The War of Wars

by Robert Harvey

  He and his troops returned to winter quarters – the Russians reoccupying the field of Eylau, which by now was full of frozen bodies. Gloomily he wrote to Joseph in Naples:

  The staff, colonels, officers, have not undressed in two months, some not in four; I, myself have gone two weeks without getting out of my boots; we are in the midst of snow and mud, without wine, without brandy, without bread, eating potatoes and meat, making long marches and countermarches, without any kind of luxury, and fighting with bayonets and grapeshot; the wounded are often compelled to go fifty leagues in open sleighs. Therefore it is a pretty poor joke to compare us with the army of Naples, making war in a lovely country, where one can get wine, oil, bread, cloth, sheets, social life, and even women. After having destroyed the Prussian monarchy, we are fighting against what is left of the Prussians, against the Russians, the Kalmucks, the Cossacks, the northern tribes that long ago invaded the Roman Empire. We are making war in the strictest sense of that term. In the midst of these great fatigues we have all been more or less sick. As for myself I have never been stronger, and have become fatter.

  It had been a major setback and exaggerated accounts of the disaster started to circulate in the salons of Paris. The myth of Napoleon’s invincibility had been badly dented. The invincible Grande Armée had been outfought, outmanoeuvred, outgunned, slaughtered in their thousands and very nearly routed by a plodding Russian army equipped with obsolescent conventional tactics. Worse, Napoleon had tried to fight on ground of his own choosing, had been ambushed and forced to fight on the enemy’s terms – even though by the end of the battle he enjoyed considerable superiority in numbers.

  He was now plunged into the bitter realization that Russia was one of his most dangerous enemies, the power that threatened his hold on Europe: in a sense he was right, for Russia, unlike Austria and Prussia which were essentially defeated, was an aggressive nation with as many ambitions as France. From the defeat at Eylau dawned the realization that he could not hope to beat Russia and must instead seek peace. But he could hardly now abandon his position without risking a Russian counter-attack, the possible loss of Prussia and even his own throne, as all of Europe would fall upon him after barely one and a half years of unbroken triumph.

  Paradoxically, defeat had the effect of making him even more determined than victory. He immediately sought to avoid further disaster by strengthening his depleted army. Through colossal conscription drives that drained and disrupted the French people as well as subject nations, Napoleon increased his total manpower to 600,000 men altogether; the Grande Armée in Poland and its supporters in Germany comprised two-thirds of this. Six new divisions had been enlisted – two in Poland, two in Germany, and two in Italy, as well as 100,000 men in Saxony and Baden.

  Napoleon himself dallied in great comfort with Marie Walewska in the castle of Finkenstein – ‘a splendid castle with chimneys in all the rooms, which was a very pleasant thing’. To the unhappy Josephine who was deeply suspicious and trying to rally support for him as the rumour of his defeat reached Paris, he wrote:

  Dear friend: Your letter has caused me pain. There is no occasion for you to die; you are well, and have no reasonable cause for worry. You must give up all idea of a journey this summer; it is not possible. I am as anxious to see you as you are to see me, and even to lead a quiet life. I know how to do other things than wage war, but duty must come first. All my life I have sacrificed everything, my repose, my interests, my happiness, to my destiny . . . I have your letter. I don’t know what you mean by ladies who correspond with me. I love only my little Josephine, good, sulky, capricious, who can quarrel gracefully, as she does everything else, for she is always fascinating except when she is jealous, and then she becomes a little devil.

  While he reassembled his forces, renewed his strength and made love to Marie Walewska, he ordered his troops to Danzig, which surrendered after an old-fashioned siege on the classic style, lasting three months on 27 May, furnishing Napoleon with badly needed supplies. The 20,000 or so French besiegers marched to reinforce the Emperor, who was showing signs of the old cockiness, writing to the despairing Talleyrand:

  General Gardanne wishes to proceed to Persia. Maret will draw up his credentials and instructions. They turn on [the following] points: Investigate the resources of Persia from the military point of view, studying particularly the obstacles that would have to be overcome by a French army of 40,000 men marching to India with the help of the Persian and Turkish governments. Deal with Persia in regard to England by urging her to prevent the passage of English despatches and messages, and to hamper the trade of the East India Company in every way possible.

