CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 924031 1 90493 NAPOLEON AND HIS MARSHALS J. T. HEADLEY'S WORKS. Xew Edition Washington and His Generals. Two vols., with steel plate portraits, . $2.50 Napoleon and His Marshals. Two vols., with steel plate portraits, . 2.50 The Imperial Guard. One voL, with steel plate portrait, . 1.25 Oliver CROMVtrELi, One vol., with steel plate portrait, . 1.25 *^* Price per set, uniform UnJing, in a box, 7,50 The Sacred Mountains. One vol., illustrated, .... 2.00 The Adirondacks. One vol., with steel plates, ... 2.00 ; s. H 2 :s j^-n ^^'^jX^[Plj)Y[g NAPOLEON AND HIS MARSHALS BY f. T: flEADLEY EMBELLISHED WITH NUMEROUS STEEL PLATE ENGRAVINGS VOLUME I NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1897 Entered according to Act of Congress* in the year i865( by REV. J. T. HEADLEY In the Qerk's Office of the District Court of tlie United Sutes for the Southern District of New York '"' Copyright, i88S, by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SQMS TROW DIHECTOnV PIDHTINa AND BOOKBINOINO COMPANY AEW YO.^K PREFACE Fob years the character and results of the great struggle of France just before and during Bonaparte's career, were wholly misconstrued by us. In the days of Jie old Federal party, the Federalists, still clinging in affection to the mother country, took sides with her against France, while ihe Jeffersonians sympalihized with the latter. Bonaparte became strongly mixed up in our politics, and that, too, at a time when political animosities ran higher than they ever have since. New England was Federal, and at that time being the centre of learning and intelligence, gave tone and character to our literature. But, sharing all lihe hatred of Eng- land against France, and that animosity intensified by political hostility to the Jeffersonians, who hated Eng- land, the Federals filled our literature with the gross falsehoods which disgraced England, and render her re- cords at that period utterly worthless. France was in- VI FBEFACS. fidel, and Bonaparte an ambitious tyrant, a second Alexander, determined to conquer the world — these were established facts it the New England creed, and were rung in endless changes over the country. Some of the best and purest men of that section, accepting English history as true, wrote and spoke respecting Bonaparte and the wars in which France was engaged, with an ignorance that to-day fills lis with astonishment. According to them, France was a nation without one redeeming quality, and Bonaparte guilty of every crime man is capable of committing, except cannibalism. But the time camo when the literature of this coun- try began to shake itself clear of English trammels, and then the true character of that long and fear^ struggle was revealed. The wild up-heaving of the French Bevolution was seen to be the result of our ovm fbmggle for independence, and the succeeding wars arose from democracy throwing down the gauntlet to despotism. The sanctimonious pretence of England that she was %htiDg for human liberty, and to help put down the conqueror of the world, is now stamped a false- hood by every enlightened man. She, with the other Continental powers, was fighting solely to prevent the spread of our republican principles. To see marshals, dukes, and kings made out of common soldiers, offended their pride, and awoke all their hostility. Their efforts arrested, but did not extinguish this republican senti- ment, and one has only to contemplate Europe before the advent of Napoleon and now, to see the wondrous FBEFAOE. VII diangehe has wrought. Let the same relative progreet be made for Bixty^ years to come, and there will hardlj be a crowned head left in Europe. Such a straggle, led on by men taken from the lower classes, and mounting to power by the force of genius alone, must ever be in- teresting to Americans. To see kings and lords and nobles of every degree go down before men who rose from the ranks, might well astonish the world. It has been my design, in the following work, not only to give the true character of I^apoleon, and the wars he waged, but to illustrate the men who led hia armies to victory — forming, as they do, a group the like of which the world has never seen. Their battles rev- olutionized the whole art of war, and form a gaUery of pictures that has no equal in the history of any nation. Many of these renowned battle-fields I have gone ovei in person, and hence been able to give more accurate descriptions than I otherwise could. These will never lose their interest while great deeds are admired and true heroes honored. If apoleon's marshals can appro- priately be placed side by side with our own great ger & rals of the present war. The portraitB are copies of those in the national gaJ- leries of France, and hence most be considered accurati 'ikcnessee CONTENTS OF VOL. I. I. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. A Dc-funce or bim against English historiana — Analysis of bis cbano- ter — Cansce of bis success — His Death •' II. HABSEAL BEBTHIEB. DtJES OF NEUFCHATEL. PRIKOE OP VAOBAlf. The talents a Revelation develops — Creation of the Marshals — ^Ber- tbier's character and history— Soliloquy of Napoleon— Bcrthier's Death 76 III. MARSHAL AUGEREAU. DUKE OP CASTIOLIONE. His early Life and Character — ^His campaigns in Italy — Battle o( Csistiglionc — ^Battle of Areola — Revolution of the 18th Fructidor — Charge at Eylau — Hia traitoroiM conduct and disgrace .... 91 lY. MAESHAL DAVOUST. DUKE OF AUEBSTADT. PRmCE OF ECKMDBL. Hie Character — ^Battle of Auerstadt — Cavalry action at E< Icrauhl- - Retreat tl-om Russia 122 V. MARSHAL ST. CYB. Ws Life — Character — ^Profession of a Painter— Combat at Biberaoh —Battle of ro'otsk— l^attle of Drcrden 151 X CONTENTS. VI. MARSHAL LANNES. DDES OF UONTliBEIXO. Pdnciple on which Bonaparte chose his officers— Passage of LoiH— Battle of Montebello— Battle of Marengo— Siege of Saragoa»— Battle of Aspera, and death of Lannes 1^ VII. MARSHAL MONUET. DUKE OF COBNEOIJANO. His early life— Operations in Spfun— The presentation oy Napolew of his son to him and the National Guard— His noble sfforts in fan- half of Ney—Reoeption of Napoleon's body when brought from St Helena . . 221 VIII. MARSHAL MAUUONALD. DDKS OF TARENTDIL ffiii early life— Qnarrel with Napoleon— His passage oi the Splngot —Charge at Wagram— Defence at Leipsic— His Character ... 241 IX. MARSHAL MORTIER. DDES OF TRBTI80. Bis early life— Character— Battle of Dimstein— Burning of Moscow — Blowingupof the Kremlin— His hiaveiy at Knsncd . . . . 2T( X. MARSHAL SOULT. MIKK OF DALMATLi. EDs early career— Camptdgns with Massena — H« character— Battle of Austerlitz — His first Campaign in Spain — Death of Sir John Moore Storming of Oporto — ^Retreat from Portugal— Battle of Albueia — Second Campaign in Spain— Siege of St Sebastiani— Sonlt's last straggle for the Empire 300 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE L Napoleon as a Gknerai^ i II. Napoleon as Emperor, 17 IIL Marshal Davoust, 122 IV. Marshal Lannes, 185 V. Marshal Macdonald, 242 VL Marshal Soult, 300 I ^ [p ■© fL E NAPOLEON BONAPAETE. A Defence of him agunst English Historians — Analysis c f his ChatactM — Causes of his Sncceas — EQs Death. Peeehaps there is no greater example of the control English literature and English criticism exert ore» public opinion in this coimtry, than the views the} have impressed upon it respecting Eonaparte. With Wordsworth, Southey, and Byron, in poetry, and Scott, and Alison, and the English Eeviews, in prose, all making him a monster in cruelty and selfishness, even though he might be an angel in genius ; we have, without scruple, adopted the same sentiments, and set him down as a scourge of his race. The few American writers that have ever at- tempted to give an analysis of his character, and a fair criticism on his actions, have failed, by judging him as if he had grown up on the Puritan soil of New England, instead of amid the chaos and anarchy of France, and tlie exciting sounds of war as Europe moved to battle. Their criticisms have in reality usually been mere essays on the horrors of war, in which Bonaparte figures as the chief illustration. There is no recognition of the peculiar trials thai 18 BTSSLANDEKEBB. Bun'ounded him, of the genius that mastered them, of the temptations to which he was exposed, and the necessity that frequently compelled him to courses that warred with his wishes. English historians make no scruple of belying him ; and while some of our American writers, by placing on him the guilt of those desolating wars that loaded Europe with the dead, have done him gross injustice ; they have also committed an unpardonable error in history. That English historians should attempt to cover their most successful enemy with unmerited guilt, especially when it is necessary to do bo, in order to screen their own nation against the accusar tions which France lays at her door, is to be ex- pected. Still Scott has done himself more injury in his Life of Napoleon than he has the great man he slandered ; and Mr. Mitchell, who has lately written three volumes to convince men that Napoleon was a fool, has succeeded only in proving himself one. Mr. Alison is almost the only one who has at all com- prehended his true character ; but, while he is forced to bear noble testimony to his genius, he is afraid of offending the prejudices and vanity of his countrymen, and so attempts, as an offset to his praise, to prove him destitute of conscience, and ca- pable of great meannesses. To do this, he not only falsifies history, but drags forth, with the most ludi- crous gravity, all the petulent speeches he ever made in sudden ebullitions of passion, or in the first chagrin of disappointment. The unjust and passionate re- marks a man of Napoleon's temperament, however noble his character, will always make in moments of irritation, are arrayed against his greatest acts with studied exaggeration, and declared suflicient to NAPOLBOK BONAFABTB. IS neutralize them all. This is like going into a mani bed-chamber to report his unguarded speeches, oi making a peevish remark to a servant in a moment of irritability, offset the noblest acts of his life. Napoleon Bonaparte, whether we think of liis mazing genius — ^his unparalleled power of embrac- ing vast combinations, while he lost sight of none ol the details necessary to insure success— -his rapidity of thought, and equally sudden execution — his tire- less energy — ^his ceaseless activity — his ability to direct the moveme-ts of half a million of soldiers in different parts of the world, and at the same time reform the laws-^restore the finances — ^and adminis- ter the government of his country; or whether we trace his dazzling career from the time he was a poor proud charity boy at tlie Military School of Brienne, to the hour when he sat down on tlie most brilliant throne of Europe, he is the same wonderful man — the same grand theme for human contemplation. But before entering on his character, it is neces- sary that whatever unjust prejudices we entertain should be removed, and our errors in history cor- rected. The first great barrier in the way of ren- dering him justice, is the conviction every where entertained, that he alone, or chiefly, is chai-geablo with those desolating wars that covered the Conti- nent with slain armies. His mounting ambition ia placed at the foundation of them all, and no greatness of mind can of course compensate for the guilt of such wl.olosale murder. It is impossible for one who Las not travelled amid the monarchies of Europe, and witnessed their nervous fear of republican pnnciples, and their fixed determination at whatever sacrifice of 20 THE FKKNCH REFVBLIO. )ustico, human rights, and human life, to maintain their oppressive forma of government, to appreciate a*, all the position of France at the time of the revo- lution. The balance of political power had been llie great object of anxiety, and all the watchfulness directed against the encroachment of one state on another; and no one can imagine the utter constenia- li -n with which Europe saw a miglity republic sud- denly rise in her midst. The balance of power was forgotten in the anxiety for self-preservation. The sound of the falling throne of the Bourbons rolled like a siidden earthquake under the iron and cen- tury-bound frame-work of despotism, till every thing heaved and rocked on its ancient foundations. Our Declaration of Independence, the everlasting and im- mutable principles of human rights, were uttered in the ears of the astonished world, and unless that voice could be hushed, that alarming movement checked, every monarchy of Europe would soon have a revolution of its own to struggle with. That the revolution of France was justifiable, if a revolution is ever so, no one acquainted with the history ol that time can for a moment doubt. The violence that marked its progress shows only, as Macanley says, the greater need of it. At all events, France, confused, chaotic, bleeding, and affrighted, stood ap and declared herself, in the face of the world, a ropnblir. She made no encroachments on other states, sought no war, for she needed all her strength and ener^, to save herself from internal foes. Snt tiie powers of Europe determined to crush her at once before she had acqtiired strength and consisten- cy. First, Austria and Prussia took up arms, with the avowed purpose of aiding Lo'iis. AStat NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 2i biB death, Holland, Spain, and England came into the alliance, and m^ved down on that bewildered republic. Here was the commencement and origin of all the after ware that devastated Europe. Not on France, but on the allied powers, rests the guilt of setting in motion that terrible train of evils which they would fain transfer to other shoulders. It waa a war of principle and a war of aggression. It was despotism invading liberty — oppression summoning human rights to lay down its arms, and because it would not, banding the world together to crush the republic that nourished them. Bonaparte was yet a boy when this infamous war was strewing the banks ol the Khine with slain armies. After struggling bravely for years for self-defence, France at length found her saviour in the young Cor- eican. Quelling the revolt of the sections in Paris, he was appointed to the command of the army of Italy. He found it badly provisioned, worse paid, ragged and murmuring, yet, by his energy, skill and, more than all, by his example, restored order and confidence; and, though numbering less than forty thousand men, replenished, as it wasted away, by slender reinforcements, he with it attacked and cut to pieces several annies, the most magnificent Austria could furnish, finishing one of the most bril- liant campaigns the world has ever witnessed, amid the tumultuous joy of the French. The next year he subjugated Lombardy, and forced the Austrian plenipotentiary, by his daring threats, to sign the treaty of Oampo Farmio, which was most favoura- ble to the Frentjh Eepublic. In the bloody battlea of Millessimo, Montenotte, Lodi, Areola, and Castig- lioue, and Rivoli, he certainly acted as became 9 22 HISDEBIBES. general fighting nnder the orders of his government, carrying on a defensive wai' with a boldness, skill, and success, considering the superiority of the force opposed to him, deserving of the highest praise. Eetnming to Paris in triumph, hailed everywhere as the saviour of France, he notwithstanding became tired of his inactive life, and still more weary of tJxo miserable Directory to whose folly he was compelled to submit, and proposed the expedition to Egypt. This furnishes another charge against Bonaparte, and this war is denounced as aggressive and cruel, growing out of a mad ambition. That it was un- just, no one can deny ; but instead of being a thing worthy of censure by the cabinets of Europe, it was simply carrying out their own systems of policy. Hia designs on the East, were just such as England had for years been prosecuting. The East was always to Bonaparte the scene of great enterprises, and Egypt famished a basis to his operations, and at the same time, would serve as a check to English encroachment in the Indies. Wbile Kussia, Austria, and Prussia, were stripping Poland ; and England was extending her conquests in the Indies — cumbering its burning plains with tens of thousands of its own children, and carrying out the most iniquitous system of oppression towards Ire- land ever tolerated by a civilized people — it does seem Indicrous to hear her historians complimenting the Deity on his even-handed justice, in finally arresting the cruel ambition of Bonaparte and of France. While the expedition to Egypt was experiencing the vicissitudes that characterized it, Austria, see- ing that France had got the Lion's share in Italy; joined with I^aples, and again commenced hostili NAPOLEON BONAFABTE. 23 ties. The French were driven back across the Apennines, and all the advantages gained there over Austria, were being lost, when Bonaparte re- turned in haste from Egypt — overthrew the imbe- cile Directory — ^was proclaimed First Consul — ^and immediately set about the restoration of France The consolidation of the government — ^the restora- tion of the disordered finances — ^the pacification of La Vendee — ^the formation and adoption of a con- stitution, engrossed his mind, and he most ardently desired peace. He, therefore, the moment he was elected First Consul, vrrote wilii his own hands, two letters; one to the king of England, and the other to the Emperor of Germany; hoping by this frank and friendly course to appease the two goyemments, and bring about a general peace. He had acquired sufficient glory as a military leader, and he now wished to resuscitate France, and be- come great as a civil ruler. In his letter to Eng- land, he uses the following language: — "Must the war, Sire, which for the last eight years has de- vastated the four quarters of the world, be eternal? Are there no means of coming to an understanding? How can two of the most enlightened nations of Europe, stronger already and more powerfal than their safety or their independence requires, sacrifice to ideas of vain-glory, the well-being of commerce internal prosperity, and the peace of families? How 33 it they do not feel peace to be the first of necessi ties as the first of glories?" Similar noble, frank, and manly sentiments, he addressed to the Emperor of Germany. There were no accusations in these letters, no recriminations, and no demands. They asked simply for negotiations to commence, for the nmit of peace to be exhibited, leaving it to aftei 24 DESIBES PEACE. efforts to settle the terms. Austria was inclined to listen to this appeal from the First Consul, and r& plied courteously to his letter. But she was tram meled by her alliance with England, and refused tc enter into negotiations in which the British Empire "wras not represented. Pitt, on the contrary, returned an insidting letter to the French minister — ^heaped every accusation on Bonaparte — ^recapitulated indi- vidual acts of violence, and laid them at the door of the French Eepublic, and charged it with de- signing to overthrow both religion and monarchy throughout the continent. He declared that the English government must see some fruits of re- pentance and amendment, before it could trust tl.« proffers of peace ; and that the restoration of th4) Bourbon throne, was the only guarantee she should deem suflScient of the good behaviour of the French government. Bonaparte, in reply, fixed the first aggressive acts clearly on the enemies of France, and then asked what was the use of these irritating remi- niscences — ^if the war was to be eternal, because one or the other party had been the aggressor ; and then adverting to the proposal that the Bourbons should be restored, asked, "What would be thought ol France, if, in her propositions, she insisted on the re- storation of the dethroned Stuarts, before she would make peace?" This home-thrust disconcerted the EngUsh Minister; and in reply, he frankly acknowl- edged that his government did not wage war for the re-establishment of the Bourbon throne, but for the security of all governments, and that she would listen to no terms of peace until this security was obtained. This settled the question. England would have no peace while France continued to be a republic. Bona parte had foreseen all this, and finding he coul KAFOLKON BOITAFABTE. 25 not seijaraU) Austria from her English alliance, imme- diately set on foot immense preparations for war. Mo- reau was sent with a magniiicent army into Swabia, to drive back the Austrians towards their capital ; Mas- seiia was appointed over the miserably provided army of Italy, while he himself fell from the heights of Sau Bernard, on the plains of Lombardy. At the fierce fought battle of Marengo, he recon- quered It,aly, while Moreau chased the vanquished Austrians over the Danube. Victory every where perched on the French standards, and Austria was ready to agree to an armistice, in order to recover from the disasters she had suffered. The slain at Montibello, around Genoa, on the plains of Marengo, in the Black Forest, and along the Danube, are to be charged over to the British government, which refused peace in order *o fight for the philanthropic purpose of giving security to governments. Austria, though crippled, let the armistice wear away, reftising to make a treaty because she was bound for seven months longer to England. Bonaparte, in the meantime, was preparing to recommence hostilities. Finding himself unable to conclude a peace, he opened the campaign of Hohenhnden, and sent Macdonald across the Splugen. Moreau's victorious march tlirough A.ustria, and the success of the operations in Italy, soon brought Austria to terms, and the celebrated peace ot Lunoville, of 1801, was signed. The energy and ability, and above all, the succesa of the First Consul, had now forced the continental powers to regard him with respect, and in some cases with sympathy ; while England, by her imperious de- mands, had embroiled hereelf with all the northern powers jf Europe. Zb PEACE OF AMIENS. Uat fliis trnivereal and wasting war begim at lengti to be tiresome to all parties, and after much negotiation and delay, a general peace was concluded at Amiens, and the world was at rest. Universal joy was spread through France and England, and the transports of the people knew no bounds. Peace, which Bonaparte needed and wished for, being restored, he applied his vast energies to the development of the resources of France, and to the building of stupendous public works. Commerce was revived — ^the laws administered with energy — order restored, and the blessings of peace were fast healing np the wounds of war. Men were amazed at the untiring energy, and the amazing plans of Bonaparte. His genius gave a new birth to the nation — ^developed aew elements of strength, and imparted an impulse to her growth that threatened to outstrip the greatness ■)f England. His ambition was to obtain colonial possessions, like those of England ; and if allowed to direct his vast energies in that direction, there was no doubt France would soon rival the British Empire in its provinces. England was at first fearM of the influence of the French Eepublic, but now a new cause of alarm seized her. It was evident that France was fast tending towards a monarchy. Bonaparte had been made First Consul for life, with the power to appoint his successor ; and it required no seer to predict that his gigantic mind and dictatorial spirit, would not long brook any check from inferior au- thority. From the very superiority of his intellect, he must merge every thing into his majestic plans, and gradually acquire more and more control, till the placing of a crown on his head would be only the symbol of that supreme power which had long before passed into his hands. England, therefore, had nc NAPOLEON BONAPABTE. 21 longer to fear the influence of a Bepnblic, and hence fight for the secnrity of government in general. She had, however, another cause of anxiety — ^the too rapid growth of her ancient rival. She became alarm- ed at the strides with which France advanced undei the guiding genius of Napoleon, and refused to carry out the terms of the solemn treaty she had hersell Bigned. In that treaty it was expressly stipulated that England should evacuate Egypt and Malta ; while France, on her part, was to evacuate Naples, Tarento, and the Koman States. His part of the treaty, Napoleon had fulfilled within two months after its completion ; but ten months had now elapsed, and the English were still in Alexandria and Malta. But Napoleon, anxious to preserve peace, did not see fit to urge matters, and made no complaint till it was sud- denly announced that the English government had proclaimed her determination not to fulfil the stipu lations she had herself made. The only pretext offer ed for this violation of a solemn contract, was her suspicions that France had designs on these places The truth was, England — with her accustomet jealousy of other nations acquiring colonial posses- sions, and remembering what a struggle it had just cost her to wrest Egypt and Malta from France — ^re- solved, though in violation of her own treaty, not to give them up. Talleyrand was perfectly amazed at this decision of the British ministry, while Napoleon Wiis thrown into a transport of rage. His keen penetration discerned at a glance the policy of Eng land, and the dreadful conflict that must ensue. He saw that she was resolved to resist the advancement of France, and to band, while she could, the powers of Europe against her. He knew that if she would •emain at peace, he could by force of arms, anc? 28 PEEFIDY OF BNGLAND. diplomatic skill, compel Kuasia, Austria, Prussia, aud Spain, to let him alone to carry out his plans for the aggrandizement of France. But with England con- stantly counteracting him, and throwing fire-brands in the cabinets of the Continent, he would be engaged ui perpetual conflicts and wrangUngs. It had, there- lot*, come to this: England must be chastised into quietness and respect for treaties, or there was to be continual war till France should yield to the strength of superior numbers. England knew that in a pro- tracted war France must fall ; for her very victories would in the end melt away her armies, before the endless thousands all Europe could pour upon her; and this she determined to accomplish. But war at this time was the last thing Napoleon wished — ^it in- terfered with his plans, and cut short his vast pro- jecta Besides he had won all the military renown he wished iu fighting with the rotten monarchies that surrounded him, and his genius sought a wider field in which to display itself. It was, therefore, with the greatest reluctance he would entertain the idea of a rupture. He sent for Lord Whitworth, the Eng- lish minister at Paris, and had a long personal con- versation with him. He recapitulated the constant and unprovoked aggressions of his government on France, ever since the revolution — spoke of his ar- dent wish to live on terms of amity — " But," said he, " Malta must be evacuated : for although it is ol no great value in a maritime point of view, it is of im- mense importance as connected with a sacred treaty and witli the honor of France;" "For," he contin- ued, " what would the world say, if we should allow a solenm treaty to be violated ?" He asked the nation to act frankly and honestly towards him, and h« NAPOLEON BONAPAKTB. 28 would act equally bo towards it. " If you doubt my eincerity," said he, " look at the power and renown to which I have attained. Do you suppose I wish to hazard it all in a desperate conflict?" The English government then endeavoured to negotiate with him to let it retain Malta. "The treaty of Amiens," he rejilied, "and nothing but the treaty!" Placed in this dilemma, England was compelled to do two things at once ; first, violate a ti'eaty of her own making ; and second, to take upon herself in doing it, the responsibility of convulsing Europe, and bring mg back all the horrors of the war that had just closed. Napoleon was right, and England was wrong, totally wrong ; and if the violation of a solemn treaty is a just cause for war, then is he justifiable. From the objects of peace which had filled his mind, Bonaparte immediately strung his vast energies for the fearful encounter that was approaching. Hosti- lities commenced, and Napoleon resolved at once to invade England, and strike a deadly blow at the head of his perfidious enemy, or perish in the attempt. He collected an enormous fiotilla at Boulogne; and the French coast, that looks towards the English isle, was alive with armies and boats, and rung with the artizan's hammer, and the roar of cannon. Nothing but unforeseen circumstances prevented his carrying out this project, which would have shaken the British throne to its foundations. England drew Russia first into this new alliance, the basis of which was, first to reduce France to her limits before the Eevolution ; and second, to secure the peace and stability of the European states. Look for a moment at this perfidious policy — ^this mockery of virtue — this philanthropic villany. Euteia, sund 2* 80 POLICT OF ENGLAND AND BUSBIA. ered so far from France, "was in peaceable possessioi of all her territory — ^had not a right to maintain, noi a wrong to redress. England, on the other hand, had HO province to wrest back from the enemy — no viola- ted treaty to defend — ^no encroachment to resist. Their removal from the theatre of war rendered thcni secm-e ; and whose peace and stability were they to maintain? They anticipated no danger to them selves. Italy preferred the French domination to the Austrian, for it gave greater liberty and prosperity Austria did not ask to be propped up, for she had had enough of those alliances which made her own plains the field of combat; and it was with the greatest difficulty she could be brought into the confederacy, and not tiU her possessions in Italy, which she had ceded to France, was offered as a bribe for her co-operation. Prussia resolutely refused to enter the alliance, and at length sided with France. Eussia, Austria, England, and Sweden, finally co- alesced, and convulsed Europe, and deluged it in blood, to famish security to those who had not asked their interference. From this moment Napoleon saw that either Kussia or England must be humbled, or there could be no peace to Europe, no security to France. This accounts for his projected descent on England, and after desperate invasion of Russia. In the opening of the campaign of 1805 that fol- I'.iwed, so glorious to the French arms, the real de- sires of Napoleon are made apparent. Mack had surrendered Ulm, and with it thirty thousand soldiers, and as the captive army defiled before Bonaparte, he addressed them in the following re- markable language : " Gentlemen, war has its chances. Often victorious, you must expect 8om« NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 83 timea to be vanquished. Your master wages against me an unjust war. / say it ccmdidlnjy 1 hnow not for what I cmi fightmg. I know not what he desires of me. He has wished to remind mc that I was a soldier. I trust he will find that I liave not forgotten my original avocation. I will, however, give one piece of advice to my brother, the Emperor of Germany. Let him hasten to make peace. This is the moment to remember that there are limits to all empires, however powerful. I wcmi nothmg on ths Oonti/nent. It is ships, colordes thai, I desireP This is the language of him who is called the desolator of Europe, in the moment of victory. It was true, he did not know for what he was fight ing; he was forced into it. It was equally true, that he wished for nothing on the Continent. He emulated England in her course of greatness, and he was perfectly willing the despots of Europe should sit in quietness on their crazy thrones. For the slam left on the plains of Italy, as Massena swept the enemy from its borders — ^for the tens of thou- sands strewn on the bloody field of Austerlitz — who is chargeable? Not Napoleon — ^not France. — Here is a third sanguinary war waged, filling Eu rope with consternation and the clangour of arms — ^her hospitals with wounded, and her villages with mourning, and her valleys and hills with her slain children — and the guilt of the whole is charged ove? to Napoleon's ambition, while he never went into a war more reluctantly, or with justice more clearly on his side. Mr. Alfson, who certainly will not be ac- cused of favoring too much the French view of the matter, nor too eager to load England with crime, ig nevertheless comj)eIled to hold the following remark 32 CACSESOFWAB. able language respecting this war: "In coolly re viewing the circumstances under which this contest was renewed, it is impossMe to deny that the British gov^ernment manifested a feverish anxiety to come tc a rupture, and that so far as the two (mmtaies w^te concerned, they were the aggressors." And yet at the opening of the campaign of Ansterlitz, he indul- ges in a long homily on the ambition of Napoleon— his thirst of glory, and the love of conquest which had seized the French nation. And these are the works we place in our libraries as histories. I do not design to follow out the subsequent trea- ties to show who were the aggressors. Eussia and England determined never to depart from the basis of their alliance till they had effected the overthrow of Napoleon ; while he saw that the humiliation ol one or the other of these great powers was indispen- sable to the preservation of his possessions and his throne. Conquests alone could produce peace ; and the war became one of extermination on the one side, and of vengeance and fierce retaliation on the other. Napoleon felt that he was to be treated without mercy or faith, unless he surrendered France into the hands of the despots of Europe, to be disposed of as they should think necessary for their own security, and the stability of the feudal system, on which their thrones wej?e based. That after this he should wage wai" with a desperation and violence that made Europe tremble, is not to be wondered at. But up to the peace of Tilsit, he and France are free from the guilt of the carnage that made the plains of Europe one vast Golgotha. Some time after this assertion was written down, I had occasion to refer to Napier's Peninsular "War foF NAPOLEON BONAPAKTE. 3S some historical fact, and fell upon the following state- ment, which, coming as it does, from an Englishman, and one of such high authority iti military matters, I am induced to quote : " Up to the peace of Tilsit,'' says Napier, "the wars of France were essentially defensive ; for the bloody contest that wasted the Continent S3 many years, was not a struggle for pre- eminence between ambitious powers — not a dispute for some accession of territory — ^nor for the political ascendancy of one or other nation — ^but a deadly con ■ fiict to deterrrvme wJiether ^"^^tocracy or demooroGy should predomAnate — wJiethe,- equality or PKivn^EOE sJumld h&nceforth he the nrinei^le of Europea/n gf.axly double HAPOLEON BONAPAETE. 41 the number of his whole army, and killed half as manj as the entire force he had at any one time in the field. The tactics he adopted in this campaign, and which he never after departed from, correspond singularly with the character of his mind. Instead of following up what was considered the scientific mode of conducting a campaign and a battle, he fell back on his own genius, and made a system of his own, adapted to the circumstance in which he was placed. Instead of opposing wing to wing, centre to centre, and column to column, he rapidly concentrated his entire strength on separate portions in quick suc- cession. Hurling his combined force now on one wing, and now another, and now throwing it with the weight and terror of an avalanche on the centre, he crushed each in its turn ; or cutting the army in two, destroyed its communication and broke it in pieces. And this was the way his mind worked. He concentrated all his gigantic powers on one pro- ject at a time, imtil it stood complete before him, and then turned them unexhausted on another. He grap- pled with, and mastered each in turn — ^penetrated and dismissed it with a rapidity that astonished his most in- timate friends. He was brave as courage itself, and never scrupled to expose his life, when necessary to success. The daring he exhibited in the revolt of the sections, wlien, with five thousand soldiers, he boldly withstood forty thousand of the National Guard and mob ol Paris, he carried with him to his fall. At the terriLle passage of Lodi, where, though General-in-Chief, lie was the second man across the bridge ; — at Areola, where he stood, with the standard in his hand, ir the midst of a perfect tempest of balls and grape-shot 42 HISCOUBAaE. and at Wagram, where he ride on his white steed^ backward and forward, for a whole hour, before his shivering lines, to keep them steady in the dreadful fire that thinned their ranks, and swept the ground they stood upon; — ^he evinced the heroic courage tliat he possessed, and which was a part of his very 'r-ature This, with his stirring eloquence, early gave him great command over his soldiers. They loved b'm to the last, and stood by the republican General, and the proud Emperor, with equal affection. Bona- parte was eloquence itself. His proclamations to his soldiers evince not only his knowledge of the human heart, but his power to move it at his will, Whethei causing one of the articles in Sieyes' constitution to be rejected, by his withering sarcasm ; or rousing hifl soldiers to the loftiest pitch of enthusiasm, by his irre- sistible appeals ; or carrying away those conversing with him, by his brilliant thoughts and forcible elocu- tion, he exhibits the highest capacities of an orator. His appeals to the courage of his soldiers, and his distributions of honors, with so much pomp and display, perfectly bewildered and dazzled them, so tliat in battle it seemed to be their only thought how they should exhibit the greatest daring, and perform the most desperate deeds. Thus, soon after the bat- tle of Castiglione, and just before the battle of Eivoli, he made an example of the 39th and 8oth regiments of Yaubois Division, for having given way to a panic, and nearly lost him the battle. Arranging these two regiments in a circle, he addressed them in the fol- lowing language: — "Soldiers, I am dspleased with you — you have shown neither discipline, nor valour, nor firmness. You have allowed yourselves to be chased from positions, where a hand^l of brave NAPOLKOK BONArAETE. 43 men would have stopped an army. Soldiers of the 39th and 85th, you are no longer French soldiers, Chiel of the Staff, let it be written on their standards, ' They are no longer of the army of Italy? " Nothing could exceed the stunning effect with which these words fell on those brave men. They forgot their discipline, and the order of their ranks, and bursting into grief, filled the air with their cries, — and rushing from their ranks, crowded, with most beseech- ing looks and voices around their General, and begged to bo saved from such a disgrace, saying, " Lead ua once more into battle, and see if we are not of the army of Italy." Bonaparte wishing only to implant feelings of honour in his troops, appeared to re- lent, and addressing them some kind words, promised to wait to see how they should behave. In a few days he did see the brave fellows go into battle, and rush on death as if going to a banqiiet, and prove themselves, even in his estimation, worthy to be in the army of Italy. It was by such reproaches for un- gallant behaviour, and by rewards for bravery, that he instilled a love of glory that made them irresisti ble in combat. Thus we see the Old Guard, dwindled to a mere handful in the fearful retreat from Sussia, close round him as they marched past a battery, and amid the storm of iron that played on their exhausted ranks, sing the favourite air, " "Where can a father be BO well, as in the bosom of his family." So, ala just before the battle of AusterMtz, in his address to the soldiers, he promised them he would keep out (A danger if they behaved bravely, and burst through the enemy's ranks; but if they did not, he should himself rush into the thickest of the fight. Ther# could not be a stronger evidence of love and confi 44 OATTSES OF HIS SUOOESB. dence between soldier and General, than was evinced by this speech, made on the commencement of one ol the greatest battles of his life. Another cause of his wonderful success was his untiring activity of both mind and body. No victory lulled him into a moment's repose — ^no luxuries tempt- ed him to ease — and no successes bounded his im- petuous desires. Labouring with an intensity and rapidity that accomplished the work of days in hours, he nevertheless seemed crowded to the very limit ol human capacity by the vast plans and endless pro- jects that asked and received his attention. In the cabinet he astonished every one by his striking thoughts and indefatigable industry. The forms and ceremonies of court could keep his mind, hardly for an hour, from the labour which he seemed to covet. He allowed himself usually but four or five hours rest, and during his campaigns, exhibited the same almost miraculous activity of mind. He would dic- tate to one set of secretaries all day, and after he had tired them out, call for a second, and keep them on the stretch all night, snatching but a brief reposa during the whole time. His common practice was to rise at two in the morning, and dictate to his secre- taries for two hom-s, then devote two hours more to thought alone, when he would take a warm bath and dress for the day. But in a pressure of business iLis division of labour and rest was scattered to the winds, and he would work all night. With his night- gown wrapped around him, and a silk handkerchiel tied about his head, he would walk backwards and forwards in his apartment from dark till daylight, dic- tating to Gaulincourt, or Duroe, or D' Albe his chiaJ stscretary, in his impetuous manner, which required NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 11 the highest exertion to keep pace with ; while En» tan, his faithM Mameluke, whom he brought from Egypt, was up also, bringing him, from time to time, a strong cup of coffee to refresh him. Sometimes at midnight, when all was still, this restless spirit would caU out " Call D'Albe : let every one arise :" and then commence working, allowing himself no inter- mission or repose till sunrise. He has been known to dictate to three secretaries at the same time, so rapid were the movements of his mind, and yet sc perfectly under his control. He never deferred busi- ness for an hour, but did on the spot what then claim ed his attention. Nothing but the most iron-like con- stitution could have withstood these tremendous strains upon it. And, as if Nature had determined that nothing should be wanting to the full develop- ment of this wonderful man, as well as no resources withheld from his gigantic plans, she had endowed him with a power of endurance seldom equalled. It was not till after the most intense and protracted mental and physical effort combined, that he gave intima- tions of being sensible to fatigue. In his first cam- paign in Italy, though slender and apparently weak, he rode five horses to death in a few days, and for six days and nights, never took off his boots, or retired to his couch. He toiled over the burning sands ol Egypt, and through the snow drifts of Eussia, witii equal impunity — spurring his panting steed through tlio scorching sun-beams of Africa, and forcing his way on foot, with a birchen stick in his hand, over the icy path, as he fled from Moscow with the same firm presence. He would sleep in tiie palace of the Tnileries, or on the shore of the swollen Danube, with nought but his cloak about him, while the 3* 46 HIS 8ELF-KELIAN0E. groans of the dying loaded the midnight air; witb equal soundness. He was often on horseback eigh teen hours a day, and yet wrought up to the intensesi uiontal excitement all the while. Marching till mid night, he would array his troops by moonlight ; ana fighting all day, be hailed victor at night ; and tlien, without rest, travel all the following night and day, and the next morning fight another battle, and be a second time victorious. He is often spoken of as a mere child of fortune ; but whoever in this world will possess such powers of mind, and use them with equal skill and industry, and has a frame to stand it, will always be a child of fortune. He allowed notliing to escape his ubiquitous spirit ; and whether two or five campaigns were going on in different kingdoms at the same time, they were equally under his control, and their result calculated with wonder- ful precision. Another striking characteristic of Napoleon, and which contributed much to his success, was self-con fidence. He fell back on himself in every emergency, with a faith that was sublime. Where other men sought counsel, he communed with himself alone ; and where Bangs and Emperors called anxiously on the statesmen and chieftains around their thrones for help, he summoned to his aid his own mighty genius. This did not result from vanity and conceit, but from the consciousness of power. He not only took the measure and capabilities of every man that ap- proached him, but he Temw le saw beyond theii farthest vision, and hence could not but rely on him- self, instead of others. Tliis self-confidence, which in other men would have been downright madness, in him was wisdoiD NAPOLEON BONAPAETE 47 It was the first striking trait in his chaiacter he ex- hibited. At the siege of Toulon, a mere boy, he curled his Up at the science of the oldest Generals in the army, and offered his ovm plan for the reduc- tion of the town, with an assurance that astonished tliem. In quelling the revolt of the sections, this sublime self-reKance utterly confounded the heads oi the Convention. K it had ended here, it might have been called the rashness and ardour of youth, crowned with unexpected success. But throughout his after career ; in those long protracted efforts, in which in- tellect and genius always triumph ; we ever find him standing alone, calling none but himself to his aid. Inexperienced and young, he took command of the weak and ill-conditioned army of Italy, and instead of seeking the advice of his government and his Generals, so that he might be screened in case of de- feat, where defeat seemed inevitable; he seemed to exult that he was at last alone, and almost to forget the danger that surrovmded him, in his joy at having a free and open field for his daring spirit. His fame aud after fortune, all rested on his success and con- duct in this outset of his career ; yet he voluntarily placed himself in a position where the result, how- ever disastrous it might be, would be chargeable on him alone. He flung the military tactics of Europe to the winds, and with his little band around him, spurned both the science and the numbers amyed against him. With the same easy confidence he vaulted to the throne of France, and felt an emjure rest on his shoulders, apparently un TOUScious of the weight. He looked on the revolutionary agitation, the prostration and confusion of his kingdom without alarm ; and his 48 HIS IBEAIMliJNT OF KISOB. eagle glance pierced at ouce the length, and breadth, and depth, and height, of the chaos that surioxmded him. Yet, so natural does he seem in this position, that instead of trembling for his safety, we find our- selves inspired by the same confidence that sustained bira, and expecting great and glorious results. He seems equal to any thing, and acts as if he himself was conscious he was a match for the world. Stern, decided, plain, he speaks to the King of England, the Emperor of Kussia, of Austria, and to all Europe in the language of a superior, rather than of an equal. Angry, yet alarmed at the haughty tone of this ple- beian King, the crowned heads of Europe gathered hastily together, to consult what they should do. In the same quiet confidence with which he saw the mob advancing on his batteries in the garden of the Tuileries, he beheld theu- banded armies move down on his throne. Tliis single man — ^this plebeian, stood up amid the monarchies of Europe, and bending his imperial frown on the faithless kings that surrounded him, smote their royal foreheads with blow after blow, till the world stood aghast at his presumption and audacity. Their scorn of his plebeian blood gave way to consternation, as they saw him dictating terms to them in their own capitals ; whiie the free- dom with which he put his haughty foot on their Eacred majesties, fiUed the bosoms of 'heir courtiers with horror. He wheeled his cannon around theii tlirones, with a coolness and inflexibility of purpose Uiat made " the dignity which doth hedge a king," a most pitiful thing to behold. He swept, with hia fierce chariot, through their ancient dynasties, crush- ing them out as if they had beon bubbles in his path ; then proudly pausing, let them gather up their crown* HAPaLEON BONAPABTE. 49 ag^n. "While astonished at the boldness of his irrup- tion into Egypt, they were listening to hear again the thunder of his guns around the pyramids, they sud daidy saw his mighty army hanging along the crefct of the Alps; and before the astonishing vision had iflirly disappeared, the sound of his cannon was heard shaking the shores of the Danube, and his vie, torious eagles were waving their wings over the cap- ital of the Austrian Empire. One moment his terri bie standards would be seen along the shores of the Rhine; the next, by the banks of the Borysthenes, and then again fluttering amid the flames of Mos- cow. Europe never had such a wild waking up be- fore, and the name of Napoleon Bonaparte became a spell word, with which to conjure up horrible shapes of evil. Victory deserted the standards of the enemy the moment that the presence of Napoleon among his legions was annoimced in their camp, and when it was whispered through the ranks that his eye was sweeping the battle fleld, the arm of the foeman waxed weak, and he conquered as much by his name as by his armies. This boldness of movement, giving him such mimense moral power, arose from his con- fidence in himself. Even where his plans seemed mad- ness and folly, so confidently did he carry them on, that men believed he saw resources of which they were ignorant, and hence their course became cautious and wavering ; and defeat certain. Nothing can be more sublime than this self-reliance of Napoleon, in the midst of a world ii arms against him. It is the confidence of genius and intellect, ar- rayed against imbecility and fear. That no hesita- tion should mark his course, amid the complicated afiairs to was compelled to move — ^no vacillation ol 30 HISIMPtrUOSITT. that iron will be seen, when every thing else shooJi about him, is indeed a marvel. The energy of a single soul, poised on its own great centre, gathering around it, as by sympathy, the mightiest spirits of the age, and crushing under it obstacles that before seemed insur- mountable, has had no such exhibitions since the time of Caesar. But with all Napoleon's cool judgment, and self- confidence, there was not a Marshal in the army of so impetuous and impatient a temper, as he. He settled every plan in his own mind, with the precision of a aiathematical problem ; and if any unforeseen obstacle interposed, threatening to change the result, he be- came forious with excitement, acting and talking as if he thought it to be a violation of reason and justice. He planned with so much skill, and calcu- lated results with so much precision, tliat if he did not succeed, he felt there must be blame, shame- ful neglect somewhere. From his youth up he nevei could brook contradiction, and drove with such head- long speed towards the object he was after, that he frequently secured it through the surprise and con- sternation occasioned by the desperation that marked his progress. In the cabinet and in the field, he ex- hibited the same restless fever of mind, and seemed really to suffer from the strong restraints his despotic judgment placed over his actions. It was impossible for him to keep still ; and the most headlong speed in travelling, did not seem rapid enough for his eagoi spirit. Bad rider as he was, he delighted in spurring over fences and chasms, where his boldest riders had gone down ; but even when sweeping over a field on a tearing gallop, he could not be quiet, but constantly jerked the reins, which ho always held in his rig] J NAPOLEON BONAFAETE. 