by Alan Schom
The cost of the coronation day’s events and ceremonies, of the alterations to Nôtre-Dame, the state dinners, preparations for the pope, public celebrations and costumes, Finance Minister Gaudin ultimately put at 8,527,973 francs, to be paid by the combined crown and state treasuries.[596]
To Napoleon it was all worth the price. The pope, the head of the entire Roman Catholic church, had come to him. Papal approval had given his new Empire international acceptance, legitimacy, and respectability. This in turn permitted him to think about new family alliances — royal alliances — previously denied him, as well as fresh international agreements. And to be sure that the significance of the coronation ceremony was not forgotten, Napoleon commissioned his new imperial court painter, David, to paint four massive nineteen-by-thirty-foot canvases depicting these events (only two of which ultimately were completed, however: The Anointing and The Distribution of the Eagles).[597]
And yet as the last bells ceased chiming, and the words “Vivat imperator in aeternum” hung silently in the now empty basilica of Nôtre-Dame, and the smoke of the last celebratory cannon dissipated above the capital, there were already disquieting signs of grave problems, as Finance Minister Gaudin, Archchancellor Cambacérès, and Foreign Minister Talleyrand conferred with Napoleon, after which the newly crowned emperor would have to rush back to the Channel camps and boatyards to urge on his preparations for the invasion of England.
Chapter Twenty-Two – “A Humiliating Business”
‘With God’s help, I shall put an end to the destiny and very existence of England.’
Napoleon may have had all the elements of his great invasion plan in his head, but apparently not all at the same time. It had taken him the better part of six months to decide where he wanted to place his major embarkation camps. Then ports had been selected between April and December of 1803 on a hit-or-miss basis. But it was only gradually, as blueprints were translated into reality and cannon were hoisted into the new batteries at Boulogne, that he came to realize that a flotilla, even an impressive task force of a couple of thousand gunboats and transports, however heavily armed, could not successfully cross the English Channel in the face of powerful British warships — not, that is, without protection.
It was a most reluctant first consul who ultimately acknowledged that, although he might send some fleets to attack Scotland or Ireland or other points as part of a sweeping tactical feint, in the hope of luring Adm. Sir William Cornwallis and his forty-five or so ships and frigates away from Brest and the English Channel, he would nevertheless still have to cope with Lord Keith and the Home Fleet, stationed off the Kent Downs. As Napoleon was just beginning to appreciate between 1803 and 1804, Cornwallis, in his three-decked flagship Ville de Paris, at Ushant, off the coast of Brest, was successfully holding captive the entire French Atlantic fleet. The commanders of the Brest fleet of twenty-one superb ships of the line — Vice Adm. Laurent-Jean François Truguet and then his successor, Rear Admiral Ganteaume — seemed unable to break out of that Breton port, while smaller squadrons were able to slip out of Lorient and La Rochelle only on very, very rare occasions, and then never with enough ships to be able to confront Cornwallis. And while Admiral Decrès was doing his best at the Naval Ministry, he — and therefore Napoleon — was not without his problems, on a most intimidating scale.
To begin with, Admiral Bruix, who was in declining health despite being only in his early forties, was to die in March 1805 before the operation was ever put into motion. Another competent admiral, Louis Latouche-Tréville, commander of the Mediterranean fleet at Toulon, was also ailing and died in port in August 1804 before ever putting to sea. The one other commander of critical importance, Vice Admiral Truguet, with the French navy’s largest and most powerful fleet at Brest, was to be fired on political grounds in the summer of 1804 because of his attempt to dissuade Napoleon from accepting the imperial purple. Thus, in less than nine months’ time, France was destined to lose its three best senior naval officers, and there was no one even remotely capable of replacing them.
