Book Reviews: Waterloo, Vols I & II, John Hussey

 

Wow... magnificent! I just finished volume two of John Hussey's mighty, epic two volume history Waterloo, The campaign of 1815. What a great literary-historical journey it was. 

John Hussey's account of the One Hundred Days campaign is nothing if not thorough. Fortunately his prose is more contemporary in style than, say, Capt. Siborne's, whose very large history of Waterloo - even bigger than this one, esp. if you include the third volume of maps - is known to be a tough slog. 

Nor is Hussey's work like Alessandro Barbero's more contemporary account, The Battle, which, placing one squarely on the battlefield amidst the action of the 18th June, has a very different feel and scope. Hussey tells a much bigger tale, of the 'big hats'; this is very much a command and control view of the campaign. There's lots on diplomacy, and even logistics (I don't quite know why, but for some reason I particularly love the latter aspect of military history!). And it soon emerges that the Allied coalition was, as Napoleon knew and gambled upon, a complex and quite fragile thing.

Despite numerous mistakes - strategic and tactical - Wellington was the man to get the job done.

But make no mistake, this is no less exciting for all that it stays closer to the upper echelons of command. For one thing, the way the two volumes are structured works really well: volume one begins with the diplomacy at Vienna, moves through Napoleon's return, before following the build up - Allied dithering versus rapid decisive Napoleonic action - and climaxing with the final three chapters, which focus on Ligny, Quatre Bras, and the wanderings of d'Erlon's Corps.

The excitement builds very nicely. And if, like me, you're obsessed with this era, Waterloo, or - quite probably - both, then the depth of detail will entrance. It is worth restating that this very definitely isn't Antony Beevor style down in the mud and blood stuff. So, if that's how you like your martial history, this just might be arduous going in the first half of volume one and the latter half of volume two.

Hussey is clearly very taken with Blücher's 'up and at 'em' style of leadership.

Volume two is almost a mirror image of volume one, kicking off with the brief pause of the 17th, before rapidly launching into the excitement and confusion of the 18th, and Waterloo itself. And there's a lot of confusion, something Hussey conveys extremely well. In fact, with admirable and almost paradoxical clarity.

Hussey paints a picture in which the Prussians don't come off too well in terms of staff work, with only Müffling shining in his role as liaison between Wellington and Blücher. Gneisenau, on the other hand, comes over as alternately timid and anxious or peevishly aggressive. And the lack of clear communication from the Prussian side becomes an oft-repeated lament.

Anyway, volume two quickly grips the reader with its intense and detailed coverage of the action of the 18th, opting for the classic 'Five Acts' approach (can anyone remind me who it was that first came up with that approach?) [1], which works extremely well. And, as he does with the whole history across both volumes, Hussey always gets over both his own views and those of others, even where they diverge, supporting his own position with clear and reasoned argument. It's a very compelling account.

Müffling, an effective liaison 'twixt Wellesley and Prussian brass.

Whilst Grouchy, d'Erlon and Ney have long been whipping boys for those whose admiration of Napoleon will brook no exceptions to his undeniable (if flawed) genius, that is not so here. Hussey lays the blame for the ultimate French defeat clearly and squarely at Napoleon's feet. One of the major problems stemmed from what could and often had been, in other times, one of the major strengths of Napoleon's leadership style: his desire to keep total control under his own hand.

As Hussey paints the picture here, this left Ney, brought in at the last moment, both emotionally slighted and practically uncertain; arriving on the eve of battle, with no formed staff, troops were added and subtracted from his command willy-nilly, as Napoleon - constantly changing his plans as he reacted to the evolving situation, sometimes under mistaken apprehensions  - saw fit. It was this situation that then lead to d'Erlon wandering around between Quatre Bras and Ligny, not only not benefitting French fortunes at either, but actually causing problems.

Grouchy, a man of two modes.

And as Hussey has it, Grouchy in the Waterloo campaign was a man of two modes. Up until he learned of Napoleon's decisive defeat he was vacillating and cautious, most likely too in awe of his imperial master to act decisively on his own initiative. And yet once he knew France was militarily beaten, he suddenly rediscovered his leadership mojo, and skilfully extricated his force, the one remaining part of the Armée du Nord that remained intact, safely returning it to France.

