Book Reviews: Albrecht Adam & Faber du Faur - Visual Memoirs of Russia,1812

Napoleon's Army In Russia, The Illustrated Memoirs of Albrecht Adam, 1812

Riderless horse at Mojaisk, Albrecht Adam. This beautiful but rather sad oil painting is not in the book under review!

Albrecht Adam was a German artist, born 1786, in Nördlingen (Swabia, Bavaria), who started out training to be a confectioner, in Nuremberg, before switching to the Academy of Fine Arts, and taking up painting. He was somehow involved in the Austrian campaign of 1809 - in what capacity and on which side, I don't know - before settling in Vienna, where he caught the eye of no less a personage than Eugène de Beauharnais.

Napoleon's stepson appointed Adam as his court painter, and in 1812 he was given an officer's commission, and attached to the Bavarian contingent of Napolon's Grand Armée as an official war artist for the invasion of Russia. He would later publish the resultant artworks as a memoir of the campaign, comprising 83 images. He worked to a ripe old age, mostly painting battlefield or equestrian scenes, often helped out in later years by his sons, eventually dying in Munich in 1862, aged 76.

Albrecht Adam (photo: Franz Hanfstaengl, 1850)

Enchanted and fascinated by the tiny but tantalising reproductions, usually in monochrome, of the illustrated memoirs of Albrecht Adam and Faber du Faur, frequently reproduced in the numerous books on Napoleon's 1812 campaign I've been reading, I was thrilled when I discovered - at a Salute show several years ago - that both have been lavishly reproduced, in landscape format hardback. And what's more, both were selling at slightly reduced prices. So I snaffled them both up!

The only downside to Adam's account is that he left the campaign early, meaning that, unlike Faber du Faur, he doesn't document the slide into bedlam that was the retreat. But, in fairness to Adam, although one might well wish for more, that's because what there is is terrific. Whilst du Faur was with the artillery of the Wurttemberg contingent p, in Ney's III Corps, Adam - the former apprentice baker! - was with Eugene's IV Corps; hanging out mostly with the Italians, judging by all the Italian troops in his pictures. Actually, as already alluded to above, he was actually attached to the Viceroy's staff.

Dokzice. It should be remembered that Adam's images are from the advance, not the retreat!

Like the Faber du Faur volume, and despite the two books appearing under the aegis of two different publishers, this work is superbly edited and translated by the very erudite and capable Jonathan North, who prefaces both accounts with short but comprehensive synopses of the whole 1812 campaign, also placing the authors within their particular contexts.

As mentioned above, Adam's narrative concludes early, in Moscow to be precise. At which juncture, thanks to a certain independence in his position, he's able to get leave to depart, before Napoleon and the army as a whole cave in to the seemingly inevitable, and turn for home. But, as most accounts, - including this one - make clear, the first signs of the Grande Armée's descent into ruin are apparent long before this point.

A guard tends the bivouac at fire at Eugene's HQ. I think the version of this in this edition differs from this version.

Eugene's Corps crossing the Niemen.

Adam supplies an epilogue outlining his return journey, and some reflections on the whole experience. And, unlike Faber du Faur's book, there's even a self-portrait, amongst the superb artworks collected here. All this serves to really flesh out the humanity of the story, and of Adams himself, who comes across as a very likeable character. When relating his meeting with friends and companions, old and new, including, in the quote below, some itinerant Jewish salesmen he meets on several occasions, his humanity comes across wonderfully:

'It may have pleased them that I showed none of the prejudice that is generally shown in society to the Jews. This was not hard for me; I have always seen only the human being in a man, without regard for religion, nationality, or class, and have always found it easy to make friends as soon as I recognise a good heart and fine feelings in anyone. This policy has never let me down.'

With that kind of reasonable outlook, it's no wonder he got out of the madhouse when he did!

Near Pilony, by the Niemen. The cost in horseflesh was catastrophic, both for France and her future war-readiness, and for horse-lovers, like Adam.

Approx 28cm x 22cm, this is a somewhat smaller book than the Faber du Faur volume, and has only 72 plates compared with the latter's 92. Print, paper, and binding quality, like the artwork and written content, are of a uniform and very high standard: brilliant stuff!


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With Napoleon in Russia, the Illustrated Memoirs of Faber du Faur

Christian Wilhelm von Faber du Faur, was, like Albrecht Adam, a German artist. Born in 1780, in Stuttgart, he initially took up painting, before becoming a soldier. It was in the latter role, as a lieutenant in the 25th (or Württemberg) Division of III Corps, in the Grande Armée, that he took part in the 1812 campaign in Russia.

