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by John Holland Rose
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Title: The Life of Napoleon I (Volumes, 1 and 2)
Author: John Holland Rose
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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON I ***
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LONDON: G. BELL & SONS, LIMITED,
PORTUGAL STREET, KINGSWAY, W.C.
CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL & CO.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
BOMBAY: A.H. WHEELER & CO
THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON I
INCLUDING NEW MATERIALS FROM THE BRITISH OFFICIAL RECORDS
BY JOHN HOLLAND ROSE, LITT.D.
LATE SCHOLAR OF CHRIST'S COLLEGE,
CAMBRIDGE
"Let my son often read and reflect on history: this is the only
true philosophy."--_Napoleon's last Instructions for the King of
Rome_.
LONDON G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.
1910
POST 8VO EDITION, ILLUSTRATED
First Published, December 1901.
Second Edition, revised, March 1902.
Third Edition, revised, January 1903.
Fourth Edition, revised, September 1907.
Reprinted, January 1910.
CROWN 8VO EDITION
First Published, September 1904.
Reprinted, October 1907; July 1910.
DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD ACTON,
K.C.V.O., D.C.L., LL.D. REGIUS PROFESSOR OF MODERN HISTORY IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, IN ADMIRATION OF HIS PROFOUND HISTORICAL
LEARNING, AND IN GRATITUDE FOR ADVICE AND HELP GENEROUSLY GIVEN.
PREFACE
An apology seems to be called for from anyone who gives to the world a
new Life of Napoleon I. My excuse must be that for many years I have
sought to revise the traditional story of his career in the light of
facts gleaned from the British Archives and of the many valuable
materials that have recently been published by continental historians.
To explain my manner of dealing with these sources would require an
elaborate critical Introduction; but, as the limits of my space
absolutely preclude any such attempt, I can only briefly refer to the
most important topics.
To deal with the published sources first, I would name as of chief
importance the works of MM. Aulard, Chuquet, Houssaye, Sorel, and
Vandal in France; of Herren Beer, Delbrueck, Fournier, Lehmann, Oncken,
and Wertheimer in Germany and Austria; and of Baron Lumbroso in Italy.
I have also profited largely by the scholarly monographs or
collections of documents due to the labours of the "Societe d'Histoire
Contemporaine," the General Staff of the French Army, of MM. Bouvier,
Caudrillier, Capitaine "J.G.," Levy, Madelin, Sagnac, Sciout, Zivy,
and others in France; and of Herren Bailleu, Demelitsch, Hansing,
Klinkowstrom, Luckwaldt, Ulmann, and others in Germany. Some of the
recently published French Memoirs dealing with those times are not
devoid of value, though this class of literature is to be used with
caution. The new letters of Napoleon published by M. Leon Lecestre and
M. Leonce de Brotonne have also opened up fresh vistas into the life
of the great man; and the time seems to have come when we may safely
revise our judgments on many of its episodes.
But I should not have ventured on this great undertaking, had I not
been able to contribute something new to Napoleonic literature. During
a study of this period for an earlier work published in the "Cambridge
Historical Series," I ascertained the great value of the British
records for the years 1795-1815. It is surely discreditable to our
historical research that, apart from the fruitful labours of the Navy
Records Society, of Messrs. Oscar Browning and Hereford George, and of
Mr. Bowman of Toronto, scarcely any English work has appeared that is
based on the official records of this period. Yet they are of great
interest and value. Our diplomatic agents then had the knack of
getting at State secrets in most foreign capitals, even when we were
at war with their Governments; and our War Office and Admiralty
Records have also yielded me some interesting "finds." M. Levy, in the
preface to his "Napoleon intime" (1893), has well remarked that "the
documentary history of the wars of the Empire has not yet been
written. To write it accurately, it will be more important thoroughly
to know foreign archives than those of France." Those of Russia,
Austria, and Prussia have now for the most part been examined; and I
think that I may claim to have searched all the important parts of our
Foreign Office Archives for the years in question, as well as for part
of the St. Helena period. I have striven to embody the results of this
search in the present volumes as far as was compatible with limits of
space and with the narrative form at which, in my judgment, history
ought always to aim.
On the whole, British policy comes out the better the more fully it is
known. Though often feeble and vacillating, it finally attained to
firmness and dignity; and Ministers closed the cycle of war with acts
of magnanimity towards the French people which are studiously ignored
by those who bid us shed tears over the martyrdom of St. Helena.
Nevertheless, the splendour of the finale must not blind us to the
flaccid eccentricities that made British statesmanship the laughing
stock of Europe in 1801-3, 1806-7, and 1809. Indeed, it is
questionable whether the renewal of war between England and Napoleon
in 1803 was due more to his innate forcefulness or to the contempt
which he felt for the Addington Cabinet. When one also remembers our
extraordinary blunders in the war of the Third Coalition, it seems a
miracle that the British Empire survived that life and death struggle
against a man of superhuman genius who was determined to effect its
overthrow. I have called special attention to the extent and
pertinacity of Napoleon's schemes for the foundation of a French
Colonial Empire in India, Egypt, South Africa, and Australia; and
there can be no doubt that the events of the years 1803-13 determined,
not only the destinies of Europe and Napoleon, but the general trend
of the world's colonization.
As it has been necessary to condense the story of Napoleon's life in
some parts, I have chosen to treat with special brevity the years
1809-11, which may be called the _constans aetas_ of his career, in
order to have more space for the decisive events that followed; but
even in these less eventful years I have striven to show how his
Continental System was setting at work mighty economic forces that
made for his overthrow, so that after the _debacle_ of 1812 it came to
be a struggle of Napoleon and France _contra mundum_.
While not neglecting the personal details of the great man's life, I
have dwelt mainly on his public career. Apart from his brilliant
conversations, his private life has few features of abiding interest,
perhaps because he early tired of the shallowness of Josephine and the
Corsican angularity of his brothers and sisters. But the cause also
lay in his own disposition. He once said to M. Gallois: "Je n'aime pas
beaucoup les femmes, ni le jeu--enfin rien: _je suis tout a fait un
etre politique_." In dealing with him as a warrior and statesman, and
in sparing my readers details as to his bolting his food, sleeping at
concerts, and indulging in amours where for him there was no glamour
of romance, I am laying stress on what interested him most--in a word,
I am taking him at his best.
I could not have accomplished this task, even in the present
inadequate way, but for the help generously accorded from many
quarters. My heartfelt thanks are due to Lord Acton, Regius Professor
of Modern History in the University of Cambridge, for advice of the
highest importance; to Mr. Hubert Hall of the Public Record Office,
for guidance in my researches there; to Baron Lumbroso of Rome,
editor of the "Bibliografia ragionata dell' Epoca Napoleonica," for
hints on Italian and other affairs; to Dr. Luckwaldt, Privat Docent of
the University of Bonn, and author of "Oesterreich und die Anfaenge des
Befreiungs-Krieges," for his very scholarly revision of the chapters
on German affairs; to Mr. F.H.E. Cunliffe, M.A., Fellow of All Souls'
College, Oxford, for valuable advice on the campaigns of 1800, 1805,
and 1806; to Professor Caudrillier of Grenoble, author of "Pichegru,"
for information respecting the royalist plot; and to Messrs. J.E.
Morris, M.A., and E.L.S. Horsburgh, B.A., for detailed communications
concerning Waterloo, The nieces of the late Professor Westwood of
Oxford most kindly allowed the facsimile of the new Napoleon letter,
printed opposite p. 156 of vol. i., to be made from the original in
their possession; and Miss Lowe courteously placed at my disposal the
papers of her father relating to the years 1813-15, as well as to the
St. Helena period. I wish here to record my grateful obligations for
all these friendly courtesies, which have given value to the book,
besides saving me from many of the pitfalls with which the subject
abounds. That I have escaped them altogether is not to be imagined;
but I can honestly say, in the words of the late Bishop of London,
that "I have tried to write true history."
J.H.R.
[NOTE.--The references to Napoleon's "Correspondence" in the notes are
to the official French edition, published under the auspices of
Napoleon III. The "New Letters of Napoleon" are those edited by Leon
Lecestre, and translated into English by Lady Mary Loyd, except in a
very few cases where M. Leonce de Brotonne's still more recent edition
is cited under his name. By "F.O.," France, No.----, and "F.O.,"
Prussia, No.----, are meant the volumes of _our_ Foreign Office
despatches relating to France and Prussia. For the sake of brevity I
have called Napoleon's Marshals and high officials by their names, not
by their titles: but a list of these is given at the close of vol.
ii.]
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION
The demand for this work so far exceeded my expectations that I was
unable to make any considerable changes in the second edition, issued
in March, 1902; and circumstances again make it impossible for me to
give the work that thorough recension which I should desire. I have,
however, carefully considered the suggestions offered by critics, and
have adopted them in some cases. Professor Fournier of Vienna has most
kindly furnished me with details which seem to relegate to the domain
of legend the famous ice catastrophe at Austerlitz; and I have added a
note to this effect on p. 50 of vol. ii. On the other hand, I may
justly claim that the publication of Count Balmain's reports relating
to St. Helena has served to corroborate, in all important details, my
account of Napoleon's captivity.
It only remains to add that I much regret the omission of Mr. Oman's
name from II. 12-13 of page viii of the Preface, an omission rendered
all the more conspicuous by the appearance of the first volume of his
"History of the Peninsular War" in the spring of this year.
J.H.R.
_October, 1902._
Notes have been added at the end of ch. v., vol. i.; chs. xxii.,
xxiii., xxviii., xxix., xxxv., vol. ii.; and an Appendix on the Battle
of Waterloo has been added on p. 577, vol. ii.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
