18 June 2015
Waterloo – a different perspective
by Chin Chin
Spot the odd one out:
“My true glory will reside in my Civil Code, which will never be forgotten.”
“Publish and be damned.”
“Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever.”
“My rule always was to do the business of the day in the day.”
“History is a set of lies agreed upon.”
“I never saw so many shocking bad hats in my life.”
“Man is only a reed, the weakest thing in nature; but he is a thinking reed.”
“Men are moved by two levers only: fear and self-interest.”
“We always have been, we are, and I hope that we always shall be, detested in France.”
“There is only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.”
“I have no small talk and Peel has no manners.”
“An army marches on its stomach.”
“Publish and be damned.”
“In politics, stupidity is not a handicap.”
“Educate men without religion and you make of them but clever devils.”
Yes, you are right. The one about the reed is from the French philosopher, Blaise Pascal. All the rest are from Wellington and Napoleon and, as we read this week’s supplements written to celebrate the 200th anniversary of Waterloo, they put something on the bones of the story by giving us a glimpse of the great protagonists.
They were very different men, of course, and the differences reflect their backgrounds. Napoleon, born in a Corsica which had recently become part of France, burned with an ambition and a confidence which made him an almost irresistible force. General, Consul, Emperor, statesman, his talent overflowed in every direction as he overhauled French society from top to bottom. In addition to introducing the civil code, he reformed the education system, introduced the lycees, made all equal before the law and decreed that countries ruled by France should drive on the right. He pushed religion out of politics, insisting on a secular approach which has survived to this day. This is no mere military leader. This is a man who took 167 academics when he invaded Egypt so that he could set up a cultured society when he got there.
Of course as a military leader he was brilliant, wholly revolutionising the idea of war with new bold aggressive tactics. Though philosophical about losses (after all, everything had to be sacrificed on the altar of his ambition) he was adored by his troops who defected to him immediately when he re-entered Paris after escaping from Elba. Seldom has a man exercised such personal magnetism; seldom has such a ruthless man so charmed those around him.
Wellington on the other hand was of a very different stamp. Aloof, austere, aristocratic, he controlled his emotions as rigorously as he imposed discipline on his troops. Where Napoleon was loved, he was only respected and trusted – but what a trust it was. “It’s up to you” Czar Alexander told him on hearing that Napoleon was back in France, “to save the world again”. Or Captain Kincaid, one of his officers: “We would rather see his long nose in a fight than a reinforcement of 10,000 men.” A general who never lost a battle, Wellington exuded competence and his military achievements set him up for a political afterlife which included two terms as prime minister, albeit not particularly successful ones.
But from a professional point of view they clearly had a huge amount in common. It is impossible to read any account of Waterloo without realising what a technical business the command of early 19th-century armies must have been. Yes, there were basic rules and ideas: form square to receive cavalry; move back to line if threatened by artillery; and many others besides. But in the complexity of battle with its multiple threats and opportunities it would have been impossible to follow all of them at once, so choices had to be made, choices based on judgement, experience, genius if you like. At the top level of command then the rules change their function. They cease to operate as constraints but become a source of information for the general to draw on as he makes his decisions. Clauswitz makes this point in his book “On War” but really it is a point on leadership as a whole. Today’s political leaders, with their red lines and their willingness to cut down their scope for future action by legislating unnecessarily, could dwell on it with profit.
Two hundred years is not a very long time and Napoleon and Wellington have left enough by way of memorial to remain vivid. Napoleon’s great legacy can be found in the governance of France. Wellington’s political legacy is less impressive but we can catch a glimpse of him through that sardonic humour which he made his trade mark.
Picture the Duke receiving a letter in which Huskisson, the Colonial Secretary, insisted that a letter he had written to Wellington saying he would vote against one of his measures had not been intended to be a letter of resignation. No, indeed, Wellington was mistaken. Wellington’s response?
“There is no mistake; there has been no mistake; and there shall be no mistake.”
One can hear the firmness of a great commander loud and clear.
