Painful march of the Imperial Guard before the battle of Eylau

Before the winter set in there was a short campaign, in which the Russians were forced to retire, but the roads were in such a horrible state that the pursuit was slow and painful. The cavalry horses sunk up to their knees, and could only move on a walk. The artillery stuck in the mud and snow, and would not be pushed forward. Napoleon put forth prodigious efforts with the Old Guard, to strike a decisive blow. These veterans, covered with sleet and snow, waded knee deep through the mud, performing the most painful marches with cheerfulness, because their leader was in their midst. Alternate snow, freezing weather, and thaws, exhausted their strength and benumbed their limbs. Their bivouacs at night were either on frozen ground or in fields made soft by the melted snow.

The pursuit ended at Naiselle, which the enemy suddenly evacuated. Napoleon entered a cabin to pass the night, and as one was cleaning out the straw, he uncovered a corpse which some faithful hand had concealed. The next day he began to retrace his steps to Varsovie, and took up his winter quarters.

The two armies remained inactive till near the close of December, when the Russian general resolved to surprise Napoleon by a winter march; and, cutting his line in two, separate the two wings. The latter, penetrating his design concentrated his troops and advanced to give him battle. They met at Eylau.

I shall not attempt a new description of this great butchery, in which the conquerors gained but a barren victory. The Old Guard at the commencement was placed in the cemetery of Eylau, into which the enemy's balls were soon crashing with murderous effect.

The attack of Augereau, and the terrible overthrow of his division, brought on one of those crises which compelled Napoleon to launch his grand reserve, the Old Guard, upon the enemy. Nothing could have been farther from his wishes than to compromise his reserve so early in the battle. But the danger was imminent. A column of Russian grenadiers following up the flight of Augereau had penetrated into the cemetery where Napoleon stood, surrounded only by a hundred of his personal guard. Hour after hour he had stood unmoved while the cannon balls were crashing on the steeple and walls of the church above him. Without changing a feature he had seen the annihilation of Augereau's division, and now with equal composure beheld three or four thousand grenadiers almost at his feet. Ordering his personal Guard to advance and check them, he called up a battalion of the foot-guard a little in the rear. There were six battalions that had taken no part in the contest except to stand and see their ranks rent by shot. With joy, therefore, they saw a prospect of mingling in the strife. Two battalions disputed the honor of charging the Russians. The first in order marched forward, and without stopping to fire, overthrew the victorious grenadiers with the bayonet.

In the meantime the terrible cavalry charge of Murat was preparing. Seventy squadrons, or more than fourteen thousand horse, in all the splendor of battle array, swept full on the Russian centre, stormed over their batteries and breaking the first line of infantry pushed on to the second, driving it back to the wood, where a battery of heavy artillery at last checked their victorious advance. In the meantime the broken first line rallied and began to hem in Murat. It was then that General Lepee, a brave and heroic officer, was ordered to charge with the horse grenadiers of the Guard. The heavy and iron clad squadrons galloped, shouting to the rescue of their comrades. Riding through the groups of infantry that had rallied, they smote down everything in their passage. The close fire of the artillery and charges of infantry made horrible gaps in their ranks, and around them shook as wild and disordered a field as the wintry heavens ever looked upon, but nothing could arrest their strong gallop. Compact as iron--and as the thunder cloud when rent by the lightning closes swiftly again, so did those stern squadrons close over every rent made by the destructive batteries, and in one black mass crossed and recrossed the field in every direction. Through the driving snow occasional glimpses of it was got by Napoleon, and with joy he saw it unbroken sweep the field in the face of the enemy.

Murat was relieved and able to re-form his cavalry and bring it off in good order, while the Russian centre was dreadfully shattered. General Dohlman, commander of the mounted chasseurs of the Guard, fell not fifteen steps from the Russian line. One of the chasseurs seeing his general under the bayonets of the enemy spurred recklessly forward in the fire, and dismounting, lifted him upon his horse. Surrounded by Russian hussars, he in turn received several wounds, one of which dislocated his arm. He was about to fall overpowered by numbers, when one of his comrades, a chasseur of his squadron, seeing his peril fought his way up to him and relieved him. By the boldness of these two chasseurs, their general was enabled to get near the French lines before he died, and was thus spared the mortification of seeing himself a prisoner of the enemy. All the officers and soldiers of the Guard on this murderous day sustained the reputation gained in a hundred battles, and Napoleon loaded it with eulogiums. A Lieutenant Morlay, a color bearer of the 1st battalion of the 1st regiment of foot grenadiers, had the staff of his colors broken above and below his hand by the bursting of a shell which killed an officer and wounded five of his guard. But instead of showing surprise, he coolly took up the colors and fixing the staff to a musket, carried them into the battle. A captain of the mounted grenadiers of the Guard, mortally wounded lay extended on the snow, when some of his comrades coming up, wished to remove him. "Leave me alone, my friends," he said, "I am content since we have the victory, and I die on the field of battle."