VOL. I
NOTE ON THE REPUBLICAN CALENDAR
I. PARENTAGE AND EARLY YEARS
II. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND CORSICA
III. TOULON
IV. VENDEMIAIRE
V. THE ITALIAN CAMPAIGN (1796)
VI. THE FIGHTS FOR MANTUA
VII. LEOBEN TO CAMPO FORMIO
VIII. EGYPT
IX. SYRIA
X. BRUMAIRE
XI. MARENGO: LUNEVILLE
XII. THE NEW INSTITUTIONS OF FRANCE
XIII. THE CONSULATE FOR LIFE
XIV. THE PEACE OF AMIENS
XV. A FRENCH COLONIAL EMPIRE: ST.
DOMINGO--LOUISIANA--INDIA--AUSTRALIA
XVI. NAPOLEON'S INTERVENTIONS
XVII. THE RENEWAL OF WAR
XVIII. EUROPE AND THE BONAPARTES
XIX. THE ROYALIST PLOT
XX. THE DAWN OF THE EMPIRE
XXI. THE BOULOGNE FLOTILLA
APPENDIX: REPORTS HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED
ON
(_a_) THE SALE OF LOUISIANA;
(_b_) THE IRISH DIVISION IN NAPOLEON'S SERVICE
ILLUSTRATIONS, MAPS, AND PLANS
THE SIEGE OF TOULON, 1793
MAP TO ILLUSTRATE THE CAMPAIGNS IN NORTH ITALY
PLAN TO ILLUSTRATE THE VICTORY OF ARCOLA
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF RIVOLI
FACSIMILE OF A LETTER OF NAPOLEON TO "LA CITOYENNE
TALLIEN," 1797
CENTRAL EUROPE, after the Peace of Campo Formio, 1797
PLAN OF THE SIEGE OF ACRE, from a contemporary sketch
THE BATTLE OF MARENGO, to illustrate Kellermann's charge
FRENCH MAP OF THE SOUTH OF AUSTRALIA, 1807
VOL. II
XXII. ULM AND TRAFALGAR
XXIII. AUSTERLITZ
XXIV. PRUSSIA AND THE NEW CHARLEMAGNE
XXV. THE FALL OF PRUSSIA
XXVI. THE CONTINENTAL SYSTEM: FRIEDLAND
XXVII. TILSIT
XXVIII. THE SPANISH RISING
XXIX. ERFURT
XXX. NAPOLEON AND AUSTRIA
XXXI. THE EMPIRE AT ITS HEIGHT
XXXII. THE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN
XXXIII. THE FIRST SAXON CAMPAIGN
XXXIV. VITTORIA AND THE ARMISTICE
XXXV. DRESDEN AND LEIPZIG
XXXVI. FROM THE RHINE TO THE SEINE
XXXVII. THE FIRST ABDICATION
XXXVIII. ELBA AND PARIS
XXXIX. LIGNY AND QUATRE BRAS
XL. WATERLOO
XLI. FROM THE ELYSEE TO ST. HELENA
XLII. CLOSING YEARS
APPENDIX I: LIST OF THE CHIEF APPOINTMENTS
AND DIGNITIES BESTOWED BY NAPOLEON
APPENDIX II: THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO
INDEX
MAPS AND PLANS
BATTLE OF ULM
BATTLE OF AUSTERLITZ
BATTLE OF JENA
BATTLE OF FRIEDLAND
BATTLE OF WAGRAM
CENTRAL EUROPE AFTER 1810
CAMPAIGN IN RUSSIA
BATTLE OF VITTORIA
THE CAMPAIGN OF 1813
BATTLE OF DRESDEN
BATTLE OF LEIPZIG
THE CAMPAIGN OF 1814 _to face_
PLAN OF THE WATERLOO CAMPAIGN
BATTLE OF LIGNY
BATTLE OF WATERLOO, about 11 o'clock a.m. _to face_
ST. HELENA
NOTE ON THE REPUBLICAN CALENDAR
The republican calendar consisted of twelve months of thirty days
each, each month being divided into three "decades" of ten days. Five
days (in leap years six) were added at the end of the year to bring it
into coincidence with the solar year.
An I began Sept. 22, 1792.
" II " " 1793.
" III " " 1794.
" IV (leap year) 1795.
* * * * *
" VIII began Sept. 22, 1799.
" IX " Sept. 23, 1800.
" X " " 1801.
* * * * *
" XIV " " 1805.
The new computation, though reckoned from Sept. 22, 1792, was not
introduced until Nov. 26, 1793 (An II). It ceased after Dec. 31, 1805.
The months are as follows:
Vendemiaire Sept. 22 to Oct. 21.
Brumaire Oct. 22 " Nov. 20.
Frimaire Nov. 21 " Dec. 20.
Nivose Dec. 21 " Jan. 19.
Pluviose Jan. 20 " Feb. 18.
Ventose Feb. 19 " Mar. 20.
Germinal Mar. 21 " April 19.
Floreal April 20 " May 19.
Prairial May 20 " June 18.
Messidor June 19 " July 18.
Thermidor July 19 " Aug. 17.
Fructidor Aug. 18 " Sept. 16.
Add five (in leap years six) "Sansculottides" or "Jours
complementaires."
In 1796 (leap year) the numbers in the table of months, so far as
concerns all dates between Feb. 28 and Sept. 22, will have to be
_reduced by one_, owing to the intercalation of Feb. 29, which is not
compensated for until the end of the republican year.
The matter is further complicated by the fact that the republicans
reckoned An VIII as a leap year, though it is not one in the Gregorian
Calendar. Hence that year ended on Sept. 22, and An IX and succeeding
years began on Sept. 23. Consequently in the above table of months the
numbers of all days from Vendemiaire 1, An IX (Sept. 23, 1800), to
Nivose 10, An XIV (Dec. 31, 1805), inclusive, will have to be
_increased by one_, except only in the next leap year between Ventose
9, An XII, and Vendemiaire 1, An XIII (Feb. 28-Sept, 23, 1804), when
the two Revolutionary aberrations happen to neutralize each other.
* * * * *
THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON I
CHAPTER I
PARENTAGE AND EARLY YEARS
"I was born when my country was perishing. Thirty thousand French
vomited upon our coasts, drowning the throne of Liberty in waves of
blood, such was the sight which struck my eyes." This passionate
utterance, penned by Napoleon Buonaparte at the beginning of the
French Revolution, describes the state of Corsica in his natal year.
