Why are you still here?

It's not that you aren't dear to me, but darling we can't go on meeting like this.

At the beginning of the year I started blogging on my new website tomwilliamsauthor.com and it has gone from strength to strength. That's where people now read my blog posts, while very few people still visit here (and I have a suspicion that many of those who do are robots). That's why I am not posting everything on this blog. This week you've missed a book review The Gilded Shroud by Elizabeth Bailey and, more importantly, a discussion of the role of historians in planning the urban environment as the controversy about Marble Hill Park raises its ugly head again. I'm not posting that here because I'm hoping it may generate some discussion and I don't want that spread across two sites.

As of now, I'm moderating comments too. Anonymous comments are deleted unread. (There is just too much spam these days.)

You are all being gently but firmly moved to the new site. It's much easier to contact me or comment on posts there and it's a good place to find news about my latest books – or latest anything else that might be of interest. More importantly, spreading readership across two sites means the both of them become relatively difficult for search engines to pick up. So if everybody uses the new site, it will be easier for people to find in the future and you'll be part of a growing community (as all these social media gurus say). And it really will make my life easier.

As far as I can see, there is absolutely no downside to visiting the new site. When I refer back to old blogs, links on the new site just come through here the same way as they do at the moment. And any improvements that I make in the way stuff is laid out or bonus bits and pieces (like the newsletter I'm trying to start) will only be working on the new site. Why not click through and have a look at it today?

Thank you.

The Hundred Days

Fans of Napoleonic history (and my blog readership statistics show that there are a lot of you out there) will be very familiar with the term “The Hundred Days”. But what does it actually mean, and what did Napoleon achieve during these hundred days?

It’s an odd idea, really. In the same way as presidents and prime ministers are increasingly rated at the end of their first hundred days in power, so Napoleon’s return to France is also talked about in terms of this magic number. The ‘Hundred Days’ are regarded as starting on Napoleon’s return to Paris on 20 March, 1815 and ending with the restoration of King Louis on 8 July. Constitutionally, it’s important, because it marks the period while France was, yet again, without a king, though if you count it up it adds to 110 days. In reality, though, it’s a fairly arbitrary slice of the calendar. It doesn’t mark the period of Napoleon’s ascendancy. The failure of Louis’ men to stop Napoleon on his march north marked the end of any real power for the king, and Waterloo, though not technically the end of Napoleon’s rule, was the end of his control of France.

For students of Napoleon’s life, though, the Hundred Days are interesting because they showed the way that Napoleon had to adapt his once absolute rule to take account of the changed circumstances in which he found himself.

 Napoleon (right) was often compared favourably with the obese King Louis (left)

Despite the astonishing success of his march from the south coast to Paris, France was far from united in supporting his return. The somewhat meandering route that he took carefully avoided those areas – especially in the south and west of the country – where the population remained loyal to Louis. The king had been seen as weak and ineffective and some of the measures he’d taken to restore aristocratic privilege had caused resentment amongst the people, but this did not mean that they were necessarily going to support Napoleon. The French army had relied on conscription and hundreds of thousands of young Frenchman had been taken from their homes and families and led to their deaths, especially during the Russian campaign. This alone meant that many people were unhappy to see the Emperor back in charge.

Army reform

Professional soldiers (as opposed to conscripts) were the backbone of Napoleon’s support. He had led them, they believed, to victory (the dead of the Russia campaign were, after all, not there to argue) and he could restore French glory again.

Napoleon was well aware of the importance of the army and took care to keep the favour of the soldiery. He reinstituted the Legion of Honour and frequently inspected troops at the Tuileries, taking the opportunity to speak to the men and ensure their loyalty. At the same time, he instituted military reforms, for he recognised that he would need active military support to put down revolt at home and to protect himself against enemies abroad.

Louis XVIII had left him with few resources. The Chamber of Representatives refused to allow him to reintroduce conscription, but he was able to recall those conscripted in 1814. Officers who had served under him in the past had been stood down on half pay under Louis and they flocked to return. National Guardsmen, who were not technically available for regular military service, were swallowed up.  Estimates of how many troops were recruited during the Hundred Days are unreliable. Chesney, whose Waterloo Lectures are widely regarded as an important source, considers that some of the very high estimates given are essentially propaganda by partisan Bonapartists and that, for example, they include many men who were in no fit state to be deployed. He considered that by the beginning of June Napoleon could deploy fewer than 200,000 men – a significant achievement but much less than the 560,000 that Napoleon claimed.

