The Campaigns of Napoleon

by David G Chandler

  It is interesting to compare Bonaparte’s two Italian campaigns. In 1796, after the initial advance to the Po, the French spent the rest of the year besieging Mantua and repulsing repeated Austrian attempts to relieve the city, fighting the largely defensive battles of Castiglione, Arcola and Rivoli in the process. In 1800 the situation was reversed; Melas was trying to take Genoa on the one hand and to keep the reserve from intervening on the other. However, there were important points of variance; on both occasions the French were numerically inferior to the Austrians, and the objectives of the commanders in chief were radically different. In 1796 the primary object of Würmser and d’Alvintzi was the relief of their compatriots in Mantua; in 1800, Bonaparte’s aim was the destruction of Melas’ field army with the relief of Massena a very poor second. This contrast of priorities clearly demonstrates the conflicting attitudes relating to the conduct of war. Many critics blame Bonaparte for abandoning Massena to his fate by moving on Milan instead of directly to Genoa, but such an attitude is not really justifiable; “The business of a commander is to destroy the enemy rather than to help his friends,”40 was exactly the conclusion reached by General Bonaparte, and the road to real victory lay through Milan.

  The crossing of the Alps was a simpler operation than some authorities allow, in spite of the unfavorable time of year and the difficulty presented by the transport of the guns, but the complicated preparations undertaken under Bonaparte’s close supervision revealed the eye for minutiae which is the vital complement to strategical and tactical grasp in the truly great general; no detail was too small for his attention; rations, clothing, munitions, transport—all were carefully considered.

  If Bonaparte can be criticized for underestimating the defensive capacity of Fort Bard, he deserves full credit for the true masterpiece of the campaign, the maneuver on Stradella, an extremely bold move in the light of the protracted resistance of the enemy garrison at Bard in the Reserve’s rear and the desperate shortage of artillery consequently experienced from mid-May until June 12. The rapidity with which the First Consul adjusted his plans on receipt of the news from Genoa and switched to the offensive, even at the cost of quitting the ideal position at Stradella, is a further tribute to the indomitability of his sense of purpose in pursuing what he realized was the true aim of the campaign, Melas’ destruction.

  When we consider the events immediately leading up to Marengo and what happened on the fateful June 14 itself, there are even more valid grounds for criticism of Bonaparte’s generalship. A series of accidents and miscalculations came close to ruining the whole campaign. In the light of the information to hand, the detachment of Chabran, Desaix, and, lastly, Lapoype appears justifiable on strategical grounds, but the weakening of the Reserve to a mere 23,000 in the face of a more powerful enemy was distinctly questionable tactically if not downright foolhardy. The near-disaster that followed stemmed from Bonaparte’s fixation that Melas would not fight, a conclusion based on faulty intelligence, underestimation of Melas’ qualities as a soldier and over confidence in the power of Bonaparte’s name and reputation to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. If Melas deserves stricture for not moving his main army on Ivrea at the outset of the French campaign and for failing to hasten his troops’ concentration at Alessandria, he deserves credit for devising a dawn attack on the French position on June 14, a most unusual occurrence at that period, which took the whole army, from Bonaparte down to the drummerboys, completely by surprise.

  Several commentators criticize Bonaparte for leaving Victor’s corps so exposed to attack and initially isolated, but such criticism fails to take into account the idea that lay at the base of organizing the army into self-contained corps d’armée. The advanced troops of the Napoleonic battle were almost invariably expected to take the brunt of the initial contact with the foe, thus enabling the formations in the rear to maneuver to the best possible advantage so as to encompass the destruction of the enemy. At Marengo it was the Austrians who held the initiative, but the same principle holds good, and the fact that Lannes, the Consular Guard and Monnier were placed in echelon down the road from Marengo to the Scrivia does not reveal any basic error of disposition on the part of the French command, rather the reverse.