6J hand. When delayed in writing despatches, behind the time appointed for his departure for the army, the moment he had finished, — the cry "to horse," acted like an electric shock on his attendants, and in a moment every man was at the top of his speed, ai.J the next moment the entire suite were driving like a whirlwind along the road. In this way he would gc all day without stopping; and if despatches met him on the way, he would read them as he rode, — throw- ing envelopes and unimportant letters, one after another, from the carriage window, with a rapidity that showed how quickly he devoured the contente of each. He usually opened these despatches him- self, but if his secretary did it for him, he would sit and work at the window sash with his fingers, — so necessary was some outlet to the fierce action of his mind. He would drive through the army at the same furious rate ; and when the outriders called out " room for the Emperor I" every one felt he could not be too quick in obeying; and before the utter confusion of clearing the way had passed, the cortege was seen fiy- ing like a cloud across the plain, beyond hearing, and almost out of sight. But through the Guards he always moved with becoming pomp and solemnity, saluting the officers as he passed. Maps were his invariable companions in a cam- paign, and he always had one spread out at night in his apartment, or a tent which was always pitched amid the squares of the Old Guards, — surrounded with candles, so that he might rise at any moment and consult it: and when on the road or in the field he wanted one, so impatient was he known to be that the two officers who can-ied them rode down every thing between them acd his horse or carriage. On suck 52 HISBIDETOFABIS. occasions he would frequently order the map he desirca to be unrolled on the ground, and stretching himself fall length upon it, in a moment be lost to every thing but the campaign before him. A remarkable instance of his impatience and impetuosity is exhibited in the manner he received Marie Louise on her way to meet him. As she drove up to the post town, where he ex- pected her, he jumped into the carriage all wet with rain as he was, and embraced this daughter of th( Cesars with the familiarity of an old relative ; and or- dering the postillions to drive at full gallop to Com- peigne, insisted on having the 'conjugal rites before marriage, and obtained them. But perhaps there is not a more striking instance of the impetuosity of his feelings than his mad ride to Paris, when it was en- veloped by the allied armies. Being himself deceived by the enemy, they had got fiiU three days' start of him towards the capital, with a force that bore down every thing in their passage. It was then Napoleon strained every nerve to reach the city before its capitu- lation. He urged his exhausted army to the top of its speed, and on the 29th of March, the day be- fore he left it, he marched with the Imperial Guard forty mUes. Wearied out, the brave cuirassiers could no longer keep pace with his haste, and he set out alone for Paris. Despatching courier after cou- rier to announce his approach, he drove on with fu- rious speed ; but as the disastrous news was brought him that the enemy were struggling on the heights ol Montmartre, his impatience knew no bounds. He abandoned his carriage as being too slow, though it came and went with frightful velocity on the as- tonished peasantry, and changing it for a light Car JccLe, he sprung into it, and ordered the postillioiis to HAPOLEOK BONAPARTE. 53 wfiip the horses to the top of their speed. He dasket) away as if life and death hung on every step. " Fast er, faster I" he cried to the postillions, though the 'vhii. foil incessantly on the flanks of the panting steeds " Faster, faster," he cried, as the houses and field swept past him like a vision. His throne, his crown, hia empire, shook in the balance, and the flying charicl seemed to creep over the lengthened way. Nothing could satisfy him, and the cry of " faster, faster," still rung in the ears of the astonished postillions, though the carriage wheels were already on flre from their rapid evolutions. Vain speed ! Paris had fallen. This impetuosity of temper and hatred of restrain* made him frequently overbearing and unjust to hif officers, when they had failed in executing his plans. In the first transport of passion, he would hear no defence and no apology ; but after reflection made him more reasonable and just, and a generous act would repay a sudden wrong. It was this trait of character which grew stronger, as he drew towards the close oi his career, that made many around him declare that he hated the truth. It was not the truth which arous- ed him, but the declaration that his plans would be or had been baflied. He was so confident that he usu- ally knew more than all around him, that he in time became so self-opinionated that he could not brook advice which clashed with his views. With weight and velocity both, his mind had terrible momentum, and even in a wrong way often conquered by its irre- sistible power. Napoleon was a great statesman as well as military leader. His conversations in his exile evince the most profound knowledge of political science, while the prAar he brought out of chaos, and indeed the 54 HIS PEAOTIOAL POWEE. glorious resuiTection he gave to France, show that h« was not great in theory alone. He was equal to Ce- sar as a warrior, to Bacon in political sagacity, and nhove all other kings in genius. Perhaps Napoleon exhibits nowhere in his life, his mazing grasp of thought and power of accomplish • ment, more than in the year and a half after his ar- rival from Egypt. Hearing that the Eepublic was every where defeated, and Italy wrested from its grasp, he immediately set sail for France, and escap- ing the English fleet in a most miraculous manner, protected by "his star," reached 'France in October. By November he had overthrown the inefficient Di- rectory, and been proclaimed First Consul with all the attributes, but none of the titles of king. He imme diately commenced negotiations with the allied pow- ers, while at the same time he brought his vast ener gies to bear on the internal state of France. Credit was to be restored, money raised, the army supplied, war in Vendee suppressed, and a constitution given to France. By his superhuman exertions and all per- vading genius, he accomplished all this, and by next spring was ready to offer Europe peace or war. Or- der sprung from chaos at his touch — the tottering go- vernment stopped rocking on its base the moment his mighty hand fell upon it — ^wealth flowed from the lap of poverty, and vast resources were drawn from apparent nothingness. France, rising from her prone position, stood ready to give battle to the world, Eu- rope chose war. The gigantic mind that had wrought such prodigies in seven months in France, now turned its concentrated strength and wrath on the enemy. Massena he sent to Genoa to furnish ar. example rf heroisin to latest posterity. — Moreau ht NAPOLEOKBONAtAETE. 55 despatched to Swabia to render the Black Forest im mortal by the victories of Engen, Mceskirch and Biberach, and send the Austrians in consternation to llieir capital, while he himself, amid the confusion and wonderment of Europe at his complicated move- ments, precipitated his enthusiastic troops down tlie Alps, and by one bold and successfiil stroke wrested Italy from the enemy, and forced the astonished and discomfitted sovereigns of Europe to an armistice of six months. Unexhausted by his unparalleled eftbrts, no sooner was the truce proclaimed than he plunged with the same suddenness yet profound forethought with which he rushed into battle, into the distracted politics of Europe. By a skilful stroke of policy in oflEering Malta to Eussia, at the moment it was cer- tain to fall into the hands of England, he embroiled these two countries in a quarrel, while by promising Hanover to Prussia, he bribed her to reject the coali- tion with England, and consent to an alliance with himself. At the same time he planned the league of the neutral powers against England, — armed Denmark and Sweden, and closed all the ports of the Continent against her, and prepared succours for Egypt. While his deep sagacity was thus baffling the cabinet ol England, involving her in a general war. with Eu- rope, and pressing to her lips the chalice she had ju&t forced him to drink, he apparently devoted his entire energies to the internal state of France, and the building of public works. He created the bank ol France — ^put the credit of government on a firm basis — began the Codes, spanned the Alps with roads— fluffi. cient monuments in themselves of his genius — ^and restored the complete supremacy of the laws through out the kingdom. All this he accomplished in si:j 66 HISAM.BITION. montlis, and at the close of the armistice was roadj' foi war. The glorioiiB campaign of Hohenlinden followed and Austria, frightened for her throne, negotiated the peace of Luneville, giving the world time to recover its amazement and gaze more steadily on this mighty sphere that had shot so suddenly across the orbit of kings. Tliat ITapoleon in all this was ambitious no one doubts, but his ambition was indissolubly con- nected with the welfare and glory of France. Pow- er was the ruling star in his heaven, but he sought it in order to make France powei-ful. His energies developed hers, and the victories he won were for her safety and defence. He is accused of having aimed at supreme power, and nothing short of it would have satisfied him. A second Alexander, he waded through seas of blood, and strode ovei mountains of corpses, solely to accomplish this object, and his fall was the fall of one w^ho aimed at uni- versal empire. Mr. Alison takes up this piece of nonsense, and gives us pages of the merest cant about the danger of ambition and love of power, and the Providence that arrests it — declaring, in so many words, that Napoleon sought the subjugation of Eu- rope. K this were true he might have spared the tribute he pays to Napoleon's genius, for it would rove him the sublimest fool that ever held a sceptre. o assert that he ever dreamed of being able to sub- jagate England, Kussia, Prussia, Austria, and the Qortheni powers of Europe, and combine them in one vast empire, of which he would be the head, is too ridiculous to receive a serious refutation. That he ever expected to make England a dependant province on Fra?ice, there is not an intelligent man in the Bri NAPOLEON BONAPABTB. 57 Jish Empire believes ; yet English historians will never cease their cant about this modern Alexan- der, who fell because he sought to conquer the world. Napoleon, as I have said, would gladly have adopted the let-alone policy both with England and Russia, aa well as with Austria and Prussia, if they would have allowed it. He was ambitious, but he knew too well that with Europe banded against him, he must sooner or later fall ; and the utmost limit of his hopes was to break this coalition by crippling either Russia or England. Could he have done this, he would soon have extorted a peace from the rest of Europe that would have allowed him to prosecute his ambitious schemes in the East, where success was certain. England wished this road to wealth and to em- pire left open to her, so she uttered a vast deal of nonsense about imlimited power and the danger of Europe, till she induced Europe to crush Napoleon. The East, as I before remarked, with its boundless wealth and imbecile population, he always regarded as «ne true field where fame and empire were to be laid, and he would have been glad any moment if Europe would have left him to pursue the career he commenced in Egypt. That he would have been as unprincipled in his aggressions on peaceable states — as heartless in the means he employed — as reckless of the law of na- tions — as perfidious in his policy — as cruel in his slaughters — and as grasping after territory, as the Diitish Empire has since shown herself to be, his life, character, and plans leave but little room to doubt- Perhaps it is better that ho wasted his immense ener- gies as he did, in breaking to pieces the despotisms oi Europe. As it was, lie rolled the Revolution over tlie 58 H". 6 WiNT OF KEPUBLICANI8M. French borders, and sent it with its earthquake throei the length and breadth of the (Continent. I have thus spoken of Bonaparte comparatively, and not as an individual judged by the law of right. J wished to place him beside the monarchs and govern- ments that surrounded him, and see where the ba- lance of virtue lay. He was ambitious — so was Pitt ; while the ambition of the former was far less selfish, heartless and cruel than that of the latter. One in- sisted on the treaty of Amiens, by which the world was bound to peace ; the other broke it, and involved Europe in war solely for selfish ends. Napoleon has been blamed for robbing France of her republican form of government, and reinstating monarchy ; and men are prone to compare him with Washington, and wonder why he could not have imitated his example, and, content with the peace and prosperity of hia country, returned to the rank of citizen, and left a name unspotted by blood and violence. In the first place, the thing was absolutely impossible. A pure Republic France could not have been with the popu- lation the Kevolution left upon her bosom. As igno- rant of liberty and undisciplined, as the South Ame- rican States and Mexico, she would have been rocked like them with endless revolutions, until European powers had overcome her, and replaced a Bourbon on the throne. And if her population had been prepared for complete freedom, the monarchs of Europe would not have allowed her to establish a Eepublic in peace. Imagine tie United States in the midst of the Eevolu- tion, surrounded by despotic thrones — Canada — tha West — ^Mexico, and Florida — all so many old monar- chies, thoroughly alarmed by the sudden appearance vf a free state in their midst, and in their affi-iglit NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 69 Aandiug themselves together to crush the infant Re public, and yon will have some conception ot tlie sifc nation of France during the Revolution. Let "Wash ington have commanded oui- forces, and in re- sisting this wai" of aggression have wrested from one of the powers dominions to which it had no claim, as France took Italy from Austria. Suppose this des- potic feudal alliance was kept up, and no permanent peace would be made till "Washington was over- thrown ; his career and ours would have been very dif- ferent. Our plains would have all been battle fields until we had broken up the infamous coalition, or been ourselves overborne. In such a position were Bo- naparte and France placed, and such a war was wag- ed till they fell. Placing ourselves in a similar posi- tion, we shall not find it difficult to determine where the chief guilt lay, or be wanting in charity to Napo- leon, for the recklessness with which he carried on a war agMust powers so destitute of faith and virtue, and whose aggressive policy had well nigh crushed the hopes of freedom on the Continent. But had these circumstances not existed, he never would have been a AVashington, for he possessed few of his mo- ral qualities. "Washington appears in grander pro- portions as a moral than as an intellectual man, while Bonaparte was a moral dwarf; and I do not well see how he could be otherwise. Dedicated from childhood to the profession of arms, all his thoughts and associations were of a military character. "With- out moral or religious instruction, he was thrown while a youth into the vortex of the revolution ; and in the triumph of infidelity, and the overthrow of all religion, and the utter chaos of principles and senti ments ; it was not to be expected he would lay tb» 60 HIS MOBAL CHABAOTE£. foundation of a religious character. He emerged from thia into the life of the camp and the battle-field, and hence became morally what most men would be in sim- ilar circumstances. Besides, his very nature was despotic. He could not brook restraint, and, con- scious of knowing more than those around him, he constantly sought for power that he might carry out those stupendous plans which otherwise would have been interrupted. I have no doubt that Napoleon's highest ambition was to reign as a just and equitable monarch amid the thrones of Europe, expending hia vast energies elsewhere ; and that much of his vio- lence and recklessness arose from the consciousness that he was to expect no faith or honesty, or justice, or truth, from the perfidious nations that had bound themselves together to crush him. One thing is cer- tain, had he been less a monarch, France could not have withstood aa long as she did, the united strength of Europe. Bonaparte is charged with being cruel, but it is un- just. He was capable of great generosity, and exhi- bited pity in circumstances not to be expected from a man trained on the battle field. Hearing once of a poor English sailor, who having escaped from confine- ment, had constructed a frail boat of cork and branch es of trees, with which he designed to put to sea, in the hopes of meeting an English vessel, and thus reaching England; he sent for him, and on learning from his lips that this bold undertaking was to get back to his aged mother, he immediately despatched him with a flag of truce on board an English ship, with a sum of money for his aged parent, saying that she must be an uncommon mother to have so affec- tionate a son. The gu'de who conducted him ovef NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 61 the San Bernard, and who, ignorant of the niightji man that bestrode the miserable animal by his side gave him a full account of his life and plans — of his betrothment and inability to marry for want of a piece of land, — was not forgotten by him afterwards. The land was bought and presented to the young man by order of Napoleon. Repeated acts of kind- ness to poor wounded soldiers, was one of the chorda of iron which bound them to him. The awful spec- tacle which a battle-field presents after the carnage is done, frequently moved him deeply, and he wept Jike a child over his dying friend Lannes. His sym- pathies, it is true, never interfered with his plans. What his judgment approved, his heart never coun- termanded ; and what he thought necessary to be done, he did, reckless of the suffering it occasioned. He was inflexible as law itself in the course he had decided upon as the most expedient. The murder of the Duke of Enghien is perhaps the greatest blot on his character, but he was goaded into this by the madness, and folly, and villany of the race to which this unfortunate prince belonged. In the midst of his vast preparations for a descent upon England, he was informed of a plot to assassinate him, and place a Bourbon on the throne. The two ends of this con- spiracy were Paris and London, between which there was an unbroken line of communication across the channel. The secret route was discovered, and seve- ral of the conspirators ari'ested. The Bourbons in England were at the bottom of it, and English gold paid the expense. Pichegrue had arrived in Paris, with the infamous Georges, who had so nearly succeed- ed in taking the life of the First Consul by the explo- sion of the infernal macliine. Moreau had been 4 62 HIS WEATH AGAINST THE BOUBBON8. sounded, and was found ready to aid in the assassi- nation of his former general, but would not listen to the proposal of re-establishing the Bourbon dynasty. His envy had made him the enemy of Napoleon, and he wished to occupy his place. This jar between the conspirators caused delay and uncertainty, which en- abled Napoleon to ferret it out. Georges himself, after much trouble, was taken, and he, with other inferior conspirators, confessed the plot, and acknowledged that " the prince " was expected from England to head the conspiracy. Napoleon despatched soldiers to the sea coast to arrest whoever might land at the point designated by the conspirators. They watched by the shore for days ; and though a small vessel kept hovering near, as if waiting for signals to land, it was suspicious all was not right, and finally moved off al- together. Moreau was tried, found guilty, and exiled — ^the mildest punishment he could possibly expect. Pichegru was thrown into prison, but "the Prince," whom Napoleon was feverishly anxious to get hold of, was not to be found. This whole plot, interrupt- ing as it did his vast plans, and exciting the feelingt of the people to a state bordering on revolution, filled him with uncontrollable rage. He felt that he was not regarded as a respectable enemy ; for even princes of the blood, and nobles, were endeavouring to assassinate him like a common ruffian. With hia usual watchfulness he began to inquire about the ex- iled princes ; and being told that one was at Etten- heim, near Strasbourg, he immediately despatched a spy to watch his movements, for he had not the least doubt that every Bourbon was in the conspiracy. This spy reported that General Doumourier, an other old but exiled general, was with the prince NAPOLEON BONAPAETE. 63 This mistake decided Napoleon to arrest hira, sacred as his person ought to have been on neuti-al territory. Whether he afterwards - became convinced of the young Duke's innocence or not, matters very little as to his guilt. He wished to destroy some Bourbon prince, and he had determined to execute the first one that fell into his hands. To be waylaid and shot like a dog by Bourbon princes, enraged him so, that the voice of justice could not be heard. Seated on his proud eminence, bending his vast energies to the most stupendous plans that ever filled, a human mind, he was reminded that royal blood regarded him as only a fit victim for the assassin's knife ; and he determined to teach kings that he would deal by them openly as they had done by him secretly. Some idea of his feelings may be got from the language he fre- quently indulged in when speaking of the princes and nobles that were engaged in this conspiracy. Said he, " These Bourbons fancy that they may shed my blood like some wild animal, and yet my blood is quite as precious as theirs. I will repay them the alarm with which they seek to inspire me ; I pardon Moreau the weakness and errors to which he is urged by stupid jealousy, but I will pitilessly shoot the very first of these princes who shall faU into my hands ; I will teach them with what sort of a man they have to deal."* He classed the Bourbons togetiier, — ^knew them to be inspired with the same feelings towards him, and whether bound by contract or not, sympathising with each other in thif conspi- racy. In a spirit of fierce retaliation and rage, and to stop forever the plotting of these royal assassins, lie determined to make a terrible example of one, and *■ Thiers' Consalate and Empire. 64 HIS MORAL OHABAOTEB. the young Duke d'Enghien fell. The news of hit death filled the com-ts of Europe with horrcr, and was one of the causes of the general alliance against Napoleon that followed. This high-handed act o1 uijustice cannot be condemned too emphatically, bul it was not the cold-blooded act of a cruel man. It was a crime committed in passion, by a spirit inflamed with the consciousness of having been outraged by those from whom better things were to be expected. England lifted up her hands in pious horror at the act, yet haid not one word to say about the premedJir tated murder of Napoleon by the Bourbons. If he, instead of one of their number, had fallen, we should have heard no such outcry, from the crowned heads of Europe. He had only made a Bourbon drink the cup they had prepared for his lips. The horror oif the crime consisted not in its injustice, but that he had dared to lay his hands on the sacred head of roy- alty. And yet this act, as unjust and wicked as it is conceded to have been, was no more so than that of England, in banishing Napoleon, when he had thrown himself on her generosity, to a lonely and barren isle, where she could safely vent her august spleen in those petty annoyances she should have disdained to inflict ; or that of the allies, in allowing Marshal Ney to be Bhot, in direct violation of a treaty they had themselves made. The sum of the matter is, Napoleon's moral char- acter was indifferent enough ; yet as a friend of human liberty, and eager to promote the advancement of the race, by opening the field to talent and genius, how- ever low their birth, he was infinitely superior to aX the sovereigns who endeavoured to crush him. He loved not only France as a nation, and sought heJ NAPOLEON BONAPAETE. 65 glory ; but he secured the liberty of the meanest of tier subjects. Thei'e was something noble in his very ambition, for it sought to establish great public works, found useful institutions, and send the principles )f lib* erty over the world. As a just and noble monarch, he nas superior to nine-tenths of all the kings that ever reigned in Europe, and as an intellectual man, head and shoulders above them all. The attempt has also been made to fix the charge of cruelty and oppression on him, from the joy mani- fested in France at his overthrow, and the cursings and obloquy that followed his exile. But the first exultation that follows a new peace, is not to be con- sidered the sober feeling of the people. His return irom Elba is overwhelming evidence against such accusations. Without any plotting beforehand, any conspiracy to make a diversion in his favour, he boldly cast himself on the affections of the people. An es- tablished throne, a strong government, and a powerful army, were on one side — the love of the people on the other, and yet, soldier as he was, he believed the latter stronger than all the former put together. What a sublime trust in the strength of affection does his stepping ashore with his handful of followers ex- hibit! Where is the Bourbon, or European raonarcli, that would have dared to do this ; — or felt he had, by his efforts for the common welfare, laid the people under sufficient obligations, to expect a universal rush to Lis arms? It was not the soldiers, but the common people who first surrounded him. As he pitched his tent without Cannes, the inhabitants flocked to him w'th their complaints, and gathered aroimd him as Ae redresser of their wrongs. As he advanced to- wards Grenoble, the fields were alive frith peasante 4* 66 KETUENFBOMELBA. as they came leaping like deer from every hill, ciying " Vioe V Emp&r&ur /" Thronging around him, they followed him with shouts to the very gates of the town. The commandant refused him admittance, yet the soldiers within stretched their arms through the wickets, and shook hands with his followers without At length a conftised murmur arose over the walls and Napoleon did not know but it was the gathering for a fierce assault on his little band. The tnmult grew wilder every moment ; six thousand inhabitants from one of the fauxburga had risen e/n, masse, and with timbers and beams came pouring against the gates. They tremble before the resistless shocks — reel and fall with a crash to the ground, and the ex- cited multitude stream forth. Rushing on Napoleon, they drag him from his horse, kiss his hands and garments, and bear him with deafening shouts, on their shoulders, into the town. He next advances oi- Lyons, the gates of which ai'e also closed against him, and bayonets gleam along the walls. Trusting to the power of affection, rather than to arms, he gallops boldly up to the city. The soldiers within, instead oi firing on him, break over all discipline, and bursting open the gates, rush in frantic joy around him, shouting " Ywe V Emperev/r !" He is not compelled to ])lant his cannon against a single town : power returns to him not through terror, but through love. ITe is not received with the cringing of slaves, bu with the open arms of friends, and thus his course towards the capital becomes one triumphal march. The power of the Bourbons disappears before the returning tide of affection, like towers of sand before the waves ; and without firing a gun, Napoleon again 6its down on hia reco'-ered throne, amid the acclama NAPOLEON BOKAPAKTE. 67 tions of the i»eople. Who ever saw a tyrant and au oppressor received thus? Where is the monarch in Europe, that dare fling himself in such faith on tht- alTections of his subjects? Where was ever the Bout bon that could show such a title to the throne he oc cupied ? An ! the people do not thus receive the man who forges fetters for their limbs; and Napoleon at til is day, holds a firmer place in the affections of the in- habitants of France, than any monarch that ever filled its throne. The two greatest errors of Napoleon, were the con- quest of Spain, and the invasion of Kussia. The former was not only an impolitic act, but one of great injustice and cruelty. The invasion of Eussia might have terminated differently, and been recorded bj historians, as the crowning monument of his genius, out for the burning of Moscow by the inhabitants; an event certainly not to be anticipated. He lost the flower of his army there, and instead of striking the heart of his enemy, he pierced his own. It is useless, however, to speak of the mistakes that Napoleon made, and show how he should have acted here, and planned there, to have succeeded ; or at- tempt to trace the separate steps, in the latter part of his career, to his downfall, and pretend to say how they might have been avoided. After taking into tho calculation all the chances and changes that did or would come — all the losses that might have been prevented, and all the successes that might have been gained, and pointing out great errors here and there in his movements, it is plain that nothing less ■ than a miracle could have saved the tottering throne :>t' the Empire. After the disaster of Leipsic, and the 68 INVASION OF FBANCE. losses sustained by different divisions of the army in that campaign, ajid the mortality which thinned so dreadfully the French armies on the Ehine, Franco felt herself exhausted and weak. In tliis depressed state, the civilized world was preparing its last united onset upon her. From the Baltic to the Bosphorus— from the Archangel to the Mediterranean, Europe had banded itself against Napoleon. Denmark and Sweden struck hands with Austria, and Kussia, and Prussia, and England ; while, to crown all, the Princes of the confederation of the Ehine, put their signature to the league, and one itdlUon and tnoenty-dght tJurua- and men stood up in battle array on the plains ol Europe, to overthrow this mighty spirit that had shaken so terribly their thrones. France, which had before been drained to meet the losses of the Kussian campaign, could not, with her utmost efforts, raise more than a third of the number of this immense host. Her provinces were invaded, and this resistless array were pointing their bayonets towards Paris. In this dreadful emergency, though none saw better than he, the awful abyss that was opening before him, Napoleon evinced no discouragement and no hesitation. Assembling the conscripts from every quarter of France, and hurrying them on to head quarters, he at length, after presenting his fair huireJ boy to the National Guards, as their future sove- reign, amid tears and exclamations of enthusiasm, and embracing his wife for the last time, set out foi the army. His energy, his wisdom and incessant activity, soon changed the face of affairs. He had itmggled against as great odds in his first Italian NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 69 campaign ; and if nothing ebe could be done, he at least could fall with honour on the soil of his country. Never did his genius shine forth with greater splen- dour than in the almost superhuman exertions he put forth in this his last gi"eat struggle for his empire. No danger could daunt him — no reverses subdue him —no toil exhaust him — and no difficulties shake his b'on will. In the dead of winter, struggling with new and untried troops, he fought an army outnum- bering his own two to one — ^beat them back at every point, and sent dismay into the hearts of the alUed sovereigns, as they again saw the shadow of his mighty spmt over their thrones. He was everywhere cheering and steadying his men, and on one occasion worked a cannon himself as he did when a youth in the artillery ; and though the balls whistled around him till the soldiere besought him to retire, he ex- claimed, " Courage I the bullet that is to kill me is not yet cast." At length the whole allied army was forced to retreat, and offered peace if he would con- sent to have his empire dismembered, and France restored to ita limits before the revolution. This he indignantly refused ; preferring rather to bury him- self amid the ruins of his empire. But with his com- paratively handful of raw recruits, what could he do against the world in arms ? His rapid victories began to grow less decisive , the glory with which he had anew covered the army, waxed dim ; and his star that had once more blazed forth in its ancient splendour in the heavens, was seen sinking to the horizon. The allies entered the capital, and Napoleon was sompelled to abdicate. On the day after the signature 70 ATTEMPT AT SUIOIDJI. of the treaty, by which he was divested of j ower, and Bent an exile from the country he had saved — deserted by all his soldiers, his marshals, his army — even by his wife and family, he said to Cauliucourt at night, after a long and sad re very, " My resolution is taken ^ we must end : I feel it." At midnight the fallen Em- peror was in convulsions ; he had swallowed poison. As his faithful Caulincourt came in, he opened his eyes, and said, " Caulincourt, I am about to die. 1 recommend to you my wife and son ; — defend my memory. I could no longer endure Ufe. The deser- tion of my old companions in arms had broken my heart." Violent vomiting, however, gave him relief; and his life was saved. His farewell to his faithfiil Old Guard, before he departed from Fontainbleau for Elba, was noble and touching. He passed into their midst as he had been wont to do when he pitched his tent for the night in their protecting squares, and addressed them in words of great tenderness. " For twenty years," said he, " I have ever found you in the path of honour and of glory. Adieu, my children ; I would I were able to press you all to my heart, — ^but I wiU at least press your eagle." With overpowering emotion, he clasp- ed the General in his arms, and kissed the eagle. Again bidding his old companions adieu, he drove away, while cries and sobs of sorrow burst from those brave hearts that had turned from him the tide of so many battles. They besought the privilege oi following him in his fallen fortunes ; but were refused their prayer But Elba could not long hold that daring, restless spirit. The next year he again unrolled his standard WAPCLKON BONAFABTE. 7J in the capital of France, and the army opened its arms to receive him. After an exhibition of bis wonted energy and genius during the hundred days' preparation, he at length staked all on the field of "Wa- terloo. There the star of his destiny again rose ovei the horizon, and struggled with its ancient strength to mount the heavens of fame. The battle-cloud rolled over it ; and when it again was swept away, that star had gone down — sunk in blood and carnage, to rise no more forever. Yolumes have been written on this campaign and last battle ; but every impartial mind must come to the same conclusion, — ^that Napoleon's plans never promised more complete success than at this last effort. Wellington was entrapped; and with the same co- operation on both sides, he was lost beyond redemption. Had Blucher stayed away as Grouchy did, or had Grouchy come up as did Blucher, victory would once more have soared with the French eagles. It is vain to talk of Grouchy's having obeyed orders. It was plainly his duty, and his only duty, to detain Blucher, or follow him. Bonaparte has also been blamed for risking all on the last desperate charge of the Old Guard ; but he well knew that nothing but a decided victory could save him. He wanted the moral effect of one ; and without it he waa lost ; — and he wisely risked all to win it. He is also blamed, both in poetry and prose, for not throwing away his life when tie battle waa lost. If personal daring and personal exposure had been called for in the disorder, and success could have been possible, by flinging himself into the very jaws of death, he would not have hesitated a mo- 72 H I 8 D E A T H . ment. But the route was utter ; and though he did wish to die, and would have done so but for his friends, had he succeeded in his purpose, it would have been simply an act of suicide, for which his enemies would have been devoutly thankful. IBs last hope was gone, and he threw himself into the hands of England, expecting generous, but re- ceiving the basest treatment. She banished him tc an inhospitable rock in the midst of the ocean ; and having caged the lion, performed the honourable task of watching at the door of the prison, while her para- sites kept a faithfiil record of the complaints and iiTi- tations of the noble sufferer, whose misfortunes they had not the magnanimity to respect. But not all this 30uld dim the splendour of that genius whose gi-eat work was done. The thoughts that here emanated from him, and the maxims he laid down, both in political and military life, show that he could have written one of the most extraordinary books of his age, as easily as he had become one of its greatest military leaders and rulers. But at length that wonderful mind was to be quenched in the night of the grave ; and Nature, as if determined to assert the greatness of her work to the last, trumpeted him out of the world with one of her fiercest storms. Amid the roar of the blast, and the shock of the billows, as thev broke where a wave had not struck for twenty years — and amid the dark- ness, and gloom, and uproar of one of the most tem- pestuous nights that ever rocked that lonely isle, Na- poleon's troubled spirit was passing to that unseen world, where the sound of battle never comes, and the tread of armies is never heard. Yet even in this solemn hour ; his delirious soul, caught perhaps, by NAPOLEON BONAPAETB. 73 the battle-like roar of the storm without, was once more in the midst of the fight, struggling by the Pyramids, or Danube, or on the plains of Italy. It was the thun- der of cannon that smote his ear ; and amid the waver- ing fight, and covering smoke, and tumult of the scene, bis glazing eye caught the heads of his mighty colunms, as torn yet steady, they bore his victorious eagles on, and " Tete cPArmee^^ broke from his dying lips. Awe- struck and still, his few remaining friends stood in tears about his couch ; gazing steadfastly on that awful king- ly brow, but it gave no farther token, and the haughty lips moved no more. Napoleon lay silent and motion- less in his last sleep. When the prejudice and falsehood and hatred of his enemies shall disappear, and the world can gaze impai-^ tially on this plebeian soldier rising to the throne of an empire — ^measuring his single intellect with the proudest kings of Europe, and coming off victorious from the en- counter — ^rising above the prejudices and follies of his age, " making kings of plebeians and plebeians ol kings" — ^grasping, as by intuition, all military and polit- ical science — expending with equal facility his vast en- ergies on war or peace — ^turning with the same profound thought from fierce battles to commerce, and trade, and finances ; — ^I say when the world can calmly thus con- template him, his amazing genius will receive that homage which envy, and ignorance, and hatred, now withhold. And when the intelligent philanthropist shall under- stand the political and civil history of Europe, and see how I^apoleon broke up its systems of oppression and feudalism — ^proclaiming human rights in the ears of the world, till the Continent shook with the rising murmurs of oppressed man — study well the changes he intro- W THE FIWAi rSBDIOT. duced, without which human progress muBt have ceaaed — see the great public works he established — the insti- tutions he founded — ^the laws he proclaimed, and the civil liberty he restored — ^and then, remembering that the bloody wars that offset all these, were waged by him in self-defence, and were equal rights struggling against exclusive despotism ; — ^he will regret that he ha« adopted the slanders of hie foemen, and the faIsehood« of monarchists. E kAKSHAL BEKTHIEE. The Taleutsa Bevolation developes — Creation of the Marshals — Berthier'^ Character and History — Soliloquy of Napoleon— Berthier's Death. NoTHmo is more unfortunate for a great man, thai to be bom beside a greater, and walk, during life-time^ in his shadow. It is equally unfortunate to be great only in one department that is still better fiUed by another. Had Shakspere not lived, Massinger might have stood at the head of English dramatists ; and had Alfiery kept silent, a host of writers, now almost unknown, would have occupied the Italian stage. Had it not been for Caesar, Brutus might have ruled the world ; and were it not for Bonaparte, many a French general would occupy a separate place in that history of which they are now only transient figures. Great men, like birds, seem to come in flocks ; and yet but one stands as the representative of his age. The peak which first catches the sunlight is crowned monarch of the hills, and the rest, however lofty, are but his bodyguard. Much injustice has been done to Bonaparte's generals by not allowing for the infiuence of this principle. There is scarcely a historian that will concede to such men as Lannes, Davoust, Murat, and Ney, any dominant quality, except bra- very Under the guiding intellect of J^apoleon, tlie^ 76 BEVOLTJTION DEVEIOPES GENIUfl. fought nobly ; but when left to their own reaources^ miserably failed. Yet the simple truth is : being com- pelled, by their relative position, to let another plan foT them, they could do little else than execute orders. A mind dependent is cramped and confined, and can ey- hibit its power only by the force and vigorj with which it executes rather than forms plans. But if it be a misfortune for a great man to live and move in the shadow of a still greater, it is directly the reverse with a weak man. The shadow of the genius in which he walks, mantles his stupidity, and by the dim glory it casts over him, magnifies his proportions. Such was the position of Boswell to Johnson, and this >s the secret of Berthier's fame. Being selected by Na- poleon as the chief of his staff, and his most intimate »!ompanion ; he has linked himself indissolubly with mimortality. The times in which Bonaparte lived, were well calculated to produce such men as he gathered around him. A revolution, by its nptumings, brings to the surface materials, of the existence of which, no man ever dreamed before. Circumstances make men, who then usually return the compliment, and make circum- stances. In ordinary times, as a general rule, the souls of men exhibit what force and fire they may contain, in those channels where birth has placed them. This is more especially true in all monarchi- cal and aristocratical governments. The iron frame- work they stretch over the human race, effectually presses down every throb that would otherwise send an undulation over the mass, ^o head can lift itsell except in the legitimate way, while very smaU heads that happen to hit the aperture aristocracy has kind- ly left open, may reach a high elevation. EevolutioD MARSHJ,LBEKTUIJ1K. 77 rends this frame-work as if it were a cobweb, and lets the struggling, panting mass beneath, suddenly erect themselves to their lull height and fling abroad tlieir arms in their full strength. The surface, which before kept its even plane, except where a star or de- coration told the right of the wearer to overlook his fellow, becomes all at once a wild waste of rolling billows. Tlien man is known by the force within him, and not by the pomp about him. There is also a prejudice and bigotry always attached to rank, which prevents it from seeing the worth below it, while it will not measure by a just standard, because that would depreciate its own excellen'^e. Those, on the contrary, who obtain influence through the soul and force they carry within them, appreciate these things alone in others, and hence judge them by a true criterion. Thus Bonaparte — himself sprung from the middle class of society — selected men to lead his armies from their personal qualities alone. This is one great secret of his astonishing victories. Dukes and prin- ces led the allied armies, while -men headed the bat- taUons of France. Bonaparte judged men by what they could do^ and not by their genealogy. He look- ed not at the decorations that adorned the breast, but at the deeds that stamped the warrior — not at tlie learning that made the perfect tactician, but the real practical force that wrought out great achievements. Victorious battle-fields were to him the birth-place of titles, and the commencement of genealogies; and stars were hung on scan-ed and war-battered, rather than on noble breasts. He had learned the truth taught in every physical or moral revolution, that the great eflective moulding characters of our race alway* 78 OBEATION OF THE MAB8HALS. spring from the middle d,nd lower classes. All re- formers also start there, and they always must, for not only is their sight clearer and their judgment more just, but their earnest language is adapted to the thoughts and sympathies of the many. Those men also who rise to power through themselves alone, feel it is by themselves alone they must stand ; hence tht impelling motive is not so much greatness to be won, as the choice between it and their original nothing- ness. Bonaparte was aware of this, and of all his generals who have gone down to immortality with him, how few were taken from the upper classes. Augereau was the son of a grocer, Bernadotte of an attorney, and both commenced their career as private soldiers. Bessieres, St. Cyr, Jourdan, and the fierj Junot, all entered the army as privates. Kleber was an architect ; the impetuous Lannes the son of a pool mechanic ; Lefevre, Loison, and the bold Scotchmaii Macdonald, were all of humble parentage. The vic- torious Massena was an orphan sailor boy, and the reckless, chivalric Murat, the son of a country land- lord. Victor, Suchet, Oudinot, and the stem an/'i steady Soult, were each and all of humble origin, and commenced their ascent from the lowest step of Fame's ladder. And last of all, Net, the "bravest of the brave," was the son of a poor tradesman of Sarre Louis. Immediately on the assumption of supreme power, Napoleon created eighteen Marshals, leaving two va- cancies to be filled afterwards. Four of these were honorary appointments, given to those who had dis- tinguished themselves in previous battles, and were now reposing on their laurels as members of th« Senate. The '>ther fourteen were conferred on Gen HAB8HALBEBTHISB. 79 erals destined for active service, but in reward of their former deeds. The first four were Kellerman, Lefevre, Periguin, and Serruier. The fourteen active Marshals were Jourdan, Berthier, Massena, Lannes, Ney, Angereau, Brune, Murat, Bessieres, Moncey, Mortier, Soult, Davoust, and Bernadotte. Kleber and Desaix, were dead, both killed on the same day, one in Egypt, and the other at Marengo, or they would have been first on this immortal list. All these had been active Generals, and had dis- tinguished themselves by great deeds, and won their renown by hard fighting, except Berthier. Their honours were the reward of prodigies of valour, and exhibitions of heroism seldom surpassed. Berthier alone obtained his appointment for his services in the staff, and partly, I am inclined to believe, for his per- sonal attachment to Napoleon. "Without any merit as a military leader, he still deserves a place among the distinguished Marshals of the Empire, for his inti- mate relationship with Napoleon. Alexander Berthier was bom at Versailles, on the 20th of November, 1753. His father was coast sur- veyor to Louis XVL, and acquired great reputation for his skill in this department. Young Berthier naturally became proficient in mathematical studies — was a capital surveyor and excelled in drawing. Though filling the situation in his father's office with a faitii- fulness and ability that promised complete success in his profession, he nevertheless preferred the army. By his father's connection with government, he was ena- bled to obtain a commission at the outset in the dra- goons, and as Lieutenant in Eochambeau's staff, came to the United States ; and served during the war of the American Eevolution. I know of no act of liis, dnr- 80 HISEAKLYC4EEER. ing this time, worthy of note. lie had none of th# daring and intrepidity so necessaiy to form a good commander. At the time of the French Eevolution, he was an oflScer in the National Guards, and stool firm to the royal cause till the Guards themselves went over, when he himself became a fiery republican. Fe was Chief of the Staff in the first campaigns (I the Republic, on the Ehine and Northern Frontier, and though faithful and efficient in the discharge of his duties, received no promotion. Not having sufli rjent energy and force to distinguish himself by any irilliant exploit, he obtained merely the reputation of being a faithful officer. In the first campaign in Italy, he was quarter-master to Kellerman ; but when Bonaparte took command of the army, he made him Chief of his Staff, and promoted him to the rank of Major-General. From that time on, for eighteen yeara, he scarce ever left the side of Bonaparte. We find him with him on the sands of Egypt, and amid the snows of Russia : by the Po, the Rhine, the Danube, and the Niemen, and admitted to an intimacy that few were allowed to enjoy. It seems natural for a strong, powerful mind to attach itself to a weak one ; for its desire is not so much for sympathy and support, aa for the privilege of relaxing and unbending itself without impairing its dignity, or exposing its weak- Besses. Berthier seemed to place no restraint on him. He had such a thorough contempt for his intellect, and knew in what awe and reverence he held him, that his presence reliered his solitude without destroy- ing it. It is true, Berthier's topographical knowledge, and his skill in drawing maps and charts, and in ex- plaining them, made him indispensable to Bonaparte MAKSBALBEBTHIEB. SI who relied so much on these things in projecting hia campaigns. Especially as the channel through which all his orders passed, he became more necessary to him, than any other single oflScer in the army.