Liberal Reform

An Englishwoman, Helen Maria Williams, living in Paris at the time described how Napoleon had to adapt to the new situation. Her account is partisan, but accurate.

Bonaparte, conscious that his enchanter’s rod was now broken, that he was no longer believed to be invincible … had recourse to new arts. He deemed it necessary to propose a voluntary decent from the height of his ancient dictatorship, and to declare himself the patron and popular chieftain of a free government.

Bonaparte decided that his new rule would be based on a more liberal constitution that would, amongst other things, guarantee press and religious freedom and allow the possibility of an extension of the franchise. Other liberal measures were to be implemented immediately (for example, slavery was abolished on 29 March) but the Constitution was to be put to the people of France in a plebiscite.

Voting was organised throughout the areas of France where Bonaparte exercised control. The plan was that representatives would travel from all over France to Paris where twenty or thirty thousand would meet at a great festival to be held in May. This “Field of May” was supposed to reflect a feudal assembly of ancient French history, where the monarch met with representatives of the nobility and the church, which was as close to a parliament as would have been known in those days. No such assemblies, though, had been held for a thousand years. Essentially, Napoleon (as he had often done in the past) was inventing a ritual to legitimise his status.

There were obvious dangers in having so many “electors” in Paris at a time when much of the country was still in turmoil. Measures were therefore taken to reduce the number who might turn up. They were to receive no money toward travelling expenses or accommodation. It was explained that when they did arrive there was to be no discussion of the new constitution but their role would be limited to verifying the registers and counting the votes.

Even with the best will in the world, the circumstances prevailing at the time would have made a plebiscite difficult. As it was, the electoral registers were drawn up locally and included only “active citizens” the definition of which was largely down to the officials. Obviously, prior to the election, Bonaparte expelled from office all those officials who were known to be favourable to the Bourbon regime. It probably goes without saying that it was not a secret ballot.

By now, Bonaparte felt that he needed the support of the people. He had been used to ruling autocratically, but now he found that the ministers he appointed would argue with him, insisting that their views be taken into account. The Chamber of Representatives (one of his liberal reforms, which he was probably already regretting) even elected a president who was known to oppose him.

In the end only 1,532,527 people voted in the plebiscite, about a fifth of those eligible, and far fewer than in plebiscites organised under the Republic, but Napoleon claimed he had the majority he needed and was, once again, the legitimate Emperor of France.

The Field of May

No one was quite sure what the ‘Champ de Mai’ would entail. The feudal ceremony was lost in the mists of history, but Parisians were promised a spectacle.

“What is the Field of May?” exclaimed the Parisians; at once something antique, and something new; when much was to be done for their liberties, and, what was not indifferent, an unknown ceremonial would be performed for their amusement. It may be observed, that one effect of twenty-five years’ of revolution is to have given the French such restless habits, that they require continually something new or strange to occupy their minds… All Paris flocked in multitudes to see what was to be seen at the Field of May.

Williams

The one thing that everybody seemed sure of was that the ceremony would be held in May, but repeated delays meant that it eventually took place on 1 June.

Helen Maria Williams described the scene in a letter home:

A spacious temporary amphitheatre had been erected for this purpose in the Champs de Mars, connected with the facade of the military school, and containing about fifteen thousand persons, seated, and covered by an awning; these were the electors, and the military deputations. The sloping banks which arise round the Champs de Mars, were crowded with people, and its immense plain was filled with cavalry. Here an altar was placed, opposite the throne, which was erected within the amphitheatre.

Napoleon arrived at ceremony dressed in Roman costume. The Mass was celebrated at the altar and then came speeches and a declaration that the new constitution had been accepted by “an almost unanimity of votes”. Then came a military parade of nearly 50,000 troops.

The spectacle was magnificent… The inspiring sounds of music, the blaze of military decoration, the glittering of innumerable arms, the countless concourse of spectators, their prolonged vociferations, the occasion, the man, the mighty events that hung in suspense, all concurred to excite feelings and reflections which only such a scene could have produced.

