Toward the end of the Empire, Napoleon became increasingly irrational and subject to delusion. Even in early 1814, when the cards were certainly on the table, he refused to admit the idea of defeat, and he consequently rejected, despite the remonstrations of Caulaincourt (as he had done in 1813), several chances of negotiated compromise settlements which would have left the French Empire (properly so-called) virtually intact. He believed that he could re-create the larger “Napoleonic” Empire, which in fact had already disappeared into limbo during the catastrophic months of 1813. Where Napoleon was concerned, it had to be all or nothing, and in that conviction he soldiered on against military odds often to one. While we must admire the sheer grit and determination of the man, we cannot applaud the irrationality that underlay his stubbornness. Once he had been the foremost realist of his age.
With delusion came a growing distrust of his subordinates. This was in evidence from the earliest days of the Marshalate. Consciously or unconsciously, Napoleon could never stomach the idea of a rival. That is why he never could get along with Moreau or (for long) with Tsar Alexander; even Desaix was probably fortunate in the hour of his death. Consequently, to guard against the danger of overly able subordinates, the Emperor deliberately deprived the marshals of the training in his methods that would have made independent commands feasible. He never instituted a staff college. To the end he retained all the reins of power, whether civil or military, within his own grasp. But what had been possible with moderately sized armies of 200,000 men in the halcyon days of 1805 or 1806 proved completely out of the question as his armies grew by rapid strides and a second front was added to further complicate the issue—and a Russian front at that! How could one man hope to control 600,000 troops spread over a distance of more than five hundred miles in the days before the radio? Yet that was exactly what Napoleon attempted to do—with well-known results.
This weakness of judgment, springing from his complete confidence in his own powers to overcome any obstacle, coincided with a certain deterioration in Napoleon’s physical condition from 1809 onward. Although this decline has often been exaggerated, there is little doubt that some of the old dash was lacking in his conduct of the Russian Campaign until the middle of the retreat in 1812, when he seems to have received a new lease on life. His conduct of the Campaign of 1813, if cruder than in the years of his prime, was on the whole effective until the very end, and his showing in 1814 has elicited the warmest admiration from many experts in the science of war. However, his own dictum that “one has a certain time for war” seems to have been all too truly borne out in his own case.
Surrounded by difficulties, he tended to blame his marshals. Granted, they were growing war-weary; Ney, for example, never recovered from the effects of the retreat of 1812. It is true that they proved largely incapable of dealing with unexpected emergencies, but who was to blame for that? Napoleon, not his key subordinates, whom he had deliberately starved of formal education in the higher realms of the art of war. For too long he had played the game of the ancient Caesars: Divide et Impera. This Machiavellian policy in turn rebounded on his head with a vengeance. “These people think they are indispensable,” grumbled the Emperor. “They don’t know I have a hundred divisional commanders who can take their places.”19 He took no steps, however, to reshape his command system. Of course some of the marshals were great soldiers in their own right—Massena and Davout among the best—but a system deliberately geared to complete reliance in and subservience to the Emperor’s personal command was clearly faulty.
Two further factors accompanied and contributed to Napoleon’s decline. First, there was the growing exhaustion of France, as resources of men and materiel rapidly dwindled as casualties mounted and the land area under Napoleon’s control progressively shrank. In any case, the increased reliance (from 1807 onward) on multinational armies was a sign of potential weakness, if only through the action of the language problem and the varying calibers and characteristics of the troops thus procured. Nevertheless, the showing made by les Marie-Louise and the people of Eastern France in 1814 was remarkable by any standard, though their opposition to the Allies was partly dictated by despair as well as by loyalty to their leader. The second factor was a rapid increase in the war-worthiness of Napoleon’s opponents. The old, greying generals of the first decade gave way to more dynamic leaders; after seeing their forces smashed into pieces by the marvelous war machine that was the Grande Armée in its prime, the Governments of Prussia, Austria and Russia had the sense to model their new armies after the French pattern. Similarly, the fires of nationalistic patriotism—originally kindled by France—now provided the spark that inspired the rank and file in the struggle against their former benefactor. One by one the French allies and satellites fell away—Bavaria, Saxony, Holland, the Kingdom of Westphalia, the Confederation, Naples and Belgium—and joined the cause of the Allies. And so the end came in 1814, and—after a last flicker that was the Hundred Days in 1815—a mighty figure passed forever from the stage of world history.
