The Campaigns of Napoleon
Page 73
The next day, both Emperors were sharing the facilities of the town. This was a courtesy and a considerable concession on the part of Napoleon, and it is evident throughout the proceedings that he was straining every nerve to impress and captivate the impressionable Tsar. Every last detail of protocol was strictly observed, and, outside the conference room at least, appearances savored far more of an official visit between friendly heads of state than of tense negotiations between erstwhile enemies.
However, beneath the courtesies and the pomp, the iron fist could occasionally be glimpsed. Napoleon lost no opportunity of showing off his victorious army to the Tsar and his “poor cousin,” Frederick William of Prussia. As Savary goes on to describe, “On the day the Emperor Alexander entered Tilsit, the whole army was under arms. The Imperial Guard was drawn up in two lines, three deep, from the landing place to the Emperor Napoleon’s quarters, and from thence to the quarters of the Emperor of Russia. A salute of one hundred guns was fired the moment Alexander stepped ashore at the spot where the Emperor Napoleon was waiting to receive him. The latter carried his attention to his visitor so far as to send from his quarters the furniture for Alexander’s bedchamber. Among the articles sent was a camp bed belonging to the Emperor, which he presented to Alexander, who appeared much pleased with the gift.” It is not recorded, however, whether he actually slept on it.
It must have been a tiring fortnight for all concerned. When the statesmen were not haggling round the conference table, Napoleon dragged his distinguished guests to one military review after another. At 4:00
P.M. on 27th June, they watched the Guard infantry on parade; next day, Davout’s corps maneuvered elaborately for the imperial delectation; the 29th found Davout again being inspected on the parade ground; on the 30th, it was the turn of the Guard artillery; on July 1, the Guard cavalry was put through its paces, and so on, day after day.
Behind the closed doors the hard bargaining was taking place. Inevitably the only real victim was unfortunate Prussia. As Napoleon already knew, Frederick William was easy to bully, but he soon found that his Queen was made of sterner stuff. She tried every female wile from tears to coquetry to wring concessions from the apparently stony heart of the French Emperor. At first, Napoleon was abrupt in his references to her in his letters to Josephine. On July 6, he merely records: “The handsome Queen of Prussia is coming to dine with me today.” On the 7th, he was rather more expansive: “The Queen of Prussia dined with me yesterday. I had to defend myself against being obliged to make some further concessions to her husband; I was galant, but adhered to my policy. The Queen is very amiable.” By the 8th, Louise’s charm was having an even greater effect on the increasingly susceptible Napoleon. “The Queen of Prussia is really charming; she is full of coquetterie toward me. But do not be jealous, I am an oilcloth off which all that sort of thing runs. It would cost me too dear to play the galant.”27
All this amiable effort availed Prussia nothing. Napoleon was determined to have his pound of flesh, and as for the fair pleader, Napoleon could never forget or forgive the part she had played in inciting war against him. The Queen was particularly desirous of retaining control of the great fortress of Magdeburg on the Elbe, but this Napoleon refused to countenance. Every possible occasion was taken to humiliate Prussia publicly; her representatives were not even allowed to sign the peace treaty on the same day as Russia. The agreement with the Tsar was executed on July 7 and ratified two days later; that with Prussia was only signed on the 9th and ratified on the 12th. The deliberate differentiation was clear to all.
