Free Madame de Pompadour by Nancy Mitford

of French and English military virtues; English doggedness and endurance, against French flexibility and powers of recuperation. It was a very close-run thing. The King and the Dauphin, covered with gold lace, their great diamond St Esprits glittering on their breasts, took up a position, at day-break, on a little mound overlooking the village of Fontenoy. They were guarded by
la Maison du Roi
, the Household cavalry. Fontenoy was held by the French, as was a nearby coppice, the Bois de Berri, and another village, Anthoin. The King was in high good humour; he remarked that never since Poitiers had a French monarch gone into battle with his Dauphin and that not since the days of St Louis had one carried off in person a victory against the English. When a cannon ball rolled towards his horse he cried, ‘Pick it up, M. le Dauphin, and throw it back to them.’
    At 6 a.m. the big guns on both sides opened fire; the English, led by the Duke of Cumberland, attacked Fontenoy three times and were driven off with heavy losses. Their allies the Dutch, meanwhile, launched an attack on Anthoin, were driven off and never seen again that day. Cumberland decided to force a passage between the Bois de Berri and Fontenoy. A solid formation of about fourteen thousand English and Hanoverian troops advanced, at the slow regular pace of the parade ground; they were shot at from both sides and suffered many casualties but came steadily on until they found themselves face to face with the French guards regiments. The Englishmen halted, their officers took off their hats, the French officers acknowledged their salutation.
    Then cunning, or chivalrous – according to whether a French or English historian tells the tale – Lord Charles Hay cried, ‘Gentlemen of the French guards, fire!’ To which the chivalrous, or cunning, Comte d’Auteroches replied, ‘No, no, my lord, we never fire first.’ Everybody knew that whichever side opened fire would be left at a disadvantage, virtually unarmed, for several minutes, while the soldiers were recharging their muskets. After a pause the English opened the steady, accurate and murderous fire for which, since the days of bows and arrows, they have been renowned; the results for their enemy were fearful. Every single French guards officer was killed or wounded, and the ranks were decimated; with no officer to rally them they wavered and broke. The redcoats resumed their advance. Maréchal de Saxe’s whole plan of battle was thrown out by this defection of his infantry; the French guards, like the English, were supposed to stand and die, and it was many years before they lived down the disgrace of this day. The Duc de Biron, with the
Régiment du Roi
, slowed up the advance for a while – suffering heavy casualties, 460 of his men falling at a single volley – but it seemed that nothing could stop it. Useless to throw cavalry against that dogged mass; and on it came. Saxe now sent a message to the King that his position was becoming dangerous and that it would be better for him to retire. The King said he was perfectly certain that the Comte de Saxe (as he always called him) had the matter well in hand, and he would stay where he was.
    Maurice de Saxe, too ill with dropsy either to stand or ride, had a little wicker carriage drawn by four horses; in this he galloped up and down the lines. The Maréchal de Noailles, though senior to him and very jealous of him, forgot these considerations and was acting as his A.D.C. More and more units engaged the Englishmen, but in vain; certain, now, of victory they came on shouting and cheering. The English general of German blood roared that he would get to Paris or eat his boots; the French general of German blood was told this and said, ‘He must let us cook them first.’ But he thought the day was lost, and sent another message to the King, imploring him to go. The battle was now so near the royal party that King and Dauphin were separated by riderless horses