The confederation of the Rhine and the Continental system,--terms synonymous with all the evils which have brought Germany and Europe to the brink of destruction,--will in future have no other signification in the vocabularies of the writers on political economy than that interval of severe probation when Germany seemed to be annihilated, but yet rose from her ruins with renewed energies, and, united more firmly than ever, by new ties, with the other states of Europe, resumed her ancient rights. The battle of Leipzig was the watch-word for this great revolution. History, therefore, when partiality and passion shall have long been silent, will not fail to class it among the most important events recorded in her annals.
Here permit me to conclude my letters respecting those eventful days of October, which must ever be so deeply impressed upon the memories of us all. What may be called the military part of my narrative may be imperfect; the names of the generals who commanded, the positions of particular corps, and other circumstances of minor importance, may perhaps be incorrect; yet the circumstantial details which I have given will enable you to form to yourself in some measure a complete picture of that memorable conflict.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] The 14th of October is the anniversary of the battles of Ulm and of Jena.
[3] What is yet called the Kohlgarten was formerly gardeners' ground for the supply of the city, and is now converted into a fashionable village, consisting chiefly of the country-houses of merchants; and where is also a public garden for the recreation of the citizens.
[4] The following fact will serve to shew how completely the king of Saxony was duped by the imperial plunderer:--The king was standing with one of his ministers at a window of his palace in Dresden at the moment when a drove of remarkably fine cattle, intended for the French army, passed by. His majesty took occasion to praise the paternal care which the emperor manifested for his troops, in procuring them such abundant supplies of provisions. "But," replied the minister, "your majesty is surely not aware that it is at the expense of your poor subjects, as Napoleon pays for nothing."--"Impossible!" exclaimed the king with evident indignation. While they were yet in conversation, intelligence was brought from his domain of Pillnitz, which is well known to be the most beautiful in Saxony, that the French had taken away by force all his fine cattle, and just driven them through the city. These were the very same beasts which he had seen passing, and now for the first time he became sensible at what price Bonaparte obtained provisions from his faithful ally.
[5] Prince Joseph Poniatowsky was nephew to Stanislaus Augustus, the last king of Poland, and there is no doubt that he was cajoled into a subservience to the views of the French emperor by the flattering prospect of the restoration of his country to its former rank among the nations of Europe. The circumstances attending his death, as related by his aid-de-camp, are as follow:--On the 19th of October, when the French army began to retreat, the prince was charged by Napoleon with the defence of that part of the suburbs of Leipzig which lies nearest to the Borna road. For this service he had only 2000 Polish infantry assigned him. Perceiving the French columns on his left flank in full retreat, and the bridge completely choked up with their artillery and carriages, so that there was no possibility of getting over it, he drew his sabre, and, turning to the officers who were about him, "Gentlemen," said he, "it is better to fall with honour." With these words he rushed, at the head of a few Polish cuirassiers and the officers surrounding him, upon the advancing columns of the allies. He had been previously wounded on the 14th and 16th, and on this occasion also received a musket-ball in his left arm. He nevertheless pushed forward, but found the suburbs full of the allied troops, who hastened up to take him prisoner. He cut his way through them, received another wound through his cross, threw himself into the Pleisse, and with the assistance of his officers reached the opposite bank in safety, leaving his horse behind in the river. Though much exhausted he mounted another, and proceeded to the Elster, which was already lined by Saxon and Prussian riflemen. Seeing them coming upon him on all sides, he plunged into the river, and instantly sunk, together with his horse. Several officers, who threw themselves in after him, were likewise drowned; and others were taken on the bank or in the water. The body of the prince was found on the fifth day (Oct. 24), and taken out of the water by a fisherman. He was dressed in his gala uniform, the epaulets of which were studded with diamonds.
His fingers were covered with rings set with brilliants; and his pockets contained snuff-boxes of great value and other trinkets. Many of those articles were eagerly purchased by the Polish officers who were made prisoners, evidently for the purpose of being transmitted to his family; so that the whole produced the fisherman a very considerable sum.
CONCLUDING REMARKS.
