Napoleonic Literature
Napoleon and His Marshals - Vol. II
Chapter XXII
MARSHAL PONIATOWSKI
His Efforts
under Kosciusko to Save his Country— Appointed Minister of State in the
Grand Duchy of Warsaw— Joins Napoleon In his Invasion of Russia— His Last
Struggle at Leipsic— His Tragical Death and Imposing Funeral— His Character.
I INTRODUCE a short sketch
of Poniatowski, for the same reason that I did one of Brune, simply to
make the gallery of marshals complete. Though his life and battles would
make a volume by itself, still he does not occupy a prominent part in the
history of the French Empire, nor form one of the chief characters in the
great Napoleonic drama.
Joseph Poniatowski was born
at Warsaw in 1763 of noble parents. Eleven years after his birth, in 1774,
Stanislaus, is uncle, ascended the throne of Poland, and the family received
the title of Prince. He first appears on the stage of action in 1794, just
before the final partition of Poland. This unhappy republic, which Providence,
from some inscrutable designs of its own, has allowed to be trampled under
foot, and blotted out from the map of nations by tyrants, as no other country
ever before has been, was destined to see its final overthrow under the
brave, noble-hearted, and patriotic Kosciusko. Divided and portioned off
in 1772 by the two Imperial robbers who sat on the thrones of Russia and
Austria, and re-divided in 1793 by Russia and Prussia, the cup of her suffering
seemed full. The royal plunderers kept two immense armies marching over
her territory, to take care of the rich booty that already began to burn
in their hands; until, at length, the energy and courage of despair took
the place of submission, and a devoted band of patriots, maddened by the
injustice and outrage everywhere committed, resolved to save their country
or perish in the effort. Kosciusko, a name which can never be spoken in
an American assembly without sending a thrill of emotion through every
heart, was chosen their leader. This patriot and warrior had just seen
a band of freemen hurl from their necks the yoke of oppression which a
tyrannical power sought to fasten there; and, side by side with their chieftains,
had nobly struggled in their cause. With joy he had witnessed the triumph
of freedom on these shores, and then, when his work was done, sheathed
his sword, and with a sad heart turned his footsteps toward unhappy Poland.
When the war-cry was shouted from the streets of Warsaw, and he was declared
the leader of the patriots, he knew it was a dreadful struggle in which
he was to engage. But he had learned from the success of our almost hopeless
struggle to have faith in the power of Right, and firmly stepped before
the little band that had nobly thrown themselves between their country
and the armies of two powerful despots.
Poniatowski took command of
one of the divisions in Kosciusko's army, although in 1792 the latter served
as major-general under him in his expedition against the Russians; and
during the short but sanguinary struggle that followed, exhibited that
valor which afterwards won the highest praise from Napoleon. The Poles,
though at first successful, were finally utterly routed at Maciejowice,
and Kosciusko, covered with wounds, was taken prisoner. Poniatowski then
fled to Warsaw, determined to defend it to the last; thither also the Russian
thousands swarmed, with the pitiless Suwarrow at their head. The Poles
in Praga, on the other side of the river, fortified themselves, and planted
a hundred cannon so as to sweep the bridge of the Vistula; but the indomitable
Russian hurled his massive columns in such strength on the patriots that
in spite of their utmost endeavors they were rolled back toward the river.
Forced in a confused crowd on the bridge, they crushed the yielding structure
under their feet, and were precipitated headlong into the stream.
Warsaw shrieked in dismay
and anguish, as she saw her brave sons cut off from her protecting walls—the
river ran blood, and amid the flames of the burning houses, and cries of
despair, Suwarrow raged with his bloodhounds amid the defenseless multitude.
Women and children fell in the indiscriminate massacre, infants were carried
about on the points of Cossack lances, and over eleven thousand bodies
were piled in the streets of Praga, and along the banks of the Vistula.
Warsaw fell, and Poniatowski,
dejected and disheartened, went to Vienna. The Emperor and Empress, Paul
and Catherine, used every endeavor to reconcile him to their sway; but
his uncle was a prisoner in Petersburg, his family driven from the throne,
and Poland, rent asunder, had been divided like a carcass among wild animals;
and he wished no connection with the doers of all this wrong. His heart
burning with indignation, and his memory still fresh with the bloody scenes
he had seen at Warsaw, be rejected all their offers, and lived in retirement
on his estate.