— Yet, Berthier was admitted into privacies to which none of these relations gave him a claim. When it was necessary for Bonaparte to be in the open air for a long time, early in the morning, or late at evening, a huge fire was always built by the Chasseurs, to which he allowed no one to approach, unless to feed it with fuel, except Berthier. Backwards and forwards, with his hands behind his back, he would walk — ^his grave and thoughtful face bent on the groimd — until the signals were made of which he was in expectation, when he would throw off his reserve, and call out to Berthier, " To horae." Bonaparte's travelling carriage, a curiosity in itself, was arranged as much for Berthier, as for himself. — Notwithstanding the drawers for his despatches, and his portable library, he had a part of it partitioned ofi for the latter. True, he did not give him half, nor allow him the dormeuse, on which he himself could recline and refresh himself. But Berthier was content even with the privilege allowed him, though it fur- nished him anything but repose, for Bonaparte made use of the time, in which his cortege was sweeping like a whirlwind along the road, to examine despatches, and the reports of the positions, &c. As he read he dictated his directions, which Berthier jotted down, and, at the next stopping place, Ulled out, witli a precision that satisfied even his rigorous master. Methodical in all he did — doing nothing in confusion — the rapid hints thrown out by Napoleon, assumed a symmetry and order under his pen, that required on 5* 82 HIS MIND MKCHANICAL. explauation, and scarce ever needed an alteration. In this department he was almost as tireless as Napo- leon himself. He would write all night, with a clear- ness of comprehension, and an accuracy of detail, that was perfectly sm^rising. Apparently without the mental grasp and vigour necessary to comprehend the gigantic plans he filled out with such admirable precision ; he nevertheless mapped them down as if they had been his own. A hint from Napoleon was sufficient for him; for so accustomed had he become to the action of his mind, that he could almost antici- pate his orders. He had lived, and moved, and breathed so long in the atmosphere of that intellect, that he became a perfect reflector to it. He knew the meaning of every look and gesture of the Emperor, and a single glance would arrest him, as if it had the power to blast. At the battle of Eylau, when Au- gereau's shattered ranks came flying past him, pur- sued by the enemy, Napoleon suddenly found himself, with only his staff about him, in presence of a column of four thousand Russians. His capture seemed in- evitable, for he was on foot, and almost breast to breast with the column. Berthier immediately, in great trepidation, called out for the horses. Napoleon gave him a single look, which pinned him aa silent in his place, as if he had been turned into stone. In- stead of mounting his horse, he ordered a battalion of his guard to charge. The audacious column paused, and before it could recover its surprise, six battalions of the Old Guard, and Murat's Cavalry, were upon it, rending it to pieces. So perfectly mechanical was his mind, that it was impossible to cor:fuse him by the rapid accumulation of business on his hands. He was among papers, what Bonaparte was on a batf« UABSHAL BE B T H I E R . 83 field — always himself; clear-headed and correct, bringing order out of confusion, in a manner that de« lighted his exacting master. Bonaparte appreciated this quality in his Major-General, and tasked it t^ tlie utmost. He once said that this was the grtat merit of Bcrthier, and of "inestimable importauce" to him. " No other could possibly hare replaced him.' The services he performed, were amply rewarded by making him Marshal of the Empire, grand hunts- man, Prince of Neufchatel, and Prince of Wagram. Yet, such a low opinion did Napoleon have of this Prince's and Marshal's character, that he once said, " Nature has evidently designated many for a subordi- nate situation ; and among them is Berthier. As Chief of the Staff, he had no superior ; but he was not fit to command five hundred men." From this intimate re- lationship with Napoleon, however, and all the orders coming through his hands, many began to think that he was the light of Napoleon's genius, " Napoleon and Berthier" were coupled so constantly in men'a mouths, that they began to be joined in praise by those who knew neither personally, and there might, to this day, have been a great difference of opinion respecting his merit, if he had never attempted anything more than to obey orders. Still Berthier showed at times ability, which brought on him the commendations of the Commander-in-Chie£ At Lodi, Areola, and indeed throughout the first cam paign of the young Bonaparte, he behaved with so much bravery, and brought such aid to the armj , that he was most honourably mentioned in the repoiis to the Directory. On Bonaparte's return to Paris, after his victorious campaign in Italy, Berthier was left in command ol 84 MAKCUINTOBOME. the army, ifot long after, in an emeute in Borne, th( French Legation was assailed, and the young General .Duphet killed, which brought an order from the Direc- tory to Perthier to march on the city. Arrived at the gates oJ the home of the Caesars, the soldiers were transported with enthusiasm ; and they, with the repub- lican citizens, conducted Berthier through the Porta di Popolo, in triumph to the capital, as the victorious gen- erals of old were wont to be borne. The intoxicated multitude, thinking the days of ancient glory, when Home was a republic, had returned, sung the following memorable hymn as they carried him towards the capital : Bomain leve lee yeux : la fat le Capitole ; Ce pont est le pont du CocUs Ces chadons sont couverts dee cendres de Scevde, Lnorece dort sons ces cypres Ma Bratus immola la race ; Ici s'engloutit Curtius ; Et Cesar a eette autre place Fut poignarde par CassiuB. Rome, la liberte t'appele ! Romp tes fers, ose t'afflranchir ; Un Romain dort libre pour elle, Pour elle un Romain dort Mourir. Te Deum was chanted in St. Peter's by fourteen car- dinals, and the old Eoman form of government pro- claimed in the ancient forum. But he was no sooner installed in his place, than he began to practice such extortion and pillage, that even his own officers broke out in open complaints against him ; and he had to leave the army, and set out for Paris. He was one of those selected by Bonaparte to dO- company him to Egypt. Bertliier could not bear to \eave his " beloved General's" side : but, though forty MAKSIIALBEBTHIEB. 85 tliree years of age, he had conceived such a violent passion for one Madame Visconti, that it quite apset his weak intellect, and drove him into paroxysms ol grief, when he thought also of leaving the object of hia passion. He hastened to Toulon, and told Bonaparte that he was sick, and could not go ; and requested to be left behind. But his prayers and tears fell on a heart that had no sympathy with such nonsense, and he was forced to set sail. The long, tedious voyage — the separation of so many tliousand miles — the new and glorious field to honour and fame which Egypt jpread out before him, could not drive the image of his dear Visconti from his mind. He had a tent placed beside his own fitted up in the most elegant style, in which was suspended the portrait of this lady. Here, " the chief of the staff of the army of Egypt" would retire alone, and prostrating himself before it, indulge in the most passionate expressions of love and grief, and went so far at times even as to bum incense to it, as if it were a goddess, and he an ignorant devotee. At Alexandria, his grief became so intense that he besought Bonaparte to allow him to return. Finding it impossible to drive this absurd passion fi:om the turned head of his Major-General, he at length granted his request. Poor Berthier bade his commander a solemn farewell, and departed. In a few hours, however, he returned, his eyes ewimming in tears, saying, after all, he could not leave his " be- loved General." He accompanied Bonaparte in his return to Erance and with Lannes and Murat, was his chief reliance and confidant in his plans to overturn the Directory. After the establishment of the Consular system, and his own appointment as First Consu], ITapoleon did 86 MAE14IAGE OF BEETHIEB. not forget the services oi Earthier, but gave to him the Portfolio of War. He bestowed on him also, al different times, large sums of money, which might as well have been thrown in the Seine, as to all good they did this imbecile spendthrift. On one occasion, he presented him with a magnificent diamond worth nearly twenty thousand dollars, saying, "Take this; we frequently play high : lay it up against a time ol need." In a few houra it was sparkling on the head of his lady-love. This mad passion, outliving separation, change, and all the excitements of the camp and battle-field, was doomed to a most bitter disappointment. At the urgent request of Napoleon, he finally married a prin- cess of Bavaria. But scarcely was the marriage consummated, when, as if on purpose to complete his despair, the husband of Madame Visconti died. This was too much for Berthier. Cursing his miserable fate, he hastened to Napoleon, overcome with grief, exclaim- ing, " What a miserable man I am ! had I been only a little more constant, Madame Visconti would have been my wife." I remarked before that Berthier might possibly have passed for a good general, had he not gratxiitously revealed his own weakness to the eyes of Europe. — • A.t the opening of the campaigns of Abensberg, Landshut, and Echmuhl, Napoleon despatched hm to the head quarters of the army, with definite direc- ii.)ns — ^the sum of which was, to concentrate all the forces around Ratisbon, unless the enemy made an attack before the 15tli, in which case he was to con- centrate them on the Lech, aroimd Donauwertli. Berthier seized with some wonderful idea of his own, instead of carrying out the Emperor's orders to th» MARSHAL BEBTHIEK. 87 very letter, as he had ever before done, acted du-ectjj contraiy to them. Instead of concentrating the army he scattered it. The Austrians were advancing, and the notion instantly seized him of executing a prodi- gious feat, and of stopping the enemy at all points. Massena and Davoust, commanding the two priii cipal corps of the army, he separated a hundred miles from each other, while at the same time he placed Lefebvre, TVrede, and Oudinot in so absurd a position, that these experienced generals were utterly amazed. Davoust became farious at the folly of Berthier — told him he was dooming the army to utter destruction, while Massena urged his strong remon- strarce against this suicidal measure. As he was acting under Napoleon's orders, however, they were compelled to obey him, though some of the Marshals declared that he was a traitor, and had been bribed to deliver up the army. Nothing but the slowness of the Archduke's advance saved them. His army of a hundred and twenty thousand men could, at this juncture, have crushed them almost at a blow, if it had possessed one quarter the activity Napoleon soon after evinced. While affairs were in this deplorable state, and Berthier was in an agony at his own folly, and utterly at loss what to do. Napoleon arrived at head-quarters. He was astounded at the perilous >: t i tion in which his army was placed. His hasty interrogations of every one arouud ..ini, soon placed the condition of the two armies clearly before him ; and his thoughts and actions, rapid as lightning, quickly showed that another spirit was at the head of affairs. Officers were despatched hither and thither on the fleetest horses — ^Berthier's orde'^ were all countermanded, and the concentration of 1h» 88 HIS INABILITY TO COMMAND. army was effected barely in time to save it. Imme«Ii ately on his arrival at Donauwerth, he despatched a note to Berthier, saying, "What you have done ap- pears so strange, that if I was not aware of your friendship, I should think you were betraying me. Davoust is at this moment more completely at the Archduke's disposal, than my own." Davoust waa ftlso perfectly aware of this, but thought only of ful- filling his orders like a brave man. In speaking of this afterward, Napoleon said — "You cannot imagine in what a condition I found the army on my arrival, and to what dreadful reverses it was exposed if we had to deal with an enterprising enemy. I shall take care that I am not surprised again in such a manner." The chief of the staff was never after suspected of be- ing anything more than a mere instrument in the hands of the Emperor. The change that passed over the French army was instantaneous, and the power of intellect and genius working with lightning-like rapidity, was never more clearly seen than in the different aspect Napoleon put on affairs in a single day. Under his aU-pervading, all-embracing spirit, order rose out of confusion, and strength out of weakness. Had an Austrian General committed such a blunder in his presence, as Berthier did in the face of the Archduke Charles, he would have utterly annihilated liim. It it useless to follow Berthier through the long campaigns, in which he never quitted the Emperor's side, as he only now and then appears above the sur- face, and then merely as a good chief of the staff, and a valuable aid in the cabinet with his topographical knowledge. He was with him in his last efforts to save Paris and his throne. He, with Caulincourt MARSHAL BEETHIEE. 83 waa by his side in that gloomy night when, in his haste to get to his capital, he could not wait for hia carriage, but walked on foot for a mile, chafing like a fettered lion. They were the only auditors of that terrible soliloquy that broke from his lips as he strode on through the darkness. Just before, when news was brought that Paris had capitulated, the expres- sion of his face aa he turned to Caulincourt and ex- claimed — " Do you hewr that f" was enough to freeze one with horror ; but now his sufferings melted the aeart with pity. Paris was illuminated by the innu- merable watch-fires that covered the heights, and around it the allied troops were shouting in unbounded exultation over the glorious victory that compensa- ♦ed them for all their former losses ; while but fifteen miles distant, on foot, walked its king and emperor through the deep midnight — ^his mighty spirit wrung with such agony that the sweat stood in large drops on his forehead, and his lips worked in the most pain ful excitement. Neither Berthier nor Caulincourt dared to interrupt the rapid soliloquy of the fallen Emperor, as he muttered in fierce accents, " I burned the pavement — ^my horses were swift as the wind, but still I felt oppressed with an intolerable weight ; some- thing extraordinary was passing within me. I asked them to hold out only twenty-four hours. Miserable wretches that they are I Marmont, too, who had Bwom that he would be hewn in pieces, rather than Borrender ! And Joseph ran off, too — ^my very brother 1 To surrender the capital to the enemy — ^what poL troons! They had my orders; they knew tliat, on the 2d of April, I would be here at the head of sev enty thousand men ! My brave scholars, my Na tional Guard, who bad promised to defend my son 90 kapoleon's soliloqut. all men with a heart in their bosoms, would hare joined to combat at my side! And so they have capitulated, betrayed their brother, their country, theii sovereign — degraded France in the sight of Europe ! Entered into a capital of eight hundred thousand souls, without firing a shot 1 It is too dreadful 1 That comes of trusting cowards and fools. When I am not there, they do nothing but heap blunder on blun- der. "What has been done with the artillery ? They should have had two hundred pieces, and ammunition for a month. Every one has lost his head ; and yet Joseph imagines that he can lead an army, and Clarke is vain enough to think himself a minister ; but I be- gin to think Savary is right, and that he is a traitor ;" then suddenly rousing himself, as if from a troubled dream, and as if unable to believe so great a disaster, he turned fiercely on Caulincourt and Berthier and exclaimed, " Set ofi^, Caulincourt ; fly to the allied lines ; penetrate to head quarters; you have full powers; FLY ! FLY I"* It was with diflaculty that Berthier and Caulincourt could persuade him that the capitulation had been concluded. Yielding at length to the irre- versible stroke of fate, he turned back, joined his car- riages, and hastened to Fontainbleau, where he arrived a little after sunrise. That was a gloomy day for him ; and while he was pondering on his perilous position, endeavouring to pierce the night of misfortune that now enveloped him, Pai-ib was shaking to the acclamations of the multi- tude, as the allied armies defiled through the streets. Caulincourt had been sent off to make terms with tho victors, but nothing would do but Napoleon's abdica- ion — and he was forced to resign. Then commencerJ * Vide Caulincourt and Alison. MARSHAL BEKTHIEE. 91 the shameful desertion of his followers, which broke his great heai*t, and drove him in his anguish to at- tempt the destruction of his life. Among these feeble and false-heai'ted men, was Berthier. Napoleon was a crownless, throneless man, without an army — with- out favour, or the gifts they bring — and Berthier had no longer any motive for attaching himself to him, except that of honour and noble affection — ^both oi which he was entirely destitute of. Afraid to turn traitor before his benefactor's face, he asked permis- sion to go to Paris on business, promising to return the next day. When he had left, Napoleon turned to the Duke of Bassano, and said, "He will not re- turn." " What !" replied the Duke, " can Berthier take such a farewell?" " He will not return," calmly replied Napoleon. " He was born a courtier. In a few days you will see my Yice Constable begging an appointment from the Bourbons. It mortifies me to see men I have raised so high in the eyes of Europe, sink so low. What have they done with that halo of glory, through which men have been wont to contem plate them?" He was right; Berthier returned no more. Too mean to entertain or even act a noble sentiment — and yet with sufficient conscience to feel the glaring ingratitude and baseness of his treachery, and fearing to confront the man who had elevated him to honour, and heaped coiintless benefits on his head ; he shrunk away lUse a thief, to kiss the foot of a Bourbon. A few days after, he presented himself at the head of the Marshals before Louis XVIH., saying "France having groaned for the last twentj-five years under the weight of the misfortunes which op- pressed her, had looked forward to the happy day which now shines upon her." This infamous false 92 HISDEATH. hood, crowning his base treason, ingratitude, anfl blasphemy ; was uttered within one week after he had svv'om to Bonaparte he would never desert him, what ever adversity might befal him. When the Bourbon king made his public entry into Paris, Berthier vras Been riding in front of the carriage in all the pomp of his new situation. But even the common people could not witness the disgrace this companion and private friend of Napoleon put on human nature, in silence. As he rode along, reproachful voices met his ear, saying, " Go to the island of Elba, Berthier ! go to Elba !" There was his place. Honour, gratitude, affection, manhood — all called him there, but called in vain. A seat in the Chamber of Peers, and a com- mand in the king's body guard, were the price he received for covering himself with infamy in the sight of the world. But his baseness was doomed ti> receive another reward, for the next year Napoleon was again ii France. As Louis withdrew to Ghent, Bertliiei wished to accompany him ; but the king had suffi cient penetration to see that one who had deserted hii greatest friend and benefactor in the hour of adversity, would not be slow to betray Uvm ; and hence intimated that he could dispense with his company. Trasted by no one, he retired to Bomberg, in his father-in-law's dominions. Here, on the 19th of May, 1815, he was Been leaning out of the window of his hotel, as the allies were defiling past, in their retreat from France. A moment after, his mangled body was lifted from the pavement, where it lay crushed and lifeless at the very feet of the Eussian soldiers. Some say he was thrown out by the soldiers themselves; others, thaf he leaped jiurposely from the window to destroy him- KARSRALBERTBIEB. 93 kmi. His death is shrouded in mystery ; bat the com- mon belief is, that, Judas-like, stung with remorse and shsme for his treachery, and finding himself deserted by his new master, and fearing the vengeance of his old one ; he took this method of ending a life which had become burdensome, and added to all his other Grimes, that of suicide. But he need not have feared Eonaparte — ^the latter held him in too great contempt to make him an object of vengeance, and was heard to say, on his march to Paris, " The only revenge I wish on this poor Ber- thier, would be to see him in his costume of Captain of the body-guard of Louis." He knew that he would writhe under his smile of contempt, more than under tlie stroke of a lance. Berthier wrote a history of the expedition into Egypt, and if he had survived Napoleon, would pro- bably have given an account of his piivate life, which v; ould have added much to the facts already collected m. MARSHAL AUGEEEAIT. Bh Early Life and Character— His Campaigns in Italy— Battle of Castiglione — Battle of Areola — Revolation of the 18th Fructidor— Charge at Eylan — His traitorous Conduct and Disgrace. Theek is very little pleasure in contemplating a character like that of Augereau, especially when one is led, from his rank and titles, to expect great qaar lities. Angereau had simple bravery, nothing more to render him worthy of a place amid the Marshals of the Empire. He was not even a second-rate man in anything, but courage; and there he had no su- perior. As a fierce fighter — one whose charge was like a thunderbolt, and whose tenacity in the midst of carnage and ruin, nothing seemed able to shake — he was worthy to command beside Massena, Ney, Lannes, Davoust, and Mnrat — ^but there the equality ended. He owed his Marshal's baton not so much to his Generalship as to his having served in Bona- parte's first campaigns in Italy, and helped, by hia bravery, to lay the foundation-stone of the young Corsican's fame. Napoleon, in the height of hia power, did not forget the young chiefs, with whom he won his first laurels, and to whose unsurpassed valour he owed the wondrous success of his first campaigns. It was with such men as Marat, Massena, Lannes, Victor, and Augereau, that he conquered four armies, MARSHAL AUGEEEATI. 95 eacli large as his own. With all his genius, he c^nild hare accomplished so much with no other men. In those rapid and forced marches — those resistless cn- sets, and in that tireless activity, without which he was 1 lined — these men were equal to his wishes and his wants. Massena and Augeroau were among the first of these fiery leaders, and astonished Europe by the brilliancy of their exploits. Bonaparte, in his letter to the Directory, calls him "the brave Au- gereau." At Lodi, Caatiglione, and Areola, he won his Ducal title, and his Marshal's staff. Bom, November 14th, 1757, in the Fauxbourg St. Marceau, of Paris, the son of a grocer, Pierre- Francois-Charles Augereau always retained the marks of his origin. Living in a democratic quarter of the city, and sprung from a democratic stock, he was as thorough a Jacobin as ever outraged humanity. Of an adventurous, ardent spirit, he left Paris when a mere youth, and entered the army of the King of Naples as a common soldier. Finding nothing to do, and apparently nothing to gain in the service ; he left it in mingled disappointment and disgust. Poor and without fi-iends, he taught fencing in Naples, as a means of support, and remained there till he was thirty-five years of age. But the all-powei-fal Eevolu- tion, which dragged into its vortex every stern and fierce spirit France possessed, soon hui-ried him into scenes more congenial to his tastes. Being compelled to leave Naples, in 1792, by the edict of the King, which forced all Frenchmen of Revolutionary princi- ples out of the kingdom ; he returned to Paris, and enlisted as a volunteer in the army of the Pyrenees Here he had a clear field for his daring, and soon VFon himself a reputation that secured his rapid prfv 96 NAPOLEOW. motion. When he entered the army as a volunteer, h« was thu-ty-five years of age — at thirty-eight he found himself Brigadier-General, and in two years more General of Division. Foremost in the place of dan- ger—resistless in the onset, he had acquired a repu- tation for daring, that made him a fit companion for Napoleon in his Italian campaigns. Though so much older than the Commander-in-Chief, he soon learned tld valour. At Jena, especially, he showed himself 112 CHAEGE AT ETLAU. worthy to combat beside liis former comrades in Italy Afterwards at Golymin, Lechocqzin, and Landsberg though fifty years of age, he evinced the impetuositj and firmness of his early days. His political ambitioD bad been given to tJie winds, as he once more found iiimself on the field where glory was to be won. The next year, at the battle of Eylau, he commenced the action, and exhibited there one of those heroic deeds which belong to the age of chivalry, rather than to our more practical times. CHABGE AT ETLATJ. The night previous to the battle, he had lain tossing on his uneasy couch — ^burned with fever, and tortured by rheumatic pains, that deprived him almost of consciousness. But at daylight, the thunder of can- non shook the field on which he lay. The tremendous batteries on both sides, had commenced their fire, making the earth tremble under their explosions as if a volcano had suddenly opened on the plain. Augereau lay and listened for a while to the stem music his soul had so often beat time to — ^then hastily springing from his feverish bed, called for his horse. His attendants, amazed at this sudden energy, stood stupified at tlie strange order ; but the fierce glance of the chieftain told them that he was not to be disobeyed. His bat- tle steed was brought, and the sick and staggering warrior with difficulty vaulted to the saddle. Feel ing his strength giving way, and that he was unable to keep his seat, he ordered his servants to bring straps and bind him on. They obeyed, and strapped him firmly in his place, when, plunging his spurs into his steed, he flew, in a headlong gallop, to the head oi hid corps. His sudden appearance among his scl MAB8HAL AUGEEEATJ. 113 diera animated every heart. The two armies were in battle array — ^the trumpets sounded, and amid the furious beat of drums, and roar of cannon, Soult poured his mighty columns on the centre, while Au gereau, at the head of sixteen thousand men, charged, like fire, on the left. Two hundred Eussian cannon swept the field where they passed, in one incessant shower of fire. Whole ranks went down at every discharge ; for the heavy shot tore through Auge- reaa's dense masses with frightful effect. Still the columns closed over the huge gaps made in them and pressed forward to the assault. But suddenly, while Augereau was cheering on his men, and straining every nerve to make headway against the desola- ting batteries, a snow squall darkened the air, and swept with the rush of a whirlwind over the two armies, blotting out the very heavens. So thick and fierce was the driving storm, that Augereau could not see two rods ahead of him. Both armies were snatched from his sight in an instant, and eyen of his own men none but those directly about him could be seen. In a moment the ground was white with snow, which it sifted over the columns as if silently weav- ing their fxmeral shroud. Baffled and confused, not knowing which way to move, they staggered blindly over the field. Still the Russian cannon, previ- ously trained on the spot, played furiously through the storm. Unable to see even ihe blaze of the discharge, these brave soldiers would hear the muffled explosions in the impeneti-able gloom, and then be- hold their ranks mowed through, and mangled, as it a falling rock had crushed among them. In tlie midst of this awful carnage — enveloped by the blind- ing, driving snow, they were suddenly assailed ob til BOUT OF HIS OOLtrMN both sides by infantry and cavalry. In tlie inidsi of the uproar of nearly a thousand cannon, Augereau could not hear either the tread of the infantry, or the tramp of the cavalry, and was wholly unaware of tlieir approach. The Eussians had marked the course of the columns before the snow squall wrapped them from sight, and now advanced on both sides to crush them to pieces. "Without warning or preparation, the French soldiers suddenly saw the long lances of the Cossacks emerge from the thick storm, in a serried line, in their very faces ; and in the twinkling of an eye, those wild horsemen were trampling through their ranks. Before this terrible tide of cavalry and infantry the columns sunk as if engulphed in the earth. The hurried commands and shouts of Auge- reau, were never heard, or heard in vain. Still bound to his steed, he spurred among the disordered troops — striving by his voice and gestures, and more than all, by his daring example, to restore the battle. But wounded and bleeding, he only galloped over a field of fugitives flying in every direction, while the Cossacks and Russian cavalry, sabred them down without mercy. Of the smtem, thcmscmd, only fifteen hwndred fovmd their ranks aga/m. Trampling down the dead and dying, the victorious enemy burst with loud hurrahs into Eylau, and even into the pre- sence of Napoleon himself, and nearly made him pris- oner. It was to arrest this sudden disorder, that Murat, with his fourteen thousand cavalry, backed by the Imperial Guard, was ordered to charge. The wounded Augereau was left without a corps to command, and sent back to Paris, in order to re- cover his health — ^the author of the " Camp and Court of Napoleon" says — " in disgrace to gratify a fit ol?» MAE8HAI, AUGEEEAF, 115 spleen." Says that author, "Enraged at the indeci- sive result of the day, Napoleon wrecked his spleen on the Marshal, and sent him home in disgrace.'" Whatever might be the disgrace, the cause here as- signed is a gratuitous falsehood. In Napoleon's bul letin home — ^giving an account of the battle of Eylau — ^he speaks of Augereau three times ; — ^first, to de- scribe Uie sudden snow squall that bHnded his army, causing- it to lose its direction, and grope about for half an hour in uncertainty ; second, to make men- tion of his wound; and finally, to say, "the wound of Marshal Augereau was a very unfavorable acci- dent, as it left his corps, in the very heat of the bat- tle, without a leader to direct it." In a bulletin dated nineteen days after, Augereau is again mentioned in the following terms: "A la battaiUe d'Eylau le Marechal Augereau, convert de rheumatismes, etait malade et avait a peine connoisance ; mais le cannon reveille les braves : il vole an galop a la t^te de son corps, apres s'etre fait attaches sur son cheval. II a ete constantement expose au plus grand feu, et a meme ete l^gerement blesse. L'Empereur vient de I'autoriser a rentrer en France pour 'y soigner sa sante."* This is an unique mode of venting one's spleen on a man. Two years after he was appointed to supercede St, Cyr in Spain; then besieging Gerona. Taken sick in his route, it was some time before he assumed the command of the army, and he even delayed it after * At the battle of Eylan, Marshal Aogeiean, covered with rheumatism, lay sisk, and almost without conscionsness ; but the sound of cannon awakens the bmva. He ttew on a gallop to the head of his corps, after having cansed himself to be bound to his horse. He has been constantlf exposed to the severest Are, and has been liglitly wounded The Hjmperor grantfl ham permission to return to France to attend to hi« health. 116 HIS OONDUOT AT LYONS. he was recoTered. He saw that the service was to bi & harassing one; requiring gieat efforts, without yielding much glory. At length, however, he took the command of the seige, and humanely offered an armistice of a month, provided the inhabitants wouJd B^render at the termination of it, should no army come to their relief. They refusing this proposal, he pressed the siege, and reduced the town. His whole management, however, in the Peninsula ; his foolish proclamations, and useless cruelties, and failures — show the little real strength of character he possessed. He was soon recalled. While Napoleon was engaged in the Russian expedition, Augereau remained sta- tioned at Berlin. Although he was an admirable lea- der of a division, and brave in the hour of battle ; Napoleon found him unfit to direct an army, or to \)e entrusted with weighty matters in a great campaign. The truth is, Augereau's rank as Marshal entitled him to a command he was not able to fill — a good gen- eral, he made a bad marshal. Nevertheless in the last struggle to save the tottering empire of France, he fought with his accustomed valour. Especially at Leipzic he appears in his former strength and daring. Hastening by forced marches to the city, scattering the enemy from his path as he came, he arrived in time to strike once more for Napoleon and his throne. The next year the Emperor entrusted him with the defence of Lyons, with the order to hold it to the last extreniity. Arriving at the city, he found there only seven hundred regular troops, and a thousand Na- tional Guards, while twenty thousand Austrians were marching towai'ds it. Knowing he could not defend \ixe city with this feeble force, he hastened to Valence MARdHAL AUGEBEAU. 137 in the south, to bring up reinforcements. For a while, though fifty eeven years old, he exhibited the vigour of his early campaigns. He wrote to Napo- leon, demanding help, while at the same time he strained every nerve to strengthen himself. He sen a thousand men in post carriages from Valence in a single day. This was the last spark, however, of the old fire; for though reinforced by Napoleon till his army numbered twenty thousand men, he did not follow up his successes as he ought, and contributed nothing in the desperate struggle the Emperor was making for his throne. The latter wished Augereau to hover on the rear of the allied army, while he dashed against it in front ; but all his orders to that effect were powerless to remove the torpor that had seized his energies. He said he was afraid to trust his troops, as they were inexperienced soldiers, &c. Napoleon, in reply, told him to forget his age, and think of the days of glory when he fought at Oastig- lione. He urged him to move his troops together into one column, and march into Switzerland. Said Clarke, writing in the name of the Emperor, in reply to his complaint of the meagre equipments of his sol- diers, "He desires me to tell you that the corps of Gerard, which has done such great things under his eyes, is composed entirely of conscripts half naked. He has at this moment, four thousand National Guards in his army with round hats, with peasants' coats and waistcoats, and without knapsacks, armed with all sorts of muskets, on whom he puts the great- est value ; — ^he only wishes he had thirty thousand of them." But the appeal was all in vain ; and while the knell of the empire was tolling, Augereau remain- ed inactive and useless. At length, however, h« 118 INTEKTISW WITH NAPOLEOS. Beemed to rouse himself for a moment, and obeyirg Napoleon's orders, marched on Geneva, and defeated the Austrians before the town. Compelled, however to retire, he retreated towards Lyons, and at Limonet fought his last battle. It was brave and worthy of his character ; but thougli he left nearly three thousand of the enemy dead on the field, while he lost but two thousand, he was compelled to retire, and evacuate Lyons, retreating towards Valence. At the latter place, a proclamation was issued by the inhabitants on Napoleon's abdication, loading the fallen Emperor with the most opprobrious epithets, and extol- ling Louis XVni. as the idol of his country. To this atrocious proclamation Augereau's signature waa affixed. On his way to Elba, Napoleon met Augereau unexpectedly near Valence, and an interview took place, which from the different versions given of it fiir nishes a curious illustration of the historical contradic- tions connected with this period. Says the " Court and Camp of Napoleon," " Soon after this the 'Fmctidor General' and the ex-emperor met at a short distance from Valence, as the latter was on his way to Elba. " I have thy proclamation," said Najoleon, " thou hast betrayed me." — " Sire," re- plied the Marshal, " it is you who have betrayed France and the army, by sacrificing both to a frantic spirit of ambition." "Thou hast chosen thyself a new master," said Napoleon — ■" I have no account to render thee on that score," repUed the General — "Thon hast no courage," replied Bonaparte — '"T'is thou hast none," responded the General, and turned his back without any respect on his late master." This precious bit of dialogue is detailed with so much minuteness, that one would incline to believe it, eveE MARSHAL AtlGBEEAU, 119 against counter statements, were it not for tlie false- hood it bears on its own face. The whole scene is unnatural ; and to wind up with a charge of cow- ardice on the part of each, is supremely ridicu- lous. For two men who had fought side by side at Lodi, Areola, and Castiglione, and stormed together ever so many battle-fields, to accuse each other of cowardice at that late hour, would be a child's play tliat Augereau might stoop to — ^but Napoleon never. Here is another account of this interview by Mr. Alison : " At noon on the following day, he acciden- tally met Augereau on the road, near Valence, both alighted from their carnages, and ignoramt of the atrocious proclamation, in which that Marshal had so recently announced his conversion to the Bour- bons, the Emperor embraced him, and they walked together on the road for a quarter of an hour in the most cmdcable numner. It was observed, however, that Augereau kept his helmet on his head as he walked along. A few minutes after, the Emperor entered Valence, and beheld the proclamation pla- carded on the walls." It need not be remarked, that the latter is the most reliable account of the two. A great many of the incidents of Napoleon's life, which have been gathered up by English writers, are as fabulous as the first account of this interview be- tween him and Augereau. Louis XVLH. rewarded him by making him Peer of France, and bestowed on him the Cross of St Louis, and the command of the 14th Division in Nor- mandy. On Napoleon's landing from Elba, Augereau was struck with astonishment to find himself proclaimed by the Emperor as a traitor. He, however, made no reply 120 HIB DEATH hoping by a seasonable conversion, to extricate him self from the difficulties that surrounded him. Ke- publican as he was, he never allowed his principiee to interfere with his self-interest, nor his conscience with his safety. No sooner had Napoleon entered Pari3 in triumph, than Augereau issued a proclama- tion to his soldiers, urging them once more to " march under the victorious wings of those immortal eagles, which had so often conducted them to glory." Na- poleon, who had never respected him, and after his infamous proclamation at Valence, thoroughly de- spised him, paid no attention to this delicate compli- ment of his flexible Marshal. Knowing him too thoroughly to trust him, and disdaining to molest bin'*, he let the betrayer of two masters pass into silent neglect. Poor Augereau, robbed of his plumes, retired to his country estate, where he re- mained till the second restoration, when he again sent in his protestations of devotion to the king. But there is a limit, even to a Bourbon's vanity; and Louip, turning a deaf ear to his solicitations and flattery, he again retired to his estate, where he died in June, 1816, of a dropsy in the chest. Augereau was essentially a mean man, though a brave one. He was a weak-headed, avaricious, self- ish, boasting soldier; yet possessing courage that would not have disgraced the days of chivalry. His soldiers loved him, for he kept strict order and disci- pline among them, and exposed himself like the meanest of their number in the hour of danger. Without sufficient grasp of thought to form a plan requiring any depth of combination, or even intellect enough to comprehend one already furnished to his hand ; he neverfJieless surveyed a field of battle with ■ ABSHAL ATJOEBEAV. imperturbable coolness, and his charge was like a falling thunderbolt. TTiR want of education, and the early habits and as- sociations he formed, were enough to spoil a man of eren more strength of character than he possessed He came under the influence of Napoleon's genius at too late an age to receive those impressions which so effectually remoulded some of the younger lieutewaats. IV. MAESHAL DAVOTJST. Hu OltaracteF— Battle of Auerstadt—CavalTy Acticn at Echmnhl— Ketreat from Bussia. It is haid to form a correct opinion of such a man ss DavoTist. The obloquy that is thrown upon him_ especially by English historians, has a tendency to destroy our sympathy for him at the outset, and die- forts the medium through which we ever after con template him. Positive in all his acts, and naturally )f a stern and fierce temperament, he did things in a way, and with a directness, and an abruptness, that indicated a harsh and unfeeling nature. But if we judge of men by their actions, and not also by the motives which prompted them, we shall be compelled to regard the Duke of Wellington as one of the most cruel of men. His whole political course *- Eng- land — ^his steady opposition to all reform — his harsh treatment of the petitions of the poor and helpless, and heartless indifference to the cries of famishing thousands, argue the most callous and unpitying nature. But his actions — though causing so much suffering, and awakening so much indignation, that even his house was mobbed by his own countrymen, and his gray hairs narrowly escaped being trampled in the dust by an indignant populace — ^havc all sprung from his education as a military man. Every ID /t "" '^: y :J TJ MAESHAL DAVOrST. 123 thing must bend to tlie established order of things, and the snSering of individuals is not to be taken into the account. The same is true of Davoust Trained from his youth to the profession of arms- accustomed, even in his boyhood, to scenes of revo- lutionary violence — ^with all his moral feelings edu- cated amid the uproar of battle, or the coiTuptions of a camp — ^the life of the warrior was to him the true life of man. Success, victory, were the only objects he contemplated; making up his mind beforehand, that suffering and death would attend the means employed. Hence his fearful ferocity in battle — the headlong fury with which he tore through the ranks of the enemy, and the unscrupulous manner in which he made war support war. These were the natural results of his firm resolution to conquer, and of hia military creed, that " to the victors belong the spoils." He did nothing by halves, nor had he anything of the " suaviter in modo," which glosses over so many rough deeds, and conveys the impression they were done from necessity, rather than desire. Louis-Nicholas Davoust was born at Annaux, ii Burgundy, 10th of May, 1T70, one year after Bona- parte. His family could lay claim to the title of noble, though, Kke many Italian cavcHders, who are too poor to own a horse ; it was destitute of lands or houses. Toung Davoust being destined for the army, was sent to the military school of Brienne, where was also the charity boy, Bonaparte. At the age of fifteen, he obtained a commission; but his fiery, im- petuous nature, soon involved him in difficulty with his superior officers, and it was taken from him. In ^he revolution, he became a fierce republican, and after the death of Louis, was appointed over a bat- 124 HIB EABLT LIFE. talion of volunteers, and was sent to join Doiimourier then commanding the army of the Eepublic, on the llhine. When Doumonrier — disgusted with the in- creasing horrors of the revolution — endeavoured to win the army over, to march against the Terrorists, the young Davoust used his utmost endeavours to steady the shaking fidelity of the troops. Doumourier was finally compelled to flee to the Austrians, al most alone; and Davoust, for his efforts and faith fulness, was promoted to the rank of Brigadier-Gen- eral, and during five years, fought bravely on the banks of the Ehine and Moselle. When Bonaparte returned from Italy, where he had covered himself and the army with glory, Davoust sought to unite his fortunes with those of the young Oorsican. He waa consequently joined to the expedition to Egypt, and under the walls of Samanhout and Aboukir, fought with a bravery, that showed he was worthy of the place he had sought. He was not included with those selected by Bonaparte to accompany him to France, and did not return till the latter was proclaimed First Consul. Attaching himself still more closely to one whose fortunes were rising so rapidly, he was placed at the head of the grenadiers of the Consular Guard, and soon after, through the influence of Bonaparte, obtained the hand of the sister of General Le Olerc — a lady of cap tivating manners, and rare beauty. The road to fame was now fairly open to the young soldier, and he pursued it with a boldness and energy that deserved success. In 1804, he was made Marshal of the Empire, and the next year found him at the head of a corps of the Grand Ai-my. Around Ulra, at Austerlitz, chief of all at Auerstadt, lie per MARSHAL DAVOU8T. 125 Formed prodigies of valour, and fixed foiever liig great reputation. At Eylau and Friedland he proved that honours were never more worthily bestowed, than when placed on his head. For his bravery and success at Echmuhl, he received the title ol Prince of Echmuhl, and soon after, at "Wagram, showed that Bonaparte neved relied on him in vain. The three following years he spent in Poland, aa Governor of the country, and commander of the French army there, and gave great offence to the in- habitants by the heavy contributions he laid upon them, and the unfeeling manner in which they were collected. In 1812, we find him at the head of the first corps of the Grand Army — the first to cross the Niemen and commence the splendid pageant of that memora- ble day. He crossed at one o'clock in the morning, and took possession of Kowno. Napoleon had his tent pitched on an eminence, a few rods from the bank, and there watched the movements of his mag- nificent legions. Two hundred thousand men, on that day, and forty thousand horses, in splendid array and full equipment, and most perfect order, slowly descended to the bridges, and to the stirring strains of martial music, and under the folds of a thousand fluttering banners, moved past the imperial station, rending the heavens with their shouts, while the saluting trumpets breathed forth their most tri- umphant strains. Throughout this disastrous carer paign he fought with the heroism and firmness oi Ney himself. Tlie next year after the Eussian campaign, ha made his hcad-quai-ters in Hamburgh, and defended the city, heroically, against the Eussians, Pmssiana 126 HIS CBABAOTEK. and Swedes combined. He held out long after Na poleon's abdication, resolutely refiising to sm-rendei the place, until General Gerard arrived on the part of Louis XVTTT. He then gave in his adhesion to the Bourbons, but was among the first to declare for the Emperor, on his return from Elba. After the overthrow at Waterloo, he took command of that portion of the army which stiU remained faithful to Napoleon, and retreated to Orleans, and did not give in his adhesion to the Bourbons, until the Russians were marching against him. This brief outline of Davoust's career, embraces the whole active life of Napoleon, and was filled up with the most stirring scenes, and marked by changes that amazed and shook the world. The role that he played in this mighty Napoleonic drama, shows him to have been an extraordinary man, and furnishes another evidence of the penetration that characterised Bonaparte in the selection of his Generals. The three striking characteristics of Davoust, were great personal intrepidity and daring — ^perfect self- possession and coolness in the hour of peril, and almost invincible tenacity. With all these rare gifts, he was also a great General. In the skill with which he chose his ground, arranged his army, and determined on the point and moment of attack, he had few su- periors in Europe. Rash in an onset, he was per- fectly cool in repelling one. This combination of two such opposite qualities, so prominent in Napoleon, seemed to be characteristic of most of his Generals and was one great cause of their success. His personal daring became proverbial in the army, and whenever he was seen to direct a blow, it was known that it would be the fiercest, heaviest on« MARSHAL DAV0U8T. 12*7 that could be given. His susceptibility of intense ex- citement, carried hinc in the hour of battle, above the thought of danger or death. BATTLE OF AtTEKSTADT. One of the most successful battles he ever fought, was that of Auerstadt, where he earned his title of Duke. The year before, at Austerlitz, he had ex- hibited that coolness in sudden peril, and that uncon- querable tenacity, which made him so strong an ally on a battle field. The night before the battle of Jena, Napoleon slept on the heights of Landgrafenberg, whither he had led his array with incredible toil, and at four in the morning — ^it was an October morning — rode along the lines and addressed his soldiers in that stirring eloquence, which he knew so well how to use. The dense fog that curtained in the dark and chilly morning, lifted, and rent before the fierce ac- clamations that answered him, and with the first dawn his columns were upon the enemy. When the unclouded sun, at nine o'clock, broke through, and scattered the fog, it shone down on a wild battle- field, on which were heard the incessant thunder of artillery, and rattle of musketry; interrupted, now and then, by the heavy shocks of cavaliy, and the shouts of maddened men. Napoleon was again victo- rious, and at six o'clock in the evening, rode over the cumbered ground, while the setting sun shone on a different scene from that which its rising beams had gilded. But not at Jena was the great battle of the 14:th of October fought, nor was Napoleon tha hero of the day. Less than thirty miles distant— within hearing of his cannon, could he have paused to listen — Davoust was winning the victory for him, 128 BATTLE OF AUEESTADT by prodigies of valotir, to which the hard fought bat tie of Jena was an easy affair. Napoleon imagined ho had the King of Prussia, with his whole army, on the heights of Landgrafenberg — and they were behind them, two days previous. With ninety thousand men, he supposed he was marching on over a hundreJ thousand, instead of on forty thousand, as the result proved. After several hours of hard fighting, the Prussians, it is true, were reinforced by twenty thou sand, under Buchel, making sixty thousand against ninety thousand, with Napoleon at their head, and Murat's splendid cavalry in reserve. At Auerstadt, matters were reversed. The King of Prussia, with nearly two-thirds of his army, had marched thither, and with sixty thousand men threatened to crush Davoust, with only thirty thousand. Napoleon, ignorant of this, sent a dispatch to him, which he received at six o'clock in the morning, to march ra- pidly on Apolda, in the rear of the army he was about to engage and defeat. K Bemadotte was witli him, they were to march together ; but as the former had received his orders before, and this seemed a permis- sion rather than an order, he refused to accede to Da- voust's request to join their armies. He took his own route, and but for the heroism and unconquerable firmness of the latter, this act would have cost him his his&di. Davoust, with his thirty thousand troops, of which only four thousand were cavalry, pushed forward, not expecting to meet the enemy till towards evening. But a short distance in front of him, on the plateau of Auerstadt, that spread away from the steep ascent up which his army, fresh from their bivouacs, was toiling — ^lay the King of Prussia, with fifty thousand infan MAKSHAL DAVO08T. 129 try, aud ten thousand splendid cavalry— the whole commanded by the Duke of Brunswick. The fog that enveloped Napoleon on the heights of Landgrafenberg and covered the battle-field of Jena with darknesa, curtained in, also, the heights of the Sonnenberg, and the army of the King of Prussia. At eight in the morning, the vanguard of Davoust came imexpect- edly upon the enemy, also advancing. The dense and motionless fog so concealed everything, that their bayonets almost crossed, before they discovered each other. Even then, both supposing they had come on a single detachment only, sent forward a small force to clear the way — ^the Prussians to open the defile up which Davoust was struggling, and the French to do the same thing, so that they could continue their march. The upper end of this defile opened, as I remarked, on to the elevated plain of Auerstadt, far up the Son- nenberg mountains. Davoust sent on the brave and heroic Gudin, with his division, to clear it, and oc- cupy the level space on the top, at all hazards. In a few minutes Gudin stood, in battle array, on the plateau, though entirely shut out from the enemy by the dense fog. Blucher, with nearly three thousand hussars, was ordered to ride over the plateau and sweep it of the enemy. The former part of the order be obeyed, and came dashing through the mist, with his body of cavalry, when, suddenly they found themselves on the bayonets' point, and the next mo- ment shattered and rolled back by a murderous fire, that seemed to open from the bowels of the earth Kallying his men, however, to the charge, Bluchei came galloping up to the French, now thrown into squares, and dashed, with his reckless valour, on theit L?0 BATTLE OF AUEB8TADT. Bteady ranks. Finding, fi-om the incessant roll of musketry, that Blucher was meeting with an obsti nate resistance, the King of Prussia sent forward three divisions to sustain him. These, with Bluchcr'i hussars, now came sweeping down on Gudin's sin- gle division, threatening to crush it with a single blow. One division against three, supported by Iwenty-five hundred cavalry, was fearful odds ; but Gudin knowing his defeat would ruin the army, now packed in the defile below and making desperate efforts t:> reach the plateau ; presented a firm front to the enemy, and proved, by his heroic resistance, worthy to be under the illustrious Chief that com- manded him. Hitherto the combat had been carried on amid the thick fog, that stubbornly clung to the heights, involving everything in obscurity, and only now and then, lifted, like the folds of a huge curtain, as the artillery and musketry exploded in its bosom. At this dreadful crisis, however, it suddenly rolled over the mountain, and parting in fragments, rodo away on the morning breeze, while the unclouded sun flashed down on the immense Prussian host, drawn up in battle array. It was at this same hour the fog parted on the plains of Jena, and revealed to the astonished Prussians their overwhelming enemy rushing to the charge. There the sun shone on ninety thousand Frenchmen, moving down, with resistless power, on forty thousand Prussians ; but here on sixty thousand Prussians, enveloping thirty thousand Frenchmen. Nothing could be more starlr ling, than the sudden revelation which that morning sun made to Davoust — ^he expected to find only a few detachments before him, and lol there stood a mighty army with the imposing front of battle. Aa MAKRHAL DAVOTJST. 