FROM
Armand de Caulaincourt, Due de Vicence, was bom in 1773 and joined the French army in 1795. He was colonel of a cavalry regiment at the battle of Hohenlinden and was sent on a diplomatic mission to Russia in 1802. He was involved in countersubversive activities on his return and then returned to Russia as ambassador from 1807 to 1811. As Grand Equerry he accompanied Napoleon on his retreat from Moscow, as he had in earlier battles, and after the battle of Leipzig he was appointed foreign minister. He negotiated the peace, which sent Napoleon to Elba, but rejoined the emperor as foreign minister during the Hundred Days. Thereafter he lived in retirement until his death in 1827. \
The Memoirs, based on the author's close political and military association with Napoleon, including the long ride back together from Moscow when they discussed war, were not published until the 1930s.
According to the Emperor the presence of the English Army was the greatest obstacle to the pacification of Spain, but he would rather see it in that country than be threatened with it at any moment—in Brittany or Italy, or anywhere, in fact, where the coast was accessible. As it was, he knew where to look for the English; while if they were not occupied there he would be forced to prepare for them, and hold himself ready for defence against them, at every point. And that would use up many more troops, give him much more anxiety, and possibly do him much more damage.
"If 30,000 English landed in Belgium," he said to me, "or in the Pas-de- Calais, and requisitioned supplies from three hundred villages—if they were to go and burn the chateau of Caulaincourt—they would do us much more harm than by forcing me to maintain an army in Spain. You would make a much worse outcry, my good Master of the Horse! You would complain much more loudly than you do when you say that I aim at universal mon-
Armand de Caulaincourt
archy! The English are playing into my hands. If the Ministry were in my pay they could not act in a way more favourable to me. You must take good care not to repeat the ideas I express to you; for if the idea entered their heads to make expeditions against my coasts, now at one point and now at another: to re-embark as soon as forces were collected to fight them, and go at once to threaten some other point—the situation would be un- supportable."
"As it is," he added, "the war in Spain costs me no more than any other war, or any other compulsory defence against the English. So long as peace is not made with that Power, there is not much difference in cost between the present state of affairs in Spain and an ordinary state of war with England. In view of the great length of Spain's coast-line, with the situation as it is at present we must limit ourselves to keeping the English under observation—unless, indeed, they should march into the interior and a highly favourable opportunity arise for giving battle; for if we forced them to re-embark at one point, since they would always be sure of finding auxiliaries, they would disembark again at another.
The Marshals and Generals who have been left to look after themselves in Spain might have done better, but they will not come to an agreement. There has never been any unity in their operations. They detest each other to such an extent that they would be in despair if one thought he had made a movement that might yield credit to another. Accordingly there is nothing to be done except hold the country and try to pacify it until I can myself put some vigour into the operations there. Soult has ability: but no one will take orders. Every General wants to be independent, so as to play the viceroy in his own province.
"In Wellington," he added, "my Generals have encountered an opponent superior to some of them. Moreover, they have made the mistakes of a schoolboy. Marmont shows a really high quality of judgment and logic in discussing war, but is not even moderately able in action. In fact, our momentary reverses in that war, which delight the city of London, have little effect on the general course of affairs—and cannot indeed have any real importance, as I can change the face of affairs when I please.
"Events at present," he said, "are giving Wellington a reputation; but in war men may lose in a day what they have spent years in building up. As to the outlet for English trade which the war has created in the Spanish colonies, I admit that is certainly unfortunate as within two years those outlets may counterbalance our prohibition of imports on the Continent."
The Emperor saw, in the separation of these colonies from their metropolis, an important point which would change the politics of the world, which would give new strength to America, and in less than ten years would threaten the power of the English—which would be a compensation. He did not question that Mexico, and all the major Spanish
The Revolution
possessions overseas, would declare their independence and form one or two States under a form of government which would force them, in their own interests, to become auxiliaries of the United States.
"It marks a new era," he said. "It will lead to the independence of all other colonies."
The changes that would arise from this development he regarded as the most important of the century, since they would alter the balance of commercial interests and, in consequence, alter the policy of the different Governments.
"All the colonies," he said, "will imitate the United States. The colonials grow tired of obeying a Government which seems foreign to them because it subordinates them to its own local interests, interests which it cannot sacrifice to theirs. As soon as they feel strong enough to resist, the colonies want to shake off the yoke of those who created them. One's country is where one lives; a man does not take long to forget that he or his father was bom under another sky. Ambition achieves what self-interest has begun. They want to have a standing of their own and then the yoke is soon thrown off."
I spoke to the Emperor of the moral effect which the resistance of the Spanish nation was having on people in general, suggesting to him that he was mistaken in attaching no importance to the example they were setting. I reminded him of the remark of the Tsar Alexander, which had struck me and which I had repeated to him on my return: "You have beaten the Spanish armies but you have not subdued the nation. The nation will raise other armies. The Spaniards, without any government, are setting a noble example to other nations. They are teaching the sovereigns what can be accomplished by perseverance in a just cause."
