XXI
FRANÇOIS CHRISTOPHE KELLERMANN, MARSHAL, DUKE OF VALMY
When old institutions suddenly collapse with a crash; when all is confusion and chaos, and the lines of reconstruction are as yet veiled in uncertainty; when people suspect their old rulers and are shy of those who would set themselves up as their new directors, there comes an interval before genius and wile can organise their forces, when character, and character alone can shepherd the people scattered like sheep on the mountains. Such was the case in France in September, 1792. The old constitution had foundered, sweeping away in its ruin the order and discipline of the royal army. The officers had either fled or been deposed by their men, and such few as remained were held "suspect." The new officers, chosen by their fellows, had but little authority. The staff of the army was changed weekly to suit the whim of some civil or military self-seeker, at a time when France was at war with the great military powers of Europe. It was little wonder, therefore, that the Prussians and Austrians looked forward to the campaign of 1792 as a military promenade. They knew better even than the War Minister at Paris how debauched were the regular troops of France, how unreliable and contemptible were the few thousand old men and boys who rejoiced in the name of volunteers, and they never for a moment believed that the French generals would be able to force their men to stand and fight. But they had calculated wrongly. They had not learned that in war a man is everything; they had not grasped how deeply the spirit of discipline had been engrained in the old royal army. Fortunately for France she had two men of character to fall back upon; and aided by their example, on September 20th the regulars of France stood firm before the famous Prussian army. The two men were Dumouriez and Kellermann. Dumouriez had brains and character, Kellermann character and stolid imperturbability.
Descended from an old Saxon family long domiciled in Alsace, François Christophe Kellermann was born at Strasburg on May 28, 1735. Entering the French army at the age of fifteen, he fought his way up step by step by sheer hard work and merit. Winning the Cross of St. Louis for distinguished cavalry work in the Seven Years' War, he was sent in 1766 on a mission to Poland and Russia, on the strength of which he was lent by the French Government to help the Confederates of Bar to organise their irregular cavalry. Returning to France, he slowly gained promotion, and in 1788 became major-general and was promoted lieutenant-general in March, 1792, mainly owing to his warm adoption of the revolutionary principles. Kellermann had not the gifts of a great commander, but he had what is sometimes better, the confidence of his men. He was notorious for his hatred of the old régime and had a high reputation as a cavalry commander: added to this, the firm belief he had in himself served to inspire confidence in others. Independent by nature, ambitious, cantankerous, jealous and conceited, Kellermann had not found his life in the army any too pleasant. Save in war time merit gained little reward; promotion came neither from the east nor the west, but from court favouritism. It thus happened that the rough Alsatian had always found himself subordinate to men who were really his inferiors, but who despised his want of culture and his provincial accent; for Kellermann knew no grammar, spoke through his nose and spelt as he spoke, even writing "debuté" for "deputé." It was thanks to the friendship of Servan, the War Minister, that on August 25th he was summoned from the small column he had been commanding on the Lauter to succeed Luckner in command of the Army of the Centre. When he arrived at his new headquarters at Metz he found a woeful state of affairs. The Prussians and Austrians were sweeping everything before them, and at Metz he found a fortress without stores and an army without discipline. Luckily he had the advantage of Berthier, a staff officer of the highest order, Napoleon's future chief of the staff. The soldiers welcomed Kellermann, "this brave general whose patriotism equals his talents," and whose civism was praised throughout all Alsace. Organisation was his first work, and his former experience of irregular warfare in Poland stood him in good stead. He immediately sent home the battalions of the volunteers of 1792, who were arriving without arms and in rags. He retained a few picked men from each battalion, to be used as light troops and pioneers. After weeding out undesirables and drafting reinforcements into his most reliable regiments, in three weeks he evolved a force of twenty thousand men capable of taking the field. While thus engaged he was ordered to join Dumouriez, who had been holding the Prussians in check at the defiles of the Argonne. On the evening of September 19th Kellermann effected his junction with Dumouriez near St. Menehould, and was attacked early next morning by the enemy under the Duke of Brunswick. The morning was wet and foggy, and the Prussians surprised the French and cut them off from the road to Paris. But instead of driving home their attack they thought to frighten them by a mere cannonade. Luckily the artillery was the least demoralised part of the French army, and under the able command of d'Abbéville, it not only replied to the Prussian guns, but played with great effect on the infantry, when at last Brunswick ordered an attack. Kellermann meanwhile sat on his horse in front of his infantry, and by his example and sangfroid managed to keep them in the ranks, though they were really so unsteady that when an ammunition wagon blew up, three regiments of infantry and the whole of the ammunition column fled in disorder from the field. But Kellermann galloped up in time to prevent the panic spreading. Meanwhile Dumouriez had hastened up reinforcements to secure Kellermann's flanks, and the Duke of Brunswick, seeing the French standing firm, and not being sure of his own men, refused to allow the attack to be pressed home. Such was the cannonade of Valmy; the Prussians had thirty-four thousand men engaged, and lost one hundred and eighty-four men; the French had thirty-six thousand engaged out of a total of fifty-two thousand, and lost three hundred, and the greater proportion of this loss was due to Kellermann's bad tactics in massing his infantry close behind his guns.