131 his eye fell on the glittering ranks of infantry, and flashing helmets of the superb cavalry, it embraced at once the full peril of his position. It was enough to daunt the boldest heart, but fear and Davoust wer« utter strangers. He was not to reach Apolda that day, that was certain, and fortunate he might consider himself if he reached it at all in any other way than as a prisoner of war. The struggle before him was to be against desperate odds, one against two, while ten thousand cavalry stood in battle array — their formid able masses alone sufficient, apparently, to sweep his army from the field. Of Gudin's brave division, of seven thousand men, which had fought, one against three, to maintain the plateau till his arrival, half had already fallen. The tremendous onsets of cavalry and infantry together on him could not be much longer withstood ; but at this juncture the other di- visions of the army appeared on the field, and with rapid step, and in admirable order, moved into the line of battle. The two armies were now fairly engaged The mist had rolled away, as if hasting in aflfrighl from the scene of carnage, and under the unclouded sun there was no longer any room for deception. Da- voust was fairly taken by surprise, and had on his oand an army double of his own, while a retreat without a rout was impossible. With that coolness and self-possession which rendered him so remark- able in the midst of the confiict, he gave all his orders, and performed his evolutions and conducted the charges ; thus inspiring, by his very voice ard bearing, the soldiers with confidence and courage. He rode through the lines; his brow knit with his stem resolve, and with the weight that lay on his brave heart, and his clear, stern voice, expressing by 132 CHAEGE OF PEINOB WILLIAM. its very calmness the intensity of the excitement that mastered him. The next moment the plain trembled under the headlong charge of the Prussian cavalry, as they came pouring on the French infantry. The ahock -was terrific ; but that splendid body of horse recoiled from the blow, as if it had fallen against the face of a rock instead of living men. The French threw themselves into squares, and the front rank kneeling, fringed with their glittering bayonets the entire formations, while the ranks behind poured an incessant volley on the charging squadrons. These would recoil, turn, and charge again, with unparallel- ed, but vain bravery. Prince William, who led them on, disdaining to abandon the contest, again and again hurried them forward with an impetuosity and strength, that threatened to bear down every thing before them. Sometimes a square would bend and waver a moment, like a wave of flame when it meets the blast, but the next moment spring to its place again, presenting the same girdle of steel in front, and the same line of fire behind. Goaded to despern- tion and madness by the resistance he met with, and confident still of the power of his cavalry to break the infantry, he rallied his diminished troops for the last time, and led them to the charge. These brave men rode steadily forward through the storm of grapeshot and bullets that swept their path, till tbey came to the very muzzles of the guns ; but not a square broke, not a battalion yielded. Furious with disappointment, they then rode round the squares, firing their pistols in the soldiers' faces, and spurring their steeds in wherever a man fell. But all this time a most murderous fire wasted them ; fol while they swept in rapid circles round each squara MAE3HAL BAVOUST. 133 a girdle of light followed, rolling round the living wak enveloping it in smoke and strewing its base with tha dead. At length Prince William himself was stretche" on the field where half his followers already lay bleed iag, and the remainder withdrew. Davoust, feeling how every thing wavered in th? balance, multiplied himself with the perils that envi- roned him. With no cavalry able to contend with that of the enemy, he was compelled to rely entirely on his infantry. The rapidity, coolness, and preci- sion with which they performed their evolutions, javed him from a ruinous defeat. Now he would suddenly throw a division into squares, as the splen- did Prussian cavalry came thundering upon it; and repelling the shock, unroll them into line to receive a charge of infantry, or throw them into close columns to charge in turn. The battle rested on his life ; yet his personal presence at the points of danger was equally necessary to victory, and he seemed to forget he had a life to lose. He never appeared better than on this day. The intense action of his mind neutralized the strong excitement of his feelings which usually bore him into battle; and he rode through the diiving storm with the stern purpose, never to yield, written on his calm marble-like countenance, in lines that could not be mistaken. He had imparted the same feelings to his followers, and the tenacity witli which they disputed every inch of ground, and held firm their po- sition against the unit«d onsets of cavalry and infantry astonished even their enemies. Tlie heights of Sonnenberg never witnessed such a scene before, and the morning sun never looked down on a braver fought battle. The mist of the mommg 8 134 BATTLE OF AUEKSTADT. had given place to the smoke of cannon and mus ketry that curtained in the armies ; and the wholt plateau was one blaze of light streaming through clouds of dust, with which the fierce cavalry had filled the air. Old Sonnenberg quivered on his base under the shock, and its rugged sides were streaked with wreaths of smoke that seemed rent by violence from the tortured war-cloud below. Amid this wild storm Davoust moved unscathed — ^his uniform riddled with balls — ^and his guard incessantly falling aroimd him. At length a shot struck his chapeau, and bore it from his head among his followers. Prince William was down — ^the Duke of Brunswick had been borne mortally wounded from the fight, while scores of hia own brave officers lay stretched on the field of their fame — ^yet still Davoust towered unhurt amid his ranks. At length Morand was ordered to carry the heights ot Sonnenberg, and plant the artillery there, so as to sweep the plateau below. This brave General put himself at the head of his columns, and with a firm step, began tc ascend the slope. The King of Prussia, perceiving at a glance how disastrous to him the conquest of this position would be, charged in person at the head of his troops. For a moment the battle wavered ; but the next moment the heroic Morand was seen to move up- ward, and in a few minutes his artillery opened on the l ptoutest heart. He was moving slowly forward, per 143 BETBEAT FBOM BCSSIA. fectly enveloped in Cossacks that formed a dense mov- ing mass, of which he and his devoted followers wert the centre. Added to this, the French Marshal in hii great efforts to join Napoleon, was marching straight on a superior force of the Russians. He saved but the skeleton of his corps. But, though no longer commanding the rear guard, he still kept halting resolutely in every defile, and giving battle to the enemy— disputing with his ac- customed bravery, every spot of groimd on which a defence could be made. It was there he showed the advantage of that stern military discipline, which had so often brought on him the charge of cruelty. He and Ney alone, of all the Marshals, were able to preserve order among their troops. Through the dreary wilderness, plunging on amid the untrodden snow, without provision or fuel, stumbling over the fallen ranks of their comrades, and pressed by a victorious enemy; the French soldiers gave way to despair, and flung away their arms and lay down to die. Amid these trying circumstances. Da- voust exhibited his great qualities. Giving way to no discouragement — disheartened by no reverses, he moved amid the wreck around him, like one above the strokes of misfortune. To arrest this disorder among his troops, he caused every soldier that flung away his arms to be stripped by his companions and insulted ; and thus made despair fight despair, lie arrived at Orcha, with only four tliousand, out of the seventy thousand, with which he started. He had lost every thing belonging to himself — endured cold, hunger, and fatigue, without a mur- mur, and entered Orcha with the fi-agments ol his army, on foot, pale, haggard, and wasted with fa MAB6HAL DAV0TJ8T. 149 mine. He had not even a shirt to put on his backj and a handkerchief was given him to wipe his face, which was covered with frost. A loaf of bread waa oflfered him which he devoured with the eagerness ol a starving man, and then sat down exclaiming, "None but men of iron frames can support such hardships ; it is physically impossible to resist them and there are limits to human strength, the farthest of which have been endured." Segur relates an anecdote of him when called from {he wreck of the army to Paris, which was worthy oi Murat. Passing through a small town with only two others, where the Russians were daily expected, their appearance enraged the already exasperated popu- lace, and they began to press with murmurs and exe- crations, aroimd his carriage. At length some of the most violent, attempted to nnhamess the horses, when Davoust rushed among them, seized the ring- leader, and dragging him along, bade his servants fasten him behind his carriage. The boldness of the action perfectly stunned the mob, and without a show of resistance, they immediately opened a passage for the carnage, and let it move untouched through ilieir midst, with its prisoner lashed on behind. Of his after career, I have already spoken. When Bonaparte returned from Elba, Davoust, among the first to welcome him, was made Minister of "War. lie is accused of having treated the fallen Napoleon, after his second overthrow, like a man destitute alike of honour or shame. But there is no proof he ever uttered the language put into his mouth, and he held on firmly to the last He finally gave in his adherence though not in the most manly or heroic style, and re- tamed to his country seat. The next year, however ISO HI8 DEATH. be obtained permission to reside in Paris, and three years after, 1819, he was given a seat in the chamber of Peers. He lived but fom- years after this, and died in June, 1823, of a pulmonary affection. His sod ncceeded to his wealth, and his peerage. V. MAESHAL ST. CTE. fUs Ufo— Character— FrofeEsion of a Fainter— Combat at BibeiMh— Battle of Folotsk— Battle of Dresden. Loijis GoTivioN St. Cte was a different man from many of the other marshals. His character was more firm and complete — settled on a broader basis, and capable of greater development. Though he seems not to have nm his career with the same nnin- termpted success as the others, and he is sometimes called unfortunate ; yet the cause is to be found in himself. Less impulsive and more methodical than those daring spirits which cast light aroimd the mighty genius they followed — ^his devotion less warm and his admiration less enthusiastic — his complaints and recriminations meant more in the ears of Bona- parte than those of such men as Murat, and Junot, and Lannes. The penetrating mind of the Emperor, which fathomed at a glance every character that came under his observation, saw less to love and more to fear in St. Oyr, than in them. The anger of the latter was not a sudden spark that kindled and went out; and when once estranged he was not easily won over. Even his hatred was not impulsive, but rooted itEself in his judgment and thoughts rather than in his passing feelings. Power was not likely to be confer- red on a man whoso stem independence diminished 152 HIS E^SLT LIFE. the valne of the gift. Still he had no cause to com plain of fortune, nor of the neglect of Napoleon, if we except the long delay of his marshal's baton. He was bom at Toul, of humble parentage, in April, 1764. His parents designed him for a painter, and in his youth he went to Eome to study the great masters, before entering on his career. There his mind became filled with those wonderful creations of art, and his youthful ambition pointed to a field as un- like the one he was to tread as it well could be. la ordinary times he might have been a respectable painter, perhaps a distinguished one. But his life was to be one of action rather than of imagination — his hand was to wield a sword instead of a pencil, and to enact great scenes on a battle-field rather than trace them on canvass. The breaking out of the Revolution summoned him, with thousands of others, to a field of great exploits, and overturning all at once his schemes as an artist, sent him forth into the world a soldier of fortune. He enlisted as a private in a company of volunteers and marched to the Rhine, where the Republic was making its first struggle for existence. He rose rapidly from one grade to another till, at the age of thirty-one, he found himself general of division. His promotion was not owing so much to his personal bravery and deeds of daring, as to his knowledge of military tactics. In 1Y98 he combated under Massena in Italy ; and after that commander was compelled to with- draw from Rome, on account of the insurrection of hig teoops, was appointed in his place and by his reputa- don as a just man and his wise management, re- stored subordination and discipline. When Bona- MAB8HAL ST. CTB. 153 parte returned from Egypt, St. Cyr was sent to the Rhine to take part in that victorious campaign. The theatre on which Moreau was to act, was the angle made by the Ehine, where it bends at Basle from its western direction, and flows north along the shores of Germany and France. The famous Black Forest is enclosed in this bend of the river. Here the Austrian General, M. de Kray, was posted, with his lines reaching almost from Constance to Stras- burg — ^ready to dispute the passage of the Rhine with the French. St. Cyr had served under Moreau a long time, and on this very ground, and the latter placed great confidence in his judgment. The third corps, composed of twenty-five thousand men, was placed under his command, and formed the centre of the army. But at the outset an unhappy cause of divi- sion arose between the two generals, which never healed, and ended finally in an open rupture. Not satisfied with dividing the army into four corps, each complete in itself, with cavalry, artillery, &c., thus leaving much discretionary power to each general, Moreau insisted on taking the .separate command of one corps himself. This St. Cyr opposed on the ground that his attention would be too much taken up with the affairs of this single corps, and the gen- eral movements of the army neglected. The end proved that he was right ; but Moreau, persisting in his arrangements, as he most certainly had a riglit to do, the co-operation of the former was not so hearty and generous as it ought to have been. Thus, at the battle of Engen, and afterwards at Maeskirch, where Moreau was hard pushed, and came near losing the day, St. Cyr did not arrive on the field till the fight was over. The ofiicers around Moreau accused St 9* 154 HIS QUABBEL WITH HOSEAU Cyr ot treacheiy, and of keeping back on purpose to allow flie army to be cut to pieces. But the trath is, the latter, offended at Moreau's procedure, ceased to concern himself about his movements and confined himself to his own corps. He would not stir withoul orders, and seemed determined to make IMoreau feel the necessity of changing his conduct by acting the part of a mere machine ; moving or stopping as he was bidden, and doing nothing more. Such independent dilatoriness would have cost him his place at once under Bonaparte. His tardiness during the battle oi Maeskirch, saved the Austrians from a total route. His excuse for not coming up was that he had re- ceived no orders, though Moreau insisted he had sent them. It made no difference, however; he was in hearing of the heavy cannonading in front, and knew that a tremendous struggle was going on, and the fate of the army, perhaps, sealing. Had Desaix acted thus at Marengo, Bonaparte would have lost Italy. Not only did h& have no orders to march on Marengo, but counter ones to proceed to Nov! — ^yet no sooner did he hear the distant roll of cannon towards the former place than he put his army in motion, and marching it at the top of its speed, arrived just in time to turn a ruinous defeat into a victory. The next day, however, St. Cyr would have wiped out the remembrance of this negligence, by crushing the Austrian army to pieces, had Moreau aot oeen fall of suspicions and averse to everything but the Qiost mathematical regularity. The Austrians, in their retreat, were crowded on the shores of the Danube, in a sort of half circle, made by the bend of the river; so that there was no room to manoeuvre, while consternation was visible in their ranks. St. MABSHAL ST. OTK. 165 Cyr, though cool and steady, saw at once that by a firm and impetuons charge, he could roll the whole un- wieldy mass into the river, and waited anxiously the order to advance. In the meantime he brought for- ward some of his guns, and trained them on the close packed troops of the enemy. Finding, however, that his cannonading failed to draw the attention of Moreau to the spot, he sent an officer to him requesting permis- sion to charge. But the former refused, either from too great prudence, or, as it is more probable, from want of confidence in the good faith of his general. The opportunity slipped by, and the Austrians made good their passage over the Danube. COMBAT AT BIBEBAOH. A few days after, however, St. Cyr performed one of those brilliant actions which stamp the man ot genius. The Austrians had retreated, and Moreau did not expect to overtake them for another day. In the mean time, St. Oyr had received orders to push on beyond Biberach, a little town which lay on the line of the enemy's retreat. But to his surprise on coming np to this village, he found that the Austrians had re- crossed the Danube and marched back to Biberach to defend it on account of the magazines it contained. The entrance to it by the road St. Oyr was marching, was through a narrow defile which opened right in front of the village. The Austrian general thinking it would be unsafe to put the defile in his rear left ten thousand men to guard it while he posted his army behind the town on an eminence forming an excellent position. As St. Cyr came up he saw at once the ad vantage it gave the enemy. But, thinking the route ol the ten thousand guarding the pass would shake tli a 156 COMBAT AT BIEBBAOH. courage of the whole army in rear, he wishea to ordei an attack immediately, and would have done so had his whole corps of twenty-five thousand men been with him. But his best division under Ney, had been sent to observe the Danube, and though orders were im- mediately despatched to hasten him up, he could no- where be found. At this lucky moment, however, he heard the filing of Bichenpanse's division, which had come up by a cross road. Thus strengthened, he no longer hesitated, and without waiting for the whole to form in order, he hurled his own battalions on the enemy. The order to charge was given, and his brave troops advanced at double quick time to the onset. Overthrown and routed, the enemy swept in a confiised mass through the defile and through the village, hurry- ing onwards to the heights on which the army was posted. Following close on their heels, St. Oyr entered Biberach in hot pursuit. Here, however, he arrested and re-formed his men, and began to reconnoitre the enemy's position. The river Eiess — crossed by a single bridge — and a marsh, lay between the village and those heights on which nearly sixty thousand men were drawn up in order ol battle. It was a bold attempt to attack with a little over twenty thousand men sixty thousand occupying BO formidable a position ; and for a moment he hesi- tated in his course. Pushing forward his men, how- ever, he crossed the Riess, and the marsh, and drew np in front of the enemy. At this moment he saw the Austrians he had routed at the defile approach the army on the heights. The ranks opened to let them pass to the rear, and in this movement his clear and practised eye saw evidences of alarm and irresolution, which convinced him at once that the firmness of the MABSHAL ST. 0TB. 157 enemy's troops was shaken. He immediately sent forward some skirmishers ' to fire on them. The general discharge which this mere insult drew forth made it still clearer that the whole inoTal power, which is ever greater than physical strength, was on his side; and though the enemy outnumbered him three to one, and occupied a splendid position, his reso- lution was immediately taken. Forming his three divisions into three solid columns, he began to ascend with a firm step the slopes of the Wit- temberg. Nothing can be more sublime than this faith in the moral over the physical. This was not the headlong rashness of Murat, reckless alike of numbers or posi- tion, but the clear calculations of reason. St. Cyr, who was one of the ablest tacticians in the French army, perceived at a glance that on one side were num- bers and Irresolution, on the other confidence and courage. When the Austrians saw those columns scaling the mountain side with such an intrepid step and bold presence, they were seized with a panic, and turned and fled, leaving thousands of prisoners in the hands of St. Oyr. He carried out here successfully the very plan he proposed to Moreau when the ene my lay packed in a curve of the Danube. The Austrians retreated to Ulm, which was strong- ly fortified, and St. Cyr, who had tried the metal ol their soldiers ; and who, from a convent that overlock- ed the enemy, saw and comprehended their position, bogged permission to carry it by assault. In this, he was joined by Ney and Eichenpanse, who offered to answer for the success of it on their own heads. But Moreau did everything by manoeuvres, and preferring a less certain good to a probable greater one ; refused 158 COMBAT ABOUND ULM. his consent. A man never storms through mathe matics, and to Moreau, war was a mathematical set ence. A short time after, however, one of his grand manoeuvres came very near destroying his left wing. Pretending he was abont to march to Munich, he ex« tended his line over the space of sixty miles, leaving St. Suzanne with 15,000 men alone on the left bank of the Danube. If the Austrian General had possessed any genius, or even common sense, he would have crushed this division at a blow, by fall- ing with his entire force upon it. As it was, how- ever, he sent a large body of cavalry to assail it, which enveloped it like a cloud, threatened to sweep it from the field. In the meantime, masses of Austrian infan- try came pouring out of Ulm to second the attack, until these fifteen thousand brave French were com- pelled to resist the onset of twenty-four thousand Austrian infantry, and twelve thousand cavalry. Retreating in squares, they mowed down their assail- ants with their rolling fire, steadily pursuing their way over the field. Hour after hour did the combat rage, and though the ground was strewed with the dead, not a square broke, not a battalion fled. St, Cyr, posted on the other side on the river, at some distance from the scene — ^where the Iller joins the Danube — hearing the cannonading, hastened forward to the spot It was not Moreau in danger, but St. Suzanne, and ^e waited for no orders. Coming up opposite the field of battle, he found all the bridges broken down, and immediately planting his artillery so as to covei a ford, across which he was beginning to pour his in- trepid columns ; he opened a fierce fire on the enemy, Bearing this cannonading, and fearing for their re HAB8HAL BT. OTB. 15^ treat, the Austrians immediately began to retire, towardu Dim. After this engagement, from the movements of M» rean, the whole army expected an assault on the city^ but after various manoeuvres, this cautious leader established his army and determined to remain inac- tive tni he heard from Bonaparte, who was descend- ing into Italy. The Generals complained — St. Cyr openly remonstrated, and had many fierce alterca- tions with him. The unequal distribution of pro- visions, was another cause of dissension, and bitter recriminations. Greneral Grenier, arriving at this time, St. Cyr wished to resign his command to him, but Moreau, refusing his consent, he retired altogether from the army under the plea of ill health. In October of the same year, he is seen fighting bravely in Italy. The next year he was called by Bonaparte to the Coimcil of State, and the year fol- lowing, (1801,) took the place of Lucien Bonaparte as Ambassador to the Court of Madrid. He was soon after appointed to the command of the Neapoli- tan army, where he remained inactive till 1805, when he was made Colonel General of the Cuirassiers, and received the Grand Eagle of the Legion of Honour. In the following campaigns of Prussia and Poland, he distinguished himself, and in 1807, was appointed Governor of Warsaw. After the peace of Tilsit, he was sent into Spain, where he won but few laurels and indulging in unjust, unmanly complaints, waa finally superseded by Augereau. Two years of dis- grace and exile followed. But in 1812, in the Eus- sian campaign, he appears again, and exhibits the same great qualities of a commander, and fighting 160 HIS OBABAOTEB. bravely at Ptdotsk, receives the long withheld thougt long deserved Marahal's baton. The next year, he commanded at Dresden, when it was assailed by the allies ; and after their repulse held possession of it till the disasters that overtook the French army, left him once more at the mercy ol the allies, and he was compelled to capitulate. He returned to France aft»r the restoration, and was given, by Louis, a seat in the Chamber of Peers. On tha landing of Napoleon from Elba, he retired into the country and remained there inactive, till the second overthrow of the Empire at Waterloo. On the king's return he was honoured with the order ol St. Louis and presented with the portfolio of the war ministry. Li the autumn of the same year, however, ae retired because he could not give his consent to the treaty of Paris. But two years after he was made Minister of the Marine, from whence he passed to the War Office. While in this department he suc- ceeded in getting a law passed by which no man was to receive a commission in the army till he had served two years as a soldier. This thoroughly democratic measure, sprung from his experience of the superior efficiency of those officers who had arisen from the ranks, and also, perhaps, from a desire to pay a compliment to his own career. In 1819, being strongly opposed to the proposed change in the law of elections, he resigned his office, and never aftei appeared in public life. The great characteristics of St. Cyr, were clear- sightedness on the field of battle ; perfect method in all his plans, and a cold, deep spirit. However, he might fail in a great campaign — on the field where au engagement was to take place, he was regarded one MABSHALST. OTB. ICl of the ablest tacticians in the army. His eye took is the enemy's position, and his own at a glance, and he saw at once the best coui-se to be taken. In forming his plans he seemed to omit no detail necessary to success, while the moral feeling of the two armies was not forgotten. The latter he calculated with the same nicety he did numbers ; and it is interesting to observe what reliance he always placed upon it. He possessed, to a certain extent, that combination which distinguished Napoleon, and belonged more or less to all his great Generals, viz : clearness and rapidity of thought. But this power in him arose from a differ- ent cause than with tnem. Napoleon, and Ney, and Massena, and Kleber, possessed strong minds and strong imaginations also, yet they were so well bal- anced as only to strengthen each other. The imagi- nation never became so excited as to confuse the ope- rations of reason, while the judgment never acquired such a mastery as in Moreau, that inspiration and impulse could have no control. Cool, clear-headed, and self-collected, they planned with the sobriety of reason, and yet kept it in such abeyance that in moments oi excitement they could be carried away by the impulse of genius. Their imaginations acted as a powerful stimulant to the mental powers, giving them greater ra- pidity, without forcing them into confusion ; but St. Cyi possessed none of this imptdsiveness. He frequently acted as if he did, but his most headlong movements were as much the result of calculation as his soberest plans. Consummate art took the place of a vivid ima- gination with him. He could calGulate the inspiration? of genius, and knew when he ought to be moved by impulse ; his mind had great rapidity of movement, but it was the rapidity cf mere logic. There was a 162 HIB CHABAOTEE. certainty in his operations on which one could de pend, and he himself placed the most implicit confi dence in his own judgment. He had all the qualities of a great commander, and but for his unsocial dis- position, and cold, repulsive nature, would doubtless, early have attained to the highest honours of the Em- pire. Napoleon rewarded the brave, but lavished his choicest favour on the brave that loved Mm. Never governed by attachment himself, how could St. Cyr ex- pect others to be swayed by it in their treatment of him. Nevertheless, Napoleon always treated him with justice, and frequently rewarded him with places of trust. The neglect to make him marshal ; when, on assuming the imperial crown, he made out that immor- tal list, was apparently undeserved; and gave rise, perhaps justly, to some charges of favouritism. St. Cyr was an obstinate man in the prosecution of his own plans, and equally so in his opposition to those which differed from them ; and though ready to condemn others, when thwarted or condemned him- self, he flew into a passion, and his head became filled with all forms of suspicion. Thus, when he and Moreau could not agree, and he found there was a clique around the commander-in-chief, arrayed against him — ^instead of performing his duty bravely, and win- ning back that confidence which others had unjustly deprived him of — ^he first became remiss and inactive, then fierce and condemnatory, and finally threw up his command. He ought to have known that was no way either to screen himself from unjust charges, or win his way to power. He did not seem to know the meaning of the device, " I bide my time." Thta also in Spain, when placed over the army destined to act \n Catalonia, he became peevish, complaining MAEBHAL ST. CTB. 163 and foolish. It was true, the army was not an effective one ; but on the other hand, the enemy he had to contend with was not a dangerous one. Besides, it was the greatest comiiliment Na- poleon could pay him, to appoint him over a poor army from which he expected victory. The Em- peror knew it was badly conditioned, but he could not help it, and the only remedy of the evil, in his power, was to place an able and skillful commander over it. A poor general would have insured its ruin. Fet St. Cyr, instead of winning confidence and re- nown, by executing great things "with small means, began to grumble. Ney, when conducting the re- treat from Kussia, created means where an ordinary man would have declared it impossible ; and out of his very defeats and disasters, wove for himself the brightest wreath that hangs on his tomb. But St. Cyr not only complained, though successful in all his engagements — ^winning every battle — ^bnt accused Na- poleon of placing him there on purpose to ruin him, because he had belonged to the army of the Ehine, under Moreau ; and this splenetic and ridiculous state- ment of his, has been taken up and incorporated in English histories, as an evidence of the Emperor's meanness.* How such an accusation could have received a sober thought, is passing strange. If apoleon, at the head of the French empire, nour- iehed such a hostility to Moreau, for winning the battle of Hohenlinden, which he, as First Consul, • nils aOlj accusation has found it» way into one of onr school books, " Gamp and Obnrt of Napoleon," which contains many errors, in bet— as, for instance, it statef that Honcey was at the battle of Marengo, when he was on the Tessino, and knew na Uiing of the engagement till it was over. It says, also, that he waa in the Russian r« peditioq, when he was not. Mr. Alison reiterates the same nonsense. 161 HIS OHABAOTBS. Bent him there on purpose to gain, and on whoe« Buccess depended his own — that years after he trans ferred it to one of Moreau's Generals, by placing him over a poor army in Spain, at a time he was straining every nerve to subdue the kingdom. The simple statement of the charge, and the circumstances connected with it, shows it to be the absurdest thing that ever entei-ed a diseased brain. Besides, Napoleon did i^ot take this round about way to disgrace those who were displeasing to him. St. Cyr ought to have seen this after he was superseded by Augereau ; and not have incorporated such a silly charge into his work. Offended and proud, he left his command to hurry A-Ugereau to assume his place, thus evincing openly his comtempt for the rebuke the Emperor had given him for his folly. Two years of disgrace and exile, showed that Napoleon know a shorter way to ruin the Generals that offended him. The truth is, St. Cyr was placed where he was compelled to put forth great efforts without win ning much renown. It was hard work without corresponding reward, but he should have waited patiently for the latter on some more fortunate field ; remembering that a good General is known by his sacrifices as much as by his victories. Once resign- ing his command in anger, and once disgraced for the same reason, argues very poorly for the amiability of the man. Previous to this, in 1807, he fought bravely in the campaign of Prussia and Poland, and especially at Heilsberg, though there was no opportunity offered for great actions, as he commanded only a divisior UAB8HAL SI. 0TB. I6h under Soult. But in 1812, as before remarked, in the great Kussian expedition, he had an opportunity to distinguish himself, and won that place among the renowned leaders that followed Napoleon, which his services richly merited. BATTLE OF POLOTSK. In the first battle of Polotsk, in the advance to Moscow, Oudinot, with his corps, was assatilted by Wittgenstein, and the French Marshal was wounded. St. Cyr immediately succeeded him as commander- in-chief of the army, composed of thirty thousand men. This was what he had long desired. Dis- liking to serve under any other officer, the moment his actions were unfettered, he exhibited his great qualities as a military leader. He immediately adopted his own plan of operations, and with that clearness of perception and grasp of knowledge which distinguished him, proceeded to put it in execution. For a whole day after the engagement in which Oudiaot was wounded, he kept the Russian General quiet, by sending proposals respecting the removal of the wounded, and by making demonstrations of a retreat. But as soon as darkness closed over the armies, he began in silence to rally his men, and ar- ranging them in three columns, by five in the morn- ing was ready for battle. The signal was given- - the artillery opened its destractive fire, and rousing lip the Eussian bear ere the morning broke, his throe eolunms poured in resistless strength on the enemy, carrying every thing before them. But even in the moment of victorj', St. Cyr came very near being killed. A French battery, suddenly charged by a 166 BATTLE OF POLOTSK. company of Bussian horse was carried, and the brigade Bent to support it being overthrown and borne back over the cannon that dared not open lest they should sweep down their own troops ; spread disorder in their flight. The cannoniers were sabred at their pieces, and the French horse, overwhelmed in the general confusion, also fled, overturning the commander-in- chief and his staff, and sending terror and dismay through the ranks. St. Cyr was compelled to flee on foot, and flnally threw himself into a ravine to pre- rent being tramped under the hoofs of the charging horse. The French cuirassiers, however, soon put an end to this sudden irruption, and drove the daring dragoons into the woods. The victory was complete, and a thousand prisoners remained in the hands of St. Cyr, and the Marshal's baton was given him as a reward for his bravery. Here he remained for two months, while Wittgen- stein kept at a respectful distance. Li the meantime Moscow had blazed over the army of the Empire, and the disheartened and diminished host was about to turn its back on the smouldering capital and flee from the fury of a northern winter. Wittgenstein, who had not been idle, though he dared not to attack St. Cyr, had, by constant reinforcements, more than dvjubled his array. The French commander, on the other hand, had carried on a partizan warfare for two months ; whicii, together with sickness and suffering, had reduced his army one half — so that in the middle of October he had but seventeen thousand men, while the Eussian army amounted to fifty-two thousand. To add to the peril of his position, another Eussian army, under Steingell, was rapidly moving down to hem him in ; while Napoleon, three hundred miles ic HABSHAL ST. 0TB. 167 Ite rear, was sealing Ms fate by tarrying around Moscow. Macdonald was the only person from whom he could hope for succour, and he sent pressing requests to him for reinforcements. But that brave cummander had already discovered signs of defection in his Prussian allies, and dared not weaken his force. St. Cyr, therefore, was left to meet his fate alone. As if on purpose to insure his ruin, he was without intrenchments, not having received orders from, the Emperor to erect them. Secure of his prey, the Ilus- sian General, on the 18th October, bore down with his overwhelming force on the French lines. The battle at once became furious. St. Oyr was one of the first struck. Smitten by a musket ball, he could neither ride his horse nor keep his feet — still he would not retire. Every thing depended on his pre- sence and personal supervision ; for the struggle against such fearful odds was to be a stern one. Pale and feeble, yet self-collected and clear minded as ever, he was borne about by his officers, amid the storm of battle, cheering on his men, again and again to the desperate charge. Seven times did the Kussian thousands sweep like a resistless flood over the partial redoubts, and seven times did St. Cyr, steadily hurl them back, till night closed the scene, and fourteen thousand men slept on the field of vie- tory they had wrung from the grasp of fifty thousand. When the morning dawned, the Kussian General seemed in no huny to renew the attack. St. Cyr arose from his feverish couch, where the pain from his wound, and his intense anxiety had kept him tossing the long night ; and was borne again to the field of battle. He perceived at once that the hesi- tation of the enemy did not arise from ^ear of a re- 168 BATTLE OF PCLOTSK. pulscj but from some expected manceuTre, which was to be the signal of assault; and so he etoo'l in suspense, horn- after hour, firmly awaiting the approach of the dense masses that darkened tlie woods before him, till, at ten o'clock, an aid-de-camp was Been spuri-ing at a furious gallop over the bridge, the hoofs of his horse striking fire on the pavements Es he dashed through the village towards the com- mander-in-chief. Steingell, with thirteen thousand Russians had come, and was rapidly marching along tJie other sTde of the river to assail him in rear. Hem- med in between these two armies, St. Cyr must in- evitably be crushed. Imagine, for a moment, his desperate condition. Polotsk stands on the left side of the Dwina, as you ascend it, with only one bridge crossing the river to the right bank. Behind this wooden town, St. Cyr had drawn up his forces, in or- der of battle, with the formidable masses of the Eus- sian army in front, threatening every moment to over- whelm him. In the meantime, word was brought that thirteen thousand fresh troops were approaching the bridge on the other side, cutting off all hopes of re- treat. Here were two armies, numbering together more than sixty thousand men, drawing every mo- ment nearer together, to crush between them four- teen thousand French soldiers, commanded by a wounded General. But St. Cyr, forgetting his wound, iuraraoned all his energies to meet the crisis that was approaching. He gave his orders in that quiet, de- termined tone, which indicates the settled purpose ol a stern and powerful mind. Unseen by Wittgenstein, he despatched three regiments across the river to check the progress of Steingell, while he, with his weakened forces, should withstand the shock of the UABSHAL ST. 0TB. 169 Russian army before him as best he could. Thus the two armies stood watching each other, while the roar of artillery on the farther side, approached near- er and nearer every moment, showing that the enemy was sweeping before him the few regiments that had been sent to retard him. At length the French bat- teries, which had been planted on the farther bank of the Dwina to protect the camp, were wheeled round, ready to fire on the new enemy, which was expected every moment to emerge into view. At this sight, a loud shout of joy rolled along the Russian lines, foi they now deemed their prey secure. But the Russian general still delayed the signal of attack, till he should see the head of Steingell's columns. In consternation the French generals gathered around St. Cyr, urging him to retreat, but he steadily refused all their counsel and urgent appeals, declaring that with his first retrogade movement, the Russian army would descend upon him, and that his only hope was in delay. If Steingell did not make his appear- ance before dark, he could retreat under the cover of night ; but to fall back now, was to precipitate an at- tack that was most unaccountably delayed. For three mortal hours he stood and listened to the roar of the enemy's cannon, shaking the banks of the river as it mowed its way towards the bridge — now gazing on the opposite shore, now on the fifty thousand Russians before him in order of battle and now on his own band of heroes, till his agitation became agony. Mi- nutes seemed lengthened into hours, and he kept in- cessantly pulling out his watch, looking at it, and then at the tardy sin, which his eager gaze seemed al- most to push down the sky. The blazing fire-ball, as it stooped to the westen: 10 170 BATTLE OF POLOTSK. horizon, sending its flashing beams over the bai tie array on the shores of the Dwina, never before seemed so slow in its motions. St. Cyr afterwards de- clared that he never, in his life, was so agitated as in the three hours of suspense he then endured. The sliock and the overthrow can be borne by a brave heart, but in a state of utter uncertainty, to stand and watch the dial's face, on whose slow-moving shadow rests everything, is too much for the calmest heart. At length, when within a half-hour's march of 1he bridge, Steingell halted. Had he kept on a few minutes longer, the head of his columns would have appeared in sight, which would have been the sig- nal of a general attack. Nothing could be more fa- vourable to St. Cyr than this unexpected halt ; and » dense fog soon after spreading over the river, wrap- ping the three armies in its folds, hastened on the night, and relieved his anxious heart. The artillery was immediately sent over the bridge, and his divisions were pressing noiselessly as possible after it, when Legrand foolishly set fire to his camp, so as not to let it fall into the hands of the enemy. The other divis- ions followed his example, and in a moment the whole line was in a blaze. This rash act immediately re- vealed to the enemy the whole movements. Its batr teries opened at once — ^the roused columns came hur- rying onward, while blazing bombs, hissing through tlie fog in every direction, fell on the town which blazed up in the darkness, making a red and lurid light, by which the two armies fought — the one for existence, the other for victory. Amid the burning dwellings the wounded Marahal stood, and contested every inch of ground with the energy of despair ; and slowly retiring over the blazing timbers, by the light of MAEBHAL8T.0TK. 171 the conflagration, brought oflF his army in perfect order, though bleeding at every step. It was three o^clock in the morning before the Eussians got poa- session of the town. In the meantime, St. Cyr had gained the farther bank, and destroyed the bi 'dge in the face of the enemy, and stood ready for Steingell, who had soundly slept amid all the uproar and strife ol that wild night. The latter seemed under the influence of some unaccountable spell, and could not have acted worse, had he been bribed by the French. In the morning, when he aroused himself for battle, St. Cyr was upon him, and after relieving him of one-sixth oi his army, drove him into the wood several miles from the place of action. Ten thousand Hussians had fallen in these three days of glory to St. Cyr. This brave marshal, though wounded, was compelled, on account of dissensions among the generals, to keep the command of his troops, and commence his retreat. Reversing Napoleon's mode of retreat from Moscow, he, with ten thousand men, kept nearly flfty thousand at bay ; so that they did not make more than three marches in eight days. After eleven days of toil, and combat, and suffering, in which he, though wounded, had eichibited a skill, courage, and tenacity, seldom surpassed, he at length effected a junction with Victor, who had marched from Smolensko to meet him. After the termination of that disastrous campaign, he is seen next year at Dresden, struggling to uphold the tottering tiirone of Napoleon. With twenty thousand men he was operating round the city, and fearing that the allies would make a demonstration upon it, wrote to that effect to Napoleon, who waa combating Blucher in Silesia. But the latter did not 172 BATTLE OF DE38DKN. agree with him, and kept pushing his projects in the quarter where he then was, when the astounding intel- ligence was brought him that the allied forces wera mai-ching on Dresden. St. Oyr saw at once his dan- ger ; and prepared, as well as his means permitted, tn meet it. But after some fierce fighting with Wittgen- stein's advanced guard — ^his old foe of Polotsk, in Bus- sia — ^he retired within the redoubts of Dresden, and patiently waited the result. BATTLE OF DRESDEN. A hundred and twenty thousand soldiers, with more than five hundred pieces of cannon, covered the heights that overlooked his entrenchments. It was the latter part of August, and everything was smiling in summer vegetation, when this mighty host pitched their tents on the green hills that encircled the city. On the evening of their approach, St. Cyr wrote to Napoleon the following letter : "Dresden, 23d. Aug. 1813 ; ten at night. At five this afternoon the enemy approached Dresden, after having driven in our cav- alry, We expected an attack this evening ; but prob- ably it will take place to-morrow. Your Majesty knows better than I do, what time it requires foi heavy artillery to beat down enclosure walls and palisades." The next night at midnight he des- patched another letter to him, announcing an immedi- ate attack, and closing up with, " We are determined to do all in our power ; but I can answer for nothing more with such young soldiers." Immediately on the reception of tlie first lettei, Napoleon surrendered his command to Macdonald, and turned liis face towards Dresden. Murat was despatched in hoi haste, to announce his arrival and re-assure the be- MAEBHAL8T. OTK. 173 sieged. In the midst of bis guards, which had marched nearly thirty miles a day since the commence- ment of the war, he took the road to the city. To revive his sinking troops, he ordered twenty thousand bottles of wine to be distributed among them, but not three thousand could be procui-ed. He, however, marched all next day, having dispatched a messenger to the besieged to ascertain die exact amount of danger. Said Napoleon to the messenger Gtourgaud, " Set out i/mmedmtely for Dresden, rid^ oA ha/rd as you cam, and he th&re this evening — see St. Cyr, the EMtig of Naples, amd the King of Samony — encoti/rage every one. Tell them I can he in Dresden to-morrow with forty thousand men, and the day fol- lowing with my whole a/rmy. At day-break visit tha outposts and redoubts — consult the cormnaatder 0/ Mugineers as to whether they cam, hold out. Hurry hack to me to-morrow at Stolpen, amd bring a full report of St. Cyr's amd Mv/ra6s opimJion as to the real state of thmgs.