Yet, despite the ravages of typhus, the falling away of the German States and the assaults of the allied horse, the retreating host struggled stoutly on towards the Rhine. At Hainau it swept aside an army of Bavarians and Austrians that sought to bar the road to France; and, early in November, 40,000 armed men, with a larger number of unarmed stragglers, filed across the bridge at Mainz. Napoleon had not only lost Germany; he left behind in its fortresses as many as 190,000 troops, of whom nearly all were French; and of the 1,300 cannon with which he began the second part of the campaign, scarce 200 were now at hand for the defence of his Empire.

The causes of this immense disaster are not far to seek. They were both political and military. In staking all on the possession of the line of the Elbe, Napoleon was engulfing himself in a hostile land. At the first signs of his overthrow, the national spirit of Germany was certain to inflame the Franconians and Westphalians in his rear, and imperil his communications. In regard to strategy, he committed the same blunder as that perpetrated by Mack in 1805. He trusted to a river line that could easily be turned by his foes. As soon as Austria declared against him, his position on the Elbe was fully as perilous as Mack's lines of the Iller at Ulm.

And yet, in spite of the obvious danger from the great mountain bastion of Bohemia that stretched far away in his rear, the Emperor kept his troops spread out from Koenigstein to Hamburg, and ventured on long and wearying marches into Silesia, and north to Dueben, which left his positions in Saxony almost at the mercy of the allied Grand Army.[384] By emerging from the mighty barrier of the Erzgebirge, that army compelled him three times to give up his offensive moves and hastily to fall back into the heart of Saxony.

The plain truth is that he was out-generalled by the allies. The assertion may seem to savour of profanity. Yet, if words have any meaning, the phrase is literally correct. His aim was primarily to maintain himself on the line of the Elbe, but also, though in the second place, to keep up his communication with France. Their aim was to leave him the Elbe line, but to cut him off from France. Even at the outset they planned to strike at Leipzig: their attack on Dresden was an afterthought, timidly and slowly carried out. As long, however, as their Grand Army clung to the Erz mountains, they paralyzed his movements to the east and north, which merely played into their hands.

As regards the execution of the allied plans, the honours must unquestionably rest with Bluecher and Gneisenau. Their tactful retreats before Napoleon in Silesia, their crushing blow at Macdonald, above all, their daring flank march to Wartenburg and thence to Halle, are exploits of a very high order; and doubtless it was the emergence of this unsuspected volcanic force from the unbroken flats of continental mediocrity that nonplussed Napoleon and led to the results described above. Truly heroic was Bluecher's determination to push on to Leipzig, even when the enemy was seizing the Elbe bridges in his rear. The veteran saw clearly that a junction with Schwarzenberg near Leipzig was the all-important step, and that it must bring back the French to that point. His judgment was as sound as his strokes were trenchant; and, owing to the illusions which Napoleon still cherished as to the saving strength of the Elbe line, the French arrived on that mighty battlefield half-famished and wearied by fruitless marches and countermarches. Of all Napoleon's campaigns, that of the second part of 1813 must rank as by far the weakest in conception, the most fertile in blunders, and the most disastrous in its results for France.

NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION.—In order not to overcrowd these chapters with diplomatic details, I have made only the briefest reference to the Treaties signed at Teplitz on Sept. 9th, 1813, with Russia and Prussia, which cemented the fourth great Coalition; but it will be well to describe them here.

A way having been paved for a closer union by the Treaty of Kalisch (see p. 276) and by that of Reichenbach (see p. 317), it was now agreed (1) that Austria and Prussia should be restored as nearly as possible to the position which they held in 1805; (2) that the Confederation of the Rhine should be dissolved; (3) and that "full and unconditional independence" should be accorded to the princes of the other German States. This last clause was firmly but vainly opposed by Stein and the German Unionist party. Austria's help was so sorely needed that she could dictate her terms, and she began to scheme for the creation of a sort of Fuerstenbund, or League of Princes, under her hegemony. The result was seen in her Treaty of October 7th, 1813, with Bavaria, which detached that State from the French alliance and assured the success of Metternich's plans for Germany (see pp. 354-355). The smaller States soon followed the lead given by Bavaria; and the reconstruction of Germany on the Austrian plan was further assured by the Treaty of Chaumont (see pp. 402-403). Thus the dire need of Austrian help felt by Russia and Prussia throughout the campaigns of 1813-1814 had no small share in moulding the future of Europe.

* * * * *



CHAPTER XXXVI

FROM THE RHINE TO THE SEINE

"The Emperor Napoleon must become King of France. Up to now all his work has been done for the Empire. He lost the Empire when he lost his army. When he no longer makes war for the army, he will make peace for the French people, and then he will become King of France."—Such were the words of the most sagacious of French statesmen to Schwarzenberg. They were spoken on April 15th, 1813, when it still seemed likely that Napoleon would meet halfway the wishes of Austria. Such, at least, was Talleyrand's ardent hope. He saw the innate absurdity of attempting to browbeat Austria, and strangle the infant Hercules of German nationality, after the Grand Army had been lost in Russia.

If this was reasonable in the spring of 1813, it was an imperative necessity at the close of the year. Napoleon had in the meantime lost 400,000 men: and he could not now say, as he did to Metternich of his losses in Russia, that "nearly half were Germans." The men who had fallen in Saxony, or who bravely held out in the Polish, German, and Spanish fortresses, were nearly all French. They were, what the triarii were to the Roman legion, the reserves of the fighting manhood of France. That unhappy land was growing restless under its disasters. In Spain, Wellington had blockaded Pamplona, stormed St. Sebastian, thrown Soult back on the Pyrenees in a series of desperate conflicts, and planted the British flag on the soil of France, eleven days before Napoleon was overthrown at Leipzig. Then, pressing northwards, in compliance with the urgent appeals of the allied sovereigns, our great commander assailed the lines south of the Nivelle, on which the French had been working for three months, drove the enemy out of them and back over the river, with a loss of 4,200 men and 51 guns (November 10th).[385]

The same tale was told in the north. The allies were welcomed by the secondary German princes, who, in return for compacts guaranteeing their sovereignty, promised to raise contingents that amounted in all to upwards of a quarter of a million of men. Bernadotte marched against the Danes and cut off Davoust in Hamburg, where that Marshal bravely held out to the end of the war. Elsewhere in the north Napoleon's domination quickly mouldered away. Buelow, aided by a small British force, invaded Holland early in November; and, with the old cry of Orange boven, the Dutch tore down the French tricolour and welcomed back the Prince of Orange. In Italy, Eugene remained faithful to his step-father and repulsed all the overtures of the allies: but Murat, whose allegiance had already been shaken by the secret offers of the allies, now began to show signs of going over to them, as he did at the dawn of the New Year.[386]

Meanwhile Napoleon had arrived at Paris (November 9th). He found his capital sunk in depression, and indignant at the author of its miseries. Peace was the dearest wish of all. Marie Louise confessed it by her tears, Cambaceres by his tactful reserve, and the people by their cries, while the sullen demeanour or bitter words of the Marshals showed that their patience was exhausted. Evidently a scapegoat was needed: it was found in the person of Maret, Duc de Bassano, whose devotion to Napoleon had reduced the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to a highly paid clerkship. For the crime of not bending his master's inflexible will at Dresden, he was now cast as a sop to the peace party; and his portfolio was intrusted to Caulaincourt, Duc de Vicenza (November 20th). The change was salutary. The new Minister, when ambassador at St. Petersburg, had been highly esteemed by the Czar for his frank, chivalrous demeanour. Our countrywoman, Lady Burghersh, afterwards testified to his personal charm: "I never saw a countenance so expressive of kindness, sweetness, and openness."[387] And these gifts were fortified by a manly intelligence, a profound love of France, and by devotion to her highest interests. The first of her interests was obviously peace; and there now seemed some chance of his conferring this boon on her and on the world at large.

On November the 8th and 9th Metternich had two interviews at Frankfurt with Baron St. Aignan, a brother-in-law of Caulaincourt, and formerly the French envoy at Weimar. The Austrian Minister assured him of the moderation of the allies, especially of England, and of their wish for a lasting peace founded on the principle of the balance of power. France must give up all control of Spain, Italy, and Germany, and return to her natural frontiers, the Rhine, the Alps, and the Pyrenees. Lord Aberdeen, our ambassador to Austria, and Count Nesselrode, the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs, were present at the second interview, and assented to this statement, the latter pledging his word that it had the approval of Prussia. Aberdeen added his assurance that England was prepared to relax her maritime code and sacrifice many of her conquests in order to attain a durable peace. To these Frankfurt overtures Napoleon charged Maret to answer in vaguely favourable terms, and to suggest the meeting of a European Congress at Mannheim. The effect of this Note (November 16th) was marred by the strange statement—"a peace based on the independence of all nations, both from the continental and the maritime point of view, has always been the constant object of the desires and policy of the Emperor [Napoleon]."[388]

Metternich in reply pointed out that the French Government had not accepted the proposed terms as a basis for negotiations. The new Foreign Minister, Caulaincourt, sent off (December 2nd) an acceptance which was far more frank and satisfactory; but the day before he penned it, the allies had virtually withdrawn their offer, as they had told him they would do if it was not speedily accepted. They had all along decided not to stay the military operations; and, as these were still flowing strongly in their favour, they could not be expected to keep open an offer which was exceedingly favourable to Napoleon even at the time when it was made, that is, before the support of the Dutch, of the Swiss, and of Murat was fully assured.

It may be well to pause for a moment to inquire what were the views of the allied Governments, and of Napoleon himself, at this crisis when Europe was seething in the political crucible. Had Metternich the full assent of those Governments when he offered the French Emperor the natural frontiers? Here we must separate the views of Lord Aberdeen from those of the British Cabinet, as represented by its Foreign Minister, Lord Castlereagh: and we must also distinguish between the Emperor Alexander and his Minister, Nesselrode, a man of weak character, in whom he had little confidence. Certainly the British Cabinet was not disposed to leave Antwerp in Napoleon's hands.