Here he remained inactive
while Europe was shaking with battles, apparently indifferent to the strife
going on about him, since Poland was no more; till 1807, when Napoleon
overthrew the army of Russia at Friedland. In the treaty of Tilsit that
followed, it was stipulated that the provinces, which before the partition
in 1772 belonged to Poland, and had since been held by Prussia, should
be formed into the Duchy of Warsaw, and given to the King of Saxony. This
initiatory step towards wresting back from those grasping powers their
ill-gotten territory aroused Poniatowski from his indifference, and he
accepted the office of minister of state in the new Duchy. He now began
to look on Napoleon's movements with the deepest anxiety, and gradually
identified himself with his interests, till he fell in the struggle to
sustain his tottering empire. He felt that the only hope of his country
was in the success of the French Emperor, and he bent all his energies
to secure it: he had faith in him, and knew it was the wish of his heart
to re-establish the fallen throne. Many of the patriot Poles have wronged
Napoleon, in condemning him or not doing more for Poland than he did, but
will they lay their finger on the spot where he could, without endangering
the welfare of his own country, have emancipated theirs? It required a
stronger hand than even his, to wrest away the plunder the three most powerful
governments of the Continent had divided among themselves. It would have
been the cause of an endless quarrel; and instead of struggling for France,
he would have been compelled to devote all his energies to the safety and
existence of Poland. It is true the Poles poured out their blood for him
like water, and, glad to scourge the nations that had trampled them under
foot, and at the same time strike tyranny in any part of the world, flocked
to his victorious standard, and bore him triumphantly over many a battlefield.
Their great services demanded a great reward, and could Napoleon have succeeded
in his invasion of Russia, they would have had no cause to complain of
his want of generosity. Russia's share of Poland would certainly have been
given back to her, and Poniatowski knew it. Beloved by the Emperor, he
was made aware of his designs and wishes, and hence felt that in helping
him to crush the powers about him he was preparing the way for the resurrection
of his country. Bonaparte declared at St. Helena that he intended, if he
had succeeded in Russia, to have placed him on the throne.
He continued in the Duchy
of Warsaw, protected by the powerful arm of the French Emperor, till 1809,
when Austria, for the sole purpose of frightening Saxony out of her friendship
for France, invaded it. Russia was then the ally of the latter, and had
promised to protect Warsaw, so that Napoleon had made no provisions for
its defense. More than 30,000 Austrians were moving down on that dependent
province, to meet which Poniatowski could bring only 12,000 men into the
field. Scorning, however, to ask the co-operation of his Russian allies,
whom he hated as cordially as he did the Austrians, he prepared alone to
meet this formidable array. He drew up his inconsiderable force at Raszyn,
and there, for four hours, withstood the whole shock of the Austrian army.
But 12,000 against 30,000 was too great an inequality; and he was compelled
to fall back on Warsaw. Forced, at length, to capitulate, he marched with
heavy heart out of the capital, accompanied by the authorities and all
the principal inhabitants of the city.
The Archduke Ferdinand supposed
he would immediately abandon the Duchy and retreat to Saxony, but Poniatowski
boldly resolved to dispute his territory to the last; and returned up the
Vistula, towards Gallicia, whither the Russian army was slowly marching,
in order to co-operate with his troops. In the mean time, however, he surprised
an Austrian division and took 1500 prisoners. But, in pursuing up his advantage,
he effected a more important capture, and made a discovery which showed
how little reliance could be placed on the good faith of those governments
with which Bonaparte was compelled to treat. A courier, on his way to the
Austrian headquarters, was intercepted, and in his dispatches was found
a letter from a Russian general to Archduke Ferdinand, congratulating him
on his capture of Warsaw—confidently predicting complete success to his
efforts, and winding up with the wish that their arms might soon be united
in the same cause. This certainly was a most peculiar letter to be sent
from an ally to an enemy, and calculated to throw some doubts over the
honesty of the Russian Emperor. Poniatowski immediately forwarded it to
Bonaparte, in whom it aroused the most violent indignation. He dispatched
it instantly to the Emperor Alexander, and demanded, in language that could
not be misunderstood, an explanation. The Emperor declared it was written
without his authority; and, as an evidence of his sincerity, immediately
removed the unlucky general who was its author. Napoleon professed to be
satisfied, but it was evident that the great sin of the general consisted
in being found out. Conversing with Savary afterward, he said "I was perfectly
in the right not to trust such allies. What worse could have happened if
I had not made peace with the Russians? What have I gained by their alliance?