We will pass over the heart-rending scene the snow-covered field presented next morning. Napoleon had never in his bloody career beheld such a spectacle, and he was more unnerved than in the most perilous crisis of the battle. One of his generals seeing his agitation, endeavored to lessen the evil by saying it was exaggerated, and spoke of the new glory the victory would give him. "To a father," replied Napoleon, "who loses his children, victory has no charms--when the heart speaks glory itself is an illusion." The enemies of Bonaparte receive such manifestations of feeling on his part, with a smile of incredulity, declaring it impossible that a man whose whole career was marked with blood, and to whom the desolation and horrors of a battle- field were accustomed spectacles, could ever utter such a sentiment in sincerity. To other military chieftains they award all the kindly and noble feelings belonging to men in civic life. The scenes of slaughter through which they pass do not make wild beasts of them. The English generals in carrying out the aggressive policy of their government, and Russian and Austrian commanders are endowed with the feelings common to our race, and yet the terrible battle which had heaped the snow plains of Eylau with dead bodies was fought in a defensive war on the part of Napoleon. Prussia declared war against him, and Russia without the shadow of a reason, became her ally, and yet how few in this country ever think of blaming the real criminals in the affair, but on the contrary, heap on Napoleon the sin of it all.

But independent of this, such a sentiment was natural to any man, even the most abandoned of our race. No wretch is so hardened as not to love even the beast that has carried him faithfully and nobly through imminent perils, or the dog which has watched and defended him. Much less could a commander like Napoleon look on the bloody ranks, stiff in death, that had stood like walls of iron around him the day before, without a heart full of grief. His brave Guard too, that carried him in its arms, and which would not see him taken while a single man remained alive to strike a blow for him, had left its dead everywhere. He had lost his defenders, those who cherished him in their hearts while living, and murmured his name in dying, and he felt like one robbed of his treasures that he had hoarded with so much care--of valiant hearts that beat but for him. It required a heart of stone to look on those gallant men, mangled and torn, and heaped in thousands over the blood-stained snow and not be profoundly moved. Napoleon was overcome by it. The excitement of the battle was over, the victory won, and the feelings of our common nature triumphed over the stern will of the chieftain and the pride of the conqueror. He could not conceal his emotion, it exhibited itself even in his bulletin.

The white uniform had been introduced into many of the regiments, but the contrast it presented to the blood stains of those who wore it, so shocked him that he immediately ordered it to be lain aside by the survivors, and blue to used instead, cost what it might. He rode over the field to look after the wounded, and sent out all his domestics to relieve them, while the chasseurs of the Guard took their horses and helped bring them into camp.

The rest of the winter and spring passed in quietness, but in the beginning of June hostilities recommenced, and Napoleon started in pursuit of the enemy. At the bloody battles of Heilsberg, the Young Guard astonished the army by its intrepidity and desperate courage. The battle of Friedland followed, and the allied armies were rolled into the Alle. Napoleon spared his Guard in this battle and at night bivouacked on the field amid its squares. The soldiers were angry that they had not been allowed to take part in the victory, and one of its intrepid leaders said, "the Guard was treated like beasts in being compelled to remain with their arms crossed all day."

If Napoleon had shown himself a great general in this campaign, he exhibited no less the skillful diplomatist in bringing about a peace. He first met Alexander on a raft moored in the middle of the Niemen, while the opposing banks were lined with the hostile armies, which no sooner saw the two emperors embrace, than they rent the air with shouts. In a few days Alexander was established in Napoleon's household and ate at his table. The poor king of Prussia was neglected and humbled. The two monarchs rode together and sat hour after hour in private tete-a-tete, until Alexander became completely fascinated. He reviewed the Old Guard with Napoleon, and was struck with their martial bearing and perfect discipline, and lavished on them high enconiums. The Guard in return shouted, "Vive Alexander, Vive Napoleon."

