CHAPTER II

It was half-past three on the morning of June 12th when Napoleon entered his carriage and set out for the Belgian frontier. On the 13th he was at Avesnes, on the 14th at Beaumont. One who was near the imperial carriage, on its rapid course from Paris, states that the Emperor was often asleep during the day; and that he declared that he was utterly worn out by his three months’ toil. Little wonder. A man who had gone through the tremendous ordeal which Napoleon had passed since his return from Elba--an ordeal which taxed soul, mind, and body--was fortunate in being left with any strength at all. His actual hours of labor had been an average of fifteen per day, to say nothing of the anxieties, the discouragements, and the humiliations which made such enormous demands upon his fortitude, his patience, his tact, his powers of self-control.

Asked at St. Helena what had been the happiest period of his life, Napoleon answered, “The progress from Cannes to Paris.”

But however elated he may have been during that bloodless re-conquest of an empire, the illusion that all France rejoiced in his return soon passed away. The indifference of Paris chilled him. The absence of many a companion-in-arms who had fought under his eagles was depressing. The knowledge that he would have to accept fettering conditions, and the services of men who denounced him the year before, mortified him. To Count Molé he declared that had he known how many concessions he would have to make, he would never have left Elba.

These were concessions to those who were called Republicans, and who were dreaming of popular self-government--for which Napoleon did not believe that France was prepared. Having become an Emperor, he was naturally opposed to a republic. Besides, a man of his vast superiority over other men naturally believes that he can achieve the best results when given a free hand. With pathetic earnestness he had appealed to the Legislative to help him save France from her enemies, reminding them of the decadent Roman senate which had wrangled over vain abstractions while the battering-rams of the barbarians thundered against the walls. To no purpose. Until his power had been fully re-established by victory over the Allies, the Legislative would remain factious and obstructive; should the Allies triumph, the Legislative would be ready to renounce him, as in 1814.

And where were his old comrades? Where were those who had grown famous under his flag, made great by his lessons, rich and powerful by his munificence?

Lannes had fallen, during the awful days of Wagram. Duroc had been disembowelled by a cannon ball, in one of the bloody struggles of 1813. Junot had killed himself in a fit of madness. LaSalle had thrown away his life, on the Danube, in a needless cavalry charge. The gallant Poniatowski, of the royal house of Poland, had gone to a watery grave in the Elster, after the Titanic struggle at Leipsic. Bessières, Commander of the Old Guard, who had led the great cavalry charges at Eckmuhl and at Wagram, had met a soldier’s death, at the head of his men, at the battle of Lutzen. Oudinot had shown incapacity during 1814, and Napoleon would have no more to do with him. Souham had acted the traitor; and when he came to seek command again, Napoleon said, “What do you want of me? Can’t you see that I do not know you any more?” Masséna renewed his allegiance to the Emperor, and sought military command; but he was too old and feeble for active service, and Napoleon disappointed his hopes of getting the 9th division. Suchet was put in command of the Army of the Alps. Jourdan was made Governor of Besancon. Brune also renewed his allegiance--an act for which the White Terror was to inflict upon him a horrible penalty. Gouvion Saint-Cyr had disobeyed Napoleon’s orders in 1814, and had commanded his troops to resume the white cockade, after the 20th of March, when the Chamber voted Napoleon’s deposition. The Emperor now exiled him to his castle. Sérurier and the elder Kellerman had voted for deposition, but Napoleon punished neither. Marshall Moncey would have been willing to take command again under the Emperor, but, as he had published a violent order of the day against Napoleon in 1814, he was not given a military appointment, but, like Lefebre, he was raised to the Chamber of Peers. Bernadotte sat firmly on the throne of Sweden, ready to renew the fight against his countrymen, to insure the reward of his treachery--Norway. Marmont, in mortal terror of the vengeance which his base betrayal of Paris deserved, had fled with the Bourbons across the Rhine. Augereau had offered his services, but he was no longer the Augereau of Castiglione, and the Emperor could not overlook the personal insult to which the recreant Marshal had subjected him on the high-road, while on his way to Elba. Macdonald, who had led the great charge against the Austrian center at Wagram, had taken service under the Bourbons, and refused to serve Napoleon again. Mortier was ready for the final campaign and joined the army, but, falling sick, sold his chargers to Ney and took no part in the fighting of the Hundred Days. Berthier, the favorite of his chief, the bosom friend, the constant companion; Berthier, of whom Napoleon was so fond that he petted him like a spoilt child and would not dine in his tent until Berthier came to share the meal--Berthier had put on the King’s uniform, accepted high position in his household, and fled the country upon the Emperor’s return. At the castle of Bamberg, in Bavaria, he saw the Russians pouring by on their march to France. Overcome by the miseries of his situation, the remorseful traitor threw himself from an upper window and died on the pavement below.

