The Story of Napoleon

Even more interesting perhaps, because it so essentially reveals Napoleon’s outlook on life, was a remark he made at a later meeting at which both Wieland and Goethe were present. He wished the latter to treat of the “Death of Cæsar.” “That,” he said, “should be the great task of your life. In that tragedy you should show the world how much Cæsar would have done for humanity, if only he had been allowed time to carry out his great plans.” When we reflect on the events which had immediately preceded this notable utterance, on the grandiose schemes which were then being actively promulgated by the speaker for the conquest of Europe and the advancement of his Empire of the West, we can understand why Napoleon wished to woo this literary giant to his cause. “Come to Paris,” Napoleon said in his abrupt, commanding way, “I desire it of you. There you will find a wider circle for your spirit of observation; there you will find enormous material for poetic creations.” But it was not to be; Goethe had other wishes and ideals. Had he acceded to the despot’s request the result would have been no more felicitous than that which had attended Voltaire’s removal to the Court of Frederick the Great. Goethe loved Prussia too well to desert her, and while he admired Napoleon in some ways he did not admire him in all.

Peace with Great Britain was suggested by the two Emperors at Erfurt, but England had far too much to lose to seriously entertain such an overture. In his reply Canning made it perfectly clear that George III. was not prepared to break faith with his Portuguese, Sicilian, and Spanish allies. Both the King and his Minister fully realised the nature of the undertaking upon which they had embarked, and having put their hands to the plough there was to be no turning back. Their course gave rise to many blunders abroad and many heartburnings at home, yet they loyally followed the precept of the great man whose ashes were now lying in Westminster Abbey. “England,” said Pitt in his last public speech, “has saved herself by her exertions, and will, as I trust, save Europe by her example.”

We must now glance across the Pyrenees at the strife still going on in the Peninsula. Had Sir John Moore secured the active and loyal assistance of the people, as he clearly had a right to expect, all might have been well with the cause of the allies. The preliminary successes of the Spaniards, however, had made them over-confident, and over-confidence is a sure prelude to disaster. Of all their many mistakes most fatal was their preference for fighting with independent corps, each under a Captain-General. Instead of joining together in the common cause there was considerable rivalry and many misunderstandings between the various forces. As a consequence when Napoleon, feeling comparatively secure from Austrian menaces because of the Russian alliance, determined to lead his armies in person, the Spaniards were but ill organised. Their antagonist, on the contrary, soon had at his disposal 300,000 trained soldiers divided into eight corps under his most skilled generals. “In a few days,” the Emperor said before leaving Paris, “I shall set out to place myself at the head of my army, and, with the aid of God, crown at Madrid the King of Spain, and plant my eagles on the towers of Lisbon.” The Spaniards could not muster at the moment more than 76,000 men, and whereas their cavalry totalled 2000, that of Napoleon was at least twenty times the number. A reserve of nearly 60,000 Spaniards was gathering in the rear, but would not be available for the first desperate onslaught, on the result of which so much would depend. The British army of some 30,000 was, by a series of misfortunes, in three divisions and unable to come up with any of the Spanish armies, which were also separated.

Napoleon began his movements and got into action while his opponents were thinking of what was likely to happen. Blake’s ragged patriots were scattered by Lefebvre early in November after having been defeated at Tornosa and Reynosa. Soult defeated the army under the Count de Belvidere at Burgos on the 10th November, the Spaniards suffering a loss of 2000 men and 800 prisoners, as well as their ammunition and stores. The town, after having been pillaged, became the Emperor’s headquarters. On the 22nd of the same month Castaños’ forces, augmented by the men under Palafox, and amounting in all to 43,000, were routed by the 35,000 troops opposed to them by Lannes. After such a series of defeats it was not difficult for the Emperor to push towards Madrid, the outskirts of which he reached, after forcing the Somosierra Pass, on the 2nd December. The inhabitants made some show of resistance, but they were so badly organised as to preclude any possibility of serious defensive measures. Wishing to spare the city from bombardment, Napoleon sent a flag of truce, and a capitulation was speedily signed.

