of casualties reflects the circumstances and realities of the campaign. The French army was small and outnumbered. It was not well clothed or equipped and often not very well fed. Parts of it were well led and parts of it were not. Many of the men were virtually untrained or lacked experience. There was a typhus epidemic. Morale fluctuated with Napoleon’s fortunes on the battlefield. If anything is

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surprising, it is that the troops fought as hard as they did and stayed ‘‘with the eagles’’ as long as they did. Then again, even that is perhaps not so surprising. They could well be persuaded that they were, after all, defending France. Once they were in the field, it was too late for ‘‘war-weariness’’ to have a direct effect on them. Only their own immediate circumstances and the war itself would impact their morale from that point on.

CHAPTER 14

Epilogue and Conclusions

N

apoleon, as it turned out, did learn some lessons from 1814. This is apparent not by what he said or wrote so much as by some of his actions during the Hundred Days in 1815. Unfortunately for him, the lessons remained only partially absorbed, and in any case it was far too late for complete redemption. Before having a surplus of time on Elba in which to reflect upon his errors, Napoleon tried to commit suicide after his abdication. He took poison, which made him violently ill, but failed to kill him. The suicide attempt may strike some observers as being out of character, but this assumes that anyone truly and thoroughly understands Napoleon’s character. There are suggestions in some versions of the attempt that Napoleon confessed to having tried to get killed in battle at Arcis-sur-Aube. His behavior at that battle was certainly reckless, but not unprecedented for him, and it had also served the purpose of rallying the troops. There is also the possibility that there may have been more than one suicide attempt using poison in early April 1814. Napoleon had carried poison since the Russian campaign to avoid being taken alive.1 Having survived battles and poison only to experience exile, his restless mind could fight again every campaign and rethink every decision. With his stunning escape from Elba and dramatic return to power in March 1815, Napoleon was in a position to try the defense of France a second time. One of the clearest examples of a modification of doctrine was Napoleon’s acceptance of the paramilitary f ed er es during the Hundred Days. He authorized their organization throughout France, rather than limiting them to selected areas, as he had when making his half-hearted attempts to mobilize partisans in 1814. These 1815 f ed er es are not to be confused with the National Guard f ed er es of 1792. The 1815 f ed er es were 177

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in many cases spontaneous and self-organized groups of local patriots. As they came into existence nationwide, Napoleon began to recognize their potential value. Some groups were organized, at least in part, by way of Imperial orders and directives.2 The f ed er es were not specialized as partisans per se, but could have acted in such a role. In any case, they could serve as auxiliaries for the military. Originally conceived of mostly as patriotic civilian organizations that would support the war effort in whatever way they could, the federative groups, conspicuously in and around Paris, began asking for weapons. Accordingly, Napoleon on May 15 decreed the creation of twenty-four battalions of f ed er es-tirailleurs (loosely, ‘‘federal sharpshooters’’) in Paris. Napoleon had reviewed 12,000 f ed er es on May 12. Many were veterans, although they were not members of the National Guard. They were authorized as an ‘‘augmentation’’ of the National Guard.3 Arming these groups was easier said than done, but a portion of them did receive firearms. As in 1814, there were many more willing men than muskets. In Paris, for example, 6,348 muskets were eventually distributed among roughly 14,000 f ed er es tirailleurs. Bonapartist f ed er es at Thouars were able to obtain 1,200 weapons—before the Vendean rebels could seize them from arsenals.4 Even with his relative change of heart, the prevailing social origins of the f ed er es tended to make Napoleon nervous. In Paris, their rank and file were mostly artisans and workers. They received weapons only after the army and National Guard received theirs. There also was a certain amount of friction between the ‘‘bourgeois’’ National Guards and the f ed er es, who have been characterized as being of the same social fabric as the sans culottes. The irony is that the f ed er es were far more ardent in their support of Napoleon than were the National Guards.5 Class tensions in Paris aside, the organization of f ed er es went very smoothly in the eastern departments, where memories of invasion were still fresh.6 Also in eastern France, two regiments of irregular mounted lancers were raised, technically as part of the National Guard but clearly designed for partisan operations. They wore civilian clothing, except for the officers, who had uniforms.7 Even in the Vendee, there were Bonapartist f ed er es, and it was they who initially did much of the fighting against the Royalist chouans in that region in 1815. Local f ed er es continued to serve against the Royalists in the Vendee even after regular troops were dispatched there.8 In addition to somewhat better preparations for partisan warfare and mobilization of popular support, Napoleon made much better preparations for the defense of Paris in 1815 compared with 1814. Specifically, he put a much better man in charge: Marshal Davout. Davout had held Hamburg well after Napoleon’s abdication, and in fact had refused to surrender the city until he received official orders to do so from Louis XVIII.9 His tenacious defense of Hamburg made Davout an object of suspicion under the First Restoration, and he did not serve in any official capacity during that

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time.10 During the Hundred Days, his ability to fortify and defend a city, plus his untainted political loyalty, made him an ideal choice for the job of holding Paris. Davout had always excelled in matters of administration and organization. Napoleon made him his Minister of War, in which capacity he would not only provide for the defense of Paris, but would be responsible for military mobilization throughout France. Davout was infinitely superior to the combination of Clarke and Joseph. The problem with the appointment of Davout to the post of Minister of War was that it meant he could not serve with the field army. He was by far the best battlefield commander available to Napoleon in 1815. He had never once been beaten in a tactical situation.11 There was really no comparison between Davout and the brave but intemperate Marshal Ney, who ended up acting in the role of Napoleon’s right arm during the brief Waterloo campaign. Davout himself would have preferred a field command, but took the post of Minister upon Napoleon’s repeated entreaty.12 There has been speculation that one of Napoleon’s motives in keeping Davout off the field of battle was a certain amount of professional jealousy, no small matter for a ruler who assumed that his political power was based on his military reputation.13 The choice of Davout for Minister of War is also of interest because it meant that Napoleon had rejected other possible candidates for the job. Carnot again made his services available to the Emperor. Napoleon made him Minister of the Interior, a much higher-profile position than what had been given in 1814, but still a post that was not necessarily the best utilization of available talent. Carnot was sufficiently qualified and experienced for the position of Minister of War, but Napoleon studiously avoided using him in the same capacity in which he had served the Republic.14 Likewise, Napoleon could not have Marshal Soult simply continue in the position of Minister of War, which he held during the First Restoration. Although this would have made for a seamless transition, and although Soult had rallied to the Emperor, Napoleon evidently felt it was not politically feasible.15 Carnot was associated with the Revolution and Soult had served in the ministry of the Restoration. Davout was purely a product of the Empire. Overall, Napoleon made more gestures indicating that he acknowledged the heritage of the Revolution during the Hundred Days than he had in 1814. Some measures transcended mere symbolism. Giving Carnot the Ministry of the Interior, while perhaps not optimal, was significant. In a surprising move, Napoleon put Benjamin Constant, formerly one of his most vociferous political foes, in charge of writing changes to the Imperial constitution. Fences were mended with an array of personages, including Germaine de Stael, LaFayette, and Lucien Bonaparte.16 Yet Napoleon’s political stance remained compromised. Even with the lessons of 1814 at least partly taken to heart, he did not attempt to meet the Revolution quite halfway. Passing through Lyons on the way to Paris to

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regain his throne, he apparently made some rhetorical remarks to the cheering crowds: ‘‘I am coming back to protect and defend the interests that our Revolution has given us. . . . I am a product of the Revolution.’’17 Paradoxically, he later remarked, ‘‘Nothing astonished me more, in returning to France, than this hatred of priests and nobles, which I found to be as widespread and violent as at the beginning of the Revolution.’’18 More to the point, he commented, ‘‘I do not want to be king of the Jacquerie.’’19 Napoleon, as in 1814, had limited confidence in the extent of his political support. He had landed on the southern coast of France with only a thousand men, he had marched from there to Paris and regained his throne without firing a shot, he had been thunderously cheered all along the way, but still he harbored doubts. ‘‘Enough of the compliments. They have let me come as they let the others go,’’ was his somber appraisal. This was more cynical than realistic. France was politically divided, violently so, despite the apathy and fickleness of many. This was borne out by the clashes between various factions, both during and after the Hundred Days.20 For all the complexity of the domestic political situation in France during the Hundred Days, Napoleon’s main problem was with the rest of Europe. He lacked one decisive advantage he had enjoyed in 1814: the possibility of getting peace terms from the Allies. The irony is that he sincerely wanted (needed) peace in 1815, without making any demands at all from the Coalition powers, other than being allowed to rule in France. Napoleon attempted especially to assure the British of his pacific intentions through channels provided by Germaine de Stael and LaFayette. His attempts to obtain peace failed utterly.21 Diplomacy was not an option. There was no longer any pretense of recognizing Napoleon as the legitimate ruler of France. Europe now saw him only as an outlaw. Thus, his ultimate fate was virtually assured. He could make various military plans, including ones that were improvements over policy in 1814. Fortifications were begun in Paris. By the end of June, the northern approaches of the city (the target of the Allied attacks in 1814) were well fortified, although works on the left bank of the Seine had not been started. After Waterloo, a Coalition attack on the fortifications was actually repulsed on June 30, 1815, before an armistice was made.22 Much had been remedied for the second defense of France. There was a better commander in Paris. Fortifications were begun. Arrangements were made for partisan warfare. Unfortunately for Napoleon, without a good possibility of negotiating peace terms, or even of splitting the Coalition, none of this really mattered. The time for Napoleon to change habits and policies in any case was not in 1815, but in 1814. The problem of war-weariness that existed in 1814 was exacerbated by Napoleon’s inadequate efforts to counter it. His efforts in 1814 were inadequate because he saw a true lev ee en masse as too Revolutionary. He labored mightily at the details of army mobilization, yet had encumbered himself with false assumptions and vague political misgivings.

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Even if these went unstated, it was apparent that all of his moves were hesitant and affected by distractions. Measures for partisan warfare, mobilization of the interior, dispatching special commissioners, stirring proclamations to the people; each of these actions came days, weeks, or even months too late. Confronted with invasion in 1814, Napoleon mobilized an army, but not a nation. Far worse in 1814 was his completely botched diplomacy. Napoleon was only too painfully aware that France was laboring under an enormous military disadvantage compared to the power of the Coalition, yet he refused to admit it, even to himself. Instead, he chose to gamble on a military solution to a diplomatic problem when he couldn’t get the terms that he wanted. Why did he fail so badly in this regard?23 Again, it was largely because of his own underestimation of his political support. He was convinced that he could only remain in power as a victorious military commander. The concept of simply ‘‘declaring victory’’ after making peace (especially after wining some battles in February 1814) apparently did not occur to him, or at least he was not convinced it would work. Yet this was the same man who had successfully blamed the Russian disaster on unavoidable forces of nature, and who had managed to depict Leipzig as a glorious day for French arms. Defeats may have caused dismay, even dissatisfaction, but no matter how calamitous, they did not result in an overthrow of the Empire. The same miscalculation regarding the extent and nature of his political support negatively impacted the brilliance of Napoleon’s 1814 campaign. The British military theorist B. H. Liddell Hart made one of the most cogent critiques of Napoleon’s handling of that campaign: In 1814, the Allies, now vastly superior in numbers, made their converging invasion of France. Napoleon was driven, for want of the numbers he had expended . . . to resharpen his old weapons of surprise and mobility. Nevertheless, brilliant as was his handling of them, he was too impatient, and too obsessed with the idea of battle, to use them with . . . artistic subtlety. . . . By their use, however, he long postponed his fate. . . . remarkable as was his success in retarding the enemy’s advance, it might have been far more effective and enduring if his ability to continue this strategy had not been diminished by his inherent tendency to consummate every strategic by a tactical success. By repeated concentrations . . . marked by maneuvers which struck the target in the rear—against the separated fractions of the enemy, he inflicted a series of defeats on them.24

Hart is quite right in noting that the French could not afford heavy battle losses in 1814. He is equally correct in suggesting that Napoleon would have been wiser to do much more in the way of maneuvering and cutting the Allies’ lines of supply and communications, and much less in the way of fighting battles. What Hart does not explore are possible reasons for

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Napoleon’s impatience and seeming obsession with coming to grips with the enemy on the field of battle. The reasons had their roots in Napoleon’s perception of the basis of his power, both domestically and diplomatically. Victorious battles capture the public imagination. Maneuvers that force retreats without fighting, unfortunately, do not have the same emotional impact as a dramatic clash of arms. Battles make splashy headlines. By contrast, details of strategic operations and logistics can sometimes make tedious reading. Even maneuvers that result in the capture of huge amounts of territory or thousands of enemy soldiers lack ‘‘glamour’’ if there was no heavy fighting.25 Such operations are too arcane—they make little impression outside of military circles. Napoleon took this lesson to heart, too much so. His belief in the political and diplomatic windfalls to be garnered on bloody battlefields was reinforced by the campaign of 1805. He cut off and forced the surrender of an Austrian army at Ulm.26 It was a great military feat, glorious even, but it was not enough to end the war. Later in the same campaign, Napoleon won his great victory at Austerlitz.27 The results of one day of fighting were earth shattering. The Coalition was torn apart, Austria surrendered, the Holy Roman Empire came crashing down, and Napoleon and his army were immortalized. From that day on, in all of his wars, Napoleon would forever be attempting to duplicate the ‘‘thunderbolt’’ of Austerlitz.28 None of the victories that came before and after that battle quite measured up, but they were glorious enough to confirm Napoleon’s assessment of the political and diplomatic value of winning a fight on the battlefield. So, even with the little army of 1814, he vainly sought to gain the one stunning victory in battle that would force at least one of the Allies to seek peace, as well as one that would bolster the morale and loyalty of the French people. The French army in 1814 was small, but it was potent enough if used wisely. Napoleon, against the odds, had in fact assembled a force sufficient to inflict defeats upon the enemy. Victory in battle was not only possible, but became an accomplished fact on several occasions. Napoleon could perhaps have achieved greater results with more patient and subtle maneuvers, and could have better concentrated his forces had Paris been fortified, but he did win victories. He simply failed to put the victories to the best possible use in diplomatic terms. Napoleon’s conditions for peace remained unrealistic. He had worked himself to the point of exhaustion putting together the army. After that, he somehow continued to show almost superhuman endurance while fighting the campaign. Then, when he had accomplished more than seemed reasonably possible, he was at a loss. All his efforts had wrought much, yet, for all that, had not perceptibly changed the overall situation. Unable to come to terms, either with reality or the Allies, he wasted the precious fruits of his hard-won victories. That is one of the many ironies surrounding the campaign.

