The Campaigns of Napoleon

by David G Chandler

  61

  INCOMPLETE ACHIEVEMENT

  The day after the battle of Corunna, the Emperor Napoleon, without waiting to hear the outcome of the last stages of his subordinate’s pursuit, turned his back on Spain and set out from Valladolid for the French frontier. He traveled through Burgos, Vitoria and Tolosa, crossed into France at Irun and reached Bayonne on the 19th, forty-five hours after entering his coach. The next day found him at Bordeaux, and at 8:00

  A.M. on the 23rd, Napoleon re-entered his Imperial capital. At once he put the events of the past months behind him, and began to prepare new armies for the impending struggle with Austria.

  Napoleon’s Spanish campaign was over. What is to be said by way of summary and conclusion? Superficially, the campaign appears to represent a considerable military triumph for France. Every army met in the field had either been routed, or, in a single instance, compelled to conduct a precipitate retreat and evacuate by sea. Madrid and the northern half of Spain was under occupation by French troops, and few organized forces remained in the rest of the Peninsula capable of offering sustained resistance. With Joseph restored to the throne, there could be some hope that Spain would become at least a reasonably loyal member of the Continental System and that Portugal would be forced to follow suit in the fulness of time. The domains of the First Empire now extended from the River Oder to the Guadarrama Mountains without a break, and there was reason to suppose that the southern frontiers would soon be extended as far as the Straits of Gibraltar, the Pillars of Hercules and the Tagus.

  All this was primarily due to the great strategic skill of Napoleon and the success with which he managed to coordinate the efforts of his subordinates. The plans for the October onslaught over the Ebro were masterly in their basic simplicity and at the same time realistically based on the military probabilities and possibilities. There are still no signs that the Emperor was passing his peak as a military planner.

  However, there was a reverse side to the medal. The successful campaign had followed hard on the heels of a patently disastrous one. The events of Bailen and Vimiero had proved that the master’s skill and impregnability were not shared by his subordinates when they were serving on detached missions. The abrupt collapse of the entire French achievement in the Peninsula that ensued showed the French up as very vulnerable indeed, with a distinct tendency toward despair when things began to go wrong. The French had accordingly been fortunate to hold onto the Ebro line and retain control of Navarre (during August-September 1808), pending the arrival of the Emperor and his most experienced forces from Germany.

  Secondly, Napoleon was guilty of entirely miscalculating the scale of resistance his men would encounter in seizing control of Spain and Portugal. The original 80,000 designated for the task proved far too few, and before the general military position had been restored in the new year of 1809, no less than 270,000 of Napoleon’s best troops were engaged in one part or another of the Peninsula, or approximately three fifths of the Empire’s total armed strength. It is questionable whether the advantages to be gained were worth so vast an effort which, as we shall see, resulted in severe repercussions in Central Europe and even direr ones within the Peninsula itself. The initial effort certainly cost Napoleon many more men than the 12,000 he had originally allowed for; probably as many as 75,000 never saw France again as a result of the fighting that took place during the period ending January 16, 1809, and in the years that followed several hundred thousand more would share the same fate. Many trusted subordinates—Massena, Soult and Savary among them—would forfeit their reputations among the inhospitable mountains and barren plains of Spain.

  The basic reason for this endless drain of blood and money was, of course, that despite appearances, Napoleon’s real achievement in Spain was far from complete. Although the regular Spanish armies were destroyed or scattered, there were no signs that the will to resist of the Spanish people had been even substantially weakened. Popular patriotism, religious fanaticism and an almost hysterical hatred for the French remained as strong as ever, and over the next five years the world was to see the development of a new type of ruthless war waged by guerillas who refused to come down into the open plains but clung to their mountain fastnesses and there defied all efforts to destroy them, in the meantime causing a heavy toll of French casualties. To back these local efforts and make the French internal security program hopelessly more complex, a new and larger British army would soon return to the Peninsula, led by a soldier of great tactical and administrative ability who had learned his trade under the not wholly dissimilar conditions of India. Between them, the Spanish guerillas and British redcoats were to make life intolerable for the French occupation forces, which were necessarily scattered to hold down the seething provinces. For the remainder of his military career down to the first abdication, Napoleon was to find himself saddled with a costly and continuous second front, which made ceaseless inroads into the Empire’s military resources. Although he never deigned to return to the Peninsula in person, Napoleon was to have good reason to regret ever having become involved in Iberian affairs; what had started as a gamble with the odds heavily in his favor ended as a run of misfortune accompanied by heavy losses. But, unlike a truly professional gambler, Napoleon was never prepared to call quits and cut his losses by ordering a general withdrawal to the Ebro line; his pride and reputation were too dearly involved. Consequently the bitter struggle of attrition continued year after year.