"This nation," wrote Castlereagh to Aberdeen on November 13th, "is likely to view with disfavour any peace which does not confine France within her ancient limits.... We are still ready to encounter, with our allies, the hazards of peace, if peace can be made on the basis proposed, satisfactorily executed [sic]; and we are not inclined to go out of our way to interfere in the internal government of France, however much we might desire to see it placed in more pacific hands. But I am satisfied we must not encourage our allies to patch up an imperfect arrangement. If they will do so, we must submit; but it should appear, in that case, to be their own act, and not ours.... I must particularly entreat you to keep your attention upon Antwerp. The destruction of that arsenal is essential to our safety. To leave it in the hands of France is little short of imposing upon Great Britain the charge of a perpetual war establishment."[389]

Thenceforth British policy inclined, though tentatively and with some hesitations, to the view that it was needful in the interests of peace to bring France back to the limits of 1791, that is, of withdrawing from her, not only Holland, the Rhineland and Italy, but also Belgium, Savoy, and Nice. The Prussian patriots were far more decided. They were determined that France should not dominate the Rhineland and overawe Germany from the fortresses of Mainz, Coblentz, and Wesel. On this subject Arndt spoke forth with no uncertain sound in a pamphlet—"The Rhine, Germany's river, not her boundary"—which proved that the French claim to the Rhine frontier was consonant neither with the teachings of history nor the distribution of the two peoples. The pamphlet had an immense effect in stirring up Germans to attack the cherished French doctrine of the natural frontiers, and it clinched the claim which he had put forward in his "Fatherland" song of the year before. It bade Germans strive for Treves and Cologne, aye, even for Strassburg and Metz. Hardenberg and Stein, differing on most points, united in praising this work. Even before it appeared, the former chafed at the thought of Napoleon holding the left bank of the Rhine. On hearing of Metternich's Frankfurt offer to the French Emperor, he wrote in his diary: "Propositions of peace without my assent—Rhine, Alps, Pyrenees: a mad business."[390]

Frederick William's views were less pronounced: in fact, his proneness to see a lion in every path earned for him the sobriquet of Cassandra in his Chancellor's diary. But in the main he was swayed by the Czar; and that autocrat was now determined to dictate at Paris a peace that would rid him of all prospect of his great rival's revenge. Vanity and fear alike prescribed such a course of action. He longed to lead his magnificent Guards to Paris, there to display his clemency in contrast to the action of the French at Moscow; and this sentiment was fed by fear of Napoleon. The latter motive was concealed, of course, but Lord Aberdeen gauged its power during a private interview that he had with Alexander at Freiburg (December 24th): "He talked with great freedom: he is more decided than ever as to the necessity of perseverance, and puts little trust in the fair promises of Bonaparte.—'So long as he lives there can be no security'—he repeated it two or three times."[391] We can therefore understand his concern lest the Frankfurt terms should be accepted outright by Napoleon. Metternich, however, assured him that the French Emperor would not assent;[392] and, as in regard to the Prague Congress, he was substantially correct.

Here again we touch on the disputed question whether Metternich played a fair game against Napoleon, or whether he tempted him to play with loaded dice while his throne was at stake. The latter supposition for a long time held the field; but it is untenable. On several occasions the Austrian statesman warned Napoleon, or his trusty advisers, that the best course open to him was to sign peace at once. He did so at Dresden, and he did so now. On November 10th he sent Caulaincourt a letter, of which these are the most important sentences:

" ... M. de St. Aignan will speak to you of my conversations [with him]. I expect nothing from them, but I shall have done my duty. France will never sign a more fortunate peace than that which the Powers will make to-day, and tomorrow if they have reverses. New successes may extend their views.... I do not doubt that the approach of the allied armies to the frontiers of France may facilitate the formation of great armaments by her Government. The questions will become problematical for the civilized world; but the Emperor Napoleon will not make peace. There is my profession of faith, and I shall never be happier than if I am wrong."

The letter rings true in every part. Metternich made no secret of sending it, but allowed Lord Aberdeen to see it.[393] And by good fortune it reached Caulaincourt about the time when he assumed the portfolio of Foreign Affairs. Its substance must therefore have been known to Napoleon; and the tone of the Frankfurt proposals ought to have convinced him of the need of speedily making peace while Austria held out the olive branch from across the Rhine. But Metternich's gloomy forecast was only too true. During his sojourn at Paris he had tested the rigidity of that cast-iron will.

In fact, no one who knew the Emperor's devotion to Italy could believe that he would give up Piedmont and Liguria. His own despatches show that he never contemplated such a surrender. On November 20th he gave orders for the enrolling of 46,000 Frenchmen of mature age—"not Italians or Belgians"—who were to reinforce Eugene and help him to defend Italy; that, too, at a time when the defence of Champagne and Languedoc was about to devolve on lads of eighteen.

He was equally determined not to give up Holland. On the possession of this maritime and industrious community he had always laid great stress. He once remarked to Roederer that the ruin of the French Bourbons was due to three events—the Battle of Rossbach, the affair of the diamond necklace, and the victory of Anglo-Prussian influence over that of France in Dutch affairs (1787). He even appealed to Nature to prove that that land must form part of the French Empire. "Holland," said one of his Ministers in 1809, "is the alluvium of the Rhine, Meuse, and Scheldt—in other words, one of the great arteries of the Empire." Before the last battle at Leipzig he told Merveldt that he could not grant Holland its independence, for it would fall under the tutelage of England. And even while his Empire was crumbling away after that disaster, he wrote to his mother: "Holland is a French country, and will remain so for ever."[394]

Russia, Prussia, and Britain were equally determined that the Dutch should be independent; and if Metternich wavered on the subject of Dutch independence, his hesitation was at an end by the middle of December, for a memorandum of the Russian diplomatist, Pozzo di Borgo, states that Metternich then regarded the Rhine boundary as ending at Duesseldorf: "after that town the river takes the name of Waal."[395] Such juggling with geography was surely superfluous; for by that time the Frankfurt terms had virtually lapsed, owing to Napoleon's belated acceptance; and Metternich had joined the other allied Governments that now demanded a more thorough solution of the boundary question.

In fact, the allies were now able to make political capital out of their recent moderation.[396] On December 1st they issued an appeal to the French nation to the following effect: "We do not make war on France, but we are casting off the yoke which your Government imposed on our countries. We hoped to have found peace before touching your soil: we now go to find it there."

If the sovereigns hoped by means of this declaration to separate France from Napoleon, they erred. To cross the Rhine was to attack, not Napoleon, but the French Revolution. Belgium and the Rhine boundary had been won by Dumouriez, Jourdain, Pichegru, and Moreau, at a time when Bonaparte's name was unknown outside Corsica and Provence. France had looked on wearily at Napoleon's wars in Germany, Spain, and Russia: they concerned him, not her. But when the "sacred soil" was threatened, citizens began to close their ranks: they ceased their declamations against the crushing taxes and youth-slaying conscription: they submitted to heavier taxes and levies of still younger lads. In fact, by doffing the mask of Charlemagne, the Emperor became once more the Bonaparte of the days of Marengo.

He counted on some such change in public opinion; and it enabled him to defy with impunity the beginnings of a Parliamentary opposition. The Senate had been puffily obsequious, as usual; but the Corps Legislatif had mistaken its functions. Summoned to vote new taxes, it presumed to give advice. A commission of its members agreed to a report on the existing situation, drawn up by Laine, which gave the Emperor great offence. Its crime lay in its outspoken requests that peace should be concluded on the basis of the natural frontiers, that the rigours of the conscription should be abated, and that the laws which guaranteed the free exercise of political rights should be maintained intact. The Emperor was deeply incensed, and, despite the advice of his Ministers, determined to dissolve the Chamber forthwith (December 31st). Not content with this exercise of arbitrary power, he subjected its members to a barrack-like rebuke at the official reception on New Year's Day.—He had convoked them to do good, and they had done evil. Two battles lost in Champagne would not have been so harmful as their last action. What was their mandate compared with his? France had twice chosen him by some millions of votes: while they were nominated only by a few hundreds apiece. They had flung mud at him: but he was a man who might be slain, never dishonoured. He would fight for the nation, hurl back the foe, and conclude an honourable peace. Then, for their shame, he would print and circulate their report.—Such was the gist of this diatribe, which he shot forth in strident tones and with flashing eyes. He had the copies of the report destroyed, and dismissed the deputies to their homes throughout France.

The country, in the main, took his side; and doubtless the national instinct was sound; for the allies had crossed the Rhine, and France once more was in danger. As in 1793, when the nation welcomed the triumph of the dare-devil Jacobins over the respectable parliamentary Girondins, as promising a vigorous rule and the expulsion of the monarchical invaders, so now the soldiers and peasants, if not the middle classes, rejoiced at the discomfiture of the talkers by the one necessary man of action. The general feeling was pithily expressed by an old peasant: "It's no longer a question of Bonaparte. Our soil is invaded: let us go and fight."

This was the feeling which the Emperor ruthlessly exploited. He decreed the enrolment of a great force of National Guards, exacted further levies for the regular army, and ordered a levee en masse for the eastern Departments. The difficulties in his way were enormous. But he flung himself at the task with incomparable verve. Soldiers were wanting: youths were dragged forth, even from the royalist districts of the extreme north and west and south. Money was wanting: it was extorted from all quarters, and Napoleon not only lavished 55,000,000 francs from his own private hoard, but seized that of his parsimonious mother.[397] Cannon, muskets, uniforms were wanting: their manufacture was pushed on with feverish haste: Napoleon ordered his War Office to "procure all the cloth in France, good and bad," so as to have 200,000 uniforms ready by the end of February; and he counted on having half a million of effectives in the field at the close of spring.

Among these he reckoned—so, at least, he wrote to Melzi—"nearly 200,000" French soldiers from Arragon, Catalonia, and at Bayonne. Even if we allow for his desire to encourage his officials in Italy, the estimate is curious. Wellington at that time, it is true, had lessened his numbers by sending back across the Pyrenees all his Spanish troops, whose atrocities endangered that good understanding with the French peasantry which our great leader, for political motives, was determined to cultivate.[398] Yet, despite the shrinkage in numbers, he drove the French from the banks of the River Nive, and inflicted on them severe losses in desperate conflicts near Bayonne (December 9th-13th). In fact, the intrenched camp in front of that town was now the sole barrier to Wellington's advance northwards, and it was with difficulty that Soult clung to this position. The peasantry, too, finding that they were far better treated by Wellington's troops than by their own soldiers, began to favour the allied cause, with results that will shortly appear. Yet these disquieting symptoms did not daunt Napoleon; for he now based his hopes of resisting the British advance on a compact which he had concluded with Ferdinand VII., the rightful King of Spain.

