Abstract
Staff Ride Question: ‘Bazaine is a classic example of the over promoted man of action buckling under the strain of responsibilities his character and intelligence should not have been asked to bear.’ (John Keegan and Andrew Wheatcroft, Who’s Who’s in Military History, 1976) Do the battles around Metz in August 1870 bear out this verdict on Bazaine? What contemporary lessons are there in the selection of officers for high command?
Introduction
On the evening of 14 August 1870, Marshal François Achille Bazaine, appointed commander of the French Army of the Rhine just two days before, seemed at last to have stemmed the tide of French disasters in the war against Prussia.
That day, at Borny, a few miles east of Metz, Bazaine’s forces had halted their retreat. Through a series of determined and bloody counter‐attacks they had successfully held off an onslaught by Prussian forces who until then seemed to have been carrying all before them. Throughout the action, Bazaine had calmly and courageously traversed the battlefield, at one point being hit on the shoulder by a Prussian shell fragment. His behaviour epitomised everything France seemed to expect of a great marshal. That night, Emperor Napoleon III, the last French ruler to bear that mystical name, told Bazaine that he had ‘broken the spell’ of French ill‐fortune.Footnote 1
But it was not to be. Two months later Bazaine surrendered his army of 150,000. After a series of disastrous defeats it had been holed up in the fortress of Metz since late August, contributing next to nothing to the French war effort. Napoleon III was deposed, the Prussians bombarded Paris, which endured a period of bloody disorder and political turmoil. The final peace agreement set many of the conditions that led to war in 1914 and then again in 1939.
Bazaine was vilified and generally held responsible for single‐handedly causing France’s defeat. There were rumours of treason. In 1873 he was tried by court martial, charged with the premature capitulation both of a fortress and an army in the field, as well as with negotiating with the enemy ‘before doing everything required by duty and honour’.Footnote 2 Found guilty, he was sentenced to death, a sentence commuted to life, the rest of which he lived in ignominy and deepening poverty. Unlike that other French scapegoat, Alfred Dreyfus, Achille Bazaine has never been fully rehabilitated.Footnote 3
François Achille Bazaine
Yet before the dismal days of 1870 Bazaine had enjoyed a long and distinguished military career.Footnote 4 His humble origins are sometimes emphasised. But while he might not have been from the top drawer of French society, as such he was no different from many French officers at the time. He joined the infantry as a private in 1831, transferring shortly afterwards to the new Foreign Legion. To rise from private to marshal was unusual, but large numbers of French officers were drawn from the ranks – as were half the marshals of Napoleon I’s day. Indeed it is possible to identify a class of officers – like Bazaine – who moved very quickly through to a commission. In his case it took just two years.Footnote 5
Like many of his contemporaries, his formative military experiences were in Algeria. Occupied from 1830, Algeria proved tricky to pacify and French troops were engaged in operations against Algerian insurgents for many years. Bazaine got his first taste of small unit action in a war of flying columns chasing Arab irregulars across the desert. He was wounded for the first time and soon awarded the Legion d’Honneur. After four years in Spain with the Foreign Legion, fighting the Carlist revolt, he was back in Algeria for most of the 1840s (alongside future fellow marshals François Canrobert and Patrice MacMahon), doing political work and counter‐insurgency operations.
The Crimea was something of a turning point. Bazaine began the war as a colonel commanding the First Regiment of the Foreign Legion. At its end he was a general de division (the higher of France’s two general officer ranks – marshal was next). He fought well at Sevastapol and in 1855 led a force of 8,500 troops in a successful expedition against a Russian fortress. When France went to war against Austria in 1859, Bazaine commanded a division. Once again he was a commander in the best Napoleonic tradition ‐ in the thick of the fighting at Melegnano (where he was wounded in the head) and Solferino (escaping with just a bullet through his saddle‐holster).