  What lay at the root of Napoleon’s failure in Spain? Besides his over-weening ambition and relentless mania to see the Continental System embrace the entire continent of Europe, the Emperor stands accused of rushing his fences. Had he taken the Spanish affair more steadily, made greater efforts to win popular support, ruled through a Bourbon puppet rather than one of the Bonaparte clan, then his achievement might have been more permanent. Instead, he took the bull by the horns at the first opportunity and rushed the invasion, hoping to gain everything for a very modest outlay of effort. In fact, by so doing, Napoleon the statesman had set Napoleon the soldier an impossible task. Consequently, although the immediate military aims were more or less achieved, the long-term requirement of winning popular support for the new regime was hopelessly compromised. The lesson was there for the world to read: military conquest in itself cannot bring about a political victory. This was by no means a new lesson, but seldom in history has it been so amply demonstrated.

  PART TWELVE

  Hapsburgs Resurgent: The Last Success

  THE DANUBE CAMPAIGN OF 1809, CULMINATING IN THE BATTLE OF WAGRAM AND THE PEACE OF SCHÖNBRUNN

  62

  THE NEW CHALLENGE

  I

  T IS NOTABLE that Napoleon found many of his most inveterate adversaries among the ranks of the female crowned heads of Europe. In 1806 Queen Louise of Prussia provided the backbone so notably lacking in her spouse and helped plunge her country into catastrophic war. Ever since 1804, the Dowager Empress of Russia had bombarded her son, the Tsar, with constant streams of abuse directed against all things Napoleonic, inciting him to join with Austria in 1805 and with Prussia in 1806-07 in two patently unsuccessful coalitions against France. Now, in 1809, it was the turn of the Empress Ludovica of Austria to lend her not inconsiderable charms and talents to the task of stirring up new trouble for the “Corsican upstart” along the banks of the grey Danube. In this enterprise she received staunch support from the brilliant Prince Metternich and the persuasive Count Stadion. Tidings of Bailen the previous summer convinced the Schönbrunn “war party” that the time had come for Austria to re-enter the lists without further delay, and step by step this powerful faction obtained the ear of the Emperor Francis. On February 8, 1809, the advocates of aggression finally triumphed; the Imperial Government secretly but irrevocably decided on war against France.

  This decision, however, was not immediately put into effect. The so-called “peace party”—headed by the Archduke Charles, commander in chief under Francis of all the Austrian fo
rces—counseled a further period of delay which would enable Austria to mobilize her forces and, even more importantly, to seek alliances. Charles, in addition to being the best Austrian general, was supported by almost all the country’s senior soldiers, and consequently the Emperor was forced to listen to his views. One thing was clear, however: this circumspect attitude of the military leaders was not inspired by any desire to avoid a new clash with Napoleon. All parties in Austrian court and political circles were united in a hearty desire for la revanche and were particularly eager to effect the recovery of the territorial losses suffered since 1796.

  The only bone of contention was the matter of timing. The Empress’s faction demanded immediate action; Archduke Charles counseled delay until internal reforms could be completed and the army brought to an improved efficiency, thus improving the overall chance of success. He was anxious to see 700,000 well-trained men in the field and a powerful coalition at Austria’s back before any irrevocable step was taken. However, these arguments were overruled; the present chance appeared too good to miss. It was estimated that Napoleon could gather no more than 200,000 men in Germany in the spring of 1809, thanks to his continuing Spanish involvement. Metternich was also able to report his discussions with Talleyrand, which appeared to reveal that France was utterly war-weary and had no desire to partake in a new struggle, while Tsar Alexander had dropped certain hints that he would maintain a strict neutrality toward Austria whatever might befall—Russia’s undertaking given at Erfurt notwithstanding. These considerations, together with Stadion’s conviction that determined action on the part of Austria would inspire a truly national rising against Napoleon throughout Germany on the lines of that proceeding in Spain, formed the basis of the decision of February 8 and the subsequent opening of hostilities on April 9.

  By 1809, the processes of Austrian reconstruction had been proceeding for three unbroken years, and the improvement in her armed forces was already most marked. The foremost architect of this military recovery was the Archduke Charles, appointed Generalismus or Supreme Commander by the Emperor Francis in the last desperate days of 1805, when Austria was being forced to drain the last bitter dregs of humiliation after Austerlitz. In administrative matters Charles’ new authority even transcended that of the Aulic Council, that august but ultraconservative body which had effectively compromised the Austrian war effort three times in the previous decade. He made good use of his opportunity. Aided by the able Stadion, he set out to create a truly national as opposed to a purely professional army. Such an undertaking, however, was from the start dogged by serious difficulties; there was hardly a flicker of true pro-Austrian feeling to be found in the Hungarian, Polish or Balkan possessions of the Hapsburgs, and as a result the greater part of the much-vaunted Landwehr—created by an ordinance of June 9, 1808—was drawn from the predominantly German provinces of Austria. Eventually the Landwehr totaled some 240,000 men, but to the distress of the generals the discipline of this citizen-army left much to be desired and it became generally accepted that the new material was suitable only for garrison and replacement duties. Nevertheless, a token force of 15,000 Landwehr was embodied for active service from the very start, and by the time of the battle of Wagram the number had greatly increased.

