Sedan 1870- The Eclipse of France

by Douglas Fermer

  Nevertheless, Bazaine proved an obliging enemy in the Metz battles by allowing himself to be entrapped. By the only criterion that counts amid the fog and friction of warfare, the Germans had succeeded superbly. Within three weeks of the commencement of hostilities they had the enemy’s army snared in Metz while the other great city of the east, Strasbourg, was under siege. Europe was awed by the scale and rapidity of their achievement. Through their willingness to fight the enemy wherever they found him, the Germans had retained the initiative and the momentum of victory.

  The procession of specially equipped ambulance trains steaming from the Metz front back to Germany testified to the high cost, and there was consternation as well as grief at home. Yet the dedication and care lavished on the wounded by thousands of German Red Cross workers heightened the earnest sense of national purpose. The losses suffered so far only strengthened German public unity in support of the struggle.

  Bismarck, travelling with Royal Headquarters, was perfectly in touch with this mood: one of his sons had been badly wounded on 16 August. Within a week of the Frœschwiller victory he had formally resolved on annexation of Alsace as a German war aim. He encouraged the demand through press articles, but he hardly invented the growing swell of opinion that the blood-sacrifice made by Germans should receive solid recompense. Germany had conquered Alsace, to which many believed she had a historical right. Annexation was particularly favoured in the South German states. Moltke shared such views, and he and his generals believed that the future security of Germany against France depended on possession of the line of the Vosges, even beyond the western limit of German as the majority language.

  On 14 August a relative of Bismarck’s, Count Friedrich Bismarck-Bohlen, was made Military Governor of Alsace. He was to be assisted by a civil commissioner. A week later, his regime was extended to the occupied part of eastern Lorraine. This was the origin of the German construct of ‘Alsace-Lorraine’, ruled directly by Prussian royal authority.

  The German determination to annex Alsace and then Lorraine came to be seen as the fatal element in making the Franco-German quarrel irreconcilable, converting a ‘dynastic’ war into a ‘national’ one. It cost Germany much sympathy abroad, notably in the British press. Yet Bismarck was unconvinced that a peace without annexations could assure French goodwill and moderation and guarantee German security. On the contrary, he thought that the bitterness of defeat would itself drive the French to revenge, just as they had sought ‘revenge’ for Sadowa. As he told the Prussian ambassador to Britain on 21 August, ‘the only proper policy is at least to make somewhat less dangerous an enemy whom we can never win as a true friend, and to make ourselves more secure against him. For that, it is not enough to dismantle those of his fortresses which threaten us; only annexing some of them will suffice.’1 If Franco-German hostility was to be an enduring feature of European politics, Bismarck sought to ensure that a strengthened Germany would have the advantage.

  The very act of fighting was deepening national animosities that underlay the conflict. On entering France King Wilhelm had issued a proclamation, dated 11 August, assuring citizens that ‘I make war on French soldiers and not on civilians, whose persons and goods will be safe so long as they do not forfeit the right to my protection by acts of aggression against German troops.’2 His nephew and son went further, proclaiming to their troops that the quarrel was solely with the detested French Emperor, that ‘disturber of the peace’.3 Yet Bismarck no longer made any distinction between the French nation and its rulers. Within a fortnight, Royal Headquarters gave General von Werder authority to bombard the fortified city of Strasbourg, with the frank aim of hastening its surrender by terrorizing its citizens. In the first few nights of an awesome artillery barrage about eighty civilians were killed, hundreds wounded and thousands made homeless. The city’s library, full of priceless medieval manuscripts and artworks, went up in flames along with churches, civic buildings and private homes. A young Protestant fire-watcher in the city, Rodolphe Reuss, watched the roof of the great cathedral burn with a sinister glow: ‘Those who lived through those dreadful hours, who, impotent and heartbroken, witnessed this brutal profanation of the masterpiece of Christian art, so dear to every native of Strasbourg, will never forget or forgive.’4

  The cathedral was saved from complete destruction, and the Germans pointed out that the French had used it as an observation post. Nevertheless, this wanton and terrifying bombardment of their city did more than anything to make the generation of Alsatians who lived through it irreconcilable to German rule. The historian Treitschke could only justify the forcible annexation of Alsace against the wishes of its inhabitants by arguing that ‘We Germans … understand better what is good for the Alsatians than those unfortunate people themselves … Against their own will we wish to give them back their true selves.’5

  The bombardment grew a little less intense towards the end of August, not from any German change of heart, but because it failed to produce rapid surrender and because Werder’s artillery was using up its stock of shells too quickly. The general resigned himself to the necessity of a regular siege of Strasbourg after all.

