Napoleon

by Adam Zamoyski

  Three Austrian forces stood in his way, one under Davidovitch at Trento, another blocking the valley of the Brenta, and the main force concentrated along the river Tagliamento. They were under the overall command of Archduke Charles of Austria, a capable general two years younger than Bonaparte who had defeated the French in Germany. His presence was helping to restore the morale of the Austrian troops, and Bonaparte decided not to give him time. On 10 March he went into action, forcing Davidovitch up the valley of the Adige towards Brixen while Masséna advanced up the Brenta and Bonaparte took on the archduke himself on the Tagliamento. He breached his defences and forced him to fall back on Gratz (Gorizia) and Laybach (Lubljana). By then two of the passes were in French hands, and the archduke had to beat a hasty retreat if he were not to be cut off as Bonaparte reached Klagenfurt, on 30 March.

  He was now poised to advance on Vienna, but if he did so, the Austrian armies in Germany could sweep into his rear. Behind him lay the whole of Italy guarded by a mere 20,000 men. Anti-French feeling simmered throughout the peninsula, with Naples, Venice, the papacy, Parma and Modena only waiting for a chance to strike. His army had advanced so far that it was running out of supplies, and the rocky region in which it now found itself would not sustain it for long. He therefore had to conclude peace urgently.

  The one thing that would convince Austria to give in was a French advance across the Rhine by Moreau and Hoche, who had taken over from Pichegru, and Bonaparte sent request after request to the Directory urging it to order one. But he had learned to rely only on his own resources. On 31 March he offered Archduke Charles an armistice, but pressed on swiftly, reaching Leoben and taking the Semmering pass, less than a hundred kilometres from Vienna. There was panic in the Austrian capital, with people packing their valuables and leaving for places of safety. But with no support from Moreau and Hoche, Bonaparte could not afford to go any further. On 18 April preliminaries of peace were signed at Leoben.

  Bonaparte had no right to negotiate a peace, let alone one which redrew the map as drastically as this one. The terms were that Austria ceded Belgium to France, gave up its claim to Lombardy and recognised the Cispadane Republic. In return, Austria was to receive part of the territory of the Republic of Venice.

  Venice had remained neutral throughout the conflict, but French and Austrian armies had operated on its territory, using cities such as Verona and Bassano as military bases. Their depredations had provoked reprisals against French soldiers, and on 7 April Bonaparte had sent Junot to Venice with an insulting ultimatum to its government to stop them. When the Venetian authorities sent envoys to Bonaparte he lambasted them and declared that he would act like Attila if they did not submit. On 17 April there was a riot in Verona, almost certainly provoked on his orders, in the course of which some French soldiers were killed. He responded by making fresh demands of the Venetian government, insisting it reform its constitution along French lines. Provocations on either side ratcheted up the conflict, and a French vessel was fired on from one of the Venetian forts. On 1 May Bonaparte declared war on Venice and sent in troops. A puppet government was set up and instructed to settle with Austria the cession of territory, for which Venice was to be compensated with the former papal province of the Legations. Meanwhile, the plunder of the city’s treasures began and the horses of St Mark’s were removed to Paris.31

  Such treatment of a neutral sovereign state was nothing new for Austria, which had joined in the partitions of Poland and had long been eyeing Venetian territory, with its access to the sea. But for the French Republic, the liberator of oppressed peoples, to act in such a way was shocking, and when they heard of it the members of the Directory were incensed. Clarke, who reached Leoben two days after the signature, was aghast. But Bonaparte had already sent Masséna to Paris with the document and an accompanying letter in which he listed the advantages for France of the agreement, which he termed ‘a monument to the glory of the French Republic’. He went on to state that if the Directory did not accept the terms of the peace, he would be content to resign his post and pursue a civilian career with the same determination and single-mindedness as he had his military one – a clear threat that he would go into politics. There was nothing the Directory could do: news of the signature of peace had been greeted ecstatically throughout France, with celebrations in some towns lasting three days.32

