(The following is an essay from 'Son of Duff')
No-one was ‘titterez-ing’ on the Pratzen heights in South Moravia 200 years ago. Bonaparte had just won the greatest victory of his career, obliterating the Austrian army and sending the Russians scurrying back to Moscow. This probably was France’s last great military victory. As someone else who was rather famous and in the same line of business at the time once said about his own greatest victory: “Quelle affaire!”* Bonaparte’s other victories were good, but nothing shone quite as brightly as his Austerlitz sun.
I’m a bit of a Bonaparte fan actually, and the French revolution is my favourite revolution. I know that the revolutionary cognoscenti - some of whom visit this venerable organ of intercourse from time to time – consider the French revolution a bit naff, in rather the same way that classical music buffs look down their noses at Tchaikovsky’s ‘1812’ overture. And I suppose the French revolution did have a naivety, a transparency, which the later convulsions in the following 200 years cloaked. But it’s through the exposed workings of the first revolution that we see more clearly the same cogs and spindles in action, albeit more amateurishly and with less destruction (the fledgling First Republic ordered into existence specially adapted boats, which could be sunk and re-floated for the purposes of drowning reactionary Vendee peasants more cost effectively than using valuable powder and musket balls - long before the word ‘Zyklon-B’ entered the common parlance).
But if that doesn’t float your boat, then you can, as we neo-Liberal’s do, content yourself that Liberty’s little ‘moment of madness’ was a ‘drop in the Loire’ compared with the honourable competition:
Liberty – French revolution and Napoleonic wars 1,000,000
National Socialism – Holocaust and WWII 55,000,000
Socialism – Soviet Union and China 120,000,000
Then ask yourself: “under which ideology/regime would you rather have taken your chances?”
You may also observe that at the same time as the French were slicing off upper class heads and drowning ‘les Chavs’ en masse in the Loire (doesn’t sound so bad after all does it?), the Poles quietly removed their aristocracy from power and instigated a Liberal republic without a shot being fired. As Edmund Burke wrote of the Polish constitution of 3rd May 1791:
“… is probably the most pure … public good which has ever been conferred on mankind … The means were as striking to the imagination as satisfactory to the reason, and as soothing to the moral sentiments … Everything was kept in its place and order, but … everything was bettered. To add to this unheard-of conjunction of wisdom and fortune, this happy wonder, not one drop of blood was spilled, no treachery, no outrage … Happy people if they know how to proceed as they have begun.”
And over the next two centuries, many other countries around the world followed suit.
We can only conclude that: (1) the French just don’t do Liberty very well (and when you compare the respective economic and social models of France and Poland today, not much has changed in 200 years), (2) at least Liberty does revolutionise itself into most places without slaughter and mayhem, in contrast to (National) Socialism, which so far has never achieved this anywhere without slaughter and mayhem.
As a Bonapartist, it was therefore my sacred duty to attend the Austerlitz bicentennial re-enactment and ceremony on the weekend of the 3rd-4th December 2005, which I duly did. For the flight to Brno, in Czech Republic’s Moravia, Ryan Air charged me the extortionate sum of 2 pence return. Gordon Brown made up the rest, weighing in at a wallet-fleecing £40. It’s nice to see the Anglo-Saxon neo-Liberal model is safe in the hands of New Labour. At least Ryan Air had the decency to pack the plane with long-legged, pert-breasted, almond-eyed Slavonic au-pair beauties - and serve me chilled Czech beer, the best beer on the planet. (What is it about Ost Bloc women? Did the Commies put something in the water? I mean, phhhwwwooooaaarrr! And they’ve got the best beer on the planet too. What on earth are 'Polish plumber' and 'Czech electrician' doing in Blighty? Can you imagine the disappointment when they venture out on their first Saturday night, and meet the pendulous-breasted, pot-bellied, self-mutilated, binge-drinking, chain-smoking, high-maintenance, attitude-loaded, Brit fem-Chav, flailing around on the pavement in a puddle of her own bodily fluids? And then to cap it all, they get served a pint of Fosters. That’s why they work so bloody hard and never throw a sickie - they never bother going out).
Anyway, the spectacle I witnessed in the countryside around and about the town of Austerlitz, now named Slavkov, was simply awesome. Four or five thousand resplendent loonies in their perfectly reproduced Napoleonic period uniforms, with three hundred cavalry and thirty artillery pieces with limbers. They came from all over Europe, literally Gibraltar to Moscow, in fact from all over the world (irony of ironies, the part of Bonaparte was played by an American). In all, 21 countries were represented in the various military history re-enactment societies that took part. If there’s one thing I really adore in people, it is sincere eccentricity. And this was the ‘sincere eccentric’s ball’.