  Around Metz, which had more modern defences, Moltke saw no need to lay a full siege. He needed only to blockade the city at some distance from its heavy fortress guns, leaving hunger to take care of Bazaine’s army. Meanwhile, German troops strengthened their trenches and gun emplacements with every passing day, progressively reducing the chance of a successful French breakout. He would leave only sufficient troops under Prince Friedrich Karl to contain Bazaine. The Guard, IV and XII (Saxon) Corps and 5th and 6th Cavalry Divisions were formed into a Fourth Army, called the Army of the Meuse, which was tactfully placed under the command of Crown Prince Albert of Saxony, who with his Saxon troops had proved a redoubtable opponent of Prussia at Königgrätz in 1866. However, the new army’s chief of staff was a Prussian, General von Schlotheim.

  Moltke immediately made dispositions for pursuit of MacMahon’s forces, which he expected to bring to battle before Paris. Orders creating Fourth Army were issued on 19 August, within hours of the end of fighting at Gravelotte. The new force, counting 86,275 men and 288 guns as of 22 August, would operate on the right of the Crown Prince of Prussia’s Third Army, numbering 137,662 men and 525 guns.6 These two forces, covered by a cavalry screen some 75 kilometres wide, advanced steadily westwards across Lorraine and beyond. The fall of Lunéville, Nancy, Vaucouleurs, Commercy, Bar-le-Duc, Saint-Dizier and Vitry-le-François marked the path of the German armies in the third week of August. When the fortresses of Toul and Verdun resisted attempts to storm them, light forces were left to contain their garrisons in order not to delay the main advance.

  German troops appeared better disciplined than the French on the march, but they were beginning to outrun their supplies, and met their needs however they could. Heavy requisitions for money and supplies were levied on communities they passed through. Nervous French mayors tried to negotiate reductions by pleading hardship or resorted to subterfuge, arousing the ire of the invaders. A Frenchman bitterly remembered German soldiers descending like a ‘famished horde’ or ‘swarm of locusts’. They ‘demanded everything, took everything … and what these Germans couldn’t carry off they smashed’. Every village had its losses to bewail.7 In print and image, the spiked-helmeted Prussian was increasingly portrayed as a barbarian beast.

  On their side, the Germans noted that the population grew more hostile as they marched deeper into France. Telegraph wires were cut and isolated messengers riding through forests were picked off by small groups of Frenchmen. Even the ‘Liberal’ Crown Prince of Prussia believed that the German army had no alternative to harsh measures:

  The arming of the inhabitants of this neighbourhood has already assumed greater proportions, compelling us to take energetic steps to enforce the surrender of all weapons. Single shots are fired, generally in a cunning, cowardly fashion, on patrols, so that nothing else is left us to do but to adopt retalia
tory measures by burning down the house from which the shots came, or else by [employing] the lash and forced contributions. It is horrible, but, to prevent greater mischief, is unavoidable, and is consistent with our proclamation of martial law.8

  Many a French village discovered to its cost what this policy meant in practice.