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The numbers of the defenders of France in 1814 have been compared unfavorably with those of 1792 and 1793. The discrepancy, so the theory goes, was because of rampant war-weariness in 1814. It was war-weariness that crippled mobilization efforts and helped to cause the great disparity in numbers between the French and the invaders in 1814. If the French had been truly imbued with the ‘‘spirit of ’92,’’ perhaps things would have been different. One problem with this formulation is that it leaves the relative strengths of the Allied armies in 1792 and 1814 out of the equation. In 1792, the Austrians had originally planned on invading France with 50,000 men while Prussia would assist with 42,000 more. In fact, the actual invading armies in 1792 totaled only 80,000. The slow-moving forces included contingents of Hessians and emigr es.29 These modest numbers make a stark contrast with the hundreds of thousands of Coalition troops that poured into France in 1814. The Allies had multiplied and improved exponentially between the years of 1792 and 1814. It is also worthwhile to look at the French defenders of 1792 and 1793, to see how a ‘‘spirited’’ nation created the force that repelled invasion. A hard look at the numbers shows that the notion of the French Nation rising against the legions of tyranny has been romanticized to mythological proportions. The National Guard had been mobilizing for a possible war since 1791. The war began in April 1792, yet even by September, five months later, there still were not massive hordes of armed Frenchmen facing the Allies in the field. Military mobilization required much more than speeches in 1792 just as it did in 1814. The French forces did, however, outnumber the invaders. Recruitment in 1792 was surprisingly disappointing, but 100,000 volunteers of 1791 had already been added to the total forces. Another 120,000 were added in 1792.30 A French army of about 64,000 won the famous Battle of Valmy. They drove off 30,000 Prussians.31 The Coalition that faced France in 1793 was more dangerous than the Allies of 1792, because in addition to Austria and Prussia, it included Great Britain, Holland, Spain, and Piedmont-Sardinia, as well as the states of the Holy Roman Empire. In the face of this danger many of the French volunteers, having joined for one season only, were no longer with the army. Fortunately, there had been very few casualties in 1792, but the army at the beginning of 1793 totaled perhaps 220,000 fully mobilized troops. Conscription was the recourse, but the results at first were as appallingly bad as they would be in 1814. There was no such thing as ‘‘warweariness’’ in 1793, but the areas in the south and southwest of France had draft evasion rates of between 74 percent and 79 percent of those called! In most regions, only about 50 percent of draftees actually reported for duty. In the Vendee, 45,000 were in arms against the Revolution. After two months of conscription, the French army had gained 97,000 men, with 37,000 more still being trained and equipped. T. C. W. Blanning, a historian of the Wars of Revolution puts it aptly:

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An army of volunteers had proved capable of keeping the Prussians out of France in the autumn of 1792 but had shown their intrinsic deficiencies by melting away during the following winter. The partial conscription of February 24, 1793, had been even less successful, failing to yield enough men for victory but bringing counter-revolution in its wake. As the new regime took stock of the situation in the course of June and July 1793, it became clear to them that more drastic measures were needed.32

The total after two months of conscription (134,000) is not decisively more than the 120,000 Napoleon gained in about the same amount of time for the campaign of 1814. It was only a combination of several months of conscription and a true Revolutionary lev ee en masse that finally added 500,000 men to French forces by the end of the summer of 1793.33 Although they had a much larger cumulative population to draw upon, the Allies remained outnumbered on the field of battle for virtually every major engagement in 1793. This did not guarantee an unbroken string of French victories, however. The French lost at Weissenburg in October, even though they had over 51,000 troops against about 43,000 Allies. They also lost at Kaiserslauten despite having an advantage of 34,000 against 26,000 Coalition troops. At Jourdan’s victory at Wattignies, the French had 60,000 men to throw against 30,000 Austrians. As it was, the inexperience of the French army at Wattignies nearly resulted in a lost battle.34 The army of the Republic was still in a maturation process. It was during 1794 that the French army achieved significant qualitative improvements to complement their numbers. They had gained much through experience and training, not to mention effective political indoctrination.35 The other powers of Europe would take a long time before they could adjust their war-making abilities to compete with the military might of France from 1794 onwards. The relatively small numbers of the Coalition armies, combined with their glacially paced offensives and preference for lengthy siege operations, had essentially allowed the French two years in which to create an army that was unprecedented in terms of size and effectiveness. The difference then between 1792 and 1814 had more to do with the Allies than the French. Despite their many defeats in the intervening years, the other European powers basically had over twenty years in which to create, reform, and strengthen their armies. They had suffered horrendous losses, but never anything like Napoleon’s catastrophe in 1812. They therefore never really had to start completely from scratch.36 The military might of the Coalition had continued to accumulate over the decades, both in terms of numbers and experience. As mentioned before, the Allies eventually adopted the pace of French operations, as well as much of their military doctrine and organization. When all the European powers were finally at war with France at once in 1813–1814, they represented an almost

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irresistible force. The Allied advantage in numbers could only have been offset if they had been significantly weaker in terms of combat effectiveness than the French, but this was certainly not the case in 1814.37 It makes a certain amount of intuitive sense that war-weariness must have severely hindered French mobilization efforts by 1814. Yet an examination of the facts reveals some interesting problems with such conjecture, at least in terms of how war-weariness impacted conscription. The initial response to conscription in 1793 was disappointing at best and nearly disastrous at worst. In fact, the rates of draft evasion remained a serious problem for most of the period of warfare between 1793 and 1815. When the system of classes was first instituted in 1798 (the Loi Jourdan), only 131,000 of the 400,000 called actually served in units.38 Between 1799 and 1805, there were evasion rates as high as 59 percent in some departments, while sixteen departments had rates of over 40 percent (although other departments at the same time had rates of less than 10 percent).39 This included a period of victory, followed by peace; hardly a formula for warweariness. Yet war-weariness did make its appearance early. It was not necessary for the wars to run into decades for many people to grow heartily sick of them, and of the conscription that came with them. In the late 1790s, new recruits sometimes deserted in surprisingly large numbers before they joined their units. There are examples of only sixty recruits not deserting out of a total of 1,200 during their first day of marching to their unit. Another group of 333 recruits saw all but six desert.40 Clearly, desertion and draft evasion were nothing new in 1814. It was a gradually more effective system of repression and centralized control that brought more men into the army through conscription.41 Desertion rates to a certain extent would vary with the fortunes of war, but the more consistent pattern was that the rates varied by region. What was different about 1814? Napoleon did not have adequate means or adequate time to make conscription effective. The tendency for potential recruits to evade the draft, or desert before reaching their units, was something that had existed throughout the wars. It did not necessarily signify a sea change in overall political attitudes, at least not as far as the majority of people subject to conscription was concerned. They had never liked conscription. At best, most saw military service as a duty, although there were always those who saw it as an opportunity for adventure or profit. Looking at earlier periods of conscription, it becomes clear that even during the heyday of patriotism and Revolutionary enthusiasm, it took many months to raise armies through various extreme measures. Napoleon simply did not have that kind of time in 1814, even had he still possessed the necessary bureaucratic machinery and surplus troops to spare for duty with the colonnes mobiles. The decision of the Allies to invade immediately was probably much wiser than even they realized. We are still left with the troubling statistics of 1814. How could Napoleon have thought that he could get 936,000 new troops when he only

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raised 120,000? The fact is that the figures are very misleading—at both ends. First, it is essential to note that the estimates of available manpower included all the departments beyond the ‘‘natural frontiers.’’ These areas would not be able to provide recruits, even if they had wanted to. This right away cut down the available manpower significantly—perhaps by as much as a quarter if we consider the difference between a France of about 30 million people and a ‘‘Greater France’’ of about 40 million people.42 Even in the departments of ‘‘old’’ France, gross overestimates of available manpower were common. The problems of keeping accurate records of those eligible for conscription have been discussed in previous chapters. Too many marriages and deaths had not been updated in the records.43 The 936,000 potential recruits simply did not exist. The estimate was likely off by at least a couple hundred thousand. It is also important to note that 140,000 of the new recruits that form part of the ‘‘936,000’’ figure were supposed to have come from activated National Guard units.44 As discussed in earlier chapters, thousands of National Guards did report for service with the field army, but there were no weapons to give them. Furthermore, it is nearly impossible to determine how many National Guards actually were mobilized, especially in the cases of those who served in their own localities. Many men who were willing to serve, or who actually did serve near their homes, do not count towards the 120,000 figure. We also know that there were many thousands of recruits who reported for duty, but who also do not count towards the ‘‘120,000’’ figure, because they never left their training depots. This was due mainly to shortages of weapons or equipment, or a lack of horses in the case of cavalry recruits. This has also been discussed in earlier chapters, although the actual numbers of troops who fall into this category would have to rely on incomplete records. There were, for example, 15,000 to 18,000 cavalry recruits at Versailles when Paris fell.45 The depots around Paris (Versailles for cavalry, Vincennes for artillery, and Courbevoie for Young Guard) were not the only ones in France. Lyons and other large cities were also receiving centers for incoming recruits. Such recruits numbered in the tens of thousands. They most certainly were not insoumis, refractaires, or deserters. Also to be taken into consideration are the numbers of ‘‘uncalled’’ conscripts whose existence was suggested by Elting. There is no possible way to accurately estimate their numbers. While they did not come forward to volunteer, they cannot be properly classified as draft dodgers, because it was the fault of local officials that they were not taken into the army. This would be where war-weariness (not to mention incompetence) among the bureaucracy and the bourgeoisie made its biggest impact. It may not be too much to suggest that perhaps a quarter or even a third of those who were supposed to be conscripted never received their summons. Finally, there were the French partisans and local volunteers who fought during the campaign. There is no way to judge their numbers with any

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degree of certainty, but they also do not apply to the ‘‘120,000’’ figure. Did they number in the thousands, or in the tens of thousands? The problem is partly one of definition. If large groups armed themselves in a locality and were prepared to fight, but did not come across any stray Coalition soldiers, they were still in a sense ‘‘mobilized.’’ This would tend to send their total numbers well into the tens of thousands. The point to all of this is to show how utterly misleading, almost to the point of uselessness, the whole ‘‘only 120,000 out of 936,000’’ statistic is. The number of potential recruits available in reality was probably closer to 700,000. Of this number, perhaps 500,000 were ‘‘actually drafted’’ (360,000 as conscripts and 140,000 as National Guards) and the rest may have fallen through the cracks of bureaucratic chaos. Of this 500,000, about 200,000 (including about 50,000 National Guards) reported for duty, but only 120,000 were armed, horsed, and trained in time to join their units in the field. That still leaves a shortfall of 300,000. We can estimate that about 50,000 of these did serve in some capacity, either as partisans, local volunteers, or as semi-mobilized National Guards. By that estimate we end up with a quarter million genuine deserters and insoumis, a very reasonable guess for the situation overall in 1814. It still represents a very heavy rate of evasion, and takes into consideration factors of warweariness and political disenchantment, as well the desire to avoid being killed ‘‘in the last battle.’’ Why did Napoleon not have a sufficiently large army in 1814? He did not have time to form one. He did not have time or resources to arm and train roughly 80,000 men who were otherwise ready and willing to fight. He did not have time to oversee his disorganized and demoralized bureaucracy in order to produce probably another 200,000 men. He certainly did not have the time or means to round up hundreds of thousands of deserters. Had the Coalition armies waited until spring to invade, they might have faced a French army of as many as 400,000 men, including 100,000 veterans. This is the tally of the existing army, plus the 120,000 actually incorporated into the army, plus the 80,000 mobilized but unarmed or untrained, plus another 100,000 new men to be recruited and trained during the intervening months. The main difficulty in amassing such a force would not have been gathering recruits, but trying to arm them all. Weapons manufacture likely would have continued to fall short of the pace of recruitment. Even by the most optimistic projections, probably no more than 200,000 new muskets could have been supplied. Recourse to pikes (especially for National Guards and artillery) would have been necessary. A total army of 400,000 is a conservative rather than a farfetched guess. It is also completely counter-factual, because the Allies did invade at the beginning of 1814. That is the point. They did not give Napoleon an additional three months of breathing space. Even if the Allies had given Napoleon the extra time in which to create a significantly larger army, he

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still would have remained badly outnumbered. The larger army would in any case have been of benefit only if he readjusted his peace terms, an unlikely development. In the small amount of breathing space he did have, Napoleon could have done a better job of mobilizing irregulars. A major advantage to such forces is that they did not demand the same level of military resources (weapons, uniforms, etc.) required for forming regular troops. He waited entirely too long to take the appropriate measures to create partisan groups. He waited much too long to call for a genuine lev ee en masse. By the time he did so, he was no longer in the same situation as the Republic in 1793, because vastly more French territory was already in the hands of the invaders in 1814 than was the case in 1793. Little things, like suggesting the distribution of pikes to National Guards and citizens, all came far too late. Napoleon knew that he needed more time, but he also should have had a good idea that this precious commodity was not going to be forthcoming. Failing more time, he needed to take appropriate mobilization, political, and diplomatic measures. His efforts fell short in all of these areas. There is a supreme irony in that both detractors and supporters of Napoleon have perpetuated the idea that war-weariness and lack of support were the primary factors in his defeat in 1814. Those who generally disapprove of Napoleon tend to point to the phenomenon of an unenthusiastic, apathetic, and war-weary France as evidence of the dangers of despotism. This is an appealing idea. It suggests that the French people ultimately would not stand for the tyranny of the Emperor and therefore withdrew their support at the crucial moment. They allowed the country to be defeated in order to be rid of him.46 On the other hand, those who admire Napoleon willingly suggest that some Frenchmen betrayed him, while many of the people let him down. This Bonapartist version of a ‘‘stab in the back theory’’ conveniently removes blame for the defeat from Napoleon. The pro-Napoleon faction emphasizes the brilliance of the campaign. They often ignore, or are not even aware of, his many mistakes in 1814. To enhance the irony further, the emphasis on war-weariness in the historiography of 1814 results in assessments of the campaign not inconsistent with Napoleon’s own version of reality. According to him no military defeat was ever directly his fault, in any of his campaigns. It was always some subordinate, or the weather, or treachery, or some other combination of forces beyond his control. Napoleon not only felt that his military reputation was the key to his political power, he saw it as the key to his place in history. He therefore guarded and embellished that reputation with all his energy, and with remarkable long-term effect. Napoleon’s critics (often writers who do not specialize in military history) accept that the 1814 campaign was brilliantly conducted. Admirers (or even objective observers) also tend to focus narrowly on the brilliance of the campaign in the field under Napoleon’s direct control. The explanation for the defeat, therefore,

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cannot be Napoleon’s mistakes. War-weariness, a vague, powerful, illdefined, and uncontrollable force, becomes the explanation. French defeat in 1814 is frequently seen as inevitable, a foregone conclusion. To Napoleon’s critics, he lost in 1814 because of the cumulative effects that years of war and tyranny had on the people. His admirers likewise see the French people as having been worn out and beaten down by years of warfare, even if they don’t see that as being Napoleon’s fault. Unfortunately for both these points of view, the French people do not deserve the blame (or the credit) for Napoleon’s defeat in 1814. War-weariness did play a role in the defeat, just not the primary one. The fact remains that the defeat was mostly Napoleon’s own fault. Despite efforts on his part that can objectively be described as heroic, his whole concept in 1814 was fatally flawed militarily, politically, and certainly diplomatically. As for the French people, we may be all too ready to understand why they would not support Napoleon. It may be hard to comprehend why they might be willing to continue to make sacrifices. Yet sacrifices did continue. Frenchmen, in numbers too large to dismiss, whether from patriotism, habits of obedience, or righteous indignation, were willing to defend France in 1814. Indeed, it could even be argued that it was not so much the subjective moral disease of ‘‘war-weariness’’ that crippled France in 1814, but the very real physical disease of typhus. The invasion of France in 1814 was the ultimate consequence of the wars that were both the catalyst and the legacy of the Revolution. The wars had come full circle. Napoleon at once misunderstood and deliberately distorted the relevance of this situation. He depicted himself as a ‘‘legitimate’’ monarch, but stated unequivocally that his legitimacy derived from the people. He failed, however, to embrace the implications of his claims. The legacy of the Revolution and the welfare of the French people were both in his hands, and were his responsibilities, according to his own formulation. Yet in 1814 he conducted himself neither as a Revolutionary nor as a legitimate monarch. He could have fought the campaign in true Revolutionary fashion, sharing power with competent Frenchmen, using a universal lev ee en masse, and unleashing partisans from the very beginning. On the other hand, he could have behaved more responsibly as a head of state and made a reasonable peace. Instead, he fell between two stools. Napoleon fought in order to preserve the Empire he had created, and would not compromise the nature of that creation. If defeat in 1814 was inevitable, it was largely due to Napoleon’s own character. Yet, in the final analysis, it is easy (and perhaps gratuitous) to criticize Napoleon’s flawed character. To then identify his flaws as the ultimate cause of his defeat is a satisfying, logical and almost self-evident argument. However, to judge objectively both Napoleon and the causes of defeat in 1814, we should admit that some of those causes were not necessarily discernible in advance by Napoleon. A most subtle example of a weakness not readily apparent before the campaign would be the Imperial bureaucracy itself. Aside from the politics

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and personalities of those in the bureaucracy, the very nature of the bureaucracy did not lend itself to ‘‘revolutionary’’ mobilization. Indeed, the nature of any bureaucracy is to regulate human activity within a polity. In theory, this enhances efficiency. In practice, bureaucracies tend to be unresponsive. Flexibility and adaptability usually suffer. This truism, all too familiar to the citizens of any post-modern society, certainly manifested itself in France in 1814. Should Napoleon have foreseen such difficulties? It is perhaps understandable that he may have confused the benefits of centralization with the supposed benefits attributable to bureaucratization. To a certain extent, one cannot have one without the other. The governments in Paris during the Wars of the Revolution had had their own share of military mobilization difficulties, a fact of which Napoleon was keenly aware. The First Republic during the period of the Committee of Public Safety had deemed it necessary to resort to Terror to implement their policies. Their mobilization efforts had met with resistance and counter-revolution. Eventually, mobilization efforts during the Terror bore fruit, not so much because of efficiency per se, but as a result of zeal and thoroughness. The ineptitude and relatively limited numbers of Coalition forces aided the French victory during this period. Under the Directory, there was supposed to be more stability, but there was also inefficiency and corruption, and Napoleon had experienced how negatively this could impact military operations during his first Italian campaign. One ideal vision of a bureaucracy would be one that was both apolitical and incorruptible. The servants of the Empire were deliberately chosen from a broad range of political backgrounds, with an emphasis on ability and loyalty. Thus, Napoleon thought he had achieved (or at least approached) the creation of an ideal bureaucracy. In reality, no bureaucracy is ever completely devoid of politics. Public servants, however they are chosen, always have connections, sympathies, and evolving personal agendas. This does not necessarily lead to significant difficulties, unless, perhaps, if there is a crisis. Napoleon may have learned the wrong lessons regarding government during his rise to power, but his observations, combined with his personal inclinations, led him to create a system that retained only bits of what had gone before. He was certain that his system was an improvement. As we have seen, the imperial machinery did not utilize the frightening sorts of coercion exercised by the Republic during the Terror. On the other hand it was, in theory, better organized and better disciplined than the bureaucracy of the Directory. That it failed so badly in 1814 was not necessarily predictable. Napoleon organized his empire with the goal of making it stable and permanent. French rulers had long utilized an increasingly large bureaucracy to facilitate centralization and administration (not to mention tax collection). Napoleon, as in many things, simply went further than his