In the battle of Leipzig the reflecting observer discovers something grand; but there is also much that puzzles one who is not a soldier, and is accustomed to find in all Napoleon's campaigns a consistency of plan which he here looks for in vain. If in his earlier combinations he did not in every instance take all possibilities into the account, but overlooked some, this must be ascribed not so much to the want of military penetration, as to his firm confidence in his good fortune, and in his ability to turn unforeseen accidents to his own advantage, or at least to render them harmless. Rarely has a general been so highly favoured by fortune for a long series of years as he. It is no wonder then that this confidence at length increased to such a degree as frequently to become the height of temerity. In Russia, Napoleon met with many circumstances which he had not taken into his calculation; but he nevertheless penetrated to Moscow. Here he for the first time experienced such a reverse as no general ever yet sustained. His immense army was entirely annihilated. His stern decree created a new one, to all outward appearance equally formidable. From the haste with which its component parts were collected, it could not but be deficient in intrinsic energy, and it was impossible to doubt that this would be shewn in time. In this respect his antagonists had a decided advantage, as must have been obvious to him after the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen. Had he not been so vastly superior in number to the Russian and Prussian army in the first engagement, he would indisputably have been defeated on that occasion.--The political relations of Europe had moreover undergone an extraordinary change. He could not for a thousand reasons be a moment doubtful of the choice of Austria. If with a strong and well-appointed army she could not by negotiation bring about a peace upon the basis of a future balance of power among the principal states of Europe, in which Prussia and Russia were willing to acquiesce, there could be no question that for the sake of her own existence she would espouse the cause of those two powers. This Napoleon seems to have considered as impossible, or the advantages already obtained must have inspired him with the confidence that even the accession of Austria to the alliance could not prevent the prosecution of his victorious career to the Vistula. Could he have expected to encounter the whole Austrian army in Silesia, or to reduce the fortresses of Upper Silesia, with such rapidity as to be able a third time to menace Vienna, and to compel the force assembled on the Bohemian frontiers to return with precipitation to cover the capital? This would have been too presumptuous an idea. He probably fancied himself strong enough, with 400,000 men, led on by himself and the ablest generals of the age, to cope, if even Austria should declare against him, with all three powers; especially if he presumed that he should be able to force all the combined armies united to a general engagement, and to annihilate them with a single blow. The proposals for peace were rejected: not the slightest disposition was shewn to treat, and the armistice of two months answered no other purpose than to convince Austria of the absolute necessity of joining the cause of the allies, and exerting all her energies to conquer that peace by the sword, which there was not the least hope of accomplishing by negotiation. By the accession of Austria the grand alliance had now gained a manifest superiority, as well in regard to the number of troops as to the geographical advantages of the theatre of war and resources.
After the renewal of hostilities Napoleon still seemed determined to pursue his plan of advancing beyond the Oder. The allies were not to be deceived by these demonstrations, but unexpectedly took post with their main force in Bohemia, along the Saxon frontier, leaving in Silesia and Brandenburg, where the crown-prince of Sweden had by this time arrived with his gallant troops, armies strong enough to keep him in check by a vigorous defensive system. The great Bohemian army was destined for offensive operations. This plan was equally grand and judicious.
Silesia, and all Saxony, to the Elbe, could not fail, in consequence, to be lost to Napoleon. That river, while he had only Prussia and Russia to encounter, was a sure support in his rear; but no sooner had Austria declared herself than it was no longer of any military consequence.
Dresden was the central point for the French army. There were organized all the military bureaus, and all the branches of administration for the economy of the army. The allies opened the campaign with a hasty advance upon that important city. If the enterprise proved successful, its consequences would be incalculable; if it miscarried, nothing would be lost for the grand object; and at any rate the expedition would be a diversion, which would immediately draw the French out of Silesia.
Napoleon now saw how egregiously he was deceived in his reckoning. He hastened precipitately to save the Saxon capital. The army arrived breathless. The allies were already assaulting the suburbs; and, had Napoleon come one hour later, Dresden would have been in their power.
Owing to the unexpected appearance of so prodigious a force, and still more to physical accidents, the grand enterprise of the allies miscarried. The battle of Dresden terminated to their disadvantage, but their primary object was attained. Napoleon's force was divided into three great armies. Should any of them sustain a defeat, all Saxony to the right of the Elbe would be lost to him. The engagements of Jauer, Grossbeeren, and Dennewitz, proved disastrous to the French generals, and Lusatia and the right bank of the Elbe were soon in the hands of the allies. All the attempts to penetrate to Prague and Berlin ended in the discomfiture and annihilation of whole French corps. Oudinot, Ney, Regnier, Bertrand, and the terrible Vandamme, were in succession so totally defeated, that it was not possible even for the French reporters, with all their address, to cloak their disasters. The allies every where acted offensively. Saxony, surrounded by Silesia, Bohemia, and Brandenburg, was now, from its situation, likely to become, earlier or later, the grave of the French armies: the allies had every where the choice of their operations; they were neither to be turned nor broken through. It was evident that the long and obstinate continuance of Napoleon at Dresden could not fail to prove ruinous to him. Of what service could the Elbe be to him, when Bohemia, the key to that river, was in the hands of his opponents? These had it in their power to turn his flank as far as the Saale, without hazard or any great impediment, as the event actually proved. Napoleon was cooped up in a narrow space, where in time, even without being defeated, he would have been in danger of starving with his army. Dresden was to him, in some respects, what Wilna had been in 1812. Leipzig, an open place, was now of far greater importance to him than Minsk was then. How easily might he have lost it, as the allies were advancing in considerable force upon that place! It was not lost, to be sure; but the communication between Dresden and Leipzig, and Leipzig and Erfurt, was, if not cut off, at least interrupted; his supplies became more and more precarious, and a large garrison, which it was deemed necessary to reinforce with strong detachments from the main army, was locked up in Leipzig.