William Mudford

Two weeks later, Napoleon was to lead these troops north into Belgium and the start of the road to Waterloo.

References

Chesney, Charles Cornwallis (1868). Waterloo Lectures: a study of the Campaign of 1815.

Mudford, William (1817) An Historical Account of the Battle of Waterloo

Williams, Helen Maria (1815) A narrative of the events which have taken place in France : from the landing of Napoleon Bonaparte, on the 1st of March, 1815, till the restoration of Louis XVIII : with an account of the present state of society and public opinion

Cartoon of Louis and Napoleon is an anonymous print from 1797 held in the Bodleian library, Oxford.

Wow!

Writers are constantly being told not to look at their Amazon sales rankings, because it will only depress them. It’s advice I generally take, but yesterday I was on the site to see if I had any new reviews. Some people say you should not read reviews either, but I always do and I’m always interested in seeing what people have said about my books, even if they didn’t like them. (Side note: if you have read any of my books, it’s really appreciated if you review on Amazon, even if it’s only a few words.) Anyway, while I was there I thought it couldn’t do any harm to look at my ranking and this is what I found for The White Rajah:

I was stunned. Only later did I remember that my new publishers, Endeavour, had told me that they were going to promote The White Rajah through Bookbub this month and that I should tell everybody about it on social media. Unfortunately, they told me a while ago and by now I had completely forgotten it. But it turns out that Endeavour’s efforts had done the business even without me. (If you’re reading this on Tuesday morning, The White Rajah is still being promoted at 99p, so buy it while it’s still cheap.)

Yes, this does show how much promotion can do and how important if it is to have the right publisher. (And I am so, so grateful I am to Endeavour for putting some effort behind this book.) But this means that The White Rajah was the second most downloaded work of biographical fiction on UK Kindle yesterday morning. Surely that must say something about the book? I certainly hope so, and I can’t begin to describe how fantastic it makes me feel.

Of course, Kindle rankings change very quickly and I didn’t expect to stay #2 for more than an hour or two. In the end, though, The White Rajah stayed there all morning and by evening had slipped only to #3. 

After years of seeing my books struggle to find readers, you cannot imagine how amazing this is. It’s particularly gratifying, because The White Rajah was the first book I wrote and still has a special place in my heart. I am very, very grateful to all of you who bought it and especially those who made an effort to buy it as soon as they heard it was charting. Sales when a book is already rating well are particularly valuable in terms of visibility and marketing through Amazon. (Hint, hint!)

This news comes just as the figures for April showed that my new website (tomwilliamsauthor.co.uk) had its most ever visitors since it launched in January. It’s nice to know that people are reading my blog posts and enjoying the photos (go and have a look if you haven’t seen them already), but it also suggests that I may be doing something right as far as my personal marketing is concerned. And the sudden unexpected success of The White Rajah shows that this can eventually pay off. (The other books are suddenly doing rather better, too.)

The first few months of this year (when I’ve not been off on holiday) have been spent more on blogging and marketing than on writing, but this seems to have been the right thing to do. After all, there’s no point in writing books if nobody ever reads them. It does show the reality of being a writer nowadays, though.

So yesterday was rather a special day for me. Time for a little celebration. (I went dancing, but those of you who know me will hardly be surprised at that.) Today is back to selling, and maybe even researching and writing a little bit. But first of all I need to say a great big thank you to everybody who has bought my books, supported me on Facebook, or re-tweeted my interminable history and book-related Twitter rubbish. Thank you all so very much.

Partying at the Congress of Vienna

The Congress of Vienna was an important political gathering, but there was more to it than politics. As we saw last week, diplomatic progress was slow and most of the negotiating took place in small meetings of representatives of the most important countries. However, almost all the small states whose rulers had been restored to their thrones with Napoleon’s overthrow chose to send people to the Congress. Hundreds of representatives turned up with their entourages, swelling the population of Vienna by more than a third. (August Louis Charles, compte de La Garde-Chambonas writes that “the number of strangers attracted to Vienna by the Congress was estimated at close upon 100,000.”) With Napoleon apparently defeated, all of these people felt they had something to celebrate and it became a matter of pride for the Emperor of Austria to lay on the grandest of entertainments.