Rear Adm. Jean-Baptiste-Raymond Lacrosse, hardly of the same mettle as Admiral Bruix, was to succeed to the command at Boulogne in March 1805. Napoleon’s favorite sailor, the pultaceous Ganteaume, was to replace the excellent Truguet at Brest and, not unexpectedly, prove a spineless, indecisive, and sycophantic disaster, doomed to ride at anchor behind the protection of that port’s guns. The forty-two-year-old Pierre de Villeneuve was now promoted to Vice Admiral and nominated as Latouche-Tréville’s successor at Toulon. This same Villeneuve who had earlier deserted Admiral Brueys at the Battle of Abukir Bay without firing a shot was shortly to prove himself to be one of the most incompetent and ignominious commanders, indeed the greatest wimp in the history of the French navy.
In brief, however hard he worked, and despite his commandeering of the entire French national treasury for two entire years (1803-5) — not to mention his blatant extortion of untold millions from Dutch, Belgian, German, Italian, and Spanish allies — for the sole purpose of launching his flotilla “to avenge six centuries of [English] insults,” Napoleon had not even remote assurances of success. No senior naval or army officer supported the plan. “Battles should not be fought,” Napoleon himself was to admit a few years later, “if one cannot calculate at least a 70 percent chance of success,” adding, however, “And yet [at times] one should fight even when there appears to be no chance of winning, since by its very nature, the outcome of a battle is never predictable. But once it has been decided to fight, one should do so to the very end, to conquer or perish.”[598] Even if he did successfully land some troops in Kent or along the Thames Estuary, that hardly ensured the seizure of London and the subjection of the obdurate and patriotic Anglo-Saxons. Nor did it in any measure rationalize his diverting all the nation’s energies and resources and bankrupting the French treasury just to bring off the colorful publicity coup of repeating William the Conqueror’s unique feat.
Napoleon’s manner of drafting and dictating naval strategy was hardly reassuring either. He knew that he wanted to invade England. To do that he knew that he needed to create ports, coastal batteries, an entirely new flotilla, and a large expeditionary force, but he wavered on the selection of its commanders and on the means required to achieve his end. The strategy devised for launching the invasion force proved the final flaw. One major plan after another was drafted for the navy’s principal fleets — ordering, then canceling or aborting them — each only to be replaced in turn with the next, and in such numbers (nine different plans in all) as to leave the few remaining competent, seasoned commanding officers bewildered, frustrated, and despondent.
Meanwhile the British government mobilized quickly for an anticipated extensive French landing as early as the autumn of 1803. But, ironically, at that time the first units of Napoleon’s new flotilla were not even remotely ready, nor were the basic harbors in any position to receive them until well into the following year. Indeed, despite Bonaparte’s brave words and pronouncements regarding the creation of the national flotilla, it was not until over one year later, on July 2, 1804, that he and Admiral Decrès secretly revealed to the senior commanding officers concerned the first set of invasion plans.[599]
With the exception of this initial plan, those that followed required a major French naval force sailing from Europe to Ireland, or to the Caribbean to land troops in the French colonies and attack nearby English island possessions. The objective was to draw large numbers of British warships away from the French coast and the Channel. This sweeping movement — assuming that the British fell for it — was to be foiled from the outset by the fact that the principal French fleet was never able to escape from the port of Brest. This was due in large part to the hovering presence of Admiral Cornwallis’s powerful fleet (reaching down to El Ferrol-La Coruña and Cadiz). Therefore there was no reason for Admiral Lord Keith ever to quit British waters. His primary objective remained unchanged: to protect “hearth and home.” Admiral Decrès seeme
d most remiss in not explaining this to the first consul. The annual convoys of sugar, spices, and indigo sailing from the Caribbean, however, were of vast importance to English merchants and London in particular; French attacks in the Caribbean were of grave concern. But in the final analysis, protecting English shores came first. The small British squadron in the Antilles would have to cope as best it could. The even more lucrative — and far larger — annual convoys from India and the Far East, after clearing the Cape of Good Hope, sailed along the west coast of Africa, directly up the English Channel to the Thames Estuary, and up the river to the sprawling East India Docks. If this vital convoy, sometimes involving hundreds of commercial transports, was intercepted and destroyed by the French, London would be left nearly bankrupt. The City in the final analysis dictated Admiralty strategy, and the Channel therefore remained heavily protected. The powerful British fleets would remain in place. It is hard to conceive of Napoleon’s failure to grasp such basic concepts, but then he never did understand the English — nor did he even try.