Since the 1940s it has been fashionable in some quarters to compare Napoleon with Hitler. Nothing could be more degrading to the former and more flattering to the latter. The comparison is odious. On the whole Napoleon was inspired (in the early years at least) by a noble dream, wholly dissimilar from Hitler’s vaunted but stillborn “New Order.” Napoleon left great and lasting testimonies to his genius—in codes of law and national identities which survive to the present day. Adolf Hitler left nothing but destruction. In certain superficial aspects, however, the careers of the two men bear resemblances. Both climbed to power through the use of opportunism in an unsettled period that favored the emergence of adventurers and dictators. Both possessed that magnetic appeal of personality that inspired their devotees. Both overthrew an older society, created new laws in an attempt to set up a new social order, challenged the position of the churches, resorted to police-state terror and atrocities to gain ends; both proved incapable of converting a conquered continent into a lasting Napoleonic Empire or a Thousand Year Reich. But there the resemblance abruptly ends. Even though it is difficult to form an objective view of Hitler in our own time, there can be no doubt that he was not cast in the same mold as Napoleon. Despite flashes of lucky intuition, Hitler was no soldier. Hitler’s most lasting perverted achievement for which he will be remembered to the end of history was genocide; Napoleon will always be regarded as a soldier of genius and the creator of modern Europe. The two most devastating “corporals” of modern history therefore have little in common. In the words of Octave Aubry: “This is his [Napoleon’s] distinction, and, if necessary, his excuse. When an achievement lasts so long and bears such fruit, it provides its own justification.”20
Pieter Geyl, Napoleon (London: 1946), p. 16.
W. H. Hudson, The Man Napoleon (London: 1915), p. 210.
Ibid., p. 228.
Quoted by Commandant J. Colin, The Transformations of War (London: 1912), p. 251.
F. Markham, Napoleon (London: 1963), p. 95.
Hudson, op. cit., p. 213.
O. Aubry, Napoléon (Paris: 1964), p. 374.
F. M. Kircheisen, Memoirs of Napoleon I (London: 1929), pp. 254-55.
E. Las Cases, Memoirs of the Emperor Napoleon, Vol. VI (London: 1836), p. 359.
See Part Three.
Correspondance de Napoléon Premier, Vol. X (Paris: 1870), p. 69.
A. Vachée, Napoleon at Work (London: 1914), p. 17.
Lucien Bonaparte et ses mémoires, ed. by T. Jung, Vol. II (Paris: 1836), p. 162.
J. A. Chaptal, Mes souvenirs de Napoléon (Paris: 1893), p. 296.
Kircheisen, op. cit., p. 242.
Ibid.
Some modern psychiatrists go so far as to say that Napoleon was an advanced psychopath. He certainly displayed symptoms of neurotic and hysterical paroxysms, and may also have suffered—like Alexander the Great and Caesar—from hystero-epilepsy (also called the “conqueror’s syndrome”).
Markham, op. cit., p
. 42.
Chaptal, op. cit., p. 248.
Aubry, op, cit., p. 376.
PART ONE
Apprenticeship to Arms
NAPOLEON’S MILITARY EDUCATION AND FORMATIVE EXPERIENCES PRIOR TO 1796
INTRODUCTION FIRST EMERGENCE
C
APTAIN OF ARTILLERY Napoleone di Buonaparte (he habitually signed his name after the Italian fashion until 1796) was practically twenty-four years old before his name first attracted contemporary notice. His rise to public acclaim did not in the first instance stem from any notable feat of arms but rather from his ability as a political propagandist. It is distinctly unlikely that he would ever have received command of the guns at the siege of Toulon in September 1793 had he not first earned the commendation of Robespierre’s brother two months earlier for writing a pamphlet entitled Le Souper de Beaucaire.