  There is no denying that Bonaparte was badly beaten during the morning battle, but the experience proved very salutary for him. The acid test of any soldier is his reaction to the threat of defeat, and the First Consul undoubtedly made the best possible use of the limited resources he had at hand. He was aided by the fact that Melas made compensating errors which went a long way to offset Bonaparte’s own mistakes; for instance, Melas’ detachment of a third of the Austrian cavalry at the outset of the battle, his erroneous conviction that Castel Ceriolo contained the bulk of the French troops and consequent misuse of Ott’s powerful corps, his leaving the field before victory was assured and his failure to engage the Austrian reserve at the crisis of the day, are the most obvious examples that spring to mind. It is also true that Bonaparte was fortunate in most of his subordinates, most particularly on this day Desaix, Marmont and the younger Kellermann, who between them won an unexpected victory at the day’s close, but it was the First Consul who bore full responsibility. As always, every contingency had been taken into consideration; if the Reserve had been beaten at Marengo, “I would have fallen back on my entrenched camp at Stradella, safely covered the while by Desaix and Lapoype on the flanks,” wrote Napoleon years later. “I could cross the Po by my five bridges, protected by my batteries, without the enemy being able to do anything to stop me; I would have joined my troops to the corps of Moncey, Lecchi and Thurreau; I should have allowed one of Melas’ corps to cross the Po—that was all I would have needed; then, superior in numbers, I would have attacked him with all my forces.”41

  The Campaign of Marengo undoubtedly taught General Bonaparte several valuable lessons; he was not yet too grand to learn from his mistakes. Seldom do we again hear of him violating his principle of concentrating every available man to face an enemy; never again does he ignore the need to keep a powerful reserve under his control—held back for use at the critical moment of the battle. He also came to realize the great psychological advantage of producing fresh troops “out of the hat” toward the close of a hard-fought day. Desaix’s brilliant attack further demonstrated the latent power of a properly coordinated all-arm attack.

  “Bonaparte did not annihilate his enemy but eliminated him and rendered him harmless,” wrote the expert German strategist, Graf von Schlieffen, “and at the same time attained the object of the campaign: the conquest of North Italy.”42 Marengo was undoubtedly an important turning point in Napoleon Bonaparte’s career; if his victory did not in itself win the war, it firmly established the First Consul on the seat of power. He returned to Paris on July 2 and was acclaimed a hero. However, some observers remarked that the rejoicing over Marengo was not quite so ecstatic as might have been expected. “On the Anniversary of the 14th July,” recorded the Marquise de La Tour du Pin, “we went for a walk … in the Champ de Mars. After the review of the National Guard and the garrison, a small force of a hundred men dressed in torn and dirty clothing, some with arms in slings, others with bandages round their heads, bearing the standards and banners captured from the Austrians at Marengo, entered the arena. I waited for a wild and well-merited applause, but contrary to my expectations, there was not a cry and hardly a sign of joy. We were as surprised as we were indignant.” Despite the fact that Napoleon named his favorite mount “Marengo” and diners to this day pay an unconscious homage to the events of June 14, 1800, when they partake of Poulet à la Marengo, the thought at the forefront of many Frenchmen’s minds in July 1800 was that the battle had not brought peace. The First Consul had still to live up to his reputation of “peacemaker.”