My first sighting was of a cavalry patrol as I drove to a warming-up venue on the day before the main battle re-enactment. When it comes to nerdy things Napoleonic, I’m afraid you can just call me ‘Jacques l’Anorak’. Even with their uniforms partially obscured by greatcoats, and while driving a Skoda in icy conditions, in a place I don’t know, on the wrong side of the road, I could still discern the unmistakeable Hussars and Chasseurs a Cheval of the Emperor: -
I swerved off the main road, scrambled over a ditch and took this picture. As the patrol trotted gracefully by I felt something welling up inside me. A feeling, energy, I can’t really explain it, but I just couldn’t help myself, and with all my heart and soul I bellowed: “Liberte! Vive l’Empereur!” To my astonishment a chorus echoed my legendary salute, and I spun around to find a crowd of French folks who had also swerved off the road and were on the same wavelength. The Hussars and Chasseurs joined in! Try it. Go on. Especially you Trots out there with a lungful of experience in the chanting department. And really roll those Gallic R’s: “Li-beRRR-te! Vive l’EmpeRRR-euRRR!”
Oooh, don’t you Love it? It’s just so much classier than “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out, Out, Out!”, or “What do we want? The right to work. When do we want it? Now!”
The warming up venue was no let down either. I met some of the Russians; they were going to sleep in tents on the field of battle as their forefathers had done on the day, adding an extra dimension of realism (it was going to be minus 10 that night). They seemed jolly enough at the prospect. Several cart loads of vodka were probably going to help them out a bit. I then climbed up the Santon hill with the French Imperial Guard, to the spot where Bonaparte personally sited a gun battery opposing the Russians.
The picture below is of 'la creme-de-la-creme', the SAS if you like, of Boney’s army. The chaps on the right with red over green plumes are Chasseurs of the Old Guard, while the chaps on the left with the solid red plumes are Grenadiers of the Old Guard. These two regiments were the most senior in the French army at that time. Their eagles are displayed in Les Invalides in Paris and are sacred to the honour of the French army. Even the presence of these images of a glorious past was enough to induce a respectful silence and an air of solemnity amongst the visitors. There were Frenchmen of a senior age in blazers and flannels, with ribbons on their pockets, cap-badged berets on their heads and steely expressions on their faces who, when the eagle of the 1st Chasseurs (right of picture) was lowered, were quick to run their wrinkled hands over the cloth:
“A moth-eaten rag on a worm-eaten pole,
It does not look likely to stir a man's soul.
Tis the deeds that were done 'neath the moth-eaten rag,
When the pole was a staff, and the rag was a flag.” **
(Click picture to enlarge)
One lady gasped with reverence when she saw the middle-Eastern attired gentleman in the middle of the picture: “Voyez, le Mameluke!” These fierce warriors were the best light cavalry in Europe. They were defeated by Bonaparte in front of the pyramids, but so respectful was he of their martial prowess that he enrolled them into the Imperial Guard as his personal body guard. They were committed to the Republic, and consequently were given a passport, the freedom of France and the equality and respect to go with it, which has lasted to this day as the lady’s gasp attests. It’s unfortunate how this bargain doesn’t seem to work so well for the Republic’s newer recruits from that part of the world two hundred years down the line.
There was something more to the mood though, maybe something even verging on the melancholy. It bothered me as I lay in bed that night until I figured out what it was. The Russians, Czechs, Poles, in fact all the re-enactors and visitors from new Europe, were bubbly and buoyant; for them this was a light-hearted event with a festival atmosphere. For them, delving into the past few hundred years in order to find historical events to inspire them for the future is a no-no. They look only to the future for the future. It was the old Europeans, and particularly the French, who seemed to exude this maudlin seriousness. (Most Brits I know who have visited the Waterloo battle field come away making the comment “bloody hell, you’d have thought the French had won it!”, and it’s true the way from the Waterloo museum and exhibits are presented. But at Austerlitz 2005, however, you’d have thought the French had lost it!)
But France and much of old Europe is in pain. Old Europe is discovering that there is no solace or future direction in serving up its past glories any more, only a sad reflection on the contrast between the sorry state of today and better times past. While old Europe is rapidly becoming the planet’s combined geriatric home and museum, new Europe and the BRIC countries are boldly going where they’ve never been before. Take little Slovakia. In 2007 she’s set to become the top car producer per capita not just in Europe, but in the world. Whole valleys in the foothills of the Tatra Mountains are being developed into car production plants using vast inward investment from Asia, particularly Korea. Some local schools will have classrooms dedicated to learning Far East languages and integrating with their East-Asian socio-economic partners. Now that’s the way forward. And all of this was achieved by ditching, or never adopting, old Europe’s socio-economic model and resisting the temptation of weeping into the colours of the 1st Chasseurs of the Imperial Guard.
It’s interesting how France’s political class took a wide berth around the Austerlitz event. It might have been an opportunity for a leader to capture the moment and deliver an uplifting oration. I think they read the mood well. The low esteem in which their citizenry hold them right now, combined with reminiscences of (and close proximity to) bayonets and guillotines, might not have made it the best place for France’s leading political glitterati to be that day. The old jail-dodger said he couldn’t do it because the DOM/TOM’s might be offended due to Bonaparte having brought back the slave trade. Villepin said he was too busy writing his next book about Bonaparte. So they sent a nobody to read out a speech somewhere, and, as they say, “a nobody was sent, so nobody went”. Good. It would only have ruined what was a marvellous day.
