The Story of Napoleon

In Italy all was not quite so well. Masséna was unable to overcome the Austrian forces under Archduke Charles at Caldiero, which retreated in good order to Laybach. There they concentrated with Archduke John, who had been driven from Tyrol with severe losses by Ney and the Bavarians. After failing to bring hostilities to a conclusion by diplomatic measures, and foreseeing a winter campaign which would in all probability prove a protracted one, Napoleon determined, as on many other occasions, to put all to the hazard in an attempt to bring the contest to an end by a crushing victory. His forces were necessarily widely scattered, but 65,000 troops were available, whereas the allies had some 90,000. On the morning of the 2nd December, 1805, the rays of the sun quickly dispelled the mist which hung about the plateau of Pratzen—“the sun of Austerlitz,” as the Emperor frequently termed it in later campaigns.

Rapp, with the authority of an eye-witness, thus describes “The Day of the Anniversary,” as many of the soldiers called the battle, because Napoleon had been crowned just twelve months before:—

“When we arrived at Austerlitz, the Russians, ignorant of the Emperor’s skilful dispositions to draw them to the ground which he had marked out, and seeing our advanced guards give way before their columns, they conceived the victory won. According to their notions, the advanced guard would suffice to secure an easy triumph. But the battle began—they found what it was to fight, and on every point were repulsed. At one o’clock the victory was still uncertain; for they fought admirably. They resolved on a last effort, and directed close masses against our centre. The Imperial Guard deployed: artillery, cavalry, infantry were marched against a bridge which the Russians attacked, and this movement, concealed from Napoleon by the inequality of the ground, was not observed by us. At this moment I was standing near him, waiting orders. We heard a well-maintained fire of musketry; the Russians were repulsing one of our brigades. Hearing this sound, the Emperor ordered me to take the Mamelukes, two squadrons of Chasseurs, one of Grenadiers of the Guard, and to observe the state of things.

“I set off at full gallop, and, before advancing a cannon-shot, perceived the disaster. The Russian cavalry had penetrated our squares, and were sabring our men. In the distance could be perceived masses of Russian cavalry and infantry in reserve. At this juncture, the enemy advanced; four pieces of artillery arrived at a gallop, and were planted in position against us. On my left I had the brave Morland, on my right General d’Allemagne. ‘Courage, my brave fellows!’ cried I to my party; ‘behold your brothers, your friends butchered; let us avenge them, avenge our standards! Forward!’ These few words inspired my soldiers; we dashed at full speed upon the artillery, and took them. The enemy’s horse, which awaited our attack, were overthrown by the same charge, and fled in confusion, galloping, like us, over the wrecks of our own squares. In the meantime the Russians rallied; but, a squadron of Horse Grenadiers coming to our assistance, I could then halt, and wait the reserves of the Russian Guard.

“Again we charged, and this charge was terrible. The brave Morland fell by my side. It was absolute butchery. We fought man to man, and so mingled together, that the infantry on neither side dared to fire, lest they should kill their own men. The intrepidity of our troops finally bore us in triumph over all opposition: the enemy fled in disorder in sight of the two Emperors of Austria and Russia, who had taken their station on a rising ground in order to be spectators of the contest. They ought to have been satisfied, for I can assure you they witnessed no child’s play. For my own part … I never passed so delightful a day. The Emperor received me most graciously when I arrived to tell him that the victory was ours; I still grasped my broken sabre, and as this scratch upon my head bled very copiously, I was all covered with blood. He named me General of Division. The Russians returned not again to the charge—they had had enough; we captured everything, their cannon, their baggage, their all in short; and Prince Ressina was among the prisoners.”

The total loss of the allies reached the amazing figure of 26,000, or not quite four times as many as that sustained by the victors. The story told of Napoleon that when the fugitives of the defeated armies were endeavouring to cross the frozen surface of Lake Satschan he ordered the artillery of his Guard to fire on the ice, thereby drowning the poor wretches, has now been proved apocryphal.