^^ Away dashed Gourgaud in hot haste, while the Emperor hurried on his exhausted army. Gourgaud did not wait till day-break before he returned. He found every thing on the verge of ruin — the allied army was slowly enveloping the de- voted city, and when, at dark, he issued forth from the gates, the whole summer heavens were glowing with the light of their bivouac fires, while a burning village near by threw a still more baleful light over the scene. Spurring his panting steed through the gloom, he at midnight burst in a fierce gallop into the squares of the Old Guard, and was immediately ushered into the presence of the anxious Emperor The report confirmed his worst fears. At dayligh. the weary soldiers were aroused from their repose, and 10* 174 APPEAEANCB OF THE AEMIEB. though they had marched a hundred and twentj miles in four days, pressed cheerfully forward; foi already the distant sound of heavy cannonading was borne by on the morning breeze. At eight in the mora- ing, Napoleon and the advanced guard, reached an elevation that overlooked the whole plain in wliich the city lay embosomed ; and lo, what a sublime yel terrific sight met their gaze. The whole valley was filled with marching columns, preparing for an as- Bault ; while the beams of the morning sun were sent back from countless helmets and bayonets that moved and shook in their light. Here and there columns of smoke told where the batteries were firing, while the heavy cannonading rolled, like thunder ovw the hills. There, too was the French army, twenty thousand strong, packed behind the redoubts, yet appearing like a single regiment in the midst of tlie host that enveloped them. Courier after courier, riding as for life, kept dashing into the presence of the Emperor, bidding him make haste if he would save the city. A few hours would settle its fate. Napoleon, leaving his guards to follow on, drove away in a furious gallop, while a cloud of dust along the road, alone told where his carriage was whirled onward. A3 he approached the gates, the Russian batteries swept the road with such a deadly fire, that he was compelled to leave his carriage and crawl along on his hands and knees over the ground, while the cannon balls whistled in an incessant shower above him. Suddenly and unannounced, as if he had fallen from the clc^uds, he appeared at the Royal Palace, where the King of Saxony was deliberating on the terms of capitulation. Waiting for no rest, he took 8 MARSHAL 8T, CTE. 17.* isingle page so as not to attract the enemy's fire, an*! went forth to visit the outer works. So near had the enemy approached, that the youth by his side was struck down by a spent musket balJ. Having finish- ed his inspection, and settled his plans, he returned to the Palace, and hurried o£F couriers, to the different portions of the army, that were advancing by forced marches towards the city. First, the indomitable guards and the brave cuirassiers, eager for the onset, came pouring in furious haste over the bridge. The over-joyed inhabitants stood by the streets, and offered them food and drink ; but though weary, hungiy and thirty, the brave fellows refused to take either, and hurried onward towards the storm that was ready to burst on their companions. At ten o'clock, the troops commenced entering the city — ^infantry, cavalry and artillery pouring forward with impetuous speed — ^till there appeared to be no end to the rushing thousands. Thus without cessation, did the steady columns arrive all day long, and were still hurrying in, when at four o'clock, the attack commenced. The batteries, that covered the heights around the city, opened their ter- rible fire, and in a moment Dresden became the tar- get of three hundred cannon, all trained upon her devoted buildings. Then commenced one of war's wildest scenes. St. Oyr replied with his artillery, and thunder answered thunder, as if the hot August afternoon, was ending in a real storm of heaven. Balls fell in an incessant shower in the city, while the blazing bombs traversing the sky, hung for a m tiliery and ammunition wagons through the streets, — and in the intervals, the steady tramp, tramp of the marching columns, still hastening in to the work oi death — while over all, as if to drown all ; like succes Bive thunder claps where the lightning falls nearest, spoke the fierce batteries that were exploding on each other. But the confusion and death, and terror thai reigned through the city, as the burning buildings shot their flames heavenward, were not yet complete. The inhabitants had fled to theu' cellars, to escape the balls and shells that came crashing every mo- ment through their dwellings ; and amid the hurry and bustle of the arriving armies, and their hasty tread along the streets, and the roll of drums, and rattling of armour and clangour of trumpets, and thunder of ar- tillery, the signal was given for the assault — three camr non shots from the heights of Baechmtz. The next moment, six massive columns with fifty cannon at their head, began to move down the slopes — ^pressing straight for the city. The muffled sound of their heavy meas- ured tread, was heard within the walls, as in dead silence and awful majesty they moved steadily forward upon the batteries. It was a sight to strike terror into the heart of the boldest, but St. Cyr marked their advance with the calnmess of a fearless soul, and firmly awaited the onset that even Napoleon trembled to behold. No sooner did they come within the range of aiidllery than the ominous silence was broken by its deafening roar. In a moment, the heights about the city were in a blaze ; the fifty cannon at the head of those columns belched forth fire and smoke ; and amid the charging infantry, the bursting of shells, the rolling fire of mus MAKBHALST. CTE. • 177 ket"y, aad the explosion of hundreds of cannon, St Cyr received the shock. For two hours the battle raged with sanguinary ferocity. The plain was cov- ered with dead — ^the suburbs were overwhelmed with assailants, and ready to yield every moment — the ene- my's batteries were playing within fifteen rods of the 'amparts — the axes of the pioneers were heard on the gates ; and shouts, and yells, and execrations rose over the walls of the city. The last of St. Cyr's reserve were in the battle, and had been for half an hour, and If apoleon began to tremble for his army. But at haU past six, in the hottest of the fight, the Young Guard ai-rived, shouting as they came, and were received in return with shouts by the army, that for a moment drowned the roar of battle. Then Napoleon's brow cleared up, and St. Cyr, for the first time, drew a sigh jf relief. The gates were thrown open, and the impetuous N^ey, with the invincible Guard, poured through one ike a resistless torrent on the foe, followed soon after oy Murat, with hid headlong cavalry. Mortier sallied forth from another; and the Young Guard, though weary and travel-worn, burst with loud cheers on the chief redoubt — which, after flowing in blood, had been wrested from the French — and swept it like a tor- nado. Those six massive columns, thinned and riddled through recoiled before this fierce onset, and slowly surged back, like a receding tide ; from the walls. In the meantime, dark and heavy clouda oegan to roll up the scorching heavens, and the dis- tant roll of thunder mingled with the roar of artil- lery. Men had turned, this hot August afternoon into a battle-storm, and now the elements were to 178 THE TWO ARMIES AT NIOBT. end it with a fight of their own. In the midsl o: the deepening gloom, the allies, now for the first time aware that the Emperor was in the city, drew oflF theii troops for the night. The rain came down as if the olouds were falling, drenching the living and the dead armies ; yet Napoleon, heedless of the storm, and knowing what great results rested upon the next day's action, was seen hurrying on foot through the streets to the t ridge, over which he expected the corps of Marmont and Victor, to arrive. With anxious heart he stood and listened, till the heavy tread of their ad- vancing columns through the darkness, relieved his suspense ; and then, as they began to pour over the bridge, he hastened back, and traversing the city, passed out at the other side, and visited the entire lines that were now formed without the walls. The bivouac fires shed a lurid light over the field, and he came at every step upon heaps of corpses, while groans and lamentations issued from the gloom in every direction ; for thousands of wounded, uncovered and unburied, lay exposed to the storm, dragging out the weary night in pain. Early in the morning. Napoleon was on horseback, and rode out to the army. Taking his place beside a huge fire that was blazing and crackling in the centre of the squares of the Old Guard, he issued his orders for the day. Vic- tor was on the right ; the resistless Ney on the left, over the Young Guard, while St. Cyr and Marmont were in the centre, which Napoleon commanded in person. The rain still fell in torrents, and the thick mist shronded the field as if to shut out the ghastly specta- cle its bosom exhibited. The cannonading soon com- menced, but with little effect, as the mist concealed MAE8HAL ST. OYB. 179 the armies from each other. A hundrefl and sixty thousand of the allies, stretched in a huge semicircle along the heights, while Napoleon, with a hundi-ed and thirty thousand in the plain below, was waiting the favourable moment in which to commence the attack. At length the battle opened on the right, where a fierce firing was heard as Victor pressed firm- ly against an Austrian battery. Suddenly, Napoleon heard a shock like a falling mountain. While Victor was engaging the enemy in front, Murat, unperceived in the thick mist, had stolen around to the rear, and without a note of warning, burst with twelve thou- sand cavalry on the enemy. He rode straight through their broken lines, trampling under foot the dead and dying, Ney was equally successful on the left, and as the mist lifted, it showed the allied wings both driven back. The day wore away in blood — ■ carts, loaded with the wounded, moved in a constant stream into the city ; but the French vere victorioufl at all points ; and when night again closed over the scene, the allied armies had decided to retreat. It was in this battle Moreau fell. He had jnst returned from the United States, at the urgent eolici- tation of the Emperor Alexander, to take up arms against his country. This was his first battle, and Napoleon killed him. About noon, on the last day of the fight, he noticed a group of persons on an eminence, half a mile dis- tant. Supposing they were watching his manoeuvres, he called a Captain of Artillery, who commanded a battery of eighteen or twenty pieces, and poinjing to them said ; " Throw a dozen huUets into thcU froup^ at one fire, perhaps there are some Utile flenerali m Uy He obeyed, and it was immediately seen *'•■ be 180 DEATH OF MOBEAO. agitated. One of the balls had struck Moreau's leg just below the knee, and cutting it off, passed through Ms horse, carrying away the other leg also. The next day, a peasant picked up one of the boots, with the leg in, which the surgeon had left on the field, and brought it to the King of Saxony, saying it be- longed to a superior officer. The boot, on exami- nation, was found to be neither of English or French manufacture, and they were still in doubt. The same day, the advance guards, while in pursuit of the enemy, came upon a little spaniel that was roaming ever the field, moaning piteously for its master. Around its neck was a collar, on which was written, ^^ Ihdong to General Morecm." Both legs of the unfortunate General had to be am- putated, wich he bore with stoical firmness, calmly smoking a cigar during the painful operation. It ia a little singular, that by this same battery and same captain, another French traitor who occupied a high rank in the Eussian army, General St. Priest, was afterwards killed under similar circumstances. Na- poleon gave the order in that case as in this. The death of Moreau cast a gloom over the kingly group that assembled to hold a council of war, and on the 28th, the morning after the battle, the allied army was in full retreat, and the blood-stained field was left in the hands of the French. But what a field it was I For two days a thousand cannon had swept it, and three hundred thousand men had struggled upon it in the midst of their fire. The grassy plain was trodden into mire, on which nearly twenty thousand men, mangled, torn, and bleeding, had been strewn. Many had been carried into the city during the night ; but some stark an MARSHAL ST. CTB. 183 stiff in death — some reclining on their elbows, pale and ghastly, aud calling for help ; others ■writhing ii; mortal agony amid heaps of the slain, still covered the ground. Others which had been hastily buried the day before, lay in their half covered graves — ^hei* a leg and there an ai"m, sticking out of the ground, while to crown the horror of the scene, multitudes of women were seen roaming the field, not to bind up the wounded, but to plunder the dead. They went from heap to heap of the slain, turning over the Tnangled bodies and stripping them of their clothing ; and loaded down with their booty, gathered it in piles beside the corpses. Unmolested in their work, they made the shuddering field still more ghastly by aitrewing it with half-naked forms. White arms and bodies stretched across each other, or dragged away from the heaps they had helped to swell, made the heart of even Napoleon turn faint as he rode over the scene of slaughter. Oh, what a comment on war, and what a cure for ambition and the love of glory was this field ! The terrified and horror-stricken inhabi- tants came out from the cellars of their burnt dwell- ings and strove to relieve this woe by burying the dead and succouring the wounded. After the disasters that soon befell other portions oi the French army under Vandamme, Macdonald, and Oudinot ; St. Oyr was ordered back to Dresden, with thirty thousand men, under the expectation of soon eTacuating it again after he had destroyed the fortifi cations around it : but Napoleon, changing his plan, sent him word to keep it to the last extremity. The disastrous battle of Leipsic rendered his situation desperate, for it shut him off from all reinforcements. Previously the allies had placed twenty thousand me» 1S2 DISTBK88 OF THE AKMT. before the city to observe it. Against these, St. Cyr ad vanced, and routed them, and thus opened the countrj about to the foragers. But when Leipsic fell the allies again directed their attention to the place, and St. Cyi Baw their victorious armies once more hem him in. InsuflBcient supplies had already weakened his men, BO that he had the mere shadow of an army, while the multitudes of the sick and wounded added to the burdens that oppressed him. The maimed and wounded which he had been ordered to send by boats to Torgau, could not be got off. Only three thousand were sent, thotigh multitudes, hearing they were to leave their fetid hospitals, crawled out to the banks of the river, and when they found all the boats were filled and they were to be left behind, refused to return to the city and lay down in rows along the shore. Wasted with sickness and wounds, these ranks of spectres lay all night in the cold to be ready for the next boat that should appear. In the meantime the famine and suffering increased in the city. St. Cyr could not hear a word from Napoleon, and was left without orders, to save his army as he could. But the soldiers were depressed and spiritless — ^the German auxiliaries deserted him, and the ammunition be- coming exhausted, he was driven to desperation. In this hopeless condition he resolved to sally forth and cut his way through the fifty thousand that environed him, and joining the garrison at Torgau and Witten- berg, fight his way back to the Ehine. Carrying out this bold determination, he sallied forth with Lis fifteen thousand men. Vain and last effort 1 His weary, half-famished soldiers staggered back from the shock, and were compelled to flee into the city All hope was gone. The bread-shops were closed MARSHAL 81. OTj{. 183 and the mills silent, though the miserable crowds pressed around them, threatening and beseeching by turns. Famine stalked through the streets, foUo-wed by pestilence, and woe, and death. The meat was exhausted, and the starving soldiers fell on their horees, and devoured them. Thirty were slain every day ; and at length, around the putrid carcasses in tha streets, poor wretches were seen quarreling for the loathsome food, — even the tendons wei'e chewed to as suage the pangs of hunger. Two hundred bodies were carried every day from the hospitals to the church-yard, where they accumulated so fast that none wore found to bury them ; and they were " laid naked in ghastly rows along the place of sepulture." The dead tumbled from the overloaded carts — and over the corpses that thus strewed the streets, the wheels passed, crushing the bones with a sound that made even the drivers shudder. Some were hurried away before they were dead, and shrieked out as they fell on the hard pavement. Multitudes were thrown into the river, some of whom, revived by the cold water, were seen flinging about their arms and legs in a vain struggle for life. Silent terror, and faintness, and despair, filled every heart. Amid this accumulation of woe, St. Cyr moved with his wonted calmnesSj though the paleness on his cheek told how this suf- fering around him wrung his heart. He endured and suffered all as became his brave spirit ; and then find- ing tliere was no hope, (for he no longer had men that could fight,) he consented to capitulate. He of- fered to surrender the city on condition he should be allowed to return with his soldiers to France, not to fight again till regularly exchanged. The terms were agreed to, and he marched out of the city ; but so X84 CAPITULATION OF THE CITT. wan and worn were the soldiers, that he himself said, that probably not more than one-fourth would ever reach the Rhino. He was spared the trial of conducting this ghost of an army back to Franca The allies, with the faithlessness of barbarians, had no sooner got him in their power, than they marched him and his army into Bohemia as prisoners of war. Had Napoleon perjured himself in this manner, the world would have rung with the villanous deed. The brave St. Cyr firmly protested against this violation of the laws of civilized nations, and hurled scorn and contempt on the sovereigns who thus stamped themselves with in- famy in the sight of the world, threatening them with future vengeance for the deed. It was all in vain, for he had fallen into the hands of victors who were moved neither by sentiments of honour nor sympathy for the brave. The course of St. Cyr, on the abdication of Napoleon, and his return and final overthrow, has been already spoken of. He died in March, 1830, and sleeps in the cemetery of P^re-la-Chaise. A noble monument crowns his grave, and he rests in peace amid the heroes by whose side he fought. St. Cyr was a humane man, and abstained from those excesses which stained the reputation of so many of the military leaders of his time. He was possessed of great talents, and deserved all the honours he received His " Journal des Operations de I'Arm^e de Catalogue en 1808-9, sur le commandment du General Gouvion St. Oyr," is an able work, though tinged with acrimony against Napoleon whiah is as unjust as his conduct was foolish. n r,\ r:<\ r-r \i= 'c ',-, /-,\ li } !l\J Lti. ^1' dm -'^ v*^»— — — VL MAESHAL LANNES. Mooiple on which Napoleon chose his ofScers — ^Passage cf Lodi— Battll of Montebello — ^Battle of Marengo— Siege of Saragossa— Btittla ct Aq)ern, and Death of Lannes. IJoNAPABTE always chose his Marshals on the eclec- tic principle. Wherever he found one great quality, he laid it under contribution. The great error, even •with sensible men is, they bring every one to a single standard and judge him by a single rule. Forgetting the variety everywhere visible in nature, and that the beauty and harmony of the whole depend on the dif- ference of each part, they wish to find in every man that proportion and balance of all his qualities which would make him perfect. Disappointed in this, they seek the nearest approximation to it; and hence pre- fer an ordinary intellect, if well balanced, to a great one, if great only in some particular direction. For- getting that such a character is unbalanced, only be- cause it has at least one striking quality, they reject its aid, or content themselves with more prudent, me- diocre minds. This may do for a merchant, but not for a government or military leader. The collection of twenty thousand common minds furnishes no ad- ditional strength, while the union of one-twentieth ol that number, each of which possesses force in only one direction, gives immense power. It is true, ort 186 HIB BAELT LIFE. well balanced intellect is needed to control these coa flicting energies, and force them to act in harmony on one great plan, or they will only waste themselves on each other. Bonaparte was such a controlling mind, and he cared not how one-sided the spirits were he gathered about him, if they only had force : he was after j>awer, acting in whatever direction. A combi- nation of men, each of whom ceroid do one thing well, must do all things well. Acting on this principle, he never allowed a man of any striking quality to escape him. Whether it was the cool and intrepid Ney, op the chivalric Murat — ^the rock-fast Macdonald, or the tempestuous Junot — ^the bold and careful Soult, or the impetuous Lannes, it mattered not. He needed them all, and he thus concentrated around him the greatest elements of strength that man can wield. It is fear- ful to see the spirits Napoleon moulded into his plans, and the combined energy he let loose on the armies of Europe. Knowing the moral power of great and striking qualities, he would have no leader without them. In this he showed his consummate knowledge of human nature, especially of Frenchmen. Enthu- fiiasm, and the reliance on one they never trusted in vain in battle, will carry an army farther than the beverest discipline. A company of conscripts would follow Ney as far as a body of veterans a common leader. So would a column charge with Lannes at their head, when with a less daring and resolute man they would break and fly. Moral power is as great as physical, even where every thing depends upon hard blows. Mind and will give to the body all its force — so do they also to an army. The truth of this was witnessed and proved in our struggle with the parent country MABSHAL LANNKS. 181 Jeau Lannes was boru in Lectoure, a smail town 111 Normandy, in April, 1769. His father ■was a humble mechanic, and designing his son for a simi- lar occupation, he bound him out, at an early age, as an apprentice. In ordinary times young Lannea would probably have remained in the humble station in which his birth had placed him, and become in time, perhaps, a passable shoemaker or carpenter. But the call which the Eevolution sent forth for the military talent of France, could not be resisted, and young Lannes ran away from his master, and enlisted as a common soldier in the army. Soon after, he was sent with the army that operated on the Pyre- nean frontier. Here he soon exhibited the two striking traits of his character — traits which emi- nently fitted him for the scenes in which his life was to pass — viz., reckless daring and unconquerable reso- lution. These qualities shining out in the heat of battle and in the most desperate straits, soon won for him the regard of his officers, and he was made chief of brigade. In this rank he fought under Lefebvre, but soon after, for some cause known only to the Con- tention, which yet scarcely knew the cause of any- thing it did, he was deprived of his commission, and returned to Paris. Amid the conflicting elements that surrounded the young soldier in the French cajjilal, he soon found work to do. An ardent repub- licai;, his bold politics and bolder manner could not long escape the notice of government, and he was sent to the army in Italy. As chief of a battalion at Milesimo, he conducted himself so gallantly, and fought with such desperate impetuosity, that he arrested Napoleon's attention in the hottest of the engagement, and he made Lira Colonel on the spot 188 BBIDOB OF LODI. Crossing the Po, soon after, under the enemy's fire, he was the first to reach the opposite bank ; and finally crowned his brilliant exploits at Lodi, where he was made general of brigade, and soon after ol division. After the successive victories of Montenotte, Mile- simo and Dego, Napoleon resolved to push on to Milan. In his progress he was forced to cross the Adda, at Lodi. Twelve thousand Austrian infantry, and four thousand cavalry, with a battery of thirty cannon, stood at the farther extremity of the bridge he was to cross, to dispute its passage. On the first of May, he arrived at Lodi with his army. The Austrian cannon and musketry began immediately to play on the bridge, so that it seemed impossible to reconnoitre the ground. But Napoleon, sheltering his men behind the houses of the town, sallied out into the midst of the deadly storm, and immediately ar- ranged his plan. Forming a column of seven thou- sand picked men, he placed himself at their head and rushed on the bridge ; but the cannon balls and grape- shot and the bullets of the infantry swept every inch of the narrow defile, and rattled like an incessant shower of hail-stones against its stony sides. So incessant and furious was the discharge, that a cloud of smoke lay like a dense fog round it — ^yet into its very bosom moved the intrepid column. The sudden volley that smote their breasts made those bold men reel and stag' ger back. For a moment the column wavered and bal" anced on the pass — ^for a thousand had already fallen, and it was marching straight into a volcano of fii-e i but the next moment, seeing themselves supported by the tiralleura that were fording the stream benealJj the arches, the soldjera shouted, " Vwe la Hepub MARSHAL LANNES. 18G liguef aud, receiving the storm of cannon-balls and grape-shot on their unshrinking bosoms, rushed for ward and bayoneted the artillery-men at their guns. Lannes was the ^st mam, aoross, amd Bona/parte the gecoTid. Spurring his excited steed on the Austrian ranks, he snatched a banner from the enemy, and just as he was about to seize another, his horse sunk under him. In a moment the swords of half a dozen cuiras- siers glittered above him, and his destruction seemed inevitable. But extricating himself with incredible exertion from his dying steed, he arose amid the sabre strokes that fell like lightning around him ; and leaping on the horse of an Austrian oflBcer behind him, slew him with a single stroke, and hurling him, from his saddle, seated himself in his place, and *hen, wheeling on the enemy, charged the cuirassiers like a thunderbolt, and fought his way through them single-handed, back to his followers. It is said that Napoleon never forgot the bearing of Lannes on that occasion. The fury of a demon seemed to possess him, and the strength of ten men appeared to be concentrated in his single arm. No wonder Bonaparte promoted him on the spot. His own daring was reckless enough, but Lannes' was still more so, and it seems almost a miracle that he escaped death. Napoleon, whom his soldiers here, for the first time, gave the title of " the little coi-poral," in honour of hia courage, was, ever after, accustomed to speak of this (sanguinary stmggle as "the terrible passage of the bridge of Lodi." It was by such acts of heroic valour that Lannes acquired the sobriquet in the army of "Orlando" and "Ajax." A few months after, he exliibited the same fearlessness of character and head- long courage, at the passage of the bridge of Areola 11* 190 HIS CHAEACTEE. During all this bloody struggle, Laimes never left Bonaparte ; but advancing when he advanced, charg ing like fire by his side, and covering his person with his own body from the bullets that mowed everything down around them — ^he received three wounds, which well nigh relieved him of his life. He was suffer- ing from a wound when he entered the battle, but it did not prevent him from doing deeds of incredible dar- ing. Nothing shows the personal exposure and personal daring of the generals, who, one after another, rose to \e marahals and dukes, more than the frequency with ;(rhich they were wounded in their earlier career. Here, after three pitched battles, Mm-at, Ney, Macdon- aid, Berthier, and Lannes, were all wounded. One cannot follow him through all his after career, 'but must select out those particulars in which he exhib- ited his most striking qualities. Lannes was frank, even to bluntness, and so impatient of restraint that he some- times became insubordinate, but was always brave, and firm as a rock in the hour of battle. Indeed, his very impatience of control, and frequent outbursts of passion, when crossed in his purpose, made him rise in excitement and increase in daring, the greater the obstacles that opposed him. Always heading his columns in the desperate onset, and exposing his person where death reaped down the brave fastest, he so fastened himself in the affectiona of hia soldiers, that they would follow him into any extremity. By the openness of his character and biilliancy of his exploits, he fixed himself deeply also in the heart of Napoleon, who always wished him by his side, and leaned on him in battle as he d.d on Ney. But the impetuosity of his character demanded constant action, and he grew :"rritable and unmanly MABBHAL LANNEB. 191 when compelled to suffer without resistance. He could encounter any obstacle against which he was allowed to dash, and would enter any danger where he could swing the arm of defiance ; but he had none of the martyr-spirit in him. Pinion him, and he would become frantic under suffering. He needed self-control and the discipline of calm and collected thought. Trained in the camp, and educated in the roar of battle, he was all action and excitement. Yet his excitement made him steady. In the midst of falling thousands and the shock of armies, his mind worked with singular clearness and power. It needed the roar of cannon and the tumult of a battle-field, to balance the inward excitement which drove him on. Hence, in his earlier career, he could not be trusted alone with an army, and Bonaparte knew it. But he leai-ned the duties of a great leader fast, and Na- poleon says himself of him, " I found him a dwarf, [ lost him a giant." In the campaign of Egypt, he appears the same great General, and fought at Aboukir and Acre as he had done before at Lodi and Areola. At Acre, he nearly lost his Ufe, and was carried from the field of battle severely wounded. But in the march from Alexandria to Cairo, across the desert, he exhibited that impatience and irritability before mentioned. In the midst of a boundless plain of sand, without water, parched by the sun, and surrounded by troops of Bedouins; the army gave way to despair, and Murat and Lannes among the rest. Wherever there was a battery to be stormed, or an army of eighty thousand men to be annihilated, none spurred more joyously into the battle than they. But to bear up against the solitude and silence of the desert — ^againsl 192 HIB BKHATIOCE IN EGYPT. hunger and thirst, and a burning sun — foes that coidd not be routed or even assailed, required more self- control than either possessed. They became dispirited and desperate, and dashed their plumed hats to the ground and trampled them in the sand ; and it is said, even conspired to return to Alexandria with the army^ Ney and Macdonald never would have acted thus. Selected by Bonaparte, as one of the eight officers to return with him to France, he played an important part in that conspiracy by which the government of France was overthrown, and the commander-in-chief of the army became the First Consul of the Empire. Bonaparte, having resolved to overthrow the imbe- cile Directory, and take the power into his own hands, assembled around him the most determined spirits the army could furnish. On the morning that he mounted his steed and rode towards the Tuileries — ^resolved to stake everything on one bold move, and pass the power of France into his own hands — seven men, as yet only partially known to fame, were assembled in the palace, sworn to his interests, and bound to his destiny. Those seven names afterward made Europe tremble. They were Moreau, Murat, Marmont, Mac- donald, Berthier, Lefebvre, and Lannes. Only one was wanting — the intrepid Ney. Napoleon felt the loss of him, and when about to present himself before the bar of the Ancients, said, " I would give, at tkk rAoment, two hvnd/red vfiilUons to home Ney ly my side." Being employed a while in France, Lannes after- wards joined the army destined to Italy, and shared largely in the glory of that brilliant campaign. He accompanied Napoleon over the St. Bernard; or ra ther, he went over five days before him. The van guard, composed of six regiments, was placed undei UAB6HALLANNES. 193 his command, and he set out at midnight for the top of the pass. While Bonaparte was still at Martignyj Launes was rushing d^wn into Italy, and had already opened his musketry on the Austrians. When the whole army was stopped by the fort of Bard, he was 3till sent on with the advance guard by another patli t/ take possession of the valley of Ivrea. BATTLK OF MONTEBELLO. But one of the most remarkable actions of his life illustrating best the iron will and unsurpassed bravery of the man, was his battle with the Austrians at Mon- tebello, which gave him the title of Duke. Still lead- ing the vanguard he had carried over the St. Bernard, he came upon the Po, and upon nearly eighteen thou- sand Austrians, admirably posted, with their right wing resting on the Apennines, and their left reaching olf into the plain ; while the whole field was swept by batteries that lined the hill-sides. When he beheld this strong array, and discovered their position, he saw at once that he must retreat, or fight with no hope, except to maintain his ground till Victor, five or six miles in the rear, could come up. Independent of the superior position of the Austrians, they had between seventeen and eighteen thousand, while Lannes could muster only about eight thousand men, or less than half the number of his enemy. But his rear rested on tJie Po, and fearing the effect of a retreat in such a disastrous position, he immediately resolved to hazard an attack. The cheerfulness with which his soldiers advanced to this unequal combat shows the wonder fnl power he wielded over them. They were not only ready to march on the enemy, but advanced to the charge with she uts of entliusiasm. There ""tn scarce- 194 BATTLE OF MONTEBELLO. ly be a more striking inbtance of valour thaa the be haviour of Lannes on this occasion. There waa no concealment of the danger — ^no chance of sudden sur prise — and no waiting the effect of some other move ment on which his own would depend. It was to be downright hard fighting, and he knew it ; fighting, too, against hopeless odds for the first few hours, "But all the heroic in him was aroused, aud his chivalric bear- ing before his army inspired them with the highest ardour. Especially after the battle was fairly set, and it was necessary to make one man equal to three, he seemed endowed with the spirit of ten men. He was everywhere present, now heading a column in a charge — ^now rallying a shattered division — and now fight- ing desperately, hand to hand, with the enemy. With- out waiting the attack of the Austrians, he formed his troops en echelon, and advanced to the charge. Two battalions marched straight on the murderous artil- lery, which, stationed in the road, swept it as the cannon did the bridge of Lodi^ The third battalion endeavored to carry the heights, while "Watrin, with the remainder, marched full on the centre. The battle at once became terrific. Before the furious onset of the French, the Austrians were driven back, and seemed about to break and fiy, when a reserve of the Imperialists came up, and six fresh regiments were hurled on their exhausted ranks. The heights of Ho- vetta had been carried, but the fresh onset was too heavy for the victorious troops, and they were driven in confusion down the hill. The centre staggered back before the superior numbers and the heavy fir« of the artillery ; but still Lannes rallied them to an- other and another effort. Under one of the most de- structiTe fires to which a division was perhaps ba'ct .MARSHAL LANHES. 191 exposed, he supported his men by almost superhiimau efforts. Standing himself where the shot ploughed vjp the ground in furrows about him, he not only coolly surveyed the danger, but by his commands and pre- sence held his men for a long time in the very face of death. But it was impossible for any column, unless all composed of such men as Lannes, long to with- stand such a fire ; and they were on the point of turn- ing and fleeing, when one of the divisions of Victor's corps arrived on the field and rushed with a shout into the combat. This restored for a time the fight. The Austrians were again repulsed, when, bringing up a fresh reserve, they forced the French a second time to retire. Now advancing and now retreating, the two armies wavered to and fro, like mist when it first meets the rising blast. As division after division of Victor's corps came up, the French rallied ; till at length, when they had all arrived, and the two armies stood twelve to eithteen thousand — ^the whole French force and the whole Austrian reserve in the field — ^the combat became dreadful. Though pressed by such sxiperior numbers, and wasted by such commanding and hotly-worked batteries, Lannes refused to yield one inch of the san- guinary field. It is said that his appearance in this battle was absolutely terrific. Besmeared with powder and blood and smoke, he rode from division to division, inspiring courage and daring in the exhausted ranks — rallying again and again the wasted columns to the charge, and holding them by his personal heroism and reckless exposure of his life, hour after hour, to the murderous fire. General Eivaud, battling for the heights, and the brave Watrin, charging like fire on the centre — cheered at every repulse by tlie calm, stern voice of Laimes — ^fought as Frenchmen had not 196 THE FIELD OF BATTLE. fought before during the war. The moral powai which one man may w'eld, was never more viaJbla than on this occasion. Lannes stood the rock of tlia' battle-field, around which his men clung with a te nacity that nothing could shake. Had he fallen, ii five minutes that battle would have been a rout. On his life hung victory, and yet it seemed not wortli a hope, in the steady fire through which he constantly galloped. From eleven in the mornng till eight at night, for nine long hours, did he press with an army first of six, then of twelve thousand, on one of eigh teen thousand, without intermission or relief. It waa one succession of onsets and repulses, till darkness began to gather over the scene. One fourth of hia armj' had sunk on the field where they fought. At length Eivaud, having carried the heights, came down like an avalanche on the centre, while Watrin led his intrepid column for the last time on the artillery. Both were carried, and the Austrians were compelled to retreat. Bonaparte arrived just in time to see the battle won.* He rode up to Lannes, surrounded by the remnants of his guard, and found him soiled with blood — ^his sword dripping in his exhausted hand — his face blackened with powder and smoke — and his uniform looking more as if it had been dragged under the wheels of the artillery during the day, than worn by a living man. But a smile of exultation passed over his features, as he saw his commander gazing with pride and affection upon him ; while the soldiers, weary and exhausted as they were, could not restrain their joy at the victory they had won. * AliflOD, with Ilia acc>istonie(l cnrrectaess, sftys, "At length the arrival of Nnpoleou frith the division of Gardanne, decidjd the victor;.' Thia reminds ua of h/ Aooouol iif tlje taking of the Presideut by the £nclyiaion. MAB8HAL LANNKS, 197 Such was the terrible battle of Monlebello ; and Lannes, in speaMng of it aftei'wards, said in referring to the deadly fire of the artillery, before which he held his men with such unflinching firmness, " / coulii hear the bones crash in my dimsion, Wee hail-sUmei against the vnndowsy* A more terrific descripticn of the effect of cannon-shot on a close column of men, could not be given. I have known of single-handed sea-fights of frigate with frigate, where the firing was so close and hot that the combatants could hear the splitting of the timbers in the enemy's ship at every broadside, but never before heard of a battle where the bones could be heard breaking in the human body, as cannon balls smote through them. Yet no one wonld ever have thought of that expression, had it not been suggested to him by what he actually heard. At all events, Lannes never fought a more des- perate battle than this, and as evidence that Napoleon took the same view of it, he gave him the title of Duke of Montebello, which his family bear with just pride to this day. BATTLE OF MAKENGO. Bonaparte did not forget the great qualities of a commander he exhibited on this occasion, and ever afterwards placed him in the post of danger. In the battle of Marengo, which took place a few days after, he performed prodigies of valour. Wandering over this renowned battle-field, Lannes was recalled to my mind at almost every step. The river Bormida crosses the plain between the little hamlet of Marengo, • As BoD&parte whk riding over the field of Inttle aftertrarda, vitli I«iuieB, and saw the hops of the dead on every ride, he shrugged his shoulders, saying, " An diable, Ibb has been rather a serious aSair." "Yes," replied liimies, "I could heartht bonaa erash in my dlTlsion, likv hail-stones agtiinst windowu.^' 198 BATTLE OF UARBNOO. of some balf a dozen houses, and Alessandria, wliere crosses the plain between the little hamlet of Marengo, the Aiistrians lay encamped. Coming out from the city in the morning, and crossing the Bormida under a severe fire of the French, they deployed into the open field, and marched straight on Victor, posted just before Marengo. He had stationed himself be hind a deep and muddy stream — ^resembling, indeed, in its banks and channel, a narrow canal rather than a rivulet — ^and sustained the shock of the enemy with veteran firmness, for two hours ; but overpowered by superior numbers he was fast losing his strength, when Lannes came up and restored the combat. There, divided only by this narrow ditch — across which the front ranks could ahnost touch bayonets- did the tiralleurs stand for two hours, and fire into each other's bosoms, while the cannon, brought to within pistol shot, opened horrible gaps in the dense ranks at every discharge, which were immediately filled with fresh victims. It did not seem possible, as I stood beside this narrow stream, over which I could almost leap, that two armies had stood and fired into each other's faces, hour after hour, across it But I do not design to go into the particulars of this battle. Austrian numbers, and the two hundred Austrian cannon, were too much for Victor and Lan- aes both together. The little stream of Fontanono was carried, and these two heroes were compelled to fall back on the second line. This, after a desperate resistance, was also forced back. Victor's corps, ex- hausted by four hours' fighting, finally gave way, and broke and fled towards Lannes' division, which alone was left to stay the revei-sed tide of battle. Seeing that all now rested on him, he put forth one •it those prodigious efforts, for which he was remark' MABBHAL LAKKEB. 199 aole iu the hcur of extreme danger. Forming hia men into squares, he began slowly to retreat. Th« Austrian ai-my moved en masse upon him, while eighty pieces of cannon sent an incessant shower ol roimd and grape shot through his donse ranks, mow- uig them down at every discharge like grass. Still he held the brave squares firm. Against the charga of cavalry, the onset of infantry, and the thunder ol eighty cannon, he opposed the same adamantine front. When pressed too hard by the infantry, he would stop and charge bayonet — ^then commence again his slow and heroic retreat. Thus he fought for two hours — ^retreating only two miles in the whole time — ^leaving entire ranks of men on almost every foot of ground he traversed. But between the steady onset of the Hungarian infantry, which halted every ten rods and poured a deadly volley on his steady squares, and the headlong charge of the Im- perial cavalry, sweeping in a fierce gallop aroimd them, and the awful havoc of those eighty cannon, incessantly playing on the retreating masses — the trial became too great for human endurance. Square after square broke and fled, and the field was cov- ered with fugitives crying, " Tmit est perdu, sanive qtd peut." Still Lannes, unconquered to the last, kept those immediately about him unshaken amid the storm and devastation. Scorning to fly, unable to stand, he allowed his men to melt away before the destructive fire of the enemy; while the blowing up of his own caissons, which he could not bring away, added tenfold terror to the thunder of cannon that ahook the field. He, and the Consular Guard also iu square, moved like "living citadels" over the plain^ jjpd furnished a wall of iron, behind which Bonapart« 200 ARRIVAL OB DESAIX. was yet to rally his scattered army, and turn a defeai into a victory. From early in the morning till three o'clock in tht afternoon, the battle had raged with ceaseless fury when the head of Desaix's colnmn, with bannctf flying and trumpets sounding, was seen advancing irith rapid step over the plain. Immediately at the commencement of the battle, Bonaparte despatched his aids-de-camp with urgent haste for Desaix. £ut as the report of the first cannon fired on Maren- go, rose dull and heavy on the morning air, the hero of Egypt stood and listened ; and as he heard the distant and heavy cannonading, like the roll of far-ofi thunder, come booming over the plain, he suspected the enemy he was after at Novi, was on the plains of Marengo, and despatched Savary in haste to the former place to see. Finding his suspicions true, he immediately put his army in motion^ and was miles on his way, when the dust of fierce riders in the dis- tance told him he was wanted. Sending forward his aids-de-camp on the fleetest horses to announce his approach, he urged his excited army to the top of its speed. At length, as he approached the field, and saw the French army in a broken mass, rolling back, he conld restrain his impatience no longer, and dashing away ft-om the head of his column, spurred his steed ver the plain, and burst in a fierce gallop into the resence of Napoleon. A short council of the generals was immediately held, when most advised a retreat. ""What think yon of it?" said Napoleon to Desaix Pulling out his watch, he replied, " Tlie battle is lost, bat it is only three 3'clock ; there is time to gain an- other." Delighted with an anpwer corresponding sc well with bis own feelings, ho ordered him to advance JHABSBAI. LANNEB. 