When in August Austria declared herself decidedly in favour of Russia and Prussia, it was natural to expect that Napoleon would have totally relinquished the useless defence of Saxony, and have adopted a new plan of operations, in order to cover and preserve the other states of the confederation of the Rhine. That he would infallibly be compelled to evacuate Saxony, was evident from the slightest inspection of the map.
In this beautiful province he could expect no other glory than that of plunging it, by his inflexible obstinacy, into the most abject misery.
The combined monarchs had nothing to fear for their own dominions; they needed to do no more than to carry on for some time a mere war of observation, and to recruit their forces. They might quietly await the moment when Napoleon should leave Dresden, and, on his arrival, force him to a general engagement in any situation which they should deem most advantageous. Too late did Napoleon resolve upon retreat. He was obliged to commence it in the midst of an immense quadrangle which the allies formed about him, and to direct his course towards Leipzig. He could not, however, yet determine to give up Dresden, but left there a considerable army, thus weakening himself, and sacrificing it, as well as the garrisons of the fortresses on the Elbe and Oder, to no purpose whatever, in case he should lose a battle. At length, near Leipzig, he was forced, into the arduous conflict. Since the latter half of August, the talents which he had heretofore displayed for comprehensive and profound combinations seemed to have totally deserted him. All his measures and plans appeared imperfect, and betrayed a vacillation which he had never yet manifested. He seems to have been as uncertain respecting the strength of his antagonists as in regard to their grand plan of deciding the fate of the campaign with a single blow.
In the battle of Leipzig we perceive none of that forethought which characterizes his other engagements. The possibility of losing it seems never to have entered into his calculations; otherwise he would scarcely have endeavoured to prevail upon the king of Saxony to repair to Leipzig to witness his defeat. In the most favourable event he had a right to anticipate no other result than an unmolested retreat: the allies however, were producing a very different one from what he expected. Of this he might have convinced himself so early as the 16th, when he encountered the strongest resistance at all points which he had probably deemed the weakest. From that day all his measures were calculated only for the moment. He boasted of victory when the battle was scarcely begun. He every where strove to check the impetuous advance of his foes at the expense of those means which were so necessary for his own retreat. It could not be difficult for Napoleon to foresee, on the 16th, that, in case he should be defeated, he had no other route left than to retreat westward, in the direction of Lutzen and Merseburg. He nevertheless caused all the bridges over the numerous muddy streams on that side to be destroyed, instead of diligently providing temporary ones in addition. He was acquainted with the situation of the city, through the centre of which he would be obliged to pass. He knew the position of his army, which might, indeed, enter it by three spacious roads, from north, east, and south; but had only one outlet, and this the very narrowest of all, for itself and its train, many miles in length. Let the reader figure to himself a routed army, and that a French army, in which all order is so easily lost, converging in three columns to one common centre. The passage at the outermost gate towards Lutzen is so narrow as to admit only one single waggon at a time. When we consider that at the Kuhthurm again the road is but just wide enough for one carriage; that, on the west side of the city, the Elster, the Pleisse, and their different branches, intersect with their thousand meanders the marshy plains covered with wood, which are scarcely passable for the pedestrian; when we farther consider the incessant stoppages of the whole train at every little obstacle, and figure to ourselves all the three columns united in a road, the two principal passes of which are scarcely 30 feet in breadth; we shall rather be astonished that the whole French army was not annihilated than surprised at the prodigious quantity of waggons and artillery which it was obliged to abandon. Even in the night between the 18th and 19th, when Napoleon must have been perfectly aware of his situation, there would still have been time to throw bridges across the different streams, so that the army might have marched in five or six columns to Lindenau, and been again collected at this place, from which several convenient roads branch off. Such dispositions as circumstances required might then have been made, and the retreat might have been effected with inconsiderable loss. Such a precaution was the more necessary, as he could not be ignorant that Blucher's troops had already gained a march upon him, and was waiting for him at the Saale. Thus the want of a few paltry wooden bridges proved as ruinous to the French army as the battle itself. It lost, solely because it was unprovided with them, great part of its yet remaining artillery, several thousands of dead, who were mostly drowned, and a great number of prisoners. It was evident that such a retreat, conducted without order and without plan, was likely to be attended with the total destruction of the remnant of the army before it could reach the Rhine. By the actions on the Unstrut and Saale, at Eisenach and Hanau, this force was actually so reduced, that, on its arrival at the Rhine, it must probably have entirely lost its military consequence. How infinitely inferior is Napoleon in this branch of the military art to the immortal Moreau, to whom he would have owed everlasting obligations, had he, at his glorious death, bequeathed to him the transcendent art of converting retreats into victories!