  13

  Master of Italy

  By the beginning of May 1797 Bonaparte was back in Milan. In the space of twelve months he had won a succession of battles, taken 160,000 prisoners and 1,100 pieces of artillery, and well over 150 standards, as well as some fifty warships, and forced the emperor to make peace after five years of war. A rest was in order, and finding the summer heat oppressive, he had installed himself at Mombello, a stately villa a short distance from the city. Set on a rise which gave it fine views, of snow-capped Alpine peaks to the north and the Lombard plain to the south, it was a perfect place for him to recover from his travails. But it soon turned into what visitors described as ‘a glittering court’ to which many gravitated.1

  Pontécoulant, who had last seen Bonaparte at the War Ministry in 1795 pleading to be given back his rank, could not believe the change that had come over him. His previously hunched figure had assumed a commanding poise, and his features now put Pontécoulant in mind of classical cameos. ‘It was difficult not to feel an involuntary emotion on approaching him,’ he wrote. ‘His height, below the average, rarely equalled that of his interlocutors, yet his movements, his bearing, the decisive tone of his voice, all seemed to proclaim that he was born to command others and to impose on them the ascendancy of his will.’ Pontécoulant noted that he was polite and cordial to newcomers, speaking to each of the things which interested them. ‘There was no pride in his behaviour, only the aplomb of a man who knows his worth and has found his place,’ according to the playwright Antoine-Vincent Arnault, another who had arrived from Paris.2

  As he exerted authority over the whole of northern Italy, either directly or by proxy, Bonaparte was constantly receiving representatives of the civil authorities and the administration seeking guidance or approval. And as the political system on the peninsula remained fluid, a stream of diplomats trickled through Mombello, from the emperor of Austria, the kings of Sardinia and Naples, the Pope, the republics of Genoa and Lucca, the dukes of Parma and Tuscany, from civic corporations and other bodies, even from Swiss cantons and minor German states. Couriers came and went. So did individuals seeking redress, protection or favour. In order to accommodate the numbers, a large tent was erected beside the villa to extend the drawing room.

  An etiquette gradually established itself, distancing Bonaparte from his comrades-in-arms, who were made to feel they could no longer use the familiar ‘tu’ when addressing him. In French military custom, a commander kept table for all his officers when on active service, and until now Bonaparte had sat down with his comrades to eat whatever and wherever they could. At Mombello, he dined in public with Josephine as French monarchs had done, to the accompaniment of music and watched by his court, only occasionally inviting one or other of his staff to join them. In the evenings, the company was entertained with music, and La Grassini would drive out from Milan to sing for the conqueror. ‘He did not appear in the least embarrassed or put out by these excessive marks of honour, and received them as though he had been used to them all his life,’ commented the French diplomat André-François Miot de Melito.3

  The painter Antoine Gros, who had been travelling in Italy, came to Mombello and started work on a portrait. Bonaparte would not sit still, so Josephine made him sit on her knee, and by playfully holding his head and caressing him she managed to immobilise him long enough for Gros to sketch the face. He would later work these sketches into the memorable painting of Bonaparte on the bridge of Arcole.4

  Josephine reigned over this court with a relaxed grace that impressed visitors: she seemed born to the station of regal consort. The ladies of Milan who called were charmed by
her easy and friendly manner. ‘Never has a woman combined more kindness with more natural grace and done more good with more pleasure than her,’ in the words of Miot de Melito. She was nevertheless bored, and pined for Paris. Her relationship with Bonaparte seems to have been passing through a good phase, as she informed Barras. ‘My husband has promised not to leave me any more,’ she wrote, ‘… you helped to marry us, and you made his happiness and mine. I could not love him more than I do.’ To Bonaparte’s delight, the cook’s dog killed Josephine’s pug Fortuné, who could no longer prevent him taking what one observer called ‘conjugal liberties’ with her in public, but the spontaneous and unaffected nature of his caresses disarmed even the most prudish.5

  Josephine was less happy at having to put up with her husband’s family. Letizia arrived on 1 June, bringing Maria Nunziata, now styling herself Caroline, little Geronimo, and Maria-Anna, who had taken to calling herself Élisa and brought her fiancé, the Corsican Félix Bacciochi. She needed a dowry, which only her brother could provide, and though he disliked Bacciochi, Bonaparte had to give in to the entreaties of his mother, who approved of the marriage, as the man came from a prominent family of Ajaccio. Joseph had also turned up, followed by Joseph Fesch, who brought Paulette and Josephine’s son Eugène from Paris.