Unlike Grouchy, d'Erlon wound up both lost on the 16th, and defeated on the 18th. That the latter attack ultimately failed was a surprise to all, and in some major respects this was due to the 'fox hunt' style attack of the British and Allied cavalry. According to Hussey Napoleon's basic approach, though lacking in subtlety, most likely would've worked, in particular with an earlier start. But he also notes that communication at the top of the French army was no longer what it had once been, back in Berthier's day, and speculates on whether perhaps Grouchy and d'Erlon should've swapped roles with Davout and Suchet.

d'Erlon, lost two ways.

Hussey's coverage of the battle itself is superbly lucid, and highly exciting. And I also very much enjoyed how he managed to keep all the various narrative strands both separate, yet active and mutually reinforcing (unlike, all too often, the troops on the ground!). He also addresses some of the partisan nationalist bickering that's marred post-Waterloo history writing, and manages to come to very soundly reasoned and well supported conclusions of his own, whilst allowing for the differing views of other authorities.

Wellington on Copenhagen.

Whilst Hussey clearly admires Wellington, and shows how reasonable he was in comparison to, for example, the alternately strident or gloomy Gneisenau, his is not a hagiographic portrayal by any means. Wellington committed sins of both omission and commission. In the former category he failed to give preparatory orders early enough - hence the 'humbugged' bit - and even on the day, his disposition remained mistakenly over-weighted to the West. And worst of all, whilst Hougoumont was thoroughly prepared, La Haye Sainte was dangerously passed over.

Hussey's admiration for Blücher is perhaps more straightforward, like the man himself: whilst Wellington had gifts that allowed him to operate extremely well both on the battlefield and in the corridors of power, Blücher was simply 'that old devil' (as Boney put it); you could knock him down -and this campaign illustrated this quite literally - but he'd be on his feet and into the saddle, and back on the attack, if not the next day, then the day after. 

Marshal Vorwarts...

Having visited the battlefields myself twice (2014 and 2015), there was a special resonance when reading this account: having stood by the stone commemorating some of the actions of Mercer's RHA troop, and viewed a plaque attached to the church wall at Plancenoit, all the many place names and actions that took place and are so ably narrated here came vividly to life for me.

There's a lot of literature on Waterloo, that epoch-ending battle that finally brought the Napoleonic era to a definite full-stop. And a surprising amount of that literature is very good. But for me this is right up there with the best. A massive account - about 1,000 pages of narrative (that's not including notes, etc.) - that gave me huge pleasure to read, and has left me feeling far better informed on this fascinating chapter in European history.

The Prussians fight for Plancenoit.

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NOTES:

[1] Hussey does mention who it was who first described the battle of Waterloo as a drama in five acts, I just can't recall who he credits.

Hussey is very taken with Turner's depiction of The Field of Waterloo, but appears to favour the watercolour (above) over the oil version (below), inasmuch as that's the one he reproduces and discusses.

Book Review: The Eagle's Last Triumph - Andrew Uffindell

The Little Corporal's Last Laurels, or how Boney battered Blücher's shield at Ligny, preventing Wellington's spear-thrust at Quatre Bras, momentarily deferring defeat.

Near the end of this excellent book, as Andrew Uffindell summarises his analysis of Ligny, he characterises Blücher's stout Prussian defence - the old hussar's favourite defence being attack (hence his nickname, Marshal Vorwarts!) - as 'a shield. Behind this shield Wellington ... would muster his units into a spear at Quatre Bras. This spear he would then hurl into the flank of the French ... at Ligny.' He goes on 'But the 'spear' never arrived... Thus Blücher was left alone to face the brunt of Napoleon's thunderbolts.'

For me these brief extracts neatly sum up the superb combination of trenchant analysis and evocative description that characterise this very informative and highly enjoyable book.

