Book Review: Napoleon's Marshals, Ed. David Chandler

I don't know what you folks are like, in this respect, but, when it comes to reading books (or watching DVD series, for that matter), I like to systematically plod through; start at the beginning, and work to the end. Sometimes, however, a book lends itself to episodic study. And this is such a book.

The coveted marshal's baton. [1]

Nonetheless, even under such circumstances, I'd usually start at A and work stolidly to Z, just so as to be sure to cover all points and not miss anything. I'm pretty much the same with collections of music or film. If in this respect I'm a methodical plodder, my wife, by contrast, is a whimsical dipper. As a consequence, there are episodes of Sherlock Holmes or Poirot she's done to death (so to speak!), and others she still may never have seen.

Napoleon awards MacDonald his Marshal's baton at Wagram.

So, even when presented with the opportunity to dip in randomly, I rarely do it, and so strong is my aversion to such random reading that certain other other books that encourage this approach (I can think of two by philosopher A. C. Grayling, for example: Ideas That Matter, and The Good Book) remain on my shelves, practically unread.

However, my 'Jones' for things Napoleonic is sufficiently overpowering as to overcome this aversion. The handsome weighty hardback under review here, that has seduced me against my own principles is Napoleon's Marshals, by a collection (a who's who, in fact) of authors known for their interest in the period, under the editorial eye of Napoleonic über-buff, David Chandler.

Davou[s]t. [2]

Murat, beau sabreur, etc.

One of many things that helps me cross the threshold in this instance is the fact that one may be reading about a certain episode or period within the Napoleonic Wars - say for example Davout's incredible feat at Auerstadt, or the heroics of Ney in the retreat from Russia, the many nigh comical caperings of Murat, or Poniatowski's tragically short spell as a baton-wielder - and feel the urge to know more about that particular character.

Poniatowski.

Or, alternatively, a cumulative interest may build, as it has with me in regard to particular figures, such as Davout, for his staunch dependability, or Bernadotte for his far more volatile and Mercurial relationship with Napoleon. And in some instances, it's my general ignorance of a character, such as the oft-lauded Lannes, or Massena, of both of whom - despite noting the reverence frequently accorded their names - I have next to no knowledge at all.

At the time of posting this review I've only read the chapters on four or five of the Marshals (Murat, Ney, Bernadotte, Davout and - I think? - Berthier), and I've found them to be of quite a variable flavour, according to who wrote about who, ranging from gruffly factual to almost homely and anecdotal. Interestingly, thinking of an author like Delderfield, it struck me that even some pro historians and ex-miliatry types are as much or maybe even more given to romantic reveries as the seriously interested and knowledgeable amateur.

Bernadotte.

Massena.

A little patchy, in terms of prose quality, and quite varied in terms of levels of detail and interest - for some there's not a great deal to say, whilst for others, this format (according all 26 Marshals a roughly equal weighting of a chapter each) doesn't give enough room to go into sufficient detail - and with as much trad old-soldier's anecdote as scholarly meat... well? Having not read the entire book as yet, my current judgement is that this is, whilst not an out and out classic, still an essential addition to the Nappy Buff's library. 

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NOTES:

[1] This particular example might once have belonged to Marshal Jourdan.

[2] Why his name is sometimes rendered as Davoust, as on this print, has always confused me.

Book Review: March of the Twenty Six - R. F. Delderfield

Informative and fun, if somewhat simple and broad-brushed.

It's not uncommon for reviewers to note that Delderfield is not what most people would call a scholarly author, in the contemporary sense. Personally I don't find that this detracts from the main merits of this short and highly enjoyable book, the chief of which is that it's a rip-snortingly good read. Compared with, for example, the dry as dust Napoleon's Wars this is a book ten-thousand times more likely to promote further interest and reading in Napoleonic history, even if Esdaile's book is more scrupulously comprehensive and scholarly.

Berthier, Napoleon's right hand man.

