Wellington: Youre A Nerd, No Offense.

Wellington: You’re a nerd, no offense.

Metternich: You know, just because you say “no offense” doesn’t excuse the offensive remark that inevitably follows.

Wellington: Well, in that case, you’re a nerd. Offense intended.  

Visual novel about napoleonic? Visual novel about napoleonic!

I would like a visual novel like this. But for now I can only draw one frame xD

Love that incredible painting very much, even though certain things in depiction of uniforms, for example, seem a little bit of! It’s overall grandeur and attention to details are superb anyway. ✨

It also turns out that this canvas was originally created by Russian artist! I was able to find several references to his work in our segment of the Internet. The artist’s name is Sergey Troshin. :)

However, it was rather obvious in the first place because of how closely resembles Troshin’s portrayal of famous Russian generals - Alexei Petrovich Yermoloff and Michail Bogdanovich Barclay de Tolly (who was at the time supreme commander of all Russian contingent in the allied army; tsar Alexander also rewarded him with the field marshal’s baton due to the successful Siege of Paris) - their original portraits made by George Dawe for the Military gallery of the Winter Palace in Saint-Petersburg.

Besides, I’d love to add a few more pictures with the same theme - the Entrance of the Allied forces into Paris on the 31st of March 1814.

Alexander is as glorious as ever, meanwhile king Friedrich Wilhelm III and prince Schwarzenberg are just 😑😑

And here is one more interesting depiction, as not tsar Alexander but field-marshal Schwarzenberg in all his glory suddenly becomes the centre of attention! 🇦🇹

Allied army entering Paris in 1814, Tsar Alexander, King of Prussia and Austrian Field Marshal Schwarzenberg at the head (by unknown)

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While several of his future colleagues were half-orphans or otherwise must have had a rather unhappy childhood, Auguste Frédéric Viesse de Marmont for once comes from a perfect background: only, dearly beloved son of a family of landed gentry. His father Nicolas-Edme had married the daughter of a wealthy Parisian civil servant, the spouses were very much in love with each other and would remain so throughout their lives. Auguste’s older sister died at the age of eight, and his parents doted on their surviving child all the more. His father in particular watched over everything, from Auguste’s first teeth to his education, and during his son’s childhood illnesses, his father noted down every little thing in a diary (which still exists): Sweating, meals eaten, hoarseness and breathing and consistency of bowel movements.

Franck Favier in his book on Marmont cites a passage from this journal to show the timetable for young Auguste’s education:

Up at 7 a.m., then his prayers, cleaning his ears, washing his hands and mouth with a sponge, and all this within half an hour.

At half-past seven, practice of his violin.

At eight, breakfast; breakfast taking half an hour.

Recreation until 9 o'clock.

At 9 o'clock, ten verses by heart.

At half-past nine, first lesson in drawing circles and ovals.

At a quarter past ten, recreation until a quarter to eleven.

At a quarter to eleven, reading and hairdressing.

At half past eleven, geometry instruction until noon.

Recreation until half-past twelve and after his lunch until three-quarters past one.

At 2 o'clock, drawing instruction for heads…

(Translated from F. Favier, “Marmont. Le Maudit”)

Starting at the age of nine, there’s also a comprehensive physical training with running, jumping and marching. Papa Marmont hired teachers for his son’s early education before sending him to a collège where Auguste would befriend a rather unruly fellow student named Andoche Junot destined to become a lawyer, but already dreaming of soldiering and the glory of arms. A dream young Auguste soon shared. A little grumbling (he surely had not groomed this perfect son to see his talents wasted in the army!) Papa Marmont gave in to his son’s wishes, under the condition that Junior would join the artillery, where he at least had to use his head and even might learn a thing or two that would later prove useful outside the army, in real life… This new career path in the end led Marmont to meeting a certain Napoleon Bonaparte, in Dijon 1791.

Let’s fast-forward a little: Robespierre’s fall, Bonaparte imprisoned, Marmont and Junot planning to free him, Bonaparte in semi-disgrace, Papa Marmont feeding the trio, then 13 Vendémière, Marmont becoming aide-de-camp to general Bonaparte, following him to Italy…

It’s in autumn 1796 when Marmont, in triumph, brings to Paris some flags taken from the enemy. To mark the occasion, the ultra-rich Swiss banker Perrégaux gives a ball in his Paris residence, with the dashing young war hero at the centre of attention. Perrégaux’s daughter Hortense immediately falls in love. Hard.