In 1861 Napoleon III intervened in Mexico in another imperial adventure. Bazaine led a division in Algerian‐style counter‐insurgency operations against Mexican republicans. In 1863 he was put in charge of all 21,000 of Napoleon’s troops there and conducted a series of highly successful operations. For eight months Bazaine ruled the country until the arrival of Napoleon’s placeman as Emperor of Mexico, Archduke Maximilian. In September 1864 Bazaine was appointed a marshal in recognition of his endeavours. The Mexican episode eventually turned sour as America (now free from civil war) pressed for French disengagement. Napoleon’s attention was anyway increasingly focused on Europe and in 1867 Bazaine was ordered to withdraw the French troops. Shortly afterwards Maximilian was executed by the victorious republicans.
If the Mexican experience had not ended happily, Bazaine had nevertheless again shown his mettle, both in directing military operations and at political work at the highest level. He was made commander of 3rd Army Corps at Nancy, and told that, in the event of hostilities with Prussia, he would command the Army of Lorraine, one of three planned large formations – the others to be led by Canrobert and MacMahon.
The Franco‐Prussian War
France by then was becoming increasingly pre‐occupied with Prussia. Napoleon was a fair judge of things military (though was to prove a hopeless commander‐in‐chief) and understood the threat posed by an expansionist Prussia whose capabilities had been amply demonstrated by a speedy and crushing defeat of Austria in 1866.Footnote 6 A Franco‐Prussian confrontation seemed inevitable. Between them Napoleon and Bismarck managed to bring things to a head over a dispute about the Hohenzollern candidate for the crown of Spain. Thanks to Bismarck’s manoeuvring, it was Napoleon who attempted to take the initiative, declaring war on Prussia on 19 July 1870. But France had little by way of a detailed plan of campaign. And from the start French operations bore all the hallmarks of farce.
Feeling the hand of history on his shoulder, Napoleon dictated that instead of the previously agreed three army organisation, there would be a single French army of eight corps – the ‘Army of the Rhine’ – and he would personally be in overall command. About the extent of the French war plan was to advance to take Saarbrücken and then wait and see what the Prussians did in response.Footnote 7 Bazaine’s orders for his corps’ advance were apparently meticulous, though they omitted to mention ‘either the position of the enemy or the object to be achieved’.Footnote 8 The French advance was marked by a general chaos and lack of coherence that characterised their operations throughout the conflict.
There followed a series of Prussian attacks on the French forces which, despite French tenacity, resulted in comprehensive Prussian victories. On 6 August French forces in the north were defeated at Spicheren, and fell back towards Metz. On the same day, three corps to the south under MacMahon were beaten at Froeschwiller and fell back to Châlons‐sur‐Marne. The Army of the Rhine was now divided in two and would never reform. By now Napoleon – the supreme commander to whom everyone looked for the grand plan – had pretty well given up the ghost. Unwilling to return to Paris after such heavy defeats, he decided instead to relinquish command of the Army of the Rhine and go to Châlons to raise another French army.Footnote 9
Commander of the Army of the Rhine
In his place as commander of the Army of the Rhine from 12 August Napoleon III appointed Franc,ois Achille Bazaine.Footnote 10 Bazaine seemed the only possible choice. Of other potential candidates, Canrobert, displaying self‐knowledge perhaps unusual in marshals of the period, turned the command down.Footnote 11 Marshal Edmond Leboeuf was out of the question following his near criminal pronouncement as minister of war that the French Army was ready ‘to the last gaiter button’.Footnote 12 MacMahon’s reputation had been dented by his failure at Froeschwiller and he was in any case now at Châlons with the southern element of the army.
Bazaine must have seemed a sound choice. For if he perhaps did not quite look the part, here was a man who in many ways had become the very model of a French marshal.Footnote 13 He had the personal courage and sangfroid to inspire the troops on the battlefield. He led from the front in the way expected of generals in the Napoleonic tradition. And he led with success. Brigades and divisions under his command had fought hard actions and won victories across three continents. But he was not simply a fighting soldier – he had directed all French operations in Mexico, and had in effect ruled the country for a time. And as well as enjoying the trust of Napoleon, Bazaine also had French political supporters, particularly on the left. So here was a man with the proven ability to lead troops, direct operations, win victories and handle himself in politics.