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predecessors had. Developing the system of d epartments started during the Revolution, Napoleon gave the corresponding bureaucracy his special attention. Such efforts in the long run actually undermined the ability of the French Empire to fight for its own survival when faced with the crisis of a massive foreign invasion. Viewed this way, the ‘‘tyranny’’ of the Emperor was not a moral impediment to national defense so much as an institutional one. Tyranny, in the form of bureaucracy, did not necessarily squelch patriotism. Instead, patriotism could not easily and readily translate itself into national resistance. Although Napoleon was the master of his own fate, there were times when he sincerely felt that matters were out of his control. The failure of his empire to produce a large army capable of repelling invasion in 1814 came as surprise to him. A more sober analysis of the situation might have forewarned him, but he was not searching for difficulties that were not already apparent. His actions were based on overoptimistic projections of what his subordinates, and his system, were capable of. No wonder then that, in the end, he felt that he had been let down. We should not let our own understanding of the Campaign of 1814 be distorted by Napoleon’s feelings of disappointment and betrayal. Likewise, our understanding of the campaign should not be limited by partial or partisan analyses. There were multiple common-sense reasons for French defeat in 1814. Most studies of 1814 do not sufficiently consider all the causes of the defeat. Houssaye, the most thorough historian of the campaign, came the closest to analyzing the combination of causes and how they acted upon each other, yet somehow he never focused much blame on the Emperor. That is because as a patriot he did not, could not, regard French victory in 1814 as impossible. Furthermore, he regarded Napoleon’s genius as the one factor that gave France the best chance for victory. Houssaye did not blame the French people for the defeat. Instead, he fell in line with his main protagonist and emphasized the failures of certain individuals: Joseph, Clarke, Marmont, Moreau, and others. Despite his exhaustive and admirable research, Houssaye remained a partisan of Napoleon. Other authors like Schroeder rightly have placed blame on Napoleon. Such an approach is more remedial than complete. Napoleon’s numerous errors and personal flaws are only part of the story. French defeat in 1814 seems in retrospect to have been inevitable, and therefore easy to explain. Such conclusions are erroneous. Defeat may or may not have been inevitable, but even if it was, it does not follow that the reasons for this were anything other than complex. Perhaps the main problem is that Napoleon even now inspires emotional responses, one way or the other, that can cloud our judgment. The more we can avoid this trap, and the more we avoid seizing on easy answers, the closer we come to a better understanding of what happened in 1814. From there, we can better grasp the historical lessons of 1814.

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Notes

CHAPTER 1 1. David Chandler, The Campaigns of Napoleon (New York: Macmillan, 1966), 949. Alistair Horne, How Far from Austerlitz? (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 1996), 345; Alan Schom, Napoleon Bonaparte (New York: Harper Collins, 1997), 684. Gunther Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars (London: Cassell, 1999), 182. The statistic is prevalent in general works. 2. The authorities here address French war-weariness in 1814, as does virtually every general work on the period. J. Christopher Herold, The Age of Napoleon (New York: American Heritage, 1963), 374–375. Felix Markham, Napoleon (New York: Mentor Books, 1963), 209–210. Geoffrey Bruun, Europe and the French Imperium (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1938), 195–196. Charles J. Esdaile, The Wars of Napoleon (London: Longman, 1995), 277–278. 3. Most current interpretations attribute the low turnout to war-weariness rather than an actual depletion of able-bodied Frenchmen. The notion that France, after decades of bloodshed, was entirely out of men of military age is essentially a misconception. The wars since 1792 were incredibly costly, but their precise demographic effect is a matter of debate. See also notes 14 and 17 of this chapter. Frank McLynn, Napoleon: A Biography (London: Jonathan Cape, 1997), 666–667. Horne, How Far from Austerlitz?, 338–389. Esdaile, 300–301. 4. McLynn, 709. McLynn points out that the military campaign has been well studied, and the point is well taken considering its compressed nature (most of the action took place over a period of roughly two months). Yet Waterloo took only one day, and the literature surrounding that event dwarfs the amount of published material on 1814. Even in general histories and works whose focus is not military, other campaigns and developments during the Napoleonic period tend to receive more attention than does 1814. 5. Georges Blond, La Grande Arm ee, Marshall May, trans. (London: Arms and Armour Press, 1998), 9. Blond’s initial intention was to write about the Grande Arm ee while speaking as little as possible of Napoleon. He admits that such a concept was ‘‘na€ive.’’ The two cannot be truly separated.

193

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 epilly: Presses du Village, 1986), ix–x. 6. Henry Houssaye, 1814 (Etr 7. Alan Forrest, Conscripts and Deserters (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 59. 8. Houssaye, 27. Markham, Napoleon, 209. 9. Pieter Geyle, Napoleon: For and Against (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1963), 31, 160, 163. Geyle addresses the theme of ‘‘separating’’ Napoleon from France, as treated by a number of authors. 10. Markham, Napoleon, 210. 11. Schom, 684. Chandler, The Campaigns of Napoleon, 949. 12. Forrest, 219. 13. John R. Elting, Swords around a Throne: Napoleon’s Grande Arm ee (New York: The Free Press, 1988), 329. The same statistic is mentioned by Houssaye, 29. 14. F. Loraine Petre, Napoleon at Bay, 1814 (London: Greenhill Books, 1994), 3–8. Chandler, The Campaigns of Napoleon, 947–948. Also see note 3 and 17 in this chapter. 15. Houssaye, 10. 16. Forrest, 97–99. 17. Owen Connelly, The French Revolution and Napoleonic Era (Forth Worth, TX: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich College Publishers, 1991), 232. The Napoleonic Wars, as costly as they were, did not come near destroying a generation of young men. Only twentieth-century wars would approach such catastrophes. At the same time, casualties as a percentage of the total populations of individual countries during the Napoleonic period were significant. See also notes 3 and 14 in this chapter. 18. Georges Lefebvre, Napoleon from Tilsit to Waterloo, 1807–1815, J. E. Anderson, trans. (New York: Columbia, 1969), 346. Petre, 203. Chandler, The Campaigns of Napoleon, 945–947. McLynn, 577. Several authors make the point about lack of time nicely, but it is not their focus. 19. Lefebvre, 346–347. 20. Lefebvre, 339. Chandler, The Campaigns of Napoleon, 946–947. 21. CN #20874, Vol. 26, November 10, 1813. Letter to Clarke, Minister of War. 22. Owen Connelly, Blundering to Glory: Napoleon’s Campaigns (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1987), 198. B. H. Liddell Hart, Strategy: The Indirect Approach (New York: Praeger, 1954), 140–141. Chandler, The Campaigns of Napoleon, 988. 23. Quoted in Markham, Napoleon, 202.

CHAPTER 2 1. Chandler, The Campaigns of Napoleon, 754–755. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 159. Similar numbers appear in most authorities, with minor variations, depending on whether certain units are considered to be with the main force or with the second line. 2. Chandler, The Campaigns of Napoleon, 756. Line battalions usually contained at least 500 men, while depot battalions had about 400. 3. Elting, 424. 4. Brigadier Peter Young and Lieutenant-Colonel John P. Lawford, Wellington’s Masterpiece: The Battle and Campaign of Salamanca (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1977), 310.

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5. During the retreat from Moscow, Napoleon did have hindsight advantage and made a qualified admission of his error, saying to Caulaincourt, ‘‘Doubtless it would have been better to have wound up the war in Spain before embarking on this Russian expedition—though there is much room for discussion on the point.’’ Armand de Caulaincourt, With Napoleon in Russia: The Memoirs of General de Caulaincourt, Duke of Vicenza, George Libaire, trans. and ed. (New York: William Morrow, 1935), 302. 6. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 162. 7. David Gates, The Spanish Ulcer: A History of the Peninsular War (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1986), 220–222, 237–239. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 221. Markham, Napoleon, 169. In 1810, Marshal Massena commanded a French force in pursuit of Wellington’s army as it retreated through Spain and Portugal. Wellington utilized ‘‘scorched earth’’ with effect, and Massena’s army was decimated before any heavy fighting. Troops sometimes ‘‘purchased’’ supplies with refundable certificates. Charles Parquin, Military Memoirs (London: Longman, Green, and Co., 1969), 48. 8. Paul Britten Austin, 1812: The March on Moscow (London: Greenhill Books, 1993), 113–119, 195–197, 235–238. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 162–166. Esdaile, 257. 9. Vincent J. Esposito and John Robert Elting, A Military History and Atlas of the Napoleonic Wars (New York: Praeger, 1965), Map 115. 10. Quoted in Alan Palmer, Napoleon in Russia (London: Alan Deutsch, 1967), Frontpiece, 132–133. Kutusov claimed victory immediately after the battle. Russian citizens were justifiably puzzled by his subsequent retreat. 11. Robert B. Asprey, The Reign of Napoleon Bonaparte (New York: Basic Books, 2001), 260. Austin, 1812: The March on Moscow, 316–319. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 171. Esdaile, 258–259. 12. Paul Britten Austin, 1812: Napoleon in Moscow (London: Greenhill Books, 1995), 214–216. Napoleon’s uncharacteristic loss of nerve at Malojaroslavets had devastating repercussions. This may provide the best argument for an indirect Russian ‘‘victory’’ at Borodino. 13. Paul Britten Austin, 1812: The Great Retreat (London: Greenhill Books, 1996), 423. Napoleon’s assertions about winning all the battles but being defeated by the weather were matters of propaganda and morale. Only to his ministers did he admit that he had erred. 14. Paul W. Schroeder, The Transformation of European Politics, 1763–1848 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 405. 15. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 357–358. Asprey, 274, 278. 16. Scott Bowden, Napoleon’s Grande Arm ee of 1813 (Chicago: The Emperor’s Press, 1990), 27–28. Chandler, 867. Elting, 309–310. Originally, twenty-four battalions were called for. Technically, these troops were retrained ‘‘sailors’’ rather than ‘‘marines’’ as Americans might think of the term. Napoleon had already reformed the uniforms, arms, and training of sailors, and in 1813 it was feasible to cobble together field units from naval units. 17. Bowden, 29. 18. Chandler, 945. 19. Elting, 424–425.

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20. Bowden, 23–26. Elting, 424–425. Chandler, 867. Emir Bukhari, French Napoleonic Line Infantry (Surrey: Almarck Publishing, 1973), 56–59. 21. Saint-Chamans, quoted in Anthony Brett-James, Europe against Napoleon: The Leipzig Campaign, 1813 (London: Macmillan, 1968), 23. 22. Schroeder, 459–466. Markham, Napoleon, 203. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 365–366. 23. Esposito and Elting, Map 132, text. Other authorities agree: ‘‘the choice of Oudinot over Davout . . . seems inexplicable.’’ Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 190. 24. Peter Young, Napoleon’s Marshals (New York: Hippocrene Books, 1973), 157–162. Elting, 147. Some authorities put Oudinot’s total number of wounds as high as thirty-four. 25. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 287. McLynn, 449, 499. 26. Quoted in Brett-James, 164. Esposito and Elting, Map 144, text. Wellington wrote this critique in January 1814. Marshal Marmont’s critique was more retrospective, but he essentially agreed with Wellington’s assessment. 27. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 193. Other authorities differ only slightly, giving Napoleon’s losses as about 70,000 and Allied losses as about 52,000. Digby Smith, 1813: Leipzig. Napoleon and the Battle of Nations. (London: Greenhill Books, 2001), 296–299. 28. Jean-Baptiste Barres, Memoirs of a Napoleonic Officer (New York: The Dial Press, 1925), 193. 29. Lubin Griois, Memoires du G en eral Griois, 1792–1822 (Paris: Plon, 1909), 272. 30. Chandler, 853. Other authorities give the loss in horses at a lower 180,000. Horne, How Far from Austerlitz?, 328. 31. Quoted in Chandler, 867, and also in Horne, How Far from Austerlitz?, 331. 32. Horne, How Far from Austerlitz?, 343. Esposito and Elting, Map 144, overleaf. 33. Petre, 2. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 182. The 100,000 figure only includes garrisons in major cities. Coalition forces quickly swallowed up minor garrisons. Rothenberg accounts for the fall of some garrisons by citing a figure of 90,000 still tied up in various posts west of the Rhine by the beginning of 1814.

CHAPTER 3 1. CN #20830, Vol. 26, October 24, 1813. Bulletin. 2. CN #20832, Vol. 26, October 25, 1813. 3. CN #20833–20834, Vol. 26, October 25, 1813. 4. CN #20835, Vol. 26, October 25, 1813. 5. SH 21 yc 263 and 21 yc 455. (Control ees aux troupes). Forrest, 34–35. Elting, 321. Forrest and Elting both discuss the system of classes, first established by General Jourdan in 1798. How they worked in practice becomes clear after examining the regimental rolls in the Vincennes archives. 6. Forrest, 211–213. 7. SH 2C 180. Letter, February 23, 1814. Two deserters were arrested near Grignon, a rather paltry result. SH C 10136. Situation report. General Henry

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commanded the first colonne mobile, which had to cover the 24th, 25th, and 26th administrative military divisions of the Empire. 8. CN #20835, Vol. 26, October 25, 1813. Letter to Clarke. 9. Owen Connelly, Napoleon’s Satellite Kingdoms (New York: The Free Press, 1969), 305–306. Esposito and Elting, Map 145, text. 10. CN #20839, Vol. 26, October 27, 1813. 11. CN #20880, Vol. 26, November 11, 1813. 12. CN #20844, Vol. 26, 458. November 1, 1813. 13. CN #20854, Vol. 26, November 3, 1813. 14. CN #20846, Vol. 26, November 2, 1813. 15. CN #20855, Vol. 26, November 3, 1813. 16. CN #20865–20875, Vol. 26, November 6–11, 1813. 17. CN #20874, Vol. 26, November 10, 1813. 18. CN #20874, Vol. 26, November 10, 1813. 19. Forrest, 37–38. 20. Elting, 323, 327–328. Forrest, 136–138. 21. Forrest, 48–53. Elting, 34. Louis Bergeron, France under Napoleon, R. R. Palmer, trans. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990), 110–111. 22. Markham, Napoleon, 210. Houssaye, 24–25, 35. Lefebvre, 346. 23. Houssaye, 5. 24. CN #20927, Vol. 26, November 20, 1813. 25. Lefebvre, 339–340. Chandler, 947–948. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 373. 26. Schroeder, 477, 485–490. Schroeder discusses in detail the divergent aims and attitudes of the various Allied powers. Napoleon’s unwillingness to make peace is emphasized throughout the work. 27. Markham, Napoleon, 208. Lefebvre, 341. Chandler, 948. 28. Louis de Villefosse and Janine Bouissounouse, The Scourge of the Eagle: Napoleon and the Liberal Opposition, Michael Ross, trans. and ed. (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1972), Editor’s Note, 243–244. 29. Chandler, 946. Schroeder, 484. 30. Lefebvre, 346. 31. Houssaye, 14–15, 24. 32. Quoted in Markham, Napoleon, 209–210, and in Villefosse and Bouissounouse, 246. 33. Villefosse and Bouissounouse, Editor’s Note on 244. 34. Lefebvre, 346. Markham, Napoleon, 208–209. Isser Wolloch, Napoleon and His Collaborators (New York: W. W. Norton, 2001), 216–218. 35. Louis Antoine Fauvelet de Bourrienne, Memoirs of Napoleon (London: Blackie and Son, 1854), 358. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 375. Markham, Napoleon, 209. R. F. Delderfield, Imperial Sunset: The Fall of Napoleon, 1813–1814 (Philadelphia: Chilton, 1989), 164. Parts of the same speech also appear in other authorities. They do not use Bourrienne as the only source for this speech, even if the specific wording varies slightly in different renditions. 36. Houssaye, 18–20. 37. Oudinot, Memoirs of Marshal Oudinot, duc de Reggio, Alexander Teixeira de Mattos, trans. (New York: D. Appleton, 1897), 240. 38. Barres, 195. Parquin, 169.