As soon as he returned to St. Cloud after the Leipzig campaign he made secret overtures to that unhappy exile;[399] and by the Treaty of Valencay (December 11th, 1813) he agreed to recognize him as King of the whole of Spain, provided that British and French troops evacuated that land. His imagination ran riot in picturing the results of this treaty. Ferdinand was to enter Spain; Suchet, then playing a losing game in Catalonia, was quietly to withdraw his columns through the Pyrenees, while Wellington would have his base of operations cut from under him, and thenceforth be a negligeable quantity.[400] These pleasing fancies all rested on the acceptance of the new treaty by the Spanish Regency and Cortes. But, alas for Napoleon! they at once rejected it, declaring null and void all acts of Ferdinand while he was a prisoner, and forbidding all negotiations with France while French troops remained in the Peninsula (January 8th).

Equally disappointing were affairs in Italy. On the 11th of January, Murat made an alliance with Austria, and promised to aid her with a corps of 30,000 Neapolitans, while she guaranteed him his throne and a slice of the Roman territory. Napoleon directed Eugene, as soon as this bad news was confirmed, to prepare to fall back on the Alps. But, in order to clog Murat's movements, the Emperor resolved to make use of the spiritual power, which for six years he had slighted. He gave orders that the aged Pope should be released from his detention at Fontainebleau, and hurried secretly to Rome. "Let him burst on that place like a clap of thunder," he wrote to Savary (January 21st). But this stagey device was not to succeed. Even now Napoleon insisted on conditions with which Pius VII. could not conscientiously comply, and he was still detained at Tarrascon when his captor was setting out for Elba.

Three days after Murat's desertion, Denmark fell away from Napoleon. Overborne by the forces of Bernadotte, the little kingdom made peace with England and Sweden, agreeing to yield up Norway to the latter Power in consideration of recovering an indemnity in Germany. To us the Danes ceded Heligoland. Thus, within three months of the disaster at Leipzig, all Napoleon's allies forsook him, and all but the Danes were now about to fight against him—a striking proof of the artificiality of his domination.

By this time it was clear that even France would soon be stricken to the heart unless Napoleon speedily concentrated his forces. On the north and east the allies were advancing with a speed that nonplussed the Emperor. Accustomed to sluggish movements on their part, he had not expected an invasion in force before the spring, and here it was in the first days of January. Buelow and Graham had overrun Holland. The allies, with the exception of the Czar, had no scruples about infringing the neutrality of Switzerland, as Napoleon had consistently done, and the constitution, which he had imposed upon that land eleven years before, now straightway collapsed. Detaching a strong corps southwards to hold the Simplon and Great St. Bernard Passes and threaten Lyons, Schwarzenberg led the allied Grand Army into France by way of Basel, Belfort, and Langres. The prompt seizure of the Plateau of Langres was an important success. The allies thereby turned the strong defensive lines of the Vosges Mountains, and of the Rivers Moselle and Meuse, so that Bluecher, with his "Army of Silesia," was able rapidly to advance into Lorraine, and drive Victor from Nancy. Toul speedily surrendered, and the sturdy veteran then turned to the south-west, in order to come into touch with Schwarzenberg's columns. Neither leader delayed before the eastern fortresses. The allies had learnt from Napoleon to invest or observe them and press on, a course which their vast superiority of force rendered free from danger. Schwarzenberg, on the 25th, had 150,000 men between Langres, Chaumont, and Bar-sur-Aube; while Bluecher, with about half those numbers, crossed the Marne at St. Dizier, and was drawing near to Brienne. In front of them were the weak and disheartened corps of Marmont, Ney, Victor, and Macdonald, mustering in all about 50,000 men. Desertions to the allies were frequent, and Bluecher, wishing to show that the war was practically over, dismissed both deserters and prisoners to their homes.[401]

But the war was far from over: it had not yet begun. Hitherto Napoleon had hurried on the preparations from Paris, but the urgency of the danger now beckoned him eastwards. As before, he left the Empress as Regent of France, but appointed King Joseph as Lieutenant-General of France. On Sunday, January 23rd, he held the last reception. It was in the large hall of the Tuileries, where the Parisian rabble had forced Louis XVI. to don the bonnet rouge. Another dynasty was now tottering to its fall; but none could have read its doom in the faces of the obsequious courtiers, or of the officers of the Parisian National Guards, who offered their homage to the heir of the Revolution.

He came forward with the Empress and the King of Rome, a flaxen-haired child of three winters, clad in the uniform of the National Guard. Taking the boy by the hand into the midst of the circle, he spoke these touching words: "Gentlemen,—I am about to set out for the army. I intrust to you what I hold dearest in the world—my wife and my son. Let there be no political divisions." He then carried him amidst his dignitaries and officers, while sobs and shouts bespoke the warmth of the feelings kindled by this scene. And never, surely, since the young Maria Theresa appealed in person to the Hungarian magnates to defend her against rapacious neighbours, had any monarch spoken so straight to the hearts of his lieges. The secret of his success is not far to seek. He had not commanded as Emperor: he had appealed as a father to fathers and mothers.

It is painful to have to add that many who there swore to defend him were even then beginning to plot his overthrow. Most painful of all is it to remember that when, before dawn of the 25th, Marie Louise bade him farewell, it was her last farewell: for she, too, deserted him in his misfortunes, refused to share his exile, and ultimately degraded herself by her connection with Count Neipperg.

Heedless of all that the future might bring, and concentrating his thoughts on the problems of the present, the great warrior journeyed rapidly eastwards to Chalons-sur-Marne, and opened the most glorious of his campaigns. And yet it began with disaster. At Brienne, among the scenes of his school-days, he assailed Bluecher in the hope of preventing the junction of the Army of Silesia with that of Schwarzenberg further south (January 29th). After sharp fighting, the Prussians were driven from the castle and town. But the success was illusory. Bluecher withdrew towards Bar-sur-Aube, in order to gain support from Schwarzenberg, and, three days later, turned the tables on Napoleon while the latter was indulging in hopes that the allies were about to treat seriously for peace.[402] Nevertheless, though surprised by greatly superior numbers, the 40,000 French clung obstinately to the village of La Rothiere until their thin lines were everywhere driven in or outflanked, with the loss of 73 cannon and more than 3,000 prisoners. Each side lost about 5,000 killed and wounded—a mere trifle to the allies, but a grave disaster to the defenders.

The Emperor was much discouraged. He had put forth his full strength, exposed his own person to the hottest fire, so as to encourage his men, and yet failed to prevent the union of the allied armies, or to hold the line of the River Aube. Early on the morrow he left the castle of Brienne, and took the road for Troyes; while Marmont, with a corps now reduced to less than 3,000 men, bravely defended the passage of the Voire at Rosnay, and, after delaying the pursuit, took post at Arcis-sur-Aube. The means of defence, both moral and material, seemed wellnigh exhausted. When, on February 3rd, Napoleon entered Troyes, scarcely a single vivat was heard. Even the old troops were cast down by defeat and hunger, while as many as 6,000 conscripts are said to have deserted. The inhabitants refused to supply the necessaries of life except upon requisition. "The army is perishing of famine," writes the Emperor at Troyes. Again at Nogent: "Twelve men have died of hunger, though we have used fire and sword to get food on our way here." And, now, into the space left undefended between the Marne and the Aube, Bluecher began to thrust his triumphant columns, with no barrier to check him until he neared the environs of Paris. Once more the Prussian and Russian officers looked on the war as over, and invited one another to dinner at the Palais-Royal in a week's time.[403]

But it was on this confidence of the old hussar-general that Napoleon counted. He knew his proneness to daring movements, and the strong bias of Schwarzenberg towards delay: he also divined that they would now separate their forces, Bluecher making straight for Paris, while other columns would threaten the capital by way of Troyes and Sens. That was why he fell back on Troyes, so as directly to oppose the latter movement, "or so as to return and manoeuvre against Bluecher and stay his march."[404] Another motive was his expectation of finding at Nogent the 15,000 veterans whom he had ordered Soult to send northwards. And doubtless the final reason was his determination to use the sheltering curve of the Seine, which between Troyes and Nogent flows within twenty miles of the high-road that Bluecher must use if he struck at Paris. At many a crisis Napoleon had proved the efficacy of a great river line. From Rivoli to Friedland his career abounds in examples of riverine tactics. The war of 1813 was one prolonged struggle for the line of the Elbe. He still continued the war because he could not yet bring himself to sign away the Rhenish fortresses: and he now hoped to regain that "natural boundary" by blows showered on divided enemies from behind the arc of the Seine.

With wonderful prescience he had guessed at the general plan of the allies. But he could scarcely have dared to hope that on that very day (February 2nd) they were holding a council of war at Brienne, and formally resolved that Bluecher should march north-west on Paris with about 50,000 men, while the allied Grand Army of nearly three times those numbers was to diverge south-west towards Bar-sur-Seine and Sens. So unequal a partition of forces seemed to court disaster. It is true that the allies had no magazines of supplies: they could not march in an undivided host through a hostile land where the scanty defenders themselves were nearly starving. If, however, they decided to move at all, it was needful to allot the more dangerous task to a powerful force. Above all, it was necessary to keep their main armies well in touch with one another and with the foe. Yet these obvious precautions were not taken. In truth, the separation of the allies was dictated more by political jealousy than by military motives. To these political affairs we must now allude; for they had no small effect in leading Napoleon on to an illusory triumph and an irretrievable overthrow. We will show their influence, first on the conduct of the allies, and then on the actions of Napoleon.

The alarm of Austria at the growing power of Russia and Prussia was becoming acute. She had drawn the sword only because Napoleon's resentment was more to be feared than Alexander's ambition. But all had changed since then. The warrior who, five months ago, still had his sword at the throat of Germany, was now being pursued across the dreary flats of Champagne. And his eastern rival, who then plaintively sued for Austria's aid, now showed a desire to establish Russian control over all the Polish lands, indemnifying Prussia for losses in that quarter by the acquisition of Saxony. Both of these changes would press heavily on Austria from the north; and she was determined to prevent them as far as possible. Then there was the vexed question of the reconstruction of Germany to which we shall recur later on. Smaller matters, involving the relations of the allies to Bernadotte, Denmark, and Switzerland further complicated the situation: but, above all, there was the problem of the future limits and form of government of France.

