Michel Ney

A controversial figure Napoleon’s marshals, Napoleonic era Waterloo

[rougeaud]

“Ney remains an elusive and enigmatic figure”

To me, Ney remains an elusive and enigmatic figure. As a primary school pupil, I read a biography of Napoleon written for children. Since Marshal Ney was the only general featured, I became fascinated by him. Though no biography of Ney exists in Japanese, his name appeared in works by Hugo, Stendhal and Hemingway…

Decades ago, I read an American author's biography of Ney aimed at relatively young readers. I recall reading the chapter covering Waterloo to his execution in tears. Though I have no background in English literature, it felt like reading a tragedy by Shakespeare.

As a university student, I read a biography by the British author Horricks. It revealed an elusive, 'split' portrait of Ney. Thus I came to understand he was no 'simple hero'. As a lazy undergraduate, I failed my French class and never voluntarily studied the language again. Now, I rely entirely on AI translation for reading his biography in french. Yet, delving into various historical sources, Ney's character – perpetually caught between overrated and underrated - became an ever greater enigma.

[rougeaud]

“Junot in Pelet’s Memoirs”

Junot also appears several times in Pelet’s memoirs. It seems that it was not only Ney who was uncooperative with Masséna; the corps and division commanders under him also harbored dissatisfaction toward Masséna. Pelet suggests that Loison, a divisional general was operating in the shadows. Loison also appeared to be involved in suspicious activities regarding the “Roi Nicolas” affair surrounding Soult. It seems that Loison was quite a complex and cunning character. It is possible that Loison was also involved in encouraging Ney to loudly criticize Soult regarding the “Roi Nicolas” matter (“Mémoires du général Cte de Saint-Chamans : ancien aide de camp du Maréchal Soult, 1802-1832”).

According to Pelet, Junot suffered a gunshot wound that pierced his nose during a reconnaissance mission. Looking at portraits of Junot, he is depicted as quite handsome, but it is known that he suffered multiple serious head injuries throughout his life. What kind of damage did a gunshot wound that pierced his nose inflict upon him? Pelet speculates whether these repeated head injuries might have contributed to Junot’s tragic death.

Additionally, Pelet recounts an experience of being invited to dine with Junot, where he was treated to a wonderfully delicious cornbread.

[miffy-junot]

Hello, I have some stuff to add to this!

In 1810 Ney wrote this letter to Junot where he complains about Massena, which implies that Junot shared his complaints given how Ney has no reservations about voicing them:

‘If we unite, we would be able to attack the English; this action would sieze the country [Portugal] with one blow and might have disastrous results in England. ... It is impossible for me to give a satisfactory explanation for the conduct of His Highness, the Prince d'Essling [Massena] and the distress he has caused the 6th Corps… But you, M. le Duc [Junot], who senses without doubt, the justice of my observations… I believe you will seriously consider coming to take part in the glory that awaits you in fighting the English… Not only will I leave you the choice of your position, but I will share with you the troops I have at my disposal’

source

Junot indeed suffered a very serious facial injury in January 1811, and it’s most likely that complications caused by this wound are what led to the rapid decline of his mental state in the following years. Sadly there aren’t any portraits of Junot from 1811 until his death because he was so insecure about how ‘ugly’ the wound made him!

Junot’s son Napoleon says:

'It is known that my father was riddled with wounds. One of those which was, without question, the cause of the fatal illness in consequence of which he succumbed, was the bullet which he received above the nose, at the lines of Torres Vedras. To extract the bullet, it was necessary to open the cheek above the maxillary bone; this scar, together with that of the wound itself, had greatly disturbed the harmony of the lines of his face.’

a soldier who witnessed the incident says:

‘The Duc d'Abrantes, impatient to see for himself the English columns, ran at a gallop on a small hill, beyond even the most advanced skirmishers. It was then that he was seriously wounded by a bullet that hit him in the lower forehead. Four English hussars had remained in vedettes on a neighboring height, in order to observe our march. As soon as they saw some men on horseback approaching, they fired their carbine, and ran to their rearguard, certainly not imagining, on such an occasion, that they had wounded a general-in-chief. The bullet shattered the bone of the nose, and slipped over the apple of the right cheek.

The Duc d’Abrantès retained composure, in spite of this blow in so dangerous a place, and while the first apparatus was being placed on him on the ground itself, he ordered that the pursuit of the enemy should not be ceased, in order to ascertain exactly whether it was true that they had made large gatherings in the direction of Alcoentre. It was obtained that all the advice given was false, and the troops returned to their first positions that evening.