Unfortunately for France these skills were to prove insufficient for the task. Nothing in Bazaine’s experience had prepared him for command on the scale (five corps) he was about to assume. And he needed more than the qualities of a good divisional commander in limited expeditionary warfare to save France in a full‐scale war of national survival against a determined and modernised Prussian Army.
Crucially, to Bazaine, his new appointment seemed little more than a formality. In the great tradition, he expected Napoleon to be the one developing the plan and giving the orders. And as was the case for marshals of the First Empire (1804–15) Bazaine himself did not expect to have any glimpse of Napoleon’s thinking until the Emperor was ready to tell him. For his part, Napoleon continued to interfere, issuing orders which undercut Bazaine, leading to justifiable uncertainty about how much authority the marshal really had.Footnote 14 After some indecision, Napoleon ordered Bazaine to fall back to Verdun, and then join him at Châlons. Meanwhile, von Moltke ordered the Prussian Second Army under Prince Frederick Charles to launch an offensive towards Verdun, so as to catch the French army on the road from Metz.Footnote 15
On 14 August Bazaine began the withdrawal, in what had become the usual logistics and administrative chaos – confusion that was to inflict critical delays on the French. Bazaine did not help matters during this period by sidelining General L. Jarras, the competent chief of staff imposed on him by Napoleon, choosing to work instead through other staff officers he had himself selected.Footnote 16 The Battle of Borny seemed to provide a fleeting ray of hope to the French. But Bazaine failed to capitalise on it, still looking to Napoleon to make the big decisions. The marshal issued his own orders to continue the retreat only after some delay and presided over a line of march that put 160,000 troops on the same single route.Footnote 17
Bazaine’s forces made their way through Metz with difficulty. They were met by the Prussian advance early on 16 August at the Battle of Mars‐la‐Tour (aka Rezonville) on the road to Verdun. The Prussian lead corps commander, General Constantin von Alvensleben, fully believed that the French retreat would have covered more ground and assumed the forces he was intercepting were the French rearguard. In fact it was the main body of Bazaine’s army. Soon, just 30,000 Prussians were attacking a French army four times that number.
But Bazaine failed to exploit the disparity. Preoccupied by defence, and over‐estimating the strategic significance of the fortress at Metz, his prime concern throughout the battle was that the Prussians might cut off his lines of communication back to the safety of the fortress.Footnote 18 That caused him to focus unnecessarily on protecting his left flank, which was in fact well up to the job of defending the route to Metz, while failing to take advantage of the Prussians’ much more real vulnerabilities. Von Alvensleben, however, was well aware of his weakness and in a series of brave and decisive assaults he repeatedly seized the initiative, saving the Prussians from what seemed near inevitable defeat. The Prussians were reinforced and bitter fighting continued until nightfall. But by the end of it the Prussians held firm on the road through Mars‐la‐Tour to Verdun. Bazaine showed his characteristic personal bravery, galloping around the battlefield frequently in the thick of things, but his inability to grasp the big picture coupled with an excessive defensiveness meant that, at best, he had snatched stalemate from the jaws of victory.
The best route to Verdun was cut by the Prussians. With a supply column in chaos and in the face of dire (but ill‐founded) warnings about shortages of ammunition, Bazaine concluded that the only option was to turn back towards Metz, regroup and hope to head for Verdun via an alternative route to the north.Footnote 19 On 17 August Bazaine’s army retreated a short distance, establishing itself in positions in a line from the River Moselle north to the village of St Privat. The next day battle was joined again. Gravelotte–St Privat was another good French opportunity wasted. Bazaine’s defensive positions were a testament to his understanding of ground. And opposing him was the Prussian First Army, led by General Karl von Steinmetz, a general whose incompetence almost equalled that of his French opposite numbers.Footnote 20 After three failed attacks on the French the Prussians were in a state of disarray and extremely vulnerable.