Still, Valmy was one of the most important battles in the world's history, for it taught Europe that France still existed as a political unit, and it allowed her to effect her regeneration in her own way. Neither Kellermann nor Dumouriez at first understood what they had done. Dumouriez drew off his army to a better position to await events. But Valmy had restored the morale of the French and broken that of the Prussians, whom disease and bad weather further affected, and soon Brunswick was glad to negotiate and retreat to the Rhine. Kellermann's share in the great event is easily determined. He had most unwillingly joined Dumouriez, he had allowed himself to be surprised in the morning, and his tactics were so bad that his men suffered heavier loss than was necessary; but though it was Dumouriez who made good the tactical mistake and covered Kellermann's flanks, and d'Abbéville whose artillery caused the infantry attack to miscarry, it was Kellermann's reputation and example which kept the really demoralised infantry in line, and prevented them from running in terror from the field. It was the sight of the old Alsatian quietly getting on a fresh horse when his former one was killed, caring nothing though one of his coat-tails was carried off by a round shot, which breathed new life and courage into the masses of waiting men, and taught them to cry out, "Vive la nation! Vive la France! Vive notre général!" So, though men might smile when they heard the old boaster talking of "My victory," yet in their hearts they knew he had done much to save France.
While the Prussians retreated Kellermann was entrusted by Dumouriez with the pursuit; on his return to Paris his boasting habits brought him into trouble. The Terrorists, hearing him constantly talking of "My men," "My army," were afraid he was getting too powerful and he very nearly came to the scaffold. Restored to favour, he was employed with the Army of the Alps and the Army of Italy in 1794 and 1795, where he gained some success, although his plans were constantly interfered with by the Committee of Public Safety. In 1796 the Army of the Alps was made subordinate to the Army of Italy under Bonaparte, and the Directory wanted to associate Kellermann with Bonaparte, but the future conqueror of Italy would brook no equal, especially a cantankerous boaster. So he wrote to Carnot, "If you join Kellermann and me in command in Italy, you will undo everything. General Kellermann has more experience than I, and knows how to make war better than I do; but both together we shall make it badly. I will not willingly serve with a man who considers himself the first general in Europe." When, however, Bonaparte came to power he did not forget the old Alsatian: in 1800 he made him one of his Senators, and in 1804 he created him a Marshal, though not in the active list. But exigencies of warfare demanded that France should use all her talents, and in every campaign the Emperor entrusted the old warrior with the command of the Army of the Reserve. Sometimes on the Rhine, sometimes on the Elbe, sometimes in Spain, the old soldier taught the recruits of the Grand Army how to keep themselves and their muskets clean; and, in spite of age and infirmities, showed those talents of organisation which he had learned in Poland and earlier still in the Seven Years' War. In 1808, when creating his new nobility, the Emperor cleverly conciliated the republican party by creating the Marshal Duke of Valmy, and presenting him with a splendid domain at Johannisberg, in Germany. But when the end came in 1814, the Duke of Valmy, like the other Marshals, quietly accepted the Restoration, and the veteran republican, now in his eightieth year, was created a peer of France and accepted the command of the third military division. During the Hundred Days he held no command, and on the Restoration he retired into private life, and died at Paris on September 23, 1820. His body was buried in Paris, but his heart, according to his directions, was taken to Valmy and interred beside the remains of those who had fallen there, and a simple monument was placed over the spot with the following lines, written by the Marshal himself: "Here lie the soldiers who gloriously died, and who saved France, on September 20, 1792. Marshal Kellermann, the Duke of Valmy, the soldier who had the honour to command them on that memorable day, twenty-eight years later, making his last request, desired that his heart should be placed among them."