The words are instinct with the vehemence of the youth and the
extravagant sentiment of the age: they strike the keynote of his
career. His life was one of strain and stress from his cradle to his
grave.
In his temperament as in the circumstances of his time the young
Buonaparte was destined for an extraordinary career. Into a tottering
civilization he burst with all the masterful force of an Alaric. But
he was an Alaric of the south, uniting the untamed strength of his
island kindred with the mental powers of his Italian ancestry. In his
personality there is a complex blending of force and grace, of animal
passion and mental clearness, of northern common sense with the
promptings of an oriental imagination; and this union in his nature of
seeming opposites explains many of the mysteries of his life.
Fortunately for lovers of romance, genius cannot be wholly analyzed,
even by the most adroit historical philosophizer or the most exacting
champion of heredity. But in so far as the sources of Napoleon's power
can be measured, they may be traced to the unexampled needs of mankind
in the revolutionary epoch and to his own exceptional endowments.
Evidently, then, the characteristics of his family claim some
attention from all who would understand the man and the influence
which he was to wield over modern Europe.
It has been the fortune of his House to be the subject of dispute from
first to last. Some writers have endeavoured to trace its descent back
to the Caesars of Rome, others to the Byzantine Emperors; one
genealogical explorer has tracked the family to Majorca, and, altering
its name to Bonpart, has discovered its progenitor in the Man of the
Iron Mask; while the Duchesse d'Abrantes, voyaging eastwards in quest
of its ancestors, has confidently claimed for the family a Greek
origin. Painstaking research has dispelled these romancings of
historical _trouveurs_, and has connected this enigmatic stock with a
Florentine named "William, who in the year 1261 took the surname of
_Bonaparte_ or _Buonaparte_. The name seems to have been assumed when,
amidst the unceasing strifes between Guelfs and Ghibellines that rent
the civic life of Florence, William's party, the Ghibellines, for a
brief space gained the ascendancy. But perpetuity was not to be found
in Florentine politics; and in a short time he was a fugitive at a
Tuscan village, Sarzana, beyond the reach of the victorious Guelfs.
Here the family seems to have lived for well nigh three centuries,
maintaining its Ghibelline and aristocratic principles with surprising
tenacity. The age was not remarkable for the virtue of constancy, or
any other virtue. Politics and private life were alike demoralized by
unceasing intrigues; and amidst strifes of Pope and Emperor, duchies
and republics, cities and autocrats, there was formed that type of
Italian character which is delineated in the pages of Macchiavelli.
From the depths of debasement of that cynical age the Buonapartes
were saved by their poverty, and by the isolation of their life at
Sarzana. Yet the embassies discharged at intervals by the more
talented members of the family showed that the gifts for intrigue were
only dormant; and they were certainly transmitted in their intensity
to the greatest scion of the race.
In the year 1529 Francis Buonaparte, whether pressed by poverty or
distracted by despair at the misfortunes which then overwhelmed Italy,
migrated to Corsica. There the family was grafted upon a tougher
branch of the Italian race. To the vulpine characteristics developed
under the shadow of the Medici there were now added qualities of a
more virile stamp. Though dominated in turn by the masters of the
Mediterranean, by Carthaginians, Romans, Vandals, by the men of Pisa,
and finally by the Genoese Republic, the islanders retained a striking
individuality. The rock-bound coast and mountainous interior helped to
preserve the essential features of primitive life. Foreign Powers
might affect the towns on the sea-board, but they left the clans of
the interior comparatively untouched. Their life centred around the
family. The Government counted for little or nothing; for was it not
the symbol of the detested foreign rule? Its laws were therefore as
naught when they conflicted with the unwritten but omnipotent code of
family honour. A slight inflicted on a neighbour would call forth the
warning words--"Guard thyself: I am on my guard." Forthwith there
began a blood feud, a vendetta, which frequently dragged on its dreary
course through generations of conspiracy and murder, until, the
principals having vanished, the collateral branches of the families
were involved. No Corsican was so loathed as the laggard who shrank
from avenging the family honour, even on a distant relative of the
first offender. The murder of the Duc d'Enghien by Napoleon in 1804
sent a thrill of horror through the Continent. To the Corsicans it
seemed little more than an autocratic version of the _vendetta
traversale_.[1]
The vendetta was the chief law of Corsican society up to comparatively
recent times; and its effects are still visible in the life of the
stern islanders. In his charming romance, "Colomba," M. Prosper
Merimee has depicted the typical Corsican, even of the towns, as
preoccupied, gloomy, suspicious, ever on the alert, hovering about his
dwelling, like a falcon over his nest, seemingly in preparation for
attack or defence. Laughter, the song, the dance, were rarely heard in
the streets; for the women, after acting as the drudges of the
household, were kept jealously at home, while their lords smoked and
watched. If a game at hazard were ventured upon, it ran its course in
silence, which not seldom was broken by the shot or the stab--first
warning that there had been underhand play. The deed always preceded
the word.
In such a life, where commerce and agriculture were despised, where
woman was mainly a drudge and man a conspirator, there grew up the
typical Corsican temperament, moody and exacting, but withal keen,
brave, and constant, which looked on the world as a fencing-school for
the glorification of the family and the clan[2]. Of this type Napoleon
was to be the supreme exemplar; and the fates granted him as an arena
a chaotic France and a distracted Europe.
Amidst that grim Corsican existence the Buonapartes passed their lives
during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Occupied as advocates
and lawyers with such details of the law as were of any practical
importance, they must have been involved in family feuds and the
oft-recurring disputes between Corsica and the suzerain Power, Genoa.