Originally published in 1994, Uffindell's book on Napoleon's final victory - against the Prussians at Ligny, on 16th June, 1815 - has been reissued to coincide with the bicentenary of Waterloo. As Uffindell says in his preface, 'Interest in Waterloo is unlikely to fade'. Indeed, and quite naturally, as so many of us continue to remember the events of two centuries past, this area of publishing is clearly enjoying something of a boom right now. [1]

Ligny, by Ernest Crofts. Napoleon can be seen here, atop the hill at Brye, by the windmill (the lower right sail of the windmill is pointing at him!).

The Eagle's Last Triumph starts by examining the context, in a chapter titled Stormclouds of War, as Napoleon returns from his Elban exile, and the eagle does indeed fly, as Bonaparte had prophesied it would, from steeple to steeple.

Uffindell then turns to an analysis of the commanders and forces of the three main adversaries. He sets down a very interesting analysis of all the antagonists, but for me it was his exposition of the Prussian forces that was particularly intriguing, as English language histories have tended to focus first on the British contributions, and second on the French. This is now changing, with writers like Peter Hofschroer waving the flag for the Prussian (and other Germanic) contributions.

It's fascinating to read Uffindell's verdict re Blücher and Gneisenau, who he judges as individually flawed, but strong together. This complementary, effect arising from differences of character, is further paralleled in the combination of Wellington & Blücher, Wellington being more cautious and defensive, whilst Blücher was more reckless and fond of attacking. But returning to the Prussians, Uffindell essentially credits Blücher as the inspiration, and Gneisenau as the brains.

Gneisenau, painted by George Dawe.

Also of interest is the fact that the Prussian army - both Prussia and her army having almost been destroyed in previous campaigns against Napoleon - was not composed like either the French or British forces, having significantly less cavalry and artillery, and a much higher proportion of raw militia. They also had little or no strategic reserves, due in part to their organisational methods, and a rather different staff organisation. Whereas the French & 'British' [2] were lead by domineering controlling egos, the Prussian command was more 'staff' based.

Blücher, as Marshal Vorwarts, by  by Emil Hünten.

Next comes the build up to the 16th June, as Napoleon famously 'humbugged' Wellington, quite literally stealing a march on his British adversary. This section is great, and, like Mercer's account of his journey towards a climactic battle (Waterloo in his case), builds the excitement terrifically.

The chapter covering the action at Ligny comprises what is perhaps a surprisingly small part of the whole, at only 29 pages (pp 91-120) of a book that's only a little over 250 pages long. That means that just over 10% of the book is given over to the lynchpin narrative of the action itself. But this isn't a complaint, as it's all done so terrifically well, Uffindell situating Ligny in its context - for example by reference to Chandler's concept of the Napoleonic battle category of 'twin battles' - with the Waterloo campaign providing a twin set of twin battles (Ligny and Quatre Bras on the 16th, and Waterloo and Wavre on the 18th)!

Blücher comes a cropper at Ligny.

The description of the action itself is both information rich, and also very evocative: 'The very earth trembled with the terrific concussion of the awesome barrage. Guns spat fire and death.' Uffindell also displays a very nice slightly antiquated turn of phrase, using such terms as 'smote', for example: 'Frightful was the carnage that then ensued.' I love that!

It was frequently observed in contemporary accounts that the fighting at Ligny (and two days later at Plancenoit) was particularly savage, a bitter rivalry having grown up between the French and Prussians. Such sanguinary settings make for exciting reading. Here's just one terrifically horrible excerpt:

'Lieutenant Barral of the French grenadiers charged through Ligny, along a street paved with corpses. His feet did not touch the ground itself once. Behind him followed a French battery which trampled and galloped over the crushed bodies. The merciless passage of heavy hooves and wheels caused corpses seemingly to spring to life again by a freak of elasticity. Lieutenant Barral found it horrible to contemplate.'

A print depicting Ligny, attributed simply to 'the german School'!

Having described the battle itself very well, Uffindell turns his attention to Quatre Bras, devoting about as much space to that battle as he did to Ligny. This is very useful, as the two battles, with their inter-related balancing of forces and goals - the French dealing with two enemies they wanted to separate, whilst the Allies attempted to unite - meant the to actions were intimately connected. In this context, what Uffindel calls 'The Fatal Peregrinations Of D'Erlon', that being the title of the chapter that deals with this episode, is fascinating.

