The Emperor at Chalons and Reims.
Immediately after the first defeats befell the French Armies on the frontier, General Montauban, Comte de Palikao, summoned by the Empress, found himself abruptly made the head of a Government. He took, of course, the post of Minister of War. The Empress had been Regent from the day when the Emperor quitted Paris, and she exercised, or appeared to do so, a great influence on the course of events. The first act of the new Minister was to collect the materials out of which might be formed a fresh Army, a task in the execution of which he displayed considerable energy. The rapid march of the invader had intercepted, as we have related, one infantry division of Canrobert’s Corps, all his cavalry “except a squadron,” as he pathetically exclaimed, and more than half of his artillery. These remained in the camp of Chalons, and the Army formed was composed of these men, the 12th Corps, one division of which consisted of Marine Infantry; then the 1st and 5th Corps, which had come at racing speed from Alsace; and finally of the 7th from Belfort, which reached Chalons by way of Paris. There were in addition two regiments of Chasseurs d’Afrique, and subsequently a third—Margueritte’s gallant brigade. General Lebrun estimates that the aggregates, including non-combatants, amounted to about 130,000 men. It will be duly noted that this Army came almost from the four winds, driven thither by the terrible pressure of defeat, and that many of the new troops were recruits, without discipline or training. They were collected together on an open plain, and had barely assembled before the vivacious German cavalry were reported to be and, though in small force, were close at hand. When the Emperor arrived on the night of the 16th, by far the greater part of the troops were still distant; some speeding on their way from Chaumont and Joinville, others travelling from Belfort, and some from Cherbourg and Paris. They dropped into the camp in succession after the 17th, and we may note that the 7th Corps never entered Chalons at all, but was sent on to Reims, which it reached on the 21st. Out of this assembly of soldiers Marshal MacMahon had to organize an Army. Moreover, the intendants, charged with the duty of supplying the troops, had only just come up. To increase the confusion many thousand Mobiles, who had been at an early date sent thither from Paris, behaved so badly—some reports of their ape-like tricks are almost incredible—that they were speedily returned to the capital, although the Emperor and Marshal Canrobert, who had commanded them, would have preferred, the former for political reasons, that they should be distributed in the northern garrison towns. Nothing more need be said of the Army of Chalons except that, although it contained some admirable troops, none finer than the Marines, whose only fault was that they could not march, yet that it was unfit to engage in any adventure whatever, especially one so perilous and toilsome as that into which it was soon plunged.
Weary, perturbed, broken in health and spirits, yet outwardly serene, Napoleon III. slept on the night of the 16th in the pavilion of the camp, which he had often visited when it was orderly and brilliant, which he now revisited as a fugitive, passing silently, almost furtively, through its disorder and gloom. With him was Prince Jerome Napoleon, who saw the fortunes of his house, like Balzac’s peau de chagrin, shrinking visibly day by day, and whose fertile mind was alive with expedients to avert the fatal hour. He resented the bigotry of the Empress, who would not surrender Rome as a bribe to the Italian Court; he was pondering over and, indeed, openly suggesting the abdication of the Emperor. Sleeping also in that pavilion was the youth, Louis, who is barely mentioned in the French accounts after the 2nd of August; whose public life began in the tumult of a national catastrophe and ended so tragically among the savage Zulus.
Daylight brought no respite to the Emperor. He saw around him silent and unsympathetic throngs of soldiers bearing the marks of defeat and rout, and it is said that he was even jeered by the Parisian Mobiles, who had previously shouted in the ears of the astonished Canrobert, “À Paris! À Paris!” instead of “À Berlin!”