Days passed away in this social intercourse and each succeeding one found the Russian monarch more and more captivated. On returning from these interviews he would exclaim, "What a great man, what a genius, what extensive views, what a captain, what a statesman! Had I but known him sooner how many faults he might have spared me, what great things we might have accomplished together." Alexander was ambitious, and Napoleon knew it. He therefore opened to him plans of empire, pointed where new realms and glory could be won, and sketched plans so vast and yet so feasible, that the young emperor seemed to have opened his eyes on a new world. Napoleon convinced him that alliance with England and Austria was ruinous, while should they two combine, they could dictate terms to half the world. The clear and masterly manner in which he sketched the perfidious policy of his foes, the generous offers he made to him a conquered enemy, and the vast sphere he pointed out to the young aspirant after glory soon brought about the end he was after. A treaty was made with Prussia which stripped that unfortunate monarch of a large part of his kingdom. Another treaty was concluded with Russia. Lastly, a secret treaty or alliance offensive and defensive, not to be published till both consented to it, was signed, by which the two monarchs were to make common cause, by sea and land, and to declare war against England if she would not subscribe to the conditions of the two open treaties. This was the famous peace of Tilsit.

In 1807 the Guard counted 15,361 men.

On the conquest of Spain, in 1808, the Imperial Guard was rarely called into action. It however performed some extraordinary marches. In a rash attack by Lefebvre Desnouettes with the chasseurs of the Guard, some sixty of the latter were taken prisoners, which annoyed Napoleon much. They were his favorite troops, and he could not bear to have them in the hands of the enemy. He always wore their uniform in battle, and at St. Helena, when about to die, he put it on, and was laid in state in it after his death.

While prosecuting his march from Benavente, pressing eagerly after the English, a courier arrived from Paris bringing news of the union of Austria to the European confederacy against him, and the mustering of her armies. On receiving the courier's package, he ordered a bivouac fire to be kindled, and sitting down, was soon lost in thought, while the snow fell thick and fast about him. His plans were instantly taken. On the spot he wrote an order for the raising of 80,000 conscripts in France. He then proceeded thoughtfully to Astorga, where he remained two days, writing despatches. Every hour was occupied, his secretaries were put on one of those strains he in great emergencies demanded. Momentous affairs claimed his attention. His armies in Spain, France, and all Europe, lay like a map in his mighty mind, and he grasped the whole. To the different divisions of his army in Spain he sent despatches to guide their conduct, he sketched the course to be followed in pursuing the English, issued directions for regulating the internal affairs of the kingdom, and organized his plan for the overthrow of the coalition against him. He stopped five days longer at Valladolid, employed in writing despatches to every part of Europe. In these five days he accomplished the work of a year, and having finished all, he mounted his horse and posted like a flash of lightning for Paris. In the first five hours he rode the astonishing distance of eighty-five miles, or seventeen miles an hour. He then took carriage while the Imperial Guard marched swiftly towards Germany to meet the army he was to concentrate there. This wild gallop of eighty-five miles was long remembered by the inhabitants of the towns through which the smoking cavalcade of the emperor passed. Relays of horses had been provided along the road, and no sooner did he arrive at one post then he flung himself on a fresh horse, and sinking the spurs in his flanks, dashed away in headlong speed. Few who saw that short figure surmounted with a plain chapeau, sweep by on that day, ever forgot it. His pale face was calm as marble, but his lips were compressed and his brow knit like iron, while his flashing eye as he leaned forward, still jerking impatiently at the bridle as if to accelerate his speed, seemed to devour the distance. No one spoke, but the whole suite strained forward in the breathless race. The gallant chasseurs never had had so long and wild a ride before.

It is not probable that Napoleon kept up this locomotive speed for eighty-five miles in order to gain two or three hours of time. No battle was pending which an hour's delay might los; and whether he reached Paris at five o'clock or eight, could make no difference in his plans. The truth is, it was the only outlet he had to his stormy feelings. While occupied with his army in Spain, he had been suddenly told that a fearful coalition was arming against him in the north of Europe. Colossus as he was, he could not but be painfully excited at the magnitude of the dangers that threatened him. He saw the motive which prompted this sudden blow and felt that it might prove decisive. He could not take his veteran troops on which he relied, from Spain, and he must raise a new army. The seven days he spent in writing despatches, after the arrival of the courier from Paris, were seven days of such mental labor as ordinary men never dream of. In that time he performed the work of a year to most men. The vast field over which his mind labored, the complicated and vital affairs that claimed his attention, the thousand objects, each of which was sufficient to task the strongest mind, taken up and disposed of in these few days, and the plan of a great campaign marked out for himself, caused a mental strain that brought his physical system, firm and iron-like as it was, into such a state of nervous excitement, that this fierce ride relieved him. Physical exhaustion was medicine to him for it took the fire from his brain.