As became dignitaries in the municipality of Ajaccio, several of the
Buonapartes espoused the Genoese side; and the Genoese Senate in a
document of the year 1652 styled one of them, Jerome, "Egregius
Hieronimus di Buonaparte, procurator Nobilium." These distinctions
they seem to have little coveted. Very few families belonged to the
Corsican _noblesse_, and their fiefs were unimportant. In Corsica, as
in the Forest Cantons of Switzerland and the Highlands of Scotland,
class distinctions were by no means so coveted as in lands that had
been thoroughly feudalized; and the Buonapartes, content with their
civic dignities at Ajaccio and the attachment of their partisans on
their country estates, seem rarely to have used the prefix which
implied nobility. Their life was not unlike that of many an old
Scottish laird, who, though possibly _bourgeois_ in origin, yet by
courtesy ranked as chieftain among his tenants, and was ennobled by
the parlance of the countryside, perhaps all the more readily because
he refused to wear the honours that came from over the Border.
But a new influence was now to call forth all the powers of this tough
stock. In the middle of the eighteenth century we find the head of the
family, Charles Marie Buonaparte, aglow with the flame of Corsican
patriotism then being kindled by the noble career of Paoli. This
gifted patriot, the champion of the islanders, first against the
Genoese and later against the French, desired to cement by education
the framework of the Corsican Commonwealth and founded a university.
It was here that the father of the future French Emperor received a
training in law, and a mental stimulus which was to lift his family
above the level of the _caporali_ and attorneys with whom its lot had
for centuries been cast. His ambition is seen in the endeavour,
successfully carried out by his uncle, Lucien, Archdeacon of Ajaccio,
to obtain recognition of kinship with the Buonapartes of Tuscany who
had been ennobled by the Grand Duke. His patriotism is evinced in his
ardent support of Paoli, by whose valour and energy the Genoese were
finally driven from the island. Amidst these patriotic triumphs
Charles confronted his destiny in the person of Letizia Ramolino, a
beautiful girl, descended from an honourable Florentine family which
had for centuries been settled in Corsica. The wedding took place in
1764, the bridegroom being then eighteen, and the bride fifteen years
of age. The union, if rashly undertaken in the midst of civil strifes,
was yet well assorted. Both parties to it were of patrician, if not
definitely noble descent, and came of families which combined the
intellectual gifts of Tuscany with the vigour of their later island
home[3]. From her mother's race, the Pietra Santa family, Letizia
imbibed the habits of the most backward and savage part of Corsica,
where vendettas were rife and education was almost unknown. Left in
ignorance in her early days, she yet was accustomed to hardships, and
often showed the fertility of resource which such a life always
develops. Hence, at the time of her marriage, she possessed a firmness
of will far beyond her years; and her strength and fortitude enabled
her to survive the terrible adversities of her early days, as also to
meet with quiet matronly dignity the extraordinary honours showered on
her as the mother of the French Emperor. She was inured to habits of
frugality, which reappeared in the personal tastes of her son. In
fact, she so far retained her old parsimonious habits, even amidst the
splendours of the French Imperial Court, as to expose herself to the
charge of avarice. But there is a touching side to all this. She seems
ever to have felt that after the splendour there would come again the
old days of adversity, and her instincts were in one sense correct.
She lived on to the advanced age of eighty-six, and died twenty-one
years after the break-up of her son's empire--a striking proof of the
vitality and tenacity of her powers.
A kindly Providence veiled the future from the young couple. Troubles
fell swiftly upon them both in private and in public life. Their first
two children died in infancy. The third, Joseph, was born in 1768,
when the Corsican patriots were making their last successful efforts
against their new French oppressors: the fourth, the famous Napoleon,
saw the light on August 15th, 1769, when the liberties of Corsica were
being finally extinguished. Nine other children were born before the
outbreak of the French Revolution reawakened civil strifes, amidst
which the then fatherless family was tossed to and fro and finally
whirled away to France.
Destiny had already linked the fortunes of the young Napoleon
Buonaparte with those of France. After the downfall of Genoese rule in
Corsica, France had taken over, for empty promises, the claims of the
hard-pressed Italian republic to its troublesome island possession. It
was a cheap and practical way of restoring, at least in the
Mediterranean the shattered prestige of the French Bourbons. They had
previously intervened in Corsican affairs on the side of the Genoese.
Yet in 1764 Paoli appealed to Louis XV. for protection. It was
granted, in the form of troops that proceeded quietly to occupy the
coast towns of the island under cover of friendly assurances. In 1768,
before the expiration of an informal truce, Marbeuf, the French
commander, commenced hostilities against the patriots[4]. In vain did
Rousseau and many other champions of popular liberty protest against
this bartering away of insular freedom: in vain did Paoli rouse his
compatriots to another and more unequal struggle, and seek to hold the
mountainous interior. Poor, badly equipped, rent by family feuds and
clan schisms, his followers were no match for the French troops; and
after the utter break-up of his forces Paoli fled to England, taking
with him three hundred and forty of the most determined patriots. With
these irreconcilables Charles Buonaparte did not cast in his lot, but
accepted the pardon offered to those who should recognize the French
sway. With his wife and their little child Joseph he returned to
Ajaccio; and there, shortly afterwards, Napoleon was born. As the
patriotic historian, Jacobi, has finely said, "The Corsican people,
when exhausted by producing martyrs to the cause of liberty, produced
Napoleon Buonaparte[5]."