The next day, the Duc d'Abrantes endured to go on horseback to his headquarters at Pernes, although he suffered greatly. The chief surgeon of the 8th corps immediately performed the operation of splitting his cheek, to extract the bullet, which was found to be entirely flattened, by the resistance it had experienced, in slipping on the maxillary bone. He thought he could assure us, a few days later, that the wound would not be mortal; but he did not conceal the fact that it might sooner or later have very serious and unfortunate consequences.’

[rougeaud]

Thank you for the valuable information! I was not aware of this letter from Ney to Junot. Junot's injuries must have been extremely severe. I suspect he must have suffered from unbearable pain as a lingering effect of his injuries. What an unfortunate man Junot was!

[rougeaud]

“Junot in Pelet’s Memoirs”

Junot also appears several times in Pelet’s memoirs. It seems that it was not only Ney who was uncooperative with Masséna; the corps and division commanders under him also harbored dissatisfaction toward Masséna. Pelet suggests that Loison, a divisional general was operating in the shadows. Loison also appeared to be involved in suspicious activities regarding the “Roi Nicolas” affair surrounding Soult. It seems that Loison was quite a complex and cunning character. It is possible that Loison was also involved in encouraging Ney to loudly criticize Soult regarding the “Roi Nicolas” matter (“Mémoires du général Cte de Saint-Chamans : ancien aide de camp du Maréchal Soult, 1802-1832”).

According to Pelet, Junot suffered a gunshot wound that pierced his nose during a reconnaissance mission. Looking at portraits of Junot, he is depicted as quite handsome, but it is known that he suffered multiple serious head injuries throughout his life. What kind of damage did a gunshot wound that pierced his nose inflict upon him? Pelet speculates whether these repeated head injuries might have contributed to Junot’s tragic death.

Additionally, Pelet recounts an experience of being invited to dine with Junot, where he was treated to a wonderfully delicious cornbread.

[rougeaud]

“Pelet’s Memoirs” (the Peninsula Wars)

I am currently reading the memoirs of Pelet, who served as an aide-de-camp to Masséna during the Peninsular War. He appears to have been a highly educated, intellectual, and level-headed individual. Not only did he enjoy the deep trust of Masséna, but his writing is also remarkably vivid, capturing both the scenery of Portugal and the minutiae of daily military life, including logistics.

Although I do not hold an academic degree, I once had the opportunity to witness the editing process of a medieval colloquial Arabic manuscripts. I realized then that textual editing is far more than mere translation; it is a staggering, painstaking endeavor that requires exhaustive research into a vast array of contemporary and later sources to arrive at the most plausible interpretation of the original text.

I get the impression that this edition of Pelet’s memoirs underwent a similar scholarly process. The editor have meticulously consulted both British and French sources, carefully verifying the details and the credibility of Pelet’s accounts. After the Napoleonic Wars, many soldiers, officers, and their associates published memoirs, though some were arguably filled with fabrications, embellishments, or self-serving justifications. In that sense, Pelet’s memoirs, handled with the integrity of scholarly editing, are an invaluable historical source.

[rougeaud]

“Ney and Soult as dogs ?? (in Galicia,Spain)

* Original text in Spanish: Native speakers, please visit the link.

source

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JOSE MANUEL CASAL

For two hundred years, Galicians have been naming their dogs after a Napoleonic Marshal.

August 15, 2019. Updated at 9:50 AM.

Although, unlike with humans, we lack official statistics on the most common names for Galician pets, anecdotal evidence from the fields ("testimonio a pie de leira") indicates that one of the most frequent names among Galician dogs is "Ney." Why Ney? The custom goes back a long way—to 1809, to be precise, when Napoleon’s Marshal Michel Ney suffered one of his most resounding defeats in Galicia. It happened in Pontesampaio (Pontevedra), on the banks of the Verdugo River, where Spanish guerrillas forced the proud French military man and his more than 10,000 men to flee.

The retreat of Ney from Galicia, during which he joined forces with Soult in Lugo, was not exactly exemplary; the Marshal razed everything in his path to avenge his humiliating failure in Pontevedra. He thus became one of the most hated and reviled figures in Galician popular memory, which decided to take revenge in its own way: by giving his name to the household dog. It was then, in July 1809, that Galicians began to walk "Ney" alongside our ankles. The custom took root and remains to this day; 210 years later, the palleiros (Galician curs) and not-so-palleiros across half of Galicia still respond to the name of Napoleon's Marshal.