The terms of the public treaty with Russia spoke at length of the fraternal feelings between the Emperors and their mutual joy at finding themselves at peace with one another once more, and went on to stress the possibilities for creative cooperation that now could be deemed to exist. Obviously, the real points of importance were incorporated in the secret articles. Callously abandoning Turkish interests, Napoleon agreed in the first article that Russia should take possession of European Turkey at will, the only French price for this carte blanche being the cession of the Ionian Isles and the Dalmatian coast. Russia was also to extend her conquests in Asia, and in addition, Finland was similarly alloted to Alexander’s portion. Each side promised to act as mediator in any peace talks with Constantinople and London respectively, but Alexander agreed to join the Continental System against Great Britain if no general pacification was forthcoming and to use his influence to compel Denmark and Sweden to follow suit. The Tsar further promised to send the Russian Navy to help France in the capture of Gibraltar. This would, of course, be tantamount to a declaration of war against George III. According to Count Miot de Melito, a henchman of Joseph the later King of Spain, the Emperors also agreed in the second article that “The Bourbon dynasty in Spain and the House of Braganza in Portugal, shall cease to reign; a prince of the Bonaparte family to succeed to each throne.”28 Although the need to close Portugal to British goods was certainly mentioned, this evidence is suspect, but merits a mention in the light of later events. Nevertheless, it appears that the two Emperors agreed on the division of the Continent into eastern and western spheres of influence and that peace between them was a possibility.
The terms granted to Prussia were far harsher, and Napoleon was at pains to represent the few concessions he allowed as acts of magnanimity granted only at the express request of the Tsar. The extent of Prussia’s dismemberment and humiliation was immediately published to the world. The French eventually agreed to restore those parts of the Duchy of Magdeburg which lay on the right bank of the Elbe (but not the fortress of Magdeburg itself), together with Silesia, Brandenburg, most of East Prussia and Pomerania, the effect of these restorations being to return Prussia to her frontiers of 1772. Following this display of apparent generosity, however, almost every other Prussian province was torn away. Hesse Cassel and all Prussian possessions west of the Elbe were to be incorporated into the new Kingdom of Westphalia, a throne created for brother Jerome. All the Prussian provinces in Poland were to be merged into a Grand Duchy of Warsaw ruled by the King of Saxony (to Murat’s bitter disappointment, for he had long seen himself as the true reincarnation of John Sobieski). The sole exception was the small province of Bialystock which went to the Tsar. Danzig was also declared a free city but continued to be occupied by a French garrison. Napoleon demanded the payment of a huge war indemnity, and pending its settlement in full, French troops were to remain in occupation of Prussian soil. In conclusion, Frederick William accorded formal recognition to the Bonaparte kingdoms, Naples, Holland and Westphalia, accepted the existence of the Confederation of the Rhine, and agreed—once again—to join the Continental System. In this way Prussia was virtually dismembered for the greater aggrandisement of France, or rather for the satisfaction of the ambitions of the Bonaparte family and its erstwhile allies.
Napoleon left Tilsit for Königsberg and France at six in the evening on July 9, convinced that the Tsar had fallen beneath his spell, a happy augury, in his opinion, for the future of Europe. Contemporary commentators were less convinced of the permanence of the apparent entente. Prince Metternich wrote to Vienna in November the same year (after a long interview with the influential Russian, Count Tolstoi) that in his opinion, the close friendship existing between the cabinets of the Tuileries and St. Petersburg was only ephemeral. Time was to prove the accuracy of this forecast. Napoleon was, in fact, already beginning to weave those mental fantasies which were in due course to warp his judgment and lead to his greatest mistakes; one, the imposition of the Continental System on all Europe (except the Iberian Peninsula), had already been committed irreparably. Russia might appear friendly for the moment, but Prussia had been neutralized in a fashion that could only make her an irreconcilable enemy, and eventually a dangerous one. In similarly ruthless fashion, Napoleon had displayed not the least compunction in overthrowing the alliance with Turkey which he had been at such pains to create at the beginning of the year. Before he left Tilsit, he or
dered Talleyrand to warn Sébastiani, the French Ambassador at Constantinople, “that my policy with regard to the Porte is shaky and on the point of changing.”29 That was putting it mildly. On the other hand, the murder of the Sultan Selim had already undermined the French position at Constantinople.
Nevertheless, if the basic realities of Napoleon’s international position already contained many of the grave flaws that eventually led to his downfall, the outer facade of his achievement was undoubtedly magnificent. His influence now extended practically unbroken from the Pyrenees to the Niemen, and for the immediate future his grandiose rule would be undisputed by the cowed or cajoled powers of the Continent. His soldiers had recovered from the setback of Eylau and re-established their martial reputation.