This document takes the form of a dialogue between travelers staying at an inn. Two merchants from Marseilles try to convince their fellow guests—a soldier, a manufacturer from Montpellier and a citizen of Nimois—of the justice of their city’s revolt against the revolutionary government in Paris. The argument swings to and fro, but in the end the soldier wins the day by pointing out that the citizens of Marseilles, whatever their grievances, have no justification whatsoever for involving their country in civil strife at a time when a desperate war is in progress against foreign foes; any refusal of obedience to the Jacobin government was consequently tantamount to both treason and counterrevolution. In other words, Le Souper was a political tract directed against the inhabitants of the disaffected areas of the south of France and was intended to repudiate the arguments on which their extreme action was based.1
The circumstances in which this pamphlet came to be written were wholly fortuitous. In the hectic days following the pro-Bourbon revolt in southern France, Captain Buonaparte found himself incorporated into General Carteaux’s hastily collected army, and during a lull in the incompetently managed security operations he attempted to pass the weary hours by setting pen to paper. The result was not a particularly startling piece of literature, but by chance it exactly suited the mood of the hour and was soon brought to the attention of Buonaparte’s influential fellow Corsican, Saliceti, who was serving with Carteaux’s army as a member of the all-important commission of Députés-en-Mission—political commissars—appointed by a distrustful central government to supervise the efforts of the soldiers in the field. Saliceti was already a friend of several years’ standing, but his personal influence was relatively slight. However, one of his colleagues at this time was none other than Augustin Robespierre—brother of the “Dictator,” currently the dominating member of the Committee of Public Safety in Paris and thus de facto ruler of France. Saliceti lost no time in showing Le Souper de Beaucaire to Augustin and subsequently introduced its author. Then was forged one of those vital links that were to play so important a part in the emergence of Napoleon onto the stage of European history. The Jacobin tone and message of Le Souper were exactly in line with the current philosophy of the radical government which held that “might makes right,” and besides being impressed with this useful piece of party propaganda, the younger Robespierre soon fell under the magnetic personal spell of the ardent young Corsican soldier. From this time forward he was generally pleased to approve and forward to Paris all of Captain di Buonaparte’s recommendations, even when these clashed with the plans and policies of his nominal military superiors—which was often. In this way Buonaparte’s name first came to be known in high places; he was no longer simply an obscure expatriate artillery officer of lowly grade.
The Robespierrist connection was destined to survive only one short year—and in August 1794 Brigadier General Buonaparte would almost share in the downfall of his erstwhile patrons—but during those vital twelve months he managed to establish his reputation as a soldier of promise and set his foot on the first rung of the ladder leading to greatness. The favorable impression he made on the younger Robespierre is shown by a letter dated April 1794 in which Augustin describes the hero of Toulon to his brother as “of transcendent merit.”2
1
PREPARATION
Almost nine years of commissioned service already lay behind Citoyen-capitaine di Buonaparte when he penned Le Souper de Beaucaire. A great deal happened to the young Corsican during this considerable period of time, and many of his early experiences were destined to have important repercussions on his later career. Above all, most of his notions on the art of war and military affairs in general were formulated during this period, and it is important to study the early influences if we are to acquire any real insight into his future greatness and ultimate fall.