Then came from the capital General Trochu, who had been appointed to command the newly-formed 12th Corps, and was destined, in case of accident, to succeed MacMahon. In conversing with the Emperor the General developed a plan of action, which astonished yet did not altogether displease his Majesty. Succinctly stated it was this: That the Emperor and the Army should return to Paris, and that General Trochu should be named Governor of the capital. The Emperor, as usual, listened, doubted, demurred, yet did not refuse to contemplate a scheme which promised to place him, once more, at the head of affairs, but he gave no decision. Marshal MacMahon was summoned; he was to command the Army which, according to the plan, was to be organized near Paris; and when consulted he spoke favourably of Trochu as a man and a soldier, and readily accepted the command of the Army. Prince Napoleon, so soon to set out for Florence, if he did not suggest, supported the nomination of Trochu, on the ground that a revolution might break out at any moment in Paris, and that the General was the man to put it down. It was during the prolonged debate on these perplexing questions that some one said—“the Emperor neither commands the Army nor governs the State;” whether the words dropped from the lips of Napoleon III. or his cousin, Marshal MacMahon, who was present, could not remember; but whoever uttered them they were true. There was a subsidiary and much-disputed question—what should be done with the noisy Mobiles, who so eagerly desired to re-enter Paris? In the end it was agreed that, although the Emperor, for political, and MacMahon, for military reasons, desired to give them a taste of much needed discipline in the northern fortresses, these obstreperous battalions should be sent to the capital. Thus it came about that Marshal MacMahon took command of the Army and that Trochu became Governor of Paris. The new Governor, with his letter of nomination in his pocket, set out on his return journey; but while he went slowly by rail, M. Pietri, using the telegraph, informed the Empress of what had been done, and alarmed her and the Minister of War by reporting the intelligence that the Emperor and the Army were to move on the capital. Thereupon, two hours before the luckless Trochu set foot in Paris, Palikao had sent a remonstrance by telegram, dated 10.27 p.m. on the 17th. “The Empress,” he said, “has communicated to me the letter in which the Emperor announces that he wishes to move the Army from Chalons to Paris—I implore the Emperor to give up this idea, which will look like a desertion of the Army of Metz.” If there was a “letter” Napoleon must have written it on the 16th, during his journey, which is not likely; but the document referred to was, no doubt, Pietri’s telegram to the Empress. Some answer must have been sent from the pavilion at Chalons, after Trochu departed, for when he saw M. Chevreau, at midnight, the Minister said promptly—“The Emperor will not return”; and when the General exhibited his proclamation to the Empress, beginning with “Preceded by the Emperor,” she instantly exclaimed, “You cannot state that, because it is not a fact; the Emperor will not come.” Thus the Trochu plan was frustrated; yet the remarkable thing is that the Emperor had not made up his shifting mind; for on the 18th, as Marshal MacMahon affirms, Napoleon intimated his intention to start the next day. Still we find a telegram from him to Palikao, dated the “18th, 9 h. 4 m.,” presumably in the morning, in which he says, “I give in to your opinion,” so that his resolutions fluctuated from hour to hour. A most singular historical figure, at this juncture, is the once-potent Napoleon III. Virtually exiled from his capital, and not permitted, if he wished, to command his troops, he was condemned to “assist,” as the French say, at the capture of armies, the downfall of his dynasty, and the wreck of a nation.
These lugubrious debates, held almost within sight of the battlefield of Valmy, went on from day to day. “What should be done with the Army?” was the question which trod on the heels of “What shall be done with the Emperor?” or rather both were discussed together. On the 18th came a despatch from Bazaine, stating that the Marshal had fought a battle two days before, that he had “held his positions,” yet that he was obliged to fall back nearer to Metz in order that he might replenish his supplies for men and guns. This message had crossed one from MacMahon announcing his appointment, conveying the important information that he was still under the orders of Bazaine, and asking for instructions. The answer came the next evening, and it expressly declared that, being too remote from Chalons, Bazaine left the Marshal free to act as he thought fit. That telegram, it was the last which came direct by wire from Metz, raised the great military question. Palikao had already begun to insist that Metz should be relieved. The Marshal admits that he was undecided for the moment; for if he started for the Meuse Paris would be uncovered, and the sole remaining French Army put in great peril; whereas, if he did not march eastward and Bazaine did march west, then the latter might be lost. In his anguish of mind, not knowing that the wire had been cut, he appealed, by telegram, to Bazaine for his opinion. At the same time, on the 20th, he forwarded a message to Palikao, which stated the case most clearly. His information, and it was in substance correct, led him to believe that the roads through Briey, Verdun, and St. Mihiel were intercepted by the Germans; and he added that his intention was to halt until he learned whether Bazaine had moved by the north or the south—the idea that he might be shut up closely in Metz had not then matured in MacMahon’s mind. In the meantime he saw plainly the dangers to which he was exposed by remaining on the plain of Chalons; and, therefore, on the 21st moved the whole Army to Reims, a long march, which tried the inexperienced troops, and filled the country roads with hundreds of stragglers.