On that topic there were two chief parties: those who desired merely to clip Napoleon's wings, and those who sought to bring back France to her old boundaries. The Emperor Francis was still disposed to leave him the "natural frontiers," provided he gave up all control of Germany, Holland, and Italy. On the other side were the Czar and the forward wing of the Prussian patriots. Frederick William was more cautious, but in the main he deferred to the Czar's views on the boundary question. Still, so powerful was the influence of the Emperor Francis, Metternich, and Schwarzenberg, that the two parties were evenly balanced and beset by many suspicions and fears, until the arrival of the British Foreign Minister, Castlereagh, began to restore something like confidence and concord.

The British Cabinet had decided that, as none of our three envoys then at the allied headquarters had much diplomatic experience, our Minister should go in person to supervise the course of affairs. He reached head-quarters in the third week of January, and what Thiers has called the proud simplicity of his conduct, contrasting as it did with the uneasy finesse of Metternich and Nesselrode, imparted to his counsels a weight which they merited from their disinterestedness. Great Britain was in a very strong position. She had borne the brunt of the struggle before the present coalition took shape: apart from some modest gains to Hanover, she was about to take no part in the ensuing territorial scramble: she even offered to give up many of her oceanic conquests, provided that the European settlement would be such as to guarantee a lasting peace.[405] And this, the British Minister came to see, could not be attained while Napoleon reigned over a Great France: the only sure pledge of peace would be the return of that country to its old frontiers, and preferably to its ancient dynasty.

On the question of boundaries the Czar's views were not clearly defined; they were personal rather than territorial. He was determined to get rid of Napoleon; but he would not, as yet, hear of the re-establishment of the Bourbons. He disliked that dynasty in general, and Louis XVIII. in particular. Bernadotte seemed to him a far fitter successor to Napoleon than the gouty old gentleman who for three and twenty years had been morosely flitting about Europe and issuing useless proclamations.

Here, indeed, was Napoleon's great chance: there was no man fit to succeed him, and he knew it. Scarcely anyone but Bernadotte himself agreed with the Czar as to the fitness of the choice just named. To the allies the Prince Royal of Sweden was suspect for his loiterings, and to Frenchmen he seemed a traitor. We find that Stein disagreed with the Czar on this point, and declared that the Bourbons were the only alternative to Napoleon. Assuredly, this was not because the great German loved that family, but simply because he saw that their very mediocrity would be a pledge that France would not again overflow her old limits and submerge Europe.

Here, then, was the strength of Castlereagh's position. Amidst the warping disputes and underhand intrigues his claims were clear, disinterested, and logically tenable. Besides, they were so urged as to calm the disputants. He quietly assured Metternich that Britain would resist the absorption of the whole of Poland and Saxony by Russia and Prussia; and on his side the Austrian statesman showed that he would not oppose the return of the Bourbons to France "from any family considerations," provided that that act came as the act of the French nation.[406] And this was a proviso on which our Government and Wellington already laid great stress.

Castlereagh's straightforward behaviour had an immense influence in leading Metternich to favour a more drastic solution of the French question than he had previously advocated. The Frankfurt proposals were now quietly waived, and Metternich came to see the need of withdrawing Belgium from France and intrusting it to the House of Orange. Still, the Austrian statesman was for concluding peace with Napoleon as soon as might be, though he confessed in his private letters that peace did not depend on the Chatillon parleys. Some persons, he wrote, wanted the Bourbons back: still more wished for a Regency (i.e., Marie Louise as Regent for Napoleon II.): others said: "Away with Napoleon, no peace is possible with him": the masses cried out for peace, so as to end the whole affair: but added Metternich: "The riddle will be solved before or in Paris."[407] There spoke the discreet opportunist, always open to the logic of facts and the persuasion of Castlereagh.

Our Minister found the sovereigns of Russia and Prussia far less tractable; and he only partially succeeded in lulling their suspicions that Metternich was hand and glove with Napoleon. So deep was the Czar's distrust of the Austrian statesman and commander-in-chief that he resolved to brush aside Metternich's diplomatic pourparlers, to push on rapidly to Paris, and there dictate peace.[408]

But it was just this eagerness of the Czar and the Prussians to reach Paris which kept alive Austrian fears. A complete triumph to their arms would seal the doom of Poland and Saxony; and it has been thought that Schwarzenberg, who himself longed for peace, not only sought to save Austrian soldiers by keeping them back, but that at this time he did less than his duty in keeping touch with Bluecher. Several times during the ensuing days the charge of treachery was hurled by the Prussians against the Austrians, and once at least by Frederick William himself. But it seems more probable that Metternich and Schwarzenberg held their men back merely for prudential motives until the resumption of the negotiations with France should throw more light on the tangled political jungle through which the allies were groping. It is significant that while Schwarzenberg cautiously felt about for Napoleon's rearguard, of which he lost touch for two whole days, Metternich insisted that the peace Congress must be opened. Caulaincourt had for several days been waiting near the allied head-quarters; and, said the Austrian Minister, it would be a breach of faith to put him off any longer now that Castlereagh had arrived. Only when Austria threatened to withdraw from the Coalition did Alexander concede this point, and then with a very bad grace; for the resumption of the negotiations virtually tied him to the neighbourhood of Chatillon-sur-Seine, the town fixed for the Congress, while Bluecher was rapidly moving towards Paris with every prospect of snatching from the imperial brow the coveted laurel of a triumphal entry.

To prevent this interference with his own pet plans, the susceptible autocrat sent off from Bar-sur-Seine (February 7th) an order that Bluecher was not to enter Paris, but must await the arrival of the sovereigns. The order was needless. Napoleon, goaded to fury by the demands which the allies on that very day formulated at Chatillon, flung himself upon Bluecher and completely altered the whole military situation. But before describing this wonderful effort, we must take a glance at the diplomatic overtures which spurred him on.

The Congress of Chatillon opened on February 5th, and on that day Castlereagh gained his point, that questions about our maritime code should be completely banished from the discussions. Two days later the allies declared that France must withdraw within the boundaries of 1791, with the exception of certain changes made for mutual convenience and of some colonial retrocessions that England would grant to France. The French plenipotentiary, Caulaincourt, heard this demand with a quiet but strained composure: he reminded them that at Frankfurt they had proposed to leave France the Rhine and the Alps; he inquired what colonial sacrifices England was prepared to make if she cooped up France in her old limits in Europe. To this our plenipotentiaries Aberdeen, Cathcart, and Stewart refused to reply until he assented to the present demand of the allies. He very properly refused to do this; and, despite his eagerness to come to an arrangement and end the misfortunes of France, referred the matter to his master.[409]

What were Napoleon's views on these questions? It is difficult to follow the workings of his mind before the time when Caulaincourt's despatch flashed the horrible truth upon him that he might, after all, leave France smaller and weaker than he found her. Then the lightnings of his wrath flash forth, and we see the tumult and anguish of that mighty soul: but previously the storm-wrack of passion and the cloud-bank of his clinging will are lit up by few gleams of the earlier piercing intelligence. On January the 4th he had written to Caulaincourt that the policy of England and the personal rancour of the Czar would drag Austria along. If Fortune betrayed him (Napoleon) he would give up the throne: never would he sign any shameful peace. But he added: "You must see what Metternich wants: it is not to Austria's interest to push matters to the end." In the accompanying instructions to his plenipotentiary, he seems to assent to the Alpine and Rhenish frontiers, but advises him to sign the preliminaries as vaguely as possible, "as we have everything to gain by delay." The Rhine frontier must be so described as to leave France the Dutch fortresses: and Savona and Spezzia must also count as on the French side of the Alps. These, be it observed, are his notions when he has not heard of the defection of Murat, or the rejection of his Spanish bargain by the Cortes.

Twelve days later he proposes to Metternich an armistice, and again suggests that it is not to Austria's interest to press matters too far. But the allies are too wary to leave such a matter to Metternich: at Teplitz they bound themselves to common action; and the proposal only shows them the need of pushing on fast while their foe is still unprepared. Once more his old optimism asserts itself. The first French success, that at Brienne, leads him to hope that the allies will now be ready to make peace. Even after the disaster at La Rothiere, he believes that the mere arrival of Caulaincourt at the allied headquarters will foment the discords which there exist.[410] Then, writing amidst the unspeakable miseries at Troyes (February 4th), he upbraids Caulaincourt for worrying him about "powers and instructions when it is still doubtful if the enemy wants to negotiate. His terms, it seems, are determined on beforehand. As soon as you have them, you have the power to accept them or to refer them to me within twenty-four hours."

After midnight, he again directs him to accept the terms, if acceptable: "in the contrary case we will run the risks of a battle; even the loss of Paris, and all that will ensue." Later on that day he allows Maret to send a despatch giving Caulaincourt "carte blanche" to conclude peace.[411] But the plenipotentiary dared not take on himself the responsibility of accepting the terms offered by the allies two days later. The last despatch was too vague to enable him to sign away many thousands of square miles of territory: it contradicted the tenor of Napoleon's letters, which empowered him to assent to nothing less than the Frankfurt terms. And thus was to slip away one more chance of bringing about peace—a peace that would strip the French Empire of frontier lands and alien peoples, but leave it to the peasants' ruler, Napoleon.

In truth, the Emperor's words and letters breathed nothing but warlike resolve. Famine and misery accompany him on his march to Nogent, and there, on the 7th, he hears tidings that strike despair to every heart but his. An Anglo-German force is besieging the staunch old Carnot in Antwerp; Buelow has entered Brussels; Belgium is lost: Macdonald's weak corps is falling back on Epernay, hard pressed by Yorck, while Bluecher is heading for Paris. Last of all comes on the morrow Caulaincourt's despatch announcing that the allies now insist on France returning to the limits of 1791.