Seeing that Charles Buonaparte had been an ardent adherent of Paoli,
his sudden change of front has exposed him to keen censure. He
certainly had not the grit of which heroes are made. His seems to have
been an ill-balanced nature, soon buoyed up by enthusiasms, and as
speedily depressed by their evaporation; endowed with enough of
learning and culture to be a Voltairean and write second-rate
verses; and with a talent for intrigue which sufficed to embarrass
his never very affluent fortunes. Napoleon certainly derived no
world-compelling qualities from his father: for these he was indebted
to the wilder strain which ran in his mother's blood. The father
doubtless saw in the French connection a chance of worldly advancement
and of liberation from pecuniary difficulties; for the new rulers now
sought to gain over the patrician families of the island. Many of them
had resented the dictatorship of Paoli; and they now gladly accepted
the connection with France, which promised to enrich their country and
to open up a brilliant career in the French army, where commissions
were limited to the scions of nobility.
Much may be said in excuse of Charles Buonaparte's decision, and no
one can deny that Corsica has ultimately gained much by her connection
with France. But his change of front was open to the charge that it
was prompted by self-interest rather than by philosophic foresight. At
any rate, his second son throughout his boyhood nursed a deep
resentment against his father for his desertion of the patriots'
cause. The youth's sympathies were with the peasants, whose allegiance
was not to be bought by baubles, whose constancy and bravery long held
out against the French in a hopeless guerilla warfare. His hot
Corsican blood boiled at the stories of oppression and insult which he
heard from his humbler compatriots. When, at eleven years of age, he
saw in the military college at Brienne the portrait of Choiseul, the
French Minister who had urged on the conquest of Corsica, his passion
burst forth in a torrent of imprecations against the traitor; and,
even after the death of his father in 1785, he exclaimed that he could
never forgive him for not following Paoli into exile.
What trifles seem, at times, to alter the current of human affairs!
Had his father acted thus, the young Napoleon would in all probability
have entered the military or naval service of Great Britain; he might
have shared Paoli's enthusiasm for the land of his adoption, and have
followed the Corsican hero in his enterprises against the French
Revolution, thenceforth figuring in history merely as a greater
Marlborough, crushing the military efforts of democratic France, and
luring England into a career of Continental conquest. Monarchy and
aristocracy would have gone unchallenged, except within the "natural
limits" of France; and the other nations, never shaken to their
inmost depths, would have dragged on their old inert fragmentary
existence.
The decision of Charles Buonaparte altered the destiny of Europe. He
determined that his eldest boy, Joseph, should enter the Church, and
that Napoleon should be a soldier. His perception of the characters of
his boys was correct. An anecdote, for which the elder brother is
responsible, throws a flood of light on their temperaments. The master
of their school arranged a mimic combat for his pupils--Romans against
Carthaginians. Joseph, as the elder was ranged under the banner of
Rome, while Napoleon was told off among the Carthaginians; but, piqued
at being chosen for the losing side, the child fretted, begged, and
stormed until the less bellicose Joseph agreed to change places with
his exacting junior. The incident is prophetic of much in the later
history of the family.
Its imperial future was opened up by the deft complaisance now shown
by Charles Buonaparte. The reward for his speedy submission to France
was soon forthcoming. The French commander in Corsica used his
influence to secure the admission of the young Napoleon to the
military school of Brienne in Champagne; and as the father was able to
satisfy the authorities not only that he was without fortune, but also
that his family had been noble for four generations, Napoleon was
admitted to this school to be educated at the charges of the King of
France (April, 1779). He was now, at the tender age of nine, a
stranger in a strange land, among a people whom he detested as the
oppressors of his countrymen. Worst of all, he had to endure the taunt
of belonging to a subject race. What a position for a proud and
exacting child! Little wonder that the official report represented him
as silent and obstinate; but, strange to say, it added the word
"imperious." It was a tough character which could defy repression
amidst such surroundings. As to his studies, little need be said. In
his French history he read of the glories of the distant past (when
"Germany was part of the French Empire"), the splendours of the reign
of Louis XIV., the disasters of France in the Seven Years' War, and
the "prodigious conquests of the English in India." But his
imagination was kindled from other sources. Boys of pronounced
character have always owed far more to their private reading than to
their set studies; and the young Buonaparte, while grudgingly learning
Latin and French grammar, was feeding his mind on Plutarch's
"Lives"--in a French translation. The artful intermingling of the
actual and the romantic, the historic and the personal, in those vivid
sketches of ancient worthies and heroes, has endeared them to many
minds. Rousseau derived unceasing profit from their perusal; and
Madame Roland found in them "the pasture of great souls." It was so
with the lonely Corsican youth. Holding aloof from his comrades in
gloomy isolation, he caught in the exploits of Greeks and Romans a
distant echo of the tragic romance of his beloved island home. The
librarian of the school asserted that even then the young soldier had
modelled his future career on that of the heroes of antiquity; and we
may well believe that, in reading of the exploits of Leonidas,
Curtius, and Cincinnatus, he saw the figure of his own antique
republican hero, Paoli. To fight side by side with Paoli against the
French was his constant dream. "Paoli will return," he once exclaimed,
"and as soon as I have strength, I will go to help him: and perhaps
together we shall be able to shake the odious yoke from off the neck
of Corsica."
