Marengo

by T E Crowdy

  While all this took place, Murat had recalled his cavalrymen and formed a line in front of Marengo. Boudet’s division also formed a line overlooking the village, and together they watched the last of Weidenfeld’s grenadiers fall back across the ditch. O’Reilly had also returned, his light troops forming a defensive rearguard. At around 9.00 pm, Boudet’s troops assaulted Marengo and reoccupied the place. Within an hour, Gardanne was back at Pedrabona. Dupont had thought it a wise precaution to place troops near the Austrian bridgehead to await the dawn. At 10.00 pm, the battle concluded. It had been a remarkable day. Fourteen hours before, the Austrians had crossed over the bridgehead and the two sides had fought one of the most intense battles ever known. Yet there they were, back where it had all begun: Gardanne watching the bridgehead, wondering what the Austrians would do next?

  The account of Count Cavour has some interesting remarks on the latter part of the battle. He said night began to fall at 7.30 pm, and it was only at this time that Melas arrived in Alessandria. He was with Melas at this point, near the drawbridge into the city, and they heard the sound of gunfire off to the east while watching the arrival of wagons loaded with wounded. They dismissed the gunfire as belonging to some lost French patrols making a desperate last stand. As it began to darken, the sky became stormy, but everyone was happy, believing victory had been gained. At 8.00 pm, Cavour saw General Lamarseille and paid him his compliments. The Austrian general replied: ‘Looks like I caught it in the arm.’

  MAP 17: The Austrian retreat – Approximately 8.00 pm

  (French) 1 – Gardanne; 2 – 9th Light Infantry; 3 – Kellermann’s brigade (with Champeaux’s dragoons); 4 – Guard cavalry; 5 – Guénand’s brigade; 6 – 72nd Line (Monnier); 7 – Monnier; 8 – Foot Guard; 9 – Chambarlhac; 10 – Watrin; 11 – Rivaud’s cavalry.

  (Austrians) A – Weidenfeld’s grenadiers and remains of Lattermann; B – Archduke Johann’s Light Dragoons; C – O’Reilly; D – Kaim (retreating); E – Ott’s corps; F – various Austrian cavalry units.

  Cavour saw the Austrian had been bruised by a gunshot, and asked: ‘But finally the battle is won?’

  ‘Yes, but the resumption has been a little strong and it is there that I caught this shot.’ Wondering what exactly Lamarseille had meant by the resumption, Cavour went up to the bastions around the city to try to see what was going on, but found it too dark to see anything. He instead went to the bridgehead at the Bormida to see what he could learn. When the bells sounded 9.00 pm, he was in a house. There he learned of the arrival of Count Poncillon, a Piedmontese gentleman in Austrian service. Poncillon had commanded a squadron of the Bussy Light Horse during the battle, and had been heavily engaged. Cavour was surprised by his appearance. The scabbard of his sabre was missing, as were the tassels from his sash, a piece of his jacket and a part of his horse’s cover. He had been brushed by a cannonball which had carried the missing articles away, leaving the lucky man with nothing but a slight bruise. Cavour asked him if the battle had been won, and was told: ‘It had been until around seven o’clock, then the troops were assailed on all sides. The French have retaken their first position with the exception of the village of Marengo which is still occupied by two squadrons of my regiment. General Zach has been made a prisoner, I do not know how.’

  Cavour continued to quiz Poncillon, asking him what he thought would happen next. ‘As far as I have been told, tomorrow we attack again; if meanwhile tonight we don’t make a shameful capitulation; but I am going to hang around headquarters and I will tell you if there is anything more.’12

  Another anxious spectator was General Soult, in his bed in Alessandria. At about 11.00 pm, the old doctor came back to Soult’s room. He spoke of his disappointment:

  ‘We are lost, our troops are recrossing the bridge at this moment! One had thought the battle won, and, like I told you, General Melas came back to Alessandria, when it was announced to him that your army had made a new attack. He returned with all haste, but he was not in time. Everything had changed, General Zach had been taken and we had been broken. There was nothing more left than for General Melas to cover the retreat. I do not know what General Melas will do to get us out of this situation.’