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39. Charles Armand Fare, Lettres d’un jeune officier a sa m ere, 1803–1814 (Paris: Delagrave, 1889), 310. Letter of December 28, 1813. 40. Quoted in Houssaye, 16. 41. Quoted in Henry Lachouque, Anatomy of Glory, Anne S. K. Brown, trans. (London: Arms and Armour Press, 1961), 325. 42. Francois Furet, La R evolution, de Turgot a Jules Ferry: 1770–1880 (Paris: Hachette, 1988), 135, 201. Bergeron, 167–168. George Rude, Revolutionary Europe, 1783–1815 (London: Collins, 1964), 81, 144–145. 43. Jean Tranie and J. C. Carmigniani, Napol eon: 1814—La campagne de  France (Paris: Editions Pygmalion/Gerard Watelet, 1989), 19. 44. CN #21036, Vol. 26, December 25, 1813. 45. CN #21038, Vol. 26, December 25, 1813. 46. CN #21048, Vol. 26, December 27, 1813. 47. CN #21043–21046, Vol. 26, December 26, 1813. 48. Houssaye, 10, 18–19. 49. CN #21041, Vol. 26, December 26, 1813, Decree. The cities corresponded to the twenty-six military divisions in France. The commissioners included senators such as Boissy-Anglas, Segur, and Chaptal. The case of Chaptal was an interesting one. He was hardly enamored of the Emperor, nor did he have any experience in military organization, but Napoleon clearly considered him a man of ability. Houssaye, 19. 50. Markham, Napoleon, 209. Lefebvre, 347. 51. Houssaye, 8. 52. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 195. Esposito and Elting, Map 145. 53. CN #21054, Vol. 26, December 30, 1813. 54. CN #21058, Vol. 27, January 2, 1814. 55. CN #21061, Vol. 27, January 3, 1814, Decree. 56. CN #21070, Vol. 27, January 8, 1814. 57. CN #21071, Vol. 27, January 8, 1814. 58. CN #21073, Vol. 27, January 9, 1814. 59. CN #21078, Vol. 27, January 10, 1814. 60. SH C10128. C2 169. Ministry of War, letter of January 1. There were twenty-three officers listed for service. 61. CN #21089, Vol. 27, January 12, 1814. 62. CN #21089, Vol. 27, January 12, 1814. By contrast, Napoleon had condemned the burning of Moscow as too extreme a means of waging war by the Russians. Moscow Governor Rostopchin’s rhetoric in 1812 was actually similar to that used by Napoleon regarding Paris. Palmer, Napoleon in Russia, 133. 63. SH C2 329. Correspondence from Clarke, January 14, 1814. The original plan called for Augereau to strike into Switzerland and retake Geneva, but Napoleon abandoned this project. 64. Chandler, 949. Esposito and Elting, text to Map 145. 65. Bourrienne, 378. The quote is also in Delderfield, 161, and in Chandler, 951. 66. Quoted in Delderfield, 161. Part of the quotation is also in Villefosse and Bouissounouse, 245. 67. Tranie and Carmigniani, 20. 68. CN #21122, Vol. 27, January 22, 1814. 69. CN #21123–21126, Vol. 27, January 22–23, 1814.

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70. SH C10128. The announcement by letter was circulated throughout the army in early January. 71. Baron de Marbot, The Memoirs of Baron de Marbot (London: Longman, Green, and Co., 1892), 491. 72. Houssaye, 33. Delderfield, 169–170. Tranie and Carmigniani, 35. Lefebvre, 347. The dramatic episode is variously rendered, including in authorities written in French. 73. CN #21134, Vol. 27, January 24, 1814. 74. Houssaye, 427. Petre, 199. Chandler, 952–953. Esposito and Elting, text to Map 145. 75. CN #21035, Vol. 26, December 25, 1813. Letter to Clarke.

CHAPTER 4 1. Tranie and Carmigniani, 291–292. Petre, 211. During the campaign, Napoleon was sometimes able to have a higher percentage of his field army consist of cavalry, but this was due partly to losses among infantry and artillery. In early February, almost a third of the field army under his direct control was cavalry, but only because he had massed his mounted regiments together for the operation he was directing at that point in the campaign. 2. John A. Lynn, The Bayonets of the Republic: Motivation and Tactics in the Army of Revolutionary France, 1791–94 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1984), 217–218, 244, 268–270. Rory Muir, Tactics and the Experience of Battle in the Age of Napoleon (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998), 54–67. Chandler, 339–341. Elting, 213–214, 534–535. Bukhari, 5–9. 3. Gunther Rothenberg, The Art of Warfare in the Age of Napoleon (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978), 69. Philip J. Haythornthwaite, The Napoleonic Sourcebook (London: Arms and Armour Press, 1990), 76–77. Muir, 86–89. Lynn, 178, 281. Elting, 49–51, 531–533. Chandler, 342–343. Bukhari, 14–15. 4. Peter Paret, Yorck and the Era of Prussian Reform, 1807–1815 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1966), 271–273. Chandler, 341–342. Haythornthwaite, The Napoleonic Sourcebook, 71–76. Muir, 76–85. 5. Bowden, 61–64. 6. SH 2C 556 and SH 2C 564. Inspection reports, January 1814. 7. Houssaye, 12. 8. Houssaye, 12. Elting, 323, 534, 590. 9. SH 2C 564. Inspection reports, January and February 1814. 10. SH 2C 556. Situation report, January 18, 1814. 11. Houssaye, 13. 12. SH 2C 564. Inspection reports, January and February 1814. 13. SH 2C 564. Inspection report, January 8, 1814. 14. Philip Haythornthwaite, Napoleon’s Light Infantry (London: Osprey Publishing, 1983), 24. Elting, 217. Bukhari, 61–63. 15. SH 2C 564. Inspection reports, January and February 1814. 16. SH 2C 564. Inspection report, January 8, 1814. 17. SH 2C 564. Inspection reports, January 1814. 18. SH. 2C 564. Inspection report, January 8, 1814. 19. SH 2C 556. Situation reports, January 1814.

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20. Henry Lachouque, The Anatomy of Glory: Napoleon and His Guard, Anne S. K. Brown, trans. (London: Arms and Armour Press, 1978), 201. Elting, 195. 21. SH 21 yc 455. Control ees aux troupes. 22. SH 21 yc 455. Control ees aux troupes. Houssaye, 11. 23. SH 21 yc 263. Control ees aux troupes. 24. SH 21 yc 263. 25. Forrest, 44. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 12. Authorities claiming that Napoleon was 50 600 in English measurements are assuming that his body was measured on Saint Helena using a pre-Revolutionary French yardstick. Connelly contends that Napoleon more likely was measured with an English yardstick, making him 50 200 . In any case, anywhere between 50 200 and 50 600 puts him in the same range as the men of the 28th.

CHAPTER 5 1. H. C. B. Rogers, Napoleon’s Army (London: Ian Allan, 1974), 37–42. Elting, 229–239. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 73. 2. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 141. Chandler, 355. Elting, 229–230. French cavalry did not enjoy a fearsome reputation during the Revolutionary Wars, but Napoleon had taken measures to improve the overall quality of his mounted arm throughout his career and began serious reorganization as First Consul. 3. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 142–143. Bowden, 12–14, 47. Elting, 319. Chandler, 853. 4. Bowden, 48–49, 206. 5. Elting, 523–524. Rogers, 42. Chandler, 519. 6. Tranie and Carmigniani, 291–299. 7. Marbot, 448. Houssaye, 435. Initially, the command of the depot was under General Roussel, but he was soon commanding cavalry with the field army, so Preval took his place. CN #21134, Vol. 27, January 24, 1814. 8. SH 2C 557. Inspection report, January 13, 1814. 9. SH 2C 557. Inspection report, January 20, 1814. 10. SH 2C 557. Inspection report, January 25, 1814. 11. SH 2C 557. Inspection report, January 3, 1814. 12. SH 2C 556. Situation report, January 23, 1814. 13. SH 2C 557. Report from Bureau du Mouvement des Troupes. February 22, 1814. 14. Tranie and Carmigniani, 292–293. 15. SH 2C 557. Inspection reports, January 20 and 25, 1814. 16. CN #21122, Vol. 27, January 22, 1814. Lachouque, 327. Elting, 201. He would have to settle for six new Young Guard infantry regiments. 17. SH 2C 557, Inspection reports, 1814. CN #21134, Vol. 27, January 24, 1814. Marbot, 448–449, 453. Houssaye, 45. 18. CN #21134, Vol. 27, January 24, 1814.

CHAPTER 6 1. Quoted in Elting, 349, and in Chandler, 179. 2. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 74–78. Chandler, 357–363. The ‘‘ricochet’’ method of firing solid shot, according to French artillery tradition, was invented by Vauban.

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3. Elting, 259. Artillerymen handling their guns in the front lines sometimes took heavy casualties. It was not unknown for artillery crews to be wiped out by enemy fire. 4. Bowden, 49–50. 5. Bowden, 49–50. 6. Elting, 263. 7. Griois, 297. 8. Marbot, 453. 9. CN #21308, Vol. 27, February 19, 1814. Letter to Clarke. 10. Elting, 256. 11. SH C2 560. Situation report, 1814. 12. Elting, 256, 264. 13. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 142. 14. CN #21139, Vol. 27, January 27, 1814. 15. CN #21318, Vol. 27, February 19, 1814. 16. Elting, 252. Chandler, 974. 17. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 108. 18. Rogers, 86–87. 19. Tranie and Carmigniani, 291–292. 20. Elting, 271. 21. CN #21139, Vol. 27, January 27, 1814. 22. CN #21165, Vol. 27, February 1, 1814. 23. Elting, 88–91, 411–416. 24. J.-C. Quennevat, Atlas de la Grande Arm ee: Napol eon et Ses Campagnes,  1803–1815 (Paris: Editions Sequoia, 1968), 191. Tranie and Carmigniani, 131. 25. Elting, 416. 26. SH 2C 183. Report of March 12, 1814. Forrest, 121, 206–208. Elting, 326, 328, 418–419. 27. CN #21307, Vol. 27, February 19, 1814. 28. Forrest, 211–213. The heyday of the colonnes mobiles was between July 1810 and February 1811, when they made 14,000 arrests. There were fifteen separate colonnes operating simultaneously during this period. Their success was so complete that they were disbanded in 1812, only to be used again starting in 1813, in the wake of the Russian disaster.

CHAPTER 7 1. W. Bruce Lincoln, The Romanovs: Autocrats of All the Russias (New York: Anchor Books/Doubleday, 1981), 140. 2. Bowden, 28–29. Chandler, 136–137. Elting, 185–186. In 1813, 3,000 veterans from the war in Spain were picked to replace losses to the Guard suffered in Russia. 3. Chandler, 338–339. Elting, 185–186. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 145–146. Lachouque, 86–89, 130–136. 4. Chandler, 339. 5. CN #21122, Vol. 27, January 22, 1814. 6. Houssaye, 29. 7. Elting, 195. 8. Service Historique de l’Armee du Terre (Vincennes).

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9. The well-preserved uniform collection on display in the museum at the Invalides includes that of a Young Guard Voltigeur. 10. Bergeron, 32–37. Connelly, The French Revolution and Napoleonic Era, 222–223. 11. CN #20897, Vol. 26. Lachouque, 286. Elting, 199–200. 12. SH C2 554. Inspection reports, January 1814. 13. Elting, 201. Lachouque, 327. 14. CN #20960, Vol. 26, December 3, 1813. 15. SH C2 556. Situation report, March 15, 1814. 16. George Nafziger, Mariusz T. Wesolowski, and Tom Devoe, The Poles and Saxons during the Napoleonic Wars (Chicago: The Emperor’s Press, 1991), 129–130. 17. SH C2 554. Situation reports, January 24–25, 1814. 18. Lachouque, 283.

CHAPTER 8 1. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 97. 2. William Doyle, The Oxford History of the French Revolution (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 127–130. 3. The hymn by Rouget de Lisle was originally composed as a chant de guerre for the French Army of the Rhine in April 1792 but was only popularized after the Marseilles contingent of f ed er es arrived in Paris singing the future national anthem on July 30, 1792. Doyle, 187. Connelly, The French Revolution and Napoleonic Era, 115. 4. Connelly, The French Revolution and Napoleonic Era, 114–116. 176. Elting, 422. 5. Elting, 422–423. There is a National Guard uniform from 1810 on display in the Invalides museum. 6. Bowden, 22–23. Elting, 425. 7. SH C2 186. Report of Marshal Jourdan to Minister of War, March 28, 1814. 8. CN #21139, Vol. 27, January 27, 1814. 9. CN #21185, Vol. 27, February 5, 1814. Napoleon later inquired about weapons for 12,000 National Guards who had assembled at Lyons. CN #21409, Vol. 27, March 2, 1814. Letter to Clarke. 10. CN #21187, Vol. 27. February 6, 1814. Letter to Clarke. 11. Lynn, 189–191. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 70. 12. SH 2C 564. Situation reports, February 1814. 13. CN #21343, Vol. 27, February 21, 1814. Letter to Augereau. 14. SH C2 183. Letter from General Brayer to General Molitor, March 12, 1814. Brayer commanded both line and National Guard units, and so was acquainted with the needs of both types of formations. 15. CN #21342, Vol. 27, February 21, 1814, Letter to Daru. 16. SH C2 560. Situation reports, January 19, 1814. 17. SH C2 183. Letter from Clarke, March 12, 1814. 18. SH C2 186. Letter to Clarke, March 31, 1814. 19. Elting, 425.

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203

20. SH C2 564. Situation report, March 2, 1814. 21. SH C2 180. Colonel Charmont letter to Marshal Jourdan, February 25, 1814.

CHAPTER 9 1. Tranie and Carmigniani, 57. Petre, 17. Chandler, 953. 2. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 157–158. 3. Quoted in Markham, Napoleon, 210. 4. Elting, 128–129. Young, 27–31. 5. Esposito and Elting, Map 8 and Map 146. Petre, 17. Chandler, 54. 6. Chandler, 959. Petre, 24. 7. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 195. Esposito and Elting, Map 146, text. 8. Coignet, Les Cahiers du Capitaine Coignet (Paris: Hachette, 1968), 272. 9. Digby Smith, The Greenhill Napoleonic Wars Data Book (London: Greenhill Books, 1998), 491. Coignet, 273. Tranie and Carmigniani, 70. Petre, 24–25. 10. Chandler, 959. Tranie and Carmigniani, 70. Smith, 491. Young, 162. Smith (always favoring the Allies), has Coalition losses at only 3,000. Oudinot could be counted as having received two wounds, because both thighs were slightly injured. Depending on different authorities, these were wounds numbers twenty and twenty-one, or numbers thirty-two and thirty-three for the much-scarred Marshal. 11. Coignet, 274. Tranie and Carmigniani, 73. 12. Chandler, 961–962. Petre, 30. Connelly, 195. Smith, 491–492. Not all of the Allied troops actually got into action, but at least 80,000 to 85,000 took a direct part in the battle. 13. Franz Joseph Hausmann, A Soldier for Napoleon: The Campaigns of Lieutenant Franz Joseph Hausmann, 7th Bavarian Infantry, Cynthia Joy, trans., and John H. Gill, ed. (London: Greenhill Books, 1998), 226. 14. Petre, 35. Wet gunpowder could not be fired. If it was allowed to dry out, it could be used again. 15. Esposito and Elting, Map 146, text. Petre, 37. Chandler, 962–963. Smith, 493. Hausmann, 226. The number of guns lost varies according to different authorities. Some say the French lost only fifty cannons. According to Hausmann, W€ urtembergers captured forty-one guns and Bavarians took fifteen. This accounts for fifty-six. 16. Houssaye, 62. Hausmann, 226. Hausmann suggests that few French surrendered. Despite Napoleon’s efforts to evacuate his wounded, many of the 2,000 captured were probably wounded men. 17. Petre, 37. Chandler, 962–963. Smith, 493. 18. CN #21166, Vol. 27, February 1, 1814. 19. Chandler, 964. Esposito and Elting, Map 146, text. 20. Griois, 281. 21. Alexander I and General Sacken quoted in Houssaye, 62. 22. Petre, 45–48. 23. Esposito and Elting, Map 146, text. Chandler, 964–965. Houssaye, 62–63. 24. Chandler, 968. Esposito and Elting, Map 146, text. 25. CN #21193, Vol. 27, February 7, 1814.

