French armies on the march were famed for one particular characteristic besides pillage, rape and arson: their speed of movement. The far more cumbrous forces of Austria and the Holy Roman Empire never proved a match for their opponents in this respect. One reason for this lay in widely differing concepts of logistical support. Through necessity, the French lived off the countryside for the most part, “making war pay for war,” but this at least freed them from the encumbrance of slow-moving supply convoys and a strategy based on the existence of prestocked arsenals and depots. They never carried more than three days’ supplies. The Austrians, on the other hand, habitually marched with nine days’ full rations in wagons. Small wonder that the French forces, properly led, proved capable of running rings around their slower opponents both strategically and tactically.
The over-all direction of the Austrian war effort was equally antiquated and inefficient. The august Aulic Council, an assembly of gray-beards with supreme authority (under the Emperor) over all matters pertaining to strategy, interfered perpetually with the generals in the field. Nor were the Hapsburgs blessed at this epoch with a plethora of martial talent among its generals. Aging soldiers of the caliber of Melas, Beaulieu, Alvintzi or Kray were to prove generally unsatisfactory opponents when faced by youthful but skilled commanders of Revolutionary France. Only the young Archduke Charles showed true potential, but even he had the distressing habit of slipping into epileptic trances at moments of crisis.
The remaining opponents of France in 1796 merit only a passing glance. The forces of the still-surviving Bourbon monarchies seem to have belonged to the realms of musical comedy rather than the ranks of serious armies. Spain, of course, had already left the Coalition in 1795, but we might mention here that her army was proud but poorly led and hopelessly equipped. The same description—less the pride—equally suits the soldiers of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies (Naples and Sicily). Even their monarch and titular commander-in-chief had few illusions about the prowess of his men in action. When it was suggested that a change of uniform might help inspire a few martial virtues in his men he realistically replied, “Dress them in red, blue or green—they’ll run away just the same.” The temporal forces of the Holy Father’s Papal States were similarly unreliable—and hardly constituted a serious opponent. Those of the Kingdom of Savoy—Piedmont and Sardinia—were closely trained after the Austrian pattern by military missions sent from Vienna, while their commanders in chief, General Colli—himself an Austrian—and the Prince of Corrigan, were truly eighteenth-century soldiers in every sense of that term.*
To face these various enemies, for all practical purposes the French government had five main armies in the field in the spring of 1796.† General Jourdan was commanding the Sambre-et-Meuse (initially 70,000 strong) along the reaches of the Lower Rhine; General Moreau’s Armée du Rhine-et-Moselle contained as many more troops in Alsace; the Army of Italy comprised perhaps 63,000 effectives (including fortress and second-line troops). In addition to these frontline armies, there were two smaller reserve formations capable of operational roles; Kellermann’s Armée des Alpes, presently at a strength of 20,000 men, and another still smaller force forming in Provence and along the River Var. In all, perhaps 240,000 French soldiers were available for active service on the eastern frontiers.
What use did Carnot intend to make of these forces? Strategically there were two theaters—Germany (the main front) and Italy (the secondary). Carnot had already confirmed this order of priority in a decree dated January 6, 1796. General Jourdan was to invest the fortress of Mainz and after its capture advance into Franconia; General Moreau was to mask the fortress of Mannerheim and push on into Swabia; the commander of the Army of Italy, meanwhile, was to implement the invasion of Italy, with the Austrians holding the Po valley as his main objective. It was hoped that Piedmont, properly handled, would defect to the French camp, and that following the capture of the Plain of Lombardy the Army of Italy would be able to advance to the Adige. Then, all being well, the French would march up that river valley and cross the Alps by way of Trent into the Tyrol, where they would make contact with Moreau and cooperate in the final elimination of the Austrian army.
Such in broadest outline was the plan; on the whole it was a fair one, although the high degree of cooperation and intercommunication required between armies (in the days when a galloping horse provided the fastest speed at which news could travel) would prove daunting enough. Moreover, the general “aggressiveness” of Carnot’s plan was not wholly dictated by considerations of “offensive action”; the finances of the Republic were by this time in so parlous a state that it was economically vital that “war should be made to pay for war,” at least to the extent of moving France’s armies off their native soil for subsistence; the Treasury’s coffers could make good use of any hard cash or booty acquirable by deliberate and wholesale looting of conquered or “liberated” areas. Besides these blatantly materialistic motives, there was also an idealistic element behind the scheme. In pursuit of the Revolutionary principle of fraternité Carnot and his fellow Directors felt an insistent urge to spread their gospel to an “enslaved and reactionary” Europe. Moreover, if the excitements of foreign conquest could help to distract popular attention and discontent from the patent miseries of life within France itself, so much the better.
On his insistence, the contents of General Bonaparte’s orders underwent considerable revision. The first draft directed him to make his chief effort toward the Milanese, supporting this drive with only a secondary attack against Acqui and the containment of Ceva; above all he was to avoid giving offense to Piedmont’s rulers. These political restrictions were unacceptable to Bonaparte; he wanted a free hand or nothing at all. He was adamant that the road to success lay through the initial conquest of Piedmont. By the 6th March he had bullied the Directory (they must have been glad to see the last of him) into amending his instructions to read as follows:
The Empress Josephine in 1806
Everything bids us seek, by all means in our power, to force the enemy to recross the Po and to make our greatest efforts in the direction of the Milanese.