However, even in the army alarming symptoms were manifesting themselves: rivalries were dividing the marshals, and although the clashes of interest and personality were sometimes almost openly encouraged by the Emperor in pursuit of his Machiavellian policy of “divide and rule,” they were bound to have a detrimental effect on his subordinates’ efficiency as members of integrated military teams. Moreover, dissension was spreading far beyond the sacred portals of headquarters. The rank and file were growing increasingly disillusioned with the army staff; this was now being recruited from extra-military circles, numbers of “well-connected” young gentlemen receiving appointments which their military qualifications, if any, did little to justify. Friction was also growing between infantry and cavalry throughout the army, and even the Imperial Guard intrigued to protect its vested interests by agitating for the disbandment of the exclusive Gendarmes de l’Ordonnance, the aristocratic bodyguard of “Johnny Newcomes” which the Emperor had created in 1806 in an ill-advised moment. As for the Grande Armée as a whole, it was beginning to present a decidedly international appearance. Back in France, opposition to the rising blood-tax of the Conscription Laws was becoming ever more vocal and bitter and the deadening hand of the Continental System was universally abhorred. On top of all these mounting difficulties, there was the inexorable hostility of the British Government and people, ever prepared to fan the least spark of dissatisfaction on the Continent into a flame. Thus, while to many historians the Peace of Tilsit represents the high-water mark of Napoleon’s career, the reality of his position in mid-1807 was rather less imposing than might appear at first sight. Whether the French Emperor willed it or no, the future inevitably held further, even larger wars, and these would eventually encompass his destruction. The newly re-created Empire of Charlemagne rested on insecure foundations.
PART ELEVEN
Peninsular Intrigues
THE CAMPAIGNS IN PORTUGAL AND SPAIN, 1807-1809
55
THE ROAD TO LISBON
I
N THE OPINION of many contemporary observers, the successes of the Tilsit conference table brought Napoleon to the very apogee of his power. It appeared that continental Europe was wholly under his control. Three possible rivals had been disposed of—one of them even converted into an apparently staunch friend—and the French sphere of influence stretched from the Pyrenees to the Niemen, from the Mediterranean to the Baltic. Three of the Emperor’s brothers had found crowns—Joseph in Naples, Louis in Holland and most recently Jerome in Westphalia. The newly crowned Kings of Bavaria and Saxony were his grateful clients, and in the near future all the more or less faithful marshals and ministers would be sporting ducal titles and splendid privileges. At Paris, the Imperial Court attained its greatest splendors. “The Emperor’s desire was that his court should be brilliant,” recalled Madam Junot, soon to become Duchess of Abrantes, “and this wish, being agreeable to everybody’s taste, was implicitly fulfilled.”1 Napoleon spent much of his leisure hunting and shooting; there were many parades, court entertainments and theatrical evenings to divert the Imperial élite; on every side the victorious warriors were fêted and made much of. It appeared that the “new order” for Europe had come to stay, and thoughtful men looked forward to a period of relative tranquility.
For all its splendor, the Imperial Court had its moments of pure farce. There was, for instance, the famous rabbit shoot organized by the indispensable Berthier. Like a good staff officer, Alexandre had ensured that everything needful was provided. There were beaters, a sumptuous luncheon, regiments of gunbearers, and, most important of all, hundreds of rabbits specially imported for the occasion. However, one small point of detail had escaped poor Berthier’s attention; he had purchased tame rabbits instead of wild ones. Thus, when Napoleon advanced to do slaughter, his intended victims, mistaking him for the keeper who fed them their daily lettuce, with one accord began to race towards the startled Emperor. Vainly did the equerries try to beat the tide back with their whips; with a finer understanding of Napoleonic strategy than most of his generals, the rabbit horde divided into two wings and poured round the flanks of the party and headed for the Imperial Coach. Taken en flagrant délit, Napoleon had no option but to beat a hasty and disgruntled retreat for Paris, but the coach had already started to move before the last furry invader had been flung from the window. Berthier never really lived down this incident; consequently when Napoleon at another shoot managed to wound Marshal Massena in the eye, the abashed chief of staff was induced to shoulder the blame. Indeed, the pleasures of the chase proved considerably more eventful and certainly more dangerous for senior personnel than many a battlefield.