"The episode of Pontesampaio itself was mythologized by the use of the 'wooden cannon,' a way of scorning the military capacity of the French. That the names of their Marshals, Soult and Ney, were used to name dogs is in the same vein," notes Professor Ramón Villares in his canonical History of Galicia. Because many "Soults" also lounge along the rural paths (corredoiras). They are our "barnyard marshals."

MARIA AURTENECHEA

A pet with a statue

Ney has also performed the miracle of uniting urban and rural Galicia, because there are Neys not only in the countryside. One of the most famous has a statue in the center of A Coruña. It was a Golden Retriever who died in 2014 and had won the hearts of the children who visited the Plaza de Lugo market—to the point that it was decided to dedicate a life-sized monument to him in the very spot where he used to run around.

But, of course, the name of the Marshal triumphs most in rural Galicia. The smaller the population, the more Neys there are. It is the country's way of remembering the heroes of Pontesampaio. The Gallic troops ran for their lives from Pontevedra, but, much to their dismay, they left us a name with a lot of history for our dogs (cadelos).

[kinoiii]

To think that Lannes was a girl dad

[maggiec70]

This collection, as described in the 2024 auction catalog, is larger than several others containing bits and pieces of JeanBoy's personal correspondence, and it is no surprise. When I did my research back in the day, the utter lack of letters either in the usual French archives or, more importantly, in the family's hands, was surprising. I discovered soon enough that the descendants, a thoroughly reprehensible crowd since the time of the fourth Duc de Montebello, divested themselves of literally everything that once belonged to or was directly associated with JeanBoy through sale, abandonment, or simple carelessness. That familial trend is blatantly obvious in the significant number of uniforms, court dress, and other personal items, including saddles and bridles, on display at Les Invalides, and in the large number of letters coming up for auction from private collectors since the 1980s. One of the aspects of this rather sad "divestiture" that I've always wondered about is why not one of the Lovely Louise's letters to JeanBoy has ever been sold, or cited in any academic work, simply because they apparently no longer exist. I suspect they may have been deliberately destroyed between 1814 and 1818 as a result of the legal challenge to the ducal inheritance after JeanBoy's death, when Louise sold literally every single piece of property and boatloads of furnishings acquired during their marriage.

I downloaded the catalog, which is interesting in its own right. However, it's clear that whoever wrote the descriptive blurbs for the letters was no historians. Quite a lot of them were simply wrong as to dates, places, and people.

Once again, I really appreciate the link.

[neylo]

One of the things why I love portraying a marshal of France is that I don’t need to pretend that my manners are perfect. When I entered the room where we took the pictures, I was like: “Holy fucking shit”

[rougeaud]

Marshal Moncey’s full dress uniform sold at auction. It’s literally 'walking gold embroidery.' So luxurious!

HABIT DE CÉRÉMONIE DU MARÉCHAL MONCEY, DUC DE CONEGLIANO, MONARCHIE DE JUILLET. Habit en drap bleu national doublé de même, sans revers,

[rougeaud]

“Was Ney lenient with his soldiers ?”

I have been reading the memoirs of Pelet, who served on Masséna’s staff during the Peninsular War, bit by bit. Marshal Ney is truly a “problematic orange cat” and also “mauvais coucheur”. It is remarkable that Masséna managed to put up with him for so long (though, for Pelet, who was devoted to Masséna, did not mention "Madame X," the mistress Masséna brought along with him, cannot be called a fair stance).

There is a passage in Pelet's memoirs that reads:

“The 6th Corps, formed since the Camp of Boulogne, was still under the command of the Marshal (Ney). With him at Elchingen, Jena, Gutstadt, Preuss-Eylau, and Friedland, it had covered itself with glory. Therefore it was very attached to its commander, who had always done whatever was necessary, sometimes at the expense of strict discipline, to retain the love and devotion of his soldiers.”

I believe it was Martin van Creveld who noted in “Supplying War: Logistics from Wallenstein to Patton” that Ney was lenient with his troops. I also recall reading that Bernadotte was similarly lax regarding discipline. This brings to mind an episode from “Seven Men of Gascony”, a historical novel by R.F. Delderfield—the same author who wrote that intriguing (though not necessarily accurate) book about the 26 Marshals.