The book then goes on to relate in brief what happened on the 17th and 18th, and even what became of the protagonists after Waterloo brought this long period of warfare to its close. Numerous anecdotes derived from both contemporary and secondary sources keep the developing story highly interesting. Four example, in the move northwards towards Waterloo, Napoleon chastises a unit that retired from the field, and praises another that fought well. When Bonaparte singles out Colonel Fantin des Odoards' unit for praise, Uffindell observes: 'French soldiers would eagerly exchange an arm or a leg for such a brief, factual sentence of praise from that remarkable leader of men, Napoleon.'

Describing Waterloo itself, Uffindell's colourful language reaches a kind of apotheosis: 'Wellington's army writhed like an immense, wounded serpent. Still it bellowed defiance but blood spurted forth from innumerable wounds.' In relation to the 'near run thing' idea, this extract (referring to the split between the troops Wellington commanded who fought resolutely and the elements that broke, or the huge numbers of deserters), is worthy of note: 'In fact, Wellington's army had split into two... Never in the history of warfare has such a victorious army presented such an image of defeat.'

The full image of Theodore Yung's Ligny artwork, as used on the book cover.

Having told the story, and done so very well, Uffindell turns to the analysis, and in this way revisits much of the action, extending the breadth and depth of his already excellent treatment. Doing so inevitably results in Uffindell addressing some of the contentious issues that surround this campaign.

And so it is that, like so many other books coming out on Waterloo at present, whether totally new or just re-issued, this one addresses some of the controversies that this epic and epochal battle has left to posterity. However, unlike some of these other books, The Eagles Last Triumph doesn't seek to justify its existence primarily on this basis, nor does it get bogged down, despite a very high level of detail, in either the examination of such issues, or the potentially partisan arguments that can rage over them (even all these years later!). 

Whilst Uffindell doesn't say too much about Grouchy, he does spend a lot of time dealing with D'Erlon's wanderings. I found this fascinating, and hope one day to perhaps trace the route Uffindell suggests, in the tracks of I Corps. Although he doesn't have much to say, positive or negative, about Grouchy, he does come to the defence of the 'bravest of the brave': 'Ney cannot be blamed for failing to seize the crossroads.' Uffindell may of course be right, but that never stopped people, Napoleon himself being the chief example, from doing so!

D'Erlon, from the French Wikipedia entry on him.

As if all this wasn't enough, Uffindell then devotes a sizeable chunk at the end of the book to information useful to those who might be thinking of visiting the battlefield today. Having been to the area twice in the last two years, I love this sort of stuff. It certainly whets my appetite for another visit! On p. 220 he expresses the challenges weather presents in an appropriately martial but still poetic manner: 'Generals Mist and Rain, the old enemies of the battlefield visitor, are redoubtable adversaries.'

Uffindell also sheds light on something that struck me when I photographed crops at Waterloo earlier this year (there's a pic on my Waterloo post here, if you're interested). The corn growing near Hougoumont was only a few feet tall - two probably, perhaps three at the most. 'The crops today' he tells us 'are much shorter than they were two centuries ago. In 1815, after the battle, observers could follow the march of various battalions in all directions by the swathes of trodden down corn. Sergeant James Anton of the 42nd Highlanders commented that the crops were as high as his bonnet... Before charging British infantry squares, the French cavalry often had to send forward an intrepid horsemen to plant a lance before a square to indicate its position amidst the rye. The French would then charge towards the lance pennon.'

Another thing that strikes the contemporary visitor to Napoleonic battlefields is the contrast between what brought one there, and what one now sees. In relation to this, I found it quite moving when Uffindell cited an anecdote from the memoirs of Louis Canler (of D'Erlon's Corps), regarding a French soldier his column passes, sprawled by the roadside with both legs blown off. Despite his suffering, this earnest young warrior still cried out 'Long live the Emperor! I have lost both my legs but I couldn't give a damn! Victory is ours! Long live the Emperor!'

Uffindell reflects, rather sombrely, 'Today, the cars from Charleroi to Brussels rush unheedingly past the spot where the Frenchman bled to death.'

Another handsome map from Alison.