Those who have read Macaulay’s “Essays” will perhaps remember an anecdote introduced to show that exact fulfilment of certain rules does not necessarily constitute success. “We have heard of an old German officer,” he relates, “who was a great admirer of correctness in military operations. He used to revile Bonaparte for spoiling the science of war, which had been carried to such exquisite perfection by Marshal Daun. ‘In my youth he used to march and countermarch all the summer without gaining or losing a square league, and then we went into winter quarters. And now comes an ignorant, hot-headed young man, who flies about from Boulogne to Ulm, and from Ulm to the middle of Moravia, and fights battles in December. The whole system of his tactics is monstrously incorrect.’ The world is of opinion in spite of critics like these, that the end of war is to conquer, and that those means are the most correct which best accomplish the ends.” Napoleon was great enough to break rules which a man of mediocre ability would not dare to defy. This is the secret of the Emperor’s skill in warfare, of his short but decisive campaigns which astonished officers of less intuition and daring.

After Austerlitz an armistice was arranged, followed on the 26th December 1805, by the signature of the Peace of Pressburg. Venetia, Istria, and Dalmatia were ceded by Austria to Italy; Bavaria gained Tyrol and Vorarlberg; Baden and Würtemberg also came in for a share of the spoil, and their rulers, hitherto styled Electors, became Kings. Prussia, deeming it wiser to appear as a strong ally than as a weak neutral, attached herself to the Nation of Conquests, although Frederick William had been within an ace of declaring war before Austerlitz. An offensive and defensive alliance was first drawn up, then the former clause was struck out, it being arranged that the respective territories of the countries should be held sacred. Hanover was handed over to Prussia in exchange for the territories of Clèves and Neuchâtel, Anspach was ceded to Bavaria, and the principal rivers were closed to British commerce.

This high-handed action was partly nullified by a strict blockade on the part of Great Britain and Sweden, and many Prussian ships were secured as prizes. King Frederick William III. speedily began to regret his bargain with Napoleon, and with the genius for double-dealing so often characteristic of weak men, he came to a secret understanding with the Czar, promising among other things that he would refuse to attack Russia should he be called upon to do so by Napoleon. On his part, Alexander was to come to the help of the House of Hohenzollern should it need assistance. Time was to teach them, as it does most individuals, that “no man can serve two masters.”

Napoleon now parcelled out territory for the special benefit of his family and friends. Joseph Bonaparte became King of the Two Sicilies in April 1806, Naples having been occupied by French troops under Saint-Cyr. In the following June Louis ascended the throne of Holland. Caroline Bonaparte, now married to Murat, was granted the Grand Duchy of Berg and Clèves the same year. Pauline was given the miniature Duchy of Guastalla, near Parma. To Berthier Napoleon presented the principality of Neuchâtel, to Talleyrand that of Benevento. Their power was somewhat limited, it is true, but it pleased the recipients of the honours for a time, and put gold in their purses, which was perhaps even more desirable from their point of view.

Napoleon was putting into practice the theory he had propounded in 1804 when he said “there will be no rest in Europe until it is under a single chief—an Emperor who shall have Kings for officers, who shall distribute kingdoms to his lieutenants, and shall make this one King of Italy, that one of Bavaria, this one ruler of Switzerland, that one Governor of Holland, each having an office of honour in the Imperial household.”

CHAPTER XVIII

The Prussian Campaign

(1806)

Pitt breathed his last soon after the defeat of the allies at Austerlitz, and three months after the death of Nelson. Lord Chatham’s son, no less a martyr to his country than the hero of Trafalgar, had been bent “on putting Europe to rights.” Scarcely had 1806 been ushered in before the Emperor of the French gave fresh evidence to the world that he, too, had a similar ambition. Austria, still smarting from the wounds inflicted by the lash Napoleon had so unsparingly used, an invalid not yet convalescent, and unable to offer any resistance, was again the victim.

For many centuries the ruling King of Austria had been Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, although many of the German States had become practically independent in all but name. It was here that the ruler of France did not hesitate to wound. To strengthen his position he formed the Confederation of the Rhine, whereby sixteen states of various sizes, including Bavaria, Würtemberg, Baden, and Hesse-Darmstadt severed themselves from the Germanic Empire and entered into an offensive and defensive alliance with him as Protector. The new arrangement added 63,000 soldiers to Napoleon’s reserves, and provided additional barriers against his enemies. On his part he agreed in case of war to put 200,000 men in the field on behalf of the Confederation. Well might the Prussian minister at Paris assert that his master “saw around his territories none but French soldiers or vassals of France, ready to march at her beck.” Prussia was almost hemmed in by the new Confederation; moreover the Grand Army continued to remain in Germany.