Delderfield's book is more like the many memoirs of the era itself - colourful, exciting, engaging, full of anecdote (a good one new on me was learning that at one battle, amongst a Cossack force of 20,000 cavalry that attacked Marshal MacDonald, there was a contingent of Bashkirs armed with bows and arrows!), and unabashedly partisan, consequently requiring that it be taken with a generous pinch o' salt/snuff - and in my view is none the worse for it.

Indeed, he reflects on these issues briefly in his postscript 'The Sources Of This Book': 'Some of these memoirs are absorbing, some accurate but dull, some lively but unreliable.' Having just read a fairly large tranche of serious, scholarly Napoleonic material Delderfield's relaxed enthusiasm comes as a welcome dose of flavoursome humanity. Reading this book is like being regaled by a knowledgeable, witty, and avuncular 'buff'; if you're interested in the subject, great fun.

Delderfield is clearly attracted, as are most with an interest in this period, to the colour, excitement, romance, grandeur (and alongside these things, fascinated also by the squalor, terror, and horror, naturally) of monumental struggles on epic scales. Such people and events lend themselves readily to the almost surrealistic exaggerations one sees in the works of contemporary cartoonists like Cruikshank and Gillray.

Murat according to British caricaturist Cruikshank!

Murat, renowned cavalry leader, and 'dandy king', as he himself might've preferred to be viewed!?

Whilst Delderfield doesn't take his portrayals quite that far - he doesn't caricature them quite so brazenly, tho' he gets close - one does sense a simplification and stylisation, which renders the characters of the marshals in broad brush strokes, perhaps like colourful 'commedia dell'arte' type figures, in the stagey drama of Napoleonic Europe. Broers struggles manfully with this in his depiction of bandits-cum-rebels in his book Napoleon's Other War, which only goes to show that not to see these figures in such lights is perhaps to miss some of these reasons we find them interesting in the first place.

Bernadotte: from private soldier to King of Sweden... impressive! Delderfield doesn't like him tho'!

I have deliberately refrained from detailing the lives of the subjects, I'd recommend reading this and the David Chandler helmed Napoleon's Marshals for more info (after which books on the individuals might be the next port of call). But I will say - as Andrew Roberts also effusively noets in his recent TV series on Napoleon - that the energetic release of talent in the Napoleonic meritocracy was an amazing moment: that the second son of a barrel-cooper could rise so high and so fast (Ney), or that another young man could go from private soldier to the founder of a hereditary monarchy still sitting on the Swedish throne (Bernadotte) is surely remarkable, and not unworthy of our interest?

So, yes, do by all means read such more in-depth scholarly works on the marshals as are out there. But read this as well. It's well-written, comprehensive - it's an enjoyable overview of Napoleon's life and campaigns as much as the story of the marshals - and most of all, it's fun.

Marshal Ney, Prince of Moscow, Bravest of the Brave, etc.

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NOTES:

Astute observers might note that three marshals I've chosen to illustrate here with portraits - i.e. all burn Bernadotte - came to rather sad ends: Berthier in what might've been suicide (or was he pushed out for that window?), and Murat and Ney in front of firing squads.

Murat, according to the memoirs of his wife - and Napoleon's sister - Caroline, saying 'Soldats! Faites votre devoir! Droit au cœur mais épargnez le visage. Feu!' or 'Soldiers! Do your duty! Straight to the heart but spare the face. Fire!'

Ney was executed in, and indeed was the 'star' victim of, what is known as the 'White Terror', or the meting out of Royalist revenge on regaining power. He to was allowed to give hisn own executioners the order to fire (famously refusing a blindfold). After all the fuss Royalists made about the murder of the Duc d'Enghien - a central plank in the 'black legend' that they used to defame Napoleon - this is surely an example of nakedly crass hypocrisy!?

A very poignant painting, Gérôme's 1868 work La Mort du Maréchal Ney.