But Bazaine failed to grasp the scale of what was happening and, focused on defence as always, chose to stay put rather than take advantage of the situation by counter‐attacking.Footnote 21 And he showed his lack of judgement in other ways – reputedly spending much of that morning engrossed in details of honours and promotions following Mars‐la‐Tour, rather than paying attention to the unfolding battle.Footnote 22 At the end of a day of intense fighting the French right wing finally collapsed at St Privat. The Prussians had been badly mauled, losing 20,000 men to French losses of at least 12,000. But Bazaine had missed another opportunity to capitalise on Prussian failings, and once again had been forced back.
Gravelotte–St Privat marked the end of the Army of the Rhine’s active contribution to the French war effort. Bazaine duly retreated to the fortress of Metz with 150,000 men and was encircled by Prussian forces. He would never fulfil his orders to take the army to Verdun. A breakout was planned for 26 August. But orders were only issued at the last minute, and then countermanded when two generals questioned the wisdom of continuing. After further consultation, Bazaine called the whole thing off. On 30 August he learned that MacMahon was bringing the Army of Châlons to relieve Metz. Bazaine attempted a breakout, but at the Battle of Noisseville, east of Metz, the French failed to follow through their initial attacks, waiting most of the day before finally being ordered by Bazaine to move forward. As the battle continued, the marshal went to bed, having issued some decidedly equivocal and uninspiring orders.Footnote 23 Next day the Prussians counter‐attacked and Bazaine ordered a French withdrawal back to Metz.
Over the next few weeks the French Army of the Rhine occupied itself with day‐to‐day routine in Metz as the Second Empire collapsed. Napoleon surrendered after the catastrophic French defeat at Sedan on 1 September and was sent to Prussia, a prisoner. A republican Government of National Defence was formed in Paris, which was itself besieged by the Prussians. By October, supplies in Metz were running low. Bazaine eventually opened discussions with Prussian Minister‐President Count Otto von Bismarck and on 27 October the Army of the Rhine surrendered. For Bazaine the war was over. The retribution would soon begin.
Post Mortem
There can be little dispute that Bazaine’s leadership of the Army of the Rhine was disastrous. The question is why this was so. It is not hard to identify Bazaine’s personal failings. When faced with the challenge of commanding an army, his leadership style was characterised by a failure to take the initiative in battle, missed opportunities, a preoccupation with defence at the expense of attack, indecisiveness, lack of grip, an absence of anything by way of a coherent plan – let alone a ‘big idea’, woeful staff work, a tendency to make suggestions rather than give orders, a habit of taking refuge in low level military routine and of indulging in much unnecessary exposure to personal risk on the field of battle.
There are a few mitigating factors that ought to be taken into account. Bazaine clearly felt uncomfortable in issuing firm order to some of his subordinate corps commanders. Yet this is unsurprising given that many of them had been his superior officers until very recently.Footnote 24 Bazaine’s preoccupation with defence can partly be explained by his pretty shrewd assessment of the seriousness of the French situation, coupled with Napoleon’s repeated emphasis on the need to preserve the army. On appointing him commander of the Army of the Rhine Napoleon declared ‘I give in to your trust the last army of France, think of the Prince Imperial.’Footnote 25 A daunting burden for Bazaine to bear. Bazaine cannot be held responsible for the significant systemic problems in French organisation, supply and staff work – though he did exacerbate them through his own actions.