Most good generals make a name for themselves by exploiting the mistakes of their opponents. As anyone who has served in the forces knows, there is no organisation of human beings quite as capable of generating a cock-up of monumental proportions as the armed forces (ok so the public sector comes close but for all intents and purposes they’re really the same thing: command institutions). This is how good generals find it quite easy to get on in their careers; they’re supplied with a never-ending stream of buffoonery by their enemies.
Once in a while, however, a good general finds himself facing an opponent who hasn’t made a mistake. These situations normally degenerate into a futile slug-fest; the best that can be expected being a pyrrhic victory for the side with someone left standing at the going down of the sun. These are the moments when a brilliant general has the chance to stand out and make a name for himself.
A brilliant general is someone who under these circumstances can induce his enemy into making a mistake. This is exactly what Bonaparte achieved at Austerlitz.
He was outnumbered 90,000 to 70,000. There was no opportunity for a repeat performance of the Cannae he had achieved at Ulm earlier in the campaign - the left flank was impassably forested and the right flank closely guarded by the Austrians since their supply lines ran that way. Because the two enemy armies remained cohesive there was no way of quick marching into his favoured central position (a place well known and coveted by chess players) and defeating the two divided enemy armies in detail. The only way to avoid a slug-fest was to lure the Austrians and Russians apart - which he did.
By luring the Russian and Austrian armies apart, he engineered the situation that these incompetents usually presented to him without enticement. Once between the enemy armies it was the same old formula: he first held off the Russians with a small force, while he crushed the Austrians with his main force; he then reversed the polarity and pursued the Austrians with a small force, while he focussed his might on the Russians. By then they knew the story and were long gone, grumbling their way back to Moscow. It took less than 5 hours for Bonaparte and France to be masters of continental Europe.
From the top of Santon hill I watched, along with 40,000 other spectators, this drama unfold before me:
Bonaparte and officers survey the central position (click picture to enlarge)
It was most realistic, surreal in fact. Even though many of the crowd weren’t Napoleonic enthusiasts and the temperature was still minus 10, nobody budged for two hours, not an adult, not a fidgety child, until the main man emerged from the heat of battle with his bicorn aloft and his voice was heard above the furious clamour: “La Victoire!”:
Bonaparte announces the victory (click picture to enlarge)
Well after all that excitement even the French had smiles on their faces and the rest of the evening was taken over to much merriment and revelry.
I found the time the following day to visit the Zuran hill, the spot where the real Bonaparte conducted proceedings, and bumped into the Chasseurs again. The choice of Zuran itself is a testament to his genius; you can see just about every part of the battlefield from there:
‘Jacques l’Anorak’, conformingly attired,
with the eagle-bearer of
the 1st Chasseurs of the Imperial Guard
(Click picture to enlarge)
So, who says France never had great victories?
And where is the emperor that old Europe so desperately needs? Dead, or just resting?
Liberte!
Vive l’Empereur!
Son of Duff
* Our very own Lord Wellington (‘the Duke of Boot’) to Marshal Blucher on defeating Bonaparte at Waterloo
** Sir Edward Bruce Hamley, referring to the Colours of the 43rd Monmouth Light Infantry
In the unlikely event that anyone is still awake and remotely interested, more photos and information can be found here - http://www.austerlitz2005.com/en/news/
I surrender!
Well, I might have been a crap Dad in some respects but at least I got him hooked on history!
Posted by: David Duff | Saturday, 21 January 2006 at 16:03
I will add just one more comment. It was just before this stunning victory that news finally reached Napoleon that the combined Franco-Spanish fleet had been annihilated at Trafalgar. He shrugged it off, and thus displayed his ignorance of grand strategy just as he was to prove his brilliance at grand tactics at Austerlitz. Trafalgar was the proof that the seaways of the world were now British and that a continental, land-based ruler was doomed.
Towards the end of the century there was a disagreement between the 19th century's two greatest scholars of geo-politics, Mahan, who extolled the supreme importance of sea-power; and Mackinder who believed in the 'heartland' concept of land mass as the most important feature of geo-political power. The former was taken up with manic enthusiasm by the Kaiser who tried to outbuild the British in ships and failed. The latter was a huge influence on Hitler who was determined to conquer the great land-mass to the east which would provide him with Ukrainian wheat and Caucasian oil. This led him to divert armies from the push to take Moscow which might have toppled Stalin, into the drive to the oil fields in the south.
Another proof of the wisdom of being deeply sceptical about 'experts'!
Posted by: David Duff | Saturday, 21 January 2006 at 17:33
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,13509-2008546,00.html
"Malade imaginaire"?
Barroso the optimist.
"Malade terminaire" more like.
Vive l'Empereur!
Son of Duff
Posted by: Lawrence Duff | Wednesday, 25 January 2006 at 10:33
Absolutely fascinating; if history was taught like this, our kids would have a much better grasp on how "Old Europe" came about, and where it stands in a rapidly changing world.
Posted by: Jambutty | Tuesday, 07 February 2006 at 14:05