_Where was Murat?_ The most brilliant cavalry officer that the world ever saw had offered his sword to Napoleon, and had been spurned. God! what a mistake. The Emperor, who had retained Fouché, and given a command to Bourmont, might well have trusted his own brother-in-law, who had everything to gain by a victory which would restore the fortunes of all the Napoleonic connection. But Murat had appeared in arms against France, and this Napoleon would not forgive. Besides, he had attacked the Austrians, with whose Emperor there is reason to believe that Napoleon had come to an understanding before leaving Elba. Murat’s insane conduct not only brought ruin upon himself, but destroyed whatever chance Napoleon had to detach Austria from the Alliance. So it was that Murat was in concealment at Toulon while the battle raged at Waterloo.

Greatest of Napoleon’s Marshals was Davout, the victor of Auerstadt--a greater feat of arms than Napoleon’s own triumph at Jena on the same day. But he was wasted during the Hundred Days. He begged hard for a command, but the Emperor chose to have him remain in Paris, Minister of War, and thus the great soldier who might have given such a different account of the Prussians, had he instead of Grouchy been sent after them, sat useless in the office in Paris, while the cannon roared at Fluerus, at Ligny, at Quatre Bras, at Wavre, at La Belle Alliance. Soult was a commander of ability, and he was loyal and full of zeal; but he had long held independent command, had practically no experience as a staff-officer; and yet he applied for and was given the position of Chief of Staff. This unfortunate choice proved to be one of the principal causes of the disaster of the campaign.

_And where was Ney?_ Where was Napoleon’s “Bravest of the brave”?--the heroic figure that had held the rearguard all through the horrors of the Retreat from Moscow; the impatient lieutenant who had almost used threats of personal violence to his Emperor to compel him to sign the first abdication; the turn-coat who had gone over to the Bourbons, and who had promised the King to bring Napoleon to Paris in an iron cage?

The torrent which was bearing the exile back to his throne proved too strong for Ney; and when his own troops cried, “_Vive L’Empereur!_” Ney was swept off his feet. When the big-hearted, impulsive man began to make explanations and denials, Napoleon stopped him with, “Embrace me, Ney.”

Weeks afterward, when the Marshal felt that the Emperor must have learned about the iron cage threat, he was clumsy enough to mention the matter to Napoleon, and to claim that he merely made the remark to deceive the King as to his real design, which was to go over to the returning Emperor. Napoleon said nothing, but gave Ney one of those looks which made even Vandamme grow ill at ease.

Mortified, feeling that he had blundered throughout,--in 1814 and in 1815,--Ney withdrew to his estate.

Only at the last moment, and then out of pity, did Napoleon send word to Ney that he might serve. The message was fatal--for it cost Napoleon his throne, and Ney his life.

It was not until the 12th of June that Ney set out for the army, and he was so ill prepared that he made the journey to Avesnes in a coach, and from there to Beaumont in a peasant’s cart. It was that evening that he bought from Marshal Mortier the horses he rode into battle. At the head of his army, Napoleon was cordial to his old lieutenant. “I am glad to see you, Ney. You will take command of 1st and 2nd Army Corps. Drive the enemy on the Brussels road, and take possession of Quatre Bras.”

* * * * *

What of the composition and temper of the army with which the great Captain was to make his last campaign?

The officers did not possess the confidence of the troops, and were themselves without confidence in the star of Napoleon. Even those generals who were at heart his friends and were ready to die by him, had little or no hope of success. How could it be otherwise? Napoleon could not inspire others with a faith which he did not himself feel; and we have overwhelming evidence to the effect that he was depressed, filled with forebodings.