In regard to boldness, Napoleon certainly belongs to the generals of the first rank. He has undertaken and executed the rashest enterprises. But, if the true hero shines with the greatest lustre in misfortune, like Hannibal and Frederic the Great, Napoleon must be classed far below them. He abandoned his army in Russia when it had most need of his assistance; and the reason assigned for this desertion--that circumstances rendered his presence necessary in France--is by no means satisfactory to the rigid inquirer. During the seven-years' war, the more dangerous the situation of the Prussian army, the more Frederic felt himself bound to continue with it, and to assist it with his eminent military genius. The campaign of 1813 has clearly proved that the secret of Napoleon's most decisive victories has consisted in the art of assailing his opponents with a superior force. Napoleon would be incapable of attacking with 30,000 men an army of 90,000, posted in an advantageous position, and defeating it, as Frederic did at Leuthen.
Napoleon, like the Prussian monarch, attempted to penetrate into Bohemia, a country so dangerous for an army; but what a wretched business did he make of it, in comparison with the latter! Frederic waged war that he might conquer peace; Napoleon never wished for peace, often as he has made a show of desiring it. Frederic knew how to stop his victorious career in time, for History had taught him that it is as difficult to retain as to acquire glory. Napoleon imagined that his fame was susceptible of increase alone, and lost it all in the fields of Leipzig. The hardly-earned laurels of France faded along with it. With what feelings must he direct his views beyond the Rhine, where the eyes of so many thousands are now opened? He too has lived to witness days which are far from agreeable to him. He, who represented it to the countries which he forced into his alliance as a supreme felicity to have their sons led forth to fight foreign battles, and to have many thousands of them sacrificed every year upon the altar of his ambition, now sees them all abandon him, and become his bitterest enemies. The _Great Empire_ is now an idle dream. Already is he nearly confined within that ancient France, which has lost through him the flower of her population. Long has discontent lurked there in every bosom; long have her people beheld with indignation their youth driven across the Rhine, into foreign lands, where they were swept away by cold, famine, and the sword, so that few of them revisited their paternal homes. Will the nation again be ready to bathe foreign plains with the blood of half a million of fresh victims? Scarcely can it be so infatuated. The French too are now roused from their torpor: like the Germans, they will confine their exertions to the defence of their own frontiers against those mighty armies of Europe, which, crowned with laurels, wield the sword in one hand, and bear the olive of peace in the other.
SUPPLEMENT.
The following letter, which cannot but be considered as most honourable to the writer, contains so many minute, but, at the same time, highly characteristic traits, that it cannot fail to prove extremely interesting to every reader. No other apology is necessary for its introduction here by way of Supplement.
_Leipzig, Nov. 3, 1813._
DEAREST FRIEND,
You here see how ready I am to gratify your desire of knowing every thing that passed in my neighbourhood and that befell myself in the eventful days of October. I proceed to the point without farther preamble.
Ever since the arrival of marshal Marmont I have constantly resided at the beautiful country-house of my employer at R***, where I imagined that I might be of some service during the impending events. The general of brigade Chamois, an honest man, but a severe officer, was at first quartered there.
On the 14th of October every body expected a general engagement near Leipzig. On that day several French corps had arrived in the neighbourhood. The near thunders of the artillery, which began to roll, and the repeated assurances of the French officers that the anniversary of the battles of Ulm and Jena would not be suffered to pass uncelebrated, seemed to confirm this expectation. The king of Saxony entered by the palisadoed gates of the outer city, and Napoleon also soon arrived. The latter came from Duben, and took possession of a bivouac in the open field, not far from the gallows, close to a great watch-fire. I was one of those who hastened to the spot, to obtain a sight of the extraordinary man, little suspecting that a still greater honour awaited me, namely, that of sleeping under the same roof, nay, even of being admitted to a personal interview of some length with him.
