Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, Volume V.

by Walter Scott

The account of the battle of Waterloo, dictated by Napoleon to Gourgaud, so severely exposed by General Grouchy[151] as a mere military romance, full of gratuitous suppositions, misrepresentations, and absolute falsehoods, accuses the subordinate generals who fought under Buonaparte of having greatly degenerated from their original character. Ney and Grouchy are particularly aimed at; the former by name, the latter by obvious implication. It is said they had lost that energy and enterprising genius by which they had formerly been distinguished, and to which France owed her triumphs. They had become timorous and circumspect in all their operations; and although their personal bravery remains, their greatest object was to compromise themselves as little as possible. This general remark, intended, of course, to pave the way for transferring from the Emperor to his lieutenants the blame of the miscarriage of the campaign, is both unjust and ungrateful. Had they lost energy, who struggled to the very last in the field of Waterloo, long after the Emperor had left the field? Was Grouchy undecided in his operations, who brought his own division safe to Paris, in spite of all the obstacles opposed to him by a victorious army, three times the amount of his own in numbers? Both these officers had given up, for the sake of Napoleon, the rank and appointments which they might have peacefully borne under the Bourbons. Did it indicate the reluctance to commit themselves, with which they are charged, that they ventured on the decided step of joining his desperate career, not only abandoning all regard to their interest and their safety, but compromising their character as men of loyalty in the face of all Europe, and exposing themselves to certain death, if the Bourbons should be successful? Those who fight with the cord around their neck, which was decidedly the case with Grouchy and Ney, must have headed the forlorn hope; and is it consistent with human nature, in such circumstances, to believe that they, whose fortune and safety depended on the victory, personally brave as they are admitted to be, should have loitered in the rear, when their fate was in the balance?

He who was unjust to his own followers, can scarce be expected to be candid towards an enemy. The Duke of Wellington has, upon all occasions, been willing to render the military character of Napoleon that justice which a generous mind is scrupulously accurate in dispensing to an adversary, and has readily admitted that the conduct of Buonaparte and his army on this memorable occasion, was fully adequate to the support of their high reputation. It may be said that the victor can afford to bestow praise on the vanquished, but that it requires a superior degree of candour in the vanquished to do justice to the conqueror. Napoleon, at any rate, does not seem to have attained, in this particular, to the pitch of a great or exalted mind, since both he and the various persons whom he employed as the means of circulating his statements, concur in a very futile attempt to excuse the defeat at Waterloo, by a set of apologies founded in a great degree upon misrepresentation. The reader will find these scientifically discussed in a valuable article in the Appendix.[152] But it may be necessary, at the risk of some repetition, to take some notice of them here in a popular form. The allegations, which are designed to prove the incapacity of the British general, and to show that the battle of Waterloo was only lost by a combination of extraordinary fatalities, may be considered in their order.

The first, and most frequently repeated, is the charge, that the Duke of Wellington, on the 15th, was surprised in his cantonments, and could not collect his army fast enough at Quatre-bras. In this his Grace would have been doubtless highly censurable, if Napoleon had, by express information, or any distinct movement indicative of his purpose, shown upon which point he meant to advance. But the chivalrous practice of fixing a field of combat has been long out of date; and Napoleon, beyond all generals, possessed the art of masking his own movements, and misleading his enemy concerning the actual point on which he meditated an attack. The Duke and Prince Blucher were, therefore, obliged to provide for the concentration of their forces upon different points, according as Buonaparte's selection should be manifested; and in order to be ready to assemble their forces upon any one position, they must, by spreading their cantonments, in some degree delay the movement upon all. The Duke could not stir from Brussels, or concentrate his forces, until he had certain information of those of the enemy; and it is said that a French statesman, who had promised to send him a copy of the plan of Buonaparte's campaign, contrived, by a trick of policy, to evade keeping his word.[153] We do not mean to deny the talent and activity displayed by Buonaparte, who, if he could have brought forward his whole army upon the evening of the 15th of June, might probably have succeeded in preventing the meditated junction of Blucher and Wellington. But the celebrated prayer for annihilation of time and space would be as little reasonable in the mouth of a general as of a lover, and, fettered by the limitations against which that modest petition is directed, Buonaparte failed in bringing forward in due time a sufficient body of forces to carry all before him at Quatre-bras; while, on the other hand, the Duke of Wellington, from the same obstacles of time and space, could not assemble a force sufficient to drive Ney before him, and enable him to advance to the support of Blucher during the action of Ligny.[154]

The choice of the field of Waterloo is also charged against the Duke of Wellington as an act of weak judgment; because, although possessed of all the requisites for maintaining battle or pursuing victory, and, above all, of the facilities for communicating with the Prussian army, it had not, according to the imperial critic, the means of affording security in case of a retreat, since there was only one communication to the rear—that by the causeway of Brussels, the rest of the position being screened by the forest of Soignies, in front of which the British army was formed, and through which, it is assumed, retreat was impossible.

Taking the principle of this criticism as accurate, it may be answered, that a general would never halt or fight at all, if he were to refuse combat on every other save a field of battle which possessed all the various excellences which may be predicated of one in theory. The commander must consider whether the ground suits his present exigencies, without looking at other circumstances which may be less pressing at the time. Generals have been known to choose by preference the ground from which there could be no retiring; like invaders who burn their ships, as a pledge that they will follow their enterprise to the last. And although provision for a safe retreat is certainly in most cases a desirable circumstance, yet it has been dispensed with by good generals, and by none more frequently than by Napoleon himself. Was not the battle of Essling fought without any possible mode of retreat save the frail bridges over the Danube? Was not that of Wagram debated under similar circumstances? And, to complete the whole, did not Napoleon, while censuring the Duke of Wellington for fighting in front of a forest, himself enter upon conflict with a defile in his rear, formed by the narrow streets and narrower bridge of Genappe, by which alone, if defeated, he could cross the Dyle?—It might, therefore, be presumed, that if the Duke of Wellington chose a position from which retreat was difficult, he must have considered the necessity of retreat as unlikely, and reckoned with confidence on being able to make good his stand until the Prussians should come up to join him.

Even this does not exhaust the question; for the English general-officers unite in considering the forest of Soignies as a very advantageous feature in the field; and, far from apprehending the least inconvenience from its existence, the Duke of Wellington regarded it as affording a position, which, if his first and second line had been unhappily forced, he might have nevertheless made good against the whole French army. The hamlet of Mont Saint Jean, in front, affords an excellent key to the position of an army compelled to occupy the forest. The wood itself is every where passable for men and horses, the trees being tall, and without either low boughs or underwood; and, singular as the discrepancy between the opinions of distinguished soldiers may seem, we have never met an English officer who did not look on the forest of Soignies as affording an admirable position for making a final stand. In support of their opinion they refer to the defence of the Bois de Bossu, near Quatre-bras, against the reiterated attacks of Maréchal Ney. This impeachment of the Duke of Wellington may therefore be set aside, as inconsistent with the principles of British warfare. All that can be added is, that there are cases in which national habits and manners may render a position advantageous to soldiers of one country, which is perilous or destructive to those of another.

The next subject of invidious criticism, is of a nature so singular, that, did it not originate with a great man, in peculiar circumstances of adversity, it might be almost termed ludicrous. Napoleon expresses himself as dissatisfied, because he was defeated in the common and vulgar proceeding of downright fighting, and by no special manœuvres or peculiar display of military art on the part of the victor. But if it can afford any consolation to those who cherish his fame, it is easy to show that Napoleon fell a victim to a scheme of tactics early conceived, and persevered in under circumstances which, in the case of ordinary men, would have occasioned its being abandoned; resumed after events which seemed so adverse, that nothing save dauntless courage and unlimited confidence could have enabled the chiefs to proceed in their purpose; and carried into execution, without Napoleon's being able to penetrate the purpose of the allied generals, until it was impossible to prevent the annihilation of his army;—that he fell, in short, by a grand plan of strategie, worthy of being compared to that of any of his own admirable campaigns.

To prove what we have said, it is only necessary to remark, that the natural bases and points of retreat of the Prussian and English armies were different; the former being directed on Maestricht, the other on Antwerp, where each expected their reinforcements. Regardless of this, and with full confidence in each other, the Prince Maréchal Blucher, and the Duke of Wellington, agreed to act in conjunction against the French army. The union of their forces, for which both were prepared, was destined to have taken place at Ligny, where the duke designed to have supported the Prussians, and where Blucher hazarded an action in expectation of his ally's assistance. The active movements of Napoleon, and the impossibility of the English force being sufficiently concentrated at Quatre-bras to afford the means of overpowering Ney and the force in their front, prevented their making a lateral march to relieve Blucher at that critical period. Otherwise, the parts of the bloody drama, as afterwards acted, would have been reversed, and the British army would have moved to support the Prussians at Ligny, as the Prussians came to the aid of the British at Waterloo.

Napoleon had the merit of disconcerting this plan for the time; but he did not, and could not, discover that the allied generals retained, after the loss of the battle of Ligny, the same purpose which they had adopted on the commencement of the campaign. He imagined, as did all around him, that Blucher must retreat on Namur, or in such a direction as would effectually accomplish a separation betwixt him and the English, as it was natural to think a defeated army should approach towards its own resources, instead of attempting further offensive operations. At all events, Napoleon was in this respect so much mistaken, as to believe that if Blucher did retire on the same line with the English, the means which the Prussian retained for co-operating with his allies were so limited, and (perhaps he might think) the spirit of the general so subdued, that Maréchal Grouchy, with 32,000 men, would be sufficient to keep the whole Prussian force in check. The maréchal was accordingly, as we have seen, despatched much too late, without any other instructions than to follow and engage the attention of the Prussians. Misled by the demonstration of Blucher, he at first took the road to Namur, and thus, without any fault on his part, lost time, which was inconceivably precious.

Buonaparte's subsequent accounts of this action blame Maréchal Grouchy for not discovering Blucher's real direction, which he had no means of ascertaining, and for not obeying orders which were never given to him, and which could not be given, because Napoleon was as ignorant as the maréchal, that Blucher had formed the determination, at all events, to unite himself with Wellington. This purpose of acting in co-operation, formed and persevered in, was to the French Emperor the riddle of the Sphinx, and he was destroyed because he could not discover it. Indeed, he ridiculed even the idea of such an event. One of his officers, according to Baron Muffling, having hinted at the mere possibility of a junction between the Prussian army and that of Wellington, he smiled contemptuously at the thought. "The Prussian army," he said, "is defeated—It cannot rally for three days—I have 75,000 men, the English only 50,000. The town of Brussels awaits me with open arms. The English Opposition waits but for my success to raise their heads. Then adieu subsidies, and farewell coalition!" In like manner, Napoleon frankly acknowledged, while on board the Northumberland, that he had no idea that the Duke of Wellington meant to fight, and therefore omitted to reconnoitre the ground with sufficient accuracy. It is well known, that when he observed them still in their position on the morning of the 18th, he exclaimed, "I have them, then, these English!"