Never, surely, since the time of Job did calamity shower her blows so thickly on the head of mortal man: and never were they met with less resignation and more undaunted defiance. After receiving the black budget of news the Emperor straightway shut himself up. For some time his Marshals left him alone: but, as Caulaincourt's courier was waiting for the reply, Berthier and Maret ventured to intrude on his grief. He tossed them the letter containing the allied terms. A long silence ensued, while they awaited his decision. As he spoke not a word, they begged him to give way and grant peace to France. Then his pent-up feelings burst forth: "What, you would have me sign a treaty like that, and trample under foot my coronation oath! Unheard-of disasters may have snatched from me the promise to renounce my conquests: but, give up those made before me—never! God keep me from such a disgrace. Reply to Caulaincourt since you wish it, but tell him that I reject this treaty. I prefer to run the uttermost risks of war." He threw himself on his camp bed. Maret waited by his side, and gained from him in calmer moments permission to write to Caulaincourt in terms that allowed the negotiation to proceed. At dawn on the 9th Maret came back hoping to gain assent to despatches that he had been drawing up during the night. To his surprise he found the Emperor stretched out over large charts, compass in hand. "Ah, there you are," was his greeting; "now it's a question of very different matters. I am going to beat Bluecher: if I succeed, the state of affairs will entirely change, and then we will see."

The tension of his feelings at this time, when rage and desperation finally gave way to a fixed resolve to stake all on a blow at Bluecher's flank, finds expression in a phrase which has been omitted from the official correspondence.[412] In one of the five letters which he wrote to Joseph on the 9th, he remarked: "Pray the Madonna of armies to be for us: Louis, who is a saint, may engage to give her a lighted candle." A curiously sarcastic touch, probably due to his annoyance at the Misereres and "prayers forty hours long" at Paris which he bade his Ministers curtail. Or was it a passing flash of that religious sentiment which he professed in his declining years?

He certainly counted on victory over Bluecher. A week earlier, he had foreseen the chance that that leader would expose his flank: on the 7th he charged Marmont to occupy Sezanne, where he would be strongly supported; on the afternoon of the 9th he set out from Nogent to reinforce his Marshal; and on the morrow Marmont and Ney fell upon one of Bluecher's scattered columns at Champaubert. It was a corps of Russians, less than 5,000 strong, with no horsemen and but twenty-four cannon; the Muscovites offered a stout resistance, but only 1,500 escaped.[413] Bluecher's line of march was now cut in twain. He himself was at Vertus with the last column; his foremost corps, under Sacken, was west of Montmirail, while Yorck was far to the north of that village observing Macdonald's movements along the Chateau-Thierry road.

The Emperor with 20,000 men might therefore hope to destroy these corps piecemeal. Leaving Marmont along with Grouchy's horse to hold Bluecher in check on the east, he struck westwards against Sacken's Russians near Montmirail. The shock was terrible; both sides were weary with night marches on miry roads, along which cannon had to be dragged by double teams: yet, though footsore and worn with cold and hunger, the men fought with sustained fury, the French to stamp out the barbarous invaders who had wasted their villages, the Russians to hold their position until Yorck's Prussians should stretch a succouring hand from the north. Many a time did the French rush at the village of Marchais held by Sacken: they were repeatedly repulsed, until, as darkness came on, Ney and Mortier with the Guard stormed a large farmhouse on their left. Then, at last, Sacken's men drew off in sore plight north-west across the fields, where Yorck's tardy advent alone saved them from destruction. The next day completed their discomfiture. Napoleon and Mortier pursued both allied corps to Chateau-Thierry and, after sharp fighting in the streets of that place, drove them across the Marne. The townsfolk hailed the advent of their Emperor with unbounded joy: they had believed him to be at Troyes, beaten and dispirited; and here he was delivering them from the brutal licence of the eastern soldiery. Nothing was impossible to him.

Next it was Bluecher's turn. Leaving Mortier to pursue the fugitives of Sacken and Yorck along the Soissons road, Napoleon left Chateau-Thierry late at night on the 13th, following the mass of his troops to reinforce Marmont. That Marshal had yielded ground to Bluecher's desperate efforts, but was standing at bay at Vauchamps, when Napoleon drew near to the scene of the unequal fight. Suddenly a mighty shout of "Vive l'Empereur" warned the assailants that they now had to do with Napoleon. Yet no precipitation weakened the Emperor's blow: not until his cavalry greatly outnumbered that of the allies did he begin the chief attack. Stoutly it was beaten off by the allied squares: but Drouot's artillery ploughed through their masses, while swarms of horsemen were ready to open out those ghastly furrows. There was nothing for it but retreat, and that across open country, where the charges and the pounding still went on. But nothing could break that stubborn infantry: animated by their leader, the Prussians and Russians plodded steadily eastwards, until, as darkness drew on, they found Grouchy's horse barring the road before Etoges. "Forward" was still the veteran's cry: and through the cavalry they cut their way: through hostile footmen that had stolen round to the village they also burst, and at last found shelter near Bergeres. "Words fail me," wrote Colonel Hudson Lowe, "to express my admiration at their undaunted and manly behaviour."

This gallant retreat shed lustre over the rank and file. But the sins of the commanders had cost the allies dear. In four days the army of Silesia lost fully 15,000 men, and its corps were driven far asunder by Napoleon's incursion. His brilliant moves and trenchant strokes astonished the world. With less than 30,000 men he had burst into Bluecher's line of march, and scattered in flight 50,000 warriors advancing on Paris in full assurance of victory. It was not chance, but science, that gave him these successes. Acting from behind the screen of the Seine, he had thrown his small but undivided force against scattered portions of a superior force. It was the strategy of Lonato and Castiglione over again; and the enthusiasm of those days bade fair to revive.

His men, who previously had tramped downheartedly over wastes of snow and miry cross-roads, now marched with head erect as in former days; the villagers, far from being cowed by the brutalities of the Cossacks, formed bands to hang upon the enemies' rear and entrap their foragers. Above all, Paris was herself once more. Before he began these brilliant moves, he had to upbraid Cambaceres for his unmanly conduct. "I see that instead of sustaining the Empress, you are discouraging her. Why lose your head thus? What mean these Miserere and these prayers of forty hours? Are you going mad at Paris?" Now the capital again breathed defiance to the foe, and sent the Emperor National Guards. Many of these from Brittany, it is true, came "in round hats and sabots": they had no knapsacks: but they had guns, and they fought.

Could he have pursued Bluecher on the morrow he might probably have broken up even that hardy infantry, now in dire straits for want of supplies. But bad news came to hand from the south-west. Under urgent pressure from the Czar, Schwarzenberg had pushed forward two columns from Troyes towards Paris: one of them had seized the bridge over the Seine at Bray, a day's march below Nogent: the other was nearing Fontainebleau. Napoleon was furious at the neglect of Victor to guard the crossing at Bray, and reluctantly turned away from Bluecher to crush these columns. His men marched or were carried in vehicles, by way of Meaux and Guignes, to reinforce Victor: on the 17th they drove back the outposts of Schwarzenberg's centre, while Macdonald and Oudinot marched towards Nogent to threaten his right. These rapid moves alarmed the Austrian commander, whose left, swung forward on Fontainebleau, was in some danger of being cut off. He therefore sued for an armistice. It was refused; and the request drew from Napoleon a letter to his brother Joseph full of contempt for the allies (February 18th). "It is difficult," he writes, "to be so cowardly as that! He [Schwarzenberg] had constantly, and in the most insulting terms, refused a suspension of arms of any kind, ... and yet these wretches at the first check fall on their knees. I will grant no armistice till my territory is clear of them." He adds that he now expected to gain the "natural frontiers" offered by the allies at Frankfurt—the minimum that he could accept with honour; and he closes with these memorable words, which flash a searchlight on his pacific professions of thirteen months later: "If I had agreed to the old boundaries, I should have rushed to arms two years later, telling the nation that I had signed not a peace, but a capitulation."[414]

The events of the 18th strengthened his resolve. He then attacked the Crown Prince of Wuertemberg on the north side of the Seine, opposite Montereau, overthrew him by the weight of the artillery of the Guard, whereupon a brilliant charge of Pajol's horsemen wrested the bridge from the South Germans and restored to the Emperor the much-needed crossing over the river. Napoleon's activity on that day was marvellous. He wrote or dictated eleven despatches, six of them long before dawn, gave instructions to an officer who was to encourage Eugene to hold firm in Italy, fought a battle, directed the aim of several cannon, and wound up the day by severe rebukes to Marshal Victor and two generals for their recent blunders. Thus, on a brief winter's day, he fills the role of Emperor, organizer, tactician, cannoneer, and martinet; in fact, he crowns it by pardoning Victor, when that brave man vows that he cannot live away from the army, and will fight as a common soldier among the Guards: he then and there assigns to him two divisions of the Guard. To the artillerymen the camaraderie of the Emperor gave a new zest: and when they ventured to reproach him for thus risking his life, he replied with a touch of the fatalism which enthralls a soldier's mind: "Ah! don't fear: the ball is not cast that will kill me."

Yes: Napoleon displayed during these last ten days a fertility of resource, a power to drive back the tide of events, that have dazzled posterity, as they dismayed his foes. We may seek in vain for a parallel, save perhaps in the careers of Hannibal and Frederick. Alexander the Great's victories were won over Asiatics: Caesar's magnificent rally of his wavering bands against the onrush of the Nervii was but one effort of disciplined valour crushing the impetuosity of the barbarian. Marlborough and Wellington often triumphed over great odds and turned the course of history. But their star had never set so low as that of Napoleon's after La Rothiere, and never did it rush to the zenith with a splendour like that which blinded the trained hosts of Bluecher and Schwarzenberg. Whatever the mistakes of these leaders, and they were great, there is something that defies analysis in Napoleon's sudden transformation of his beaten dispirited band into a triumphant array before which four times their numbers sought refuge in retreat. But it is just this transcendent quality that adds a charm to the character and career of Napoleon. Where analysis fails, there genius begins.