Having read this, and thoroughly enjoyed it, I think it's time to read On The Fields Of Glory, another Uffindell book I have on the shelves. [3] However, as to The Eagles Last Triumph, I for one would certainly recommend it as an excellent Napoleonic read.

Up next, perhaps?

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Whilst looking for pictures to illustrate this post I found this page, which has lots of interesting images, including many contemporary pictures of locations and monuments on the modern day battlefield. 

NOTES:

[1] - He also says his book has been updated. I can't comment on any changes, as I have neither got nor read the previous edition. 

[2] - British is in inverted commas because the forces under Wellginton were of course predominantly continental, being composed of Dutch, Belgian and numerous Germanic contingents.

[3] - Actually I'd intended to take that on our recent Waterloo trip, as it's a book all about visiting the battlefields of the Waterloo campaign. I opted instead to take Ardennes, 1944, by Antony Beevor ('cause I was two thirds through it already!), and the abridged version of Captain Mercer's Waterloo Journal (because it was much shorter!).

A Damned Serious Business - Waterloo 1815, the Battle & its Books (Cambridge University Library)

I'm really revelling in all the stuff that's currently going on to mark the bicentenary of Waterloo. 

It's especially nice when there's something good to see locally. Earlier in the year there was the excellent show of prints at the Fitzwilliam Museum (click here to read my post about that exhibition), and now there's another print heavy show - A Damned Serious Business - this time at the Milstein Exhibition Centre, in the basement of the very austere Cambridge University Library [1].

Cambridge University Library.

I ended up spending nearly two hours at this small one room show. It's small, yes, but it's also jam-packed with excellent stuff. 

Unsurprisingly, given the exhibitions subtitle and the fact it's taking place in a library, the exhibits are predominantly drawn from books published during the period, with an emphasis on printed matter. 

There are some terrific books on display here, and it's so nice for ordinary members of the public to have access to stuff that's generally only looked at (and that very rarely) by scholars.

One of the largest and most de-luxe of the books, whose partial title is 'The campaign of Waterloo : illustrated with engravings of Les Quatre Bras ... and other principal scenes of action' is credited to Robert Bowyer. The notes on this particularly impressive exhibit go on to say:

'The artist of the original drawings for the plates in this large-format volume of The campaign of Waterloo is not named, but appears to have visited the site in the weeks following the battle. Bowyer acknowledged an obligation to Captain Wildman, an aide-de-camp to the Marquess of Anglesea (the former Earl of Uxbridge, Wellington’s cavalry commander at Waterloo), for the ‘accuracy and fidelity’ of the ‘grand view of the battle’ which forms the centrepiece of the volume.'

Below is an embedded version of the CUL online image browser for the show, which allows you to zoom in in the artwork (and others from the same book) described above:

This beautiful image, when opened out as a double page spread, is about a metre across. Looking at this image using the CUL picture browser - embedded above - allows one to zoom in and admire the detail and skill. Terrific!

An attractive map, published 1814, showing Napoleon's new domain, upon his first abdication, the island of Elba.

There are quite a lot of maps, such as that shown above, most of which are terrifically beautiful. Sadly they've chosen not to display any of the actual original maps from Siborne's history of the campaign, which used a special technique to achieve a 3-D effect. 

One of these maps is reproduced on one of the info boards (but the 3-D effect is diminished), and several are shown in one of the accompanying videos. In the pan-and-scan shots of these maps they look both 3-D and phenomenally beautiful. 

It would have been great to have seen one of these incredible maps on display. Especially if it were to be lit directionally, from above the top of the page, so as to show off the 3-D effect.

One of Siborne's amazing maps (this is one of two depicting the battle of Ligny). The 3-D effect is exceedingly cool, and the overall detail and quality are stunning.

The books and other items on show already make this a terrific little exhibition, but it's made richer still thanks to several interactive elements.

Two of these were, I felt, particularly good: firstly, there's an enormous rectangular screen, like a very large flat screen telly, but laid more or less flat, on which you can flick through electronically scanned versions of four of the books that are on display; secondly, there's a much smaller screen (an iPad in fact), with attached headphones, on which you can watch three short films. 