Napoleon’s initial plan to invade England was probably the best. Admiral Latouche-Tréville was to sail from Toulon with ten or eleven ships of the line, into the Atlantic, around Spain to collect the small squadron at Rochefort and the large one at Brest, and proceed directly to Boulogne. It was aborted on August 14, 1804, however, with the death that day of the long-ailing Admiral Latouche. As Napoleon once stoically commented, “In every great enterprise one must always allow something to chance.”[600]
After that, everything seemed to go wrong, perhaps because Bonaparte now ignored his own rule that a perpendicular line is always shorter than an oblique one[601] and employed instead a complex strategy that allowed too many opportunities for chance to intervene. To make matters worse, he continued to juggle too many possibilities, and when he announced his second invasion plan on September 29, it was very different indeed, setting an unfortunate pattern for the events to follow. The choice of the aloof, pusillanimous, indecisive Villeneuve to replace Latouche could doom even the best-laid plans.
In any event Villeneuve was ordered to sail from Toulon by October 12 at the very latest, to lay by at Cadiz to collect Spanish warships to be joined to his command, and to chart a course straight to South America and Surinam, where he was to land 5,600 troops, and then to continue on to Martinique, where Rear Admiral Missiessy’s very small squadron (arriving from France) would join him. While in the Antilles he was to attack British possessions and seize the islands of St. Lucia and Dominica, landing 3,500 more men there. Meanwhile another, smaller French squadron was to be sent from Toulon south along the African coast, destroying British trading posts, with the final objective of seizing a certain tropical isle in the South Atlantic by the name of St. Helena.
“The English will find themselves simultaneously attacked in Asia, Africa, and America,” Napoleon argued. “These successive shocks at the main points of their [global] commerce will make them realize at long last just how very vulnerable they really are.” After these sweeping operations in the Caribbean and Africa, they “will certainly not be expecting anything else. It will be easy to surprise them...The Grande Armée de Boulogne...will then enter the county of Kent.”[602]
Part of Napoleon’s evaluation was based on the assumption that the Brest fleet — now ordered to land 18,000 troops under General Augereau at Lough Swilly Bay in northern Ireland, with orders to “march straight for Dublin” — would also have sailed. “Lord Cornwallis will go to wait for him [Truguet with the Brest fleet] in Ireland,” Napoleon insisted. With the Brest fleet gone, the British were to think that the national flotilla would not cross the Channel. Meanwhile Villeneuve with his combined fleet was to return directly to Boulogne, where he would in turn be joined by the Brest fleet on its return voyage (after sweeping around northern Scotland). Thus they would have only Lord Keith’s Home Fleet with which to contend. It would be child’s play. “One of these two operations must succeed,” Napoleon assured his naval minister. “Whether I am in England or Ireland, in either event we will have won the war.”[603]
It was certainly a daring plan in its sweeping strategy, involving the landing of some 194,000 men on both sides of the Atlantic. Unfortunately, its boldness had only one purpose, the destruction and subjection of other human beings. Still not knowing how unreliable Villeneuve was, and with the able Truguet still in place at Brest, Napoleon felt confident of success. But the unexpected happened again. On October 8 Napoleon was informed that the British had intercepted a full copy of these complicated orders. The whole operation had to be scrapped once more.
A frustrated Bonaparte was not to be put off that easily, however, and on October 26 he issued his third invasion plan. Missiessy would sail with his small squadron from Rochefort to Martinique, and Villeneuve would sail to South America and then on to Martinique, from where, with his flock in hand (including Missiessy), he would return to Europe. This time, for security reasons, no mention was made of Boulogne, which was to be continued in separate orders.[604]
As the old year gave way to the new, January 1805 found Admiral Villeneuve still snugly in his Toulon berth, hesitating. He was against the whole venture and had informed Decrès explicitly that he did not desire to be in the limelight of such a dangerous command as this. Meanwhile, however, the Spanish had declared war on England on December 12, 1804, following Cornwallis’s capture of three royal Spanish treasure ships (sinking one) in October and two months of very considerable pressure from Napoleon. As a result a Franco-Spanish defense pact was signed in Paris on January 4, 1805, by Talleyrand and Adm. Don Federico Gravina, the Spanish emissary to Paris, the latter assuring his new French allies that he would endeavor to support them “with all my zeal and energy.” (He was to prove himself a man of his word.) Hereafter the Spanish navy would throw its full resources behind the French and their campaign against England.