204

Notes

26. CN #21197, Vol. 27, February 7, 1814. 27. ML #25, Napoleon to Marie-Louise, February 7, 1814. 28. CN #21210, Vol. 27, February 8, 1814. 29. Markham, Napoleon, 209. Chandler, 966–967. 30. Lefebvre, 348. Markham, Napoleon, 212. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 376. As Herold writes, ‘‘No true gambler quits when he breaks even.’’ 31. CN #21214, Vol. 27, February 8, 1814. Letter to Army Commissary. 32. CN #21222, Vol. 27, February 9, 1814. 33. CN #21224, Vol. 27, February 9, 1814. 34. CN #21218, Vol. 27, February 9, 1814. 35. CN #21211, Vol. 27. Order of February 8, 1814. Petre, 41. Chandler, 967. Esposito and Elting, Map 146, text. He also instructed Suchet to detach troops and send them to reinforce Augereau at Lyons. CN #21213, Vol. 27, February 8, 1814. 36. Petre, 53. Chandler, 967–968. 37. CN #21228, Vol. 27, February 10, 1814. 38. Griois, 284. 39. Smith, 494. Petre, 58–59. Chandler, 969. Tranie and Carmigniani, 98. Estimates of Russian strength vary from a high of 6,000 (Tranie and Carmigniani), to a low of 3,700 (Smith),. The estimate of 3,700 appears to include infantry only, so the artillerists serving the 24 guns (which number all authorities agree on), would put the total at about 4,000. In any case, the Russians were badly outnumbered. Olssufiev’s name is variously spelled (Olsufiew, Olsufiev, etc.), depending on different authorities. 40. CN #21229, Vol. 27, February 10, 1814. Smith, 494. Tranie and Carmigniani, 98. Chandler, 969. Petre, 60. Smith has the highest estimate of French losses at 600, whereas Chandler estimates ‘‘a couple hundred,’’ which is in line with Napoleon’s own estimate. 41. Houssaye, 66.  42. Jean Thiry, La Campagne de France de 1814 (Paris: Editions BergerLevrault, 1938), 156. 43. Tranie and Carmigniani, 103. Chandler, 969. Esposito and Elting, Map 147, text. 44. Chandler, 969. Esposito and Elting, Map 147, text. 45. Chandler, 972. Petre, 64. Smith, 494–495. 46. SH 2C 556. Inspection reports, January 1814. 47. Griois, 285. Chandler 971–973. Petre, 64. Tranie and Carmigniani, 105–112. 48. We are fortunate to have an eyewitness account of this rare use of Old Guard infantry. Parquin, 172. 49. Quoted in Tranie and Carmigniani, 109. 50. Smith, 495. Chandler, 973. Petre, 66. Smith, and to some extent Petre, generally take a pro-Allied estimate of casualties on both sides, whereas Chandler and others are more pro-French in their casualty estimates for the 1814 campaign. It is no surprise that casualty estimates vary, because even the original figures given by both sides could be distorted, either intentionally or unintentionally. 51. ML #37, Napoleon to Marie-Louise, February 11, 1814. 52. Griois, 286–287. Griois, a sympathetic but reliable eyewitness, is unstinting in his praise of Napoleon’s physical courage.

Notes

205

53. Parquin, 172. Griois, 287–288. Tranie and Carmigniani, 113. Parquin remembers taking part in breaking a Russian square on February 11, but is probably confusing this action with a cavalry charge that he participated in on February 12, when the Imperial Guard Dragoons, led by General Letort, broke the squares at Chateau-Thierry. Many authorities also combine Montmirail and Chateau-Thierry into one battle. 54. Tranie and Carmigniani, 115. Chandler, 973–974. 55. Tranie and Carmigniani, 114–115. Esposito and Elting, Map 148, text. Smith, 496. Petre, 67. Chandler, 974. Casualty estimates for Chateau-Thierry vary even more wildly than those for most 1814 battles. The highest estimate for the Allies is by Esposito and Elting, giving 7,000 total losses. However, they also give the highest French losses at 2,000. Most authorities give French losses at less than 1,000. Smith gives Allied losses at around 3,000, and Petre is in the same area, accounting for 2,750. The confusion seems to result partly because Allied prisoners are counted as the total losses, while numbers of dead and wounded are harder to come by. Also, Montmirail and Chateau-Thierry are sometimes counted as one battle and the casualty figures overlap. As usual, the numbers given by both sides cannot be considered entirely reliable. 56. Griois, 294–295. 57. Quoted in Petre, 76. 58. Petre, 69. Chandler, 974. Tranie and Carmigniani, 291. This was a startling reduction in strength. Ricard’s division had numbered 2,917 as of January 25. Losses would reflect all casualties (including desertions), since that date. Some of the losses were likely temporary in nature, because stragglers were bound to occur during the marches. 59. Thiry, 174–176. Houssaye, 68. Petre, 68–71. Chandler 974–975. Smith, 497. Smith puts Allied losses at less than 4,000. Petre and Chandler say Bl€ ucher lost 7,000. Houssaye and Thiry are in the middle claiming 6,000. They all give French losses at about 600, so Vauchamps remains a very one-sided affair. Grouchy’s distinguished conduct during the battle helped reinforce his stature as a cavalry commander and contributed to his eventual elevation to the rank of Marshal during the Hundred Days—to Napoleon’s ultimate regret. 60. Smith, 497. 61. Tranie and Carmigniani, 122. Fare, 318. 62. CN #21229, Vol. 27, February 10, 1814. CN #21231, Vol. 27, February 11, 1814. CN #21233, Vol. 27, February 12, 1814. CN #21255, Vol. 27, February 14, 1814. ML #33, Napoleon to Marie-Louise, February 10, 1814. ML #38, Marie-Louise to Napoleon, February 12, 1814. ML #40, Napoleon to Marie-Louise, February 12, 1814. ML #45, Napoleon to Marie-Louise, February 14, 1814. ML #46, Marie-Louise to Napoleon, February 15, 1814. 63. Tranie and Carmigniani, 111, 124. Chandler, 976. 64. ML #43, Marie-Louise to Napoleon, February 13, 1814. Houssaye, 36–37. 65. Houssaye, 38–39. Tranie and Carmigniani, 111, 125, 153. Tranie has reproductions of a couple of anonymous prints and one engraving by Opitz depicting the Parisians helping Coalition prisoners as they are paraded through the city. It is possible that the topic of such illustrations was deemed suitable during the Restoration. They do appear to be from that period, in contrast to many of the paintings of 1814 battles, which often date from the Second Empire or later.

206

Notes

66. Quoted in Tranie and Carmigniani, 126, and in Houssaye, 69. 67. CN #21256, Vol. 27, February 15, 1814. Letter to Joseph. 68. Hausmann, 228. Chandler, 978. Esposito and Elting, Map 149, text. 69. Smith, 498. Chandler, 978–979. Esposito and Elting, Map 149, text. Petre, 82. Thiry, 196–197. 70. Chandler, 979. Esposito and Elting, Map 149, text. Petre, 84. 71. Petre, 83. Smith, 498. 72. CN #21302, Vol. 27, February 19, 1814. Elting, 245–246. Petre, 85. Griois, 298. Tranie and Carmigniani, 133. 73. Coignet, 275–276. Quennevat, 191. Tranie and Carmigniani, 139–140. Chandler, 980. Delderfield, 190. Coignet insists that Marshal Lefebvre had ‘‘foam coming out of his mouth,’’ and Coignet himself was among the mounted officers that the Marshal led. One hopes the eyewitness was not confusing the Marshal with his horse. Napoleon’s famous quote while serving with his gunners at Montereau varies slightly, even in the French-language accounts, but the thrust of the words is the same. English language authorities generally translate ‘‘fondu’’ literally into ‘‘cast’’ (‘‘the ball that will kill me has not yet been cast’’), but that seems a potentially confusing English verb in the context of the situation. 74. Griois, 299. 75. Petre, 85. Smith, 498–499. Chandler, 980. Thiry, 206. Chandler gives higher Coalition losses of 6,000, but also higher French losses of 2,500. He is probably including not only Montereau, but all the actions of February 18 fought along the line of the Seine. 76. CN #21296, Vol. 27, February 18, 1814. 77. CN #21318, Vol. 27, February 19, 1814. 78. Petre, 86–88. Chandler, 980–981. Esposito and Elting, Map 150, text. 79. CN #21314, Vol. 27, February 19, 1814. 80. CN #21343, Vol. 27, February 21, 1814. 81. Petre, 80. 82. Chandler, 981. Petre, 88. Esposito and Elting, Map 150, text. For a detailed account of the Congress of Chatillon from the Allied perspective, see Schroeder, 495–501. 83. CN #21285, Vol. 27, February 17, 1814. Letter to Caulaincourt. 84. CN #21315, Vol. 27, February 19, 1814. Letter to Caulaincourt. 85. Las Cases, Le Memorial de Sainte-H el ene (Paris: Librarie Gallimard, 1956), Volume 2, 73. Armand de Caulaincourt, No Peace with Napoleon, George Libaire, trans. and ed. (New York: William Morrow, 1936), 4–10. 86. Quoted in Houssaye, 101–102. The attitude of the Tsar is discussed in other authorities. Petre, 78. Lefebvre, 344. 87. CN #21344, Vol. 27, February 21, 1814. 88. Chandler, 981. Chandler asserts that by the time he received this appeal, Francis had ‘‘hardened his heart.’’ This assessment has merit, but the decisions of the Austrian Emperor did not occur independently of the advice of Metternich, not to mention the views of the other Coalition members. 89. Blond, 421–422. 90. Chandler, 981. Petre, 90–91. Esposito and Elting, Map 150, text. 91. Houssaye, 76–77. Tranie and Carmigniani, 150, 152. Chandler, 981.

Notes

207

92. CN #21358, Vol. 27, February 24, 1814. Letter to Montalivet. CN #21360, Vol. 27, February 24, 1814. Letter to Joseph. Napoleon repeats the line about his subordinates not understanding France any more than he understood China in both letters. In the letter to Joseph, Napoleon characterizes Montalivet as ‘‘a trembler’’ with foolish ideas about men. Such statements are typical of his correspondence of the period. 93. Houssaye, 77. 94. CN #21359, Vol. 27, February 24, 1814. 95. Griois, 301. 96. Griois, 301. Petre, 90. Esposito and Elting, Map 150, text. 97. Petre, 91. Esposito and Elting, Map 150, text. Chandler, 983. 98. Tranie and Carmigniani, 13, 18, 20. Houssaye, 87. Petre, 4. Chandler, 947–948. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 373. Tsar Alexander at one point was of the opinion that the French people would not accept a Bourbon restoration. Talleyrand would later persuade Alexander otherwise. Bernadotte apparently had originally urged peace with Napoleon and supported the ‘‘natural frontiers’’ settlement. He came to believe, probably urged on by his friend the Tsar, that he could gain the throne of France, legitimized by a plebiscite that he convinced himself he would win. 99. Tranie and Carmigniani, 152. Chandler, 983. Esposito and Elting, Map 151, text. 100. Petre, 96. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 198. Chandler, 984. 101. Petre, 101. Esposito and Elting, Map 151. 102. Houssaye, 116–120. Hausmann, 229. Tranie and Carmigniani, 154–155. Smith, 500. 103. Chandler, 984–985. Esposito and Elting, Map 151, text. 104. CN #21413 and #21421, Vol. 27, March 2, 1814. 105. Petre, 109. Chandler, 985–986. 106. Houssaye, 136–166. Petre, 110–112. Nafziger, 83, 129. Chandler, 986. Esposito and Elting, Map 152, text. Tranie and Carmigniani, 164. 107. CN #21438 and 21439, Vol. 27, March 5, 1814. CN #21451, Vol. 27, March 6, 1814. 108. Griois, 307. Tranie and Carmigniani, 168. Chandler, 986–987. 109. Chandler, 988. Smith, 508. Smith gives each side about 23,000 actually engaged. 110. Houssaye, 30, 180. Tranie and Carmigniani, 175. 111. Petre, 128. 112. Houssaye, 188. Smith, 508. Chandler, 988. Esposito and Elting, Map 152, text. 113. Petre, 134. Chandler, 988–989. 114. Petre, 136–137. Esposito and Elting, Map 152 and text. Chandler, 988–989. 115. Houssaye devotes a chapter to this incident, ‘‘The Hurrah of Athies’’ as it became known. Houssaye, 214–221. Petre, 141–142. Tranie and Carmigniani, 180. Chandler, 990. 116. Petre, 144–145. Chandler, 991. Esposito and Elting, Map 152, text. Smith, 510. Smith gives slightly higher French losses at 6,500. He gives Allied losses as under 1,000.

208

Notes

117. CN #21461, Vol. 27, March 11, 1814. 118. The Allies backdated the agreement to March 1. Schroeder, 501–504. 119. Chaumont, Lyons, and Bordeaux are dealt with in various authorities. Houssaye, 233–235, 244. Petre, 148. Chandler, 992. Esposito and Elting, Maps 152 and 153, text. 120. Griois, 310–311. Coignet, 276–277. Houssaye, 262–266. Tranie and Carmigniani, 189–192. Chandler, 992–993. Petre, 150. Smith, 511. 121. Houssaye, 271–272. Chandler, 993. 122. Esposito and Elting, Map 153, text, and Map 153. Chandler, 993. Petre, 156. 123. Petre, 162–163. Chandler, 994. Esposito and Elting, Map 154, text. 124. CN #21521 and #21522, Vol. 27, March 20, 1814. 125. Petre, 166. Chandler, 996. Houssaye, 301–302. 126. Griois, 316. Houssaye, 306–307. Tranie and Carmigniani, 198–199. Nafziger, 130. According to some authorities, Napoleon borrowed an aide’s sword, since his own seldom-used sword was stuck in its scabbard. 127. Hausmann, 231. Petre, 170. Houssaye, 311–312. 128. Tranie and Carmigniani, 203. Houssaye, 309. Parquin, 179. 129. Griois, 318. 130. Parquin, 179–180. 131. Petre, 172–173. Houssaye, 313–317. 132. Houssaye, 321–323. Petre, 174–176. The 28th Line Infantry was among the regiments that distinguished themselves in the rear-guard action. 133. Chandler, 998. Smith, 513. The authorities disagree as usual on the numbers. Smith points out that available records for the Battle of Arcis-sur-Aube are incomplete and unreliable. 134. SH C2 180. Ministry of War letter to General Durette, Commander at Metz, February 27, 1814. 135. CN #21538, Vol. 27, March 23, 1814. 136. Tranie and Carmigniani, 213. Petre, 177–178. Houssaye, 333–334. 137. ML #131. Letter from Napoleon to Marie-Louise, March 23, 1814. 138. Petre, 183. Chandler, 999. 139. Houssaye, 354–362. Petre, 187–188. Chandler, 999. 140. Bl€ ucher quoted in Petre, 189. 141. Chandler, 999–1000. Esposito and Elting, Map 154, text.

CHAPTER 10 1. Wilhelm Alberti quoted in Brett-James, 292. 2. CN #21055, Vol. 27, January 1, 1814. CN #21061, Vol. 27, January 4, 1814. 3. Thiry, 66–67. Espostio and Elting, Map 145, text. 4. Lachouque, 376, 380. Tranie and Carmigniani, 22, 196, 197. Petre, 164, 180. 5. Parquin, 181. 6. Don W. Alexander, Rod of Iron: French Counterinsurgency Policy in Aragon during the Peninsular War (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1985), 126–127, 234.

Notes

209

7. Caulaincourt, With Napoleon in Russia, 306–307. Also in J. Christopher Herold, The Mind of Napoleon: A Selection from His Written and Spoken Words (New York: Columbia University Press, 1961), 183. 8. Caulaincourt, With Napoleon in Russia, 302. 9. Elting, 224. 10. Houssaye, 56. Smith, 516. 11. Robert B. Asprey, War in the Shadows: The Guerilla in History (New York: William Morrow, 1994), 1–63, 74. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, Michael Howard and Peter Paret, trans. and ed. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1989), 479. John Lawrence Tone, The Fatal Knot: The Guerilla War in Navarre and the Defeat of Napoleon in Spain (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994), 4. Anthony James Joes, Guerilla Conflict before the Cold War (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1996), 98. 12. Alexander, Rod of Iron, 186, 211–212, 234. 13. Tranie and Carmigniani, 22, 65. Thiry, 191. 14. Houssaye, 44–45. Thiry, 191. Griois, 297. 15. Quoted in Houssaye, 47–48 and in Tranie and Carmigniani, 24. 16. Quoted in Houssaye, 46, Tranie and Carmigniani, 146, and Thiry, 191. 17. Houssaye, 51–52. Thiry, 160, 165–166. Juge de Paix Hubert, ‘‘Incendie de Mery-sur-Seine,’’ in 1814–1815, Souvenirs des regions envahies: Extraits du Carnet de La Sabretache, ann ees 1898, 1908, 1914, 1920 (Paris: Librarie Historique F. Teissedre, 1999), 42. 18. Houssaye, 47–52. Thiry, 160. Hausmann, 227. 19. Houssaye, 48. 20. Hubert, ‘‘Incendie de Mery-sur-Seine,’’ in 1814–1815, Souvenirs des regions envahies, 42–43. 21. Hausmann, 230. 22. Griois, 299–300. Parquin, 174. Fare, 321. Fare described the invaders as ‘‘barbarians of the North.’’ 23. Parquin, 174. 24. Hausmann, 226, 230. 25. CN #21329, Vol. 27, February 21, 1814. 26. Fare, 322. 27. Some older French soldiers would have remembered their own ruthless suppression of rebels in the Vendee. Still more veterans had participated in brutal anti-guerilla operations in Spain. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 74–79. Gates, 36. 28. ‘‘mugir ces feroces soldats, ils viennent, jusques dans vos bras, egorger vos fils, vos campagnes. . . . Aux armes citoyens! Formez vos bataillons! Marchons, marchons, qu’un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.’’ 29. Houssaye, 56–57. Thiry, 166. 30. SH C2 180. Colonel Charmont letter to Marshal Jourdan, February 25, 1814. 31. Tranie and Carmigniani, 144–146. Houssaye, 56–58. 32. Quennevat, 181. 33. Thiry, 191, 333. Houssaye, 57–58. 34. Parquin, 174–175. 35. The epidemic emerged among French troops along the Rhine at the end of the 1813 campaign. Military campaigns have often been accompanied by disease, although the typhus of 1814 was not nearly as devastating as the cholera that followed the Polish insurrection of 1830, or the influenza that followed World War I.