But there was another work which exercised a great influence on his
young mind--the "Gallic War" of Caesar. To the young Italian the
conquest of Gaul by a man of his own race must have been a congenial
topic, and in Caesar himself the future conqueror may dimly have
recognized a kindred spirit. The masterful energy and all-conquering
will of the old Roman, his keen insight into the heart of a problem,
the wide sweep of his mental vision, ranging over the intrigues of the
Roman Senate, the shifting politics of a score of tribes, and the
myriad administrative details of a great army and a mighty
province--these were the qualities that furnished the chief mental
training to the young cadet. Indeed, the career of Caesar was destined
to exert a singular fascination over the Napoleonic dynasty, not only
on its founder, but also on Napoleon III.; and the change in the
character and career of Napoleon the Great may be registered mentally
in the effacement of the portraits of Leonidas and Paoli by those of
Caesar and Alexander. Later on, during his sojourn at Ajaccio in 1790,
when the first shadows were flitting across his hitherto unclouded
love for Paoli, we hear that he spent whole nights poring over Caesar's
history, committing many passages to memory in his passionate
admiration of those wondrous exploits. Eagerly he took Caesar's side as
against Pompey, and no less warmly defended him from the charge of
plotting against the liberties of the commonwealth[6]. It was a
perilous study for a republican youth in whom the military instincts
were as ingrained as the genius for rule.
Concerning the young Buonaparte's life at Brienne there exist few
authentic records and many questionable anecdotes. Of these last, that
which is the most credible and suggestive relates his proposal to his
schoolfellows to construct ramparts of snow during the sharp winter of
1783-4. According to his schoolfellow, Bourrienne, these mimic
fortifications were planned by Buonaparte, who also directed the
methods of attack and defence: or, as others say, he reconstructed
the walls according to the needs of modern war. In either case, the
incident bespeaks for him great power of organization and control. But
there were in general few outlets for his originality and vigour. He
seems to have disliked all his comrades, except Bourrienne, as much as
they detested him for his moody humours and fierce outbreaks of
temper. He is even reported to have vowed that he would do as much
harm as possible to the French people; but the remark smacks of the
story-book. Equally doubtful are the two letters in which he prays to
be removed from the indignities to which he was subjected at
Brienne[7]. In other letters which are undoubtedly genuine, he refers
to his future career with ardour, and writes not a word as to the
bullying to which his Corsican zeal subjected him. Particularly
noteworthy is the letter to his uncle begging him to intervene so as
to prevent Joseph Buonaparte from taking up a military career. Joseph,
writes the younger brother, would make a good garrison officer, as he
was well formed and clever at frivolous compliments--"good therefore
for society, but for a fight--?"
Napoleon's determination had been noticed by his teachers. They had
failed to bend his will, at least on important points. In lesser
details his Italian adroitness seems to have been of service; for the
officer who inspected the school reported of him: "Constitution,
health excellent: character submissive, sweet, honest, grateful:
conduct very regular: has always distinguished himself by his
application to mathematics: knows history and geography passably: very
weak in accomplishments. He will be an excellent seaman: is worthy to
enter the School at Paris." To the military school at Paris he was
accordingly sent in due course, entering there in October, 1784. The
change from the semi-monastic life at Brienne to the splendid edifice
which fronts the Champ de Mars had less effect than might have
been expected in a youth of fifteen years. Not yet did he become
French in sympathy. His love of Corsica and hatred of the French
monarchy steeled him against the luxuries of his new surroundings.
Perhaps it was an added sting that he was educated at the expense of
the monarchy which had conquered his kith and kin. He nevertheless
applied himself with energy to his favourite studies, especially
mathematics. Defective in languages he still was, and ever remained;
for his critical acumen in literature ever fastened on the matter
rather than on style. To the end of his days he could never write
Italian, much less French, with accuracy; and his tutor at Paris not
inaptly described his boyish composition as resembling molten granite.
The same qualities of directness and impetuosity were also fatal to
his efforts at mastering the movements of the dance. In spite of
lessons at Paris and private lessons which he afterwards took at
Valence, he was never a dancer: his bent was obviously for the exact
sciences rather than the arts, for the geometrical rather than the
rhythmical: he thought, as he moved, in straight lines, never in
curves.
The death of his father during the year which the youth spent at Paris
sharpened his sense of responsibility towards his seven younger
brothers and sisters. His own poverty must have inspired him with
disgust at the luxury which he saw around him; but there are good
reasons for doubting the genuineness of the memorial which he is
alleged to have sent from Paris to the second master at Brienne on
this subject. The letters of the scholars at Paris were subject to
strict surveillance; and, if he had taken the trouble to draw up a
list of criticisms on his present training, most assuredly it would
have been destroyed. Undoubtedly, however, he would have sympathized
with the unknown critic in his complaint of the unsuitableness of
sumptuous meals to youths who were destined for the hardships of the
camp. At Brienne he had been dubbed "the Spartan," an instance of that
almost uncanny faculty of schoolboys to dash off in a nickname the
salient features of character. The phrase was correct, almost for
Napoleon's whole life. At any rate, the pomp of Paris served but to
root his youthful affections more tenaciously in the rocks of Corsica.