Having said that, the fact remains that Bazaine’s repeated mishandling of the cards dealt him contributed significantly to France’s defeat. Bazaine showed great personal bravery and sangfroid, had a good eye for ground and a sound grasp of military detail. But while these undoubted personal strengths served him well in his earlier commands they were simply not enough for military leadership at the highest level in the French Army of 1870. He seems to have been at his best commanding at most one or two divisions in short sharp operations or counter‐insurgency warfare. In such limited actions his style of leading from the front could make a real difference, organisation and staff work requirements were on a relatively small scale, and there was little by way of complicated logistics to worry about. And Bazaine himself was, of course, commanding only at the tactical level, taking orders from others. Before 1870 he commanded no more than around 21,000 troops in military operations. The Army of the Rhine was 150,000 strong – a wholly different beast needing command abilities of a very high order.
But it is not enough simply to blame Bazaine alone for the events around Metz in 1870. We need instead to put his personal failings into the context of the time. The really interesting question is how the great French Army could promote a man like Bazaine to marshal and think him capable of a major command.
Bazaine’s shortcomings were not untypical of marshals of the day. Marshal MacMahon displayed great personal courage but presided over the French carnage at Froeschwiller, and ‘tragically showed his incompetence as an army commander’. General Pierre de Failly, commander of 5th Corps ‘was to gain national execration by his incompetence’.Footnote 26 General Charles Bourbaki, hero of Algeria and the Crimea, chief of the Imperial Guard and commander of the Second Army during the later stages of the war, was equally flawed.Footnote 27 There is a pattern among French commanders of 1870 that combines gallantry under fire and a determination to lead from the front with an inability to organise, conceive of effective plans, issue clear orders or take the initiative in battle. The cause of this has much to do with the culture of leadership in the army at the time, which, in turn, was inspired by the legend of the First Empire and Napoleon Bonaparte’s way of fighting war.
Bonaparte was of course an extraordinary leader. And he personally was the key driving force behind his armies. He had enormous energy, and that all‐important ability to combine broad strategic vision with an attention to the details that count. Like Bazaine and the Second Empire marshals he was often in the thick of things, understood ground and sometimes spent time on personal reconnaissance or siting individual units on the battlefield. But unlike them he combined this with vision, grip, energy and decisiveness. Napoleon’s style was to centre the decision‐making on himself. He did not generally involve his marshals in that process and they did not expect to be involved.Footnote 28
That tradition had not really changed in 1870. Marshals then naturally looked to Napoleon III to play the role of great leader. But Napoleon III was incapable of that. Instead he simply created more confusion, interfering in organisation, assuming command of the armies himself, but failing to develop any coherent plan of action, let alone producing the sort of clear and detailed orders his uncle issued in quantity. And by 1870 Louis Napoleon was a very sick man of 62, which contributed to the collapse of his will.Footnote 29 The French higher command culture was built around the expectation of a single military genius at the top of the pyramid having the ideas and issuing the orders. The absence of that had been manageable in the small wars of the Second Empire. But in the conflagration of 1870 it was catastrophic. The French marshals were incapable, by training and temperament, of filling the void.
The fundamental failings of the Second Empire army’s staff system, logistics and general administration have been well documented.Footnote 30 It is hard to convey the sheer inadequacy of these when put to the test in 1870. Supply and administration were in a permanent state of chaos. The French staff of 1870 was simply an imitation of its predecessor under Bonaparte. It had little more than an administrative and secretarial function, and bore no resemblance to the capable and proactive machine developed by Helmuth von Moltke in Prussia. There was no real training for senior French officers of the Second Empire. Bazaine might have commanded 25,000 troops in manoeuvres but such displays bore no resemblance to the realities of war. And although there were French writings on strategy available at the time, it was unfashionable for marshals to take much interest in them.Footnote 31 Other factors, political and economic, also served to inhibit reform of the French Army. All these played a significant part in the disasters of 1870.
It is worth asking why the French had not identified these fundamental weaknesses in their structure. The short answer is that up until 1870 the French Army seemed to be highly effective. Britain was considerably exercised by the perceived French military threat. France had won victories across the globe, both in the empire and on mainland Europe. But the French failed to understand that none of these had been wars of great scale that had required much in the way of effective staff work, administration, management of logistics or coordination of armies across a series of major battles against a front‐rank European military power – exactly the sort of threat Prussia was likely to present.