  It was not a happy family gathering. Letizia, who now met Josephine for the first time, saw no reason to change her views on the subject of what she considered her son’s disastrous marriage. The rest of the family concurred. For her part, Josephine was unimpressed by her in-laws. She had already met Lucien, whom she detested, and Louis, who did not like her and who since falling ill in February had turned into a hypochondriac prone to fits of depression. She found Joseph amiable enough, as he kept up a diplomatic show of friendliness towards her. It was her sisters-in-law who horrified Josephine. She appears to have believed the gossip that they had all slept with Bonaparte, and Paulette’s behaviour did little to gainsay it. She was stunningly beautiful, but her demeanour combined the pranks of a schoolgirl with the morals of a harlot. One moment she would be pulling faces and sticking out her tongue, mimicking and joshing distinguished personages, the next she would be fornicating behind a curtain with whichever young officer came to hand. Bonaparte resolved to put a stop to it by marrying her off to one of his most able officers, Victor-Émmanuel Leclerc, who was in love with her and could be counted on to keep her occupied. They were married on 14 June along with Élisa and Bacciochi. Soon after, Letizia departed for Ajaccio with the Bacciochis, and a little later Joseph left for Rome to take up the job of French ambassador to the Holy See which Bonaparte had obtained for him.6

  To distract Josephine, Bonaparte arranged excursions to the lakes of Garda, Maggiore and Como, to Monza and Isola Bella. But he was himself not in holiday mood. More than one witness noted that he looked not only exhausted but also sad and often dejected, that on occasion his look was filled with melancholy and reflection, that he was sometimes sombre.7

  He had experienced a great deal over the past year, and had learned much about himself and others, about war, politics and human affairs in general. Most of it, including the deceptions of Josephine, had lowered his opinion of human nature. He had debased his own standards and made compromises, in his relationship with his wife, his political calculations and his financial dealings. By the beginning of 1797 he was systematically siphoning off a considerable proportion of the resources being sucked out of Italy, and following the last campaign he had taken most, at least a million francs, of the wealth uncovered by his commissary Collot at the mercury mines of Idrija in Slovenia.8

  In conversation with the agronomist André Thouin at Mombello one day, he said that once peace had been signed he would retire to the country and become a justice of the peace. There is no reason to doubt the sincerity of such sentiments, but they were no more than idle thoughts: in the uncertain state France was in, no government of whatever persuasion could tolerate the existence of a man of his capacities and following as an uncommitted private individual. In August, one of the army victuallers who had known him at Valence wrote to a friend that he could see ‘no end for him other than the throne or the scaffold’.9

  Partly through his ambition and partly by force of circumstance, Bonaparte had become a figure famous throughout Europe. Between the spring of 1796, when he took command of the Army of Italy, and the end of 1797, no fewer than seventy-two pamphlets would have been published about him. People in the most distant parts of the Continent were either inspired or disgusted by him. Some feared him like the devil, others pinned their most ardent hopes on him. He was the source of fascination for young people of all classes and nations. But in France itself, he had become a political figure. Since the army had become an indispensable tool of government any popular general was, whether he liked it or not, a player in the power struggle which was going on over the future governance of France. Having proved his competence during the Vendémiaire rising, he was now both feared and needed by the Directory, and by every political faction in Paris.10

  For a man not shy of saying what he thought of others, Bonaparte was surprisingly sensitive to criticism. He had recently come under attack from the right-wing press in Paris, which portrayed him as a Caesar only waiting to cross the Rubicon, as a Jacobin and a fiendish ‘exterminating angel’. He decided to respond in kind. On 19 July the first issue appeared in Milan of the Courrier de l’armée d’Italie, a paper ostensibly meant to keep the army informed, but whose primary aim was to work on public opinion in France, where it was disseminated. Other commanders had published papers to keep their troops informed, but this one was different. The main feature of the first number was a description of the parade held in Milan on the anniversary of the fall of the Bastille on 14 July. It abounded in touching vignettes, mostly apocryphal. ‘As the army marched past, a corporal of the ninth demi-brigade approached the commander-in-chief and said to him: “General, you have saved France. We, your children who share in the glory of belonging to this invincible army will make a rampart of their bodies around you. Save the Republic; may the hundred thousand soldiers who make up this army close ranks in defence of liberty.”’11

