#marshal davout

[credo--ergo-sum]

Love how the nonserious sketches always look better then the serious ones

[sunsolii]

I had to jump in

[deceptigoons-attack]

Post-Austerlitz Complaints and Recriminations

(aka Imperial Alert: The girls are fightingggg)

"After Austerlitz, as after Ulm, there was a rich crop of mutual complaints and recriminations among the Marshals. A bitter feud between Bernadotte and Davout was developing and there were respective rows between Lannes and Soult, Soult and Davout, and Murat and Lannes. To crown everything Lannes to offense at the Emperor's bulletin which he felt, gave insufficient credit to the work done by Lannes' corps, and took himself off on a prolonged, self-awarded leave. It is significant that while Napoleon was swift to punish dereliction of duty by his Marshals in future years, he let this peccadillo pass."

(Humble, Richard. Napoleon’s Peninsular Marshals. 1975.)

[kririawhahha]

when i first saw them my first thought was how similiar they looked 😭 (or my incapability to differentiate faces from one another was acting up idk)

[galakteon]

insert the bald cat meme here

[zadfrack]

👉👈

[empirearchives]

Marshal Davout. Uniform, bicorne worn at the Battle of Auerstedt in October 1806, officer's luxury saber & baton. Exhibition Hotel de la Villette, Paris, 2021

Source: Jésus Chapela Rey

[ot-alsace]

Marshal Davout, "The Iron Marshal" (Le Maréchal de fer)

[captainknell]

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:

[araiz-zaria]

...here, have some more Marshal Barbies!! 😂🤣🤣🙈

[credo--ergo-sum]

Its finally finally finished. Here is davout with his patridges

[sunsolii]

Continuing the backrooms saga: Davout in the Poolrooms

[dangeroustheoristpirate]

Davout

[microcosme11]

Anecdotes by Davout’s daughter

Adélaïde-Louise d'Eckmühl de Blocqueville (1815-1892) French poetess and youngest daughter of the "Iron Marshal", Louis Nicolas Davout (1770-1823).

On May 25, 1850, a former soldier in his army corps, who had become guardian of Hartwell's garden in Versailles, on discovering that I was the daughter of his general, joyful at being able to tell me that he had received a decoration from him on the battlefield and that he'd had the honor of speaking to him more than once, took to stripping the flower beds to give me a splendid bouquet, and allowed me to leave the garden only by the door of Louis XIV, which then opened only for the princes of the blood.

---

Brave Jean Chavot! With what joy I listened to him repeat, shedding tears: "He walked with us until the end, he never abandoned us... Madam, it was hard, he couldn't give us warmth and bread, but he was there, we knew it, he talked to one and to another, and that gave us courage.”

---

What a look M. le Maréchal gave us when we tried to disguise some stupidity we had done! said the old aide-de-camp to me. "Don't do it again!" he would frown, and often he felt like laughing, but the devil! you shouldn't have rubbed shoulders with it. [that must be an idiomatic expression]

— Le maréchal Davout, prince d'Eckmühl, by Blocqueville, Louise Adélaide d'Eckmühl, marquise de, v.1

[galakteon]

wip

[upbeatmeeting]

They were taken to the entrance and led into the house one by one. Pierre was the sixth to enter. He was conducted through a glass gallery, an anteroom, and a hall, which were familiar to him, into a long low study at the door of which stood an adjutant.

Davout, spectacles on nose, sat bent over a table at the further end of the room. Pierre went close up to him, but Davout, evidently consulting a paper that lay before him, did not look up. Without raising his eyes, he said in a low voice:

"Who are you?"

Pierre was silent because he was incapable of uttering a word. To him Davout was not merely a French general, but a man notorious for his cruelty. Looking at his cold face, as he sat like a stern schoolmaster who was prepared to wait awhile for an answer, Pierre felt that every instant of delay might cost him his life; but he did not know what to say. He did not venture to repeat what he had said at his first examination, yet to disclose his rank and position was dangerous and embarrassing. So he was silent. But before he had decided what to do, Davout raised his head, pushed his spectacles back on his forehead, screwed up his eyes, and looked intently at him.

"I know that man," he said in a cold, measured tone, evidently calculated to frighten Pierre.

The chill that had been running down Pierre's back now seized his head as in a vise.

"You cannot know me, General, I have never seen you..."

"He is a Russian spy," Davout interrupted, addressing another general who was present, but whom Pierre had not noticed.

War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy