1815
The supreme effort of the dynasties to outlaw Napoleon, and restore France to the Bourbons, was made by what was nominally an alliance of eight members—Austria, Great Britain, Prussia, Russia, France, Spain, Portugal, and Sweden. The last was, however, absorbed in her struggle with Norway, and, though Spain and Portugal were signatories, the real strength of the coalition arranged at Vienna lay in a virtual renewal of the treaty of Chaumont: Austria, Prussia, and Russia were each to put a hundred and eighty thousand men in the field, and Great Britain was to continue her subsidies.
On April fourth, the sovereigns of Europe were notified that the Empire meant peace; they retorted by the mobilization of their forces, and by denouncing in a joint protocol the treaty of Paris. In his extremity Napoleon appealed to Talleyrand, but that minister knew too well the temper of the Congress at Vienna, and refused to coöperate. The versatile Fouché thereupon initiated a new plot, this time against Napoleon, and sounded Metternich; but Metternich was dumb. The other diplomats asseverated that they did not wish to interfere with the domestic affairs of France; but they prevaricated, intending nothing less than the complete restoration of the Bourbons.
Under the shadow of this storm-cloud Napoleon regulated his domestic affairs of state with intrepid calmness. He had no easy task. It was the revived hatred of the masses for priests and nobles to which he had appealed on his progress from Grenoble, and, observing the wild outbursts of the populace at Lyons, he had whispered, "This is madness." It was with studied deliberation, therefore, that in Paris he cast himself completely upon the moderate liberals. This alienated the Jacobin elements throughout the country, and they, in turn, stirred up the royalists. When it became clear that neither Maria Louisa nor the King of Rome was to be crowned, and that there was no help in Austria, even the imperialists displayed a dangerous temper. Such was the general uneasiness about war that the first measures of army reorganization were taken almost stealthily. It was easy enough to establish the skeleton of formation, and not very difficult to find trustworthy officers, commissioned and non-commissioned; but to summon recruits was to announce the coming war. Of the three hundred thousand veterans now returned home, less than one fifth responded to the call for volunteers; the Emperor had reckoned on four fifths at least. The National Guard was so surly that many felt it would be bravado for Napoleon to review them. But he was determined to do so, and on April sixteenth the hazardous ceremony took place. Until at least half the companies had been reviewed not a cheer was heard; then there were a few scattering shouts here and there in the ranks; finally there was some genuine enthusiasm.
By the middle of May the national deputies summoned at Lyons began to arrive. They were to meet, after the fashion of Charles the Great's assemblies, in the open field. Their task was to be the making of a new constitution. It was not reassuring news that they brought from their various homes, and their accounts disturbed public opinion in Paris sadly. Before long it was known that civil war had again broken out in Vendée; the consequences would have been most disastrous had not La Rochejacquelein, the insurgent leader, been killed on June fourth. As it was, the ignoble slaughter of one of their order intensified the bitterness of the nobles. Worse still, it had been found that of the six hundred and twenty-nine deputies five hundred were ardent constitutionalists indifferent to Napoleon, and that only fifty were his devoted personal friends; there were even between thirty and forty who were Jacobins, and at Fouché's command. Under these circumstances the Emperor dared not hold the promised national congress. What could be substituted for it? The great dramatic artist was not long at a loss. He determined to summon the electoral deputies to a gorgeous open-air ceremony on June first, and have them stamp with their approval the Additional Act. A truly impressive spectacle would pass muster for the promised "field of May," and profoundly affect the minds of all present. But, unfortunately, though Ségur made the plan, and though every detail was carefully studied by Napoleon, the affair was not impressive. About eighteen thousand persons assembled on the benches, and there was a vast crowd in the field. The cannon roared their welcome, and the people cheered the imperial carriage, the marshals, the body-guard, and the procession. But when Napoleon and his brothers stepped forth, clad like actors in theatrical costumes of white velvet, wearing Spanish cloaks embroidered with the imperial device of golden bees, and with great plumed hats on their heads, there was a hush of disappointment. The populace had expected a soldier in a soldier's uniform; many had felt sure "he" would wear that of the National Guard.
There was, however, no sign of disrespect while the ministers and the reconstituted corps of marshals filed to their places. Among the latter were familiar faces—Ney, Moncey, Kellermann, Sérurier, Lefebvre, Grouchy, Oudinot, Jourdan, Soult, and Masséna. A committee of the deputies then stood forth, and their chairman read an address declaring that France desired a ruler of her own selection, and promising loyalty in the coming war. Napoleon arose, and in spite of his absurd clothes commanded attention while he set forth his reasons for offering a ready-made constitution instead of risking interminable debate. Although he declared that what was offered could, of course, be amended, there was no applause, except from a few soldiers. When the chambers met, a week later, Lanjuinais, one of Napoleon's lifelong opponents, was chosen president of the House of Deputies. The speech from the throne was clever and conciliatory, and in spite of evident distrust both houses promised all the strength of France for defense—but for defense only. The peers declared that under her new institutions France could never be swept away by the temptations of victory; the deputies asserted that nothing could carry the nation beyond the bounds of its own defense, not even the will of a victorious prince.
The anxieties and exertions of two months were manifest in Napoleon's appearance. His features, though impressive, were drawn, and his long jaw grew prominent. He lost flesh everywhere except around the waist, so that his belly, hitherto inconspicuous, looked almost pendulous. When standing, he folded his hands sometimes in front, sometimes behind, but separated them frequently to take snuff or rub his nose. Sometimes he heaved a mechanical sigh, swallowing as if to calm inward agitation. Often he scowled, and looked out through half-closed lids as if growing far-sighted; the twitching of his eye and ear on the left side grew more frequent. With thickening difficulties and increasing annoyance, serious urinary and stomach troubles set in; there was also a persistent hacking cough. Recourse was again had to protracted warm baths in order to alleviate the accompanying nervousness; but as the ailments were refractory, a mystery soon attached to the malady, and his enemies said it was a loathsome disease. In spite of the statements both of the Prussian commissioner at Fontainebleau, Count Truchsess-Waldburg, and of Sir Hudson Lowe, it is highly improbable that Napoleon's health was undermined by sexual infection. He was surrounded all his life by malignant attendants, and among the sweepings of their minds, which in recent years have been scattered before the public, there would be some proof of the fact. In the utter absence of any reliable information, some have guessed that the trouble was the preliminary stage in the disease of which he died; and others, again, in view of his quick changes of mood, his depressions, exaltations, sharpened sensibilities, and abrupt rudeness, have explained all his peculiarities in disease and health by attributing them to a recondite form of epilepsy. Exhausted and nervous, the sufferer might well, as was the case, be found in tears before the portrait of his son; he might well lift up his voice, as he was heard to do, against the destiny which had played him false. But he was quite shrewd enough to see that during his absence no regency could be trusted, and he arranged to conduct affairs by special messengers. Joseph was to preside and give the casting-vote in the council of state; to Lucien was given a seat in the same body; but the supreme power rested in Napoleon.
When Wellington replaced Castlereagh at the Congress of Vienna, it was quickly apparent that he was greater in the field than at the council-board. Both he and Blücher desired to assume the offensive quickly; but inasmuch as Alexander was determined to retain his ascendancy in the coalition, and as each power insisted on its due share in the struggle, it was arranged to begin hostilities on June twenty-seventh, the earliest date at which the Russian troops could reach the confines of France. There were to be three armies. Schwarzenberg, with two hundred and fifty thousand men, comprising the Austrian, Russian, and Bavarian contingents, was to attack across the upper Rhine; Blücher, with one hundred and fifty thousand Prussians, was to advance across the lower Rhine; and Wellington in the Netherlands was to collect an army of one hundred and fifty thousand, compounded of Dutch, Belgians, Hanoverians, and some thirty-eight thousand British, who could be there assembled. The two latter armies were in existence by the first of June, but Wellington was dissatisfied with the quality of his motley force; even the English contingent was not the best possible, for his Peninsular veterans had been sent to find their match in Jackson's riflemen at the battle of New Orleans.
On the eve of hostilities Napoleon had one hundred and twenty-four thousand effective men, and three thousand five hundred more in his camp train; Wellington had one hundred and six thousand, but of these four thousand Hanoverians were left in garrison; Blücher had about one hundred and seventeen thousand. Neither of the two allied generals dreamed that Napoleon would choose the daring form of attack upon which he decided—that of a wedge driven into the broken line nearly a hundred miles in length upon which his enemy lay—for to do so he must pass the Ardennes. But he did choose it, and selected for the purpose the valleys of the Sambre and the Meuse. Allowing for the differences in topography, the idea was identical with that which, nineteen years before, he had executed splendidly in Piedmont and repeated in Germany. The twin enemy seemed unaware that its long and straggling line must, in case of activity, either be broken to maintain the respective bases or else abandon one base for concentration and be cut off from supplies. Wellington's base was westward at Antwerp, Blücher's eastward through Liège toward the Rhine. Vacillation would ensue, Napoleon felt, on a central attack, and in that vacillation he intended to repeat with Blücher what he had done with Brunswick at Jena.
The opening of the campaign was sufficiently auspicious. By a superb march during the night of June thirteenth, Napoleon's army had gained a most advantageous position. The first corps under d'Erlon was at Solre on the Sambre, the second under Reille was at Leers. The guard, the sixth corps under Lobau, the line cavalry and the third corps under Vandamme, stood in that order on a line northeasterly from Beaumont, and due east of that place were four cavalry corps; the fourth corps under the young and dashing Gérard had marched from Metz and were at Philippeville; to the south lay the guard cavalry and the reserve artillery under Grouchy. In front was Charleroi, whence a broad turnpike led almost direct to Brussels, thirty-four miles due north; another turned eastward toward Liège. Thirteen miles distant on this was Sombreffe; somewhat farther on that, Quatre Bras, both on the highway running east and west between Namur and Nivelles. To have accomplished such marches as it did, the French army must have been fine; to have secured such a brilliant strategic position its general must have been almost inspired. He commanded the operating lines of both Wellington and Blücher, while they were far distant from each other, separated by serious obstacles, both alike instinct with centrifugal rather than centripetal tendency. The same high qualities which shone in their general distinguished the subordinate French commanders. Though many of the famous names are absent from the list,—Mortier, for instance, having fallen ill on the frontier,—yet Soult was present as chief of staff, and Ney was coming up to take command of the left wing. Reille, d'Erlon, and Foy were veterans of the Peninsular war; what twenty-two years of service had done for the "wild Hun," Vandamme, is known. Kellermann was made famous by Marengo, Lobau was noted for daring, Gérard had earned distinction in Russia, and though Grouchy's merit has been the theme of much discussion, yet he had been famous under Jourdan and Moreau, and nothing had occurred in the long interval to tarnish his reputation.