In this (admittedly fictional) scene, following the Battle of Busaco, Ney visits the wagon of a vivandier where a wounded sergeant and his comrades are staying. A soldier protests to Ney, "We have no mules to pull the wagon, are you going to abandon us?" Ney then subtly suggests that they steal mules from the enemy and even teaches them how to disguise the branding marks.

Now, I shall continue reading Pelet's book.

[neylo]

I tried some photoshooting with my new uniform

[rougeaud]

source

[neylo]

Have you missed Ney(lo)?

[rougeaud]

In Japan, there has long been a tradition known as goryō shinkō (御霊信仰 the veneration of vengeful spirits). Broadly speaking, it is the belief that the restless spirits of people who died tragic deaths while harboring resentment—having been defeated in political struggles or warfare—could bring calamities upon the living. To appease these spirits and prevent their vengeance, they were enshrined as goryō, thereby pacifying their wrath.

Among those later revered as goryō were a statesman who was disgraced through slander, died in exile, and was subsequently believed to have returned as the God of Thunder to set the imperial palace ablaze, as well as warriors who perished after opposing the imperial court.

Of Napoleon’s twenty-six marshals, several met violent rather than natural deaths. If they had lived in Japan, which of them might have been regarded as a goryō?

* Lannes — Killed in battle → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Bessières — Killed in battle → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

*Berthier ー Suicide ? → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Murat — Executed by firing squad → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Ney — Executed by firing squad → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Mortier — Assassinated → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Brune — Murdered by a mob → Possibly…??

[ic-napology]

Considering how Napoleon came from a culture known to harbor vengeance for generations, I can see him too as one! He was known not to hold grudges, true, but who knows, maybe at the end of his life, stranded on an island among strict and annoying Englishmen, some vindictive thoughts, a sense of being wronged and betrayal may have sprouted anyway. He did hold grudges against many, like Talleyrand and Fouché, or Murat.

[rougeaud]

Ah, that may well be true! However, I feel he was far too great to remain merely a goryō; he was surely enshrined in a magnificent shrine as a kami—a concept fundamentally different from the God found in Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. Furthermore, I cannot believe that his soul would ever bring misfortune upon the people after his death.

[rougeaud]

I have received the memoirs of Pelet, a staff officer under Masséna during the Peninsular War. It is such a massive volume that it will likely take me some time to finish. As is well known, the relationship between Masséna and Ney during this war was abysmal, ultimately leading to Ney being relieved of his command and sent back to France due to insubordination. It seems that when superior officers are on bad terms, their subordinates often suffer the consequences. For instance, Béchet, a staff officer under Ney, recorded in his memoirs that when he visited Soult’s headquarters, he was treated coldly and not even invited to dinner, leaving him to suffer from hunger. I had assumed that Pelet, being a staff officer under Masséna, might have had similar experiences, but according to his account, the reality was different.

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“The Marshal(Ney)received me with his usual demonstrations of kindness, while underneath he blustered, thundered, and forgot himself.”

Before Pelet left Paris he met Ney, who had just returned from Spain. Ney greeted him cordially and they talked about the Portuguese campaign and the events of March 23, when the Marshal was relieved of his command. Ney complained about what Pelet had said to the Emperor concerning his conduct and his wish to see the Prince (Massena) removed. To the latter charge Pelet responded, ‘I did not say that, only that you had done everything to make it possible?’ Then [Ney claimed] that I had bothered his officers. I gave him my word of honor to the contrary and added, ‘You know I am too frank to employ such methods and too proud to believe that I have need of them.’ As Pelet recalled their parting, “We left each other very good friends and after that time and in every country (particularly in Russia) he gave me proof of his goodwill toward me.”

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During the retreat from Russia, Pelet was part of Ney’s rearguard. After the rearguard became isolated from the main army, Pelet advised Ney to cross the Dnieper River during their march to rejoin Napoleon.

[shppics]

Hi

[sillyperosn]

"I did not desire to die." But as Napoleon's chief of staff, Berthier was famously tireless, sometimes going weeks without sleep. He endured Napoleon's legendary temper, serving as his right hand and the one who go abused physically and mentally by him. He killed himself because of the emperor. That was a theory for why he fell of the three story building.

Only Davout was angry about it. The Emperor would've mourned the loss, but not with fury. He would not willingly lose anyone, least of all his Berthier. He believed people should die for him, never because of him.