* * * * *



CHAPTER XXXVII

THE FIRST ABDICATION

It now remained to be seen whether Napoleon would make a wise use of his successes. While the Grand Army drew in its columns behind the sheltering line of the Seine at Troyes, the French Emperor strove to reap in diplomacy the fruits of his military prowess. In brief, he sought to detach Austria from the Coalition. From Nogent he wrote, on February 21st, to the Emperor Francis, dwelling on the impolicy of Austria continuing the war. Why should she subordinate her policy to that of England and to the personal animosities of the Czar? Why should she see her former Belgian provinces handed over to a Protestant Dutch Prince about to be allied with the House of Brunswick by marriage? France would never give up Belgium; and he, as French Emperor, would never sign a peace that would drive her from the Rhine and exclude her from the circle of the Great Powers. But if Austria really wished for the equilibrium of Europe, he (Napoleon) was ready to forget the past and make peace on the basis of the Frankfurt terms.[415]

Had these offers been rather less exacting, and reached the allied headquarters a week earlier, they might have led to the break up of the Coalition. For the political situation of the allies had been even more precarious than that of their armies. The pretensions of the Czar had excited indignation and alarm. Swayed to and fro between the counsels of his old tutor, Laharpe, now again at his side, and his own autocratic instincts, he declared that he would push on to Paris, consult the will of the French people by a plebiscite, and abide by its decision, even if it gave a new lease of power to Napoleon. But side by side with this democratic proposal came another of a more despotic type, that the military Governor of Paris must be a Russian officer.

The amusement caused by these odd notions was overshadowed by alarm. Metternich, Castlereagh, and Hardenberg saw in them a ruse for foisting on France either Bernadotte, or an orientalized Republic, or a Muscovite version of the Treaty of Tilsit. Then again, on February 9th, Alexander sent a mandate to the plenipotentiaries at Chatillon, requesting that their sessions should be suspended, though he had recently agreed at Langres to enter into negotiations with France, provided that the military operations were not suspended. Evidently, then, he was bent on forcing the hands of his allies, and Austria feared that he might at the end of the war insist on her taking Alsace, as a set-off to the loss of Eastern Galicia which he wished to absorb. So keen was the jealousy thus aroused, that at Troyes Metternich and Hardenberg signed a secret agreement to prevent the Czar carrying matters with a high hand at Paris (February 14th); and on the same day they sent him a stiff Note requesting the resumption of the negotiations with Napoleon. Indeed, Austria formally threatened to withdraw her troops from the war, unless he limited his aims to the terms propounded by the allies at Chatillon. Alexander at first refused; but the news of Bluecher's disasters shook his determination, and he assented on that day, provided that steps were at once taken to lighten the pressure on the Russian corps serving under Bluecher. Thus, by February 14th, the crisis was over.[416]

Schwarzenberg cautiously pushed on three columns to attract the thunderbolts that otherwise would have destroyed the Silesian Army root and branch; and he succeeded. True, his vanguard was beaten at Montereau; but, by drawing Napoleon south and then east of the Seine, he gave time to Bluecher to strengthen his shattered array and resume the offensive. Meanwhile Buelow, with the northern army, began to draw near to the scene of action, and on the 23rd the allies took the wise step of assigning his corps, along with those of Winzingerode, Woronzoff, and Strogonoff, to the Prussian veteran. The last three corps were withdrawn from the army of Bernadotte, and that prince was apprized of the fact by the Czar in a rather curt letter.

The diplomatic situation had also cleared up before Napoleon's letter reached the Emperor Francis. The negotiations with Caulaincourt were resumed at Chatillon on February the 17th; and there is every reason to think that Austria, England, Prussia, and perhaps even Russia would now gladly have signed peace with Napoleon on the basis of the French frontiers of 1791, provided that he renounced all claims to interference in the affairs of Europe outside those limits.[417]

These demands would certainly have been accepted by the French plenipotentiary had he listened to his own pacific promptings. But he was now in the most painful position. Maret had informed him, the day after Montmirail, that Napoleon was set on keeping the Rhenish and Alpine frontiers.[418] He could, therefore, do nothing but temporize. He knew how precarious was the military supremacy just snatched by his master, and trusted that a few days more would bring wisdom before it was too late. But his efforts for delay were useless.

While he was marking time, Napoleon was sending him despatches instinct with pride. "I have made 30,000 to 40,000 prisoners," he wrote on the 17th: "I have taken 200 cannon, a great number of generals, and destroyed several armies, almost without striking a blow. I yesterday checked Schwarzenberg's army, which I hope to destroy before it recrosses my frontier." And two days later, after hearing the allied terms, he wrote that they would make the blood of every Frenchman boil with indignation, and that he would dictate his ultimatum at Troyes or Chatillon. Of course, Caulaincourt kept these diatribes to himself, but his painfully constrained demeanour betrayed the secret that he longed for peace and that his hands were tied.

On all sides proofs were to be seen that Napoleon would never give up Belgium and the Rhine frontier. When the allies (at the suggestion of Schwarzenberg, and with the approval of the Czar) sued for an armistice, he forbade his envoys to enter into any parleys until the allies agreed to accept the "natural frontiers" as the basis for a peace, and retired in the meantime on Alsace, Lorraine, and Holland.[419] These last conditions he agreed three days later to relax; but on the first point he was inexorable, and he knew that the military commissioners appointed to arrange the truce had no power to agree to the political article which he made a sine qua non.

Accordingly, no armistice was concluded, and his unbending attitude made a bad impression on the Emperor Francis, who, on the 27th, replied to his son-in-law in terms which showed that his blows were welding the Coalition more firmly together.[420]

In fact, while the plenipotentiaries at Chatillon were exchanging empty demands, a most important compact was taking form at Chaumont: it was dated from the 1st of March, but definitively signed on the 9th. Great Britain, Russia, Austria, and Prussia thereby bound themselves not to treat singly with France for peace, but to continue the war until France was brought back to her old frontiers, and the complete independence of Germany, Holland, Switzerland, and Spain was secured. Each of the four Powers must maintain 150,000 men in the field (exclusive of garrisons); and Britain agreed to aid her allies with equal yearly subsidies amounting in all to L5,000,000 for the year 1814.[421] The treaty would be only defensive if Napoleon accepted the allied terms formulated at Chatillon: otherwise it would be offensive and hold good, if need be, for twenty years.

Undoubtedly this compact was largely the work of Castlereagh, whose tact and calmness had done wonders in healing schisms; but so intimate a union could never have been formed among previously discordant allies but for their overmastering fear of Napoleon. Such a treaty was without parallel in European history; and the stringency of its clauses serves as the measure of the prowess and perversity of the French Emperor. It is puerile to say, as Mollien does, that England bribed the allies to this last effort. Experiences of the last months had shown them that peace could not be durable as long as Napoleon remained in a position to threaten Germany. Even now they were ready to conclude it with Napoleon on the basis of the old frontiers of France, provided that he assented before the 11th of March; but the most pacific of their leaders saw that the more they showed their desire for peace, the more they strengthened Napoleon's resolve to have it only on terms which they saw to be fraught with future danger.[422]

While the conferences at Chatillon followed one another in fruitless succession, Bluecher, with 48,000 effectives, was once more resuming the offensive. Napoleon heard the news at Troyes (February 25th). He was surprised at the veteran's temerity: he had pictured him crushed and helpless beyond Chalons, and had cherished the hope of destroying Schwarzenberg.—"If," he wrote to Clarke on the morrow, "I had had a pontoon bridge, the war would be over, and Schwarzenberg's army would no longer exist.... For want of boats, I could not pass the Seine at the necessary points. It was not 50 boats that I needed, only 20."—With this characteristic outburst against his War Minister, whose neglect to send up twenty boats from Paris had changed the world's history, the Emperor turned aside to overwhelm Bluecher. The Prussian commander was near the junction of the Seine and the Aube; and seemed to offer his flank as unguardedly as three weeks before.

Napoleon sent Ney, Victor, and Arrighi northwards to fall on his rear, and on the 27th repaired to Arcis-sur-Aube to direct the operations. What, then, was his annoyance when, in pursuance of the allied plan formed on the 23rd, Bluecher skilfully retired northwards, withdrew beyond the Marne and broke the bridges behind him. Then after failing to drive Marmont and Mortier from Meaux and the line of the Ourcq, the Prussian leader marched towards Soissons, near which town he expected to meet the northern army of the allies. For some hours he was in grave danger: Marmont hung on his rear, and Napoleon with 35,000 hardy troops was preparing to turn his right flank. In fact, had he not broken the bridge over the Marne at La Ferte-sous-Jouarre, and thereby delayed the Emperor thirty-six hours, he would probably have been crushed before he could cross the River Aisne. His men were dead beat by marching night and day over roads first covered by snow and now deep in slush: for a week they had had no regular rations, and great was their joy when, at the close of the 2nd, they drew near to the 42,000 troops that Buelow and Winzingerode mustered near the banks of the Aisne and Vesle.

On that day Napoleon, when delayed at La Ferte, conceived the daring idea of rushing on the morrow after Bluecher, who was "very embarrassed in the mire," and then of carrying the war into Lorraine, rescuing the garrisons of Verdun, Toul, and Metz, and rousing the peasantry of the east of France against the invaders. It mattered not that Schwarzenberg had dealt Oudinot and Gerard a severe check at Bar-sur-Aube, as soon as Napoleon's back was turned. That cautious leader would be certain, he thought, to beat a retreat towards the Rhine as soon as his rear was threatened; and Napoleon pictured France rising as in 1793, shaking off her invaders and dictating a glorious peace.

Far different was the actual situation. Bluecher was not to be caught; a sharp frost on the 3rd improved the roads; and his complete junction with the northern army was facilitated by the surrender of Soissons on that same afternoon. This fourth-rate fortress was ill-prepared to withstand an attack; and, after a short bombardment by Winzingerode, two allied officers made their way to the Governor, praised his bravery, pointed out the uselessness of further resistance, and offered to allow the garrison to march out with the honours of war and rejoin the Emperor, where they could fight to more advantage. The Governor, who bore the ill-starred name of Moreau, finally gave way, and his troops, nearly all Poles, marched out at 4 p.m., furious at his "treason"; for the distant thunder of Marmont's cannon was already heard on the side of Oulchy. Rumour said that they were the Emperor's cannon, but rumour lied. At dawn Napoleon's troops had begun to cross the temporary bridge over the Marne, thirty-five miles away; but by great exertions his outposts on that evening reached Rocourt, only some twenty miles south of Soissons.[423]

The fact deserves notice: for it disposes of the strange statement of Thiers that the surrender of Soissons was, next to Waterloo, the most fatal event in the annals of France. The gifted historian, as also, to some extent, M. Houssaye, assumed that, had Soissons held out, Bluecher and Buelow could not have united their forces. But Buelow had not relied solely on the bridge at Soissons for the union of the armies; on the 2nd he had thrown a bridge over the Aisne at Vailly, some distance above that city, and another on the third near to its eastern suburb.[424] It is clear, then, that the two armies, numbering in all over 100,000 men, could have joined long before Napoleon, Marmont, and Mortier were in a position to attack. Before the Emperor heard of the surrender, he had marched to Fismes, and had detached Corbineau to occupy Rheims, evidently with the aim of cutting Bluecher's communications with Schwarzenberg, and opening up the way to Verdun and Metz.