The Emperor treated as a joke what he called "the utterances of the prophet of the North."
Returning to affairs in Spain, the Emperor said:
"It is easy to pronounce judgment upon what is past: and easy to exalt as heroism what depends upon causes that are in truth hardly honourable. The heroism with which, in their hatred of France, they now credit the Spaniards arises simply out of the barbarous condition of that half-savage population and out of the superstitions to which the mistakes of our Generals have given new vigour. It is out of laziness, not out of heroism, that the Spanish peasants prefer the dangerous life of a smuggler or of a highwayman to the labours of cultivating the soil. The Spanish peasants have seized the opportunity of taking up this nomadic, smuggler's existence which is so suited to their taste and so much to the advantage of their poverty-stricken condition. There is nothing patriotic about that."
* * *
Armand de Caulaincourt
The Emperor occupied himself with the most minute details. He wanted everything to bear the imprint of his genius. He would send for me to receive his orders for headquarters, for the orderly officers, for his staff officers, for the letters, for the couriers, postal service, etc. The commanding officer of the Guard; the controller of the army commissariat; Larrey, the excellent surgeon-general, all were summoned at least once a day. Nothing escaped his solicitude. Indeed, his foresight might well be called by the name of solicitude, for no detail seemed too humble to receive his attention. Whatever might contribute to the success or well-being of his soldiers appeared to him worthy of daily care. Never can it be said of the Emperor that he was lulled into slumber by prosperity, for however great a victory he may have won, at the very moment that success was assured he occupied himself with as many precautions as he would have taken had it been a defeat.
Even when chasing the enemy helter-skelter before him, or in the heat of one of his greatest victories, no matter how weary the Emperor was he always had an eye for ground that could be held in the event of a reverse. In this respect he had an astonishing memory for localities. The topography of a country seemed to be modelled in relief in his head. Never did any man combine such a memory with a more creative genius. He seemed to extract men, horses and guns from the very bowels of the earth. The distinctive numbers of his regiments, his army service companies, his baggage battalions, were all classified in his brain most marvellously. His memory sufficed for everything. He knew where each one was, when it started, when it should arrive at its destination. His memory was more trustworthy than any staff musters and rolls, but this spirit of orderliness to the end that all should co-operate to achieve his purpose, that all should be created and organized with the final aim in view, did not go beyond that point.
All would have been well if the solution of the problems of the campaign could have been secured by gaining two or three battles: he was so completely master of his chessboard that he would certainly have won them. But his creative genius had no knowledge of conserving its forces. Always improvizing, in a few days he would consume, exhaust and disorganize by the rapidity of his marches, the whole of what his genius had created. If a thirty-days' campaign did not produce the results of a year's fighting the greater part of his calculations were upset by the losses he suffered, for everything was done so rapidly and unexpectedly, the chiefs acting under him had so little experience, showed so little care and were, in addition so spoiled by former successes, that everything was disorganized, wasted and thrown away.
The Emperor's genius had proved itself in the achievement of such prodigious successes that to him was left the entire responsibility of winning
The Revolution
a battle. It was sufficient to be on the spot in time for the action; after the victory had been won there was certain to be plenty of time to rest and reorganize, so no one cared very much what his losses had been or what he had had to abandon, for it was rare that the Emperor demanded an account. The prompt results of the Italian and Austrian campaigns and the resources those countries offered to the invader spoiled everyone, down to the less important commanders, for more rigorous warfare.
The habit of victory cost us dear when we got to Russia and even dearer when we were in retreat; the glorious habit of marching ever forward made us veritable schoolboys when it came to retreating. The Emperor was so used to having his troops at hand and was always so eager to take the offensive that the roads became hopelessly blocked and the columns inextricably confused. In this matter men and horses alike were reduced to a state of exhaustion.
Never was a retreat worse planned, or carried out with less discipline; never did convoys march so badly. Precautionary calculations and dispositions had no place in the arrangements that were made and it was to this lack of forethought that we owed a great part of our disaster. When it came to any retrograde movement the Emperor would take no decision until the very last moment, which was invariably too late. His reasoning powers were never able to gain the mastery over his repugnance to retreat, while his staff, who were far too much in the habit of not doing the slightest thing without the impulse from him who planned everything, took no steps whatever to organize affairs. Shaped and drilled into being no more than an obedient instrument, the staff could do nothing of itself for the general good.
The Emperor would not even agree to the most essential sacrifice to preserve what was undoubtedly indispensable. Throughout that long retreat from Russia he was as uncertain and as undecided on the last day as he had been on the first, although he was in no more doubt as to the imperative necessity of this retreat than anyone else. Constantly deluding himself with hopes of being able to call a halt and take up a position, he obstinately retained an immense amount of material that ultimately caused the loss of everything. He had a wholly incalculable antipathy for any thought or ideas about what he disliked. Fortune had so often smiled upon him that he could never bring himself to believe that she might prove fickle.
—George Libaire (translator)