  In summer 1807, Napoleon decided to resume the offensive. He pushed forward in a renewed effort to cut the Russian army off from its base at Konigsberg, entering Russian forward positions at Heilsberg on 10 June in a frontal attack of the crudest kind which cost him some 11,000 men to the Russian’s 8,000, although he did force Bennigsen to withdraw.

  This was now the third battle against the Russians in which the French had been bloodied. Bennigsen decided to march down the east side of the Alle river. Napoleon tried to forestall this by sending lancers down with a vanguard on the opposite bank to the village of Friedland. On 13 June Bennigsen ordered four pontoon bridges to be built over the river and sent 10,000 men across to trap the French, who by now had been reinforced by some 9,000 infantry and 8,000 cavalry. As the Russians continued reinforcing their position to some 60,000 men, attacking the French but not in force, Napoleon decided to move swiftly.

  He had not planned the battle: as late as 13 June he had written to Lannes. ‘My staff officer . . . does not give me sufficient information to judge if it is the enemy’s army that is debouching at Friedland or only a detachment.’ But the Emperor recalled that the next day was the anniversary of the Battle of Marengo, and declared exultantly: ‘I am going to drub the Russians, just as I drubbed the Austrians.’ He brought massive reinforcements forward to trap the unsuspecting Russians with their backs to the river and just four pontoon bridges behind them. Lannes held out valiantly during the night under a massive artillery barrage before dawn on 14 June. By 9.30 a.m. the French had been reinforced to some 40,000 troops against the Russians’ 60,000.

  By 4 p.m. Napoleon himself had arrived with the main French army, and some 80,000 French soldiers were attacking the Russians. Napoleon ordered an advance from the south, where the Russians were at their weakest. Bennigsen’s cavalry counter-attacked. Marshal Victor, an old comrade-in-arms of Napoleon from Toulon days, moved up his corps and thirty cannon, and decimated the Russian cavalry and the retreating infantry. Bennigsen charged against the French centre, but was repulsed, and then against the south once again, before retiring to the north, abandoning Friedland and losing three out of his four pontoon bridges.

  The French had adopted a new tactic: massive artillery attack followed by a huge infantry assault. The Russians succeeded in escaping with part of their army intact, across the fourth pontoon bridge in the north. But the defeat was decisive: some 30,000 Russian casualties compared with the French 10,000. The Russians had simply been trapped with their backs to the river by a superior force and although they had fought bravely, had no chance of prevailing.

  Chapter 53

  THE TREATY OF TILSIT

  For Napoleon, Friedland had been a victory of opportunity. With his usual quick reactions he had immediately taken advantage of a huge mistake by his enemy and pressed forward. It was also a desperately needed victory: military success was Napoleon’s entire raison d’etre. He was as aware as anyone that the price of military failure would be his overthrow in Paris. His country and empire were being drained of resources, facing perpetual economic crises and being badly mismanaged by his family and cronies. He must either deliver military triumphs or lose power.

  To his great relief he learnt that the Tsar was not prepared to fight on. Alexander had decided that the Prussian cause was lost, and preferred to make peace wit
h Napoleon with his armies more or less intact, diverting his designs southwards again. The two most aggressive and expansionist powers in Europe had fought each other to a bloody standstill.

  On 18 June Napoleon marched forward to the village of Tilsit to engage the enemy, should they have the impudence to stand their ground. But the following day he wrote: ‘A curious incident which made the soldiers laugh, occurred for the first time near Tilsit; we met a horde of Kalmucks, who fought with bows and arrows. I control the Niemen. I shall probably conclude an armistice this evening.’

  The ensuing ‘summit’ – a meeting between two unbalanced and aggressive autocrats – was staged amidst incredible theatre. Alexander would not recognize that he had been defeated, quite justifiably, as his six-month-old duel had ended with honours about even, and refused to come to French-held territory. Napoleon refused to cross over into Russia. So they met on a huge raft in the middle of the river Niemen near Tilsit. The raft consisted of a sophisticated tent which contained a large and comfortable room and two waiting-rooms, one for each potentate, which opened into it. At midday on 25 June two boats set off from opposite banks, Napoleon with his childish vanity insisting that his oarsmen get there first, which they did, permitting him to stride through the raft to the door where the Tsar was expected and greet him patronizingly.