XXII
FRANÇOIS JOSEPH LEFÈBVRE, MARSHAL, DUKE OF DANTZIG
François Joseph Lefèbvre, Marshal and peer of France, is best known to the ordinary reader as the husband of that Duchess of Dantzig who has been so unjustly caricatured in Monsieur Sardou's celebrated play as Madame Sans Gêne. Accordingly, the record of this hard-fighting soldier of the Empire has been cruelly buried in ridicule. The son of an old private soldier of the hussars of Berchény, who became in later life the wachtmeister of the little Alsatian town of Rouffach, François Joseph was born October 26, 1755. After his father's death he was entrusted, at the age of eight, to the care of his uncle, the Abbé Jean Christophe Lefèbvre. The abbé destined his nephew for the Church, but nature had dowered him for the camp, and after a severe tussle with the good abbé, Jean François set out with a light heart, a light purse, a few sentences of Latin, a rough Alsatian accent, and a fine physique to seek his fortune in the celebrated Garde Française at Paris. The year 1789 found him with sixteen years' service, one of the best of the senior sergeants of the regiment, married since 1783 to Catherine Hübscher, also from Alsace, by profession a washerwoman, by nature a philanthropist. Washing, soldiering, and philanthropy being on the whole unremunerative occupations, the Lefèbvres had to supplement their income, and Madame went out charring, while the sergeant taught Alsatian, which he called German, and occupied his spare moments in instructing his wife in reading and writing. But the Revolution suddenly changed their outlook. On September 1, 1789, Lefèbvre was granted a commission as lieutenant in the newly enrolled National Guard as a recompense for the devotion shown to the officers when the Guards mutinied. Within the next two years he further showed his devotion to the lawful authorities, and was twice wounded while defending the royal family. But in spite of personal attachment to the Bourbons, the Prussian invasion turned him into a republican, and the Republic, as idealised by the warm-hearted warriors of the armies of the Sambre and Meuse and of the Rhine, became the idol of his heart. From the siege of Thionville, in 1792, till he was invalided in 1799, Lefèbvre was on continuous active service. His extraordinary bravery, his knowledge of his profession, and his absolute devotion to his duty brought him quick promotion, for he became captain in June, 1792, lieutenant-colonel in September, 1793, brigadier two months later, and general of division on January 18, 1794. The stern battle of Fleurus in June, 1794, proved that the general of division was worthy of his rank, for it was his counter-attack in the evening which decided the fate of the day. The early years of the republican wars were times when personal bravery, audacity, and devotion worked marvels on the highly strung, enthusiastic republican troops, and Lefèbvre had these necessary qualifications, while his Alsatian accent and kindheartedness won the devotion of his men. He was highly appreciated by his commander-in-chief, Jourdan, who, in his official report, stated "that the general added to the greatest bravery all the necessary knowledge of a good advance guard commander, maintaining in his troops the strictest discipline, working unceasingly to provide them with necessaries, and always manifesting the principles of a good republican." Unswerving devotion to duty – "I am a soldier, I must obey" – was the guiding principle of his career, and accordingly each commander he served under had nothing but praise for the thoroughness with which he did his work, from the enforcement of petty regulations to the covering of a defeated force. But in spite of this the ex-sergeant knew his worth and did not fear to claim his due. When Hoche, in his general order after the battle of Neuweid, stated that "the army had taken seven standards of colours," Lefèbvre naïvely wrote to him, "It must be fourteen altogether, for I myself captured seven." But Hoche had both humour and tact, and made ample amends by replying, "There were only seven stands of colours as there is only one Lefèbvre."
By 1799 seven years' continuous fighting had begun to tell on a physique even as strong as Lefèbvre's, and the general applied for lighter work as commander of the Directory Guard, and later, for sick leave; but the commencement of the campaign against the Archduke Charles, in the valley of the Danube, once again stimulated his indefatigable appetite for active service. Though suffering from scurvy and general overstrain, he took his share in the hard fighting at Feldkirche and Ostrach, but a severe wound received in the latter combat at last compelled him to leave the field and go into hospital.