The  sketches he made on campaign were exhibited (in 1816), and later re-worked as prints, eventually being published, circa 1831-44. Staying in the profession of arms he ultimately attained the rank of general (1849), dying in Stuttgart, in 1857, aged - as was Adam at the time of his death, by a curious coincidence - 76.

From the sublime: Napoleon and the Grand Armée At The Kaluga Gate, Moscow.

To the ridiculous: title...

As I mentioned in relation to Adam's illustrated memoirs, reading widely on the disastrous French invasion of Russia in 1812, I'd become aware of the works of Albrecht Adam and Faber du Faur, their illustrated memoirs frequently supplying such books with evocative imagery. I remember frequently thinking, especially whilst reading Zamoyski's gripping account of the campaign, 'wow, I'd love to see more of these pictures: I wonder if they've been published in book form?'

Well, fortunately for us they have, and both books are superb. As already noted, Faber du Faur's has a distinct advantage over Adam's, which is nonetheless wonderful and well worth having, because, unlike Adam - who, we recall, rather wisely opted to head home before everything started falling apart - he saw the whole campaign through, from it's glorious beginnings to it's abject end.

Crossing the Niemen.

Wondering why they ever crossed the Niemen.

As a result du Faur's work has the fuller coverage, including, as it does, the descent of the Grande Armee into a crazed rabble of patchwork harlequin scarecrows, caught up in a tragically apocalyptic farce, humanity running the full gamut from the heroic to the horrifyingly brutal.

The artworks are really phenomenal, and Greenhill Books has printed the book beautifully: it's large format (in landscape orientation), and Jonathan North's translation of the text reads very well. Such specialist books can sometimes suffer from poor editorial quality control, or slightly odd or even just plain poor, writing. Thankfully the synopsis of the 1812 campaign given here is very good, and there's a decent map of the theatre of operations.

And, this bears repeating, the artwork itself, the heart of the book, is just fabulous.

A beautifully evocative image of Cossacks attacking the straggling French and their allies as they retreat through a misty snowbound wood.

The sad fate of much of Mother Russia, where almost all the buildings in 1812 were wooden.

So many aspects that simply reading about this fascinating subject can't quite convey are brought vividly to life: the realities of life on campaign, mostly spent travelling, camping outdoors - more often than not unprotected from the elements - foraging, bivouacing, eating, etc. The landscapes, the architecture, the importance of logistics - the sheer volume of horses, wagons, and such like is wonderfully evoked - and dealings with the native inhabitants - commerce between the Grande Armee and Russian Jewry is a noticeable feature in both Adams' and Faber du Faur's books - all are depicted.

Almost all the books I've read on this subject, from those written now to these two much older sources, stress how things went terribly wrong right from the start. But visible manifestations of the harrowing descent into a motley bedlam, despite this, only really start to become strongly apparent on the retreat. The haggard, skeletal, fancy dress scarecrows, amidst the appalling squalor, suffering and sheer dehumanising brutality, make for compelling characters, in this excellently draughted material.

I love the logistics of large campaigns, and it's great to see this oft-overlooked aspect depicted.

Another classic image of the retreat.

A stunningly beautiful and well realised edition, this is a classic document of Napoleon's hubristic over-reaching, the pivotal moment, where over a million lives were grist to the mill of what proved to be his unrealisable imperial ambitions. The French and their allies, having rapaciously looted and laid waste to much of Russia, would soon be jettisoning nearly all the booty, in the scramble to survive.

Fortunately for all concerned, this jewel of a book is one of the only real treasures to come back to us from the campaign, and I really can't recommend it highly enough.

As a little footnote: whilst doing picture research for this post I discovered that Bonham's auctioned an original edition (sadly the info on the lot doesn't indicate the date) of this set of artworks, achieving a sale price of $50,000! So, if you can get this for anything under £20-30, I'd say it was a bargain! The info on that sale was illustrated by the rather idyllic looking bivouac pictured below.

Join the army, see the world; the Russian 1812 campaign doesn't look too bad, in a scene like this.

Skirmishing in the suburbs. Fabulous reference for the wargamers or modeller.

Trying to get the artillery uphill... In knee/axle-deep mud!

Joining battle.

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Taken together these two handsome volumes make for a marvellously evocative depiction of the Russian campaign. Whether you were to acquire them singly or together, no matter; if you're remotely interested in Russia, 1812, just get 'em!