201 and witli his 6,000 men hold the whole Anstriac force in check, while he rallied the scattered army be- hind him. Hiding among them, he exclaimed, " Sot diers, you have retreated far enough ; you know it is always my custom to sleep on the field of battle." The charge was immediately b eat, and the trumpets sounded along the lines. A masked battery of twelve cannon opened on the advancing column of the Aub- ti-ians, and before they could recover their surprise, Desaix was upon them in a desperate charge. " Go," said he to his aid-de-camp, "tell the First Consul I am charging, and must be supported by the cavalry," A volley of musketry was poured in his advancing column, and Desaix fell pierced through the heart by a bullet. His fall, instead of disheartening his men, inspired them with redoubled fury, and they rushed on to avenge his death. Napoleon, spurring by where the hero lay in death, exclaimed, " It is not permitted me to weep now." No, every thought and feeling was needed to wring victory from that defeat. Thi battle again raged with its wonted fury. But the tide was turned by a sudden charge of Eellerman at the head of his cavalry, which cutting a column oi two thousand men in two, made fearful havoc on the right and left. Soon the whole Austrian army were in fiiU retreat, and being without a commanding offi- cer, broke and fled in wild confusion over the plain. "To the bridge! to the bridge!" rose in terrified shouts, as the turbulent mass rolled back towards the Bormida. Their own cavalry, also in fiill retreat, came thundering through the broken ranks ; and trampling down the fugitives, added to the destnic- tion that alieady desolated the field. All were hur- rying to the bridge, which was soon choked by the :J02 THE VIOTOBT. crowds that simglit a passage ; and horses, and ridum and artillery, and infantry, were rolled together inti the Bormida, that grew purple with tlie slain. Melias, the Austrian general, who at three o'clock, supposing the battle won, had retired to his tent, now rallied the remnants of his few hours before victorious, but now overthrown army, on the further shores of the river. Twelve thousand had disappeared from his ranks since the morning sun shone upon them, flushed with hope and confidant of victory. The combat had lasted for twelve hours, and now the sun went down on the field of blood. Over the heaps of the slain, and across the trampled field, Savary, the aid-de-camp and friend of Desaix, was seen wandering in search of the fallen chief. He soon discovered him by his long and flowing hair, (he had already been stripped naked by those after the spoils,) and carefully covering his body with the mantle of a hnssar, had him brought to the head-quarters of the army. Desaix saved Bona- parte from a ruinous defeat at Marengo, and saved him, too, by not waiting for orders, but moving immediately towards where the cannonading told him the fate of the army and Italy was sealing. Had Grouchy acted thus, or had Desaix been in his place at Waterloo, the fate of that battle and the world would have been different. Lannes wrought wonders on this day, and was so lected by Napoleon, in consideration of his service, to present to government the colours taken from the enemy. This calls to mind a scene which took place in Paris jtiat before Bonaparte set out on this expedi- tion. The news of Washington's death had just 'jeen received, and Bonaparte thus announced it to his arn y : " Washington is dead ! That great man fought UABSHAL lANNES. 20S a«:ainst tyranny; he consummated the independence of his country. His memory will be ever dear to the French people, as to all freemen of both worlds, and most of all to French soldiers, who, like him and the soldiers of America, are fighting for equality and free- dom." Ten days' mourning were appointed, and a solemn ceremony performed in the Ohurch of the Iii- ralides. Under the solemn dome Bonaparte assem- bled aU the authorities of France, and the officers of the army, and there, in their presence, Lannes pre- sented to the Government ninety-six colours, taken in Egypt. Berthier, then Minister of War, sitting be- tween two soldiers, both a hundred years old, shaded jy a thousand standards, the fruits of Bonaparte's victories ; received them from the hand of Lannes, who pronounced a warlike speech, as he presented them. The young Kepublic of France went into mourning for the Father of the American Republic, and this was the fiineral ceremony. Soon after this, Lannes was sent as an ambassador to Portugal, and feeling too much the power Bona- parte and France wielded, treated with that independ- ent nation, as if its king and ministers had been sub- ordinates in the army. He was better at the head of a column than in the cabinet, and got no honour to liimself from his office as ambassador. This veiy bluntness and coarseness, which rendered him fit only for tlie camp and the battle-field, and which indeed was the cause of his receiving this appointment, were sufficient reasons for his not having it. Being com- mander of the Consular Guard, he administered its chest and disbursed the money intrusted to him with such prodigality and recklessness, that there was u general complaint. It was done with the full knows 204 QCABBEL WITH NAFOLBOH. ledge and authority of Napoleon, yet he reproved him for it when the excitement became too great to be any longer disregarded. This exasperated Lannes so much that he indulged in the most abrupt language towards the First Consul, and resolved to replace the money that had been expended. But from all his vic- tories, he had little left, and Augereau was compelled to loan him the sum he needed, saying : " There, take this money; go to that ungrateful fellow for whom we have spilt our blood ; give him back what is due to the chest, and let neither of us be any longer un< der obligations to him." But Napoleon could not afford to lose two of his best generals, and thinking it was bet- ter to keep such turbulent spirits apart, sent Augereau to the army and Lannes as ambassador to Portugal. Recalled to the army, he fought at Austerlitz, Jena, Eylau, and Friedland with his accustomed valour. In the campaign of Eylau, at the battle of Pultusk, he advanced with his corps of 35,000 men in the midst of driving snow-squalls, and knee-deep in mud, up to the very muzzles of a hundred and twenty cannon. In 1808, he was sent to join the army in Spain. In crossing the mountains near Mondragon he came very near losing his life. FTis horse stumbled and in the effort to rally fell back on him, crushing his body dreadftilly by his weight. He who had stormed over so n>any battle-fields, and been hurled again and again from his seat amid trampling squadrons as his horse sunk under him, and yet escaped death, was here, on a quiet march, well nigh deprived of his life. The surgeon, — ^who had seen a similar operation performed by the Indians in Newfoundland, — ordered a sheep to be skinned Immediately, and the warm pell lewed aroimd the wounded Marshal's body. His e> UABSUAL LAKN£B. 205 tremities in the meantime were wrapped in hot flan- nels, and warm drinks were giren him. In ten miit ntes he was asleep, aid shortly after broke into a pro- fuse perspiration, when the dangerous symptoms passed away. Five days after he led his columns into battle at Tuedla, and completely routed an army of forty thousand men. SIEOB OF SABAGOSSA. The next year he was appointed to take charge of tihe siege at Saragossa, which had been suc- cessively under the command of Moncey and Junot. The camp was filled with murmurs and com- plaints. For nearly a month they had environed the town in vain. Assault after assault had been made ; and from the 2d of January, when Junot took the command, till the arrival of Lannes in the latter part of the month, every night had been dis- tinguished by some bloody fights, and yet the city re- mained unconquered. Lannes paid no heed to the complaints and murmurs around him, but immedi- ately, by the promptitude and energy of his actions, inftised courage into the hearts of the desponding soldiery. The decision he was always wont to carry into battle was soon visible in the siege. The sol- diers poured to the assault with firmer purpose, and fought with more resolute courage. Tlie apathy which had settled down on the army was dispelled. New life was given to every movement ; and on the S7th, amid the tolling of the tower bell, warning the people to the defence, a gi'and assault was made, and after a most sanguinaiy conflict the walls of the town were carried ; and the Frerch soldiers fortified them selves in the convent of St. Joseph. 12 206 8IKOE OF SABAOOSSA. Unyielding to the last, the brave Saragossanj foaght on ; and, amid the pealing of the tocsin, rush- ed up to the very mouths of the cannon, and perished by hundreds and thousands in the streets of the city. Every house was a fortress, and around its walls were separate battle-fields, where deeds of frantic valour were done. Day after day did these single- handed fights continue, while famine and pestilence walked the city at noon-day, and slew faster than the Bwords of the enemy. The dead lay piled up in every street, and on the thick heaps of the slain the living mounted and fought with the energy of des pair for their homes and their liberiy. In the midst of this incessant firing by night and by day, and hand-to-hand fights on the bodies of the slain, ever and anon a mine would explode, blowing the living and dead, friend and foe, together in the air. An awful silence would succeed for a moment, and then over the groans of the dying would ring again the rallying cry of the brave inhabitants. The streets ran torrents of blood, and the stench of putrified bodies loaded the air. Thus for three weeks did the fight and butchery go on within the city walls, till the soldiers grew dispirited, and ready to give up the hope of spoils if they could escape the ruin that en- compassed them. Yet theirs was a comfortable lot to that of the besieged. Shut up in the cellare with the dead — ^pinched with famine, while the pestilence rioted without mercy and without resist- ance — ^they heard around them the incessant bursting of bombs, and thunder of artillery, and explosions oi mines, and crash of falling houses, till the city shook, night and day, as if within the grasp of an earth- quake. Thousands fell daily, and the town was s mass of ruins. Yet unconquered, and apparently uD' MABSHAL LANNEB. SOI conquerable, the inhabitants struggled on. Cut ol the dens they had made for themselves amid the ruins, and from the cellars where there were more dead than living, men would crawl to fight, whc looked more like spectres than warriors. Women would man the guns, and, musket in hand, advance fearlessly to the charge; and hundreds thus fell, fighting for their homes and their firesides. Amid this scene of devastation — against this prolonged and almost hopeless struggle of weeks — against the pesti- lence that had appeared in his own army, and was mowing down his own troops — and above all, against the increased murmurs and now open clamors of the soldiers, declaring that the seige must be abandoned till reinforcements could come up — ^Lannes remained nnshaken and untiring. The incessant roar and crash around him — ^the fetid air — the exhausting toil, the carnage and the pestilence, could not change his iron will. He had decreed that Saragossa, which had heretofore baffled every attempt to take it, should fall. At length, by a vigorous effort, he took the convent of St. Lazan, in the suburbs of the town, and planted his artillery there, which soon levelled the city around it with the ground. To finish this work of destruction by one grand blow, he caused six mines to be ran under the main street of the city, «ach of which was charged with three thousand "pounds of powder. But before the time appointed for fheir explosion arrived, the town capitulated- The historians of this seige describe the appearance of the city and its inhabitants after the surrender as incon- ceivably horrible. With only a single wall between them and the enemy's trenches, they had endured 8 siege of nearly two months by 40,000 men, and con aOS APPEAKANCE OF THE BKBIEQEE. ticued to resist aftei famine and pestilence began to slay faster than the enemy. Thirty thousand cannon balls and sixty thousand bombs had fallen in the city, and fifty-four thousand of the inhabitants had per- ished. Six thousand only had fallen in combat, while forty-eight thousand had been the prey of the pestilence. After the town had capitulated, but twelve thousa-id were found able to bear arms, and they looked more like spectres issuing; from the tombs than living warriors. Saragossa was taken ; but what a capture ! As Lannes rode through the streets at the head oi Jiis victorious army, he looked only on a heap of ruins, while six thousand bodies still lay un- buried in his path. Sixteen thousand lay sick, while on the living, famine had written more dreadful characters than death had traced on the Mien. Li- fants lay on the breasts of their dead mothers, striving in vain to draw life from the bosoms that never would throb again. Attenuated forms, with haggard faces and sunken eyes and cheeks, wandered around among the dead to search for their fiiends — corpses bloated •with famine lay stretched across the threshold of their dwellings, and strong-limbed men went stagger- ing over the pavements, weak from want of food, or struck with the pestilence. Woe was in every street, and the silence in the dwellings was more eloquent than the loudest cries and groans. Death and famine, and the pestilence, had been there in every variety of form and suffering. But the divine form of Liberty had been there too, walking amid those heaps of corpses and ruins of homes, shedding her light through the suDterraneau apartments of the wretched, and with her cheering voice animating the thrice-conquered, vet still unconquered, to another MABSHAL LANNKS. 2oO effort, and blessing the dying, as they prayed for tlicir beloved city. But she was at last compelled to take her departure, and the bravest city of modem Europe sunk in bon- dage. Still her example lives, and shall live to the ond of time, nerving the patriot to strike and suffei for his homo and freedom, and teaching man every- where how to die in defending the right. A wreath of glory surrounds the brow of Saragossa, fadeless as the memory of her brave defenders. Before their achievements — ^the moral grandeur of their firm strug- gle, and the depth and intensity of their sufferings — the bravery and pereeverance of the French and Lannes sink into forgetfulness. Yet, it was no ordi- naiy task, the latter had given him, and it was by no ordinary means that he executed it. It required a!! the iron in his nature to overcome the obstacles tha* encompassed him on every side. The renown which belongs to him from the manner in which he conducted this siege to its issue, has been somewhat dimmed by the accusations English his- torians have brought against him. He is charged with having, three days after the siege, dragged the tutor and friend of Palafox from his bedside, where he was relieving his wants and administering to hint the consolations of religion, and bayoneting him and another innocent chaplain on the banks of the Ebn . He is charged, also, with levying a contiibution at 50,000 pairs of shoes and 8,000 pairs of boots, and medicines, &c., necessary for a iiospital, on the beg gared population. He is accused of rifling a church of jewels to the amount of 4,687,000 francs, and ap- propriating them all to himself; and worst of all, ol Laving ordered monks to be env'eloped in sacks and 12* 210 A OOCSATICBS AGAIKST HIM. flirown into the river, so that when their bodies wera thrown ashore in the morning, they would strike ter- ror into others. He is also accused of violating the terms of capitulation, by sending the sick Falafox the commander-in-chief, a close prisoner to France, when he had promised to let him retire wherever ho chose. These are Mr. Alison's allegations; but as Madame d'Abrantes is the only authority he gives, they are all to be doubted, at least in the way they are stated, while some of them carry their falsehood in their very inconsistency ; and one hardly knows which to wonder at most, the short-sighted pique of Madame Junot, (alias d'Abrantes,) which could origi- nate tbem, or the credulity or national prejudice of Mr. Alison, which could endorse them. Junot had been unsuccessful in conducting the siege, and had been superseded in the command by Lannes, who had won the admiration of Europe by his success. That Junot's wife should feel this, was natural ; and that her envy should cause lier to believe any story that might meet her ear, tending to dis- parage her husband's rival, was woman-like. Be- sides, Junot received less of the spoils than he would have done, had he been commander-in-chief. This also warped the fair historian's judgment — especially the loss of the jewels of our Lady of the Pillar, which she declares Lannes appropriated to himself. All this was natural in ker, but how Mr. Alison could sup pose any one would believe that Lannes wreaked his entire vengeance against the city of Saragossa and its brave inhabitants, by spearing two harmless priests on the banks of the Ebro, is passing strange. He must find some other reason for the act befora any one will believe it. But the accusation tha^ he HABBHAL LANNEB. 211 drowned a few monks to frighten the rest, is stiL more laughable. One would think that Lannes co» siderod himself in danger from monkish conspir'acJes, to resort to this desperate method of inspiring terror. If this story was to be believed at all, one would in- cline to think that he did it for mere amusement, to while away the tedious hours, in a deserted, ruined, famine-struck, and pestilence-struck city. To inspire a sepulchre and hospital with terror, by drowning a few monks, was certainly a very original idea of his. In the storming of Katisbon, Lannes exhibited one of those impulsive deeds which characterized him. Seeing a house leaning against the ramparts, he im- mediately ordered the artillery against it, which soon broke down the walls, and left them a sort of step- ping-stones to the tops of the walls of the city. But such a destructive fire waB kept up by the Austrians on the space between the French and it, that they could not be induced to cross it. At length Lannes seized a scaling-ladder, and rushing into asd through the tem- pest of balls that swept every foot of the ground, plant- ed it firmly against the ruined house, and summoned his men to follow. Bushing through the fire, they rallied around him, scaled the walls, and poured into the city, and opened the gates to the army. But now we come to the close of Lannes' career. He had passed through three hundred combats, and proved himself a hero in fifty-three pitched battles. Some- times the storm swept over him, leaving him unscath- ed ; sometimes, desperately wounded, he was borne from the field of his fame, but always rallied again to lead his host to victory. But his last battle-field was at hand, and one of the strongest pillars of Nar paleon's throne was to fall amid clouds and darknesa BATTT, K OF ABFEBH. BATTLE OF A8PEKN. lu the summer of 1809, after Vienna had fallen intt his hands, Kapoleon determined to pass the Danube and give the Archduke Charles battle, on the farthu shore. The Danube, near Yienna, flows in a wide stream, embracing many islands in its slow and ma- jestic movement over the plain. Bonaparte resolvod to pass it at two points at the same time, at !N^ussdor^ about a mile above Yienna ; and against the isl- and of Lobau, farther down the river. Tiannes took charge of the upper pass, and Massena of the lower — ^the two heroes of the coming battle of Aspern. Lannes, failing in his attempt, the whole army was concentrated at Lobau. On the evening of the 19th of May, Bonaparte surprised the Austrians on the island, and taking possession of it and the other islands around it, had nothing to do but tlirow bridges from Lobau to the northern bank of the Danube, in order to march his army over to tho extended plains of Marchfield, that stretched away from the bank to the heights of Bisomberg, where lay the Archduke with a hundred thousand men. Through unwearied efforts, Bonaparte was able to assemble on the farther shore, on the morning of the 21st, forty thousand soldiers. The Archduke saw, from the height he occupied, every movement of tho French army ; which seemed by its rashness and folly, to be rushing into the very jaws of destruction. It was a cloudless summer morning, and as the glo- rious sun came flashing over the hill tops, a forest ol glittering bayonets sent back its beams. The grass and the flowers looked up smilingly to the blue heavens, unconscious of the carnage that was to end tlie d.iy. UABSHAL LANNES. 213 Just as the sun had reached its meridian, the ojm- mand to advance was heard along the heights, an- swered by shouts that shook the earth, and the roll of drums and thousands ol trumpets, and wild cho- ruses of the soldiers. Wh..le Bonaparte was still struggling to get his army over the bridge, and Lan- ues corps was on the farther side, and Devoust in Vienna ; the Austrian army of eighty thousand men came rolling down the mountain-side and over the plain, like a resistless flood. Fourteen thousand cavalry accompanied this magnificent host, while nearly three hundred cannon came trundling, with the sound of thunder over the ground. The army advanced in five massive columns, with a curtain of cavalry in front to conceal their movements and di- rection. Bonaparte looked with an unquiet eye on this advancing host, while shis own army was still separated by the Danube. In a moment the field was in an uproar. Lannes, having at length crossed, took possession of Essling, a little village that stood half a mile from the Danube ; and Massena of Aspem, another village, standing at the same distance from the river, and a mile and a half from Essling. These two vil- lages were the chief points of defence between which the French army was drawn up in line. Around these two villages, in which were entrenched these twc re- nowned leaders, were to be the heat and strength of the battle. Three mighty columns were seen mar<;h. ing with firm and rapid steps on Aspem, while towards Essling, where the brave Lannes lay, there seemed a countless host moving. Between, thunder- ed the two hundred and ninety pieces of cannon, as they slowly advanced, enveloping the field in a cloud of smoke, blotting out the noon-day sun, and send- 214 BATTLE JF A8PEEN. ing death and havoc amid (he French ranks. An night drew on, the conflict became indescribably aw- ful. Bursting sLells, explosions of artillery, and volleys of musketry, were mingled with shouts ol victory and cries of terror ; while over all, as if to drown all, was heard at intervals the braying of trumpets and strains of martial music. The villages in which Massena and Lannes maintained tlieir ground with such unconquerable firmness, took fire, and burned with a red flame over the nightly battle- field, adding ten-fold horror to the work of death. But I do not intend to describe the first day's battle, as I shall refer to it again when speaking of Massena and Bessieres, who fought with a desperation and un- conquerable firmness that astonished even Napoleon. At eleven o'clock at night the uproar of battle ceased, and through the slowly retiring cloud of war that rolled away towards the Danube, the stars came out one by one, to look on the dead and the dying. Groans and cries loaded the midnight blast, while the sleeping host lay almost in each other's embrace. Bonaparte, wrapped in his military cloak, lay stretch- ed beside the Danube, not half a mile from the ene- my's cannon. The sentinels could almost shake hands across the narrow space that separated them; and thus the living and the dead slept together on the hard-fought field, while the silent cannon, loaded with death, were pointing over the slumbering hosts. Lulled by the Danube, that rolled its turbulent flood by his side, and canopied by the stars, Napolecn rested his exhausted frame while he revolved the disastrous events of the day, and pondered how he might redeem his error. Massena had lost most of Aspem ; but Lannes still held Essling, and had held MARSHAL LANNES. 215 it during one of the most sanguinary straggles of that fiercely fought battle. Early in the morning, as soon as the light broke over the eastern hills, the two armies were again oe their feet, and the cannon opened anew on the walla of living men. The French troops were dispiritedj for the previous day had been one of defeat; while the Anstrians were full of hope. But the rest of Lan- nes' corps had crossed the Danube during the night; while Davoust, with nearly thirty thousand more, was marching with flying colours over the bridge. The Archduke had also received reinforcements, so that two armies of about a hvmdred thousand each, stood ready to contest the field on the second day. At the commencement of the onset, Lannes was driven for the first time from Essling ; but St. Hiliare coming up to his aid, he rallied his defeated troops and led them back to the charge, re-took the place, and held it, though artillery, infantry and cavalry thundered upon it with shocks that threatened to sweep the village itself from the plain. At length, Bonaparte, tired of acting on the defen- sive, began to prepare for his great and decisive movement on the centre. Massena was to hold As- pem, Davoust to march on Essling, while Lannes — the brave Lannes, who had fought with such courage, and almost superhuman energy, for two days — ^was ordered, with Oudin )t, to force the centre and cut the Austrian army in two. Bonaparte called him to hia side, and from his station behind the lines which overlooked the field, pointed out to him the course he wished him to take. Lannes spurred to his post, and when all was ready, Napoleon came riding along the lines to animate the soldiers in the decisive onset that was about to be made. The shouts of " Vvoe VEm. *216 OHAEGE AT ASPEEN- perewT^ with which they received him, were heard above the roar of battle, and fell with an ominous Bound upon the Austrian lines. Apprised by the shouts where the Emperor was passing, they imme^ diately turned their cannon in that direction, hoping by « chance shot to strike him down. General Monthier was killed by his side, but he himself passed unhurt tlirough the fire. In a few minutes, Lannes' terrible columns were on the march, and moved with rapid step over the field. Two hundred cannon were placed in front, and advanced like a rapidly moving wall of fire over the cumbered ground. Behind was the cavalry — ^the irresistible horsemen that had swept so many battle- fields for Xapoleon, and before the onset of which the best infantry of Europe had gone down. The Imperial Guard formed the reserve. Thus arrayed and sustained, those steady columns entered the close fire of the Austrian batteries and the deadly volleys of the infantry. Lannes knew that the fate of the battle was placed in his hands, and that the eye of Napoleon was fixed with the deepest anxiety upon him. He felt the weight of Europe on his shoulders, and determined to sustain it. In front, clearing a path for his strong legions, went the artil- lery, rending the serried lines as though they had been threads of gossamer. Around the threatened point the whole interest of the battle gathered, and the most wasting and destructive fire opened on Lan- nes' steady ranks. But nothing could resist the weight and terror of their shock. Through and through the Austrian lines they went, with the strength of the inroUing tide of the sea. Into the wild battle-gorge thus made by their advance the cavalry plimged at headlong gallop, shaking theii sabres MAB8BAL LANNES. 217 above their heads, and sending their victorious shonta over the roar of the artillery. They dashed on the ranks with such fury, that whole battalions broke and fled, crying, " All is lost." Amid this confusion and dismay still advanced tiie firm column of Lan- nes. On, on it moved with the strength of fate itself, and Bonaparte saw with delight his favourite Marshal wringing the crown from Germany, and placing it on his head. At length the enveloped host pierced to the reserve grenadiers of the Austrian army, and the last fatal blow seemed about to be given. In this dreadful crisis the Archduke showed the power and heroism of Napoleon himself. Seeing that all was lost without a desperate effort, and apparently not caring for his life if defeat must be endured, he spur- red his steed among the shaking ranks, rallying them by his voice and bearing, and seizing the standard of Zach's corps, which was already yielding to the onset, charged at their head like a thunder-bolt. His generals, roused by his example, dashed into the thickest of the fight, and at the head of their respec- tive divisions fell like successive waves upon the head of Lannes' column. Those brave officers, almost to a man, sunk before the fire that received them ; but that dreadful column was checked for the first time in its advance, and stood like a rock amid its foes. The Austrians were thrown into squares, and stood in checkers on the field. Into the very heart of these, Lannes had penetrated and stopped. The empire stopped with him, and Napoleon saw at once the peril of his chief. The brave cuiras* siers, that had broken the best infantry of +be world, were immediately ordered to the rescue. Shaking the ground over which they galloped — their glittering 218 THE BETBEAT. armour rattling as they caine — they burst into the midst of the enemy and charged the now steady bat- talions with appaling fury. Eound and round the firm squares they rode, spurring their steeds against the very points of the bayonets, but in vain. Not a square broke, not a battalion fled; and, charged in turn by the Austrian cavalry, they were compelled to fall back on their own infantry. Still Lannes stood amid the wreck and carnage of the battle-field around him. Unable to deploy so as to return the terrific fire that wasted, him, and disdaining to fly, he let his ranks melt away beside him. Being in squares, the Austrians could fire to advantage, while Lannes could only return it from the edges of his column. Seeing that he dare not deploy his men, the Archduke advanc- ed the cannon to within five rods of them, and there played on the dense masses. Every discharge opened huge gaps, and men seemed like mist, before the de- structive storm. Still that shivering column stood as if rooted to the ground, while Lannes surveyed with a fia^hing eye the disastrous field from which he saw there was no relief. Amid this destruction, and in this crisis, the ammunition began to fail, and his own cannon were less hotly worked. Just then, too, the news began to fiy over the field, that the bridges across the Danube had been carried away by the heavy boats that had been floated down against them. Still Lannes disdained to fly, and seemed to resolve to perish in his footsteps. The brave Mar- shal knew he could not win the battle ; but he knew also, he could die on the spot where he struggled for an Empire. Bonaparte, as he looked over the disor* dered field from his position, saw at once that tha battle was lost. Still, in this dreadful crisis he showed MABBHAL LANNES. 219 no agitation oi* excitement. Calm and collected, as il on a mere review, he surveyed the ruin about him, and, by his firm bearing, steadied the soldiers and officers amid whom he moved. Seeing that no time was to be lost if he would save the remnant of hia army — ^for the bridges wei'e fast yielding to the swol- len stream — ^he ordered a general retreat. Lannea and his army then began to retire over the field. In a moment the retreat became general, and the whole army rolled heavily towards the bridge that crossed to the island of Lobau. As they concentrated on the shore, it became one mighty mass, whei'e not a shot could fall amiss. The Archduke, wishing to turn this retreat into a ictal route, immediately advanced with his whole army upon them. His entire artillery was brought ap and arranged in a semi-circle around this dense mass, crowding on to the bridges, and poured its con- centrated storm into their midst with horrible effect. It seemed as if nothing could prevent an utter over- throw ; but Lannes, cool and resolute as his Emperor, rallied his best men in the rear, and covered the re- treating and bleeding army. With Massena by his side, now steadying his troops by his words and ac- tions, now charging like fii'e on the advancing lines, these two heroes saved the army &om burial in the Danube. Lannes never appeared to better advantage than on. this occasion. His impetuosity was tempered by the most serious and thoughtful actions, and ha seemed to feel the importance of the great mission with which he had been entrusted. At length, dis- mounting from his horse to escape the tempest ol cannon balls which swept down every thing over the 220 HIS DEATH. soldiers' heads, he was struck by a shot as he tonchec the ground, which carried away the whole of the right leg, and the foot and ankle of the left. Placed on a litter, he was immediately carried over the bridge into the island, where Bonaparte was superin- tending some batteries with which to protect the passage. Seeing a litter approach him. Napoleon turned, and, lo, there lay the bleeding and dying Lannes. Tlie fainting Marshal seized him by the hand, and in a tremulous voice exclaimed, " Farewell, sire. Live for the world, but bestow a passing thought on one of your best Mends, who in two hours will be no more." The roar of battle was forgotten, and reckless alike of his defeat and the peril of his army, of all, save the dying friend by his side, Napoleon knelt over the rude couch and wept like a child. The lip that had seemed made of iron during the day, now quivered with emotion, and the eye that had never blenched in the wildest of the battle, now flowed with tears. The voice of affection spoke louder than the thunder of artillery, and the marble-hearted monarch wept. And well he might. For there before him, mangled and torn, lay the friend of his youth, and the com- panion of his early career — ^he who charged by his side at Lodi and Areola — saved his army at Monte- bello, and Italy at Marengo — who opened Eatisbon to his victorious army — ^nay, the right hand of hia power — ^broken and fallen forever. "Lannes," said he, in his overpowering emotion, "do you not know me? it is the Emperor, it is Bonaparte, your friend; you will yet live." "I would that I might," replied the dying hero, "for you and my country, but in as IfABSHAL LANNEB. 221 hour I shall be no more." Soon after he fainted away, and then became delirions. He lingered thus for nine days, now charging in his frantic dreams at the head of his column, now calling wildly on the Emperor to come to him, and now raving about his cruel fate. He would not hear of death, and when told that he must die, that nothing could save him — "Not save a Marshal of France!" he exclaimed, " and a Duke of Montebello 1 Then the Emperor shall hang you." No, death spares neither Marshals nor Dukes, and the hero of so many combats had fought his last battle. Lannes was prodigal of money, notwithstanding the attempt of Mr. Alison to make him covetous ; frank even to bluntness, and unconscious of fear. In the midst of battle, his penetrating eye detected every movement with precision. Napoleon himself says ol him : " Lannes was wise, prudent, and withal bold ; gifted with imperturbable somg froid in presence ol 5ie enemy." There was not a General in the French army that could manoeuvre thirty thousand infantry on the field of battle so well as he, and had he lived, would have become as distinguished for his military skill as he was for his bravery. His intellect was developing rapidly, and Napoleon was astonished at the growth of his understanding. In a few years more, he would have been one of tlie ablest Generals of his timei. The rashness of youth was rapidly giving way to the reflection of tlie man, and his char- acter was forming on a solid and permanent basis. He was but forty years of age when he died. His Boldiers loved him like children, and a poor officer never was forgotten by him. His wife, whom he 222 HIS OHABAOTEB. married in poverty, and from the lower ranks of lifi^ partook of his generosity and kindness. The eldest son of Lannes, the present Duke of Montebello, married, not many years ago, in Paris, a daughter of Charles Jeuldnson, an English goutle MMll. m MARSHAL MONOEY. HIb Early Life— Operations in Spsun— Tlie Presentation by Napoleon ot his Son to him and the National Guard — ^EOs noble efforts in behalf ol Vy — ^Reception of Napoleon's body when brought from St. Helena. Th£be can be no greater contrast than that between Moncey and most of Napoleon's other Marshals. The moral qualities in him predominated over the mental, and while he did every thing right, he did nothing brilliant, Notwithstanding the injustice of it, the world will insist on judging every man by the same Btandard, without regard to the natural temperament or mental constitution. For the quiet, upright and charitable life a man naturally of a mild spirit and equable feelings leads, he receives all the praise of one who has combatted his fierce propensities, and by a long process of self-discipline, chastened his spirit and corrected his actions. The world seems to forget he is acting out his natural tendencies, and to be rash, positive, ouHu encroaching, would require a painful effort. Being without force of wiU and the concen- tration of purpose which loves action, and seeks great accomplishments, he is not at home in the violence of political revolutions or the fierce tumult of battle. In following the peaceful and even path he treads, he id consulting his own tastes and inclinations, yet men point to him as a model. He may be a good man, and worthy of all admiration; yet were the world '224: HIS CHABAOTEB. filled with such, it would stagnate. Such men nevei make reformers — conceive and execute vast plans, oi |iush the race onward towards its final goal. Neither will men average character. They wiD not allow for the peculiar nature with which one is en- dowed, nor let his good and bad qualities balance each otlier. A man of strong and vivid imagination, and impetuous spirit, may not only exhibit more principle, show more self-control, and acquire greater virtue in disciplining himself to the point from which errors are still committed, than he who is without spot or blame, — ^but his actions if mingled up would take a higher level. One error " covers a multitude " of vir- tues in this world. Moncey and Murat were as dififerent as light and darkness — ^neither one could have been the other by any possible training. The career of the former was like a stream flowing through valleys — steady and equable — that of the latter like a rushing wave — ^now breaking in grandeur on the shore, and now retiring out of sight into the deep. The former cultivates our sentiments, the latter kindles oar imagination and awakens our emotions. Murat was a chivalric knight — ^Moncey an honest man. One went down like a gallant ship at sea — ^the other slowly wasted away in the peaceful port where he sought shelter and repose. But, if Moncey was not a brilU nt man, ho exhibited in the early part of his career the quali- ties of a good general, and received the reward of his bravery and success in being made Duke rf Cornegliano and Marshal of the Empire. Eose-Adrien de Moncey was bom at Bezan§on, in July, 1754. His father was lawyer of the town par- liament, and designed to fit his son for his own peace UASSHAL UONC£T. 225 tul pursuits. But, young Adrien, seized with a love for military life so common to youth, enlistod when but fifteen years old, in the infantry. His father thinking that the rigours of a camp-life would soon disgilst him, let him remain six months and then pro- ciu-ed his discharge. He, however, soon ran away «\d enlisted in another regiment of infantry. Hia father seeing the force of his inclinations, left him to pursue his own coui-se, and he served as grenadier for three years. Having been engaged in no battle in that time, and receiving no promotion, he concluded to abandon his musket and return home, where he commenced the study of law. But a garrison being in the town, it awakened all his old habits and tastes and drew him away from his studies. As a natural result, he again became a soldier, and in about four years reached the rank of sub-lieutenant of dragoons. The Revolution breaking out, a new life openufl to him, and he entered at once on his successful career. Draughted into a battalion of light-infantry, he went up rapidly to captain, chief of battalion, and general of division. During the first campaigns of the Republic he distinguished himself as a brave and upright officer. In 1794, he was sent to the Western Pyrennees, to defend the frontiers of France against the invasions of Spain. After the success of Dugomier in the East, it was resolved to invade Spain in turn by Catalonia and Navarre. The army advanced in three columns through three difierent passes — Moncey commanded the third. He forced the passage appointed to him, took St, Sebastian, and on the next day fired the gates of Tolosa. Constant successes followed the army, which filled the Convention with joy. Th« 18* 226 HIS OABEEB IN SPAIN. representative Qarran, after enumerating the extraai dinary victories that had been gained, closed witi saying, "The soldiers of this army are not men — they are either demons or gods." The whole state of French affairs was changed in that quarter, and as it was attributed chiefly to the energy and skill of Mou- cey, he wns nominated commander-in-chief. Hearing of his nomination, he wrote to the Convention not to ratify it, a3 he did not deem himself qualified for the station. But the Convention paid no heed to his re- monstrance, and he was proclaimed "Commander-in- chief of the army in Spain." He soon showed that the government had not misplaced its confidence ; for pursuing his success, he beat the Spaniards at Lecum- berry and Yilla Nova, — ^passed the Deva, overcame the enemy at Villa, Keal and Mont Dragon, — ^took Bilboa, — routed the enemy at Vittoria, and overrun all Biscay. The court at Madrid, alarmed at the rapid advance of the republican general, offered terms of peace, which were accepted, and the victorious Moncey left the field of his fame, and returned to France. In 1796, he was sent to command the army on the side of Brest. Hav- ing used all his endeavour to heal the divisions in Vendee, he was appointed at the end of the year to command the first military division at Bayonne. Here he remained idle, while the French army was filling the world with its deeds, along the Nile and around the Pyramids ; and winning lam-els in the Alps and by the Khine. "When Bonaparte was appointed First Consul, Mon« cey, then at Paris, received the command of the fif^ teenth military division at Lyons. Soon after, when the former commenced operations in Italy, the latter was despatched thither with fifteen thousand men MABSHAL MONCEY. 22? WTiile the iormer was descending from the heights of St. Bernard, the latter was leading his army of fifteen thousand men over the pass of St. Gothard. His historians have made him present at the battle of Marengo, but on the day of that great victory to the French, he was guarding the Tessino, awaiting ardei-a from Bonaparte. In 1801, he was made chief inspector of the gena til^tivrmerie, and three years after received his Marshal's baton. Grand oflBcer of the Legion of Honour, Pre- sident of the Electoral College of his own department, and Duke of Comegliano, followed in rapid succession. In 1808, when Napoleon invaded Spain, Moncey was sent into Yalencia at the head of ten thousand men, to watch the country between the Lower Ebro and Carthagena, and if he thought it advisable, to attack Yalencia itself. Hearing at Guenca that an army of thirty thousand men was gathered to attack him, and that the insurrection in the province was rapidly increasing, he resolved to march on the city of Valencia. He immediately, according to his in- structions, sent a despatch to General Chabran, whom he supposed to be at Tortosa, to march also towards the city, and effect a junction with his aimy there on the 27th or 28th of the month. In the mean time, he mov- ed forward with his small army towards the place. Forcing the river Gabriel, he continued his march without serious interruption, and took up his position at Otriel. But hearing that the patriots to the number of twelve thousand were intrenching themselves at Cabrillas on his left, he turned aside to attack them. As he came up to them, his experienced eye saw im- mediately tl\e advantageous position they had taken. Their centre w^as behind a deep, narrow defile, lined SECOND UA.MFAION IN SPAIN. witli precipitous rocks, ou which were gathered miilb tudes of armed peasantry, while the two wings stretch ed along the side of a steep and rocky mountain. Opening his artillery on the centre, and keeping hia cavalry hovering about the defile, in order to draw oil llie attention of the enemy, he despatched General Harispe to turn their flank. The plan was successful, and the enemy was routed at all points. Continuing his march he arrived before Yalencia on the 27th, but General Chabran was not there, nor could he get any tidings of him. He, however, disposed his forces to the best advantage, opened his artillery, and sum- moned the city to surrender. But a walled town, filled with eighty thousand inhabitants, and surrounded by trenches flooded with water, so that no approach could be made except through the gates, was not likely to yield to an army of ten thousand men with- out a struggle. Moncey then undertook to cai*ry it by assault — a foolish attempt, unless, as is reported, a smuggler had promised to betray the place. The assault was unsuccessful — ^the people were in arms ; and a friar traversing the streets, with a cross in one hand and a sword in the other, roused them by his fiery words to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. Li the meantime, no intelligence having been received of Chabran, and the ammunition being nearly expended, and a thousand wounded men encumbering his troops ; he concluded to raise the siege, and fell back to Quarte. Hearing at this place that the Spanish Gene- ral was on the march for Almanza to intercept the communication of the French army, he resolved to advance and attack him before he could leave tha kingdom of Murcia, from which he was hastening. In carrying out this plan, Moncey, though now fifty( MABSHAL UOSOEY. 22S foxir years of age, exhibited a vigour of resolutitn and rapidity of movement that would have honoured the youngest General in the army. Serbelloni was impeded in his march by the sud- den appearance of the French Marshal before him, and hastily took position behind the river Xucar. Moncey, however, forced the passage, and Serbel- loni retu'ed to some heights that commanded the high road to Almanza, designing to take possession of the defiles before the town, and there dispute the entrance with the enemy. But Moncey's rapidity of move- ment again defeated him ; for marching all night, he drew up his army in the principal gorge and saluted the Spaniards as they approached in the morning with a discharge of artillery. Having dispersed them, he entered the town in triumph. The whole province soon after arising in arms, his position became perilous, and Caulincourt was sent to reinforce him. Thus strengthened, he began to march back on Valencia. But Savary entrusted with the chief command for a short time in this de- partment, arrested his movements with so little cere- mony, that he was oflfended, and returned to Madrid. Soon after, he was ordered to besiege Saragossa. Arriving before the city, he summoned the inhabi- tants to surrender and prevent the slaughter that must ensue if the siege was carried on. In a few days, however, he was susperseded by Junot. Moncey's operations were not very brilliant, and could not well be with so small a force, still he killed and wounded, in the several battles he fought, a num- ber equal to his entire army, showing that he was anything but an inactive and inefficient leader. Na- pier, in speaking of his operations in Yalencia, givef 230 KECEIVES NAPOLEON S SON. him great credit, and says, 'Marshiil Moncey, whose whole force was at first only eight thousand French, and never exceeded ten thousand men, continued marching and fighting, without cessation, for a month, during which period he forced two of the strongest mountain passes in the world — crossed several large and difiicult rivers — carried the war into the very streets of Yaleilcia, and being disappointed of assist- ance from Catalonia, extricated his division from a difii- cult situation, after having defeated his opponents in five actions, killed and wounded a number of them, equal in amount to the whole of his own force, and made a circuit of three hundred miles, through a hos- tile and populous country, without having siistained any serious loss ; without any desertion from the Span- ish battalions incorporated with his own, and what was of more importance, having those battalions much in- creased by desertions from the enemy." In another place he says, " Moncey, though an old man, was vigor- ous, active, and decided." Kecalled to Paris by Napoleon, he was sent into Flanders to repel the English, who were threatening a descent upon Antwerp. The failure of that expedi- tion leaving him without active employment, he was appointed to the command of the army of reserve in the North. When Napoleon projected his fatal Kiis- sian campaign, Moncey, then an old man, threw in hia strenuous remonstrance against it. After its disas- trous termination, he did but little till the allies in- vaded France. When Napoleon, in that crisis ol his life, roused himself to meet the storm that was darkening over his throne, he saw, with his far-reach ing glance, that the enemy might approach to Paris; snd among his last dispositions was the reorganisa MAKSHAL MONOET. 231 the N^ational Guai'd, over which he placed the \ eteran Aloncey. On the Monday previous to his setting out foi the army, to make his last stand for his Empire ; he assembled the officers of the National Guard in the Palace of the Tiiilleries, and there, in solemn pomp, committed his son to their charge. The Em press advanced first into the apartment, followed by Madame Montesquieu carrying the infant king — al- ready proclaimed King of Kome. The innocent child, but three years old, was dressed in the uniform oi the National Guard, and his blue eyes sparkled with delight at the gay ornaments that now, for the first time adorned his vestments, while his golden locks clustered in ringlets about his neck. Taking him by the hand, Napoleon stepped into the midst of the circle of officers, and thus addressed them : " Gentle- men, I am now to set out for the army, and I entrust to you that which I hold dearest in the world — ^my wife and son. Let there be no political dissensions ; let the respect for property, regard for order, and above all, the love of France, fill every bosom. I dp not conceal from you that in the struggle that is to come, the enemy may approach on Paris, but a few days will end the affair. Before they arrive I will be on their flanks and rear, and annihilate those who dare violate our country." After he had closed his address, a silence like that of the grave succeeded, and he took the child in his arms and presented him to the aged Moncey. The old man, who had stood so many battle shocks unmoved, was now unnerved : and the quivering lip and swimming eye told of the deep emotions that mastered him, as he received the sacred trust. "This," said Napoleon, "is your future sovereign." He then presented the child to the othei 232 NOBLE EFFOET TO SAVE NET. officers, and, as with sad and serious countenance h« walked uncovered through their ranks, sudden shouts of enthusiasm filled the apartment ; and amid the cries of " Yive I'Mnpere'ur,'" and " Vwe le roi de Ronie^ teal's burst from eyes unaccustomed to weep. Ou Tuesday morning, at three o'clock, Napoleon left his palace for the army, never to see his wife and son again. At length the allied armies approached Fans ; and soon the heights around the city were cov- ered with their victorious legions. But previous to this the Empress and her son, by order of Napo- leon, had left Paris. Still the National Guard com- bated bravely, and Marshal Moucey, firm and stead- fast to the end, struggled on after all hope was gone, and remonstrated against submission until Mar- mont's defection ruined every thing. He then re- signed his command to the Duke of Montmorency, and, faithful to the last, retired with a few troops to Fontainbleau, to Napoleon. After the abdication ot the Emperor, he gave in his adhesion to the new government, and was confirmed in his office of In- spector General of the Horse of the King's household, and in the June following, made Chevalier of Saint Louis, and two days after. Peer of France. When the news of Napoleon's landing reached Paris, he addressed the Gens d'Armes, reminding them of the oath they had taken, to be faithful to the King. He himself never swerved from his new alle- giance ; and after the second overthrow of Napoleon at Waterloo, was appointed, as the oldest of tie Mar- shals, to preside at the trial of Ney. But the firm and upright old soldier not only refused to sit in th« Council of War, but drew up an able and bold remoo' MABSHAL MONOET. 