The first of these allows one to see scans of all the pages from four of the books displayed in the show, in addition to whatever spreads the curators have chosen to display using the actual physical book. 

Blucher's fall at Ligny.

The second, the three short films, are all good - the first of them is hopefully viewable at the top of this post - being very interesting and surprisingly well done. 

The longest of these films is presented by the curators of the show, Mark Nicholls and John Wells, who also wrote the texts for the presentation boards - which are referred to on the exhibition website as 'themes' - that tell the story of the show as you go around the room (also reproduced in a handsome if small booklet that accompanies the exhibition). 

Then there's one featuring Bernard Simms, Cambridge academic and author of several books on the period, including the short but superb The Longest Afternoon, about the Hanoverian defence of the farm of La Haye Sainte. 

The shortest of the three is about maps. Once again this last is, whilst very good and very interesting, not as good as it could have been, had they looked at and talked about Siborne's maps.

Ponsonby's demise at Waterloo.

There are, in addition to all the books, handbills, broadsheets, and a number of letters, some written by such famous central protagonists as Wellington, and others by less well known folk, and other ephemera, including a musket ball and other 'relics' or battlefield mementoes.

A nice print of Austerlitz.

This online image in no way conveys the utter gorgeousness of what is a massive print in a huge book! [2].

One exhibit - Napoleon's own copy of the writings of Montaigne, from his library in exile on St. Helena - is both book and relic! Astonishingly beautifully bound, in a marbled calf-skin binding that almost looks like burred walnut, adorned by the imperial 'N' and those cutely regal gilt Napoleonic bees, Napoleon's Montaigne is almost talismanic. 

It's also a reminder that whilst we now have an abundance of cheap mass-market books, making us a far more literate society than existed 200 years ago, for those with the money (then or now) some books are of a completely different order, as works of art and craftsmanship.

Then there are the several enormous books, with prints that are both huge and utterly exquisite, or the bizarre but amazing fold-out depiction of Wellington's funeral procession (twenty-two yards, if fully extended!). These, like Napoleon's edition of Montaigne, are also clearly as much status symbols as utilitarian objects.

This film shows the whole of the extended fold-out artwork, as depicted in the remarkable prints in the book illustrating Wellington's funeral procession (source: the National Portrait Gallery.)

An image from a book by Guibert, showing concentration of firepower from three bodies of troops deployed in line.

It's not all about Waterloo either, the exhibition beginning with stuff produced by ultra-loyalists during the British invasion scare of the early 1800s, and containing all kinds of things covering all sorts of aspects of the period, from manuals depicting the drills for the complex battlefield manoeuvres (see above), to depictions of other battles and campaigns, from Austerlitz to the Russian 1812 campaign. 

And neither is it all serious, the superb artist George Cruikshank, for example, contributing his fantastic artistic skills to both straight and satirical works in this show.

Title page of The Life of Napoleon, a Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos. Illustrated by George Cruikshank.

One of the last Cruikshank illustrations to the Hudibrastic Poem.

I feel I have to say that I was a little surprised and disappointed to see an exhibition at such an illustrious academic institution being rather obviously and overtly partisan, in respect of their negative judgement on Napoleon, who is ultimately portrayed here as a warmonger, and even, via a borrowed summary quote, a 'bad man'. 

They do concede that British triumphalism wasn't always welcomed, even at home, never mind abroad. It's even very subtly suggested that whilst the Duke of Wellington's generalship helped win Waterloo, and his moderate conciliatory actions ushered in a welcome half century of European peace, nevertheless his conservatism wasn't all good news, either in terms of domestic British social politics, or even in terms of his military legacy. 

This is very vaguely alluded to in terms of domestic British politics, but more concretely so militarily, via a scribbled sketch by Lord Raglan. 

[insert Raglan sketch!?]

This very sketchy scrawled image, perhaps the  ugliest exhibit in the whole show, nevertheless speaks volumes. It does so because it illustrates how the conservatism that dominated the British army at the time resulted in the infamous debacle of the charge of the Light Brigade, which is what Raglan's sketch depicts. 