210

Notes

36. SH C10131. Clarke letter of March 11, 1814, to General Brenier. 2C 183. Clarke report, March 12, 1814. 37. Sergeant-Major Gebert, ‘‘Recit Historique du Blocus de Besancon,’’ in 1814,  R esistance et occupation des villes francaises (Paris: Editions Historiques Teissedre, 2001), 68–69. The stories of families manning cannons will remind Americans of the Molly Pitcher legend. 38. Bibliothecaire Escuyer, ‘‘Compiegne en 1814,’’ in Souvenirs des r egions envahies: Extraits du Carnet de La Sabretache, ann ees 1898, 1908, 1914, 1920 (Paris: Libraire Historique F. Teissedre, 1999), 67. 39. SH 2C 186. Report of the Mayor of Compiegne, March 29, 1814. 40. SH C2 560. Situation report, February 28, 1814. 41. SH C2 560. Situation reports, January 1814. M. Michel, ‘‘Metz en 1813 et 1814,’’ in 1814, R esistance et occupation des villes francaises, 151. 42. SH C2 560. Situation report, January 19, 1814. 43. Tranie and Carmigniani, 65. 44. Anonymous extract from la Revue d’Alsace, 1885, ‘‘Le Siege de Belfort,’’ in 1814, R esistance et occupation des villes francaises, 35. 45. SH C2 736. Relation du Blocus de Metz. 46. SH 2C 329. Letter from Clarke, January 12, 1814. 47. SH 2C 186. Report on Maubeuge, March 18–March 31, 1814. 48. CN #21319, Vol. 27, February 20, 1814. 49. SH 2C 183. Report of 12th Military Division, March 12, 1814. 50. There were a few small groups of armed deserters in some remote regions other than the Vendee. Houssaye, 24. 51. J. P. Riley, Napoleon and the World War of 1813: Lessons in Coalition Warfighting (London: Frank Cass, 2000), 361–362. Gates, 442–443. Smith, 484. Delderfield, 201–202. 52. David Gates, The Spanish Ulcer: A History of the Peninsular War (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1986), 452, 466–467. Smith, 524. Delderfield, 272. 53. SH C2 180. Proclamation of Mayor of Bayonne, February 26, 1814. 54. Houssaye, 403. 55. Thiry, 333. 56. Claude Etienne Guyot, G en eral Comte Guyot: Carnets de campagnes (1792–1815), (Paris: Librarie Historique F. Teissedre, 1999), 250. 57. Houssaye, 403–406. 58. SH 2C 186. Army Correspondence, March 28, 1814. Joes, 99. 59. SH 2C 186. Proclamation by M. de Contandes, March 25, 1814. 60. SH 2C 186. Proclamation, March 26, 1814. 61. Houssaye, 404. 62. Clausewitz, 483. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 94. Joes, xiv. 63. Alexander, Rod of Iron, 4. Tone, 178. 64. Tone, 6, 178. 65. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 77–79, 81. Alexander, Rod of Iron, 230, 233. Tone, 178. Gates, 36. 66. Alexander, Rod of Iron, xvi, 7. 67. Arthur Campbell, Guerillas: A History and Analysis (New York: John Day, 1968), 10–11. Alexander, Rod of Iron, 3. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 77.

Notes

211

68. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 81. Alexander, Rod of Iron, 235. Tone, 63, 180, 182. Joes, 105. Clausewitz, 480. 69. Alexander, Rod of Iron, xvii. Gates, 36. Tone, 181. Esposito and Elting, Map 92, text. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 129–132. Even the British Royal Navy was able to support Spanish guerillas on occasion, sometimes bringing supplies to partidas operating near coastal areas. Joes, 101. 70. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 174, 277. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 84. Connelly, Napoleon’s Satellite Kingdoms, 36, 198–199. Esdaile, 132–133. 71. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 177. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 85. Esdaile, 133–134, 137. Connelly, Napoleon’s Satellite Kingdoms, 36, 198–199. Jakob Walter, The Diary of a Napoleonic Foot Soldier, Marc Raeff, trans. and ed. (New York: Doubleday, 1991), 21–26. Walter was a soldier in a W€ urtemberger regiment and gives a rare ground-level view of some of the fighting against the Tyrolese partisans. 72. Connelly, Napoleon’s Satellite Kingdoms, 112. 73. Esdaile, 119–121, 137, 140. Connelly, Napoleon’s Satellite Kingdoms, 63–68, 112–113. 74. Denis Davidov, In the Service of the Tsar against Napoleon: The Memoirs of Denis Davidov, 1806–1814, Gregory Troubetskoy, trans. and ed. (London: Greenhill Books, 1999), 86–87, 176. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 88. 75. Asprey, War in the Shadows, 88–90. Esdaile, 255–256. 76. Clausewitz, 479. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 162–163. Chandler, 791, 854. 77. Esdaile, 117, 134. 78. Guyot, 260. 79. Esdaile, 128–129. Don W. Alexander, 101–102. Campbell, 15.

CHAPTER 11 1. Houssaye, 365–366. Smith 513–514. Smith gives the French 17,000 men, and 80 cannon. 2. Maurice H. Weil, La Campagne de 1814: La cavalerie des arm ees alli es (Paris: Librarie Militaire de L. Baudoin, 1895), 3–9, Chapter XVIII. Smith, 513–515. 3. Quoted in Houssye, 365. 4. Chef de Batallion Taillan, quoted in Baron Paul de Bourgoing, Souvenirs militaires, 1791–1815, Baron Pierre de Bourgoing, ed. (Paris: Plon, 1897), 228–289. 5. Bourgoing, 289–290. Smith, 514. Houssaye, 366–367. Weil, 7–9, Chapter XVIII. Tranie and Carmigniani, 217–218. 6. Weil, 10–13, Chapter XVIII. Thiry, 383–384. Smith, 514. Houssaye, 367–368. 7. Weil, 14, Chapter XVIII. Houssaye, 369. Thiry, 384. 8. Houssaye, 370–371. Smith, 514–515. Thiry, 384–385. Smith refers to this second action of Fere-Champenoise as ‘‘Bannes,’’ after another nearby village, to distinguish it from the earlier fight. Most other authorities refer to the actions as two separate battles of Fere-Champenoise.

212

Notes

9. SH C2 180. Commissariat Report, February 24, 1814. For purposes of comparison, the massive Grande Arm ee that faced Russia in 1812 had a total of 852 wagons plus 600 light carts. Chandler, 757. 10. Houssaye, 380–381. 11. CN #21296, Vol. 27, February 18, 1814. Elting, 446, 451. There is a chance that some of Pacthod’s men wore captured clothing. W€ urtemberg shakos were of a design that was very similar to French shakos. All they needed was a tricolor cockade. Whatever the various sources of their clothing, the National Guards at Fere-Champenoise must have made a motley appearance. 12. Andre Pons, De la bataille et de la capitulation de Paris (Paris: Chez de la For^et, Librarie, 1828), 40. Weil, 18, Chapter XVIII. Houssaye, 380–381. Smith, 515. The authorities vary slightly on the exact National Guard units present. 13. SH 2C 556, Situation report, March 1814. Not all the battalions in question are covered in surviving reports for late March. 14. Delderfield, 221. Elting, 425. 15. Aristide Martinien, Tableaux par Corps et par Batailles des Officiers Tu es et Bless es Pendant les Guerres de l’Empire (1805–1815), (Paris: Henri-Charles Lavauselle, 1899), 17. 16. Weil, 20–21, Chapter XVIII. 17. Rothenberg, The Napoleonic Wars, 70–71. Lynn, 259. Chandler, 348. Elting, 425–426 18. Weil, 22–23, Chapter XVIII. Houssaye, 373–375. Thiry, 386–387. Weil’s history relied heavily on Austrian military archives that he researched in Vienna. Weil, Houssaye, and Thiry also used the report of General Delort, one of Pacthod’s subordinates. Unfortunately, the carton at the Service Historique in Vincennes (formerly the Archives de Guerre), that would have contained Delort’s report is now listed as officially missing. It was still in the archives at least as recently as 1938, the date of Thiry’s first edition. 19. Smith, 515. 20. Houssaye, 376–377. Weil, 26–27, Chapter XVIII. Tranie and Carmigniani, 219. 21. Quoted in Houssaye, 380. Tsar Alexander apparently got quite close to the action on this occasion, to the consternation of his aides. He usually stayed back from the front lines, although was sometimes within artillery range. He had taken considerable risks at Leipzig, in an effort to compensate for staying in the rear at Austerlitz in 1805, and being caught up in the rout after that battle. Janet M. Hartley, Alexander I (London: Longman Publishing Group, 1994), 73–74, 123. 22. Quoted in Weil, 29, Chapter XVIII. Houssaye, 379. Delderfield, 222. Various authorities give slightly different versions, but the essence of the Pacthod quote remains unchanged. 23. Weil, 30, Chapter XVIII. Houssaye, 380. Smith, 515. Tranie and Carmigniani, 219–220. Elting, 425–426. Pacthod, having had more than his bellyful of ‘‘glory’’ passed on an opportunity to command a division during the Hundred Days and went instead to seek medical treatment for his old wounds. Elting, 650. 24. Some illustrations of the battle show mostly young men, but others accurately show a mix of older and younger soldiers. Quennevat, 199. Tranie and Carmigniani, 219–220. 25. This tendency can be found in the military histories of just about every nation. The Alamo is a classic American example.

Notes

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26. French and Allied military men alike saw Napoleon’s personal prestige and leadership on the battlefield as decisive assets. It was for this reason that during the 1813 campaign in Germany the Allies formulated the so-called Trachenberg Plan, by which no single one of the three Coalition field armies would attempt to fight against a French force commanded by Napoleon in person. Even with their vastly superior numbers in 1814, most Allied generals (with the possible exception of the always game Bl€ ucher), still preferred to fight against Napoleon’s subordinates rather than the Emperor himself. For this reason French troops were sometimes instructed to shout ‘‘Vive L’Empereur’’ even when he was not present, in an attempt to deceive their opponents. Chandler, 901. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 190. Esposito and Elting, Map 133, text. Bowden, 141. Even Wellington, who delivered some scathing critiques of Napoleon’s mistakes in specific instances, commented, ‘‘His presence on the battlefield is worth 40,000 men.’’ Quoted in Robin Neillands, Wellington and Napoleon: Clash of Arms, 1807–1815 (London: John Murray, 1994), 45, and in John Strawson, The Duke and the Emperor: Wellington and Napoleon (London: Constable, 1994), 16. Other comments made by Wellington praising Napoleon’s military abilities are so lavish as to be almost embarrassing. Neillands, 45. Strawson, 15. After Waterloo, Wellington could indirectly enhance his own reputation by praising Napoleon.

CHAPTER 12 1. Houssaye, 386–388. Smith, 515. 2. Chandler, 5, 952–953. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 122. Esposito and Elting, Map 145, text. 3. Tranie and Carmigniani, 227. Houssaye, 416. The general’s name is spelled variously in the authorities as ‘‘Hulin’’ or ‘‘Hullin.’’ 4. CN #21089, Vol. 27, January 12, 1814. 5. CN #21134, Vol. 27, January 24, 1814. 6. CN #21210, Vol. 27, February 8, 1814. 7. CN #21497, Vol. 27, March 16, 1814. 8. Houssaye, 455–456. 9. Houssaye, 457–458. Tranie and Carmigniani, 232–233 10. Houssaye, 458. 11. ML #136, Letter from Marie-Louise to Napoleon, March 29, 1814. 12. ML #138, Letter from Marie-Louise to Napoleon, March 29, 1814. 13. Tranie and Carmigniani, 234. Houssaye, 465. 14. Houssaye, 468–469. 15. Houssaye, 471–496. Tranie and Carmigniani, 235–236. Chandler, 1000. Herold, 377. 16. Tranie and Carmigniani, 238. Houssaye, 486. Smith, 516–517. The figures vary as always. Tranie has the Allies at 125,000, whereas Smith mentions only the troops actually engaged, which he estimates at about 58,000. 17. Smith, 515–516. Pons, 202. Tranie and Carmigniani, 227. Houssaye, 481–485. Elting, 425. 18. Houssaye, 486–514. Tranie and Carmigniani, 236–248. Quennevat, 200–203. Esposito and Elting, Map 154, text. Smith, 516–517. Houssaye

214

Notes

maintains that each side lost nearly 9,000 men, while Smith has Allied losses at just under 7,000 and French losses at 5,000. 19. Houssaye praises Marmont’s courage during the battle, but implies that he was wrong not to continue the fight in the streets of Paris. Houssaye, 480, 524–530. 20. Tranie and Carmigniani, 249–251. Houssaye, 534–535. Esposito and Elting, Map 154, text. Chandler, 1000–1001. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 198. 21. Houssaye, 427. 22. Houssaye, 413–533 passim. Chandler, 952–953. Petre, 199. Esposito and Elting, Map 145, text. 23. Las Cases, Volume 1, 961–962. Several authorities comment on the impact the journ ees of June 20 and August 10 made on Napoleon. Herold, 41–42. McLynn, 54–56. 24. Herold, 380–381. Markham, Napoleon, 222. McLynn, 218. 25. Houssaye, 32. 26. Alistair Horne, The Fall of Paris: The Siege and the Commune, 1870–1871 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1965), 61–65. John G. Gallaher, The Iron Marshal: A Biography of Louis N. Davout (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1976), 327. R. S. Alexander, Bonapartism and Revolutionary Tradition in France: The F ed er es of 1815 (Cambridge, United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 64. Elting, 646. 27. Houssaye, 428. 28. Tranie and Carmigniani, map on 244. Houssaye, 431. 29. Horne, The Fall of Paris, 63. 30. Houssaye, 425–426. Marbot, 453. 31. CN #21383, Vol. 27, February 26, 1814. Attachment to letter to Caulaincourt. 32. Esposito and Elting, Map 147. 33. Petre, 101. Esposito and Elting, Map 151. 34. Houssaye, 428–429. 35. Marbot contends amongst other things that there were 50,000 new muskets at Vincennes that could have been distributed to volunteers in Paris. This figure originated in an ex post facto report by Savary, the Police Minister. Houssaye casts doubts on the veracity of this report. There had been 30,000 muskets in need of repair at Vincennes, but it appears that this work had long since been completed and that almost all of these muskets had already been distributed to recruits dispatched to the army in the field. Marbot, 453. Houssaye, 456–457. 36. Houssaye, 429–431. 37. Geyl, 31. Tranie and Carmigniani, 250. 38. Chandler, 1001–1002. Lefebvre, 351–352. Herold, 378–380. McLynn, 586–588. 39. Smith, 524–527. 40. Escuyer, Compiegne en 1814, 73–88. Tranie and Carmigniani, 260. Elting, 426. 41. Tranie and Carmigniani, 253. 42. Napoleon’s ambivalent attitude towards the Revolution varied with his moods and circumstances. On Saint-Helena he said, ‘‘A revolution is always one of the worst evils that heaven can afflict upon the earth. It is the scourge of the generation that makes it; all the advantages it procures cannot equal the trouble with

Notes

215

which it fills the lives of its authors. . . . It turns everything upside down; it brings sadness to all, happiness to no one.’’ Las Cases, Volume 2, 39. Yet he also said, ‘‘The French Revolution was not produced by a shock of two families disputing the throne; it was a general movement of the mass of the nation against the privileged classes.’’ Las Cases, Volume 2, 61. And finally: ‘‘nothing can destroy or efface the grand principles of our Revolution. These great and noble truths must remain forever, so inextricably are they linked to our splendor, out monuments, our prodigious deeds. We have drowned its earlier shame in floods of glory.’’ Herold, The Mind of Napoleon, 66.

CHAPTER 13 1. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 372. Lefebvre, 337–338. While several authorities note that the typhus epidemic wiped out many survivors of the 1813 campaign in Germany, its continuing effects in 1814 are not widely known or discussed. 2. Parquin, 182. 3. Elting, 626. 4. Smith, 491. Smith is definitely no Francophile, so his statistics are used here for the sake of fairness. Army reports from opposing sides (or even within the same army), conflicted. Many original reports are unavailable, so authorities often rely on estimates in older works. Objectivity may be sought, but not always attained. 5. Smith, 513. 6. Smith, 495. 7. Smith, 515. 8. Smith, 131. 9. Smith, 186. 10. Martinien, 187. 11. SH 21 yc 263. 12. Martinien, 163. 13. Bukhari, 6. Haythornthwaite, 3–4. Elting, 211–212. 14. Martinien, 415. 15. Martinien, 244. 16. Rory Muir has suggested that factors such as lack of shelter and scarce rations were so ubiquitous during the Napoleonic Wars that they did not significantly impact morale, especially among troops who were used to privation in their civilian lives. This makes a certain amount of sense, although Muir’s emphasis is on morale during battle rather than in between battles. Muir, 198–199. If soldiers could reasonably expect to improve their condition by deserting, they would be tempted to do so. There would be less incentive to desert in unfriendly (or poor) territory.