It seems that this essential operation cannot be undertaken unless, as a preliminary, the French army has taken Ceva. The Directory leaves the General-in-Chief free to begin his operations by attacking the enemy at this point, and whether he obtains a complete victory over them or they retreat to Turin, the Directory authorises him to follow them and to strike them again and even to bombard that capital if circumstances make it necessary.
After making himself master of Ceva and having brought the left of the Army of Italy near to Cuneo in order to threaten and contain the garrison of that place, the General-in-Chief will as soon as possible provide for the needs of the army by utilising the resources of Piedmont. He will then direct his forces towards the Milanese, chiefly against the Austrians. He will drive the enemy across the Po, will lay hands on the means of crossing that river, and will try to secure the fortresses of Asti and Valenza.26
In other words, General Bonaparte had won his way yet again; he had been awarded carte blanche.
The military preoccupations of the last ten months had not wholly precluded an interesting social life for Napoleon Bonaparte; and now, just before setting out to command his first field army he took another step that proved a turning point in his life—by marrying on March 9 the attractive and wilful widow of the late General de Beauharnais, the beautiful creole, Josephine.
In the Correspondance the note is dated 12th October. This is an error.
The first Military College was opened at High Wycombe (1799) but moved to Great Marlow in 1802 as the “junior department.” The final move to Sandhurst took place in 1812. Gunner and Engineer officer-cadets were trained at the older Royal Military Academy situated at Woolwich (founded in 1741 and known as “the Shop”). The two institutions were merged in 1947 to form the present Royal Military Academy Sandhurst.
For a description of the military capabi
lities of France’s later foes, see the following pages: the Russian Army, pp. 518-520 passim; the Prussian Army, p. 454-56 passim; the Turks, p. 226. The Spanish armies are also described in more detail on p. 625-27.
The Army of the Interior is deliberately omitted from this list. Its role was predominantly counterinsurgency, the maintenance of law and order and the finding of drafts for the front.
PART TWO
In Search of a Reputation
THE CAMPAIGN IN NORTH ITALY, APRIL 1796 TO APRIL 1797
5
COMMANDER IN CHIEF
S
OLDIERS! You are hungry and naked; the government owes you much but can give you nothing. The patience and courage which you have displayed among these rocks are admirable; but they bring you no glory—not a glimmer falls upon you. I will lead you into the most fertile plains on earth. Rich provinces, opulent towns, all shall be at your disposal; there you will find honour, glory and riches. Soldiers of Italy! Will you be lacking in courage or endurance?”1
On March 27, 1796, the youthful General Bonaparte reviewed part of the ragged, disgruntled Army of Italy in the headquarters town of Nice, only a few hours after taking over command. The authenticity of the proclamation issued on this occasion has been queried by some authorities, who accuse Napoleon of fabricating the words years later on the island of St. Helena to lend color to his memoirs. Whatever the truth of this assertion, it nonetheless provides a fair description of the condition of Napoleon’s first field command at the outset of the campaign, and throws considerable light on the type of incentives that appealed to the Revolutionary soldier of that epoch. To the motley collection of hungry scarecrows, who bore a closer resemblance to brigands than to trained soldiers, the prospect of adequate food and the chance to loot meant far more than any amount of propaganda about the “rights of man” or the proselytizing mission of the French Republic.
The morale of the army was not of the highest order; the units were strung out in numerous small detachments along the coast road from Nice to Savona, their communications exposed to attack from the sea by Nelson’s frigates, from the hills by bands of “Barbets” or local guerillas, and from the mountainous interior by the numerically superior Austrian and Piedmontese forces. For their meager rations they were dependent on the whim of fraudulent army contractors, who were amassing private fortunes at the expense of the soldiers they were cheating, and the exhausted hillsides of Piedmont offered little compensation to the hordes of foragers, officers and men alike, who quitted their units every day in search of food. For their pay, already months in arrears, they relied on the insecure finances of the practically bankrupt French Government. Every type of equipment was in short supply. Whole battalions were without shoes—many men even without muskets and bayonets; the entire transport facilities of the army amounted to 200 mules. The horses of the cavalry had been on half rations for more than a year already, and there were only twenty-four mountain guns operationally available. Under these circumstances the army was rapidly disintegrating; its original strength when first raised in 1792 had been 106,000 men, but when Bonaparte took over command from the aged and incompetent Schérer four years later, this total had been reduced by desertion, sickness and casualties in action to a nominal 63,000, and of this number there were only some 37,600 effectives and some 60 field guns available for immediate action. Replacements had virtually stopped.