It is more than probable that they would have declared openly against me,
if a remnant of regard to the faith of treaties had not prevented them.
We must not deceive ourselves; they have all fixed a rendezvous on my
tomb, but they have not the courage openly to set out thither. That
the Emperor Alexander should come to my assistance is conceivable, but
that he should permit Warsaw to be taken, almost in presence of the army
is, indeed, hardly credible; it is plain that I can no longer rely on an
alliance in that quarter. . . . And yet, after all, they will probably
say that I am wanting in my engagements, and cannot remain at peace."
Soon after Napoleon's operations
on the Danube calling the attention of Ferdinand from Warsaw, he withdrew
his forces, and was finally compelled to leave the Duchy. The battle of
Wagram and the peace of Vienna followed, and among the stipulations of
the treaty, a territory, containing about 150,000 inhabitants, was taken
from Russia and added to the Duchy of Warsaw. Thus Poland seemed to be
getting back by slow degrees her ancient possessions. The outcry that Russia
made about this strip of land, although a piece was cut from Austria and
given to her as an offset, should convince the friends of Poland how difficult
it would have been for Bonaparte to have wrenched from the sordid grasp
of those monarchs the entire kingdom they had dismembered. It is pitiful
to see with what greediness those royal plunderers gloated over their ill-gotten
gains, and how narrowly they watched every shiver of the corpse they had
mutilated.
At length, all other considerations
were forgotten in the contemplated invasion of Russia. Napoleon, by his
wonderful genius, had at length subdued his rivals, and not only induced
Austria, and Prussia, and the whole territory from the Rhine to the Niemen
to allow his armies a free passage, but he had prevailed on each monarch
to furnish his quota of men to march under his banners and fight for the
accomplishment of his plans. Among those who opposed the expedition, yet,
when resolved upon, gave soul and heart to it, was Poniatowski; bringing
nearly 40,000 Poles to swell the myriad numbers of the Grand Army. He fought
bravely at the head of his followers, and at Smolensko and Borodino, and
throughout the desolate retreat, brought a good sword, a noble heart, and
a strong intellect to the aid of the Emperor. And then was seen the just
retribution of Heaven. Poniatowski had witnessed the degradation of his
country by Russian power, his capital sacked by Russian barbarians, and
its women and children butchered in thousands by Russian soldiers. His
proud heart had been compelled to bear and to suffer all this, and now
the day of vengeance had come. He poured his victorious Poles through the
burning streets of Smolensko, and bade them pitch their tents amid the
ruins of the capital of his haughty enemy. The fire and the sword had been
carried back to the homes of the invaders, and the cup they had compelled
Poland to drink pressed to their trembling lips.
In the fatal retreat the Poles
suffered less than any of the others, and exhibited great bravery and endurance.
The first man across the Beresina was a Pole, and Napoleon never had better
or more devoted troops than the Polish soldiers.
Poniatowski still clung with
his diminished army to Napoleon in his falling fortunes, and at Leipsic
fought his last battle, and poured out his life-blood for him and his cause.
The defection of Bavaria previous
to the battle of Leipsic, and the treachery of the Saxon troops in the
heat of the engagement, determined its issue and settled the fate of the
French Empire. The allies brought to the encounter nearly 300,000 men and
1300 cannon, while Bonaparte had but 175,000 and 750 cannon. The latter
were drawn up around Leipsic—with the city and the river Elster lying in
rear—awaiting the onset of the immense host that was moving to the attack.
On the last fatal day, at nine o'clock, the battle opened, and nearly half
a million of men engaged in mortal combat. The scene at this moment was
indescribably awful—the whole plain was black with the moving masses, save
where the myriads of glittering helmets rose and fell in the sunlight,
while 800 cannon, in one huge semi-circle, opened their united thunder
on the French.