CHAPTER 14 1. Caulaincourt, No Peace with Napoleon, 254–263. McLynn, 584, 593–595. Markham, Napoleon, 218–219. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 381. Asprey, The Reign of Napoleon Bonaparte, 359. Schom, 702. 2. Alexander, Bonapartism and Revolutionary Tradition, 23–35.

216

Notes 3. Alexander, Bonapartism and Revolutionary Tradition, 43–45. Gallaher,

309. 4. Alexander, Bonapartism and Revolutionary Tradition, 60–61, 201. 5. Alexander, Bonapartism and Revolutionary Tradition, 200–206. Elting, 426, 646. 6. Alexander, Bonapartism and Revolutionary Tradition, 33–34. 7. Elting, 426. 8. Alexander, Bonapartism and Revolutionary Tradition, 56–60. Gallaher, 309–310. 9. Fouche acted as the King’s messenger to Davout. Gallaher, 295–296. 10. Gallaher, 297–299. Young, 125. 11. Davout’s military career as a Marshal had been remarkable. He played a crucial role in holding the hard-pressed right wing at Austerlitz, the greatest of Napoleon’s victories. His victory with one corps over the main Prussian army at Auerstadt was an astounding feat. Davout’s corps fought well at Eylau, under the most adverse conditions. Davout also held off an Austrian army at Eckm€ uhl in 1809. He turned the Austrian left at Wagram, ensuring victory again for Napoleon. Davout’s corps also took the positions it faced at Borodino, although the Marshal himself had been dazed by a hard fall when his horse was killed. He gamely remounted and stayed on the field, but could do little more on his own to transform Borodino into a decisive victory. Besides, Napoleon had already rejected Davout’s suggested plan before the battle to turn the Russian left flank. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 88–90, 101–102, 109–110, 136–137, 167–169. Rogers, 138–146, 172–179. Chandler, 797–798. Elting, 133. Young, 123–124. 12. Gallaher, 300. Chandler, 1022. 13. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 206. Schom, 728. 14. The best benefit of having Carnot serve as Minister of War is that it would have freed up Davout for service with the field army. Elting opines that Carnot probably was better qualified for the position that Napoleon chose for him, calling into question Carnot’s logistical efficiency, despite his old moniker under the Republic, ‘‘Organizer of Victory.’’ Elting, 644. Schom also suggests that Carnot might have had trouble mastering the duties of the war ministry, saying he had been out of service too long. Schom, 728–729. Still, Carnot had been active in 1814, and was at least as capable as Clarke (an ostensible royalist by 1815), had been. 15. Napoleon also decided to make Soult his chief-of-staff, in order to replace Berthier, who had left France and then died under mysterious circumstances. Elting, 647–649. Chandler, 1021. 16. Villefosse and Bouissounouse, 249–252. Markham, Napoleon, 227. Asprey, The Reign of Napoleon Bonaparte, 382. McLynn, 608. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 392–393. Schom, 723–724. 17. Quoted in Schom, 713, 721. 18. Quoted in Markham, Napoleon, 227. 19. Quoted in McLynn, 609. McLynn adds his own comment, ‘‘This was shortsighted: he should have seized the moment, especially since it was self-defeating folly to try to appease the very faction (the bourgeoisie), that had ditched him in 1814.’’ 20. Quoted in Markham, Napoleon and the Awakening of Europe (New York: Macmillan, 1965), 132.

Notes

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21. Villefosse and Bouissounouse, 252–253. 22. Gallaher, 322, 325–327. 23. Paul W. Schroeder, clearly no admirer of Napoleon, says pointedly, ‘‘Had he made peace, he could have ruled indefinitely.’’ He describes Napoleon’s idea that he was more vulnerable to deposition than were hereditary monarchs as ‘‘nonsense.’’ Schroeder, 467–469. 24. Hart, 140. 25. This emphasis on the value of battles was especially prevalent in most 19th century societies, including in the United States. For example, in the U.S. Civil War, the Union general William Rosecrans had successfully captured large amounts of Rebel territory through strategic maneuvers. Despite this, Secretary of War Stanton prodded him to produce some dramatic results. Rosecrans’ reply was extraordinarily apt: ‘‘You do not appear to observe the fact that this noble army has driven the rebels from Middle Tennessee. . . . I beg in behalf of this army that the War Department may not overlook so great an event because it is not written in letters of blood.’’ Quoted in James M. McPherson, Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era (New York: Ballantine Books, 1989), 669. 26. Chandler, 394–402. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 83–84. Esposito and Elting, Maps 46–50. 27. Chandler, 422–439. Connelly, Blundering to Glory, 88–91. Horne, How Far from Austerlitz?, 151–183. Esposito and Elting, Maps 54–56. 28. Other writers have commented on the effects his victory at Austerlitz had on Napoleon, although their conclusions vary. Horne, How Far from Austerlitz?, 186–189. McLynn, 345. Schom, 413–414. Herold, The Age of Napoleon, 174–177, 276. Asprey, The Reign of Napoleon Bonaparte, 1–3, 15, 78, 239. 29. T. C. W. Blanning, The French Revolutionary Wars: 1787–1802 (London: Arnold, 1996), 73–74. 30. Blanning, 85–86. 31. Blanning, 79. The French artillery, least affected by the loss of emigr e officers, did most of the actual fighting, although the Prussians had more heavy cannon; seventy-two as against sixty French. Smith, 26–27. 32. Blanning, 95–96, 100. Also see Forrest, 20–26. 33. Blanning, 109. 34. Smith, 54–63. Blanning, 110–111. R. R. Palmer, Twelve Who Ruled: The Year of the Terror in the French Revolution (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), 101–103. 35. Lynn, 17, 19–20, 124–162. Blanning, 116–122. 36. The Prussian army, limited in size after its defeat in 1806, was greatly expanded in 1813 by means of conscription and use of Landwehr militia, but at its core were the retrained and reformed regular regiments. Paret, 114. Rothenberg, The Art of Warfare, 194–196. 37. Paret, 214–215. 38. Esdaile, 50. 39. Forrest, 2, 71. 40. Forrest, 170. 41. Forrest does not suggest that this was a wise policy in the long run. The thesis is evident throughout his work, but the point is finely made in certain sections. Forrest, 35, 43, 212, 218–219, 236–237.

218

Notes

42. CN #20835, Vol. 26, October 25, 1813. Bergeron, 110. Connelly, The French Revolution and Napoleonic Era, 232. 43. Forrest, 37–38. 44. The first writer to total up the various conscription and mobilization decrees and arrive at the figure of 936,000 was Houssaye. He also breaks them down and specifies how many National Guards were called for. The frequent citation of the figure has been done in ways that Houssaye likely never intended. Houssaye, 2. 45. Marbot, 453. 46. As we have seen, Paul Schroeder, while certainly a critic of Napoleon, is an exception in that he does not see a lack of political support in France as a primary factor in Napoleon’s fall. Far more typical is the characterization of Geoffrey Bruun, who described French apathy as the single most remarkable thing about the 1814 campaign. Bruun, 195–196. Most of the French military men who wrote letters or memoirs commented on the issue of ‘‘war weariness’’ even if they did not use that precise term. They almost universally see it as a factor in their defeat, without blaming the Emperor for its existence. Houssaye’s overall approach is much the same.

Sources and Works Cited

UNPUBLISHED MATERIAL Service Historique de l’Armee de Terre (Vincennes) Cartons: C 916 Bulletins des mouvements de troupes C 10130 Correspondance 2C 169 through 2C 188 Correspondance de la Grande Armee (Jan.–Apr. 1814) 2C 329 Analyse de la correspondance du ministre de la Guerre 2C 415 through 2C 417 Place de Luxembourg 2C 424 through 2C 426 Correspondance de l’Armee de Lyon 2C 429 through 2C 431 Place de Strasbourg 2C 554 through 2C 564 Grande Armee. Situations (Jan.–Apr. 1814) 2C 711 through 2C 715 Campagne de France. Situations (Jan.–Apr. 1814) Binders: 2C 736 Relation du blocus de Metz 21 yc 263 Contr^olees aux troupes. 28eme regiment d’infanterie de ligne 21 yc 455 Contr^olees aux troupes. 54eme regiment d’infanterie de ligne

PUBLISHED CORRESPONDENCE AND MEMOIRS Aubry, Thomas Joseph. Souvenirs du 12e Chasseurs, 1799–1815. Paris: Quantin, 1889. Barres, Jean-Baptiste. Memoirs of a Napoleonic Officer. New York: The Dial Press, 1925. Bourgoing, Baron Paul de. Souvenirs militaires, 1791–1815. Paris: Plon, 1897. Bourrienne, Louis Antoine Fauvelet de. Memoirs of Napoleon. London: Blackie and Son, 1854. Campbell, Arthur. Guerillas: A History and Analysis. New York: John Day, 1968. Caulaincourt, Armand de. No Peace with Napoleon. George Libaire, trans. and ed. New York: William Morrow, 1936.

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———. With Napoleon in Russia: The Memoirs of General De Caulaincourt, Duke of Vicenza. George Libaire, trans. and ed. New York: William Morrow, 1935. Coignet. Les Cahiers du Capitaine Coignet. Paris: Hachette, 1968. Dardenne, Pierre. Le R ecit d’un Civil dans la Campagne de France de 1814: Les ‘‘Lettres historiques’’ de Pierre Dardenne (1768–1857). Jacques Hantraye, ed. Paris: CTHS, 2008. Davidov, Denis. In the Service of the Tsar against Napoleon: The Memoirs of Denis Davidov, 1806–1814. Gregory Troubetskoy, trans. and ed. London: Greenhill Books, 1999. Fare, Charles Armand. Lettres d’un jeune officier a sa m ere, 1803–1814. Paris: Delagrave, 1889. Gourgaud, General Baron. Journal de Sainte-H el ene: 1815–1818. Paris: Flammarion, n.d. Griois, Lubin. Memoires du G en eral Griois, 1792–1822. Paris: Plon, 1909. Guyot, Claude Etienne. G en eral Comte Guyot: Carnets des campagnes, 1792–1815. Paris: Librarie Historique F. Teissedre, 1999. Hausmann, Franz Joseph. A Soldier for Napoleon: The Campaigns of Lieutenant Franz Joseph Hausmann, 7th Bavarian Infantry. Cynthia Joy, trans. John Gill, ed. London: Greenhill Books, 1998. Herold, J. Christopher, ed. The Mind of Napoleon: A Selection from His Written and Spoken Words. New York: Columbia University Press, 1961. Las Cases. Le Memorial de Sainte-H el ene. Paris: Librairie Gallimard, 1956. Macdonald, Jacques E. J. A. Souvenirs du Mar echal Macdonald, Duc de Tarente. Paris: Plon, 1892. Marbot, Baron de. The Memoirs of Baron de Marbot. London: Longman, Green, 1892. Marmont, Auguste F. L. V. Memoirs du Mar echal Marmont, Duc de Raguse. Paris: Perrotine, 1857. Napoleon. Correspondance de Napoleon Ier. Paris: Imprimerie Imperiale, 1869. Oudinot. Memoirs of Marshal Oudinot, duc de Reggio. Alexander Teixeira de Mattos, trans. New York: D. Appleton, 1897. Palmstierna, C-F, ed. My Dearest Louise: Marie-Louise and Napoleon. E. M. Wilkinson, trans. London: Methuen, 1958. Parquin, Charles. Military Memoirs. London: Longman, Green, 1969. Walter, Jakob. The Diary of a Napoleonic Foot Soldier. Marc Raeff, trans. and ed. New York: Doubleday, 1991.

OTHER PUBLISHED WORKS Alexander, Don W. Rod of Iron: French Counterinsurgency Policy in Aragon during the Peninsular War. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1985. Alexander, R. S. Bonapartism and Revolutionary Tradition in France: The F ed er es of 1815. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Asprey, Robert B. The Reign of Napoleon Bonaparte. New York: Basic Books, 2001. ———. War in the Shadows: The Guerilla in History. New York: William Morrow, 1994.

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Austin, Paul Britten. 1812: Napoleon in Moscow. London: Greenhill Books, 1995. ———. 1812: The Great Retreat. London: Greenhill Books, 1996. ———. 1812: The March on Moscow. London: Greenhill Books, 1993. Bergeron, Louis. France under Napoleon. R. R. Palmer, trans. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990. Blanning, T. C. W. The French Revolutionary Wars, 1787–1802. London: Arnold, 1996. Blond, Georges. La Grande Arm ee. Marshal May, trans. London: Arms and Armour Press, 1998. Bowden, Scott. Napoleon’s Grande Arm ee of 1813. Chicago: The Emperor’s Press, 1990. Brett-James, Anthony. Europe against Napoleon: The Leipzig Campaign, 1813. London: Macmillan, 1968. Broers, Michael. Europe Under Napoleon, 1799–1815. London: Arnold, 1996. Bruun, Geoffrey. Europe and the French Imperium. New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1938. Bukhari, Emir. French Napoleonic Line Infantry. Surrey: Almarck Publishing, 1973. ———. Napoleon’s Cuirassiers and Carabiniers. London: Osprey Publishing, 1977. ———. Napoleon’s Hussars. London: Osprey Publishing, 1978. ———. Napoleon’s Line Chasseurs. London: Osprey Publishing, 1977. Chandler, David. The Campaigns of Napoleon. New York: Macmillan, 1966. ———. Dictionary of the Napoleonic Wars. New York: Macmillan, 1979. Clausewitz, Carl von. On War. Michael Howard and Peter Paret, trans. and eds. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1989. Connelly, Owen. Blundering to Glory: Napoleon’s Campaigns. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1987. ———. The French Revolution and Napoleonic Era. Fort Worth, TX: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich College Publishers, 1991. ———. Napoleon’s Satellite Kingdoms. New York: The Free Press, 1969. Delderfield, R. F. Imperial Sunset: The Fall of Napoleon, 1813–1814. Philadelphia: Chilton, 1968. Doyle, William. The Oxford History of the French Revolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989. 1814–1815, Souvenirs des r egions envahies: Extraits du Carnet de La Sabretache, ann ees 1898, 1908, 1914, 1920. Paris: Libraire Historique F. Teissedre, 1999.  1814, R esistance et occupation des villes francaises. Paris: Editions Historiques Teissedre, 2001. Elting, John R. Swords around a Throne: Napoleon’s Grande Arm ee. New York: The Free Press, 1988. Esdaile, Charles J. The Wars of Napoleon. London: Longman Publishing Group, 1995. Esposito, Vincent J., and John Robert Elting. A Military History and Atlas of the Napoleonic Wars. New York: Praeger, 1965. Forrest, Alan. Conscripts and Deserters. New York: Oxford University Press, 1989. Funcken, Liliane, and Fred Funcken. L’Uniforme et les Armes des Soldats du Premier Empire. Paris: Casterman, 1968.