The secretary, however, could no longer endure Napoleons brutality.

Davouts loyalty was absolute, almost fanatical. He wasn’t angry at Napoleon (never), he was angry at Berthier. To him, taking his own life when the Emperor still needed him was the ultimate act of selfishness. The Emperor had wanted him alive, and that should have been reason enough to endure.

Unlike the others, Davout offered no pity. He wanted everything preserved for Napoleon: every loyal servant, every capable hand, every life that could still be spent in his service. Compassion had no place in that conviction.

Berthier’s admission hung in the air like a death sentence. The marshals absorbed his words, each reacting differently.

Ney and Lannes exchanged pained glances; they understood exhaustion, burnout… but not this. Not suicid by jumping from a three-story height. Still, at least Berthier was unmarked, and Davout took the weight of the fall.

But Davout? His face twisted with fury, not grief. He shoved past Lannes and grabbed Berthier’s collar: "You coward! The Emperor needs you alive!" He slumped forward, his back wounded from saving Berthier, just because the emperor needed him alive for reports. And he would do so much for the emperor. "He needs you!"

The marshals stood in stunned silence as Davout, small, wounded, furious, shoved Berthier with trembling hands. The usually gentle-faced chief of staff didn’t fight back; he just took the shove like a man who expected punishment.

Berthier’s hollow eyes met Davout’s blazing ones. There was no defense. No justification that could soften this betrayal in the eyes of Napoleon’s most fanatical loyalist.

Lannes grabbed Davout’s shoulder to steady him (and maybe restrain him), but even he, hardened by war, looked sick at heart over what Berthier had done, not out of malice… but sheer exhaustion.

Ney knelt beside them both, his voice quiet: "Davout…" But there was nothing to say. No words could bridge this divide between duty and despair.

09:38 PM

He didn't let go of Berthier's collar.

Davout held on like the man might dissolve, might float away like smoke from a spent candle. His knuckles had gone white, then bloodless. The wound in his back, Berthier's weight, three stories of momentum, the crack of Davout's spine against the cobblestone, leaked through his coat in a slow, dark bloom. But he didn't let go.

"Say something," Davout said. His voice cracked on the second word. "Say something, damn you."

Berthier's lips parted. Closed. Nothing.

And that nothing, that hollow, emptied-out silence, was what finally broke him.

Davout's grip went slack. His hands dropped to his sides. For a moment he stood there, swaying, the smallest of Napoleon's marshals, the one who'd carved his legend at Auerstädt with a single division against an entire Prussian army. The one who'd never flinched. Not once. Not ever.

Then his face crumpled.

It wasn't the controlled grief of a soldier. It was a child's anguish, raw, ugly, unstoppable. His shoulders heaved once, twice, and then a sound escaped him that Ney had heard only from dying horses. A wet, keening sob that seemed to come from somewhere Davout had never let anyone see.

"I caught you," Davout said, his voice unrecognizable. "I caught you. Why did you make me catch you?"

Berthier's hand moved, slow as winter honey, toward Davout's shoulder. But Davout flinched away from the touch, stumbling backward until his spine hit the wall. He slid down it, the wounded back leaving a red smear on the plaster, until he was on the floor on the same floor Berthier had tried to leave by the window.

Lannes moved first. The Gascon's boots scraped the floorboards as he crossed the room, but he didn't kneel. He stood over Davout like a man watching something he had no right to see.

"Louis," Lannes said quietly. "Get up."

"I have to stay down here." Davout pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Because if I stand up, I'll have to look at him. And if I look at him, I'll have to ask him why, and I don't want to know. I don't want to know that even this wasn't enough. That serving him wasn't enough. That being good wasn't enough."

Ney crouched beside him. Not touching. Just there.

"You were enough, Louis." Ney's voice. Quiet. The voice of the man who'd held Murat while he bled out, who'd written letters to widows who couldn't read. "The failure isn't yours."

"Then whose is it?" Davout's hands came away from his face. His cheeks were wet, his nose running, his eyes red and swollen. He looked twelve. He looked young. He looked like every boy who'd ever signed up for a war he didn't understand and then had to live through the understanding. "Tell me whose it is. Tell me so I can hate them. Tell me so I can fix it."

No one answered.

Because there was no answer. There was only Berthier, standing by the window he'd tried to die through, looking at his own hands as if he barely recognized them. There was only Davout, bleeding into his coat, crying on a stranger's floor. There was only Ney, who'd seen too much, and Lannes, who'd buried too many.