A soldier who was present thus relates the entry of the French into Madrid: “A heavy silence,” he says, “had succeeded that confusion and uproar which had reigned within and without the walls of the capital only the day before. The streets through which we entered were deserted; and even in the market-place, the numerous shops of the vendors of necessaries still remained shut. The water-carriers were the only people of the town who had not interrupted their usual avocations. They moved about uttering their cries with the nasal, drawling tone, peculiar to their native mountains of Galicia, ‘Quien quiere agua?’—Who wants water? No purchasers made their appearance; the waterman muttered to himself sorrowfully, ‘Dios que la da,’—It is God’s gift,—and cried again.

“As we advanced into the heart of the city, we perceived groups of Spaniards standing at the corner of a square, where they had formerly been in the habit of assembling in great numbers. They stood muffled in their capacious cloaks, regarding us with a sullen, dejected aspect. Their national pride could scarcely let them credit that any other than Spanish soldiers could have beaten Spaniards. If they happened to perceive among our ranks a horse which had once belonged to their cavalry, they soon distinguished him by his pace, and awakening from their apathy, would whisper together: ‘Este caballo es Español’—That’s a Spanish horse; as if they had discovered the sole cause of our success.”

On the 7th December 1808, Napoleon issued a proclamation which was largely a fierce tirade against England and the English, whose armies were to be chased from the Peninsula. In the constitution which he framed for the nation he abolished the iniquitous Inquisition, and the old feudal system which had held Spain in its shackles for so long, reduced the number of monasteries and convents by two-thirds, improved the customs, and endeavoured to institute reforms which would have been beneficial. “It depends upon you,” the Emperor told the people, “whether this moderate constitution which I offer you shall henceforth be your law. Should all my efforts prove vain, and should you refuse to justify my confidence, then nothing will remain for me but to treat you as a conquered province and find a new throne for my brother. In that case I shall myself assume the crown of Spain and teach the ill-disposed to respect that crown, for God has given me the power and the will to overcome all obstacles.”

The concluding words are noteworthy. Napoleon now regarded himself as little less than omnipotent. Impelled by the force of his own volition, into a dangerous situation, he was to find it impossible to draw back when the nations which he had treated with contempt felt that self-confidence which alone made Leipzig and Waterloo possible. The Peninsular War was indeed what Talleyrand prophesied, “the beginning of the end.”

After considerable hesitation, due to the varying and oftentimes contradictory accounts which he received as to what was actually happening in the field, Sir John Moore, having concentrated his troops, cautiously began to close upon Soult’s army on the banks of the river Carrion. When Napoleon heard of this he speedily decided to crush the friends of Spain and Portugal by sheer force of numbers, God, according to him, being “on the side of the biggest battalions,” a parallel remark to Nelson’s “Only numbers can annihilate.” Winter had set in with severity, but disregarding the inclemency of the weather, the Emperor marched with his 40,000 men along the Guadarrama Pass through the blinding sleet, traversing no fewer than twenty miles a day for ten days. Meanwhile Moore had given up hope of attacking and had decided to retreat as rapidly as possible. Unfortunately his troops did not follow the example of their noble commander; they broke away from every restraint, drinking and pillaging whenever they had opportunity. It is only just to add, however, that at Lugo, when there seemed an opportunity to contest Soult, who was following in their track, they stood to arms with a confidence and precision worthy of the best disciplined regiment in the British service. Lord Paget’s corps, which covered the retreat, behaved with conspicuous bravery, and succeeded in worsting some of the chasseurs, the “Invincibles” of the French army.

“Before our reserve left Lugo,” writes a soldier of the 75th Regiment who endured the hardships of this terrible retreat, “general orders were issued, warning and exhorting us to keep order, and to march together; but, alas! how could men observe order amidst such sufferings, or men whose feet were naked and sore, keep up with men who, being more fortunate, had better shoes and stronger constitutions? The officers in many points, suffered almost as much as the men. I have seen officers of the Guards, and others, worth thousands, with pieces of old blanket wrapped round their feet and legs; the men pointing at them, with a malicious satisfaction, saying ‘There goes three thousand a year’; or ‘There goes the prodigal son, on his return to his father, cured of his wanderings.’”