After weeks of procrastination and the usual excuses by Villeneuve — lack of supplies, insufficient crews, bad weather, and the presence of the British — on January 16 without warning Napoleon again modified all naval campaign plans. Missiessy was to sail for the Caribbean (and in fact had already done so but following an earlier plan), while Villeneuve’s Toulon fleet was to proceed to the Caribbean and land troops to reinforce Admiral Villaret-de-Joyeuses, governor of Martinique, supported by the Brest and Rochefort fleets, as well as French and Spanish vessels from El Ferrol. Their objectives were to “ravage” the British colonies and then return to Europe or the Canaries, depending on the situation, when final orders would be given for Boulogne.[605]
Much to the astonishment of just about everyone, on January 18 Villeneuve’s fleet finally hauled out of Toulon harbor with 6,333 troops aboard his ten ships of the line and seven frigates. Admittedly there was much less astonishment on his return, with a few sails sagging, three days later. Caught by a moderate storm and fearing interception by the British, he had put his helm hard about and made for a safe haven. “Had I been seen by the English squadron [headed by Nelson],” he argued feebly to Decrès, “it would have been quite impossible to escape from it.”[606] And yet he had not been seen by a soul.
French naval morale at Toulon, which had sunk after Latouche’s replacement by Villeneuve, reached a new low. Villeneuve’s secret report to Decrès revealed a very troubled mind indeed. “You will be so good as to recall that I have not asked for the command of this squadron,” it began. The navy, he insisted, was in a pathetic, useless state:
I should like to point out to you that about all one can expect from a career in the French Navy today is shame and confusion, and anyone who denies this I declare to be presumptuous, utterly blind, and incapable of straight thinking...[Therefore] it is my ardent wish that the Emperor decide not to commit any of his squadrons to the hazards of these events, for if he does, the French flag will be seriously compromised. The fact of the matter is that it is utterly impossible for us to defeat the enemy when both sides are equal, indeed, they will beat us
even when they are a third weaker than we are...under no circumstances do I intend to become the laughing stock of Europe by being involved in further disasters...I should therefore view it with the greatest pleasure if the Emperor would replace me in this command.[607]
Decrès made sure that the document’s dark contents never reached the Tuileries. That the hapless Villeneuve was kept in command of a fleet he held to be doomed to disaster was as irresponsible as it was perplexing. Admiral Decrès could not conceal Vice Admiral Villeneuve’s unscheduled return to port, however. “I really believe your admiral does not know how to command,” a frustrated Bonaparte confided to his former aide-de-camp General Lauriston, who was then aboard Villeneuve’s flagship, the Bucentaure. “We would have to renounce ever putting to sea, even during the finest of weather, if we were always worried about losing a few ships.”[608]
Even while the ships were undergoing repairs, however, Napoleon was mulling over Villeneuve’s latest action. Could he entrust the command of such an important campaign to him? The result was that he rescinded his fourth invasion plan (of January 16), replacing it on March 2 with yet another variation on the theme. Villeneuve, although kept in command of the Toulon fleet, was demoted to overall second-in-command, his junior colleague Ganteaume succeeding him. While Villeneuve would (in theory) be sailing to Martinique, Ganteaume would (also in theory) be hauling out of harbor with the larger Brest fleet heading for the same rendezvous, although via El Ferrol (where a smaller French squadron and some Spanish warships would join him). The final objective remained the same, however: Sometime between June 10 and July 10, Ganteaume would have to appear before Boulogne, where Napoleon himself would be waiting.[609]