  It was not for any want of efforts by Bonaparte that peace continued to elude his grasp. We have already studied his military enterprises; we must conclude with a glance at his diplomatic activity. From the
field of Marengo he had dispatched an appeal to the Emperor. “The cunning of the English has neutralized the effect which my simple and frank advances must otherwise have had on Your Majesty’s heart. War has become actual. Thousands of Frenchmen and Austrians are no more…. The prospect of a continuance of such horrors is so great a distress to me, that I have decided to make another personal appeal to you…. Let us give our generation Peace and tranquillity.”43 In spite of the rapid deterioration of the war situation, both major Austrian armies had been compelled only to accept truces—Melas at Alessandria, Kray at Parsdorf following Moreau’s capture of Ulm and the city of Munich. The Emperor continued to resist the growing pressures to accept peace. Negotiations dragged on at Leoben through most of the summer, but then a new subsidy treaty signed with Pitt induced Austria to continue the struggle. Hostilities were resumed on November 22 and six days later Moreau was ordered to renew his drive on Vienna, assisted, as in 1797, by a subsidiary offensive over the Adige by Brune and thence over the Alps by Macdonald. The First Consul was induced by political considerations to remain in Paris, and so the coup de grâce had to be delegated to others. On December 3, Moreau defeated the Archduke John and General Kray at the great victory of Hohenlinden, and the war with Austria was practically over. The negotiators met again at Leoben, while Murat drove the Neapolitan army out of the Papal States and French troops reoccupied Tuscany. On February 8, operations were finally brought to a close with the signing of the Peace of Luneville.

  The terms were unexpectedly generous to Austria, the Emperor was required only to reaffirm the settlement of Campo Formio. For their part, the French agreed to grant compensation to the disinherited German princelings along the Rhine from the sequestrated ecclesiastical states, and permitted the Duke of Parma to take over Tuscany in return for his small principality which was to be incorporated in the Cisalpine Republic. Even the King of Naples was to be restored.

  Pitt’s Second Coalition was falling in ruins, but the British still had to be brought to terms. In spite of the deterioration of British relations with the mad Tsar Paul, who formed the short-lived Second Armed Neutrality to oppose the British claim to a “right of search” of neutral shipping, the British cabinet was determined to oust the remnants of the Army of the Orient from Egypt. On March 8, 1801, Sir Ralph Abercromby’s expeditionary force was landed by the fleet of Lord Keith at Aboukir Bay. It took seven months to encompass the defeat of the Army of the Orient, commanded since the death of Kléber (assassinated by a fanatic in December 1800) by the incapable General Menou, nicknamed “Abdullah” by his men following his marriage to the daughter of a local barber and his adoption of the Moslem faith. Caught between three converging forces, two British and one Turkish, General Belliard surrendered Cairo on June 28, and resistance ended with Menou’s capitulation at Alexandria on September 2. The French forces were allowed repatriation, and the last soldier quitted Egypt on the 15th. In this way, three years and two months after the initial landing, ended the French adventure of Egypt.

  Since his return to France, Bonaparte had made some efforts to succor his former comrades, sending Admiral Ganteaume with reinforcements in the early months of 1801; but outbreaks of plague on board delayed his sailing from Toulon, and even when the squadron succeeded in putting to sea, the vigilance of Lord Keith and Commodore Warren ensured that it never managed to attain Alexandria. The Army of the Orient remained in its isolation, growing increasingly despondent.

  The First Consul was aware, after the fall of Cairo was reported, that the final English triumph was only a matter of time, and consequently ordered M. Otto, the leading French negotiator, to hasten the signing of the preliminaries of peace with Addington’s government (Pitt had been induced to resign on March 14, 1801). News of the surrender of Alexandria reached Paris several days before the tidings reached London, and on October 1, 1801, the Preliminaries of Amiens were signed. By adroit maneuvering the French Government had deprived Great Britain of the full advantage of their successful campaign in Egypt; the news reached Whitehall too late to influence the deliberation at the conference table.

  The Preliminaries were finally incorporated in a definitive Peace of Amiens the following March. Neither side was contented with the terms; England resented having to return all her overseas conquests (Trinidad and Ceylon alone excepted); France was soon protesting that English forces were still in possession of Malta in contravention of the agreement. Nevertheless, a brief spell of uneasy peace settled over Europe, and a grateful French people appointed Bonaparte—the peacemaker—Consul for life on August 2, 1802.