23S Btranre to the King, against the act. The lettei came to light a few years after, and was first pub- lished in this country, and though Moncey, then in iavour, saw fit to deny its authenticity, it was in terms that rather confirmed than weakened the com- mon belief of its authorship. The published letter, not corresponding in every particular with the writ- ten one, allowed him to disavow it, for the sake of the King, who did not wish to take the obloquy of hav- ing treated so noble an appeal with disregard. He says : " Placed in the cruel alternative to disobey your Majesty, or violate my conscience, I am forced to explain myself to your Majesty. I do not enter into the question of the guilt or innocence of Marshal Ney : your justice, and the equity of his judges, must answer for that to posterity, which weighs in the same balance, kings and their subjects." After speaking of the general peace and security which were established, and that there was no cause for this high-handed act of cruelty, except that the allies wished to take vengeance on one whose very name reminded them of their humiliation, he begs the King to refuse his sanction to it. " As for myself," he says, 'm trae nobility of spirit, "My life, my fortune, all that I hold most dear, belongs to my King and my country ; hit my honcywr is my own / and no power can rob me of it. What, shall I pronounce upon the fate of Marshal Ney 1 Permit me, Sire, to ask your Majesty, where were these accusers when Ney was marching over the field of battle ? Ah I if Eussia and the allies are not able to pardon the victor ol Borodino, can France forget the hero of Beresi^a? Shall I send to death one to whom France owes hei life — her families, their children, their husbands, and 234 HIS IMFBISONMENT. parents ? Reflect, Sire ; it is, perhaps, the last time that truth shall come near your throne. " It is very dangerous, very impolitic to push th« brave to despair. Ah, if the unhappy Ney had ac- complished at Waterloo what he had so often done before, perhaps he would not have been drawn before a military commission. Perhaps those who to-day demand his death would have implored his protec- tion. *****" Nobly said, brave Moncey, in this trying hour of France, when each was seeking to preserve his jwn head or fortune. This single act should make him immortal. Braving the hatred of the king and the vengeance of the allies, he on whose life was no stain, here interposed himself between an old companion in arms and death. His place, hia fortune, and his liberty he regarded light as air when put in the balance with his honour and with justice. To any but a Eourbon's heart, this appeal would not nave been in vain, and that unhappy race would have been saved another stain on its character, and England a dishonour which she never can wipe from her history. This bold refusal of the oldest Marshal to be presi- dent of the council of war to try Ney, accompanied with such a noble appeal to the king, and deep con- demnation of the allies, awakened, as was to be ex- pected, the deepest indignation. The only reply to it, was a royal order, depriving him of his rank aa Mar- shal, and condemning him, without ti'ial, to three months' imprisonment. This order was countersign- ed by Marshal St. Cyf, to his everlasting disgrace. Ue had better died on the field of his fame, or beea shot like Ney, by kingly murderers, than put his sig^ nature to such a paper. If all the Marshals had en HAB8UAL MONOBT. 235 tered their solemn protest against the act, as Mcncej did, it is doubtful whether Ney would have been slain. Tlie disgrace and imprisonment of the old Marshal, without even the farce of a trial, was in perfect keep- ing with the despotic injustice that had beforehand resolved on Ney's death. But what a pitiful exhibi- tion of kingly violence was this shutting up an old man over sixty years of age, whose head had whiten- ed in the storm of battle, and on whose name was no stain or even reproach, for daring in the nobleness of his nature, to refuse to condemn an old companion in arms, by whose side he had fought so long and bravely for France and for freedom. When power departed from Napoleon, most of his Marshals, in their eagerness to save their hard-earned honours, and rank, and fortune, showed themselves (ranting in some of the noblest qualities of man. But Moncey, unmoved by all his reverses, still kept his honour bright and his integrity unshaken ; and thts night that he laid his grey hairs on his prisoner's pil- low, witnessed a nobler deed than the day that looked on his most victorious battle-field. Louis XVni. was not long in perceiving the bad policy of this petty tyranny ; and when the three months' imprisonment was ended, he reinstated him in his rank, and in 1820 named him commandant ol the 9th military division, and soon after chevalier ol the order of Saint Esprit. In the inglorious Spanish war of 1823, Moncey, then nearly seventy years of age, was appointed over the fourth corps. He marched into Spain, fought several battles, and finally sat down in regular siege before Barcelona. The capitulation of this city, after 236 OOTEBNOB OF THE INTALIDE8. Bome severe fighting, ended the war ; and Moncey r» turned to France, and received the grand cross of Siiiut Louis, and a seat in the Chamber of Peers. In the late Eevolution of 1830, Moncey took no part. He had long foreseen the storm which Charles X. by determining to keep up the Bourbon reputation for folly, was gathering over his head, and saw with- out regret the overthrow of his throne. His age and Borrow for the death of his only son, who in leaping a ditch in a hunting excursion, accidently discharged his gun and killed himself, had driven him &om public life. But when the Bourbon throne went down again, he replaced with joy his old cockade of 1792. After the death of Marshal Jourdan, in 1834:, he was appointed Governor of . the Invalides. Nothing could be more touching than the sight of this old veteran, now eighty years of age, among the mutila- ted and decrepid soldiers of Napoleon. Sustained by two servants, he would drag himself from hall to hall amid the blessings of those old warriors, many oi whom had seen him in the pride of manly strength and courage, lead his columns into battle. Nearly two hundred officers and more than three thousand men, the wreck of the grand army, were assembled here, and the oldest Marshal of the Empire placed at their head. How striking the contrast which Mon- cey and those few thousand men in their faded regi- mentals, presented to the magnificent army which Napoleon led so often to victory From the Pyramids, from Lodi, Areola, Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena,; Wa- gram, and Borodino, where the eye rests on mighty armies, moving to battle and to victory amid the un- rolling of standards and pealing of trumpets ; th« MABBHAL MONO£T. 2S7 glance returns to the bowed form and grey hairs, and trembling voice of Moncey, as he moves on the shoulders of his attendants, through the ranks ol these few aged soldiers, who Lave come maimed from almost every battle-field of Europe, to die in the bosom of France. Time had taken what the sword left. Napoleon, the spell-word which had startled Europe, was now spoken in mournful accents, and the fields in which they had seen him triumph, were but as dim remem- brances. On a far distant isle that mighty spirit had sunk to rest, and the stai' that had illumined a hemis- phere, had left the heavens forever. What ravages time makes 1 Who would have thought, as he gazed on the aged Moncey borne carefully along, his feeble voice saluting his old companions in arms, that fire had ever flashed from that eye, and amid the uproar of cannon and shock of cavalry he had carried death through the ranks of the enemy ; and that those bowed and limping soldiers had shouted on the fierce-fought fields of Austerlitz, Borodino and Wagram, or sent up their war-cry from the foot of the Pyramids ? The old soldiers loved to see the form of Moncey in their midst, and greeted him wherever he went with words of affection and respect. Indeed, all who knew him loved him, for his private life was as spotless as his military career. He was the friend of humanity, the patron of education, and the firm supporter of every benevolent scheme. Upright and kind, he was ever true to himself and merciful to his enemies. No acts of cruelty marred his conquests, and even his captives learned to love him. His face indicated the humane and generous character he exhibited. He was not a brilliant man, but, as Napoleon once said, 288 NAPOLEON BROUGHT BACK FEOM ST. HELENA. " he was cm honest num." He was not wanting in intellectual qualities, but they predominated too much over his impulsive ones, to render him capable oi those great and chivalrous actions which character- ized so many of Napoleon's generals. Those sudden inspirations which so often visit genius in the hour of danger or excitement, he was an utter stranger to. He did all things well, and preserved through a long career the respect and confidence of the Emperor ; for though he never flattered him in power, he never betray- ed him in misfortune. His natural character was better suited to the military tactics of Wellington than N"a- poleon ; who — decided, impetuous, and rapid himself — wished to have around him men of similar character and temperament. The closing up of Moncey's life presents, perhaps, the most affecting scene in it. When the remains of Napoleon, a few years ago, were brought from St Helena, Moncey, though nearly ninety years of age, was still governor of the Hotel des Invalides, and hence was appointed to receive them in the name of those disabled veterans. All France was agitated as the time drew near when the vessel was expected that bore back the dead Emperor to her shores. The insulted hero had already slept too long amid his foes, and when the vessel that was wafting him home swept down on the coast of France, the excitement could scarcely have been greater, had he been landing with sword in hand. On the day of solemn procession in Paris, the whole city was abroad, and Napoleon in the height of his power never received more distinguished honour, than when dead he was borne through the capital of his former empire. As the procession passed through MARSHAL MONCEY. 23S the streets, the beat of the muffled drum, and the pro- longed and mournful blast of the trumpet as it rose and fell through the solemn requiem, and all the signs of a nation's woe, filled every heart with tiie profoundest grief. There, beside the coffin, marched the remnants of the Old Guard, once the pride and strength of the Em peror, and the terror of Europe ; and there, too, walked Kapoleon's old war-horse, covered with the drapery of mourning, on whose back he had galloped through the battle ; and over all drooped the banner of France, heavy with crape — ^all — all mourning in silence for the mighty dead. The church that was to receive the body was crowded in every part of it, waiting its arrival, when the multitude was seen to part in front, and an old man bowed with years, his white locks falling over a whiter visage, and seemingly ready himself to be laid in the tomb, was borne through the throng in a large arm-chair, and placed at the left of the main altar, beside the throne. Covered with decorations and honours, that contrasted strangely with his withered form, and almost lifeless features, he sat and listened to the heavy dirge that came sweeping through the church, as if memory was trying in vain to recall the past. That was Marshal Moncey, now nearly ninety years of age, brought hither to welcome his oil commander back to his few remaining soldiers. Aa the funeral train slowly entered the court, the thunder of cannon shook the solid edifice, blending in their roar with the strains of martial music. They, too, seemed conscious beings, and striving with their olden voices to awaken the chieftain for whom they had swept so many battle-fields. But drum and trumpet 240 BEOEFTION OF NAPOLBOn's BODY. tone, and the sound of cannon, fell alike on the duB ear of the mighty sleeper. His battles were all oyer, and his fierce spirit gone to a land where the loud trum- pet of war is never heard. As the coffin approached, the old invalid soldiers drew up on each side of the way, in their old uniform, to receive it. The spectacle moved the stoutest heart. The last time these brave men had seen their emperor was on the field of battle, and now, after long years, his cofifin approached their midst. The roar of cannon, and the strains of martial music brought back the days of glory, and as their eyes met the pall that covered the form of their beloved chief, they fell on their kneos in tears and sobs, and reached forth their hands in pas- sionate sorrow. Overwhelmed with grief, and with the emotions that memory had so suddenly wakened, this was the only welcome they could give him. On swept the train till it entered the church ; and as the cofiSn passed through the door, heralded by the Prince de Joinville with his drawn sword in his hand, the im- mense throng involuntarily rose, and a murmur more expressive than words, filled the house. Tlie king de- scended from his throne to meet it, and the aged Mon- cey, who had hitherto sat immovable and dumb, the mere " phantom of a soldier," suddenly struggled to rise. The soul awakened from its torpor, and the dying veteran knew that Napoleon was before him. But his strength failed him — 'With a feeble effort he sunk back in his chair, while a flash of emotion shot over his wan and wasted visage like a sunbeam, and his eye kindled a moment in recollection. It was a striking spectacle — ^that silent coffin and that old Mar- shal together. Nothing could be more appropriate fiither, than this reception of Napoleon's body. The MAKBHAL MONOEY. 24.1 old soldiers, and the oldest Marshal of the Empire wel- coming him back to a resting place in their midst — to sleep where they could keep guard, and visit hig tomb. Soon after this event Moncey died, and his only son being dead, his title of Duke of Comegliano was con- ferred on M. Duchene, who married his only anrTlTing daughter. 14 vm MAKSHAL MACDONALD. Bi8 Sarly lofe — ^Battle of Trebbia— Quarrel with Napoleoa— Hie Paoa^ of the Splogen — Charge at Wagram — ^Defence at Leipsio— His Gba^ acter It is astonishing to see what resolute and iron men Bonaparte gathered around him. Everything that came near him seemed to run in his mould, or rather, perhaps, he would confide in no one who did not par- take more or less of his character. Some as much unlike him as men o -aid well be, and worthy of no regard, he had around him, because he could use them, but to none such did he trust his armies or commit the fate of a battle. Those whom he trusted with his fate and fortunes, he knew by stem experience to be men that never flinched in the hour of peril, and were earth-last rocks amid the tumult of a battle- field. He tried every man before he committed the success of his great plans to him. Rank and fortune bought no places of trust from him. He promoted his officers on the field of the slain, and gave them titles amid the dead that cumbered the ground on which they had proved themselves heroes by great deeds. When Bonaparte rode over one of his bloody, yet victorious battle-fields, as was ever his custom after the conflict, he saw from the spots on which the dead lay piled in largest heaps, where the heat an criais of the battle had been. From his observatorf IRfl !k' '? [5) (rj, F" /,'' ^n;)A MARSHAL MACDONAI-D. 243 he had watched the whole progress of the strife ana when he rode over the plain it was not difficult to tell what column had fought bravest, or what leader had proved himself worthiest of confidence ; and on the spot where they ea/rned their reward he goAie it, and made the place where they struggled bravest and suffered most, the birth-place of their renown, Thia custom of his furnished the greatest of all incitements to desperate valour in battle. Every officer knew that the glass of his emperor swept the field where he fought, and the quick eye that glanced like lightning over every object was constantly on him, and as liia deeds were, so would his honours be. This strung the energies of every ambitious man — and Bonaparte would have none others to lead his battalions — to their utmost tension. What wonder is it, then, that great deeds were wrought, and Europe stood awe- struck before enemies that seemed never to dream of defeat ? Macdonald was one of those stern men Bonaparte loved to have in his army. He knew what Macdo- nald attempted to do he would never relinquish till he himself fell, or his men fled. There was as much iron and steel in this bold Scotchman, as in Bona- parte himself. He had all his tenacity and invinci bility without his genius. Macdonald was the son of a Scotchman, of the family of Clanronald, who fought under the standard of Prince Charles Edward, on the fatal field of Cal- loden; and after its disastrous issue, fled to France, and Settled in Sancerre. There the subject of this sketch was born, in November, 1765, and received the name of Etienne Jaques Joseph Alexandre Mac- donald. He belonged to the army before the revolit 244 HIS EAELT HI8T0ET Hon, and daring its progress took the republican sida He was an aid-de-camp in the first Republican armj that advanced on the Rhine at the declaration of war, and distinguished himself throughout that miserably conducted campaign. At the battle if Jemappe, ba fought with such bravery that he was promoted to tlj6 rank of Colonel. Engaged in almost every battle ill the Low Countries, he was appointed to lead tJie van of the army at the North; and in the winter campaign of 1Y94, performed one of those deeds of daring for which he was afterwards so distinguished. The batteries of Nimeguen swept the river Waal, so that it was deemed impossible to cross it with any considerable force, yet Macdonald led his column over the smooth ice and through the deadly firo that devoured his ranks, and routed the enemy. For this gallant deed he was made general of brigade. In 1796, at Cologne and Dusseldorf, he commanded the army, and soon after was sent by the Convention into Italy. After the conquest of the Papal states, in 1798, he was made governor of Rome. In his new capacity, he exhibited other talents than those of a military leader. He could scarcely have been placed in a more trying position than the one he occupied aa governor of the Eternal City. The two factions — ono of which acted with the revolution, and the other against it — ^kept the population in a pei-petual ferment. Insurrections and popular outbreaks occurred almost every day, while the indignity that had been offered the Pope, and the indiscriminate pillage of the Vati- can, palaces, and churches, exasperated the upper classes beyond control, and it i-equired a strong arm to maintain French authority in the city. Macdo HABSHAL MACDONALD. 24& oald did as well, perhaps, as any one could have done in his circumstances. An insurrection soon after having broken ciit at Frosinone, which he found himself unable to quell, except with the destruction of a large number of hia own men ; he ordered the houses to be fired and the insurgents massacred. Mack at length drove him from Kome, but being in turn compelled to evacuate it, Macdonald re-entered, and finally left it to conquer Naples. The entrance of the French into the latter city was 3ver heaps of corpses, for the inhabitants of every class down to the miserable lazzaroni fought with the desperation of madmen for their homes. And even after the army had entered within the walls, it could advance only by blowing up the houses ; and finally conquered by obtaining, through the treachery of a Neapolitan, the castle of St. Elmo, from whence the artillery could be brought to bear on the town below. The famous Parthenopeian Republic was immediately established, and Macdonald entrusted with the su- preme command. Mack, who had charge of the army opposed to the French, was an inefficient man. His forces outnumbered those of the French three to one, but he lacked the nerve to contend with Bona- parte's generals. When Nelson heard of his appoint- ment as commander-in-chief of the forces in the south of Italy, he remarked, " Mack cannot travel without live carriages. I have formed ray opinion of him." That was the great difficulty with many of the continental generals — ^they could not submit to the hardships and exposures and constant toil that such men as Ney and Macdonald and Napoleon cheerfully encountered. But another man soon led Ms armie» 14* 246 BATTLE OF TBEBBIA. into southern Italy. The invincible Siiwan-ow who had never yet turned his back on a human foe, began to sweep down through the peninsula. Macdonald could not contend with the superior force now bronglit iigainst hini, and commenced a masterly retreat toward Tuscany, which tested his skill as a general more than any other act of his Ufe. Still advancing north, he came upon Suwarrow at the river Trebbia, and there for three days endured the shock of the entire Kussian army. After the first day's battle, the two armies bivouacked on opposite sides of the river, to wait for the morning light to re- new the combat. At 6 o'clock the Eussians advanced to the attack. Macdonald, finding that he must fight, though anxioua to delay till Moreau could come up, poured his bat- talions across the river, but after a most desperate struggle, was compelled to retire again over the Treb- bia. The quiet stream swept with a gentle murmur between the foemen, while the watch-fires of both camps were refiected from its placid bosom. All was still as the moonlight sleeping there, when three French battalions, mistaking their orders, advanced into the river, and began to fire on the Kiussiaii out^ posts. Both armies taken by surprise, supposing a grand attack was to be made, rushed to arms. In a moment all was hurry and confusion. The artillery on either bank opened their fire — the cavalry plunged headlong into the water — the infantry followed after — and there, in inextricable confusion, the two armies, up to their middle in water, fought by moonlight, while the closely advanced cannon played on the dark masses of friend and foe with dreadful effect. This useless slaughter at length be'ng stopped, the MARSHAL MAODONALn. 24"? two weary hostB again lay down to rest on the shore, BO near, that each could almost hear the breathing of the other. Early in the morning they prepared for the third and last day's battle, and at ten o'clock Macdonald advanced to the attack. His men, up to their arm-pits in water, moved steadily across the river in the face of a murderous iire. The battle was fiercely contested, but the French were finally driven again over the Trebbia with great loss, and next day were compell- ed to retreat. The battle of Trebbia was one of the severest that had yet been fought, and though Macdonald was blamed for his tactics, he there evinced that indomi- table courage and tenacity which afterwards so dis- tinguished him. As it was, had Suwarrow received no reinforcements, or had Macdonald been aided to the same extent, the issue of it would doubtless have been different. Nearly thirty thousand men had fallen during these three terrible days. The courage, the tenacity and firmness of the troops on both sides, were worthy of that field on which nineteen hundred years before, the Romans and Carthagenians had battled for Italy. In the revolution of the 18th Brumaire, which over- threw the Directory and made Bonaparte First Con- sul, Macdonald was by his side, and with Murat, Lef'V bre, Marmont, Lannes and others, passed the power of France over into his hands. For the service he rendered on this occasion, Na- poleon appointed him to the command of the army in the ftrisons. A letter from him to General Eegnier, then with the army in Egypt, shews his exalted views of Napoleon. In an extract, he says : " Since you left, we have been ccmpelled to lament over tli« 248 QUABBEL WITH NAPOLEON. eapricionsness of fortune, and have been defeated everywhere, owing to the impotence of the old tyran- nical Directory. At last Bonaparte appeared — ^upset the audacious government, and seizing the reins, now directs with a steady hand the car of the revolution to that goal all good men have long waited to see if reach. Undismayed by the burden laid upon him, this wonderful man reforms the armies — calls back the proscribed citizens — ^flings open the prison in which innocence has pined — abolishes the old revolutionary laws — ^restores public confidence — ^protects industry- revives commerce, and making the republic triumphant by his arms, places it in that high rank assigned it by Heaven." In 1802 he was sent as ambassador to Copenhageii, where he remained a year. On his return he was appointed grand officer of the Legion of Honour. But soon after he incurred the displeasure of Bonaparte by his severe condemnation of the trial and sentence of Moreau. Macdonald had fought beside the hero of HohenKnden — ^they had planned and counselled together, and he felt keenly the disgrace inflicted on his old companion in arms. Fearless in court as he was in battle, he never condescended to flatter, nor re&ained &om expressing his indignation against meanness and injustice. His words, which were utter- ed without disguise, and couched in the plain, blunt terms of a soldier, were repeated to l^apoleon, who afterwards treated him with marked coolness. Too proud to go where he was not received as became his rank, and equally disdaining to make any eflbrta t:> produce a reconciliation when he had told what he considered the simple truth, he kept away frcm court altogether. MABSEAL MAODONALD. 249 Bonaparte seemed to have forgottei. him, and let him remain inactive, while Europe was resounding with the great deeds of the Generals that were lead- ing hia victorious ai'mies over the Continent. Mac- donald felt this keenly. He who had fought so man fully the bloody battle of the Trebbia, performed such prodigies of valour in Italy, and finally, to the aston- ishment of the world, led his army in mid-winter over the Splugen amid hurricanes of snow and fall ing avalanches ; did not deserve this neglect from one whom he had served so faithfully, and in whose handa he had helped to place the supreme power of France. Bonaparte, in his towering and unjust pride, allowed a few expressions — ^unjust, it is true — ^but springing from the very excellences of that character which made him the prop of his throne, to outweigh the yea/rs of service he had rendered, and the glorious victories he had brought to his standard. The campaign of Austerlitz with its " Sun " ol glory — Jena and its victories — ^Eylau and its car- nage and doubtful issue — Friedland with its deeds of renown and richly bestowed honours, passed by and left Macdonald unnoticed and uncalled for. Thus years of glory rolled away. But in 1807, Bonaparte, who either thought that he had sufBciently punished him, or felt that he could dispense no longer with his powerful aid, gave him command of a corps under Eugene Beauhamois. He advacced into Styria, fought and captured the Austrian General, Meerfeldt — helped to gain the victory of Raab, and soon after- wards saved Napoleon and the Empire at "Wagi-am, by one of the most desperate charges recorded in the annals of war. Created Marshal on the field ot battle, he was next appointed to the government oi 250 HIB INJUSTICE AND INTEGRITY. Gratz, where he exhibited the nobler qualities of justice and mercy. The bold denouncer of what he deemed injustice in his Emperor was not likely to com- mit it himself. By the severe discipline he maintained among the troops — preventing them from violating the homes and property of the inhabitants — and by the equity and moderation with which he administered the government entrusted to him, he so gained the love and respect of the people, that on his departure they made him a present of 100,000 francs, or nearly $20,000, and a costly box of jewels, as a wedding gift for one of his daughters. But he nobly refused tliem both, replying, " Gentlemen, if you consider yourselves under any obligation to me, repay it by taking care of the three hundred sick soldiers I am com- pelled to leave with you." Not long after he was made Duke of Tarentum, and in 1810 was appointed to command the army of Augereau in Catalonia, who had been recalled. Act- ing in conjunction with Suchet he carried on for a while a species of guerilla warfare for which he was by nature little fitted. In 1812, he commanded the tenth corps of the Grand Army in its victorious march into Russia, and was one of the surviving few, who, after performing prodigies of valour, and patiently en- during unheard of suflferings in that calamitous re- treat ; struggled so nobly at Bautzen, and Lutzen, and Leipsic, to sustain the tottering throne of Napoleor.. He never faltered in his attachment ; nor refused his aid till Bonaparte's abdication and exile to Elba. He was sti'ongly opposed to his mad attempts to re- lieve Paris, which ended in his immediate overthrow. He declared to Berthier that the Emperor should ro tire to Lens and there fall back on Augereau, and MA.BSHAL MAODONALD. 25!! chodsing out a field where he could make the best stand, give the enemy battle. "Then," he said, "if Providence has decreed our final hour, we shall at least die with honour." Unwavering in his attach- ment to the last, when the allies had determined oa the Emperor's abdication, he used every effort to ob- tain the most favourable terms for him and his family. This generous conduct, so unlike what Bonaparte might have expected from one whom he had treated so unjustly, affected him deeply. He saw him alone at Fontainbleau, and in liieir private interview previous to his departure for Elba, acknowledged his indebted- ness to him, expressed his high regard for his cha- racter, and regretted that he had not appreciated his great worth sooner. At parting he wished to give him some memorial of his esteem, and handing him a beautiful Turkish sabre, presented by Ibrahim Bey when in Egypt, said, "It is only the present of a sol- dier to his comrade." When the Bourbons re-ascended the throne, Mac- donald was made a Peer of France, and never after broke his oath of allegiance. Unlike Murat, and Ney, and Soult, and other of Napoleon's generals, he considered his solemn oath sacred, and though when sent to repel the invader, his soldiers deserted him at the first cry of " Vive I'Erapereur," he did not follow their example, but making his escape hastened to Paris to defend Louis. After the final overthrow of Napoleon at "Waterloo, he was promoted from one post of honour to another, till he was made Governor of the 21st Military Division, and Majoi General of the Boyal Guard, He visited soon after Scotland, and hunting up his poor relatives, bestowed presents upon them, and finally, on the overthro'w FASSAOE OF THE SFLnGEIT. and abdication of Charles X., gave his allegiance to Louis Philippe. This brief outline of his history gives us space to Bpeak more fully of the three great acts of his lifa When commanding the army in the Grisons, Mac- donald was ordered by Napoleon to pass the Spluger with his forces, in order to form the left wing of his army in Italy. This was in the Campaign of Italy, after Bonaparte's return from Egypt. Though no braver or bolder man than Macdonald ever lived, he felt that the execution of the First Consul's com- mands was well nigh impossible, and sent General Dumas to represent to him the hopelessness of such an undertaking. Bonaparte heard him through, and then with his usual recklessness of difficulties re- plied, "I will make no change in my dispositions. Return quickly and tell Macdonald that an army can always pass in every season where two men can place their feet." Like an obedient officer he imme- diately set about preparations for the herculean task before him. PASSAGE OF THE SPLUGEN. The present pass over this mountain is a very dif- ferent thing from the one which Macdonald and his fifteen thousand men traversed. There is now a car- riage way across, cut in sixteen zig-zags along the breast of the mountain. But the road he was com- pelled to take was a mere bridle path, going through the gorge of the Gavdind. To understand some ol the difficulties that beset him and his army, imagine a gloomy defile leading up to the height of six thou land Jive himdred feet above the level of the sea. while the raging of an Alpine storm and the rapid MARSHAL MAODONALD. 253 sweep of avalanches across it, add tenfold horror to the wintiy scene. First comes the deep, dirk defile called the Via Mala, made hy the Rhine, here a mere rivulet, and overhung by mountains often three thou- sand feet high. Along the precipices that stoop ovei this mad torrent the path is cut in the solid rock — now hugging the mountain wall like a mere thread, and now shooting in a single arch over the gorge that sinks three hundred feet below. Strangely silent snow peaks pierce the heavens in every direction, while from the slender bridges that spring from preci- pice to precipice over the turbulent stream, the roar of the vexed waters can scarcely be heard. After leaving this defile the road passes through the valley of Schams, then winding up the pine-covered clifis of La Eaffla, strikes on to the bare face of the mountain — going sometimes at an angle of forty-five degrees — and finally reaches the naked summit, standing bleak and cold in the wintry heavens. This was the Splugen-paas over wliich Macdonald was commanded to lead his army of 15,000 men in mid-winter. It was on the 20th of November he commenced his preparations. A constant succession of snow-storma had filled up the entire path, so that a single man on foot w^ould not have thought of making the attempt. But when Macdonald had made up his mind to do a thing, that was the end of all impossibilities. The cannon were dismounted and placed on sleds, lo which oxen were attached — the ammunition divided about on the backs of mules, while every soldier had to carry, besides his usual arms, five packets of cartridges and five days' provisions. The guides went in advance, and stuck down long black poles te indicate the course of the path beneath, wliile bo 15 254 FIEST DAY^B ASCENT. hind them came the workmen clearing away tin Buow, and behind them still, the mounted dragoons, with the most powei-ful horses of the army, to beat down the track. The first company had advanced, in this manner, nearly half way to the snmmit, and were approaching the hospice, when a low moaning was heard among the hills, like the voice of the sea before a storm. The guides understood too well its meaning, and gazed on each other in alarm. The ominous sound grew louder every moment, till sud denly the fierce Alpine blast swept in a cloud of snow over the breast of the mountain, and howled like an unchained demon through the gorge below. In au in- stant all was confusion, and blindness, and uncer- tainty. The very heavens were blotted out, and the frightened column stood and listened to the raving tempest, that threatened to lift the rock-rooted pines that shrieked above them from their places, and bring down the very Alps themselves. But suddenly another still more alarming sound was heard amid the storm — "an avalanche! an avalanche!" shrieked the guides, and the next moment an awful white form came leaping down the mountain, and striking the column that was struggling along the path, passed straight through it into the gulf below, carrying thirty dragoons and their horses along with it in its wild plunge. The black forms of steeds, and their riders, were seen, for one moment, suspended in mid-heavens, and in the next, disappeared among the ice and crags below. The head of the column immediately pushed on and reached the hospice in safety, while the rear, separated from it by the avalanche, and struck dumb by this sudden apparition crossing their path with Buch lightning-like velocity, and bearing to such s MABSHAL UACDK.erALD. 25fi fearful death their brave comrades, refused to ]»roceed, and turned back to the village of Splugen. For three days the storm raged amid the moun- tains, filling the heavens with snow, and hurling avalanches into the path, till it became so choked np that the guides declared it would take fifteen days to open it again. But fifteen days Macdonald ccinld not spare. Independent of the urgency ol his commands, there was no way to provision his army in these savage solitudes, and he must pro- ceed. He therefore ordered four of the strongest oxen that could be found to be led in advance by the best guides. Forty peasants followed behind, clear ing away and beating down the snow. Two com- panies of sappers came after to give still greater con- sistency to the track, while on their heels marched the remnant of the company of the dragoons, part ol which had been borne away by the avalanche, three days before. The post of danger was given them at their own request. They presented a strange sight amid those Alpine solitudes. Those oxen with their horns just peering above the snow, toiled slowly on, pushing their unwieldly bodies through the drifts, while the soldiers up to their arm-pits struggled be- hind. Not a drum or bugle note cheered the solitude, or awoke the echoes of those silent peaks. The footfall gave back no sound in the soft snow, ani the words of command seemed smothered in the very atmosphere. Silently, noiselessly the vast but dis- ordered line stretched itself upward, with naught to break the deep stillness of the wintry noon, save the fierce pantings of the horses and animals, as with reeking sides they strained up the ascent. This day and the next being clear and frosty, the 256 THiBD dat'b ascent. separate columns passed in safety, with the exceptioB of those who sunk in their footsteps overcome by the cold. The successful efforts of the columns, these two days, induced Macdonald to march all of the remaining troops over the next day; and so order- ing tlie whole army to advance, he commenced, on the 5th of December, the passage. But fresh snow had fallen the night previous, filling up the entire track, BO that it had all to be made over again. The guides, expecting a wind and avalanches after this fresh fal' of snow, refused to go, till they were compelled to bj Macdonald. Breast deep the army waded up the difficult and desolate path, making in six hours but six miles, or one mile cm hour. They had not advanced far, however, when they came upon a huge block of ice, and a newly fallen avalanche, that entirely filled up the way. The guides halted before these new obstacles and refused to proceed, and the head of th« column wheeled about and began its march down the mountain. Macdonald immediately hastened for- ward ; and placing himself at the head of his men, walked on foot, with a long pole in his hand to sound the treacherous mass he was treading upon, and revived the drooping spirits of the soldiers with worda of encouragement. "Soldiers," said he, "your des- tinies call you into Italy; advance and conquer first the mountain and the snow — then the plains and the armies." Ashamed to eee their General hazarding his life at every step where they had refused to go, they returned cheerfally to their toil. But before they could effect the passage the voice of the hurricane was again heard on its march, and the next moment a cloud of driving snow obliterated every thing from view. The path was filled up, and all traces of H MARSHAL MAODONALD. 257 swept utterly away. Amid the screams of the guides, the confused commands of the officers, and the howling of the storm, there came at intervals the rapid tliunder- crash of avalanches. Then commenced again the stern struggle of tho army for life. The fee they had to contend with was not one of flesh and blood. To sword-cut, bayonet-thrust, and the blaze of artillery, the strong Alpine storm was alike invulnerable. On the serried column and straggling line, it thundered with the same reckless power, while over all, the drifted snow lay like one vast winding-sheet. No one who has not seen an Alpine storm, can imagine the fearful energy with which it rages through the mountains. The light snow, borne aloft on its bosom, is whirled and scattered like an ocean of mist over all things. Such a storm now piled around them the drifts which seemed to form instantaneously, as by the touch of a magician's wand. All was mystery and darkness, gloom and affright. The storm had sounded its trumpet for the charge, but no note of defiance replied. The heroes of so many battle-iields stood in still terror be- fore this new and mightier foe. Crowding together, as though proximity added to their safety, the fright- ened soldiers crouched and shivered to the blast that seemed to pierce their very bones with its chilling cjld. But the piercing cold, and drifting snow, and raging storm, and concealed pitfalls, were not enough to complete this scene of terror. Avalanches fell in rapid succession from the top of the Splugen. Scaling the breast of the mountain with a single leap, they came with a crash on the shivering column, bearing >t away to the destruction tliat waited beneath. The extreme density of the atmosphere, filled as it was 258 FALL OF AVALANCHES. with snow, imparted infinite teiTor to these mysteri ous messengers of death, as they came down the mountain declivity. A low, rumbling sound would be heard amid the pauses of the storm ; and as the next shriek of the blast swept by, a rushing as of a counterblast smote the ear; and before the thought had time to change, a rolling, leaping, broken mass of snow burst through the thick atmosphere, and the next moment plimged with the sound of thunder, far, far below, bearing away a whole company of soldiers to its deep, dark resting place. One drummer carried over the precipice, fell unhurt to the bottom of tho gulf, and crawling out from the mass of the snow which had broken his fall, began to beat his drum for relief. Deep down, amid the crushed forms of ava- lanches, the poor fellow stood, and for a whole hour beat the rapid strains which had so often summoned his companions to arms. The muffled sound came ringing up the face of the precipice, the most touching appeal that could be made to a soldier's heart. But no hand could reach him there, and the blows grew fainter and fainter, till they ceased altogether, and the poor drummer lay down to die. He had beat- en his last reveille, and his companions passed mournfully on, leaving the Alpine storm to sing his dirge. On the evening of the 6th of December, the greater part of the army had passed the mountains, and the van had pushed on as far as Lake Como. From the 26th of November to the 6th of December, or nearly two weeks, had Macdonald been engaged in this per- ilous pass. Nearly two hundred men had perished in the undertaking, and as many more mules and horses. One can never in imagination see that long stra^ MAESHAL MACDONALD. 259 glmg line, winding itself like a huge a laconda c rei the lofty snow-peak of the Splugen, with the indom- itable Macdonald feeling his way in front, covered with snow, while ever and anon hnge avalanches sweep by him, and the blinding storm covers his men and the path from his sight, and hear his stern, calm, clear voice, directing the way ; — without feelings of supreme wonder. There is nothing like it in modem liistory, unless it be Suwarrow's passage of the Glarus while pressed by a superior enemy. Bonaparte's i)as- eage over the St. Bernard — so world-renowned — was mere child's play compared to it. That pass was made in pleasant weather, with nothing but the rug- gedness of the ascent to obstruct his progress. Su- warrow, on the contrary, led his mighty army over the Pragel, breast-deep in snow, with the enemy on every side of him, mowing down his ranks without re- sistance. Macdonald had no enemy to contend with but nature — but it was nature alive and wild. The path by which he conducted his army over the Splugen was nearly as bad in summer, as the St. Bernard the time Napoleon crossed it. But in midwinter to rridke a path, and lead an army of fifteen thousand men through hurricanes and avalanches, where the foot of the cha- mois scarce dared to tread, was an undertaking from which even Bonaparte himself might have shrunk. And Napoleon never uttered a greater untruth, than ;vhen he said, " The passage of the Splugen presented, without doubt, some difficulties, but winter is by no meajis the season of the year in which such operations are conducted with the most difficulty; the snow is then firm, the weather settled, and there is nothing to fear from the avalanches, which constitute the true and only danger to be apprehended in the Alps.' 260 BATTLE OF MOUNT TONAL. Boiiai)arte would have us suppose that no avalanches fall in December, and that the passage of the Splugen in the midst of hurricanes of snow, was executed in " settled weather." What then must we think of his passage of the St. Bernard, in summer time, without a foe to molest him, or an avalanche to frighten him. But Ma(;donald'8 dilnculties did not end with the passage of the Splugen. To fulfil the orders of Xa- jioleon, to penetrate into the valley of the Adige, he, after arriving at Lake Como, began the ascent of the Col Apriga, which also was no sooner achieved, than the bleak peak of Mount Tonal arose before him. A mere sheep-path led over this steep moun- tain, and the army was compelled to toil up it in single file through the deep snow. When he arrived at the summit, which was a small flat, about fifty rods across, he found the Austrians there, prepared to dispute the passage with him. This narrow flat lay between two enormous glaciers, that no human foot could scale, and across it the enemy had built three entrenchments, forming a triple line, and com- posed chiefly of huge blocks of ice, cut into regular shapes, and fitted to each other. Behind these walls ){ ice, the Austrians lay waiting the approach of the ex- hausted French. The grenadiers clambering up the slippery path, formed in column and advanced with firm step on the strong entrenchments. A sheet ot fire ran along their sides, strewing the rocks with the dead. Pressing on, however, they carried the external palisades, but the fire here becoming so destructive they were compelled to retreat, and brought word to Macdonald that the entrenchments could not be forced. Eight days after, however, he ordered a fresh column under Yandamme, to attempt to carry them by assault IIAB6HA.L MACDONALD. 