Napoleon was born on August 15, 1769, at Ajaccio in Corsica, the second surviving son of Carlo and Marie-Letizia Buonaparte. Many generations back the family was of Italian extraction,3 but by the 1760s the Buonapartes had found a patrician niche in Corsican life and had become regarded as an important and influential—if not very wealthy—pillar of local society. Several ancestors had played a part in the chaotic history of the island. His father was rather a restless and extravagant lawyer, with a penchant for poetry, constantly embarrassed for money and forever seeking social advancement, besides being closely associated with the rebel-patriot, Paoli. His mother was a natural beauty with a character of granite, who never forsook the simple ways of her upbringing and took good fortune and bad with the same calm detachment. To the very end of her life Madame Mère was a formidable and dignified figure of noble appearance, ruling her remarkable brood with a rod of iron. No member of the family was allowed to forget the respect due to the matriarch, no matter how exalted his position. A story is told (probably apocryphal) of how Napoleon held out his hand for his mother to kiss shortly after his coronation. One version states that the spritely old dame actually slapped his face; another (less probable) that she bit his hand. Whatever the truth of this tale, there is no doubt that Letizia was a power to be reckoned with and remained so to the very end of her life. She died aged eighty-six in 1836.
Childhood in Corsica could hardly have been lonely for the future Emperor of the French. The family eventually comprised eight children, besides a further five who died in infancy. Of the five surviving boys, four were in due course to wear crowns: Joseph, the eldest—rather a frivolous character who took up the duties of head of the family after their father’s death in 1785 and who always received a degree of deference from his younger brother—became first King of Naples (1806) and two years later King of Spain; Louis, the fifth born, was made King of Holland (1806); Jerome, the baby of the family, was crowned King of Westphalia in 1807; and, lastly, Napoleon himself, who for good measure combined in his person the Emperor of the French and King of Italy. Only Lucien, the child born next after Napoleon, never received a throne—but this was not through lack of opportunity or invitation. Of the three girls, one, Caroline, placed herself in line for a future crown as a Queen-consort when she married Joachim Murat, eventually crowned King of Naples in succession to Joseph. The other two, Elisa (whom Napoleon disliked for her bitter tongue) and Pauline (whom he adored), found dukes and generals for husbands.
Even if this grandeur and social importance still lay far ahead in the last quarter of the eighteenth century, the Buonaparte ménage in Ajaccio attracted guests of fair importance, perhaps the most significant of them being General de Marboeuf, French governor and military commander of Corsica and a family friend of long standing. Scurrilous gossip has suggested that he was Napoleon’s father, but there is no evidence whatsoever to support this theory. Nevertheless, de Marboeuf undoubtedly played an important part in Napoleon’s early life by being instrumental in gaining him a place at the school at Brienne in France. It took time to prove that the Buonapartes possessed the necessary four generations of nobility to qualify for entry, but eventually the young Napoleon was notified that a place awaited him. It is interesting to note that education at Brienne was free for most of the students, the st
ate footing the bills, and that Napoleon thus received his first real schooling through the aegis of a kind of welfare state—albeit one wholly designed for aristocrats. However, local conditions in Corsica had not been particularly favorable so far as education was concerned. Napoleon had learned a little Bible history, and “Uncle Fesch” (later the supremely worldly cardinal) had taught the lad his alphabet. But this was hardly sufficient schooling for an aspirant to the Brienne Academy; and so at the age of nine Napoleon was sent for four months to attend the College at Autun with his elder brother, Joseph, for some intensive instruction in the French language—once again owing his entry to the good offices of de Marboeuf, who was the uncle of the current Bishop of Autun.
At the age of nine years Napoleon entered the Royal School of Brienne on April 23, 1779, and stayed there for five and a half years. The school was run on military lines by strict and austere Minim priests but was not specifically an officer-cadet school, although a proportion of the well-born young gentlemen did aspire—like Napoleon—to the King’s commission. Here he studied French, Latin, mathematics, history and geography. It cannot be said that his days at Brienne were particularly happy. Surrounded by polished and courtly sprigs of the French petite noblesse, the gawky and homespun di Buonaparte was socially out of his depth, and many were the fights and altercations he had with his classmates over his supposedly lowly origins, stumbling French and quaint Corsican accent. Even his teachers tended to mock him, and if it had not been for the solace afforded by the neighboring household of a certain hospitable Madame Lomenie and the cultivation of a small garden patch within the school grounds, La Paille-au-nez (as his comrades dubbed him in mockery of his name and peculiar accent) would have been unhappy indeed.
The Campaigns of Napoleon Page 5