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: Bonaparte and the British - Clayton & O'Connell

'Museums have exploited Napoleon's fame from 1815 to the present...'

Not only does the British Museum continue the above-mentioned tradition, it also owes its very existence, in its current form, to emulation of Napoleon's cultural legacy. [1] 

Bonaparte and the British is a sumptuously illustrated compendium of Napoleonic-themed visual delights, produced to accompany the show of the same name at the British Museum (the show runs from 5th Feb to 16th Aug, 2015). The vast majority of the exhibits, splendidly reproduced in this very handsome volume, are prints, a medium that was then enjoying a golden age in Britain.

In the background of Gillray's Slippery Weather we see Hannah Humphrey's

print-shop window. As ever an appreciative crowd is assembled to admire the

many topical caricatures, a good deal of which are Gillray's own designs.

The book begins, after a brief scene-setting introduction, with two short chapters about the British and French uses of prints at the time. Their titles, 'The London Print Trade: Commerce, Patriotism and Propaganda', and 'Napoleon and the Print as Propaganda' give you an idea of their general content, as well as signalling an intent to give an even-handed treatment to a traditionally partisan subject. After that the prints and other exhibits, 165 in total - beginning with a print of Napoleon as First Consul, and ending with a plaster cast of his death mask - are grouped into 10 sections, following the chronology of Napoleon's life during the tumultuous period of history which has subsequently borne his name:

The young general

Egypt

Consul and peacemaker

Little Boney and the invasion threat

Emperor

Trafalgar and Austerlitz: triumph and disaster

Spain and Russia

Leipzig and the collapse of empire

Peace of Paris, Elba and Waterloo

After Waterloo 

Canova's neo-classical portrait bust of Napoleon.

I don't know whether it's a change in me, a change in the institution of the BM itself, or something else entirely, but ever since hearing the museum's director, Neil MacGregor, present the absolutely wonderful series A History of the World in 100 Objects [2], I've found myself able to become interested in, even sometimes fascinated by, a far wider range of exhibits than I was before.

In the exhibition and this catalogue there are, as well as the very numerous prints, a number of ancillary objects, such as coins, medals, pottery and suchlike - even some genuine Napoleonic 'relics' - as well as a few examples of the more ordinary categories like drawings and sculpture, which, if you take the trouble to read about them, offer up all kinds of fascinating insights.

But the stars of the show are undoubtedly the beautifully reproduced prints. These range from earnestly pro-Napoleonic images, mostly but not exclusively French, via examples of straightforward classical allegory and beautifully depicted battle scenes, to the satirical prints of numerous nations, chiefly - and unsurprisingly given the title of the book and exhibition - British. The works of these British artists, and James Gillray's most of all, show very clearly why this is regarded as a golden age of English satirical printmaking.

The whole of The Plumb Pudding In Danger,

a cropped version of which appears of the

cover of this excellent book.

Gillray is undoubtedly the star of the earlier part of this period, with Cruikshank (son George, as opposed to father Isaac) perhaps taking over this position in the later stages. Gillray in particular, whose life story would make an interesting subject in itself, is confirmed as the master of the satirical print. His memorable images - 'The Plum Pudding In Danger' (above), for example, which features on the cover - are biting and exuberant: masterpieces of invention, design and execution, as well as fascinating studies in the attitudes of the day, they crown both book and show.

The modern notion, an idea that's only really held sway for a tiny proportion of the history of art, in which an artist is not only the maker of their art but the originator of the ideas, is dangerous when applied here. Gillray's first images show sympathy for the Enlightenment ideals of Revolutionary France, but the vast bulk of British satirical prints, including his, are very much the propaganda of the establishment Tory right. 

Whatever artists like Gillray felt personally, they were, for the most part, acting on the instructions and in the pay of the British establishment. Gillray himself, for example, being the recipient of a government 'pension'. This was actually a wage, and not what we think of as a pension: he was abandoned to poverty and insanity in the end! The text of Bonaparte and the British illuminates the close relationships between artists and politicians, with much of Gillray's most political work being very minutely directed by the high ranking Tory George Canning.

Maniac ravings: alas poor Gillray, twas he who

actually went insane, and not 'Little Boney'!