For a month or two there was a faint glimmer of hope that the continued war between France and England might cease. Charles James Fox, Foreign Secretary and leading figure in the Grenville administration, was not without admiration for Napoleon, and more or less informal negotiations for peace were opened. There was an exchange of courtesies, Fox sending particulars of a plot to assassinate the Emperor to Talleyrand, Napoleon releasing a few British prisoners from French fortresses. When Napoleon really showed his hand he disclosed a suspicious eagerness to obtain Sicily, the possession of which would be of great importance in his cherished scheme of establishing the supremacy of France in the Mediterranean. The Emperor hungered and thirsted after sea-power; it was the one world left for him to conquer.

Hanover was held out as bait to Great Britain, quite regardless of anything Prussia might have to say in the matter. It was this unscrupulous juggling with other folk’s possessions on the part of Napoleon that kept the Continent in so unsettled a state. None knew who next might be bartered or overrun by French troops, irrespective of previous agreements. When Napoleon played cards he cheated; in political matters his morality was no more conspicuous. His sense of right and wrong had long since given way to an egotism which recognised no law, and placed himself above all codes of ordinary conduct. De Tocqueville said of him: “He was as great as a man can be without virtue.”

The peace overtures came to nought. The King of Prussia entered into an alliance with Russia, and began to mobilise his army. His soldiers were for up and doing regardless of the consequences, and effected a foolish disdain of their antagonists which is well shown by Varnhagen von Ense, then a student at Halle, in his “Memoirs.”

“During the whole summer,” he relates, “we had heard of warlike movements interrupted by hopes of peace; but after Napoleon had obtained a firm footing in Germany by means of the Rhenish Confederation, all idea of peace was at an end, and every one in Prussia called loudly for war. Prussian troops were to be seen in and near Halle on their way to the south and west, and the desire for war grew stronger every day. Some hot-headed fellows were furious if peace was hinted at, or if the superiority of the Prussians over the French was not at once acknowledged. I distinctly remember meeting an officer who asserted that the war was as good as ended—that nothing could now save Bonaparte from certain destruction. When I attempted to talk of French generals, he interrupted me by saying, ‘Generals! whence should they spring? We Prussians, if you like it, have generals who understand the art of war; who have served from their youth up: such men will drive the tinkers and tailors, who date only from the Revolution, before them like sheep....’ This put me out of temper, and I answered bluntly, that a man became a general not by accident of birth, but by actual service; that a man’s former condition was nothing; a tinker or a tailor might make as good a general as a drill sergeant.”

The reference to “accident of birth” is to the fact that before the battle of Jena (1806) practically every Prussian officer was an aristocrat, a rule which it will be remembered from a previous reference in this work obtained in the French army before the Revolution.

During a journey to Berlin, undertaken in his holidays, Varnhagen tells us that he was “reminded all along the road, that we were on the eve of some great event; in every direction we met soldiers in larger or smaller detachments, with artillery and baggage waggons. In Treuenbriezen I saw old Field Marshal von Müllendorf on his way to join the army; war was no longer doubtful, and it was thought that the presence of one of Frederick the Great’s heroes would fill the troops with the enthusiasm of that period, and incite them to fresh victories. I saw him with a smiling countenance making the most confident promises of victory out of his carriage window to the surrounding crowd; he then drove off amid the loud huzzas of the assembled multitude. The soldiers were singing jovial songs, and rejoicing that at last they were to be led against the enemy; everywhere were to be seen the stragglers and others rushing to join the army. The noise died away after leaving Potsdam—an unusual stillness prevailed, and the fine summer weather soon banished from my thoughts all save the objects and expectations which more immediately concerned myself.”