  It became Soult’s turn to console the doctor, who left shortly afterwards. That night Soult could barely contain his joy.

  With the veil of night drawn over them, the living sat down among the dead and wounded, friend mixed with foe, fearful of the night. By all accounts it was a clear night – the evening clouds had passed overhead. Everyone would have been deafened by gunfire, with ears ringing, tormented with thirst, starving hungry now the adrenaline of battle began to subside. Coignet describes the moment:

  The whole army, with the exception of Desaix’s division, was in a state of unbelievable weariness. Most of the soldiers had not eaten since the day before. We spent the day biting our cartridges. It was our only food. We were black with powder. Our legs were so stiff, that after a moment’s rest we could not get up again. About ten o’clock my captain Merle sent for me by his domestic to take supper with him. There, my wounds were dressed, my hair restored, my powers revived; I had more happiness than my poor companions.’

  On the Austrian side, Wenzel Rauch had safely crossed the Bormida with a group of about sixty or so men he had collected on his way. He was relieved to see the cavalry was held back from crossing until the infantry had all got across – he believed the bridge would collapse from the weight if they too tried to pass. Once across, he could not pass through all the fugitives to the camp of the night before, so he sat down where he could and allowed his sensations to overwhelm him. Hunger and a terrible thirst tortured him. He replayed moments of the battle in his head, in particular one when the colonel had prevented him from resisting the French attack. The thirst was so bad that he would gladly have paid a gold sovereign to quell it, even for just a drop of water; but there was none. He then began to feel cold, so much so he that could not even close his eyes, let alone sleep. Instead, he gazed up at the stars.

  Across the scenes of devastated crops and smashed bodies, another man looked up at the stars: it was General Guénand. The French army was bivouacked in line behind Marengo, and most of the younger generals had returned to headquarters to lay claim to their successes. Guénand did not follow, and it is likely this is why his role in the battle has been ever since overlooked. Guénand was instead content to sit among his men and let his emotions subside. He considered the day’s events and the conduct of the soldiers, who seemed so young to him; they had made him proud. If he was remembered in history for anything, he thought to himself, it was that he had commanded these brave boys at the Battle of Marengo.

  When victory was concluded, the First Consul returned to his headquarters at Torre Garofoli. He was followed by the Horse Guard. Joseph Petit said they were all exhausted and in danger of dozing off in the saddle had it not been for the shouts of the wounded on the road side. The battlefield presented a terrible sight, even at night. Burning buildings illuminated harrowing scenes as the wounded were evacuated by their weary comrades. Wounded horses limped about on three legs, neighing in distress and unsettling Petit’s horse. Caissons and guns had been tipped off the road into the ditches, completing the scene of destruction. The darkness added to the feeling of dread. Here and there were small groups of Austrian soldiers who had escaped their captors, but were then turned back to resume their captivity. Eventually the Horse Grenadiers reached Torre Garofoli and fell off their saddles to sleep among the heaps of dead and the dying, still holding their horses’ bridles in their hands. The screams of the unfortunates around them were not enough to prevent Petit and his comrades from falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

  Earlier that evening, the 12th Chasseurs had arrived at headquarters. De France looked for someone to report to, and finding no one but the First Consul, he made his report to him. Bonaparte requested that de France remain at headquarters until further notice, in case his men were needed for headquarters duties.13 Isme
rt of the 11th Hussars had also arrived back in headquarters. With him was the small detachment that had been sent out to find food for Kellermann’s dinner. Bonaparte’s staff saw these provisions and lightened the load of the cavalrymen in order to prepare the First Consul’s dinner. His chef, Dunan, prepared a meal of chicken cooked in wine. This relatively simple dish has now passed into culinary history as Poulet Marengo (Chicken Marengo).

  Bonaparte expressed his sadness to Bourrienne over Desaix’s death. He also said: ‘Little Kellermann made a fine charge – he did it just at the right time – we owe him much; see what trifles decide these affairs.’14 Bourrienne was still shocked that they had won the battle. Bourrienne had remained with Bonaparte’s other private staff at San Giuliano the whole time Bonaparte was absent from them. One minute someone would come by and announce victory, then defeat and then victory once more. He and the valet, Constant, had both been worried by the approach of the Austrian guns and had noticed the stream of wounded pass by with increasing regularity; but sure enough the day had been won.