  German rage and exasperation at shots fired at them by men without uniforms found vent on 25 August. The commander of a battalion of Gardes Mobiles from the threatened garrison of Vitry unwisely evacuated his men eastwards, hoping to reach the railway and Sainte-Menehould and ride back to Paris. The men carried converted muskets, with which they had little practice. Only their officers had uniforms, while the men simply wore cockades to signify their military status. That afternoon they ran into Prussian cavalry, who made short work of these amateurs, taking them in front and rear. Over a thousand prisoners were taken. The Germans suffered three dead, including a popular officer, while the French had twenty-two casualties. Infuriated by being shot at by men they did not consider soldiers, the Germans lashed out with blows and insults. Possibly only the intervention of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, who happened to be passing, prevented a massacre on the spot. Eventually the column of prisoners was marched off. As they passed through the village of Passavant a shot was fired – by whom is disputed – killing one of the escort. Some of the prisoners tried to escape into vineyards. Their guards, a detachment of the 16th Hussars abetted by some nearby Guards Dragoons, then hunted down the prisoners with carbine and sabre, killing or wounding over one hundred unarmed men ‘like game’ before their officers could stop the butchery.9

  Next day Bismarck himself harangued the French survivors of what became known as the ‘Passavant Massacre’: ‘You will all be hanged. You are not soldiers but assassins.’10 The threat was not carried out, but he let it be known that any combatants not recognizable at a distance as soldiers would be subject to martial law: that is, executed. The French imperial government was sufficiently concerned to respond on 30 August that if the Germans refused to recognize the citizen soldiers of the Garde Mobile, reprisals would be taken on prisoners of the German equivalent, the Landwehr.11 Bismarck’s press secretary commented that ‘It is evident that the war is now beginning, in consequence of the practices of these Francs-tireurs [sic], to take a savage turn.’12

  The fact of invasion was turning this into a war in which Frenchmen, as much as Germans, felt that the integrity of their nation was at stake. Empress Eugénie’s proclamation of 7 August that ‘There is amongst us but one party, that of France; and but one flag, that of national honour’13 was more a plea for unity than a statement of fact: some mayors actively discouraged resistance in order to protect their towns from damage, there was reluctance to join the National Guard in some Departments, and hard-core republicans took satisfaction from the defeat of the imperial armies. Nevertheless, most Frenchmen, including the many who had been untouched by the war hysteria of July and those who cared little for the Empire, saw resistance as a patriotic duty. Voluntary enlistments reached 28,000 in August. Palikao used the language of ‘National Defence’ and spared no efforts to raise the men and resources to sustain the struggle. Yet for the immediate support of MacMahon he had only the half-formed 13 Corps under General Vinoy, whose leading division set off from Paris to Rheims on 25 August. More time was needed to organize new units, but time was running out as the campaign approached its critical phase.

  The Germans Wheel North

  As the Germans resumed their westward advance on 23 August they were well informed about the French concentration at Châlons. They knew what units were being organized there, and of the Emperor’s presence. They aimed to turn the French southern flank and either fight them before they reached the capital or deflect them from it. ‘We can be in front of Paris in about eight days,’ wrote Roon expectantly.14 However, it was soon confirmed that the French had withdrawn to Rheims. On 24 August German cavalry rode into the smoking ruins of Châlons Camp, where they found quantities of stores that had survived both flames and pillage.

  Moltke assumed, logically, that the French shift of position was intended to cover Paris and threaten the German northern flank. It seemed most likely that MacMahon would fall back on the capital. Little weight could be attached to a captured letter from a French officer in Metz expressing a hope of rescue by the Army of Châlons. Nevertheless, Moltke’s deputy, Quartermaster General von Podbielski, argued that, for political reasons, MacMahon might attempt to relieve Bazaine. Moltke’s operations officer, Bronsart von Schellendorff, noted that day, ‘The possibility that MacMahon will advance around our right flank must be considered seriously. Indications are to be found in the French and English newspapers.’15