By today’s standards Bazaine was clearly over promoted. But hardly by the standards of his day, where in fact he seemed to fit very well what was expected of a marshal of France. He had many personal failings, but his fellow marshals shared most of them. It is hard to blame him for acting in the way that his 40 years of service taught him was required of a French marshal. The most significant cause of the disaster of 1870 was the French military system itself, by perpetuating a culture of command and organisation formed in the days of Bonaparte and wholly unsuited to the circumstances and personalities of 1870.
Lessons
What does all this tell us for today? Many of the lessons need little explanation. Bazaine’s story exemplifies the impact made by a senior commander’s personal qualities. The contrast between Bazaine and von Alvensleben of the Prussian 3rd Corps at Mars‐la‐Tour is telling in that respect. Then there is the fundamental point that different types of command, at different levels, require different mixes of skills and qualities. It is highly unusual for an individual to possess the right qualities for highly effective leadership at all levels. Some are more effective in junior posts than senior, and the reverse can also be true. Bazaine was very capable at a particular type of warfare with a particular level of command. But quite unsuited to the highest level of leadership under the circumstances in which he was expected to operate.
Simply because someone has done well in one type of command does not mean he will function effectively in a different or higher one. Yet all to often it can be hard to resist the promotion of those who have distinguished themselves, even though there may be little evidence that they are really suited to operating at the higher level. Bazaine – and some of his fellow marshals – are good examples of men promoted on the basis of past success which in fact gave no indication of their ability to function at the level to which they were being elevated.
So any successful army needs a good understanding of the different leadership skills required, a way to identify and bring forward people who have them, and a method for developing as far as possible those who have weak areas. And it needs to recognise that different types of warfare, as well as different levels of command, need different sorts of people. That means armies need leaders with a range of complementary skills rather than senior ranks filled with people who fit just one stereotype.
John Keegan wrote about ‘the mask of command’ – the idea that leaders present themselves in a way that the societies of their time expect them to appear.Footnote 32 Organisations and societies form clear images of the type of leaders they believe to be successful. They then search out such people and promote them. Equally, the leadership of any organisation tends instinctively to seek replicas of itself when looking for a new generation to take over. Such behaviour is generally based on seeking people who fit a stereotype that is perceived to have previously delivered success.
That is understandable. But there are risks that the wrong conclusions can be drawn from past success. And times when the circumstances have changed so that what delivered success in the past can no longer do so – and something different is needed. Such was the case for France in 1870. Bazaine fitted the stereotype of a French marshal. But France was still looking for First Empire marshals to operate in a First Empire command system when in fact their opponents had rewritten the rule book. The old ways of doing business were no longer up to the job in anything other than small‐scale or colonial warfare.
Yet in 1870 the French perceived themselves to be successful enough, so failed to grasp the imperative for change. There are parallels elsewhere. British Army reform was inhibited by the Duke of Cambridge, Commander‐in‐Chief from 1856 to 1895, who ‘set his face firmly against military reform…arguing that the army’s success had been repeatedly demonstrated on the battlefield and could be ensured by a repetitious round of field‐days and inspections’. Success in a series of minor colonial wars was used to demonstrate, falsely, that no fundamental modernisation was needed.Footnote 33 One hundred years later the American military leadership in Vietnam made a similar mistake, assuming the techniques that delivered success in World War II and Korea would inevitably do the same in the very different circumstances of Indochina.
Organisations rarely have the foresight or courage to break the mould other than in the aftermath of a disaster that proves beyond doubt that something new is needed. It is only natural to interpret periods of apparent success as proof that the basic formula is right and needs only to be replicated to guarantee continued success in the future. But therein lie the seeds of complacency and narrowness of vision that can lead to disaster. So perhaps the most important lesson from Bazaine’s story is that the greatest leadership challenge is to have the will and ability to recognise when something new is required and then to do something about it. Even when change means accepting that your own way of leading needs to move with the times as well.