  The Tsar met him with the remark, ‘Sire, I hate the English as much as you do.’ There was, in fact, some justice in this observation: for months, as Napoleon re-equipped his defeated army after Eylau, the Tsar had begged the British to open a second front against the French by sending an expeditionary force into the Baltic. This Grenville, desperate for peace and seeking to disengage Britain from the continent, had refused to do. Now the Tsar was deeply disillusioned with his old ally.

  Instead, he sought to divide up Europe with the other continental predator. There was no reason why this should not work: Napoleon had no territorial designs on Russia: in Poland, the German states and Austria he had a buffer against possible Russian expansionism. An arrangement with Russia would allow him to dismember the already cowed Prussia, and would enable him to dispense with any threat from Austria, which was already beaten and would be deprived of the two allies which could make her dangerous – Russia and Prussia.

  A favourable agreement with Russia would, in short, secure the eastern boundaries of Europe for a dominant French empire. Once it was concluded, France would be free to do anything she chose, expand in the Middle East or, as Napoleon had told Talleyrand, invade Spain, and strangle economically his most hated enemy, enfeebled Britain. He regarded Portugal and Sweden, Britain’s two remaining allies, as ineffectual.

  Napoleon’s reply to Alexander’s opening sally was ‘in that case, peace is established’. The two men eyed each other in the comfort of the barge’s well appointed central room. Small and now growing tubby, Napoleon was much less prepossessing than the lean, and bright-eyed young man he had been during his twenties and early thirties. Yet he combined extraordinary mental and physical energy with a delight in the pleasures of life. By contrast the manic-depressive young Tsar had an inscrutable human dimension which the Frenchman could not fathom. He described him initially as ‘handsome and excellent’, with ‘more intelligence than is generally supposed’. It has often been said that the sexually ambivalent Napoleon was physically attracted to the handsome young Tsar: ‘Were Alexander a woman, I think I should fall passionately in love with him,’ Napoleon said. But he would hardly have meant that remark to be interpreted literally: it reflected their common interests at that stage. There were compelling political reasons for their closeness.

  Altogether they spent twenty days in each other’s company, exchanging reviews, dinners and presents on the raft and on their respective opposite banks, while the real business was conducted by their underlings on shore. The feeble King of Prussia watched as his country was gobbled up. The only figure to emerge with credit was his tough-minded, beautiful young wife, to whom Napoleon took a shine even while refusing her entreaties. (According to a respected British envoy in Germany, Henry Williams Wynn, she had already had an affair with the Tsar). He wrote later:

  The Queen of Prussia had decided ability, a good education and fine manners; it was she, really, who had reigned for more than fifteen years; and, in spite of all my efforts and skill, she retained command of our conversation, and always got back to her subject, perhaps even too much so, and yet with perfect propriety and in a manner that aroused no antagonism. In truth, the matter was an important one for her, and time was short and precious . . .

  She was tormenting me for Magdeburg; she wanted to obtain a promise from me. I kept refusing politely. There was a rose on the chimney; I took it, and offered it to her. She drew her hand back, saying: If it is with Magdeburg! – I answered at once: – But Madam, it is I who am offering the rose! – After this conversation I conducted her to her carriage; she asked for Duroc [Napoleon’s closest friend], whom she liked, and began to cry, saying: – I have been deceived!

  She found an unlikely ally in Talleyrand who wrote:

  I was indignant at all that I saw and heard, but I was obliged to hide my indignation. Therefore I shall all my life be grateful to the Queen of Prussia – a Queen of another age – for having appreciated it. If when I look back upon my life much that I find there is necessarily painful, I can at least remember as a great consolation what she was then good enough to say and almost to confide to me. ‘Monsieur the Prince of Benevento,’ she said, the last time that I had the honour to conduct her to her carriage, ‘there are only two people here who are sorry that I came – you and I. You are not angry, are you, that I should go away with this belief?’ The tears of emotion and pride that came into my eyes were my answer.