  Yet on the intelligence available Moltke was disinclined to jump to a conclusion that seemed to him inherently improbable. He wrote later, ‘In war it is for the most part with probabilities only that the strategist can reckon; and the probability, as a rule, is that the enemy will do the right thing.’16 To his mind, a hazardous French attempt to relieve Bazaine would be the wrong move for them. Besides, to change the line of march of 225,000 German troops and divert them into the Argonne where supply would be difficult was hardly to be undertaken on the basis of unsubstantiated reports. If those reports were wrong – or even a French ploy – the advance on Paris would be delayed, the army exhausted to no purpose, and the enemy given time to consolidate. For the moment, therefore, Moltke took only the prudent steps of pulling in his left and warning Fourth Army to send cavalry to probe northwards to establish whether the French were there. Nevertheless, he prepared contingency plans in case a French flanking manoeuvre did materialize. He thought to borrow two corps from Second Army around Metz if necessary to block any French attempt to cross the Meuse. He also drew up march tables for a possible turn northwards. Too tight a turn could send Third Army piling into the transport convoys in rear of Fourth Army and lead to immense confusion. For his left and right wings to keep abreast of each other, all available roads would need to be used and Third Army would need to make a smooth, well-coordinated wheel. Pending positive information about French movements, however, Moltke did no more than prepare to angle his advance towards Rheims rather than Châlons.

  Thus for three days the Germans continued westwards while MacMahon, undetected, was advancing in the opposite and parallel direction two days’ march to the north. Only late on the third day, 25 August, after Moltke had sat down to his nightly game of whist in the pleasant town of Bar-le-Duc, did the situation become clearer. Copies of French newspapers had been procured containing reports that lent credence to the idea of a French rescue attempt. Palikao had spoken freely of his plan in Paris and, for all that he would blame MacMahon’s sloth for its failure, his own indiscretions and the irresponsibility of the Paris press were equally culpable. There arrived too, via London, a telegram passing on a report dated 23 August from a Paris newspaper, Le Temps, asserting that MacMahon had left Rheims that day to go to Bazaine’s assistance, and implying that his destination was Montmèdy. If this were correct, could Moltke take the risk of continuing westwards, leaving MacMahon in his rear and closer to Metz than him?

  Moltke reasoned that if this report were true French forces would be found to the north, around Buzancy and Vouziers. His staff officers were relaxing for the evening, enjoying a sing-song on the benches of the local grammar school, when they were summoned, and hastily buckled on their swords in readiness to ride through the night with messages. Moltke sent orders to Fourth Army to commence the turn to the right next day, subject to confirmation of the French movement by cavalry reconnaissance. He advised Third Army of what was planned, but gave it only discretionary orders. The Chief of General Staff was fortunate that both his army commanders, the Crown Princes of Saxony and Prussia, acted decisively. Both were convinced that the French were attempting a flanking move, and set their columns in motion northwards without delay. It was, wrote one of Moltke’s officers, ‘a striking proof of how
unanimous all were in their views of the situation, and as to the steps to be taken’.17 In marked contrast to the French, the Germans had a strong sense that the enemy’s army, not any geographical position, was their overriding objective.

  There was some elation among the German staff, and a sense that the French move was practicable ‘only if their troops were quicker in marching than our own, and we ourselves blind’.18 Crown Prince Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia thought the French attempt ‘foolhardy’, observing that Moltke ‘even thinks to set a mouse-trap for them and to be able to make prisoner the enemy’s Army’.19

  On 26 and 27 August, as we have seen, contact with the French was re-established, and skirmishes with the French 7 and 5 Corps took place, confirming their position. To the north-west, German cavalry picked up the trail of the French march from Rheims. From the north-east came welcome confirmation that the French had not yet reached the Meuse. Behind the German cavalry, which now clung to the enemy ‘like a swarm of flies on a summer evening’,20 the long, dark infantry columns began to stream northwards.

  With the gaggle of Englishmen accompanying the headquarters of Queen Victoria’s son-in-law, the Crown Prince of Prussia, rode the correspondent of the London Times, William Howard Russell of Crimean fame. In Bar-le-Duc on the evening of 26 August, Russell was struck by the sight of ‘Count Bismarck standing in a doorway out of the rain whiffing a prodigious cigar, seemingly intent on watching the bubbles which passed along the watercourse by the side of the street’.21 In the drama now unfolding Bismarck could be only a spectator as hour after hour the men in the ranks put one foot in front of the other in a war of legs. The weather, the bad roads, the mud, the hunger, the weight of their packs, were little easier for them to bear than for the French, but they had a sense that their commanders knew their business, and that if they could catch the French their efforts might bring the war’s end closer.