  PART SIX

  The Works of Peace and the Road to War

  NAPOLEON’S RECONSTRUCTION OF FRANCE AND THE RENEWED STRUGGLE WITH ENGLAND TO THE FORMATION OF THE THIRD COALITION. THE CREATION OF LA GRANDE ARMÉE

  29

  RULER AND LAWGIVER

  A

  S EVENTS TURNED OUT, the ending of the European struggle in 1802 was destined to afford the major protagonists only a brief breathing space before the recommencement of hostilities. Nevertheless, the First Consul utilized the pause to exploit his role as “peacemaker” so rapidly and successfully as to attain the summit of his political career. On August 2, the result of a national plebiscite was declared, and shortly afterward Bonaparte was appointed Consul for life with the overwhelming approval of the French people. From then onward he was virtually a monarch, and in a very short time the appearance was transformed into reality. On May 18, 1804, the Senate proclaimed him Emperor with the title of Napoleon I, and although the coronation itself did not take place until a further plebiscite had been held, from that date all correspondence and State papers were signed “Napoleon,” not “Bonaparte.” Our Corsican had come a long way by the time he celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday!

  In spite of the criticisms of Royalist foes and of staunch Republicans, the Imperial Crown was a justifiable reward for the amazing reconstruction of France carried through in the years immediately following the Peaces of Leoben and Amiens. Although the main concern of this volume is to trace and comment upon Napoleon’s military campaigns, it is impossible to ignore the magnitude of the civil task undertaken, the number of obstacles and pitfalls overcome and the high degree of success achieved. Military glory is at best a transient affair, but the recasting of the French State proved by far the most lasting monument to Napoleon’s genius, and as it also provided the sinews for the hard-fought wars still to come, the subject deserves a passing glance in these pages.

  With the signature of the treaty embodying the Peace of Amiens on March 25, 1802, the First Consul could justly claim to have fulfilled his promise to the French people by restoring at least a semblance of peace and security to a nation wearied by ten years of incessant warfare. If the external dangers had passed for the time being, however, many dire internal problems were crying out for the First Consul’s attention if he was to consolidate and improve France’s position. First, there were the remnants of the small but still influential Jacobin opposition to be destroyed. These men were dedicated to violence, and very soon their leaders were prominent in assassination plots. In the early days of the Consulate, genuine attempts to conciliate and win over this element of the opposition had included the appointment of the sometime-Jacobin, Cambacérès, as Second Consul, but within two years it was evident that sterner measures were required. In 1802 military tribunals were set up all over France ostensibly to restore law and order in those Departments infested by brigandage, but, in fact, also to expedite the liquidation of the Jacobin cells. As Fouché’s secret police revealed evidence of plots, real or imaginary, Jacobin or Royalist, more and more extreme Republicans were shot or deported. Agents kept careful watch on Jacobin leaders; mail was opened, agents provocateurs carefully planted. Tight press censorship and supervision of the activities of the salons—leading eventually to the exiling from the capital of the influential Mme. de Stäel—successfully robbed the opposition of its popular mouthpieces, and the Government journ
als were not slow in depicting Bonaparte as the savior of society from the menace of the Jacobin extremists.

  The Royalists posed a rather different problem. In 1800, they had welcomed General Bonaparte’s accession to power, over-optimistically casting him in the role of a latter-day “General Monk” who would restore the House of Bourbon. The appointment of the crypto-Royalist Lebrun as Third Consul had been a conciliatory gesture, but within a year Royalist disillusion had crystallized into a deep hatred for Bonaparte and all his works; rebellion flared up once more in La Vendée, and several conspiracies aimed against the person of the First Consul were put in hand. On December 24, 1800, a bomb was exploded near the coach carrying Bonaparte to the Opéra; the First Consul vented his rage on the Jacobins, although Fouché was convinced it was a Royalist conspiracy. In 1803, a Royalist plot implicating Moreau, Pichegru and other high officers was uncovered, and the following year brought the notorious Cadoudal affair—a conspiracy in which the Duc d’Artois was deeply implicated.