Music and merriment were not to last for long. All too soon sunshine turned to rain, pride of race to national disaster. But it taught the Prussians a lesson they never forgot, even if they were slow to learn, and the full fruits of it were reaped on the field of Waterloo nine years later.

At first Napoleon felt confident that the military preparations in Prussia were nothing but bluff, and although war was decided upon at Berlin on the 7th August 1806, and an ultimatum sent to Paris on the 25th September, it was not until the 7th October that Napoleon heard of it, for he was then with his army. By the following day many of his troops had crossed the frontier. His fighting force numbered, in all, some 190,000 men, that of his opponents some 40,000 less, under the chief command of the Duke of Brunswick, a veteran over seventy years of age who had seen service in the wars of the Warrior King. With the French eagles marched many soldiers of the Confederation, evidence of the value of the policy of Napoleon to surround himself with vassal states. It was a somewhat one-sided bargain, for it was considerably more likely that he, in pursuing his aggressive projects, would call upon his allies more frequently than they upon him. Prussia was aided by Russia in the later stages of the campaign, for it was not until after the battle of Jena that the Czar’s slow-moving forces were available. Saxony completed what might have been a most formidable triple alliance.

The Prussian general’s great hope was that he might be able to cut off Napoleon’s communications with France, but he was far too cumbersome in his movements to catch so nimble an adversary. The Emperor divined the plan, gave orders for an immediate concentration of his troops, and turned the tables by threatening the Prussian communications with Berlin. To Bernadotte was given the task of clearing the way for the main army. On the 9th October an affray took place between Saalburg and Schleiz, where there was an extensive wood, and the Prussians were forced to give way after a lengthy resistance. The French afterwards marched to Schleiz and carried the place. Murat, who had put himself in possession of Saalburg on the previous day, also accomplished much difficult work. More important was the action fought near Saalfeld between Lannes and Suchet and Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, in which the young prince—he was but thirty-three years of age—lost his life while fighting against desperate odds. The infantry he commanded fell into disorder, and soon got altogether out of hand. The Prince had now but five squadrons of cavalry on which he could rely, and he determined to die rather than surrender. He gave the order to charge, was wounded in several places, and at last fell from his horse, the victim of a fatal sword-thrust from a hussar. He certainly exhibited the contempt for death which Napoleon recommended to his chasseurs about this time. “My lads,” said he, “you must not fear death; when soldiers brave death, they drive him into the enemy’s ranks.”

The campaign was speedily decided. While the Emperor was closing upon the allied forces concentrated near Weimar and Jena under the King and Prince Hohenlohe respectively, a very foolish movement was decided upon. A large portion of the Prussian forces were detached for the relief of Naumburg, leaving but 47,000 men to face the French should they appear. The unexpected happened; for on the same day the Landgrafenberg, a steep hill whose summit, well-nigh inaccessible but commanding a magnificent bird’s-eye view of the army Napoleon had marked for destruction, was unexpectedly occupied by the French. Almost superhuman exertion was required to haul up the heavy artillery so that it might be placed in the most advantageous positions for the coming conflict. Napoleon invariably discarded his trappings of state during a campaign and assumed the duties of a common soldier when necessity demanded, as on this occasion. He showed himself ready and willing to take his share in what the troops called “the dirty work.” He laid mines for the blasting of rocks which blocked progress up the rugged heights, tugged at the ropes by which the cannon were hauled to the wind-swept ridge, and did not retire to his tent until he was perfectly satisfied in his own mind that nothing had been left undone which might contribute to the discomfiture of the enemy.