Hortense (born in 1779) was yet another disciple of Madame Campan’s famous institute of future imperial brides, and a good friend of the other Hortense, Hortense de Berauharnais. (Call me biased all you want but there is a pattern there.) She was also intelligent, witty, strong-willed and her father’s spoilt favourite. She proved this strength of will to her father, when the latter began to look for a husband for his daughter over the next few months (a husband who was not called “Marmont”, obviously, because a simple soldier was not an appropriate match). Hortense however refused to even look at the candidates. In April 1797, she went so far as to lock herself up in her room for days … and of course she got her way in the end. By May 1797, Papa Perrégaux promised her she could have that nobody of a soldier if she insisted.

Marmont, as to him, had long returned to Italy and was blissfully unaware of the storm he had caused in one of the first families of Paris. As a matter of fact, in that same May 1797 Bonaparte gave him a furious telling-off, for Marmont had returned to headquarters twenty-four hours late. Twenty-four hours that he had apparently spent in the arms of some Venetian beauty. (In his memoirs Marmont claims that Napoleon in July of that year wanted to marry him to his sister Pauline, which seems to be an obvious lie as by the time Marmont claims the proposal was made, Pauline was already engaged to Leclerc.)

It’s only in April 1798 when Marmont and Mlle Perrégaux finally tie the knot. Of course, for Marmont these new family relations are a dream come true. His young wife brings him a million in dowry. Both spouses have beauty, wit and intelligence and are adored by tout Paris.

Difficulties start as soon as the young couple visits Marmont’s family estate in Châtillon-sur-Seine. Living in the province, with only a couple of old-fashioned landed gentry for company, clearly is not to Hortense’s likings. Particularly, as Marmont soon leaves her alone in this hillbilly family circle, in order to follow Napoleon to Egypt. Soon enough, Hortense returns to Paris and lives with her father again.

That’s where Marmont will find her on his return from Egypt, and for some time, all seems fine again (despite Papa and Maman Marmont being decidedly unhappy with that spoilt brat of a daughter-in-law). The couple moves into a house of their own, Marmont starts to show first signs of vanity and shows of his wealth in the style of a true nouveau riche, even somewhat alienating himself from his parents. Hortense, as to her, is often invited to Malmaison, much to Marmont’s chagrin – the new court forming there to him seems a bit too permissive in terms of morals. As a matter of fact, he even suspects the First Consul of having set his eyes on Madame Marmont!

Let’s fast-forward again as things start to turn ugly rather quickly in Marmont’s marriage: He has always been a favourite with the ladies, sees no reason to stop that, and his wife, not used to giving up on any of her whims, will soon start to have affairs of her own. Marmont suspects her of having affairs with Napoleon and with her father’s partner Laffitte.

On 10 December 1807, while Marmont is in Dalmatia, a boy named Jacques Alfred Valberg is born in Paris. Eight months later, an ADC of Marmont’s recognises him as his son, the mother in the papers being named as Marie Perdraux, living in rue de Hazard. - Considering that this boy will be the sole heir of Hortense Perregaux-Marmont’s fortune in 1857, certain suspicions may be allowed…

By the time Marmont receives his marshal’s baton, his marriage is long in shambles. And yet they can’t divorce, they are kept together by – money. Both have grown fond of luxury, both love to overspend, and Marmont’s family relations to the banker’s family are necessary for him to keeo up his life style. He has shares in many of his father-in-law’s business projects.

It’s only during the Restauration, when he has become the infamous »Duc de Raguse« that he will officially separate from his wife (but not divorce). She will live a couple of years longer than him, and it would be interesting to hear her thoughts on her husband’s famous memoirs. He does not treat her kindly in them.

“Since their correspondence was personal, Metternich did not use a diplomatic cipher but instead went to elaborate lengths to try to ensure that it was not intercepted. He arranged for [Countess] Lieven’s letters to him from London to be sent by British diplomatic bag to the secretary of the Austrian embassy in Paris, Baron Franz von Binder. Inside each sealed package from the Countess, Binder found another package, also addressed to him, which contained a further sealed envelope with no address but which he had instructions to send via the Austrian diplomatic bag to one of Metternich’s secretaries in Vienna. Inside this sealed envelope was yet another, also unaddressed, which the secretary handed personally to Metternich, who was entirely unaware that the letter it contained from Countess Lieven had been secretly intercepted, copied, and resealed during transit by the Paris cabinet noir.”

— Christopher Andrew, The Secret World

“The differences of birth neither gives nor takes any assets; everything depends on personal worth.”

The melancholic civilian on the throne of Prussia, Friedrich Wilhelm III.

(fairly long rant incoming, slightly biased and emotional, I am no historian and merely stating my opinion)

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