  The Austrian Emperor, Francis I (1768-1835), in old age

  Far more notable and effective were the changes wrought in the regular forces. In 1805, some 200,000 regular soldiers had been available for active service; four years later this total had been raised to almost 340,000. Many improvements were copied from the French model; Charles freely adapted the corps d’armée system to meet Austrian requirements, creating nine line and two reserve corps. This was a marked administrative improvement over the old divisional organization and promised greater operational flexibility. The 279,000 infantry were divided among 80 infantry regiments and nine new Fäger battalions. A revised drillbook taught a form of skirmishing tactics reminiscent of French practice, although severe restrictions controlled the number of troops that could be employed in this fashion. The 36,000 troopers of the cavalry arm were organized into eight cuirassier, six dragoon, twelve hussar and three uhlan regiments. Great difficulty was experienced in finding adequate mounts for this force, however, and it never approached either the size or the efficiency of its French counterpart. On the other hand, the Austrian artillery arm was vastly improved. The 13,000 gunners formed four regiments of artillery and a corps of bombardiers and were provided with no less than 760 field guns. Good though its organization and materiel were, the artillery’s gravest drawback lay in its senior officers, who had little direct experience of controlling guns in the field.

  In his endeavors to remodel the staff system, such as it was, and to provide the army with adequate leadership, the Archduke Charles was decidedly less successful. The staff was quite capable of carrying out the paper side of moving and maintaining armies in the field, but once again there was a general dearth of experience of the conditions pertaining to active operations. The communications system employed to facilitate the passing of information and orders up and down the chain of command was notably deficient. As regards the men on whom he had to rely for the higher direction of the armies, Charles was also severely handicapped. Although he was able to give directions to the Aulic Council, he had no power to dismiss incompetent or hostile generals; that prerogative remained firmly in the hands of his brother, the Emperor Francis. As a result, Charles was compelled to employ men like Hiller, his bitter personal foe, as well as incompetent generals such as his brother archdukes, Louis, John and Ferdinand. Nepotism remained rife at every level of the command structure; of the men of the second echelon, only Radetsky rose above mediocrity. The Wimpffens, Grünns, Klenaus and Rosenburgs had little military talent to recommend them.

  What of Charles himself? Despite a regrettable tendency to suffering epileptic seizures at moments of stress, he had been raised to high command at an even younger age than Napoleon, commanding his first army at the age of twenty-five years. Considerable success attended his campaigns against minor French generals, but in no way was he a match for Napoleon. The two generals had faced one another in 1797 during the later stages of the War of the First Coalition, but Charles received decidedly the worst of the encounter. There is no doubt, however, that Charles was the very best man available to Austria. He was far less infected than his contemporaries by the deadening formalism of the eighteenth-century, although he was never quite able to throw off the last traces of his military upbringing. He retained, for instance, an obsession for occupying what he termed “geographical points”—critical terrain—and at times this deflected his purpose from the destruction of the enemy’s forces. Nevertheless, the Austrian army of 1809 constituted a far superior weapon to that of 1805. It might not possess the patriotic inspiration and élan of its French opponents or their incomparable “tradition of victory” (as Petre terms it), and it certainly lacked a comparable leadership at both army and corps level, but its overall fighting quality was good despite poor mobility and a certain lack of vivacity. In his arrogance Napoleon occasionally referred to his Austrian enemy as “cette canaille” but on at least one occasion after 1809 he rounded on an obsequious minister who was making a sneering reference to Austrian martial qualities with the comment, “It is evident you were not at Wagram.”1 Indeed, the Campaign of 1809 was destined to try Napoleon’s talents to the uttermost, and although he was ultimately triumphant he found himself faced by phenomenal national opposition surpassed only by that of the British and Spanish peoples. The contrast in Austrian attitudes is indeed striking; as a French diplomat described it in a report submitted in March 1809, shortly before the outbreak of hostilities: “In 1805 the Government alone wanted war—neither the army nor the people desired it; now, in 1809, Government, army and people are united in their resolve.”2

  Napoleon had been aware for a considerable period of the way the wind was blowing at Vienna. The dissensions between the Austrian peace and war factions
were widely reported, and as early as May 1808 information about Austria’s intention to raise 180,000 Landwehr caused the French Government to send a protest to the Emperor, demanding an explanation of his intentions. A month later Napoleon learned of the supplying of Austrian military depots in Bohemia, but it still suited him to accept Francis’ assurances of peaceful intent at more or less their face value. Throughout the last months of the year, Napoleon felt justified in placing full reliance on Russian promises to keep Austria in her place; one paragraph of the Convention of Erfurt, concluded on October 12, 1808, stated that “In the case of Austria declaring war against France, the Emperor of Russia undertakes to denounce Austria and to make common cause with France.”3 Napoleon also felt confident that the 100,000 troops of the Rhenish Confederation, backed by the stiffening provided by the French units of the Army of the Rhine, would prove sufficient to dissuade Vienna from undertaking any prematurely rash action. Events, however, were to prove him wrong. As it transpired, Russia and Austria found themselves with rather more in common than Napoleon anticipated—in particular they shared a lively distrust of French intentions towards Constantinople; hence the secret détente between St. Petersburg and Vienna of the New Year. Indeed, by January 15, 1809, reports from Central Europe had taken such an alarming turn that the Emperor felt compelled to leave the Spanish front and head for Paris without delay to organize effective countermeasures.