On the 11th January 1809, Coruña was reached, and several days afterwards the welcome sails of the British troop-ships made their appearance, ready to convey the survivors of the battle to be fought on the 16th to England and to home. Soult had the advantage of 4000 more troops and of a better position, but lacked ammunition, while the British general had been able to obtain a supply of new muskets from the vessels which rode at anchor in the Bay.

It was round the little village of Elvina that the fight raged most fiercely, for a French battery of eleven guns was placed on a ridge not more than 600 yards off, and from this commanding position shells were hurled at the British defenders with ruthless fury. Elvina was taken by the French and re-captured by the gallantry of Charles Napier, who led the fearless Irishmen of the 50th regiment. He then endeavoured to secure the French battery, but without success, and during the charge he was wounded and made prisoner.

“My brave 42nd,” cried Moore, when the enemy was again advancing on the village, “if you have fired away all your ammunition, you have still your bayonets. Recollect Egypt! Remember Scotland! Come on, my brave countrymen!”

“Sir John,” according to an eye-witness, “was at the head of every charge.” Indeed, he had several narrow escapes before he received his death-wound. He was talking to Napier when, records the latter, “a round shot struck the ground between his horse’s feet and mine. The horse leaped round, and I also turned mechanically, but Moore forced the animal back, and asked me if I was hurt. ‘No, sir.’ Meanwhile a second shot had torn off the leg of a 42nd man, who screamed horribly and rolled about so as to excite agitation and alarm in others. The General said, ‘This is nothing, my lads; keep your ranks. My good fellow, don’t make such a noise; we must bear these things better.’ He spoke sharply, but it had a good effect, for this man’s cries had made an opening in the ranks, and the men shrank from the spot, although they had not done so when others had been hit who did not cry out. But again Moore went off, and I saw him no more.”

Sir John was struck by a cannon-ball which tore his flesh in several places and precluded all possibility of recovery. “I hope the people of England will be satisfied: I hope my country will do me justice,” were the noble words which passed his parched lips as he lay dying on the field of victory.

“We buried him darkly at dead of night,The sods with our bayonets turning;By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light,And the lantern dimly burning.”

CHAPTER XXIV

The Austrian Campaign

(1809)

On a certain memorable occasion, Walpole is said to have made the remark, “They are ringing the bells now; they will be wringing their hands soon!” with reference to a universal outcry for war on the part of Great Britain. Had it been uttered by an Austrian statesman at the beginning of 1809, it would have been equally apposite. Thinking men recognised that the army was not yet prepared to meet Napoleon, despite the fact that since the Austerlitz campaign of 1805 the improvement of her military forces had engrossed the attention of Archduke Charles, the Commander-in-chief. He was convinced that his troops were not ready to take the field, and he led the peace party solely on this account. The war party, however, headed by Count Stadion, the able and energetic Minister of Foreign Affairs, and aided by the Empress, who had considerable influence over her august husband, proved more powerful. Its supporters felt confident that as the war in Spain necessarily occupied so much of Napoleon’s attention, and had drawn off such a large proportion of his troops, the time to strike was come. Austrian diplomatists had vainly endeavoured to woo both Russia and Prussia without success; the Czar had no wish at that moment to break with his ally; Frederick William trembled for his throne.

In January 1809, war was imminent. Napoleon, deceived as to the real state of affairs in Spain, set out on his return journey to France on the 16th. He at once began to organise his forces, Berthier being placed in command until the Emperor’s arrival at the seat of war. Napoleon’s explicit instructions were as follows:—

“By the 1st April the corps of Marshal Davout, which broke up from the Oder and Lower Elbe on the 17th March, will be established between Nuremberg, Bamberg, and Baireuth: Masséna will be around Ulm: Oudinot between Augsburg and Donauwörth. From the 1st to the 15th, three French corps, 130,000 strong, besides 10,000 allies, the Bavarians in advance on the Iser, and the Würtembergers in reserve, may be concentrated on the Danube at Ratisbon or Ingolstadt. Strong têtes-de-pont should be thrown up at Augsburg, to secure the passage of the Lech at Ingolstadt, in order to be able to debouch to the left bank of the Danube; and above all at Passau, which should be able to hold out two or three months. The Emperor’s object is to concentrate his army as soon as possible at Ratisbon: the position on the Lech is to be assumed only if it is attacked before the concentration at the former town is possible. The second corps will be at Ratisbon by the 10th, and on that day Bessières will also arrive with the reserve cavalry of the Guard: Davout will be at Nuremberg: Masséna at Augsburg: Lefebvre at one or two marches from Ratisbon. Headquarters then may be safely established in that town, in the midst of 200,000 men, guarding the right bank of the Danube from Ratisbon to Passau, by means of which stream provisions and supplies of every sort will be procured in abundance. Should the Austrians debouch from Bohemia or Ratisbon, Davout and Lefebvre should fall back on Ingolstadt or Donauwörth.”