On his return to France he was entrusted by the Directory with the command of the 17th military district, with Paris as its headquarters. The task was a difficult one, as the numerous coups d'état had shaken both public morality and military discipline. Among other unpleasantnesses the commander of Paris found himself on one occasion forced to place a general officer in the Abbaye, the civil prison, for flatly refusing to obey orders. But, difficult as his task was, the situation became much more complicated by the sudden return of Bonaparte from Egypt. Bonaparte arrived in Paris with the fixed determination to assume the reins of government. It was clear to so staunch a republican as Lefèbvre that all was not well with the Republic under the Directory, and it seemed as if Bonaparte, shimmering in the glamour of Italy and Egypt, was the sole person capable of conciliating all parties and of bringing the state of chronic revolution to an end. Directly he met the famous Corsican the simple soldier fell an easy victim to his personality; while Bonaparte was quick to perceive what a great political asset it would be if Lefèbvre, the republican of the republicans, the embodiment of the republican virtues, could be bound a satellite in his train. On the morning of the 18th Brumaire, the commander of the Paris Division was the first to arrive of all the generals whom the plotter had summoned to his house; he was puzzled to find that troops were moving without his orders, and he entered in considerable anger. Bonaparte at once explained the situation. The country was in danger, foes were knocking at the door, and meanwhile the Republic lay the prey of a pack of lawyers who were exploiting it for their own benefit without thought of patriotism. "Now then, Lefèbvre," said he, "you, one of the pillars of the Republic, are you going to let it perish in the hands of these lawyers? Join me in helping to save our beloved Republic. Look, here is the sword I carried in my hand at the battle of the Pyramids. I give it to you as a token of my esteem and of my confidence." Lefèbvre could not resist this appeal; his warm and generous nature responded to the artful touch; grasping the treasured sword with tears in his eyes, he swore he was ready "to throw the lawyers in the river." With a sigh of relief Bonaparte put his arm through Lefèbvre's and led him into his study, and for the next fourteen years he remained, as he thought, the confidential right-hand man of the great-hearted patriot, but in reality the tool, dupe, and stalking-horse of a wily adventurer.
The general accompanied Napoleon to the Tuileries and listened to the carefully chosen words: "Citizens Representatives, the Republic is perishing; you know it well, and your decree can save it. A thousand misfortunes on all who desire trouble and disorder. I will oust them, aided by all the friends of liberty… I will support liberty, aided by General Lefèbvre and General Berthier, and my comrades in arms who share my feelings… We wish a Republic founded on liberty, on equality, on the sound principles of national representation. We swear this: I swear this; I swear in my own name and in the name of my comrades in arms." Later in the day, during the struggle at the Orangerie, it was Lefèbvre who saved Lucien Bonaparte and cleared the hall with the aid of some grenadiers.
From the 18th Brumaire Napoleon, as First Consul, and later as Emperor, held in Lefèbvre a trump card whereby he could defeat any attempted hostile combination of the republicans. Hence it was that, at the time of the proclamation of the Empire, he included him in his list of Marshals, to prove as it were that the Empire was merely another form of the Republic. Later still, for the same reason, when he was making his hierarchy stronger, he created him one of his new Dukes.
The immediate reward for Lefèbvre's support during the coup d'état was a mission to the west to extinguish the civil war in La Vendée. The general was lucky in surprising a considerable force of rebels at Alençon, and soon fulfilled his work, and received the further reward of a seat as Senator, which brought in an income of 35,000 francs a year. When the list of Marshals was published he was bracketed with Kellermann, Pérignon, and Serurier as "Marshals whose sphere of duty would lie in the Senate." As such, at the coronation of the Emperor in Notre Dame he held the sword of Charlemagne, while Kellermann carried the crown. Strong in his trust of him, Napoleon had, in 1803, created him Prætor of the Senate. But fortune did not destine that he should long enjoy his honours in peace. Thanks to his magnificent physique a few years of rest entirely restored his health. The wound, which in 1799 had threatened to incapacitate him permanently, had completely healed, and in 1806 he once again found himself on active service. The Emperor knew well that the Marshal was a sergeant-major rather than a strategist, and accordingly placed him at the head of the Guard, where his powers of discipline could be utilised to the full without calling on him to solve any difficult problems. At Jena the Guard had plenty of hard fighting such as their commander loved. A few days later the Marshal proved that the Guard could march as well as fight, when, at nine o'clock on the evening of October 24th, the regiments marched into Potsdam after covering forty-two miles since the morning.