Beneath the glittering facade, however, truly dangerous cracks were already undermining the foundations of the French Empire. British hostility remained unwavering. Soon after Tilsit, the Royal Navy demonstrated its power by escorting an expeditionary force to Copenhagen in mid-August and taking forcible possession of 15 neutral Danish ships of the line and 30 smaller craft to prevent them from falling into French hands. This unexpectedly aggressive act narrowly forestalled a projected invasion by 30,000 French troops under Bernadotte’s command from Hamburg, but the tale of English “perfidy” lost nothing in the telling as Napoleon’s propagandists made the most of their opportunity. “It would be difficult to find in history a more infamous and revolting instance of the abuse of power against weakness,” fulminated Bourienne.2 “If the English go on in this way,” wrote his master, “it will be necessary to close all the ports of Europe to them—even those of Austria—to drive all the English ambassadors from the Continent, and even to have all private individuals arrested.”3 The incident served, however, to extend the Continental System to the Baltic region; not unnaturally, Denmark lost little time in declaring war on Great Britain. Tsar Alexander immediately honored his Tilsit agreements and closed his ports to British shipping, and helped persuade the Austrian Emperor to exclude British goods.
Napoleon had little reason for satisfaction concerning the working of the system in other areas of French-dominated Europe. The Dutch were the most flagrant flouters of the Berlin Decrees, and King Louis showed little eagerness to enforce his brother’s economic policies. Much the same was true of the Hanse towns, and even within metropolitan France there were many officials prepared to connive at evasions of the regulations. Nor were the British slow in doing everything in their power to sabotage the system and make its implications as inconvenient as possible for the unwilling participants. A new Order in Council was issued prohibiting all trade whatsoever with ports closed to English shipping unless neutral traders first called at British ports and paid a reshipment duty on all cargoes destined for Napoleon’s Europe. This increase in the scope of the economic war created considerable bad blood between England and some neutral maritime powers, but it caused even more trouble for Napoleon.
Stung into retaliation, on December 17 the Emperor promulgated the Milan Decrees, formally outlawing all neutral shipping which submitted to search on the high seas or touched at any British port. Similarly, a greatly increased number of lettres de marque were issued to augment the number of privateers preying on British merchant shipping. These measures proved hardly more successful than their predecessors;
for a time the volume of British trade fluctuated violently, and exports to Northern Europe sank from an average of ten million pounds worth a year to a nadir of only three. A certain amount of unrest was also experienced among the unemployed mill-hands and weavers in the industrial north, but in due course new markets were opened up, particularly in South America, and the British Government and people remained as uncowed as ever by “Boney” and his threats, whether military or economic.
The Emperor found himself faced with other worrying problems. His relations with Rome were rapidly deteriorating and the hopeful spirit of the Concordat of 1800 had practically evaporated. In its place came a continuous series of bickerings and vituperations. Pope Pius VII proved far from a weak ninny; he made no secret of his disapproval of Napoleon’s attempts to remodel North Italy’s legal and administrative systems on those of France, and openly denounced French demands for the immediate closure of Italy’s ports to British trade. Pius also inconveniently refused to annul the marriage of Jerome Bonaparte to the American lady, Miss Patterson, and was even bold enough to threaten the Emperor with formal excommunication if he insisted on forcing through his policies. “Does the Pope think that the rights of the throne are less sacred than those of the tiara?” Napoleon angrily enquired of Eugéne. “They wish to denounce me to Christendom—the madmen! … The Pope who takes such a step will cease to be a Pope in my eyes. I shall consider him an Antichrist.”4 A state visit to Italy at the end of 1807 did nothing to heal the broadening rift, and in the following years this rivalry of interest between Church and State would cost Napoleon dear, most especially in Spain, where religious feeling was both strong and conservative.