Some of the satirical printmakers lend their talents to polemicists on either side of the political divide, and there certainly were also dissenting voices. It's fascinating to view and read this material and contemplate the interplay between the apparent freedom of the prints to say many diverse and sometimes shocking things, and the reality of control and repression, a story played out in Britain and elsewhere (e.g. Czarist Russia) as well as Napoleonic Europe. [3] 

In some ways the Napoleonic wars are far from over: Andrew Roberts' recent Napoleon The Great seeks to rehabilitate Bonaparte for an English readership that can't quite shake off images - the 'Corsican Upstart' or 'Little Boney' - so assiduously fostered by much of the printed propaganda shown here. Confronted with page after page of the extravagantly exaggerated vitriol known as the 'Black Legend' it's hard not to conclude that Napoleon had become the repository for all the bilious outpourings of anti-enlightenment conservatism. 

Bonaparte's alleged atrocities are rehearsed and recited ad nauseum in many of the prints shown here, alongside frequent evocations of Napoleon as in league with Satan. It's hard not to feel that there was something rotten at the heart of establishment British attitudes towards Napoleon. It was this sort of material that helped turn William Cobbet from a royalist to a reformer: having been appalled at the way Napoleon was being caricatured, he would soon see himself mercilessly lampooned in the works of Gillray and others. 

George Cruikshank: Murat reviewing the Grand Army.

The powers on British right were merciless to their own perceived 'enemies within', such as Cobbett, or the Whig Charles James Fox (see Gillray's Tree of Liberty print, not in this book or show, but reproduced near the end of this post). Napoleon had hoped that he could win over the Ancien Regime powers, and be accepted into their circle, hence his marriage to Marie Louise. 

But ultimately, far from securing a place at the top table, Napoleon evolved into the official and remarkably singular focal point, at first metaphorically and finally, at the Congress of Vienna, literally, for the reactionary backlash of the Ancien Regime against Enlightenment ideas. [4] By making Bonaparte the fall guy, they were able to distract their own peoples from the backward looking autocratic natures of the regimes and social orders those same people were fighting and dying to uphold.

Rowlandson casts Bonaparte as the

spawn of Satan, in The Devils Darling.

A young civic Napoleon, in a watercolour

by Edouard Detaille, wearing the outfit of an

Academcian (This doesn't appear in the book). 

Napoleon's rise to prominence was achieved on the back of his successful defence of post-revolutionary France, so it could be argued that the Ancien Regime powers created him as much as Revolutionary France herself ever did. Who knows if Volney's description of the young Napoleon as 'member of the National Institute, peacemaker of Europe' might not have been a true and accurate description, had post-revolutionary France been left alone? 

Once the brief peace of Amiens ended, when England declared war on France, the perpetual assault on the country viewed as the hotbed of revolution by those Ancien Regime powers was resumed. They never let up until after Waterloo. Apart from a few debacles (in South America and Holland), Britain's active role was limited. Thanks to the audacity of Nelson, which cost him his life, we scored two notable naval successes. But on land our only sizeable contribution, until Waterloo (and even there we were only a small part of a mixed allied force) was the Iberian or Peninsular campaign, which didn't get off to the best of starts.

Gillray's amazing Grand Coronation Procession of Napoleone. Using the Italianate forms of Buonaparte's name was a favourite ruse of Boney-baiting Brit hacks. 

As Napoleon's French media liked to point out, England's chiefly role was as agitator and financial backer (see two prints down). It was the wars France's enemies continually made upon her, funded by British money (the need to fund these wars saw the introduction of income tax here in Britain) that raised Napoleon, and as long as Britain bankrolled successive coalitions - seven formed against France in this period - his gift for swift and decisive warmaking would help him become ever more powerful. So it could be argued that they effectively forced him into becoming the caricature warmonger they had always made him out to be.

On the other hand it has to be borne in mind that he himself said 'Conquest has made me what I am, and conquest alone can maintain me'. But this was, I believe, something he said in his memoirs, when a lifetime of near continual conflict lay behind him. Napoleon also said that 'History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon'. It's interesting that, in relation to the history of his times, the argument rumbles on.

John Bull's Luncheon, another Gillray gem.

I've always felt mystified, even somewhat ashamed, at the way Britain has viewed it's roles in relation to both revolutionary America and revolutionary France: we lost our war with the U.S, and don't talk much about it. But we were instrumental in helping defeat a similar move towards more democratic society in France, and have crowed about it ever since. Of course there were those, from Fox and the Hollands to Byron and Cobbett, who felt at the time that there was something amiss in the caricatured vilification of Napoleon.