  The resulting treaty, signed on 7 July, was one of the most cynical in history. Prussia was reduced to its 1772 frontier and in spite of the Queen’s entreaties the province of Magdeburg, seat of Prussian power, was to remain in French hands. All of western Prussia as well as much of Hanover was incorporated into the new kingdom of Westphalia, to be ruled by Jerome Bonaparte, and would be part of the French puppet Confederation of the Rhine. Danzig was also to remain under French occupation. The Prussian army was to be reduced to 42,000 men. French troops would remain until Prussia paid colossal reparations, and the latter would also have to embrace the Continental System.

  Russia also agreed to abandon its old ally Britain and join the Continental System. Napoleon and Alexander agreed to partition Poland: part of the territory was given to Russia, while the rest was to become the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, which would be ruled by the French puppet King of Saxony, and would form part of the Confederation of the Rhine. In a secret protocol Russia agreed to help France capture Gibraltar from Britain and not to oppose French ambitions in Spain and Portugal.

  In exchange for these concessions, Alexander was offered his share of the spoils. As well as the slice of Poland and suppression of the independence movement there, he was given a free hand to take over Finland. Finally, Napoleon abandoned his recently acquired Turkish ally and gave Alexander a free hand to attack Turkey’s provinces in the Balkans. In addition Napoleon abandoned another ally, Persia, to which he had promised Russian-occupied Georgia; instead he proposed a 50,000-strong joint Franco-Russian expeditionary force to conquer Persia and British India. Finally, Napoleon sought the hand of Alexander’s sister Catherine in a dynastic marriage that would symbolize the carve-up of a continent between its two most aggressive powers, although he reckoned without the snobbery of the Romanovs and the hatred of the Tsar’s mother.

  The Prussians were not the only ones to feel resentment after Tilsit. In Austria there was revulsion at the treaty. Philippe Stadion, the new Austrian foreign minister, suspected that Napoleon was planning to install the Archduke Frederick, Francis’s younger brother, as Emperor. Prince Clement von Metternich, who had been appointed Austrian ambassador in Paris, was a little more optimistic, believing the alliance would not last long. />
  Napoleon returned in triumph from Tilsit to Paris on 27 July to celebrate his birthday the following month amid scenes of extraordinary splendour. He had to reassert his authority in the capital, which had been seething with resentment against both its economic difficulties and his long absences. The chief intriguer was the duplicitous chief of police, Fouché, who was both a rival and an ally to Talleyrand, with whom he corresponded. The latter was by now thinking of overthrowing Napoleon: on his return to Paris he was ‘promoted’ to the meaningless post of vice-grand elector, losing his job as foreign minister, and joining the equally powerless former Second and Third Consuls who held the posts of Arch Chancellor and Arch Treasurer respectively. The new foreign minister, Champagny, was merely a tool of Napoleon.

  The Emperor himself was not content with having secured his empire’s eastern boundaries and with ruling over a population of 70 million people, unparalleled in Europe since the reigns of Charlemagne or Augustus Caesar. His country was crying out for effective administration. But to settle down to an era of peace was entirely foreign to his nature. He was a general, not a man of peace. Besides, he still was opposed by a yet unvanquished enemy. So it was to Britain that he now turned.

  Britain by the middle of 1807 appeared hardly to present much of a challenge. Pitt and Nelson were gone. Politically, the country was in a shambles: the collapse of the Grenville government had left the undistinguished Duke of Portland in power precariously with only the young bloods, George Canning at the foreign office and Lord Castlereagh at the war office, lending it a guiding hand. Even as they took power, the half-hearted nature of British resistance to Napoleon was apparent in a series of extraordinary and mostly failed minor military expeditions.

  Only the first proved at all successful: this had been designed by Grenville. In 1806 the commander of British forces in Sicily, Sir John Stuart, set off with 8,000 of the 12,000 garrison for the Italian mainland, reaching the Bay of Santa Euphamia, some fifty miles north of Messina on 1 July. A French force under General Reynier attacked across the Lamato river on 4 July. The British doggedly stood their ground, then volleyed repeatedly and charged with their bayonets, entirely routing the French. Soon the remaining 40,000 or so French were moving to attack them and Stuart and his naval commander Sir Sidney Smith decided hastily to re-embark.