It was in the troops of the rank and file that confidence lay. These were in a frenzy of enthusiasm for their Emperor, and of hatred against his enemies. In their way of judging events, their Captain had never been defeated. The Russian snows had been the cause of his failure in 1812, and the treachery of his Marshals had been his ruin in the Campaign of 1813 and 1814. Nothing but treachery could check him now; but that there _was_ treason afoot was a universal suspicion among the men of the rank and file. “Don’t trust the Marshals,” they were constantly saying; and even at Waterloo a soldier ran from the ranks, caught the bridle rein of the white Arabian mare that the Emperor rode, and exclaimed, “Sire, don’t trust Marshal Soult! He betrays you!” “Be calm. Trust Marshal Soult, and trust me,” was Napoleon’s reply. Evidently here was an army that would strike with terrific force, but which might _break all to pieces on the field at the slightest evidence of bad faith on the part of its commanders_.

At the very outset, Soult’s unfitness for his position as Chief of Staff was demonstrated. When orders to concentrate the army were flying as fast as couriers could bear them, Napoleon came upon the cavalry of Grouchy, at Laon, before that officer had stirred a step. _He had received no orders._ Had Napoleon been the vigilant, quickly resolute Captain of old, his Chief of Staff would have been dismissed at once. Like the leak in the dyke, _such_ a mistake indicated the danger of a colossal disaster. In person, Napoleon had to order Grouchy forward; and practically the same thing had to be done with the corps of Vandamme. Soult had sent marching orders to that officer _by a single courier_, whose horse fell with him, breaking his leg; and the poor fellow lay there all night with the undelivered order.

Both of these delays were felt throughout the campaign. The cavalry had to make a forced march of 20 leagues and this tired the horses; and in the cavalry charges of the following days the mounts of the French were jaded, while those of the enemy were fresh. Vandamme’s failure to get his orders caused the combination of the Emperor to fall short of what it ought to have accomplished, and this in turn caused other losses to the end of the campaign.

Even at this late day the armies of Blücher and Wellington were spread over a front line of 35 leagues. The base of the Prussians was Liege; that of the English, Brussels and Ghent. The point of contact of the two armies was the road from Charleroi to Brussels. Napoleon determined to seize this road, strike the Allies at the point of contact and drive them apart, so that he could crush each in detail. This done, he believed that Austria would withdraw from the Alliance, the Belgians rise in his favor, Italy assert her friendship for him, and all France unite against the Bourbons. If these very probable changes should take place, he could either conclude an honorable peace with Russia, Prussia, and Great Britain, or he could safely defy them.

* * * * *

On the 14th of June the Emperor slept among his troops. Next morning he addressed them in the order of the day:

“Soldiers, to-day is the anniversary of Marengo and Friedland, which twice decided the fate of Europe. We were too generous after Austerlitz and Wagram. And now banded together against us, the sovereigns we left on their thrones conspire against the independence and the most sacred rights of France. They have begun by the most iniquitous aggression. Let us march to meet them; are we not the men we were then? The time has come for every Frenchman who loves his country to conquer or to die.”

The army of 124,000 men to whom those burning words were addressed had been swiftly concentrated within cannon-shot of the enemy, before Blücher or Wellington had the faintest idea of what had happened. While it was possible for the French Emperor to strike at once, with the crushing weight of the whole army, _three days_ were necessary to Blücher and Wellington. _How did they get those three days?_ Through the blunders and disobedience of Napoleon’s own officers. Contributing immensely to the same result was the refusal of Wellington’s officers to obey the orders which he sent from Brussels and which, had they been obeyed, would have left Quatre Bras in the hands of the French, and put Napoleon in overwhelming numbers _between_ the scattered forces of his enemies. To have destroyed them would have been child’s play for such a captain.

On the 15th of June, Wellington wrote to the Czar of Russia stating his intention to take the offensive at the end of the month. As to Blücher, that indomitable but short-sighted soldier was writing to his wife, “We shall soon enter France. We might remain here a year, for Bonaparte would never attack us.”

About the time that the wife of “Marshal Forwards” was reading this reassuring letter, the Prussian army was flying before the French Emperor, and old Blücher himself, unhorsed and bruised almost to unconsciousness, had escaped capture because of the darkness, and was being borne off the lost field of Ligny.