  As the night went on, more and more reports of the scale of the victory came pouring in. Melas had been well beaten, but French losses had also been heavy. The first formal report of the battle was written by Berthier, dated ‘on the battlefield of Saint-Juliano, 25 Prairial Year 8 [14 June 1800], at nine o’clock in the evening’. This report must have been dictated while the Austrians were still fleeing back to the bridgehead, and before Gardanne reached Pederbona. Of all the French reports which followed, it is perhaps the most accurate battle account in terms of identifying the key phases, and suffers very little from any self-promotion. It described how the French army had advanced after the the Battle of Montebello and ‘repelled the enemy’ up to Marengo. It described the attack on the evening of 13 June and then Melas’ attack the following morning. It described the Austrians working their way onto the wings of the French army, of 100 guns pounding the French line. It described the collapse of the French left, and the support rendered by the cavalry, describing how Lannes in the centre had been forced to retreat in line with Victor, and how the right, supported by the grenadiers of the Guard of the Consuls, maintained its position ‘until the moment of the arrival of the division Boudet, under the orders of General Desaix’ (by which we can infer the right retreated at 4.00 pm, when Desaix began to arrive at San Giuliano). The account continues to describe the evening battle – how Desaix’s troops attacked the enemy centre at the charge. Then to quote part of the report in full:

  ‘The 9th Light Half-Brigade, incomparable by its bravery, was in the front line; General Desaix marched at its head. Your presence gave the army this impetus which decided, so many times, the victory. The charge was beaten; all the new line moved off, followed by the divisions which had fought since morning. General Kellermann, who had supported the movement of retreat of our left, seized the moment when the enemy infantry, having been shaken, tried to attack again. He charged impetuously, made more than 6,000 prisoners, took ten cannon and General Zach, chief of staff of the army.’15

  The report now focused on the fighting against Ott. It described Watrin’s division being ‘supported by some Foot Grenadiers of the Consuls, who distinguished themselves during all the battle’ (note the description of some Foot Grenadiers). It described Bessières at the head of the Horse Guards, and Monnier attacking Castelceriolo. Losing the correct chronology once, finally it described how a ‘squadron of the Latour [sic – read Lobkowitz] Dragoons was entirely destroyed by the fire of the grenadiers of the Guard of the Consuls’. The French had taken 7,000 or 8,000 prisoners, many cannon and at least twelve flags. The Austrians had suffered 6,000 killed and wounded.

  Berthier sent this report to headquarters, and told Kellermann the First Consul would probably want to congratulate him on his impressive achievements. Kellermann entered Bonaparte’s headquarters believing he was about to be promoted to full general of division, but it was not to be. ‘You made a pretty good charge,’ Bonaparte told him coldly. Then turning to Bessières, he said with deliberate volume: ‘Bessières, the Guard has covered itself in glory.’ Kellermann was disgusted. He stalked moodily around headquarters, telling anyone who would listen that he had replied to Bonaparte: ‘My pretty good charge has placed the crown on your head.’16 Bourrienne believed Kellermann had not said these words to the First Consul directly, but they became so well known that Bonaparte soon learned of them and therefore did not give Kellermann the promotion he probably deserved. This slight was to fuel a sense of injustice in Kellermann until his death in 1835.

  On retiring to his private chamber, Bonaparte considered the loss of Desaix. While valets Constant and Hambard busied themselves around him, Bonaparte talked about how he had lost his best friend: ‘No one knew how much goodness nor how much genius was in his head. My dear Desaix always wanted to die like that. But need death have been so prompt in granting his wish?’17

  Furnished with Berthier’s report, Bonaparte looked to write his own account of the battle. He was a brilliant writer, able to embue his bulletins with a sense of drama and glory.