Early in 1807 the Emperor entrusted the Marshal with the siege of Dantzig, a strong fortress near the mouth of the Vistula, well-garrisoned by a Prussian force of fourteen thousand under Marshal Kalkreuth. Lefèbvre, conscious of his lack of engineering skill, was afraid of undertaking the task, but the Emperor promised to send him everything necessary, and to guide him himself to the camp of Finkenstein, and ultimately said goodbye to him with the words, "Take courage, you also must have something to speak about in the Senate when we return to France." The siege lasted fifty-one days, during which the Marshal took scarcely a moment's rest: ever in the trenches, heading every possible charge, calling out to the soldiers, "Come on, children, it's our turn to-day," or "Come on, comrades, I am also going to have a turn at fighting." Such treatment worked wonders with the fiery French, but the sluggish men of Baden, who formed a considerable part of his force, were not accustomed to be so hustled, and the Marshal's camp manners grated on the Prince of Baden, who considered "that the Marshal's staff was mostly composed of men of little culture, and that his son held the first place among those who had no manners." The Emperor had to write to his fiery lieutenant, "You treat our allies without any tact; they are not accustomed to fire, but that will come. Do you think that our men are as good now as in 1792 – that we can be as keen to-day after fifteen years' war? Pay what compliments you can to the Prince of Baden … you cannot throw down walls with the chests of your grenadiers … let your engineers do their work and be patient… Your glory is to take Dantzig; when you have done that you will be content with me." It was hard for the Marshal to show patience, for he knew but one way to do a thing, and that was to go straight at it as hard as he could. As one of the privates said, "The Marshal is a brave man, only he takes us for horses." With Lannes and Mortier sent to reinforce him, it was still more difficult to show patience. But the end came, and on the fifty-first day of the siege Marshal Kalkreuth surrendered, and the two other Marshals had the generosity to allow Lefèbvre to enjoy alone all the honours of the conquest.
In the next year the Emperor had determined to strengthen his throne by the creation of a new nobility. It was important to see how Republican France would greet this scheme, and accordingly Napoleon determined to include Lefèbvre among his new Dukes. One day the Emperor sent an orderly officer with orders to say to the Marshal, "Monsieur le Duc, the Emperor wishes you to breakfast with him, and asks you to come in a quarter of an hour." The Marshal did not hear the title and merely said he would attend. When he entered the breakfast-room the Emperor went up to him, shook hands with him, and said, "Good-morning, Monsieur le Duc; sit by me." The Marshal, hearing the title, thought he was joking. The Emperor, to further mystify him, said, "Do you like chocolate, Monsieur le Duc?" "Yes, sire," replied the Marshal, still mystified. Thereon the Emperor went to a drawer and took out a packet labelled chocolate; but when the Marshal opened the box he found it contained one hundred thousand écus in bank notes. While in the army the new Duke was warmly congratulated on his honours, at Paris the smart ladies and Talleyrand did their best to annoy the Duchess. Numerous were the cruel tales they spread of her lack of breeding and of her Amazon ways; how, when the horses bolted with her carriage, she seized the coachman by the scruff of his neck and by main force pulled him off the seat and herself stopped the runaways. But, quite unmoved, the Duchess pursued her course, visiting the sick, giving away large sums to charities, lending a helping hand to any friend in difficulties, and as usual prefacing her remarks by "When I used to do the washing."
