A DIFFICULTY OVERCOME.—THE EMPEROR’S PERSONAL DANGER AT EYLAU, JENA, &C.—RUSSIAN, AUSTRIAN, AND PRUSSIAN TROOPS.—YOUNG GUIBERT.—CORBINEAU.—MARSHAL LANNES.—BESSIERES.—DUROC.
27th.—About five o’clock the Emperor went out in his calash; the evening was very fine; we drove rapidly, and the distance to be traversed is very short. The Emperor made the servants slacken their pace, in order to prolong the ride. As we returned, the Emperor, casting his eyes on the camp, from which we were separated only by the ravine, asked why we could not pass that way, which would double the length of our ride. He was told that it was impossible; and we continued our way homeward. But, on a sudden, as if roused by this word impossible, which he had so often said was not French, he ordered the ground to be reconnoitred. We all got out of the carriage, which proceeded empty towards the difficult points; we saw it clear every obstacle, and returned home in triumph, as if we had just doubled our possessions.
During dinner, and afterwards, the conversation turned on various deeds of arms. The Grand Marshal said, that what had most struck him in the life of the Emperor happened at Eylau, when, attended only by some officers of his staff, a column of four or five thousand Russians came almost in contact with him. The Emperor was on foot; the Prince of Neufchatel instantly ordered up the horses: the Emperor gave him a reproachful look; then sent orders to a battalion of his guard to advance, which was a good way behind, and standing still. As the Russians advanced, he repeated several times, “What audacity! what audacity!” At the sight of the grenadiers of the guard, the Russians stopped short. It was high time for them to do so, as Bertrand said. The Emperor had never stirred; all who surrounded him had been much alarmed.[alarmed.]
The Emperor had heard this account without making any observation; but, when it was finished, he said that one of the finest manœuvres he remembered was that which he executed at Eckmühl. Unfortunately, he did not proceed, or give any particulars. “Success in war,” said he, “depends so much on quicksightedness, and on seizing the right moment, that the battle of Austerlitz, which was so completely won, would have been lost if I had attacked six hours sooner. The Russians shewed themselves on that occasion such excellent troops as they have never appeared since; the Russian army of Austerlitz would not have lost the battle of the Moscowa.”
“Marengo,” said the Emperor, “was the battle in which the Austrians fought best: their troops behaved admirably there; but that was the grave of their valour. It has never since been seen.
“The Prussians, at Jena, did not make such a resistance as was expected from their reputation. As to the multitudes of 1814 and 1815, they were mere rabble compared to the real soldiers of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena.”
The night before the battle of Jena, the Emperor said, he had run the greatest risk. He might then have disappeared without his fate being clearly known. He had approached the bivouacs of the enemy, in the dark, to reconnoitre them; he had only a few officers with him. The opinion which was then entertained of the Prussian army kept every one on the alert: it was thought that the Prussians were particularly given to nocturnal attacks. As the Emperor returned, he was fired at by the first sentinel of his camp; this was a signal for the whole line; he had no resource but to throw himself flat on his face until the mistake was discovered. But his principal apprehension was that the Prussian line, which was very near to him, would act in the same manner.
At Marengo the Austrian soldiers had not forgotten the conqueror of Castiglione, Arcole, and Rivoli; his name had much influence over them; but they were far from thinking that he was present; they believed that he was dead: care had been taken to persuade them that he had perished in Egypt; that the First Consul, whom they now heard spoken of, was only his brother. This report had gained so much credit every where that Napoleon was under the necessity of appearing in public at Milan, in order to refute it.
After these anecdotes, the Emperor proceeded to mention a great number of his officers and aides-de-camp, distributing praise and censure amongst them as he went on; he knew them all thoroughly. Two of the circumstances which had most affected him on the field of battle he said, were the deaths of young Guibert and General Corbineau. At Aboukir, a bullet went quite through the breast of the former, without killing him instantly: the Emperor, after saying a few words to him, was obliged, by the violence of his feelings, to leave him. The other was carried away, crushed, annihilated by a cannon-ball, at Eylau, before the Emperor’s face, whilst he was giving him some orders. The Emperor spoke also of the last moments of Marshal Lannes, the valiant Duke of Montebello, so justly called the Orlando of the army, who, when visited by the Emperor on his death-bed, seemed to forget his own situation, and to feel only for him, whom he loved above every thing. The Emperor had the highest esteem for him. “He was for a long time a mere fighting man,” said he, “but he afterwards became an officer of the first talents.” Some one then said he should like to know what line of conduct Lannes would have pursued in these latter times, if he had lived. “We have learned,” said the Emperor, “not to swear to any thing. Yet I cannot conceive that it would have been possible for him to deviate from the path of duty and honour. Besides, it is hard to imagine that he could have existed. With all his bravery, he would unquestionably have got killed in some of the last affairs, or at least sufficiently wounded to be laid up out of the centre and influence of events. And if he had remained disposable, he was a man capable of changing the whole face of affairs by his own weight and influence.”
The Emperor next mentioned Duroc, on whose character and life he dwelt some time. “Duroc,” concluded he, “had lively, tender, and concealed passions, little corresponding with the coldness of his manner. It was long before I knew this, so exact and regular was the performance of his duty. It was not until my day was entirely closed and finished, and I was enjoying repose, that Duroc’s work began. Chance, or some accident, could alone have made me acquainted with his character. He was a pure and virtuous man, utterly disinterested, and extremely generous.”