Napoleon: A Sketch of His Life, Character, Struggles, and Achievements

by Thomas E. Watson

However, there are those who say that St. Cyr was left at Dresden on purpose, because Napoleon was unwilling that the Saxon capital should fall into the hands of the enemy. In other words, he left his garrison caged at Dresden, just as he left cooped up within similar fortresses a sufficient number of veteran troops to have made his army as large as that of the Allies.

In the year 1797 the young Napoleon had driven the Austrian armies from Italy, had chased them through the mountains of the Tyrol, and had come almost in sight of Vienna. Austria sent Count Meerfeldt into the French lines to sue for peace, and her prayer was granted. In 1805 this same Napoleon had shattered the Russo-Austrian forces at Austerlitz, and was about to capture both Czar and Emperor. Again Count Meerfeldt was sent to Napoleon’s tent to beg for mercy, and again the plea was heard. Now it was 1813, the tide had turned, and it was Napoleon’s time to ask for peace. His messenger was a released captive, Count Meerfeldt, he of Leoben and Austerlitz; and to the message neither Czar nor Austrian emperor returned any answer whatever.

During the 17th there was no fighting, and the French made no movement. They could probably have retired unmolested, but Napoleon was awaiting a reply to his propositions.

During the night, rockets blazed in the sky on the north—the signal to Schwarzenberg and Blücher that Bernadotte and Bennigsen had come. The Swedes, the German bands, the Russian reserves, were all up, and the Allies would now outnumber the French two to one.

With the light of the 18th began “the greatest battle in all authentic history.” Nearly half a million men threw themselves upon each other with a fury like that of maniacs. Men from every quarter of Europe were there, from Spain to Turkey, from the northern seas to the Adriatic and Mediterranean, men from palaces and men from huts, men who flashed like Murat in the gaudiest uniforms of modern Europe, and men like the Bashkirs who wore the dress and carried the bow and arrow of ancient Scythia.

The French never fought better than on this day, nor did the Allies; but the French soldier was not what he had been, nor were French officers the same. Shortly before this the Emperor had said to Augereau, “You are no longer the Augereau of Castiglione;” and the answer was, “Nor have I the troops of Castiglione.” Ney had written, after his overthrow at Dennewitz: “I have been totally defeated, and do not know whether my army has reassembled. The spirit of the generals and officers is shattered. I had rather be a grenadier than to command under such conditions.” Napoleon had exclaimed in bitterness of spirit, “The deserters will be my ruin.”

Bavaria, threatened by the Allies and carried along by the torrent of German patriotism, was threatening Napoleon’s rear. The King of Würtemberg had honorably given notice that he also would be compelled to turn against the French. Saxony was moved by the same influences, and, in spite of the presence of her king in Leipsic, the Saxon troops felt the impulse of national passion. In the very hottest of the fight on the great day of the 18th, the Saxon infantry went over to Bernadotte, and turned their batteries upon the French. The Würtemberg cavalry followed. Then all was lost. The courage of the bravest, the skill of the ablest, sink before such odds as these. One account represents Napoleon as lifting a rage-swept face to heaven, with a cry of “Infamous!” and then rushing at the head of the Old Guard to restore the broken line. Another story is that he sank into a wooden chair which some one handed him, and fell into the deep sleep of utter exhaustion.

Bernadotte had commanded the Saxon troops for Napoleon in the campaign of 1809. He had issued a proclamation, on his own motion, claiming credit for the victory of Wagram for these Saxons, and the Emperor reproved him for the untruth and the impertinence. Operating now against Napoleon, and in Saxony, Bernadotte had broadcasted the country with a proclamation calling upon the Saxons to join him. It is quite possible that the coincidence of these circumstances influenced the wavering troops, who had used half their ammunition against the Allies, to spend the other half against the French.

This desertion of about twenty-five thousand men furnished one imperative reason for retreat; but there seems to have been a second, equally good. Constant says, “In the evening the Emperor was sitting on a red morocco camp-stool amidst the bivouac fires, dictating orders for the night to Berthier, when two artillery commanders presented themselves to his Majesty, and told him that they were nearly out of ammunition.” Some two hundred and twenty-five thousand cannon balls had been fired, the reserves were exhausted, and the nearest magazines were out of reach.

The retreat began that night; and troops continued to pour across the one bridge of the Elster as fast as they could go. Why was there but one bridge? No satisfactory answer can be made, unless we adopt the theory of sheer neglect. The stream was so small that any number of bridges might have been built during the idle day of the 17th; but no orders were issued, and the French army was left to fight awful odds, with a river at its back, over which lay the only line of retreat, and across which there was a single bridge. Did the Emperor forget the terrible experience of Aspern? Was he no longer the Napoleon of Rivoli, as Augereau was no longer the Augereau of Castiglione?