The state of things at my country-house did not permit me to be long absent. I hastened back, therefore, with all possible expedition. I arrived nearly at the same moment with a French _marechal de logis du palais_, to whom I was obliged to shew every apartment in the house, and who, to my no small dismay, announced "that the emperor would probably lodge there that night." The man, having despatched his errand in great haste, immediately departed. I communicated the unexpected intelligence to the aid-de-camp of general Pajol, but expressly observed that I had great doubts about it, as the _marechal de logis_ himself had not spoken positively. The aid-de-camp appeared very uneasy; and, though I strove to convince him that it must be some time before our distinguished guest could arrive, he immediately packed up, and, notwithstanding all my earnest endeavours to detain him, he was gone with his servant in a few minutes. Seldom have I witnessed such an extraordinary degree of anxiety as this man shewed while preparing for his departure.
The _marechal de logis_ soon returned, and again inspected all the apartments, and even the smallest closets, more minutely than before. He announced that _sa majeste_ would certainly take up his head-quarters here, and asked for a piece of chalk, to mark each room with the names of the distinguished personages by whom they were to be occupied. When he had shewn me the apartment destined for the emperor, he desired that a fire might be immediately lighted in it, as his majesty was very fond of warmth. The bustle soon began; the guards appeared, and occupied the house and all the avenues. Many officers of rank, with numerous attendants, arrived; and six of the emperor's cooks were soon busily engaged in the kitchen. Thus I was soon surrounded on all sides with imperial splendour, and might consider myself for the moment as its centre. I might possibly have felt no small degree of vanity on the occasion, had I not been every instant reminded that the part which I should have to act would be that of obedience alone. I heard the beating of drums at a distance, which, as I presently learned, announced that I was shortly to descend into a very subordinate station. It proclaimed the arrival of the emperor, who came on horseback in a grey surtout.
Behind him rode the duke of Vicenza (Caulincourt), who, since the death of marshal Duroc, has succeeded to his office. When they had come up to the house, the master of the horse sprung from his steed with a lightness and agility which I should not have expected in such a raw-boned, stiff-looking gentleman, and immediately held that of the emperor.
His majesty had scarcely reached his apartments when I was hastily sought and called for. You may easily conceive my astonishment and perturbation when I was told that the emperor desired to speak with me immediately. Now, in such a state of things, I had not once thought for several days of putting on my Sunday clothes; but, to say nothing of this, my mind was still less prepared for an interview with a hero, the mere sight of whom was enough to bow me down to the very ground. In this emergency courage alone could be of any service, and I rallied my spirits as well as the short notice would permit. I had done nothing amiss--at least that I knew of--and had performed my duty as _maitre d'hotel_ to the best of my ability. After a general had taken charge of me, I mustered my whole stock of rhetorical flourishes, best calculated to win the favour of a mighty emperor. The general conducted me through a crowd of aid-de-camps and officers of all ranks. They took but little notice of such an insignificant being, and indeed scarcely deigned to bestow a look upon me. My conductor opened the door, and I entered with a heart throbbing violently. The emperor had pulled off his surtout, and had nobody with him. On the long table was spread a map of prodigious size. Rustan, the Mameluke, who has so long been falsely reported to be dead, was, as I afterwards learned, in the next room.--My presence of mind was all gone again when I came to be introduced to the emperor, and he must certainly have perceived by my looks that I was not a little confused. I was just going to begin the harangue which I had studied with such pains, and to stammer out something or other about the high and unexpected felicity of being presented to the most powerful, the most celebrated, and the most sincerely beloved monarch in the world, when he relieved me at once from my dilemma. He addressed me in French, speaking very quick, but distinctly, to the following effect:--
_Nap._ Are you the master of this house?
_I._ No, please your majesty, only a servant.
_N._ Where is the owner?
_I._ He is in the city. He is advanced in years; and under the present circumstances has quitted his house leaving me to take care of it as well as I can.
_N._ What is your master?
_I._ He is in business, sire.
_N._ In what line?
_I._ He is a banker.
_N._ (_Laughing._) Oho! then he is worth a plum, (_un millionaire_,) I suppose?
_I._ Begging your majesty's pardon, indeed he is not.
_N._ Well then, perhaps he may be worth two?
_I._ Would to God I could answer your majesty in the affirmative.
_N._ You lend money, I presume?
_I._ Formerly we did, sire; but now we are glad to borrow.
_N._ Yes, yes, I dare say you do a little in that way yet. What interest do you charge?
_I._ We used to charge from 4 to 5 per cent.; now we would willingly give from 8 to 10.
_N._ To whom were you used to lend money?
_I._ To inferior tradesmen and manufacturers.
_N._ You discount bills too, I suppose?