The Emperor had heard this account without making any observation; but, when it was finished, he said that one of the finest manœuvres he remembered was that which he executed at Eckmühl. Unfortunately, he did not proceed, or give any particulars. “Success in war,” said he, “depends so much on quicksightedness, and on seizing the right moment, that the battle of Austerlitz, which was so completely won, would have been lost if I had attacked six hours sooner. The Russians shewed themselves on that occasion such excellent troops as they have never appeared since; the Russian army of Austerlitz would not have lost the battle of the Moscowa.”
“Marengo,” said the Emperor, “was the battle in which the Austrians fought best: their troops behaved admirably there; but that was the grave of their valour. It has never since been seen.
“The Prussians, at Jena, did not make such a resistance as was expected from their reputation. As to the multitudes of 1814 and 1815, they were mere rabble compared to the real soldiers of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena.”
The night before the battle of Jena, the Emperor said, he had run the greatest risk. He might then have disappeared without his fate being clearly known. He had approached the bivouacs of the enemy, in the dark, to reconnoitre them; he had only a few officers with him. The opinion which was then entertained of the Prussian army kept every one on the alert: it was thought that the Prussians were particularly given to nocturnal attacks. As the Emperor returned, he was fired at by the first sentinel of his camp; this was a signal for the whole line; he had no resource but to throw himself flat on his face until the mistake was discovered. But his principal apprehension was that the Prussian line, which was very near to him, would act in the same manner.
At Marengo the Austrian soldiers had not forgotten the conqueror of Castiglione, Arcole, and Rivoli; his name had much influence over them; but they were far from thinking that he was present; they believed that he was dead: care had been taken to persuade them that he had perished in Egypt; that the First Consul, whom they now heard spoken of, was only his brother. This report had gained so much credit every where that Napoleon was under the necessity of appearing in public at Milan, in order to refute it.
After these anecdotes, the Emperor proceeded to mention a great number of his officers and aides-de-camp, distributing praise and censure amongst them as he went on; he knew them all thoroughly. Two of the circumstances which had most affected him on the field of battle he said, were the deaths of young Guibert and General Corbineau. At Aboukir, a bullet went quite through the breast of the former, without killing him instantly: the Emperor, after saying a few words to him, was obliged, by the violence of his feelings, to leave him. The other was carried away, crushed, annihilated by a cannon-ball, at Eylau, before the Emperor’s face, whilst he was giving him some orders. The Emperor spoke also of the last moments of Marshal Lannes, the valiant Duke of Montebello, so justly called the Orlando of the army, who, when visited by the Emperor on his death-bed, seemed to forget his own situation, and to feel only for him, whom he loved above every thing. The Emperor had the highest esteem for him. “He was for a long time a mere fighting man,” said he, “but he afterwards became an officer of the first talents.” Some one then said he should like to know what line of conduct Lannes would have pursued in these latter times, if he had lived. “We have learned,” said the Emperor, “not to swear to any thing. Yet I cannot conceive that it would have been possible for him to deviate from the path of duty and honour. Besides, it is hard to imagine that he could have existed. With all his bravery, he would unquestionably have got killed in some of the last affairs, or at least sufficiently wounded to be laid up out of the centre and influence of events. And if he had remained disposable, he was a man capable of changing the whole face of affairs by his own weight and influence.”
The Emperor next mentioned Duroc, on whose character and life he dwelt some time. “Duroc,” concluded he, “had lively, tender, and concealed passions, little corresponding with the coldness of his manner. It was long before I knew this, so exact and regular was the performance of his duty. It was not until my day was entirely closed and finished, and I was enjoying repose, that Duroc’s work began. Chance, or some accident, could alone have made me acquainted with his character. He was a pure and virtuous man, utterly disinterested, and extremely generous.”
The Emperor said that, on the opening of the campaign at Dresden, he lost two men who were extremely valuable to him, and in the most foolish manner in the world: these were Bessieres and Duroc. In mentioning the circumstance, the Emperor now affected a stoicism which was visibly not natural to him. When he went to see Duroc, after he had received his mortal wound, he attempted to hold out some hopes to him; but Duroc, who did not deceive himself, only replied by begging him to order opium to be given to him. The Emperor, excessively affected, could not venture to remain long with him, and tore himself from this distressing spectacle.
One of the company then reminded the Emperor that, on leaving Duroc, he went and walked up and down by himself before his tent: no one durst accost him. But, some essential measures being requisite against the following day, some one at length ventured to ask him where the battery of the guard was to be placed. “Ask me nothing till to-morrow,” was the Emperor’s answer.
At this recollection, the Emperor, with a marked effort, began abruptly to talk of something else.
Duroc was one of those persons whose value is never known till they are lost: this was, after his death, the common expression of the Court and City, and the unanimous sentiment every where.
He was a native of Nancy, in the department of La Meurthe. The origin of his fortune has been related above. Napoleon found him in the train at the siege of Toulon, and immediately interested himself for him. His attachment to him increased every day, and it might be said that they never more separated. I have elsewhere mentioned that I have heard the Emperor say that, throughout his career, Duroc was the only person who had possessed his unreserved confidence, and to whom he could freely unburden his mind. Duroc was not a brilliant character; but he possessed an excellent judgment, and he rendered essential services, which, owing to their nature as well as to his reserve, were little heard of.
Duroc loved the Emperor for himself: it was rather to the individual, personally, that he was attached, than to the monarch. In being made the confidant of his prince’s feeling, he had acquired the art, and perhaps the right, of mitigating and directing them. How often has he whispered to people struck with consternation by the anger of the Emperor:—“Let him have his way: he speaks from his feelings, not according to his judgment; nor as he will act to-morrow.” What a servant! what a friend! what a treasure! How many storms he has soothed! how many rash orders, given in the moment of irritation, has he omitted to execute, knowing that his master would thank him the next day for the omission! The Emperor had accommodated himself to this sort of tacit arrangement; and on that account gave way the more readily to those violent bursts of temper, which relieve by the vent they afford to the passions.
Duroc died in the most deplorable manner, at a very critical moment; his death was another of the fatalities of Napoleon’s career.
The day after the battle of Wurzen, towards evening, the skirmish of Reichenbach had just ended, the firing had ceased. Duroc was on the top of an eminence, apart from the troops, conversing with General Kirchner, and observing the retreat of the last ranks of the enemy. A piece was levelled at this glittering group, and the fatal ball killed both the generals.30
Duroc had more influence over the Emperor’s resolutions than is imagined. His death was probably, in this respect, a national calamity. There is reason to think that, if he had survived, the armistice of Dresden, which ruined us, would not have taken place; we should have pushed on to the Oder, and beyond it. The enemy would then have instantly acceded to peace, and we should have escaped