  Bourrienne writes:

  ‘After supper was over the First Consul dictated to me the bulletin of the battle. When we were alone I said to him, “General, here is a fine victory! You recollect what you said the other day about the pleasure with which you would return to France after striking a grand blow in Italy; surely you must be satisfied now?” – “Yes, Bourrienne, I am satisfied. But Desaix! Ah, what a triumph would this have been if I could have embraced him tonight on the field of battle!” As he uttered these words I saw that Bonaparte was on the point of shedding tears, so sincere and profound was his grief for the death of Desaix. He certainly never loved, esteemed, or regretted any man so much.’18

  By now the clock had passed midnight. The bulletin embellished Berthier’s account, following the main themes, but adding a greater sense of drama. The bulletin speaks of the uncertainty before the battle. ‘The enemy seemed to have no plans and was very uncertain of its movements,’ he wrote. The battle ebbed and flowed until 3.00 pm, when ‘10,000 cavalrymen [sic] overtook our right in the superb plain of San Giuliano. They were supported by a line of cavalry and much artillery’ (clearly he was describing the emergence of Ott’s Corps). Then there is one of the most iconic sentences in Napoleonic history:

  ‘The grenadiers of the Guard were placed like a granite redoubt in the midst of this immense plain. Nothing could hurt them. Cavalry, infantry, artillery, all were directed against this battalion; but in vain; it was then one really saw what a handful of brave men can do.’

  Monnier’s division then arrived at Castelceriolo and seized the village at bayonet point; but now Austrian cavalry arrived on the French left and this movement precipitated a retreat. The enemy advanced with 100 guns firing canister:

  ‘The roads were covered with fugitives, wounded, and debris. The battle seemed lost. The enemy was allowed to advance as far as a gun-shot from the village of San Giuliano, where the division of Desaix was in line, with eight pieces of light artillery in front, and two battalions en potence on the wings. All the fugitives rallied behind. Already the enemy made mistakes which foreshadowed his catastrophe. He stretched his wings too far. The presence of the First Consul rekindled the morale of the troops. “Children,” said he, “remember that my habit is to sleep on the field of battle.” To the cries of “Long live the Republic! Long live the First Consul!” Desaix approached at the charge and by the centre. In a moment the enemy is overthrown. General Kellermann, who, with his brigade of heavy cavalry, had protected the retreat of our left all day, executed a charge with such vigour and timing, that 6,000 grenadiers, and General Zach, chief of the staff, were captured, and several enemy generals killed.’

  Seizing on Berthier’s description of the half-brigade, the bulletin announced the 9th Light had ‘merited the title of Incomparable’. He would later award the unit with special flags emblazoned with this device. Bonaparte then came to the death
of Desaix:

  ‘But a sharp loss felt by the army, which will be felt by the whole Republic, closes our hearts to joy. Desaix was struck with a bullet at the beginning of the charge of his division. He died instantly. He had only time to tell young Lebrun, who was with him: “Go and tell the First Consul that I die with regret that I have not done enough to live in posterity.”’

  Again, Desaix’s final words are such an iconic part of the myth of the battle (along with the fallacy he spontaneously marched to the sound of guns) that they merit a few words of analysis. The statement above was a pure piece of political theatre. ‘Young Lebrun’ was the son of the Third Consul, Charles-François Lebrun, and serving with the army as an aide-de-camp to Desaix. As Bourrienne states in this memoirs, these last words, as dictated to him by the First Consul, ‘were imaginary’. The doctors who later embalmed Desaix’s body concluded the wound was so substantial that the man would have said nothing. It will be remembered that Lauriston wrote Desaix barely had the chance to say ‘Dead!’ when struck. After the battle, Lefèvre-Desnouettes assured everyone that Desaix fell ‘without proffering a word’.19

  Interestingly, Boudet also indicates Desaix said something: ‘Death came to carry this great captain from his brothers in arms. He recommended, with his last words, concealing his fate, in the fear that this news would produce some alarm and be harmful to the victory.’ Adjutant-General Dalton also wrote about last words in his after-action report: ‘He fell in the first ranks of our soldiers, where he was always found; he lived a few minutes and recommended not to speak to the troops of his wound, in the fear that it might slow their enthusiasm. He was hardly able to say that his wound was mortal.’20 Boudet and Dalton’s accounts of the campaign are among the most credible documents which exist, but they were not present at the time of Desaix’s death. The only way we might find some truth in these statements is if Desaix said something before he rode forward to the Ninth’s skirmish line.