Perhaps inevitably, the Congress became as much a grand social occasion as a political summit. Many people believe that Austria owes its reputation as the ballroom dance capital of the world (think Viennese waltzes) to the Congress of Vienna. Talleyrand wrote in November:

The Court of Vienna continues to entertain its noble guests with hospitality, which, considering the state of its finances, must be very onerous to it. Everywhere are to be seen emperors, kings, empresses, queens, hereditary princes, reigning princes, etc, etc; the Court pays everybody’s expenses and the expenditure of each day is estimated at 220,000 paper florins.

The compte de La Garde-Chambonas suggested that the delights offered by Vienna which included “banquets, concerts, shooting parties, masked balls and musical rides” rather took precedence over any actual diplomatic work.

In reality, little or no attention was paid to diplomatic discussions. With the exception of some idlers or journalists … society was engrossed with the pleasures of the fete of the hour, or with preparations for that next day… The sovereigns … foregathered every day for an hour before dinner, and were supposed to discuss the subjects that had occupied the attention of their plenipotentiaries. The carping outside world maintained, however, that politics were the thing least talked of in that august Olympian assembly, and that the announcement of a forthcoming pleasure party more often than not monopolised the conversation.

The festivities were designed to include ordinary people, as well as the monarchs and other dignitaries. In this respect, the most splendid event was the “People’s Fete”. It started with a parade of Austrian veterans of the war. Four thousand had been invited who “afterwards took possession of a number of spacious tents, set apart for their special use.” (Compte de La Garde-Chambonas.) The soldiers had the opportunity to compete in foot races, horse races and archery, professional performers showed off trick riding acrobatics and a display of gymnastics. “Finally an enormous balloon rose in the air…[soaring] majestically above the crowd, waving a number of flags of the various nations whose representatives had foregathered in Vienna.” After the balloon ascent, the 4000 veterans were served a feast at sixteen (presumably very large) tables, while dancers in national dress performed folk dances from their various countries.

The famous portraitist, Isabey (whose picture of delegates to the Congress illustrated last week’s post) had travelled specially to Vienna and was set up in a magnificent studio where many of the delegates and other guests had their portraits painted.

New Year provided an opportunity for the Comtesse Zichy (who had won the heart of the King of Prussia) to give a grand ball for all of the sovereigns, but most lavish entertainment was probably the grand sleighing party thrown in January 1815. The parade of over thirty sleighs was led by “an immense sleigh drawn by six horses and containing an orchestra of kettle drums and trumpets” with another huge sleigh carrying a band dressed in Turkish uniforms and playing “warlike tunes” to bring up the rear. Around a frozen lake the guests paused to watch a display by skaters in “the most elegant costumes of the various countries of Northern Europe”. After yet another ball, the sleighs returned to Vienna by torchlight.

What one participant referred to as “these sovereigns on their holidays” had to be, as the compte de La Garde-Chambonas perceptively wrote, “constantly amused, or at any rate prevented at all cost from being bored.” As 1815 wore on, though, there were signs that the Emperor of Austria was running out of ideas (or the money to pay for them). Delegates began to arrange their own entertainment. The British admiral, Sir Sidney Smith, organised a subscription picnic, with even kings expected to pay for their food – much to the embarrassment of the king of Bavaria, who, like today’s Queen, did not (on this occasion at least) have any money on his person. A waiter stood shaking a large silver bowl in which everybody else’s payments rattled noisily until the king was rescued by the Emperor Alexander who, it turned out, was carrying a full purse.

All too soon the festivities were to end. As word of Napoleon’s return spread, an amateur company was playing Le Calife de Bagdad and Les Rivaux d’eux-memes in Vienna. The compte de La Garde-Chambonas noted that “there was a larger audience than might have been expected.”

It was, however, the final flicker of the expiring lamp; the last feeble sound of the broken instrument. Pleasure took flight. “The Congress is dissolved.”

References

August Louis Charles, compte de La Garde-Chambonas Anecdotal Recollections of the Congress of Vienna

The Correspondence of Prince Talleyrand and King Louis XVIII during the Congress of Vienna published by Harper & Brothers of New York in 1881

Illustration is Redoubt at the Congress of Vienna (1815) by Johann Nepomuk Hoechle