  While Bonaparte made it clear that he and his army stood firm in support of the Republic, the Courrier subtly distanced him from the Directory, which, by contrast with the pure republicanism of the Army of Italy and its commander, was made to appear weak and corrupt. A second journal, which came out once a décade (ten days – the revolutionary week) under the editorship of the moderate constitutionalist royalist Michel Regnaud de Saint-Jean-d’Angély, printed articles ‘correcting’ ‘false’ impressions of Bonaparte held in Paris and building up the image of him as a miracle-performing hero.

  This positioning had a great deal to do with recent events in France, where the April elections had returned a majority of right-wing deputies to the two chambers, setting these in conflict with the Directory. Barras resolved to cow them by force, and summoned General Hoche from the Army of the Sambre-et-Meuse under pretence of giving him the job of minister of war. On 16 July, as his troops crossed the sixty-kilometre exclusion zone supposed to keep the military away from the institutions of government, the chambers denounced the action and the attempted coup was blocked. Barras and his fellow Directors then concentrated on winning over those troops legally stationed within the zone, but they needed a popular general to lead them. Bonaparte wrote to the Directory on 15 July that the Army of Italy was alarmed at news of a slide to the right in Paris and hoped they would take energetic steps in defence of the Republic, assuring them of its support. He had cause for anxiety.12

  When they invaded Venetian territory in May, his troops had arrested a royalist agent, the comte d’Antraigues, and from him and the papers found on him, Bonaparte discovered that Generals Pichegru and Moreau were involved in a plot to overthrow the Directory and bring back the Bourbons, a plot which specifically involved killing him. This explained why the Austrians were dragging their feet over concludin
g peace.13

  The preliminaries signed at Leoben were just that, and a treaty still needed to be negotiated. The Austrian foreign minister Baron Thugut sent the Neapolitan ambassador in Vienna, Marchese Gallo, to negotiate this on his behalf, and when he met Bonaparte in Milan in May they agreed to conclude rapidly. But Thugut was in no hurry. At the last moment Bonaparte had insisted that France be allowed to keep all her conquests on the left bank of the Rhine, which meant that the territory’s rulers would have to be compensated. Since their lands had formed part of the Holy Roman Empire, the emperor would need to sanction this and make whatever compensations were necessary. It was also hoped that some of Austria’s allies in the anti-French coalition would be persuaded to accede to the settlement, which would be finalised at a congress to be convoked at Rastatt at the beginning of July. The possibility of a restoration of the Bourbon monarchy radically altered the situation; Louis XVIII would be only too happy to recover France reduced to her old frontiers and let northern Italy revert to Austria. When all this dawned on Bonaparte, he was outraged.14

  Both sides prepared for a resumption of hostilities. Austria took possession of the Venetian territory promised to it, while Bonaparte took over Venice itself and reorganised the area under his control. He had turned the lands taken from Venice into a Transpadane Republic, but then incorporated that with the Cispadane into one, to be known as the Cisalpine Republic. His aim was to deny the whole of northern Italy to Austria and create a political unit that could stand on its own but remain under French control. He hoped to introduce an administration which would allow it to raise and pay for enough troops to defend both itself and French interests. It was not a new idea, as Dumouriez had done much the same in the Austrian Netherlands and Hoche on the Rhine. The policy made sense to the generals operating in the respective areas, if not to the Directory. It was also partly inspired by the mission civilisatrice the Revolution was supposed to be carrying out as it liberated sister nations from feudal ‘slavery’. Bonaparte had the establishment of the Cisalpine Republic immortalised in a print showing himself before the tomb of Virgil, with the French people represented by a Herculean figure tearing the chains off a female figure representing Italy.