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Index

age, and infantry recruitment, 51–52 Alexander, Tsar, 5–6, 95, 148, 207n98, 212n21 Allies: advance to Paris, 121; Austria in, 108; criminal activities by, 127–128; manpower of, 183–184; partisan warfare against, 124; separation of, 89, 110; strength of, 88–89; supplies from locals, 127 Amey, General, 146, 147 Antwerp, defense of, 42 Ardennes, partisans in, 137 Argonne, partisans in, 137 army creation, of 1814 campaign, 21–42; citizenry enthusiasm, 31; clothing, 32; evasion methods, 26; financial problems, 26–27; lack of noncommissioned officers, 38; manpower calculation, 25–26; musket shortage, 24–25; non-French support, 24; partisan warfare, 36–37; selection criteria, 22; special commissioners’ tasks, 33 Army of Bohemia, 34, 39 Army of Lyons, 106–107 Army of Silesia, 34, 39, 102, 110 artillerie a cheval, 64 artillerists, 64 artillery, in 1814 campaign, 45, 63–69; ammunition shortage, 65–66; artillerist shortage, 64–65;

engineer shortage, 66–67; horse shortage, 64; types of, 63–64 Augereau, 39, 107, 115 Barbier, Auguste, on fall of Paris, 166–167 Bashkirs, 58 Baste, Rear-Admiral, 92–93 Battle of Arcis-sur-Aube, 117–119; casualties, 171, 172 Battle of Bar-sur-Aube, 111; casualties, 111, 172; partisan warfare in, 137 Battle of Borodino, 13 Battle of Brienne, 89, 92–93; casualties, 92, 172; negotiation during, 96 Battle of Champaubert, 98 Battle of Chateau-Thierry, 100; casualties, 205n55; locals’ support in, 129; retreat of Allies, 100–101 Battle of Craonne, 112–113 Battle of Eylau, 72; casualties, 172–173 Battle of Hanau, 24 Battle of Laon, 113, 115 Battle of La Rothiere, 93–94; casualties, 94, 171; desertion after, 172; impact of weather, 93–94; manpower, 93; negotiation after, 96–97; physical exhaustion, 94; realization of Allies’ status, 93; retreat of Napoleon to Troyes, 94 Battle of Leipzig, 17–18

225

226

Index

Battle of Marengo, 172 Battle of Montereau, 105 Battle of Montmirail, 99–100; casualties, 100, 172; Gardes d’Honneur in, 100 Battle of Nangis, 104 Battle of Reims, 116 Battle of Rivoli, 172 Battle of the Nations. See Battle of Leipzig Battle of Vauchamps, 101–102; casualties, 205n55 Battles of Fere-Champenoise, 143–151; casualties, 149, 172; courage of Frenchmen, 149–150; National Guards in, 146–147; surrender of Frenchmen, 148–149; Young Guards in, 151 Belfort: defense of, 32; loss of civilians in, 135 Berckheim, General, 124 Bernadotte, Jean-Baptiste, 34, 110, 207n98 Berthier, Louis Alexandre, 88 Besancon: defense of, 32; locals’ support in, 134 Blanning, T. C. W., 183–184 blockade, 133 Blond, Georges, 109 ‘‘Blouses bleues,’’ 133 Bl€ ucher, Marshal, 5–6, 34, 128; advance to Paris, 95, 110; attack on Marmont’s force, 114; escape from Brienne, 92; health condition of, 114, 116; Napoleon’s attack on, 89; reinforcement of, 110; at Soissons, 112 Bois de Boulogne, 163 Bois de Vincennes, 163 Bonaparte, Joseph, 40–41 Bonaparte, Lucien, 179 Bonaparte, Napoleon. See Napoleon I Bordeaux: economy of, 31; in hands of Wellington, 136 bridge building, 66 brigade, 147 B€ ulow’s Prussians, 111–112, 167

Calabria, partisan warfare in, 140 Cambaceres, Prince, 21 canister, 64 cannonballs, 63 cannoniers gardes-c^ otes, 65 Carnot (engineer), 67 Carnot, Lazare, 40, 110, 168, 216n14; as Minister of Interior, 179 cartridge, 50 Caulaincourt, 195n5 cavalry of 1814 campaign, 57–62; clothing shortage, 59; horse shortage, 57–58, 59, 61, 62; lack of training, 59; organization of, 60; reconnaissance, 58; reinforcement, 60; types of, 57; weapon shortage, 59; Young Guard, 61 chain shot, 64 Chasseurs a Cheval, 59, 81 civilians, 3, 8, 31, 58, 105; attack on Allies, 132; support in artillery works, 134 Clarke, Henrie, 21, 32, 37, 155, 166 Clausewitz, Carl von, 126, 138, 139, 141 Code Napol eon, 26 Cohortes urbaines, 81, 134 cohorts, 80 colonnes mobiles, 22, 68, 69, 201n28 commissaires extraordinaires, 32–33, 34 Compiegne: Allies advance to, 134; attack on, 167 Confederation of the Rhine, 88 Connelly, Owen, 140 conscription, 3–7, 15, 22, 25–26, 183–185 Constant, Benjamin, 179 Consular Guard, 71 Corps de Douanes, 68 Corps Legislatif, 29–30 Corps Polonais, 76 Cossacks, 58, 127–128 Couguard, Colonel, 93 Dary, 153 Daumesnil, General, 168

Index Davout, Marshal, 16, 167, 178, 216n14; military career of, 216n11; as Minister of War, 179 de la Meurthe, Boulay, 155 Delderfield, R. F., 147; Imperial Sunset, 2 Delort, General, 212n18 desertion, 5, 21, 22, 67–68, 170–173, 175, 185, 186 de Vidranges, Marquis, 109 draft dodgers, 5, 21, 22  Eclaireurs, 75–76 1815 f ed er es, 177–178 1814 campaign, 1–10, 87–122; Allies’ criminal activities, 127–129; Allies’ strength, 88–89; artillery in, 63–69; Battle of Arcis-sur-Aube, 117–119; Battle of Bar-sur-Aube, 111; Battle of Brienne, 89, 92–93; Battle of Champaubert, 98; Battle of Chateau-Thierry, 100; Battle of Craonne, 112–113; Battle of Laon, 113–114; Battle of La Rothiere, 93–94; Battle of Montereau, 105; Battle of Montmirail, 99–100; Battle of Nangis, 104; Battle of Reims, 116; Battle of Vauchamps, 101–102; Battles of Fere-Champenoise, 143–151; bombardments of civilians, 134; capture of dispatches, 120–121; cavalry of, 57–62; delayed decisions, 188; desertion, 3–5, 97, 170–173, 175, 185, 186; fall of Paris, 153–168; French casualties, 169; historiography, 2; Houssaye’s perspective, 191; impact of weather, 93–94, 98; Imperial Guard of, 71–77; infantry of, 43–55; internal security organizations in, 67–69; lack of food supplies, 97; letter writing, 130; logistical problems, 8, 12, 13, 50, 61, 146; manpower loss, 98; military resources, 9; Napoleon’s offensive position, 89; National Guard of, 79–86; number of partisans, 186–187; organizational change

227

of army, 97; prisoners in Paris, 103; rebellion and, 135–136; recruitment, 3, 5, 6–7, 8; reinforcement, 97; role of main army, 39; role of peasants, 99, 103; role of second army, 39; and 1792 French revolutionary war, comparison, 183–184; surrender of General Moreau, 112; wartime propaganda, 4; war-weariness, 183; weapon shortage, 187. See also army creation, of 1814 campaign Elting, John, 147 employment, and infantry recruitment, 53–54 engineers, 66–67 Erckmann-Chatrian, 47 Eugene de Beauharnais, 24 facial hair, and infantry recruitment, 53 fall of Paris, 153–168; command structure of Paris, 153–154; defense of Paris, 158; Marie-Louise evacuation, 155–157 F ed er es, 80 F ed er es-tirailleurs, 178 54th Line Infantry Regiment, 170, 171 1st Corps Franc de la Seine, 125 First French Republic, 190 Flahault, General, as emissary, 110 Forrest, Alan, 5 Frederick-William, King, 148 French army officers: for National Guards, 83; in partisan warfare, 36, 124–125 French casualties, 169–176; battle casualties, 174; desertion, 170, 171, 172, 173, 175; ‘‘disappeared’’ category, 175; of 54th and 28th Line Infantry Regiments, 170; hospital deaths, 174–175; loss of officers, 172; sickness, 170, 171; stragglers, 173 ‘‘French leave,’’ 84 French Navy, 15 Garde de Paris, 15 Gardes d’Honneur, 75

228

Index

Gardes Forestiers, 68 Gardes Nationales, 79 Gendarmerie, 67 Gerard, General, 104 Germaine de Stael, 179 Giozdano, Jean Dominique, 51 Gneisenau, 114–115 Godelle, Joseph, 51 Goualt, chevalier, 109 Grand Duchy of Warsaw, 24 Grande Armee: 1812 version of, 11–12; recreation of, 15 Grenadiers, 81 Griois, General, 64, 98, 127, 173, 204n52; artillery attack of, 118–119 Grouchy, General, 101, 113 Guerilla warfare, 125, 126; in international perspective, 138 Gunner, 64 Guyot, General, 141 habits of obedience, 7, 8, 69, 85; and draft evasion, 5 hand-to hand combat, 45 Hart, B. H. Liddell, 181 heavy cavalry, 57 height, and infantry recruitment, 52–53 Henry, General, 196–197n7 Hofer, Andreas, 140 Hohenlohe, Prince, 127 horse artillery, 64 Houssaye, Henry, 17, 162; 1814, 2 howitzers, 63 Hulin, General, 153–154 Imperial bureaucracy, 6, 189–191 Imperial Guard cavalry, 61 Imperial Guard infantry, 50 Imperial Guard of 1814 campaign, 71–77; Corps Polonais, 76;  Eclaireurs, 75–76; foreigners in, 77; Gardes d’Honneur, 75; Old Guard, 71–72; Polish Cossacks, 76; training for, 77; Young Guard, 72–74 infantry of 1814 campaign, 43–55; ammunition shortage, 50; battalion types, 44; clothing shortage, 49–50;

drill and training, 44, 45, 47–48; recruitment factors, 51–54; weapon shortage, 48–49; writings, 47 Joseph, King, 139, 153, 154, 158, 166 Jourdan, General, 196n5 Junta Central, 139 Kalmuks, 58 Kutuzov, Mikhail, 13 La Chartreuse de Parme, 47 LaFayette, Marquis de, 79, 179 La Marseillaise, 4, 74, 130 Langres: supplies for Allies, 127; typhus epidemic in, 135 Larrey, Baron, 45 leadership, 2, 9, 100, 151; and morale, 173 Lefebvre, Marshal, 8, 105 Legion, 80 Letort, General, 205n53 light cavalry, 57; Allied, 58–59 Light Infantry Regiments, 44 Line Infantry Regiments, 44 Lutzow, partisan warfare in, 137 Macdonald, Marshal, 111; lack of action of, 100 Maison, General, 110, 168 Manhes, General, 140 Marache, Jean Pierre, 51 Marbot, Colonel, 41, 60, 61, 166 Marie-Louise, Empress, 40, 103, 153; evacuation of capital, 155–157 ‘‘Marie-Louises,’’ 2, 3, 50–51, 73 Markham, Felix, 4 Marmont, Marshal, 111, 113–114, 121–122, 143, 196n26; surrender of Paris, 160 marriage, and conscription, 26 ‘‘Marshal Vorwarts,’’ 89 Massena, Marshal, 195n7 Maubeuge, typhus epidemic in, 135 medium cavalry, 57 Mery-sur-Seine, 128

Index Metz: locals’ support in, 134–135; typhus epidemic in, 135 Middle Guard, 72 military genius, 17 mobilization, 3, 8, 23, 26–27, 39, 86, 183, 190 Moncey, Marshal, 153, 160 Moniteur (magazine), 21, 103, 130 Montalivet, 207n92 morale, 24, 27, 42, 47, 85, 94, 163, 169, 175; as a decisive factor, 102; and fall of Paris, 167; and leadership, 173 Moreau, General, 112 Mortier, Marshal, 31, 111, 121–122, 143; surrender of Paris, 160 Moscow, 13, 195n5 musketry, 45–46 Napoleon I: advance to Paris, 161; attack on Bl€ ucher, 11; care for soldiers, 94, 106; to cut Allies’ supply lines, 119–120; and defense of Paris, 154; delaying tactics, 28; and diplomacy, 96, 107–108, 180, 181; dismissal of legislature, 30; dual attack of, 165; dual role of, 9; educational involvement, 74; exile of, 108; failure to fortify Paris, 162–164, 166; family members, role of, 40–41; final moments in Paris, 41; French revolutionaries’ support, 40; height of, 200n25; and Hitler, comparison, 74; identification of Bl€ ucher’s location, 97; invasion of Russia, 12–14; leadership, 100, 213n26; as legitimate monarch, 189; letter to Cambaceres, 21–22; letter to Francis I, 108; letter to Joseph, 96; letter to Marie-Louise, 95–96, 120; lev ee en masse and, 3; manpower estimation, 23, 25; manpower loss, 14; and mob violence, 162; partisan warfare faced by, 139–141; physical ability, 17; physical fitness of, 87–88; plan against Schwarzenberg, 104; and political support, 180; profanity of,

229

101; recruits calculation of, 186; as a revolutionary, 189; suicide attempt of, 177; task assignment, 16; viewpoint on Allied forces, 38; viewpoint on battle victory, 182; viewpoint on peace, 108 Napoleonic Wars: hand-to hand combat in, 45; casualties, 194n17 National Guard of 1814 campaign, 15, 79–86, 146–147; desertions, 84; divisions of, 81; in French Revolution, 79–80; lack of resources, 81–82; mobilization, 85–86; and other military forces, difference, 82; as prisoner escorts, 86; quality variance, 85; re-establishment of, 80; uniform of, 79; uniform shortage, 83–84; weapon shortage, 82 Neuchatel Battalion, 134 Ney, Marshal, 99, 117, 179; attack on Allies, 118 noncommissioned officers (NCOs), lack of, 38 Old Guard, 71–72 Olsufiev, Zakhar Dmitrievich, 98, 204n39 Oudinot, Marshal, 16, 93, 97, 146, 203n10 ‘‘ounce of prevention’’ method, 142 Pacthod, General, 146 Pajol, General, 105 Paris: defense of, 42; fall of, 153–168 Parquin, Captain, 60, 129, 133, 205n53 partisan warfare, 36–37, 109, 116, 122; attack on Allies, 132–133; French army officers in, 124–125; organization of, 124, 133; proclamations to support, 137–138; range of, 142; in Spain, 139; support to French army, 132 patriotism, 8, 9, 69, 85, 99, 168 Peninsular War (1808–1813), 139 Peter the Great, 71

230

Index

Petre, F. Loraine, 117; Napoleon at Bay, 1814, 2 pikes, 82–83 Poles: loss of, 18; in Imperial Guard, 77 Polish Cossacks, 76 Pontonniers, 66 Preval, General, 59, 62, 64 Prussian army, reformation of, 88 Quesnoy, locals’ support in, 134 reconnaissance, 58 recruitment, 21–42, 186–187; ‘‘uncalled conscripts,’’ 186 regimental rolls, 54–55, 73, 170 Regiment des Ardennes, 135 Regiments d’Infanterie de Ligne, 44 Regiments d’Infanterie L eg ere, 44 Ricard, General, 99, 101 ‘‘ricochet’’ method, 200n2 Rostopchin, Fyodor, 198n62 Rothau, partisan warfare in, 126 round shot, 63 Roussel, General, 200n7 Russia, invasion of, 12–14; casualities, 13; consequences, 14; partisan warfare in, 140–141; retreat, 13, 195n5; supply system, 12–13 Sacken, General, 99 Savary, General, 120, 214n35 Schwarzenberg, Karl Philipp, 34; advance to Paris, 95, 101; retreat of, 117 ‘‘scorched earth’’ policy, 12 sedentaire, 81 Segur, General, 116 self-mutilation, 26 shakos, 32 shells, 63–64 skirmishers, 44 solid shot, 63 Soult, Marshal, 97, 179; as chief-of-staff, 216n15 Spain: and Grande Armee recreation, 15; partisan warfare in, 139 Stendhal (Marie Henri Beyle), 47

St. Priest, 115–116 stragglers, 140, 173, 175 street fighting, 161 Suchet, Marshal, 97 system of classes, 185, 196n5 Talleyrand, Charles Maurice de, 155, 167 ‘‘Thermopylae’’ of 1814, 149 Tirailleurs, 73, 145 Tirailleurs de la Ville, 134 Tolstoy, Leo, 47; War and Peace, 13 Trachenberg Plan, 213n26 Treaty of Chaumont, 115 Tr esor des Tuileries, 27 Troyes: Allies’ invasion of, 109; partisan warfare in, 137; retreat of Napoleon, 94 28th Line Infantry Regiment: casualties, 170; desertion, 171 typhus epidemic, 18, 19, 133–134, 135, 170, 171, 174, 175, 209n35 Tyrol, partisan warfare in, 139–140 Versailles, cavalry at, 59, 61–62, 97, 166, 186 Vicq, and supplies for Allies, 127 Victor, Marshal, 113 Vistula Regiment, 77 volley firing, 59 Voltigeurs, 73, 77; capture of, 145 Voluntaires de la Meurthe, 125 Voluntaires Partisans, 125 von Metternich, Klemens Wenzel, Marshal, 10, 16, 127 von Wrede, Karl Philipp, 24 ‘‘Waffen SS,’’ 74 war-weariness, 27, 31, 86, 142, 180, 183, 185, 188, 189; and fall of Paris, 167 Wellington (Arthur Wellesley), 17, 65, 97, 125, 138, 139, 142, 196n26; behavior toward civilians, 136; experience in guerilla warfare, 126 Wolf, Nicolas, 126 Yorck, General, 99, 127, 128 Young Guard, 72–74

About the Author RALPH ASHBY was born in Chicago and has lived most of his life in or near that city, exceptions including periods of military service and travels for research and teaching purposes. He has studied military history generally, and the Napoleonic period specifically, for decades. Ralph Ashby has earned a BA, an MAT, and a PhD, all from the University of Illinois at Chicago. He completed a training course with the United States Marine Corps at Quantico, Virginia, in 1975, while subsequent service with that branch was limited to one year in the inactive reserves. Ashby enlisted in the United States Army in 1987, and was trained at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. He served with the 3/27th Field Artillery Regiment (MLRS) at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and was deployed with that unit to Saudi Arabia in August 1990. Ashby fought in Iraq during the First Gulf War in 1991. He utilized the GI Bill to pursue his graduate studies. He has taught college courses at several institutions, including Barat College, Truman College, and the University of Illinois at Chicago. Currently, he is a visiting assistant professor at Eastern Illinois University in Charleston, Illinois. Ralph Ashby lives with his wife and children near Chicago in Elmwood Park, Illinois.