26J Under a terrible discharge the intrepid column moved up to the icy wall, and though a devouring fire mowed down the men, so fierce was the onset, that the two external forts were carried. But the fire from the in- ner intrenchment, and from a blockhouse that com- manded the position of the French, was too terrific to withstand ; and after bravely struggling against such desperate odds they were compelled to retreat. On the snowy summit of the Tonal — among the glaciers, and scattered around on the huge blocks of ice, lay the brave dead, while the wintry sun flashed mourn- fully down on the bayonets of the retreating and wounded column. Nothing daunted, — Macdonald by a circuitous route over two other mountain ridges, at length reached the Adige, and fulfilled the extraordi- nary commands of Napoleon. The passage of Napoleon over the St. Bernard waa a magnificent feat, but the passage of the Splugen, by Macdonald, was a de^erate one. One was attended with diffiffidties alone, the other with danger — one was executed in safety, the other with the loss of whole companies. This latter fact alone, is sufiicient to prove which was the most difficult and dangerous. Su- warrow was driven up his pass by the cannon of the French, and led his bleeding thousands over the snow, while the enemy's muskets were continually thinning his defenceless ranks. Macdonald led his column through an awful gorge, and up a naked Alpine peak, when the tempest was raging, and the snow flying, And the avalanches falling in all the terror of a wintry hurricane. Bonaparte led his army over the Sap Bernard, in the delightful month of summer, when the genial sun subdues the asperity of the Alps ; and without an enemy to molest him. "Which achieve- 15* 262 BATTLE OF WAQKA.M. meut of these three stands lowest in the scale, it is ntt difficult to determine. BATTLI OF WAGEAM. But it is at Wagram that we are to look for Mac- ionald's greatest deed. One never thinks of that ter- rific battle, without feelings of the profoundest wonder at his desperate charge, that then and there saved Napoleon and the Empire. The battle of Aspern had proved disastrous to the French. The utmost efforts of Napoleon could not wring victory from the hands of the Austrians. Massena had stood under a tree while the boughs were crashing with cannon balls over head, and fought as never even hs fought before. The brave Lannes had been mangled by a cannon shot, and borne away while the victorious guns of the enemy were still playing on his heroic, but flying column ; and the fragments of the magnificent army, that had in the morning moved from the banks of the Danube in all the confidence of victory, at nightfall were crowded and packed in the little island of Lo- ban. Kejecting the counsel of his officers, Bonaparte resolved to make a stand here, and wait for reinforce- ments to come up. No where does his exhaustless genius show itself more than in this critical period of his life. He revived the drooping spirits of his soldiers by presents from his own hands, and visited in person the sick in the hospitals ; while the most gigantic plans at the same time, strung his vast energies to their utmost tension. From the latter part of May to the first of July, he remained cooped up in this little island, but not in- active. He had done every thing that could be done on the spot, while orders had been sent to the MABBHAL UACDOXALD. S63 different armies to hasten to his relief; aid never was there such an exhibition of the skill and promptitude with which orders had been issued and carried out. At two o'clock in the afternoon, the different armies ftom all quarters first began to come in, and before the next night they had all arrived. First with music «nd streaming banners appeared the columns of Ber- nadotte, hastening from the banks of the Elbe, carry- ing joy to the desponding hearts of Napoleon's army. They had hardly reached the field before the stirring notes of the bugle, and the roll of drums in another quarter, announced the approach of Vandamme from the provinces on the Khine. Wrede came next from the banks of the Lech, with his strong Bavarians, while the morning sun shone on Mac- donald's victorious troops, rushing down from Ulyria and the Alpine summits, to save Bonaparte and the Empire. As the bold Scotchman reined his steed up beside Napoleon, and pointed back to his advancing columns, he little thought that two days after the fate of Europe was to turn on his single will. Scarcely were his troops arranged in their appointed place, before the brave Marmont appeared with glittering bayonets and waving plumes, from the borders of Dabnatia. Like an exhaustless stream, the magnificent armies kept pouring into that little isle ; while, to crown the whole, Eugene came up with bis veterans from the plains of Hungary. In two days they had all assembled, and on the evening of the 4th of July, Napoleon glanced with exultant eye over a hundred and eighty thousand warriors, crowded and packed into the small space of two miles and a half in breadth, and a mile and a half in length. Congratulations were exchanged by soldiers who last 204 PASSAGE OF THE lANUBB. saw each other on some glorious battle-field, and urn rersal joy and hope spread through the dense ranks that almost touched each other. Bridges had been constructed to fling across tlie channel ; and, during that evening, were brought out from their places of concealment, and dragged to the bank. In ten rrvmutes one was across, and fastened at both ends. In a little longer time two others were thrown over, and made firm to the opposite shore. Bonaparte was there, walking backwards and foi'- wards in the mud, cheering on the men, and accele- rating the work, which was driven with such wonder- ful rapidity, that by three o'clock in the morning, six bridges were finished and filled with the marching columns. He had constructed two bridges lower down the river, as if he intended to cross there in or- der to distract the enemy from the re has begun, and turns the shaking ranks into walls of iron before the foe. lie did not possess that versatility of genius which enabled Bonaparte so frequently to turn his very de- feats into victory — he depended rather on the strength and terror of the blow he had planned — and if that failed, it became him to pause before he gave another. Like the lion, he measured his leap before he took it, and if he fell short, measured it over again. But with all this coolness and forethought, his blow was sometimes sudden and deadly as a falling thunder- bolt. A more prompt and decisive man in action, was not to be found in the army. As cool amid the falling ranks and fire of three hundi'ed cannon as on a parade, his onset was nevertheless a most terrible thing to meet. He carried such an iron will with him into the battle, and disputed every inch of ground with such tenacity of purpose, that the courage of the boldest gave way before him. Though he performed perhaps fewer personal heroic deeds than many others, he also committed fewer faults. After seeing him a few times in battle, one unconsciously gets Buch an opinion of his invincibility, that he never sees his c:)lumns moving to the assault, without expecting sudden victory, or one of the most terrific struggles to which brave men are ever exposed. We do not expect tlie pomp and splendour of one of Marat's charges of cavalry, nor the majesty of Ney's mighty columns, as he hurls them on the foe , but the firm step, and stern purpose, and resistless onset of one who lets his naked deeds report his power. Soult's 312 CHARGED AflTH BAPAOITT. eye measured a battle-field with the correctness oi Napoleon's, and his judgment was as good upon a drawn battle as upon a victory. Not having those fluctuations of feeling to which more excitable teni- perments are subject, a defeat produced no discour- agement, and hence a victory gave the enemy no moral power over him. It was singular to see in what a matter-of-fact way he took a beating, and how little his confidence in himself was destroyed by the greatest disasters. A man that is not humbled c/r rendered fearful by defeat, can never be conquered till he is slain. Soult possessed a strong mind and a great chai'ac- ter and in his military life the warrior sinks before the man of intellect, and even British pride condescends to render him homage as an able and great comman- der. He has been charged with rapacity while in Spain, and his plunders commented freely on by his enemies, but the charge has never been clearly made out. Still, there is no doubt he did not let the wealth the chances of war flung into his hands, slip through his fingers ; and he managed, amid all his tergiversations, and from all the changes he passed through, to acquire large es- tates, which now enable him to support his rank with splendour. Soult was not cruel in his disposition, and exhibits tone of the ferocity of the warrior in his career. A bold, skilful and inflexible man in the field, he ranks among the first of Napoleon's Marshals. Napoleon, who, after the battle of Marengo, had asked Massena if Soult really deserved his high repu- tation, and on being answered in the affirmative, had •attached him to his person — ^gave him command of MAK8HAL SOIILT. 313 the army at Boulogne, and afterwards made him Marshal of the Empire — soon after tested his great qualities at the BATTLE OF ATTSTEELrTZ. It was in the latter part of November (1805) that Napoleon, on riding over the country around Auster- litz, determined to make it the battle-field on which he would overthrow the combined armies of Austria and Russia. Rapidly concenti-ating his forces here, he on the last night of N'ovember, found himself at the head of nearly eighty thousand men. His army was drawn up in a plain, with the right resting on Lake Moe- nitz, and the left six miles distant on a hill, which was covered with artillery. Two little streams flowed past the army into the lake, bordered with marshes to protect it, while on a high slope was pitched the Emperor's tent, overlooking the whole scene. Opposite the French army was a waving line of heights, the highest of which. Mount Prat- zen, a few miles distant, formed the centre of the allied forces, numbering ninety thousand men, com- manded by the Emperors of Russia and Austria in person. Under Soult, was placed the finest corps in the army, for the weight of the battle was designed to rest on him, and the heights of Pratzen, forming the enemy's centre, were to be his field of combat. Napoleon had been on horseback all day long, and after dark was riding along the lines previous to liis departure to his tent, when the news of his approach spread like lightning through the whole army. Suddenly the soldiers seized the bundles ol straw that had been supplied them for their beds, and lighting them at one end lifted them on poles ovet 18 314 ILLTTMIN ATION OF THE SOIDIEKS. their heads, making an illumination as splendid as it was unexpected. All along through the valley those blazing torches lighted the path of the astonished Na- poleon — the first amm/oersary of his coronation. Sud- denly the enthusiastic shout of Vive I'Empereur, buist around him. The cry was caught by the next and the next battalion as he advanced, and prolonged by those he had left, till the shout of that immense host filled aU the valley, and rose like the roar of the sea over the heights, miles away — ^falling, with an omi- nous sound, on the camp of the enemy. It was a scene that baffles description. Those myriad torches, blazing and swinging to and fro in the darkness — ^a broad mass of flame losing itself in the distance — and the shout of that army, rolling in such deafening ac- cents after Napoleon, formed together a far more im- posing ceremony than his coronation in the Capital. Next morning, at four o'clock, Napoleon was on horseback beside his tent. The moon had just gone down — ^the stars shone pale and tremulous in the sky, and all was silent and tranquil around him. Not a sound broke from the immense host that slumbered below, over which the motionless fog lay like a white covering — or it might be a shroud in anticipation oi the thousands that ere night would there lie stark and stiff in their last sleep. But amid this deep hush bis quick ear caught a low continuous sound be- yond the heights of Pratzen, like the heavy tread of marching columns and rumbling of artillery car- riages over the ground. The deep murmur passed steadily from right to left, showing that the allies were gathering their force against his right wing. At length the sun rose slowly above the horizon, ting- ing with gold the heights of Pratzen, on which were UAESHAL SOULT. 81S Been Ino^iug dense masses of infantry, and pcnu-ed ita glorious light over the sea of mist that slept in the valleys below. It waa the " Sun of AusterUts." The hour, the scene — ^the immense results at stake, and the sudden bursting of that blazing fire ball on his yision, made a profound impression on Napoleon, -which he never forgot. The allies, intent on outflanking the French, were weakening their centre by drawing off the troops to the left. The Marshals who stood around the Emperor saw the fault of the enemy, and eagerly asked permission to take advantage of it. But he turning to Soult, whose troops were massed in the bottom of the valley near the heights, covered by the fog, asked him how long it would take to reach the summit of Pratzen. "Less than twenty minutes," replied the MarshaL " Wait a little, then," said Napoleon, " when the enemy is making a false movement, it is necessary to be care- ful not to inteiTupt him." It was now eight o'clock in the morning, and soon after he gave the impatiently expected signal, and Murat, Lannes, Bemadotte, and Soult, who had stood around him, parted liko lightning from his side, and swept in a headlong gallop to their re- spective corps. Napoleon rode towards the centre, and as he passed through the troops, said, "Soldiers! the enemy has imprudently exposed himself to your strokes. Fvrdsh the ca/mpaAgn hy a clwp of thvmder /" " Yvoe VMnperewr,^^ answered him in one long, pro- tracted shout. In the meantime, Soult emerged, with his strong bat- talions, from the covering mist, and clothed in the rich Bunlight, ascended with an intrepid step, the slopes of Pratzen. It was a magnificent sight, and NapoleoB watched with intense anxiety the advance of tha\ 316 8T0BUS THE HEIGHTS OF PBATZEN. splendid array. With banners fluttering in the morn ing sunlight, and drums and trumpets rending the air the massive columns streamed upward and onward. La a moment the top of Pratzen was covered with smoke, from whose bosom issued thunder and lightning, aa if a volcano was there hurling its fiery fragments in the air. Covered from sight, those two hosts — ^mixed in mortal combat — struggled for the mastery, while the curtain of smoke that folded them in, waved to and fro, and rent before the heavy artillery, and closed again, and rolled in rapid circles round the hill, telling to the armies below what wild work the stem Soult was making with the foe. At length the fire and smoke, which Pratzen had belched forth for two hours, grew less — the sulphurous cloud lifted in the mid-day sun. and lo, there waved the French standards, while a vic- torious shout went pealing over the armies struggling in the valley. Soult, having pierced the enemy's centre, next de- scended on their left vring. Bessieres was charging fiercely below with the Imperial Guard, and the whole field shook with the shock of cavalry and thunder of cannon ; while the entire valley was filled with rolling smoke, in which were moving dark masses of infantry. There was Murat, with his headlong valour, and Lannes, Davoust and Augereau, strewing the fields with the dead. At length, help being sent to Soult — ^the left of the enemy was borne away, and the allied army routed. Fleeing before the victorious Mar- shal, Buxhowden bravely attempted to cover the re- treat, and forming his men into close column, strove gallantly to direct the reversed tide of battle. But pierced through and trodden under foot, seven thousand fell before the victorious French, while tlie remnindei HAItBBAL SOULT. 317 attempted to escape by crossing a frozen lake near by vdth the artillery and cavalry. In a moment the white frozen surface was covered with dark masses ol infantry, amid which were seen the carefhlly advancing squadrons of cavalry. Pressed by the enormous weigh^ the ice could scarcely sustain the multitude, when Soult suddenly ordered his cannon to play upon it. The iron storm crushed through the yielding mass — ^the whole gave way, and with one terrific yell, that rose over the tumult of battle, more than two thousand men sunk to rise no more. Amid the swimming multitude, the frighted cavalry-horses plunged to and fro, while on the struggling mass the artillery continued to play with deadly precision. On the left, Bemadotte, Murat and Lannes, were equally successful, and the bloody battle of Austerlitz was won. Nearly thirty thousand bodies strewed the field, and when night again closed over the scene, Na- poleon, weakened only by twelve thousand men, saw his menaced throne firmly established. Soult was the hero of the day, and after the battle was over, Napo- leon rode up to him and said, in presence of all his staff, " Marshal Soult, I consider you the ablest tactician in my Empire." Bonaparte never forgot the brilliant conduct of his Marshal on this occasion, and years afterwards, when he was told that the latter was aiming at the tlirone of Portugal, he made known to him that he had heard the report, but added, " I remember nothmg hut Aus t^-Uts."" But Soult exhibited his great qualities as a ccm mander in his campaigns in Spain. He showed him self there superior as a tactician to all the other mar^ ehals except Snchot : and was mox"e than a match hi 18* 818 PUBSUEB HIB, JOHN MOOBE. any time for the Duke of "Wellington. His vei7 first movements convinced Napoleon of his superior abit ity. Arriving together at Bayonne, the Emperor im: mediately planned the campaign, and issued his op ders. Soult was ordered to supercede Bessieres in the command of the second corps, in the path of which Napoleon, with his Imperial Guard, designed to follow. In a few hours after he received his orders, Soult's army was in motion. In fifty hours he travelled from Bayonne to Burgos — ^took the latter town, gained the battle of Gamonal ; and still on the post horse he had mounted at Briviesca, where he took command of the army — pushed on his columns in every direction ; and in a few days laid prostrate the whole north of Spain Following up his successes, he marched against Sii John Moore, and forcing him back, step by step, for a fortnight, across rivers, and through mountains covered with snow, finally drove him into Corunna. There the English commander fortified himself, to await the transports that had been ordered round to receive his army. Soult opened his cannon on the place, and with his weary troops pressed his assaults vigorously, in the hope of forcing the English army to surrender before the arrival of the expected vessels. But Sir John Moore resolved to combat to the last, and pre- pared for a final battle. In the mean time, to prevent an immense magazine of powder of four thousand bar- rels from falling into the hands of the French, he or- dered it to be blown up. A smaller quantity in a store- house near it was first fired. The explosion of this was like the discharge of a thousand cannon at once ; but when the great magazine took fire and those four thousand barrels exploded at once, the towt rocked to and fro as if an earthquake was lift MABSHAL SOULT. 319 iag its foundations. Kocka were upturned by tha shock, the ships in the harbour rose and fell on the sudden billows that swept under them ; while a sound like the crash of nature itself, startled the two armiea as it rolled away before the blast. At length the transports arrived, and the embarka tion commenced while Soult advanced to the attack. The battle soon became general, and Sir John Moore, while watching the progress of the fight, was struck by a cannon ball on the breast, and hurled fi'om hia horse. Rallying his energies, he sat up on the ground, and without a movement or an expression of pain, again fixed his eye on the conflict. Seeing that his men were gaining ground, he allowed himself to be car- ried to the rear. At the first glance it was plain that the ghastly wound was mortal. "The shoulder was shattered to pieces, the arm was hanging by a piece of the skin, the ribs over the heart were broken, and bared of the flesh, and the muscles of the breast torn into long strips, which were interlaced by their recoil from the dragging of the shot. As the soldiers placed him in a blanket, his sword got entangled, and the hilt entered the woimd; Captain Uardinge, a stafl officer, who was near, attempted to take it ofi", bxit the dying man stopped him saying, ' It is well as it is. 1 had rather it should go out of the field vnth me.'' " Thus was the hero borne from the field of battle. He died before night, and was buried in the citadel oi Corunna — ^the thunder of Soult's guns being the mournful salute fired above his grave. Actuated by a noble feeling, the brave Marshal erected a monu- ment to him on the spot where he fell. The great ability which Soult exhibited in this pursuit, caused Napo'eon to rely on him chiefly iij 320 STOEMING OF OPOETO. those operations removed from his personal observa tion, and he was ordered to invade Portugal. In the midst of the rainy season, he set out from Coi-unna. and against the most overwhelming obstacles, steadil} and firmly pursued his way, until at length he ar- rived at Oporto, and sat down before the city. STOEMING OF OPOETO. A summons to surrender being disregarded, he waited for the morning to carry the place by assault. But, at midnight a terrific thunder-storm arose ; the clouds in dark and angry masses swept the heavens ; the wind blew with frightful fury, and the alarmed inhabitants, mistaking the roar of the blast for the tread of the advancing armies, set all their bells ringing, while two hundred cannon suddenly opened into the storm, and one fierce fire of musketry swept the whole circuit of the entrenchments. The loud and rapid ringing of so many bells in the midst of the midnight storm — ^the thunder of cannon replying to the thunders of heaven, as clap after clap broke over the city — ^the fierce lightning outshining the flash of musketry — the roar of the wind and the confused cries of the inhabitants, as they rushed by thousands through the streets, combined to render it a scene of indescribable sublimity and terror. The French stood to their arms, wondering what this strange up- roar meant. But at length the morning broke serene and clear and the waving of standards in the air, the beat of drums, and the loud strains of the trumpets told the inhabitants that Soult was finally leading his strong battalions to the assault. After an obstinate strug gle, the entrenchments were carried at all points MABSHAL bOULT. 321 and the victorious army burst with loud shouts intc the city. The routed army divided ; a part fled to- wards the fort of St. Jao, the remainder towards the mouth of the Douro, in the hopeless attempt to crose by boats or by swimming. Their general, while ey- j)ostulating with them on the madness of the etfortj was shot by them in presence of the enemy, and the t«rror-stricken host rushed head-long into the river, and were almost to a man drowned. But the battle still raged within the city, and the barricades of the streets being forced open, more than four thousand men, women, and children went pouring in one disordered mass, to the single bridge of boats that crossed the river. But, as if the frenzy, and tumult, and carnage were not yet sufficiently great, just then a defeated troop of Portuguese cavalry came in a wild gallop down the street, and with remorseless fury burst through the shrieking multitude, trampling all ages and sexes under their feet. Clearing a bloody pathway for themselves, they rushed on to the bridge, followed by the frantic crowd. The boats sunk, and where they went down, floated a dense mass 0/ human bodies, filling all the space between. The French soldiers as they came up, struck with amaze- ment at the sight, forgot the work of death, and throwing down their muskets, nobly strained every nerve to save the sinking throng. Meanwhile the city rung with fire-arms and shrieks of the dying. Frantic as soldiers ever are in sacking a city, they were made doubly so by a spectacle that met them in one of the public squares. There, fastened upright, were several of their comrades, who had been taken prisoners — their eyes burst asunder, their tongues torn out and their whole bodies mutilated ; in which Iht 822 HIS RSTBEAT. breath of life still remained. Fierce cries of revenge now blent witli the shouts of victory. The officers lost all control, though they mingled with the soldiers, and by their voice and eiforts, strove to stay the carnage and violence. Their efforts were in vain, and even the ttuthority of Soult was, for a while, no more than threads of gossamer, before the maddened passions ol the soldiers. Ten tJwusamd Portuguese fell in this single assault, and the streets of Oporto ran blood. Only five hundred Frenchmen were slain. This sanguinary affair being over, Soult immediately established order, and by his vigorous measures, great kindness, and humanity, so won the esteem of the For' luguese, that addresses came pouring in upon him from all quarters, and offers were made him of the throne oi Portugal. But this brilKant opening of his campaign was des- tined soon to meet with sad reverses. A large Eng- lish force, unknown to him, had assembled in his vicinity, and was rapidly marching against him. In the mean time, treason in his own camp began to show itself. Many of the French oflicers had resolved to deliver the army into the hands of the English. This conspiracy extending more or less through the different armies in the peninsula, was set on foot to overthrow Napoleon. It was a long time before Soult could fathom these secret machinations. His own forces — their position and destination, were all known to the English; while he was left in utter uncertainty of their strength and plans. But at length his eyes were opened, and he saw at once the appalling dan- gers which surrounded him. It was then he exhibited the immense energy and strength of character he possessed. An abyss Lad opened under his feet, but he stood and looked into its impenetrable depths witt ItABBHAZ. BOULT. out a shudder. Not knowing whom to tmst — almosi enveloped by a superior enemy, he nevertheless tooi his decision with the calmness of a great mind. Com- pelled to fall back, he escaped as by a miracle tha grasp of the enemy, and once more entered Oporto. Compelled to abandon the city, he continued to fall back, resting his hope on Loison, whom he had or- dered to hold Amaronte. But that general had departed, leavrug his commander-in-chief to destruc- tion. Soult heard of this new calamity at midnight, just after he had crossed the Souza river. The news spread through the dismayed army, and insubordina- tion broke forth, and voices were heard calling for a capitulation. But Soult rose calmly above the storm, and learning from a Spanish pedlar that there was a by-path across the mountains, instantly resolved to lead his troops over it. The treacherous and discon- tented were alike paralyzed by his firmness, and saw without a movement of resistance aU the artillery and baggage destroyed ; and with their muskets on their shoulders started over the mountains, and finally effected a junction with the retreating Loison. No- thing can be more sublime than the bearing of Soult in this retreat. Superior to treason — to complaints and danger, he moved at the head of his distracted army with a firmness and constancy that awed rebellion, and crushed all opposition. Instead of retreating on the high road, which must have ensured his destruction, he commanded that all the artillery of Loison's corps also should be destroyed in presence of the army. Knowing when to sacrifice, and doing it with an inflexibility of purpose that quelled resistance, he bent his great energies on the salvation of his army. Taking again to the mouu 324 BEAVKET OP MAJOE DULONQ. tains he gained a day's march on his pursuers. R© organizing his ill-conditioned army, he took command of the rear-guard himself; and thus kept his stern eye on the enemy, while the mutinous and traitorous were held before him, and in reach of his certain stroke. Thus retreating, the despoiled, starving army at length approached the river Oavado, when word was brought the Marshal, that the peasantry were destroying the only bridge across it. Should they succeed, the last hour of his army had struck ; for there it must halt, and by morning the English guns would be thunder- ing on his rear, while he had not a single cannon tc answer them. The abyss opened wider beneath him, but over his marble features passed no shadow of fear. Calling Major Dulong to him — ^the bravest man in his ranks — ^he told him the enemy were destroying the bridge across the river ahead, and he had chosen him out of the whole army to save it. He ordered him to pick out a hundred grenadiers, and twenty-five horsemen, and surprise the guard, and secure the passage. " If you succeed," said he, " send me word ; but if you fail, send none — your silence will be suffi- cient." One would be glad to know what the last des- perate resolution of that iron-willed commander was, should silence follow the bold undertaking of the brave Dulong He departed ; while Soult waited with painfiU anxiety the result. Tlie rain fell in torrents — ^the wind went howling fiercely by, and midnight blackness wrapped the drenched and staggering army, as they stood barefoot and unsheltered in the storm. After j long and painful suspense, a messenger arrived. " The bridge is won," fell on Soult's ear like hope ou the dying. A flash of joy passed over his inflexible MAI2BHAL SOULT. ?2S features ; for he still might escape the pain of asurreuder. Tlie bold Dulong, with his strong grenadiers, covered by the darkness, had reached the bridge unseen, and slain the sentinel before he could utter a cry of alarm. But what a sight met their eyes 1 The swollen river went roaring and foaming by, over which only a nar- row strip of mason- work was seen — the wreck of the destroyed bridge. Nothing daunted, Dulong advanced on to the slender fragment, and with twelve grenadiers at his back, began to crawl along his perilous path. One grenadier slipped, and fell with a sudden plunge into the torrent below. But the wind and the waves together drowned his shriek, and the remaining eleven passed in safety, and fell with a shout on the affrighted peasantry, who immediately turned and fled. The bridge was repaired, and by daylight the heads of the column were marching over. Soult had not a moment to spare, for the English cannon had already opened on his rear-guard. But no sooner was this bridge passed, than another — flying with a single arch over a deep gulf, and called the Saltador, or Leaper — rose before him, defended by several hundred Portuguese. Only three men could move abreast over this lofty arch, and two attempts to carry it were repulsed, when the brave Dulong ad- vanced and swept it with his strong grenadiers, though he himself fell in the assault, dreadfully woxmded. The army was saved and by the courageous energy, skill, and heroism of its commander ; and at length en- tered Orense barefooted, without ammunition, baggage, or a single cannon. Soult has been blamed for his management at the outset of this retreat, especially for being surprised, as De was, at Oporto ; but let one, surrounded by con- 19 326 HIS MILITARY TALENTS. spirators, and uncertain whom to trust among his ofl* cers, do better, or show that any leader has acted more worthily, in similai circumstances, before exceptions are taken. It would be uninteresting to follow Soult through all his after operations in Spain. Napoleon had gone, and between the quarrelling of the rival chiefe, and the imbecility of Joseph, affairs were not managol with the greatest wisdom. Soult was crippled in ail hia movements — ^his sound policy neglected, and his best combinations thwarted by Joseph. The disas- trous battle of Talavera was fought in direct opposi- tion to his advice ; nevertheless, he soon after had the pleasure of chasing Sir Arthur Wellesley out of Spain. His operations in Andalusia and Estramadura, and the firmness with which he resisted the avarice of Joseph, aU exhibited his well-balanced character. In Andalusia he firmly held his ground, although hedged in with hostile armies, and suiTounded by an insur- gent population, while a wide territory had to be covered with his troops. His vast and skilful combj- uations, during this period, show the powerful intel- lect he brought to the task before him. King Joseph could not comprehend the operations of such a mind as Soult's, and constantly impeded his success. When, without ruin to the army, the stubborn Marshal might yield to his commands, he did ; but where tho King's projects would plunge him into irredeemable errore, he openly and firmly withstood him. The anger and threats of Joseph were alike in vain ; the inflexible old soldier professed his willingness to obey, but de- clared he would not, with his eyes open, commit a great military blunder. King Joseph would despatch loud and vehement complaints to I^Tapoleon, but the MAKSHAL BOULT. 327 £japeror knew too well the ability of Soult to heed them. Had the latter been on the Spanish throne, instead of Joseph, the country would long before hava been subdued, and the French power established. But it would be impossible, without going into the entire complicated history of the Peninsular war, to give any correct idea of the prodigious efforts he put farth— of his skillfiil combinations, or of the militaiy genius he exhibited, in his successful career. Yet, arduons as was the duty assigned him, he drove Wellington out of the country ; and though fettered by the foolish orders of a foolish king, maintained French power in Spain till he was recalled to steady Napo- leon's trembling throne in .Germany. Cautious in attack, yet terrible in his onset, and endless in his re- sources when beaten, no General could have accom- plished more than he, and he adopted the only method that could at all be successful in the kind of war ho was compelled to wage. The bloodiest battle during the Peninsular war, was fought by Soult, and lost in the very moment of victory. In May, 1811, he rapidly concentrated his forces, and moving from Seville, advanced on Beresford, occupying the heights before Albuera. BATTLE OF AtiBTTERA. Soult had twenty-one thousand men under him, while the Spanish and English armies together num- bered over thirty thousand. The French Marelial, however, relying on the steadiness and bravery of his troops, and not reckoning the Spaniards at more tluin half their numerical strength, resolved to give battle. The allies were stationed along a ridge, three miles in extent. The action commenced by an attack oi French cavalry, but soon Soult's massive columnit 328 BATTLE OF ALBUEBA. began to move over the field and ascend, with a finr Btep, the opposing heights. The artillery opened ov the heads of those columns with terrible precision, but their batteries replied with such rapidity, that they seemed moving volcanoes traversing the field of death, Amid the charges of infantry, the shocks of cavalry, and the carnage of the batteries, they continued to press on, while theii* advancing fire spread like an ascending conflagration up the hill. Every thing went down in their passage. Over infantry, artillery, and cavalry they passed on to the summit of the heights. Beresford, in this crisis of the battle, ordered up the British divisions from the centre. These, too, were overborne and trampled under foot — the heights won — ^the battle, to all appearance, gained, and Beres- ford was preparing to retreat. Suddenly an English officer, Colonel Kardinge, took the responsibility of ordering up a division not yet en gaged, and Abercromby with his reserve brigade. These advancing with a firm and intrepid step, in face of the victorious enemy, arrested the disorder, and began to pour a destructive fire on the dense masses of Soult. His columns had penetrated so far into the very heart of the army, that not only their front, but their entire flanks were exposed to a most severe fire. Thus did Macdonald press into the Austrian lines, and taking tlie cross fire of the enemy's batteries, see his mighty columns dissolve beside him. Soult endeavoured to deploy his men, so as to return a more effectual fire. But the discharges of the enemy were so rapid and dose, that every effort was in vain. The steady ranks melted away beforfe the storm, but still refused to. yield. Soult saw the' crisis this sudden check had Drought upon him, and strained every nerve tf save MABSHAL 8O0LT. 329 the day. His stern voice was heard above the roar of battle, cheering on his men, while he was seen passing to and fro through the ranks, encouraging them by his gestures and example to maintain the fight. Vain valour. That charge was like one of Napoleon's Imperial Guards', and the tide of battle was reversed before it. Those brave British soldiers closed sternly on their foes as in a death struggle. Says Napier, " In vain did Soult, by voice and gesture, animate his Frenchmen — ^in vain did the hardiest veterans, extri- cating themselves from the crowded columns, sacrifice their lives to gain time for the mass to open out on Buch a fair field ; in vain did the mass itself bear up, and fiercely striving, fire indiscriminately upon friends and foes, while the horsemen, hovering on the flank, threatened to chai'ge the advancing lines. Nothing could stop that astonishing infantry. No sudden burst of imdisciplined valour, no nervous enthusiasm, weakened the stability of liheir order; their flashing eyes were bent on the dark columns in their front, their measured tread shook the ground, their dreadful volleys swept away the head of every formation, their deafening shouts overpowered the dissonant cries that broke from all parts of the tumultuous crowd, as slowly and with a horrid carnage, it was pushed by the incessant vigour of the attack to the farthest edge of the height. There the French reserves, mixing with the struggling multitude, endeavoured to sustain the fight, but the efibrt only increased the irremediable confusion ; the mighty mass gave way, and like a loosened clifl', went headlong down the steep. The rain flowed after in streams, discolourtd witb blood, and fifteen hunoh'ed unwownded men, the renir 330 DEFEAT OF SOULT. nomt of six thouscmd vmiconguerable British soldiers, stood trivmphcmt on tJie hill" The fight was done, and fifteen thousand men lay piled in mangled heaps along that hill and in the val- ley. The rain came down in torrents, and night set m, dark and gloomy, over the scene of conflict. Bat from the dreadful field, groans and cries arose through the long night, as the wounded writhed in their pain. The pitiless storm, and the moaning wind, and the murky night, and heart-breaking cries of the suffer- ing and the dying, combined to render it a scene of unmingled terror. Soult took five hundred prisoners and several stand of colours, while the British had only the bloody field for their trophy. The next day, however, Soult still hung like a thunder cloud on the army of the English. But they, having received re- inforcements, on the third day he deemed it prudent to retire. Marmont, however, joining Lim soon after, he again took the offensive, and drove the English before him, and over the Spanish borders. It is impossible to follow the Marshal through his chequered career. For five years he struggled man- fully against the most harrassing obstacles, and final- ly when Spain was delivered from the enemy, he has- tened, as before remarked, to Napoleon, to help him stem the torrent that was threatening to bear him away. With his departure, victory also depai-ted, and soon the disastrous battle of "Vittoria threw Spain agaiii into the hands of the English. The appointment by Napoleon of Soult to retrieve these losses, showed what his opinion was of the Mar- shal, as a military leader. Not the complaints and false representations of his own brother, nor the re- ports of rival generals, could blind his ponetrating UABSHAL 80TJLT. 331 eye to tiie great ability of the Duke of Dalmatia. No higher eulogy could be passed on him than this single appointment. The frontiers of France were threatened through the passes of the Pyrenees, and these Soult was order- ed to defend to the last extremity. He found at Bay- onne but the fragments of the armies that had battled in Spain, but with his accustomed energy, he set about their organization, and with such untiring persever- ance did he work, that in a fortnight he was ready to take the field. Bearing down on Wellington, he poured his strong columns like a resistless torrent through the pass of the Roncesvalles. The gorges and precipices of the Pyrenees rung to the peal of musketry, the roll of the drum, and the roar of can- non, and Soult's conquering troops broke, with the shout of victors into Spain. It was his design to succour St. Sebastiani, which, with a small garrison, had withstood a long siege, and been most heroically defended. But the energy which he had imparted to his army was only mo- mentary. The soldiers were exhausted and worn down, and could not be held to the contest like fres^ troops, and Soult was compelled to retire before supe rior force. The sudden abyss that had opened undei Wellington, closed again, and having repulsed his able antagonist, he sat down anew before St. Sebas- tianL Soult had given his word to this brave gan-i- Bon that if they would hold out a short time longer, he woidd march to their relief, and he now set about fid fi llin g his promise, hopeless as the task was, and moved to within eight miles of the place with his army. But the besiegers, In the meantime, had not been idle. The siege was pressed vigorously, and 8 332 STOKMIiiO OF ST. SEBASTIAN I. hundred and eighteen gvjis were dragged before the doomed town. Before Soult broke so rash and siid den through the Pyrenees, Wellington had made aii ineffectual assault on the place, and though the forti fi cations had been weakened and many of the houses bni-ned, he withdrawing his forces to meet the Frencli Marshal, the garrison had a breathing spell, and made good use of their time to repair their defences. TEBBIBLE ASSAULT OF ST. SEBASTIANI. Wellington at length placed in battery sixty cannon, some of them sixty-three pounders, and began to play on the walls. The thunder oi these heavy guns shook the hills around, and was echoed in sullen shocks on the ear of the distant Soult. For four days did this fierce volcano belch forth its stream of fire against St. Sebastian!, carrying terror and dismay to the hearts of tlie inhabitants. Nothing could withstand such batteries, and the iron storm smote against the walls till a frightful gap ap- peared, furnishing foothold for the assaulting com- panies. St. Sebfistiani stands by the sea, with the river Uremea flowing close under its walls, which in low tide can be forded. On the farther side of this river were the British troops, and on the 31st of August, at half-past ten, the forlorn hope took its station in t]-o trenches, waiting for the ebbing tide to allow tl^em to cross. As this devoted band stood in silence watching the slow settling of the waters, they could see the wall they were to mount lined with shells and fire-baiTels, ready to explode at a touch, while bayonet-points gleamed beyond, showing into what destruction they were to move. Soldiers hate tc MAB6UAL tiODLT. 333 khiuk, and the suspense which they were now forced to endure, was dreadftil. These brave men could rush on death at the sound of the bugle, but to stand and gaze into the very jaws of destruction till the slowly retiring waters would let them enter, was too much for the firmest heart. Minutes seemed lengthened Into hours, and in the still terror of that delay, the sternest became almost delirious with excitement. Some laughed outright, not knowing what they did ; others shouted and sung ; while others prayed aloud. It was a scene at which the heart stands still. The air was hot and sulphureous — dark and lurid thunder-clouds were lifting heavily above the horizon, and the deep hush of that assaulting column was ren- dered more awful by the hush of nature which betokens the coming tempest. Noon at length came — the tide was down, and the order to advance was given, and that devoted bacd moved to the centre of the stream. A tempest ci grape-shot and bullets scattered them like autumu leaves over its bosom, but the survivors pressed boldly on, and reaching the opposite shore, mounted the breach and gained the summit. But as they stood amid the wasting fire, they hesitated to descend on the farther side, for they saw they must leap down twelve feet to reach the ground ; while the base of the wall bristled with sword blades, and pikes, and pointed weapons of every description, fastened upright in the earth. While they still delayed to precipitate them- selves on these steel points, the fire from the inner ram- part swept them all away. Still column after column poured across the river and filled up the dreadful gaps made in the ranks of their comrades, and crowded the beach, and still tlie fierce volleys crushed Uiem 334 THE TOWN IS OAKBIED down, while the few who passed met the bayonet- point, and fell at the feet of the heroic defenders. After two hours of this murderons strife, the breach was left empty of all but the dead, and tlie shout oi I he French was heard in the pause of the storm. Il this crisis, the English soldiera were ordered to lie down at the foot of the ramparts, while foily-seven cannon were brought to bear on the high curtain within, from whence the fire swept the breach. The batteries opened, and the balls flying only two feet over the soldiers' heads, crushed with resistless power through the enemy's works. At this moment, an accident completed what the besiegers had begun, and over- whelmed the defenders. A shell, bursting amid the hand grenades, shells, trains of fii-e-barrels, and all kinds of explosive materials which the garrison had laid along the ramparts for a last defence — ^the whole took fire. A sheet of flame ran along the walls, and then the mouth of a volcano seemed to open, followed by an explosion that shook the city to its foundations, sending flerce columns of smoke and broken frag- ments into the air, and strewing the bodies of three hundred French soldiers amid the ruins. As the smoke lifted, the assailants rushed with a deafening shout forward, and though firmly met by the bayo- net, their increasing numbers overwhelmed every obstacle, and they poured into the town. Soult, eight miles distant, had just been defeated in attempting to march to the relief of the garrison, and from the heights of Bidissoa, heard that terrific explosion that followed the cannonading, and saw the fiercely ascending colimms of smoke that told that St. Sebastiam wag won. At this moment, when the Shouts of the conquer- MA^BSHAL BOULT. S35 ore, maddened by every passion that makes man a monster and a fiend, were paralyzing the hearts oi the inhabitants with fear, the long gathering thunder storm biirst on the town. Sudden darkness wrapped every thing, thi'ongh which the lightning incessantly streamed, followed by crash after crash of thunder, till the very heavens seemed ready to fall. Amid this stern language of the skies, and war of the ele- ments, and roar of the conflagration that fanned by the tempest, wrapped the dwellings, scenes were trans- piring, over which history must draw a veil. Ra- pine, revenge, drunkeimess, lust, and murder, burst forth without restraint, making a wilder hell than man ever dreamed of before. The inhabitants fled from their burning houses, and ciowded into a quar- ter where the flames had not yet come. As men, women and children, stood thus packed together, the brutal soldiery reeled and staggered around them, firing into the shrieking mass, and plunging their bayonets into the old and young alike. Lust, too, was abroad, and the cries of violated women, mingled in with the odths and blasphemies and shouts of the soldiers. Wives were ravished before the eyes of their husbands, mothers in presence of their daughters, ana one girl of seventeen was violated on the corpse of hei mother. For three days did the rapine, and mur- der, and cruelty continue, and scenes were enacted which may not be described, and before which, even fiends woidd blush. Such is war, and such its hor- rors. The Grovemor retreated to the citadel, and bravely defended himself with a handful of men for several days, still hojH"Ug the arrival of Soult. But that Mar- shal had hif hands full "-o Veop "Wellington at bay. SS6 HIS LAST BBAYE BXBDOGrLE. At length, compelled to retreat, he yielded the grouiitl step by step, fighting his way as he went. He de- livered the bloody battles of Bidissoa, and NeviUe, dis- puted the passage of the Nive, and fought at St Pierre, worthy of a better result. He showed a depth of combination, an energy of character, and a tenacity of purpose, seldom equalled by any General. Had his shock in battle been equal to Ney's, he would have been irresistible. As it was, with half the force brought against him, he baffled every effort of the enemy to overwhelm him, and being driven into France, disputed every inch of his native soil with a heroism and patriotism that have rendered him immortal. Now enforcing discipline, now encourag- ing his troops in the onset, and now on foot at the head of the charging columns, perilling his life like the meanest soldier ; he strained every nerve to resist the advance of his overpowering adversary. He had arrived at Bayonne, and taken command of the dis- organized and humbled army in July. Immediately organizing it, he broke like a torrent into Spain, fought seven pitched battles, lost thirty thousand men, and in December was again at Bayonne, showing a firm front to the enemy. For five months he had struggled against the most overwhelming ob stacles — fought with troops that would have ruined the cause of a less stern General — struck blows that even against the odds they were directed, well nigh gave him the victory; and amid the complaints oi the soldiers and the desertion of his German troops, never once gave way to discouragement. Self-6us> tained and resolute, his iron will would bend belore no revei-ses, and in that last struggle for Napoleon in Spain and France, and his masterlv retreat, he ha« MABBHAL 80VLT. ii31 placed himselt among the first military chieftains of the world. It is true, he preferred a less laborious field, and one where constant defeat was not to be expected, and wrote to Napoleon, requesting to be near him. But no one could supply his place, and ho was compelled to struggle on. He then submitted a plan for the defence of France to the Emperor, which the latter, it seems, had not time to attend to, and instead of rendering aid to his distressed General, drew away a large force to assist in the defence of Paris. But Soult had served under Massena in Ge- noa, and knew how to endure. With his army thin- ned by the demands of K^apoleon and constant deser- tion — ^in the midst of a murmuring population, he bore up with a constancy that fills the mind with wonder and admiration. To his requests for help, Napoleon at last replied : " / hwve given you my confidence, 1 can do nothing more." Never was confidence mora worthily bestowed ; and though left in such peril, Soult continued to dispute bravely the country over which he retreated from Bayonne, and at Orthez burst on the enemy with such impetuosity that he well nigh gained the victory. Eetiring, fighting as he went, he at length entrenched himself at Toulouse, and here, after Napoleon's abdication, though before the news had reached him, fought the famous battle of Tou- louse. Each side claimed the victory; but, according to English historians themselves, Wellington's loss was far greater than Soult's ; and the latter was ready the next morning to begin the fight while the former was not. As the two armies thus stood menacing each other the news of Napoleon's abdication arrived. Bcnlt, however, not having received authentic and full 338 DBLIVEBS UP HIS SWOED. information of the terms of the abdication, refused td make any change in his opei'ations, except to granl an armistice till farther reports could be received. Even if Napoleon had abdicated, he did not know that the Bourbons would be reinstated, or that the army Bhonld not retain its present hostile attitude. In tliis uncertain state of affairs, the two leaders again pre- pared for battle ; but the useless waste of blood was spared by orders from the minister of War ; and Soull delivered up his command to the Duke of Angou- leme. As before remarked, he struck the last blow, and fired the last cannon shot, for Napoleon and the Empire. His conduct at Waterloo has caused manv remai-ks, and subjected him to some heavy accusations. But the most that can be made of it is, that he did not act with his accustomed vigour. At Waterloo he was not the hero of Austerlitz. Soult has committed many errors ; and it could not well be otherwise. A life passed in such an agitated political sea as his has been, must now and then exhibit some contradictions and inconsistencies. But these mi- nor faults are buried beneath his noble deeds ; and hia blood so freely shed on so many battle-fields for France — ^the great talents he has placed at the service of his country — and the glory with which he has covered her armies, will render him dear to her long after his evenl- ftil life has closed. The Duke of Dalmatia is now seventy-seven yeai-s of age ; and though he has resigned his office of Mimstei of War, he is still President of the Council, and takes an active part in the political affairs of France. Nothing shows more plainly the ridiculous self- conceit of English historians in drawing a paral- MA.BaHAL aocrT.T. 338 loi between Wellington and Bonaparte, merely because the former won the battle of Waterloo, or rather, waa Commander-in-Chief when it was won — ^than this long struggle between him and Soult in Spain. The French Marshal showed himself a match for him at any time ; Bay, beat him oftener and longer than he was beaten. The advantage, if any, was on the side of the French Mai'shal ; for while he possessed equal coolness and prndence, he carried greater force in his onsets. Yet who would think of drawing a parallel between Soult and Napoleon, with the least intention of making them eqnal. Wellington was no ordinary general ; and he receives all the merit he deserves, when put beside Soult as an equal. Pitted against each other for years, they were so nearly balanced, that th jre seems little tc choose between them ; but to place either beside Napo- leon as his equal, excites a smile in any tne bat ao Englishman. Cornell University Library arV131 v.1-2 Napoleon and his marshals / 3 1924 031 190 493 otin,anx