On the 9th April, when hostilities began, the strength of Napoleon’s forces was as follows:—His newly-named Army of Germany, on the Danube, numbered 174,000 troops, including some 54,000 of the Rhenish Confederacy; the Army of Italy consisted of 68,000; in Saxony there were about 20,000; in Poland 19,000; in Dalmatia 10,500. Consequently the Emperor had 291,500 troops at his disposal, some 275,000 of whom were ready to confront Austria by the middle of the month. This is an enormous number when it is remembered that he was still at war with Spain, where 300,000 men were engaged, but he had had recourse to his old plan of forestalling the conscription, whereby he had obtained 80,000 recruits.

The Austrian forces were divided into three armies: that of Germany, under Archduke Charles, consisting of 189,684 troops; of Italy, under Archduke John, totalling 64,768, including those for action in Tyrol under Chasteler; and of Galicia, under Archduke Ferdinand, with 35,400; in all 289,852. The Reserves, made up of the landwehr and levées en masse reached 244,247, but as Mr F. Loraine Petre points out in his masterly study of this campaign, only some 15,000 of the landwehr were used with the active army at the beginning of hostilities. “There was little of the spirit of war in the landwehr,” he adds, “and discipline was very bad. One battalion attacked and wounded its chief with the bayonet. Two others refused to march. Eleven Bohemian battalions could only be got to march when regular troops were added to them. Even then they only averaged about 500 men each, and those badly equipped and armed.” But while this organisation was of little practical service at the moment, it was creating a healthy public opinion which could not fail to be beneficial in the years to come.

Already Napoleon’s military glory was beginning to decline. In some of his principles he “became false to himself,” he omitted to make his orders to his subordinates sufficiently clear, and on one occasion, in the early stage of the campaign, threw away “chances of a decisive battle which would then probably have made an end of the war.” He also exhibited the utmost contempt for a country which “had profited by the lessons he had taught her,” with the result that “her armies, and her commander-in-chief, were very different from the troops and leaders of 1796 and 1805,” when he had crossed swords with Austria.

Yet another failing is pointed out by Mr Petre. “Napoleon’s wonderful successes in every previous campaign,” he notes, “and the height to which his power had risen, by the practical subjugation of all Europe to his dominion, tended to fan the flame of his pride, to make him deem himself invincible and infallible, to cause him to assume that what he desired was certain to happen. The wish now began to be father to the thought. Of this we shall find numerous instances in this campaign, the most notable, perhaps, being when, notwithstanding Davout’s positive assertions that the greater part of the Austrian army was in front of himself, the Emperor persisted in believing that Charles was in full retreat on Vienna by the right bank of the Danube. His constant over-estimates of his own forces, not in bulletins but in letters to his generals and ministers, are other examples of this failing.”

The campaign opened in Bavaria, where 176,000 Austrians assembled early in April 1809. Berthier, doubtless acting for the best as he conceived it, instead of concentrating at Ratisbon, Ingolstadt or Donauwörth according to orders, had seen fit to scatter his forces, “in the dangerous view,” as Alison puts it, “of stopping the advance of the Austrians at all points.” As a result of Berthier’s blunder Davout at Ratisbon and Masséna at Augsburg were thirty-five leagues from each other, and Archduke Charles with 100,000 troops were interposed between them. About Ingolstadt were the Bavarians under Wrede, Lefebvre, and the reserve under Oudinot, the only forces available to oppose the Austrians, whose march, fortunately for the French, was extremely slow.

