The Battle Of Bautzen Analysis

La Folie d 'un Soldat

The Battle of Bautzen

Chapter One

The wind whispers something lethal. It carries a hail of projectiles, harbingers of a man inflicted evil. A brief silence follows accordingly, and takes command of the battlefield. The pause is interrupted by the desperate cries of men unwilling to surrender their last breaths, knowing that to do so would mean parting with life. But they 're objections are quickly snuffed out, choked out under a hellish canopy made of gunpowder and soot. This is the worst part. The battle is always the worst part. He knows this all too well to be bothered by the scenes that now unfold before him. The hour calls to him for decisiveness, he must act on it or all is lost. The time for mourning will come

After all, who were they to judge a man of Napoleon’s caliber. The whole world knew the true faces of the British people, but cowardice maintained the status quo, keeping the notion of Anglo superiority afloat. In truth the British were simpletons who paraded in wigs, enjoyed the role of the buffoon under the perception that such conduct was honorable, and waged a ridiculous war against a king who had proven himself able on more than one occasion. And who is it that these Britons fought for, a lunatic, a king startled by his own shadow.

Such was the order of the world for a man whose ambition stretched beyond the the globe itself. A lion, an eagle, an emperor, a hero, a villain, a scoundrel, no one could play so many roles to such perfection, not even the most veteran of actors. The world received Napoleon in a fashion no different from how Napoleon received the world, on the battlefield. But he minded not, for on the battlefield the world flowed through him, and he the

The Napoleon present, however, bore little resemblance to the the young, daring, charismatic officer who bravely charged the British defenses at the siege of Toulon. No, old age combined with mental and physical exhaustion, parting gifts from the previous campaign in Russia, had robbed him of his better attributes. He has grown tired of war. "Just one more campaign," Napoleon told himself with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, "then peace." The words had long lost their effect, for he 'd start off each war with this in mind only to find himself in the midst of another war. And yet the words seemed to be the only comfort available to the war weary general, who suffered more and more in the absence of his wife and