Clouds of dust filled the
air—and amid the roar of artillery, the strains of martial music, the shrill
neighing of tens of thousands of horses moving to battle, and all the deafening
clamor and solemn murmurs of a mighty army, the shock came. Nearly two
thousand cannon opened with terrific explosions on the living masses, and
the frightful carnage began. Poniatowski on the right, was the first engaged.
Made Marshal of France the day before by the Emperor, he burned to distinguish
himself; and, though at first forced back by the heavy charge, he firmly
held his position against the united onsets of artillery, cavalry, and
infantry, that from morning till night thundered in overwhelming numbers
and power on his diminished troops. A wilder day this earth never saw,
and when darkness separated the combatants both armies sank down exhausted
and silence, solemn and awful, fell over the bloody field.
Napoleon was beaten, and soon
gave orders to retreat. All night long the weary thousands went pouring
over the bridge, and when daylight dawned the allies beheld with joy the
retiring masses of the enemy. A general movement on Leipsic immediately
followed, and the victorious columns went rushing with shouts to the attack.
All was uproar and confusion. Artillery, infantry, cavalry, ammunition
and baggage wagons, and chariots, were crowded and rolled together, and
went streaming over the only remaining bridge. A rear guard under Macdonald,
Lauriston, and Poniatowski, was formed to cover this disorderly retreat.
As Napoleon gave his directions to each, he said to Poniatowski, "Prince,
you will defend the suburbs of the south." "Sire," he replied, "I have
but few followers left." (He had but 2700 men left out of all the brave
Poles he led two days before into battle.) "What then," added Napoleon,
"you will defend it with what you have!" "Ah, sire!" replied the exhausted
but still unconquered chieftain, "we are all ready to die for your Majesty!"
I have already spoken in my
sketch of Macdonald, of the heroic defence these two leaders made, and
of the consternation and woe that followed the premature blowing up of
the bridge. Poniatowski struggled bravely to arrest the victorious allies,
until he heard the explosion that sent it into the air; and then he drew
his sword, saying to the officers around him, "Gentlemen, it now behooves
us to die with honor." With his little band around him, be dashed on a
column of the enemy that crossed his path, and, though severely wounded,
he fought his way through to the Pleisse, a small stream he must cross
before he reached the Elster. Dismounting from his horse, he passed it
on foot, but finding that he was fainting from fatigue and loss of blood,
he attempted to mount another. With difficulty vaulting to the saddle,
he spurred boldly into the Elster. His good steed bore him safely across,
but as he was struggling up the opposite bank the earth gave way under
his feet, and he fell back on his rider—and Poniatowski disappeared in
the water and never rose again. Weary, wounded, and bleeding, this last
calamity was too much for his strength and he had done as he said, "died
with honor."
The allies celebrated his
funeral with great magnificence, and those kings who had driven his family
from the throne, buried his capital in ashes, plundered and divided his
country as if it were common booty, now gathered in solemn pomp around
his coffin. Countless banners drooped mournfully over the fallen chief—mighty
armies formed his funeral procession, and elegiac strains from a thousand
trumpets were breathed over his grave. But amid all this imposing mockery
of woe, the noble-hearted Pole was not without some sincere mourners. His
few remaining followers who had battled by his side to the last, pressed
in silence around his coffin, and, with tears streaming down their faces,
reached out their hands to touch the pall. There lay the Prince they had
loved, the leader they had followed, the last of the royal line, and the
only hope of Poland—cold and stiff in death. Ah! the tears of those rough
warriors were worth more than all the pomp and magnificence imperial pride
had gathered round that bier, and honored the patriot for whom they were
shed more than royal eulogies or splendid pageants.
"Poniatowski," said Napoleon,
"was a noble character, full of honor and bravery,"—a short but comprehensive
eulogium. A skillful commander a bold warrior, and true friend; wise in
counsel, of pure patriotism and unsullied honor, he was beloved by his
friends and mourned by his enemies. He had redeemed all the follies of
his weak relative Stanislaus, and proved that he was worthy to sit on the
throne of Poland. Tried by misfortune, he was never found wanting: his
enemies could not bribe him nor his friends allure him from that deep devotion
to his country which was the great passion of his life. He left no spot
on his name, and at the last preferred death to surrender, and proudly
let his enemies dig his grave, conscious that when they lay his sword across
his coffin none dare point to a stain on the blade.
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