For that plan was now his dominant aim, while the repulse of Bluecher was chiefly of importance because it would enable him to stretch a hand eastwards to his beleaguered garrisons.[425] But Bluecher was not to be thus disposed of. While withdrawing from Soissons to the natural fortress of Laon, he heard that Napoleon had crossed the Aisne at Berry-au-Bac, and was making for Craonne. Above that town there rises a long narrow ridge or plateau, which Bluecher ordered his Russian corps to occupy. There was fought one of the bloodiest battles of the war (March 7th). The aim of the allies was to await the French attack on the plateau, while 10,000 horsemen and sixty guns worked round and fell on their rear.

The plan failed, owing to a mistake in the line of march of this flanking force: and the battle resolved itself into a soldiers' fight. Five times did Ney lead his braves up those slopes, only to be hurled back by the dogged Muscovites. But the Emperor now arrived; a sixth attack by the cavalry and artillery of the Guard battered in the defence; and Bluecher, hearing that the flank move had failed, ordered a retreat on Laon. This confused and desperate fight cost both sides about 7,000 men, nearly a fourth of the numbers engaged. Victor, Grouchy, and six French generals were among the wounded.[426]

Nevertheless, Napoleon struggled on: he called up Marmont and Mortier, gave out that he was about to receive other large reinforcements, and bade his garrisons in Belgium and Lorraine fall on the rear of the foe. One more victory, he thought, would end the war, or at least lower the demands of the allies. It was not to be. Bluecher and Buelow held the strong natural citadel of Laon; and all Napoleon's efforts on March the 9th and 10th failed to storm the southern approaches. Marmont fared no better on the east; and when, at nightfall, the weary French fell back, the Prussians resolved to try a night attack on Marmont's corps, which was far away from the main body. Never was a surprise more successful; Marmont was quite off his guard; horse and foot fled in wild confusion, leaving 2,500 prisoners and forty-five cannon in the hands of the victorious Yorck. Could the allies have pressed home their advantage, the result must have been decisive; but Bluecher had fallen ill, and a halt was called.[427]

Alone, among the leaders in this campaign, the Emperor remained unbroken. All the allied leaders had at one time or another bent under his blows; and the French Marshals seemed doomed, as in 1813, to fail wherever their Emperor was not. Ney, Victor, and Mortier had again evinced few of the qualities of a commander, except bravery. Augereau was betraying softness and irresolution in the Lyonnais in front of a smaller Austrian force. Suchet and Davoust were shut up in Catalonia and Hamburg. St. Cyr and Vandamme were prisoners. Soult had kept a bold front near Bayonne: but now news was to hand that Wellington had surprised and routed him at Orthez. On the Seine, Macdonald and Oudinot failed to hold Troyes against the masses of Schwarzenberg. Of all the French Marshals, Marmont had distinguished himself the most in this campaign, and now at Laon he had been caught napping. Yet, while all others failed, Napoleon seemed invincible. Even after Marmont's disaster, the allies forbore to attack the chief; and, just as a lion that has been beaten off by a herd of buffaloes stalks away, mangled but full of fight and unmolested, so the Emperor drew off in peace towards Soissons. Thence he marched on Rheims, gained a victory over a Russian division there, and hoped to succour his Lorraine garrisons, when, on the 17th, the news of Schwarzenberg's advance towards Paris led him southwards once more.

Yielding to the remonstrances of the Czar, the Austrian leader had purposed to march on the French capital, if everything went well; but he once more drew back on receiving news of Napoleon's advance against his right flank. While preparing to retire towards Brienne, he heard that his great antagonist had crossed that river at Plancy with less than 20,000 troops. To retrace his steps, fall upon this handful of weary men with 100,000, and drive them into the river, was not a daring conception: but so accustomed were the allies to dalliance and delay that a thrill of surprise ran through the host when he began to call up its retiring columns for a fight.[428]

Napoleon also was surprised: he believed the Grand Army to be in full retreat, and purposed then to dash on Vitry and Verdun.[429] But the allies gave him plenty of time to draw up Macdonald's and Oudinot's corps, while they themselves were still so widely sundered as at first scarcely to stay his onset. The fighting behind Arcis was desperate: Napoleon exposed his person freely to snatch victory from the deepening masses in front. At one time a shell burst in front of him, and his staff shivered as they saw his figure disappear in the cloud of smoke and dust; but he arose unhurt, mounted another charger and pressed on the fight. It was in vain: he was compelled to draw back his men to the town (March 20th). On the morrow a bold attack by Schwarzenberg could have overwhelmed Napoleon's 30,000 men; but his bold front imposed on the Austrian leader, while the French were drawn across the river, only the rearguard suffering heavily from the belated attack of the allies. With the loss of 4,000 men, Napoleon fell back northwards into the wasted plains of Sezanne. Hope now vanished from every breast but his. And surely if human weakness had ever found a place in that fiery soul, it might now have tempted him to sue for peace. He had flung himself first north, then south, in order to keep for France the natural frontiers that he might have had as a present last November; he had failed; and now he might with honour accept the terms of the victors. But once more he was too late.

The negotiations at Chatillon had ended on March 19th, that is, nine days later than had been originally fixed by the allies. The extension of time was due mainly to their regard and pity for Caulaincourt; and, indeed, he was in the most pitiable position, a plenipotentiary without full powers, a Minister kept partly in the dark by his sovereign, and a patriot unable to rescue his beloved France from the abyss towards which Napoleon's infatuation was hurrying her. He knew the resolve of the allies far better than his master's intentions. It was from Lord Aberdeen that he heard of the failure of the parleys for an armistice: from him also he learnt that Napoleon had written a "passionate" letter to Kaiser Francis, and he expressed satisfaction that the reply was firm and decided.[430] His private intercourse at Chatillon with the British plenipotentiaries was frank and friendly, as also with Stadion. He received frequent letters from Metternich, advising him quickly to come to terms with the allies;[431] and the Austrian Minister sent Prince Esterhazy to warn him that the allies would never recede from their demand of the old frontiers for France, not even if the fortune of war drove them across the Rhine for a time. "Is there, then, no means to enlighten Napoleon as to his true situation, or to save him if he persists in destroying himself? Has he irrevocably staked his own and his son's fate on the last cannon?"—Let Napoleon, then, accept the allied proposal by sending a counter-project, differing only very slightly from theirs, and peace would be made.[432] Caulaincourt needed no spur. "He works tooth and nail for a peace," wrote Stewart, "as far as depends on him. He dreads Bonaparte's successes even more than ours, lest they should make him more impracticable."[433]

But, unfortunately, his latest and most urgent appeal to the Emperor reached the latter just after the Pyrrhic victory at Craonne, which left him more stubborn than ever. Far from meeting the allies halfway, he let fall words that bespoke only injured pride: "If one must receive lashes," he said within hearing of the courier, "it is not for me to offer my back to them." On the morrow he charged Maret to reply to his distressed plenipotentiary that he (Napoleon) knew best what the situation demanded; the demand of the allies that France should retire within her old frontiers was only their first word: Caulaincourt must get to know their ultimatum: if this was their ultimatum, he must reject it. He (Napoleon) would possibly give up Dutch Brabant and the fortresses of Wesel, Castel (opposite Mainz), and Kehl, but would make no substantial changes on the Frankfurt terms. Still, Caulaincourt struggled on. When the session of March 10th was closing, he produced a declaration offering to give up all Napoleon's claims to control lands beyond the natural limits.

The others divined that it was his own handiwork, drawn up in order to spin out the negotiations and leave his master a few days of grace.[434] They respected his intentions, and nine days of grace were gained; but the only answer that Napoleon vouchsafed to Caulaincourt's appeals was the missive of March 17th from Rheims: "I have received your letters of the 13th. I charge the Duke of Bassano to answer them in detail. I give you directly the power to make the concessions which would be indispensable to keep up the activity of the negotiations, and to get to know at last the ultimatum of the allies, it being well understood that the treaty would have for result the evacuation of our territory and the release of all prisoners on both sides." The instructions which he charged the Duke of Bassano to send to Caulaincourt were such as a victor might have dictated. The allies must evacuate his territory and give up all the fortresses as soon as the preliminaries of peace were signed: if the negotiations were to break off they had better break off on this question. He himself would cease to control lands beyond the natural frontiers, and would recognize the independence of Holland: as regards Belgium, he would refuse to cede it to a prince of the House of Orange, but he hinted that it might well go to a French prince as an indemnity—evidently Joseph Bonaparte was meant. If this concession were made, he expected that all the French colonies, including the Ile de France, would be restored. Nothing definite was said about the Rhine frontier.

The courier who carried these proposals from Rheims to Chatillon was twice detained by the Russians, and had not reached the town when the Congress came to an end (March 19th). Their only importance, therefore, is to show that, despite all the warnings in which the Prague negotiations were so fruitful, Napoleon clung to the same threatening and dilatory tactics which had then driven Austria into the arms of his foes. He still persisted in looking on the time limit of the allies as meaningless, on their ultimatum as their first word, from which they would soon shuffle away under the pressure of his prowess—and this, too, when Caulaincourt was daily warning him that the hours were numbered, that nothing would change the resolve of his foes, and that their defeats only increased their exasperation against him.

If anything could have increased this exasperation, it was the discovery that he was playing with them all the time. On the 20th the allied scouts brought to head-quarters a despatch written by Maret the day before to Caulaincourt which contained this damning sentence: "The Emperor's desires remain entirely vague on everything relating to the delivering up of the strongholds, Antwerp, Mayence, and Alessandria, if you should be obliged to consent to these cessions, as he has the intention, even after the ratification of the treaty, to take counsel from the military situation of affairs. Wait for the last moment."[435] Peace, then, was to be patched up for Napoleon's convenience and broken by him at the first seasonable opportunity. Is it surprising that on that same day the Ministers of the Powers decided to have no more negotiations with Napoleon, and that Metternich listened not unfavourably to the emissary of the Bourbons, the Count de Vitrolles, whom he had previously kept at arm's length?