Lannes turned toward Berthier. His voice had no judgment in it, that was the worst part. Just exhaustion. Just the bone-tired weight of a man who'd spent his entire adult life watching young men break.

"Help me get him to a chair," Lannes said to Ney. "He's bleeding through. We need a surgeon."

"I don't want a surgeon." Davout's voice. Petulant. Wounded. Young.

"I don't care." Lannes bent and hooked an arm under Davout's shoulder. Ney took the other side. Together they lifted him, and he let them. That was the terrible thing. He let them, because fighting required something he'd left on the cobblestones outside.

As they carried him past, Berthier finally spoke.

"I'm sorry."

Davout's head snapped toward him. His eyes were wild, wet, broken.

"Don't," Davout said. "Don't you dare apologize to me. Apologize to him. He needs to know that you— that we—"

He couldn't finish. The sentence died in his throat.

Berthier's eyes, hollow and ancient, met Davout's for one long moment. Then he looked away. Toward the window. Toward the three-story drop.

"He knows," Berthier said. "He simply does not care."

Davout made a sound that wasn't quite human. And Ney, the old lion, the one who'd never been gentle with anything except his children, pulled Davout's head against his chest and held him there.

"Don't listen," Ney murmured into Davout's hair. "Don't listen to that. He's not himself. He's sick. Grief-sick. You understand?"

But Davout's fingers curled into Ney's coat, and he said nothing.

Because Davout, young, brilliant, fanatical Davout, understood something the others didn't. Berthier hadn't jumped because he was sick. Berthier had jumped because he'd looked at Napoleon, really looked, and seen something that made death preferable.

And Davout was terrified, in the quietest, most secret part of his ruined heart, that he would see it too one day.

If he hadn't already.

[rougeaud]

That was absolutely brilliant! Thank you for the entertainment!

‘poor’ Berthier

‘iron’ Davout (though blood does run through his veins)

‘detached’ Lannes

‘gentle’ Ney

[rougeaud]

In Japan, there has long been a tradition known as goryō shinkō (御霊信仰 the veneration of vengeful spirits). Broadly speaking, it is the belief that the restless spirits of people who died tragic deaths while harboring resentment—having been defeated in political struggles or warfare—could bring calamities upon the living. To appease these spirits and prevent their vengeance, they were enshrined as goryō, thereby pacifying their wrath.

Among those later revered as goryō were a statesman who was disgraced through slander, died in exile, and was subsequently believed to have returned as the God of Thunder to set the imperial palace ablaze, as well as warriors who perished after opposing the imperial court.

Of Napoleon’s twenty-six marshals, several met violent rather than natural deaths. If they had lived in Japan, which of them might have been regarded as a goryō?

* Lannes — Killed in battle → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Bessières — Killed in battle → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

*Berthier ー Suicide ? → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Murat — Executed by firing squad → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Ney — Executed by firing squad → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Mortier — Assassinated → Unlikely to become a vengeful spirit.

* Brune — Murdered by a mob → Possibly…??

[miffy-junot]

I think maybe Junot could become a goryō since he was (in his opinion) wrongfully disgraced and he died a slow and painful death 🤔

[rougeaud]

It’s true that Junot met a truly tragic end…

[4emehautrhin]

Junot, yes. Kleber, DEFINITELY. Especially when the Tchudinov papers come to light.

Brune perhaps? yeah, he's a candidate for it. Marceau? No- killed in battle. Houchard? - guillotined, accused of being a coward when he was NOT Possibly. Custine? maaaaybe? Hoche - TB, but he thought he was poisoned so that's also a possibility. Kleber's assassin - yes. without a doubt. What was done to him was disgraceful AND tragic. Poniatowski - drowned - unlikely. d'Hautpoul - died after wounds sustained at Eylau - unlikely. Lasalle - Wagram - highly unlikely - but Lasalle being Lasalle - he'd do it for funsies - and the attention. Desaix - Marengo - highly unlikely. Moreau - died after Dresden wounds - perhaps.

[rougeaud]

Oh no! I completely forgot about Poniatowski. He wouldn't be a goryō, but I believe he would have been enshrined in a "Gokoku Shrine" (Shrine for the Defense of the Nation) in Poland.

Imagining the encounter between Kléber’s goryō and Ney is thrilling!