Fortunately the book and the show include both the official and the dissenting British views, as well as those of our allies and adversaries. And just as there was here, there was a diversity of opinion amongst the French, from royalists to Bonapartists, and beyond. The image of the British as a 'nation of slaves' fighting and financing wars to prevent the spread of liberty was a central plank in Napoleon's propaganda. This was a view rarely aired this side of The Channel, the or since. It's good that this show doesn't gloss over these other views.

Francois II Partant Pour La Guerre: an anonymous French

engraving shows a fat red-coated personification of Britain

handing Francis II of Austria a bag of money. The figure behind

the curtain talks of conserving British lives at the exepnse of

their allies' populations.

Tim Clayton and Sheila O'Connell have written a clear, informative, and fairly well balanced text. They go further than most British writers in pointing out the multiple readings of these histories that are possible. But it's still, as the exhibition's title says, a resolutely British story. More than the still-vexed politics, which continue to present a conundrum Britain and Europe struggle to solve, it's the pictures of prints and other objects that are the main attraction in this book: there are lots of fantastic memorable images here, as well as some that are less delightful but still very interesting. Gillray's work is what I enjoy looking at the most, even if I don't always like the propaganda he's peddling.

Francois Aubertin, Passage du Grand St. Bernard.

There are also some terrifically beautiful 'straight' prints, such as Francois Aubertin's Passage du Grand St. Bernard, a French print celebrating an early and audacious move by the young Napoleon, or Matthew DuBourg's Field of Waterloo, an incredible work that beautifully depicts a truly appalling scene, the bloody aftermath of the battle that ended Napoleon's career. Dubourg was of French extraction, but worked in England. It's interesting that his mixed cultural heritage resonates with the scene he depicts, in which the various nationalities are reduced to a common suffering. The Field of Waterloo is hardly the sort of triumphalist image that many in Britain favoured. 

Matthew Dubourg, The Field of Waterloo.

Of particular interest to wargamers, perhaps, in addition to the magnificent images by Aubertin and Dubourg (see above), is a series of panoramic Watercolours, painted only days after the battles at Waterloo and Quatre Bras. Rather ghoulishly corpses can be spotted here or there in the fields, and troops and civilians are also evident sparsely populating what had been only days before close-packed scenes of carnage. These watercolours show the battlefields as they were at the time, and would presumably be useful to gamers seeking to recreate the battle and the terrain, as no doubt many will attempt to do this year. [5]

This is a gem of a book, produced to accompany a fascinating show. I already had Mark Bryant's The Napoleonic Wars in Cartoon, which is a fun but comparatively superficial look at much of the same material. This gorgeous volume allows one to explore similar territory in much greater breadth and depth. I love it, and think it's an essential purchase for the Napoleonic history nut.

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Notes:

[1] P. 197:  'Earlier museums had been based on the personal collections of monarchs and aristocrats... Napoleon introduced the notion of a collection of treasures as a public asset that conferred prestige on the nation. The desire to emulate Napoleon's Louvre was at least part of the motive for parliament's support of the development of the British Museum...'

This particular image is not in the show or the book, but it

depicts a view of the British. popular in Napoleonic France,

as badly dressed and unable to relate properly to their

harridan womenfolk.

[2] This utterly brilliant series is available in several formats. Here are a few useful links:

--- The book (paperback from Amazon) - paperback

--- BBC podcasts (my favourite format!) - podcasts

--- And finally, here's a link to the BM page for AHOW - british museum

[3] France and the other European nations had their own traditions of printmaking and satire, and the balance between freedom and censorship outside the British Isles shows, in both similar and different ways, how Napoleonic France, its empire, and these other nations dealt with similar issues. But obviously the focus here is mostly on Britain and France, with other nations, Russia and Spain for example, being treated in a subsidiary manner.

Gillray's The Tree of Liberty: Whig politician Charles James Fox

earned the undying emnity of the Tory right for his liberal views.

Here he's taken on the guise of the Satanic serpent, tempting

John Bull. This is another image not actually in the book or show.

[4] There were those, from Lord and Lady Holland, to the poet Byron, who loved Napoleon. And even those critical of 'Jacobinism', like William Cobbett, found the excessivly propagandist vilification of an obviously enlightened man distasteful and dishonest. The book illustrates some Napoleonic 'relics' that once belonged to Byron, and quotes his anti-Wellingtonian views as expressed in Canto IX of Don Juan:

'The World, not the World's masters, will decide,

And I shall be delighted to learn who,

Save you and yours, have gained by Waterloo?'

[5] Does anyone know if the observation derrick (behind the French lines) pictured in one of these images was erected before of after the battle?