When, in the autumn of 1808, Napoleon realised how serious was the Spanish rising, he despatched his Guard to the Peninsula under the Duke of Dantzig. But the war brought few honours to any one, and the Marshal proved once again that he could neither act independently nor assist in combinations with patience. He nearly spoiled Napoleon's whole plan of campaign by a premature move against Blake, prior to the battle of Espinosa. From Spain the Guard was hurriedly recalled on the outbreak of the Austrian campaign of 1809. The Marshal, in command of the Bavarian allies, did yeoman service under Napoleon's eye during the great Five Days' Fighting. He was present also at Wagram, and immediately after that battle was despatched to put down the rising in the Tyrol. During the Russian campaign he once again commanded the Guard, taking part in all the hard fighting of the advance and also in the horrors of the retreat. Though in his fifty-eighth year the tough old soldier marched on foot every mile of the way from Moscow to the Vistula, and shared the privations of his men, watching over his beloved Emperor, his little "tondu de caporal," with the care of a woman, himself mounting guard over him at night and surrounding him with picked men of the Guard. To add to the trials of that dreadful campaign the Duke lost at Vilna his eldest son, a most promising young soldier who had already reached the rank of general. This blow and the strain of the retreat were too much for him, and he was unable to assist the Emperor in the campaign of 1813. But when the Allies invaded the sacred soil of France the old warrior put on harness again and fought at Montmirail, Arcis-sur-Aube and Champaubert, where he had his horse killed under him. At Montereau he fought with such fury that "the foam came out from his mouth."
While the Marshal was spending his life-blood in the field, the Duchess in Paris was fighting the intrigues of the royalist ladies. When an insinuation was made that the Duke might be won over from the Emperor, the Duchess despatched a friend to the army commanding him "to return to the army and tell my husband that if he were capable of such infamy I should take him by the hair of his head and drag him to the Emperor's feet. Meanwhile, inform him of the intrigues going on here." On April 4th the end came. The Marshals refused to fight any longer, and, after Napoleon's abdication, Lefèbvre, with the others, went to Paris to treat with Alexander. The Emperor was gone, but France remained, and it was thanks to Kellermann and Lefèbvre that Alsace was not wrested from her, for they so strongly impressed Alexander by their arguments that he decided to oppose the Prussians, who desired to strip France of her eastern provinces.
The Marshal swore allegiance to the Bourbons and duly received the Cross of St. Louis and his nomination as peer of France. With the year's peace came time for reflection, and he began to see that "son petit bonhomme de Sire," as he called Napoleon, had merely used him as a political pawn in his endeavour to bind the republicans to the wheel of the imperial chariot. Accordingly, when the Emperor returned from Elba he was not among those who rushed to meet him. Still, although he had no personal interview with the Emperor during the Hundred Days, he so far compromised himself as to accept a seat in the Senate. For this conduct he was under a cloud for the first years of the second Restoration, but in 1819 he was pardoned and restored to his rank and office.
From 1814 to the day of his death the Duke of Dantzig spent the greater part of his time at his estate at Combault, in the department of the Seine and Marne, dispensing that hospitality which he and his wife loved to shower on all who had met with misfortune, and many a poor soldier and half-pay officer owed his life and what prosperity he had to the generous charity of the Duke and Duchess of Dantzig. His death on September 14, 1820, two days after that of his old friend Kellermann, was due to dropsy, arising from rheumatic gout brought on by the strain of the Russian campaign.
The greatness of the Duke of Dantzig lay not so much in his soldierly capacity as in his personal character. His military renown rested largely on his ability to carry out, without hesitation and jealousy, the commands of others. By his personality he was able to maintain the strictest discipline and exact the last ounce from his troops without raising a murmur. His men loved him, for they knew that he shared all their hardships and that his fingers were soiled with no perquisites or secret booty. It was no empty boast when he wrote to the Directory asking "bread for himself and rewards for his officers." Though raised to ducal rank he never lost his sense of proportion, and delighted to give his memories of "when I was sergeant" to his friends and to the officers of his staff. Still, he was intensely proud of his success, which he had won by years of hard work, and he knew how to put in their place those whose fame rested solely on the deeds of their ancestors, telling a young boaster, "Don't be so proud of your ancestors; I am an ancestor myself." Though he ever looked an "old Alsatian camp boy," even in his gorgeous ducal robes; though his manners were rough and he would not hesitate to refuse a lift to a lady to a review, with the words, "Go to blazes; we did not come here to take your wife out driving" – he was the true example of the best type of republican soldier, fiery, full of theatrical zeal, absolutely unselfish, and animated solely by love of France.