The story is told by Marbot, who, if he tells the truth, performed prodigies of valour worthy of D’Artagnan himself. A village priest pointed out the path which enabled the French troops to ascend the Landgrafenberg. “Up this path,” the genial Marshal relates, “he led some officers of the staff and a company of voltigeurs. The Prussians, believing it to be impracticable, had neglected to guard it. Napoleon judged otherwise, and, on the report of the officers, went himself to see it, accompanied by Marshal Lannes and guided by the curé. He found that between the top of the path and the plain occupied by the enemy, there was a small rocky platform; and on this he determined to assemble a part of his troops, who should sally forth from it, as from a citadel, to attack the Prussians. For any one except Napoleon, commanding Frenchmen, the task would have been impossible; but he, sending to the engineers and artillery for four thousand pioneer’s tools, set the infantry to work to widen and level the path, the battalions taking it in turn, each one for an hour, and as it finished its task, advancing in silence and forming on the top of the hill.... The nights were very long at this season of the year, and there was plenty of time to make the path practicable not only for columns of infantry, but for artillery and ammunition waggons; so that before daybreak the troops were massed on the Landgrafenberg. The term massed was never more correct, for the breasts of the men in each regiment were almost touching the backs of those in front of them. But the troops were so well disciplined that, in spite of the darkness and the packing of more than 40,000 men on the narrow platform, there was not the least disorder, and although the enemy who were occupying Cospoda and Closevitz were only half a cannon-shot off, they perceived nothing.”

In the plain below the flaming bivouac fires winked and blinked like watch-dogs at the Prussian soldiers. Some had already taken an unconscious farewell of the stars as their weary eyelids closed upon a scene of natural beauty marred by the stacks of arms, parks of artillery and baggage waggons, which told of imminent strife and bloodshed.

At four o’clock in the morning, ere the faintest streak of dawn had pierced the sky, the French camp was astir, and Napoleon with it. Had a dragon breathing fire and brimstone presented itself on the field of Jena Prince Hohenlohe could not have been more surprised than when the French advance guard suddenly appeared out of a heavy, rolling, autumn mist. The death-dealing guns began their work, the cavalry and infantry on either side fought with desperation, and the battle inclined first to the one side, then to the other. The Prussian troops showed that notwithstanding long years of inaction there was still some of the blood and iron of Unser Fritz left in them; but before the reserve of 20,000 under Rüchel, for whom Hohenlohe had sent, came up, he had been obliged to write a second despatch urging haste, and confiding the news that the French cavalry “has driven into one confused mass the infantry, cavalry, and artillery.” When the reserve appeared on the field the addition of so large a number of men tended to steady the Prussians, and it was on seeing them that an impetuous young French officer, noting the effect, shouted: “Forward! Forward!” to the Imperial Guard, which had not yet been used. “How now?” asked Napoleon. “What beardless boy is this who ventures to counsel his Emperor? Let him wait till he has commanded in thirty pitched battles before he proffers his advice!”

The day was definitely decided by a magnificent cavalry charge led by Murat, which caused a rout that only ended at Weimar, the home of the immortal Goethe, six leagues away.

“The Emperor,” says Savary, “at the point where he stood, saw the flight of the Prussians, and our cavalry taking them by thousands. Night was approaching; and here, as at Austerlitz, he rode round the field of battle. He often alighted from his horse to give a little brandy to the wounded; and several times I observed him putting his hand into the breast of a soldier to ascertain whether his heart beat, because, in consequence of having seen some slight colour in his cheeks, he supposed he might not be dead. In this manner I saw him two or three times discover men who were still alive. On these occasions, he gave way to a joy it is impossible to describe.”

At the same time another battle had been fought and lost by the Prussians not more than twelve miles distant from the scene of this terrible carnage. Davout had received instructions to march to Jena by a route which would enable him to fall on the enemy’s rear while Napoleon was engaging them. In endeavouring to carry out this manœuvre the Marshal came directly upon Frederick’s army before Auerstädt. As regards material strength, the condition of things at Jena was completely reversed. Here, as we have seen, the Prussians were in the minority; at Auerstädt the French were very much weaker. Both sides fought well, and proved themselves worthy of their countrymen who were engaged in a similar struggle only a few leagues away, but when the survivors of the two Prussian armies met it was as fugitives with the common desire to put as great a distance between them and their pursuers as possible. The King, Prince Henry, Prince William, and Marshal Möllendorf were wounded, the Duke of Brunswick and General Schmettau died as a result of injuries they received, and despite the inability of Davout to continue the pursuit of the stricken enemy, the corpses of 20,000 Prussians covered the fields of Jena and Auerstädt, lay in ditches, or almost blocked the roads. Many guns and colours fell to the spoil of the victors. What would have happened had Bernadotte and his cavalry come up is too horrible to contemplate.