In truth, Napoleon was now about to stake everything on a plan from which other leaders would have recoiled, but which, in his eyes, promised a signal triumph. This was to rally the French garrisons in Lorraine and throw himself on Schwarzenberg's rear. It was, indeed, his only remaining chance. With his band of barely 40,000 men, kept up to that number by the arrival of levies that impaired its solidity, he could scarcely hope to beat back the dense masses now marshalled behind the Aube, the Seine, and the Marne.

A glance at the map will show that behind those rivers the allies could creep up within striking distance of Paris, while from his position north of the Aube he could attack them only by crossing one or other of those great streams, the bridges of which were in their hands. He still held the central position; but it was robbed of its value if he could not attack. Warfare for him was little else than the art of swift and decisive attack; or, as he tersely phrased it, "The art of war is to march twelve leagues, fight a battle, and march twelve more in pursuit." As this was now impossible against the fronts and flanks of the allies, it only remained to threaten the rear of the army which was most likely to be intimidated by such a manoeuvre. And this was clearly the army led by Schwarzenberg. From Bluecher and Buelow naught but defiance to the death was to be expected, and their rear was supported by the Dutch strongholds.

But the Austrians had shown themselves as soft in their strategy as in their diplomacy. Everyone at the allied headquarters knew that Schwarzenberg was unequal to the load of responsibility thrust on him, that the incursion of a band of Alsatian peasants on his convoys made him nervous, and that he would not move on Paris as long as his "communications were exposed to a movement by Chalons and Vitry."[436] What an effect, then, would be produced on that timid commander by an "Imperial Vendee" in Alsace, Lorraine, and Franche-Comte!

And such a rising might then have become fierce and widespread. The east and centre were the strongholds of French democracy, as they had been the hotbed of feudal and monarchical abuses; and at this very time the Bourbon princes declared themselves at Nancy and Bordeaux. The tactless Comte d'Artois was at Nancy, striving to whip up royalist feeling in Lorraine, and his eldest son, the Duc d'Angouleme, entered Bordeaux with the British red-coats (March 12th).

To explain how this last event was possible we must retrace our steps. After Soult was driven by Wellington from the mountains at the back of the town of Orthez, he drew back his shattered troops over the River Adour, and then turned sharply to the east in order to join hands with Suchet's corps. This move, excellent as it was in a military sense, left Bordeaux open to the British; and Wellington forthwith sent Beresford northwards with 12,000 troops to occupy that great city. He met with a warm greeting from the French royalists, as also did the Duc d'Angouleme, who arrived soon after. The young prince at once proclaimed Louis XVIII. King of France, and allowed the royalist mayor to declare that the allies were advancing to Paris merely in order to destroy Napoleon and replace him by the rightful monarch. Strongly as Wellington's sympathies ran with the aim of this declaration, he emphatically repudiated it. Etiquette compelled him to do so; for the allies were still negotiating with Napoleon; and his own tact warned him that the Bourbons must never come into France under the cloak of the allies.

The allied sovereigns had as yet done nothing to favour their cause; and the wiser heads among the French royalists saw how desirable it was that the initiative should come from France. The bad effects of the Bordeaux manifesto were soon seen in the rallying of National Guards and peasants to the tricolour against the hated fleur-de-lys; and Beresford's men could do little more than hold their own.[437] If that was the case in the monarchical south, what might not Napoleon hope to effect in the east, now that the Bourbon "chimaera" threatened to become a fact?

The news as to the state of Paris was less satisfactory. That fickle populace cheered royalist allusions at the theatres, hissed off an "official" play that represented Cossack marauders,[438] and caused such alarm to Savary that he wrote to warn his master of the inability of the police to control the public if the war rolled on towards Paris. Whether Savary's advice was honestly stupid, or whether, as Lavalette hints, Talleyrand's intrigues were undermining his loyalty to Napoleon, it is difficult to say. But certainly the advice gave Napoleon an additional reason for flinging himself on Schwarzenberg's rear and drawing him back into Lorraine. He had reason to hope that Augereau, reinforced by some of Suchet's troops, would march towards Dijon and threaten the Austrians on the south, while he himself pressed on them from the north-east. In that case, would not Austria make peace, and leave Alexander and Bluecher at his mercy? And might he not hope to cut off the Comte d'Artois, and possibly also catch Bernadotte, who had been angling unsuccessfully for popular support in the north-east?

But, while basing all his hopes on the devotion of the French peasantry and the pacific leanings of Austria, the French Emperor left out of count the eager hatred of the Czar and the Prussians. "Bluecher would be mad if he attempted any serious movement," so Napoleon wrote to Berthier on the 20th, apparently on the strength of his former suggestion that Joseph should persuade Bernadotte to desert the allies and attack Bluecher's rear.[439] At least, it is difficult to find any other reason for Napoleon's strange belief that Bluecher would sit still while his allies were being beaten; unless, indeed, we accept Marmont's explanation that Napoleon's brain now rejected all unpleasing news and registered wishes as facts.

Fortune seemed to smile on his enterprise. Though he failed to take Vitry from the allied garrison, yet near St. Dizier he fell on a Prussian convoy, captured 800 men and 400 wagons filled with stores. Everywhere he ordered the tocsin to proclaim a levee en masse, and sent messengers to warn his Lorraine garrisons to cut their way to his side. His light troops spread up the valley of the Marne towards Chaumont, capturing stores and couriers; and he seized this opportunity, when he pictured the Austrians as thoroughly demoralized, to send Caulaincourt from Doulevant with offers to renew the negotiations for peace (March 25th).[440] But while Napoleon awaits the result of these proposals, his rear is attacked: he retraces his steps, falls on the assailants, and finds that they belong to Bluecher. But how can Prussians be there in force? Is not Bluecher resting on the banks of the Aisne? And where is Schwarzenberg? The Emperor pushes a force on to Vitry to solve this riddle, and there the horrible truth unfolds itself little by little that he stands on the brink of ruin.

It is a story instinct with an irony like that of the infatuation of King Oedipus in the drama of Sophocles. Every step that the warrior has taken to snatch at victory increases the completeness of the disaster. The Emperor Francis, scared by the approach of the French horsemen, and not wishing to fall into the hands of his son-in-law, has withdrawn with Metternich to Dijon.

Napoleon's letter to him is lost.[441] Metternich, well guarded by Castlereagh, is powerless to meet Caulaincourt's offer, and their flight leaves Schwarzenberg under the influence of the Czar.[442] Moreover, Bluecher has not been idle. While Napoleon is hurrying eastwards to Vitry, the Prussian leader drives back Marmont's weak corps, his vanguard crosses the Marne near Epernay on the 23rd, his Cossacks capture a courier bearing a letter written on that day by Napoleon to Marie Louise. It ends thus: "I have decided to march towards the Marne, in order to push the enemy's army further from Paris, and to draw near to my fortresses. I shall be this evening at St. Dizier. Adieu, my friend! Embrace my son." Warned by this letter of Napoleon's plan, Bluecher pushes on; his outposts on the morrow join hands with those of Schwarzenberg, and send a thrill of vigour into the larger force.

That leader, held at bay by Macdonald's rearguard, was groping after Napoleon, when the capture of a French despatch, and the news forwarded by Bluecher, informed him of the French Emperor's eastward march. A council of war was therefore held at Pougy on the afternoon of the 23rd, when the Czar and the bolder spirits led Schwarzenberg to give up his communications with Switzerland, and stake everything on joining Bluecher, and following Napoleon's 40,000 with an array of 180,000 men. But the capture of another French despatch a few hours later altered the course of events once more. This time it was a budget of official news from Paris to Napoleon, describing the exhaustion of the finances, the discontent of the populace, and the sensation caused by Wellington's successes and the capture of Bordeaux. These glad tidings inspired Alexander with a far more incisive plan—to march on Paris. This suggestion had been pressed on him on the 17th by Baron de Vitrolles, a French royalist agent, at the close of a long interview; and now its advantages were obvious. Accordingly, at Sommepuis, on the 24th, he convoked his generals, Barclay, Volkonski, Toll, and Diebitsch, to seek their advice. Barclay was for following Napoleon, but the two last voted for the advance to Paris, Toll maintaining that only 10,000 horsemen need be left behind to screen their movements. The Czar signified his warm approval of this plan; a little later the King of Prussia gave his assent, and Schwarzenberg rather doubtfully deferred to their wishes. Thus the result of Napoleon's incursion on the rear of the allies signally belied his expectations. Instead of compelling the enemy to beat a retreat on the Rhine, it left the road open to his capital.[443]

At dawn on the 25th, then, the allied Grand Army turned to the right-about, while Bluecher's men marched joyfully on the parallel road from Chalons. Near La Fere-Champenoise, on that day, a cloud of Russian and Austrian horse harassed Marmont's and Mortier's corps, and took 2,500 prisoners and fifty cannon. Further to the north, Bluecher's Cossacks swooped on a division of 4,500 men, mostly National Guards, that guarded a large convoy. Stoutly the French formed in squares, and beat them off again and again. Thereupon Colonel Hudson Lowe rode away southwards, to beg reinforcements from Wrede's Bavarians.

They, too, failed to break that indomitable infantry. The 180 wagons had to be left behind; but the recruits plodded on, and seemed likely to break through to Marmont, when the Czar came on the scene. At once he ordered up artillery, riddled their ranks with grapeshot, and when their commander, Pacthod, still refused to surrender, threatened to overwhelm their battered squares by the cavalry of his Guard. Pacthod thereupon ordered his square to surrender. Another band also grounded arms; but the men in the last square fought on, reckless of life, and were beaten down by a whirlwind of sabring, stabbing horsemen, whose fury the generous Czar vainly strove to curb. "I blushed for my very nature as a man," wrote Colonel Lowe, "at witnessing this scene of carnage." The day was glorious for France, but it cost her, in all, more than 5,000 killed and wounded, 4,000 prisoners, and 80 cannon, besides the provisions and stores designed for Napoleon's army.[444] Nothing but the wreck of Marmont's and Mortier's corps, about 12,000 men in all, now barred the road to Paris. Meeting with no serious resistance, the allies crossed the Marne at Meaux, and on the 29th reached Bondy, within striking distance of the French capital.