Part of the army was in a mutinous frame of mind, and it was common knowledge that royalist agents were at work in the ranks. In several demi-brigades* clandestine meetings were being held by the Compagnies du Dauphin, and in January one unit had been insolent enough to denounce General La Harpe for ordering its commanding officer to remove mourning crepe from the tricolors, placed there to commemorate the execution of the ci-devant King, Louis XVI. More recently, on March 18, Sérurier’s division stationed at Ormea had defied orders, and on the 25th—only two days before General Bonaparte’s arrival—the 3rd Battalion of the 209th had mutinied at Nice. Hunger and neglect were fast turning the army into an indisciplined rabble, and it was evident to the new commander that only a successful offensive could remedy this state of affairs. Through Berthier, his chief of staff, he had immediately summoned the three senior divisional commanders to headquarters to receive his orders for the forthcoming campaign.
It was an ill-assorted trio that eventually presented themselves for the general’s inspection on March 27. At the age of fifty-three, Sérurier was the oldest—a tall, gloomy man with a scar on his lip—who had seen thirty-four years service in the old Royal Army before the Revolution and was really a soldier of the ancien régime in both his experience and outlook. He was a methodical worker and severe disciplinarian, somewhat out of place in this citizen army, and had few claims to military distinction; an air of aristocratic nostalgia lingered around this ci-devant nobleman.
In complete contrast, General Augereau was a product of the Paris gutters, and his thirty-eight years had been packed with colorful adventures. The son of a poor stonemason, he had enlisted in the ranks of the Royal cavalry, but after killing an officer who insulted him he hastily fled to Switzerland and thence transferred to the Russian army, where he rose to the rank of sergeant fighting against the Turks. A few years later found him enlisted in Frederick the Great’s famous Guards, but dissatisfied with the terms of service he once more deserted, and for a time earned his living as a fencing master in Dresden. A series of adventures—both military and amorous—in Greece, Italy and Portugal were eventually terminated by his return to France in 1792, and within a year he had risen to the rank of divisional general. Contemporaries described him as a buffoon, bully and bonhomme, but he was also an able tactician and thorough soldier, popular with the men. He had few social graces, speaking the coarse language of the Paris gamin to the end of his life, but his towering height and huge hooked nose made him an imposing figure. A ceaseless grumbler, he nevertheless had as keen an eye for the weak spot in an enemy’s formation as for booty.
The third soldier—André Massena, almost thirty-eight years old—was already known to the general; they had served together at Toulon and in the campaign of 1794. Born in Nice, he started life as a cabin boy, but eventually joined the army where he rapidly rose to the rank of sergeant major before applying for an honorable discharge in 1789. For the next three years—according to a rather dubious source—he is reputed to have lived the life of a smuggler, moving contraband through the hills of Savoy into Italy and learning the country like the back of his hand—experience, if true, that would stand him in good stead in the years to come. In 1792 he resumed his military career in the Revolutionary Army, and by 1795 he was the senior divisional commander of the Army of Italy, the famous victor of the battle of Loano. A dark, thin, taciturn man, with a boundless taste for money and women, Massena was in due time to prove one of the ablest of Napoleon’s leaders, and was already a soldier of vast practical experience.
The initial reaction of these three experienced soldiers to the news that they were to be commanded by a mere boy, not yet twenty-seven, was one of doubtful amazement. Bonaparte appeared a jumped-up “political” soldier, preferred to high rank through the influence of the notorious Barras—a member of the Directory—whose cast-off mistress, Josephine Beauharnais, the young man had recently married. His juvenile eagerness to show off her portrait caused cynical amusement among the older men. His small stature and lean build caused one contemporary to record that he “looked more like a mathematician than a general.”2 Count Yorck von Wärtenburg gives a fuller description: “Owing to his thinness his features were almost ugly in their sharpness; his walk was unsteady, his clothes neglected, his appearance produced on the whole an unfavorable impression and was in no way imposing; but in spite of his apparent bodily weakness he was tough and sinewy, and from under his deep forehead there flashed, despite his sallow face, the eyes of genius, deep-seated, large and of a greyish-blue color, and before their glance and the words of authority that issued from
his thin, pale lips, all bowed low.”3 Although they reserved their opinion of his military talents, the three divisional commanders were at once impressed in spite of themselves by their commander’s eagerness and determination. “A moment afterward,” wrote Massena, “he put on his general’s hat and seemed to have grown two feet. He questioned us on the position of our divisions, on the spirit and effective forces of each corps, prescribed the course we were to follow, announced that he would hold an inspection on the morrow and on the following day attack the enemy.”
The new general brought with him a small staff of officers. For the position of chief of staff, Bonaparte was fortunate to secure the services of Alexandre Berthier, a 42-year-old engineer officer with an extraordinary aptitude for staff work. The previous year he had headed General Kellermann’s staff in the Army of the Alps, and was fully conversant with the problems of mountain campaigning. Although in manner frequently brusque and harsh and in appearance most unprepossessing—his head was huge and out of proportion to his small stature—uncouth in manners, persistently biting his nails, clumsy in his movements, Berthier’s capacity for assembling detail and his ability to work twenty hours a day were phenomenal. Bonaparte owed much of his early success to the administrative talents of Berthier, his eminence grise—but those who thought that the chief of staff would serve as a “dry nurse” to the young general were to be rapidly disillusioned.
The Campaigns of Napoleon Page 11