Essentially this was old-fashioned Napoleonic cavalry manoeuvring dashed to pieces on the teeth of evolving technology. Napoleon, artilleryman that he was, was instrumental in this evolution even as the wars that bore his name progressed. Admittedly the charge was a result of several errors, but that it could happen at all was the result of a certain post-Waterloo culture. 

That the early Victorian British army ossified as it did under Wellington's influence is shocking but fascinating, given that it was the result, in part, of deference and hero worship in relation to a man who helped defeat Napoleon by learning from him. But such are the twists of fate!

Prussian cavalry captures Bonaparte's carriage.

But returning from judgements on Wellington to those on Napoleon, it's somewhat sad to see, in this exhibition, that despite the efforts of such a high profile historian and author (and now TV and radio presenter to boot) as Andrew Roberts, the British establishment - this also remains true of the National Army Mueseum's treatment of the Siborne 'large model' (and that in spite of the works of writers like Hofschröer and others) - remains entrenched in what I'd describe  as a very deep-rooted old-fashioned 'High Tory' type conservative reading of Napoleon Buonaparte, as the Corsican upstart, and disturber of the peace, etc. [3]

Nevertheless, despite a potentially jaundiced position, and even considering that they could've enriched the show very significantly by including some of Siborne's original books and maps, this remains a terrific little exhibition. One that I would thoroughly and unhesitatingly recommend to all Napoleonic history nuts.

The exhibition runs till September 16th (Monday to Friday 9-6, Sat. 9-4.30), and is free.
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APPENDIX - Some interesting related matter.

The Siborne maps:

After writing this article I went online to try and find out what the name of the technique that Siborne employed for his 3-D type maps. At the time of adding this postscript I still haven't found out what that technique was called (can anyone enlighten me?), but I did discover that the CUL have put all the maps from Siborne's accompanying 'folio' up online. Bravo! They can be found here:

Siborne maps

The Life of Napoleon:

As another interesting footnote, an original 1st Edition copy of the book from which some of the Cruikshank images are derived is on sale, here:

Life of Napoleon, a Hudibrastic Poem in Fifteen Cantos

A far cheaper way to see the great artworks, however, is to visit this link:

Cruikshank's Life of Napoleon (a Hudibrastic Poem, etc)  at pastnow blog.

Edward Orme:

One of the books from which several images in the exhibition are derived is entitled 'Historic, Military, and Naval Anecdotes, of Personal Valour, Bravery, and Particular Incidents Which Occurred to the Armies of Great Britain and her Allies, in the Long-contested War, Terminating in the Battle of Waterloo' by Edward Orme, published in 1819. At the link below is a listing for the sale of a copy at Bonham's. A snip at £2,375!

'Particular Indcidents ... Terminating in the Battle of Waterloo'

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NOTES:

[1] Designed by the architect Giles Gilbert Scott, of K2 phone box fame, who also designed such iconic structures as Battersea and Bankside power stations, the latter of which now houses Tate Modern.

[2] I've said elsewhere (e.g. in a TMP post publicising this post) that the online experience of this exhibition is as good, possibly even richer - for having more material available from archives - than the actual show 'in the flesh', so to speak. Well... not in all respects! Some of the more lavish prints and other objects really need to be seen in situ to be properly appreciated.

[3] Roberts, a thorough going modern Tory, points out an interesting change that's taken place since Napoleon's own times: originally Napoleon was the doyenne of the radical left, and it was the conservative right that sought continually to tear him down. Nowadays he's as likely to be vilified by liberals and leftists as old-fashioned conservatives, and more likely to find support on the right, whether it be from the moderate (ish) right of a Thatcherite like Roberts, or the scarier extremes of the right such as Hitler.

Book Review - Waterloo: The French Perspective - Andrew Field

Formidable! A really excellent and long overdue addition to the English language Waterloo literature.

Ever since acquiring what has grown into something of an obsession with Napoleonic history in childhood - and for me it all started with Waterloo - I've always been more drawn to the French than the English. It was after all their revolution that precipitated the whole period and and their leader who gives it his name. 