The Emperor arrived at Donauwörth on the 17th April, and at once saw the danger. “What you have done appears so strange,” he wrote to Berthier, “that if I was not aware of your friendship I should think you were betraying me; Davout is at this moment more completely at the disposal of the Archduke than of myself.”

It was Napoleon’s task to bring the two armies in touch with each other so that a combined movement might become possible. “One word will explain to you the urgency of affairs,” the Emperor wrote to Masséna on the 18th. “Archduke Charles, with 80,000 men, debouched yesterday from Landshut on Ratisbon; the Bavarians contended the whole day with the advanced guard. Orders have been dispatched to Davout to move with 60,000 troops in the direction of Neustadt, where he will form a junction with the Bavarians. To-morrow (19th) all your troops who can be mustered at Pfaffenhofen, with the Würtembergers, a division of cuirassiers, and every man you can collect, should be in a condition to fall on the rear of Archduke Charles. A single glance must show you that never was more pressing occasion for diligence and activity than at present. With 60,000 good troops, Davout may indeed make head against the Archduke; but I consider him ruined without resource, if Oudinot and your three divisions are on his rear before daybreak on the 19th, and you inspire the soldiers with all they should feel on so momentous an occasion. Everything leads us to the belief that between the 18th, 19th, and 20th, all the affairs of Germany will be decided.”

On the 19th Davout withdrew from Ratisbon, leaving only the 65th French infantry to guard the bridge over the Danube, and after a severe but indecisive action at Haussen, reached Abensberg in the evening, thereby effecting his junction with Lefebvre. At Pfaffenhofen Masséna defeated a body of the enemy and remained there. Archduke Charles had foolishly divided his army, and while he was marching on Ratisbon, Archduke Louis and Hiller, with 42,000 troops forming the Austrian left wing, were brought to action at Abensberg by Napoleon on the 20th. The day remained with the French, who numbered 55,000, their enemies losing over 2700 killed and wounded, and some 4000 prisoners. According to Mr Petre, about 25,000 soldiers only on either side came into action. The defeated Austrians retreated in the direction of Landshut, several of the energetic Bavarian battalions following them. After a spirited fight, during which ammunition ran out and many men were killed and wounded, the solitary regiment which held Ratisbon was forced to surrender on the same day, half the troops of the 65th being taken prisoners.

On the morning of the 21st Napoleon renewed the battle against the Austrian left. About 9000 men were added to the enemy’s already extensive losses, and it had the desired effect of preventing them from joining the main army. Davout and Lefebvre also engaged the Austrian centre, which retreated, leaving many wounded and dead on the field.

The Emperor was now ready to give attention to Archduke Charles who, with 74,000 troops, was bent on destroying Davout. The French Marshal was in a tight corner, the Austrian main army being opposed to him, and not to Napoleon, as the Emperor had supposed on the morning of Abensberg. As we have seen, it was only the left wing which he had defeated on the 20th.

When the Archduke heard that Napoleon was on his track he abandoned the idea of attacking Davout and made his dispositions to meet the Emperor. Immediately they came up, the bridge, village, and château of Eckmühl were captured by the French. The heights were stormed in truly magnificent style, and a brave attempt was made by the Bavarian cavalry to capture the enemy’s battery on the Bettelberg, which was doing considerable execution. They were driven back, but an hour later a French cuirassier regiment captured the greater part of the guns, with the result that Rosenberg, the commander of the fourth Austrian army corps, was forced to retreat. The Emperor then ordered the cavalry and infantry to pursue the unfortunate Imperialists, who broke away almost in a panic.

It now became evident that a general retreat was necessary, the Austrian left wing making in the direction of the river Isar, the main army, after a further sharp conflict with the enemy, reaching the Danube, the idea being to retire into the forests of Bohemia. It is calculated that nearly 10,000 Austrians were killed, wounded, or taken prisoners on this terrible day.

At St Helena, where, like the old soldiers in Chelsea Hospital, Napoleon so often “fought his battles o’er again,” he frequently referred to the battle of Eckmühl. On one occasion he called it “that superb manœuvre, the finest that I ever executed,” attributing its indecisiveness to his lack of sleep on the previous night.