Notes
1 Michael Howard, The Franco‐Prussian War [1961] (London: Routledge 1991 edn.) p.144.
2 Philip Guedalla, The Two Marshals: Bazaine and Petain (Hodder & Stoughton 1943) p.235.
3 Though Generals Edmond Ruby and Jean Regnault, Bazaine, coupable ou victime? (Paris: Peyronnet 1960) cleared the marshal of treason. See Howard, Franco‐Prussian War (note 1) p.283.
4 This account of Bazaine’s career is mainly drawn from Guedalla, Two Marshals (note 2).
5 For a detailed study of the origins of French army officers of the Second Empire see Richard Holmes, The Road to Sedan: The French Army 1866–1870 (London: Royal Historical Society 1984) pp.97–115. This shows that in 1869 one eighth of French generals were from the ranks, including two marshals. Bonaparte’s marshals from the ranks included Murat, Ney and Soult.
6 See for example Howard (note 1) p.38.
7 Ibid. p.79.
8 Ibid. p.81.
9 Ibid. p.134.
10 Given the split of the Army of the Rhine, Bazaine had in fact five of the eight corps at his disposal.
11 Canrobert made something of a habit of refusing top jobs – successively turning down the chance to be commander of the Army of the Rhine, governor of Paris, and envoy to Empress Eugénie during the chaotic final stages of the siege of Metz. If nothing else this showed he was able to recognise a poisoned chalice when he saw one.
12 Holmes, Road to Sedan (note 5) p.82.
13 Contemporary photographs show Bazaine to be a little overweight with ample jowls and a rather shifty look.
14 See for example Howard (note 1) p.136.
15 Ibid. p.149.
16 Ibid. p.135. Bazaine’s behaviour was not unusual, see Holmes (note 5) p. 69.
17 Howard (note 1) p.147.
18 Ibid. p.156
19 Ibid. p.162.
20 Von Steinmetz repeatedly ignored orders, initiated rash and ill‐thought out actions and was in due course relieved of command by von Moltke as a result.
21 Howard (note 1) p.172.
22 Guedalla (note 2) p.191.
23 ‘If the dispositions which the enemy may have been able to make opposite you permit, we should carry on the operation undertaken yesterday which should (1) lead to the occupation of St Barbe, (2) facilitate our march on Bettlainville. In the contrary case, we must hold our positions, consolidate them, and this evening we shall then retire under St Julien and Queuleu.’ Howard (note 1) p.265.
24 MacMahon had been a general in Algeria when Bazaine was a lieutenant colonel. Leboeuf had been minister of war for ten years at the outbreak of hostilities in 1870 but subsequently served under Bazaine as commander of Third Corps at Gravelotte–St Privat. Canrobert had been the supreme commander of French forces in the Crimea – a war Bazaine had started as a colonel.
25 Guedalla (note 2) p.177.
26 Both quotations Howard (note 1) p.66.
27 See for example his petulant behaviour at Gravelotte–St Privat, which helped to ensure the French collapse. Howard (note 1) p.177.
28 For an account of Bonaparte’s approach see Martin van Creveld, Command in War (Cambridge, MA; Harvard UP 1985) Chapter 3.
29 For Napoleon III’s shortcomings see for example Holmes (note 5) pp.13–17 and 59–61.
30 See in particular Holmes (note 5) passim.
31 On French supply and logistics see Holmes (note5) pp.73– 86, staff pp.63–73, training pp 56–61. and strategic thinking pp.152–65.
32 John Keegan, The Mask of Command (Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin 1988) p.11.
33 Richard Holmes, Redcoat: The British Soldier in the Age of Horse and Musket (London: HarperCollins 2001) p.84.