So as the years have passed and the book collection has grown, it's always been something of a disappointment for me that Waterloo has, until recently, been almost always treated, within the voluminous English language literature, from the Allied, or to be more accurate, the British perspective. This has galled me to such a degree that until very recently I've deliberately sidelined the campaign that was my original intro to the period, and instead explored such campaigns as those of 1809 (France vs. Austria) and 1812 (France and her allies/vassals vs. Russia).

Ligny, Ernest Crofts.

Fortunately things are changing, as Andrew Field himself says in his intro to this superbe book. In more recent times people like Peter Hofschröer have been highlighting the very significant German contribution to Waterloo; not just the deal-sealing arrival of the Prussians, but also the very large contingents of Germans - not to mention Dutch and Belgian troops - within Wellington's army. And now, to his great credit, and reversing two centuries of near complete Anglo-centric bias, Field has, in the spirit of hussar and participant in Waterloo Sergeant Major Edward Cotton, who he quotes at the end of the book, given the French 'the tribute of respect and admiration which their bravery and misfortunes claim'.

Near La Belle Alliance at Dawn, Ernest Crofts

(Milntown Trust).

The book itself, which draws on numerous French accounts, some published as standalone books, but many buried in French military archives (Carnet de le Sabertache, etc), benefits from the excellent literary organisational principle of many short chapters, which makes reading it a great pleasure, as you feel you're always making good rapid progress ('en avance!'). After an excellent introduction, Field starts with the state of the French Army in 1815, before moving rapidly through the events that lead up to Waterloo, including brief synopses of Ligny and Quatre Bras.

The Morning of the Battle of Waterloo, Ernest Crofts

(Museums Sheffield).

The book is also subdivided into sections. The aforementioned stuff forms section one. Sections two to seven cover the battle, starting with the night before, progressing through to the morning of the battle, during which long period activity was more or less constant; Napoleonic warfare was a round the clock affair, with all arms and ranks susceptible to the possibility of being called upon for all manner of duties, at any time of day or night!

Each section is full of fascinating detail, and uses, as much as possible, firsthand French accounts to flesh out the narrative and the action. There are still quite a lot of quotes from Allied and English sources, sometimes to fill gaps in the French records, and sometimes to either show another side to long held Anglocentric versions of events, or to illustrate how the Allies reacted to certain French actions. The level of detail is fantastic, and the use of firsthand accounts masterful. The whole thing is both highly informative and tremendously engaging.

Closing the Gates at Hougoumont, Richard Gibbs

(National Army Museum, Scotland).

The moments worthy of mention are innumerable, so I'll leave them, and let you enjoy them for yourselves, direct from the horse's mouth, so to speak. There's a lot here, both in terms of characters and events, that readers of Napoleonic literature will already know to some extent. But there's also a lot, by virtue of taking the French perspective, that revitalises this so oft-discussed battle. And just as the book looks closely at the build up to the battle, Field also uses his sources to look at the aftermath, as the French army disintegrated and fled south. 

Some excellent additional material - analyses of tactics, summaries of the various events, OOB, a list of French sources (in addition to a more conventional broader bibliography), and a very enjoyable chapter of anecdotes - all conspire to make an already excellent book even better. Pen & Sword titles can be quite varied in terms of editorial finesse. I just read an abridged version of Mercer's Waterloo journal that was strewn with lamentable typos. Waterloo The French Perspective is, thankfully, a heck of a lot better in this regard [1].

On the Evening of the Battle of Waterloo, Ernest Crofts

(National Museums Liverpool).

This is a truly excellent and long overdue addition to the vast literature on Waterloo. And it's such a wonderful thing that a British soldier and historian has, like Edward Cotton so long before him, seen that it doesn't tarnish British martial glory - if anything instead enhancing it - to look at what has for so long (and so understandably) been trumpeted as a key British victory, from the perspective of the vanquished yet valiant foe. Superbe!

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NOTES

It turns out that British Victorian painter Ernest Crofts was very useful for illustrating this article. He did all but one (discounting the book cover image) of the paintings reproduced here! Like Field, he's an Englishman helping us all enjoy a better view of the French perspective!

[1] If I were nit-picking, I could point out that there are numerous occasions of tautology, including several instances - some avowedly deliberate, others probably not - of reproducing segments from certain sources.