In September, 1785, that is, at the age of sixteen, Buonaparte was
nominated for a commission as junior lieutenant in La Fere regiment of
artillery quartered at Valence on the Rhone. This was his first close
contact with real life. The rules of the service required him to
spend three months of rigorous drill before he was admitted to his
commission. The work was exacting: the pay was small, viz., 1,120
francs, or less than L45, a year; but all reports agree as to his keen
zest for his profession and the recognition of his transcendent
abilities by his superior officers.[8] There it was that he mastered
the rudiments of war, for lack of which many generals of noble birth
have quickly closed in disaster careers that began with promise:
there, too, he learnt that hardest and best of all lessons, prompt
obedience. "To learn obeying is the fundamental art of governing,"
says Carlyle. It was so with Napoleon: at Valence he served his
apprenticeship in the art of conquering and the art of governing.
This spring-time of his life is of interest and importance in many
ways: it reveals many amiable qualities, which had hitherto been
blighted by the real or fancied scorn of the wealthy cadets. At
Valence, while shrinking from his brother officers, he sought society
more congenial to his simple tastes and restrained demeanour. In a few
of the best bourgeois families of Valence he found happiness. There,
too, blossomed the tenderest, purest idyll of his life. At the country
house of a cultured lady who had befriended him in his solitude, he
saw his first love, Caroline de Colombier. It was a passing fancy;
but to her all the passion of his southern nature welled forth. She
seems to have returned his love; for in the stormy sunset of his life
at St. Helena he recalled some delicious walks at dawn when Caroline
and he had--eaten cherries together. One lingers fondly over these
scenes of his otherwise stern career, for they reveal his capacity for
social joys and for deep and tender affection, had his lot been
otherwise cast. How different might have been his life, had France
never conquered Corsica, and had the Revolution never burst forth! But
Corsica was still his dominant passion. When he was called away from
Valence to repress a riot at Lyons, his feelings, distracted for a
time by Caroline, swerved back towards his island home; and in
September, 1786, he had the joy of revisiting the scenes of his
childhood. Warmly though he greeted his mother, brothers and sisters,
after an absence of nearly eight years, his chief delight was in the
rocky shores, the verdant dales and mountain heights of Corsica. The
odour of the forests, the setting of the sun in the sea "as in the
bosom of the infinite," the quiet proud independence of the
mountaineers themselves, all enchanted him. His delight reveals almost
Wertherian powers of "sensibility." Even the family troubles could not
damp his ardour. His father had embarked on questionable speculations,
which now threatened the Buonapartes with bankruptcy, unless the
French Government proved to be complacent and generous. With the hope
of pressing one of the family claims on the royal exchequer, the
second son procured an extension of furlough and sped to Paris. There
at the close of 1787 he spent several weeks, hopefully endeavouring to
extract money from the bankrupt Government. It was a season of
disillusionment in more senses than one; for there he saw for himself
the seamy side of Parisian life, and drifted for a brief space about
the giddy vortex of the Palais Royal. What a contrast to the limpid
life of Corsica was that turbid frothy existence--already swirling
towards its mighty plunge!
After a furlough of twenty-one months he rejoined his regiment, now at
Auxonne. There his health suffered considerably, not only from the
miasma of the marshes of the river Saone, but also from family
anxieties and arduous literary toils. To these last it is now needful
to refer. Indeed, the external events of his early life are of value
only as they reveal the many-sidedness of his nature and the growth of
his mental powers.
How came he to outgrow the insular patriotism of his early years? The
foregoing recital of facts must have already suggested one obvious
explanation. Nature had dowered him so prodigally with diverse gifts,
mainly of an imperious order, that he could scarcely have limited his
sphere of action to Corsica. Profoundly as he loved his island, it
offered no sphere commensurate with his varied powers and masterful
will. It was no empty vaunt which his father had uttered on his
deathbed that his Napoleon would one day overthrow the old monarchies
and conquer Europe.[9] Neither did the great commander himself
overstate the peculiarity of his temperament, when he confessed that
his instincts had ever prompted him that his will must prevail, and
that what pleased him must of necessity belong to him. Most spoilt
children harbour the same illusion, for a brief space. But all the
buffetings of fortune failed to drive it from the young Buonaparte;
and when despair as to his future might have impaired the vigour of
his domineering instincts, his mind and will acquired a fresh rigidity
by coming under the spell of that philosophizing doctrinaire,
Rousseau.
There was every reason why he should early be attracted by this
fantastic thinker. In that notable work, "Le Contrat Social" (1762),
Rousseau called attention to the antique energy shown by the Corsicans
in defence of their liberties, and in a startlingly prophetic phrase
he exclaimed that the little island would one day astonish Europe. The
source of this predilection of Rousseau for Corsica is patent. Born
and reared at Geneva, he felt a Switzer's love for a people which was<
"neither rich nor poor but self-sufficing "; and in the simple life
and fierce love of liberty of the hardy islanders he saw traces of
that social contract which he postulated as the basis of society.
According to him, the beginnings of all social and political
institutions are to be found in some agreement or contract between
men. Thus arise the clan, the tribe, the nation. The nation may
delegate many of its powers to a ruler; but if he abuse such powers,
the contract between him and his people is at an end, and they may
return to the primitive state, which is founded on an agreement of
equals with equals. Herein lay the attractiveness of Rousseau for all
who were discontented with their surroundings. He seemed infallibly
to demonstrate the absurdity of tyranny and the need of returning to
the primitive bliss of the social contract. It mattered not that the
said contract was utterly unhistorical and that his argument teemed
with fallacies. He inspired a whole generation with detestation of the
present and with longings for the golden age. Poets had sung of it,
but Rousseau seemed to bring it within the grasp of long-suffering
mortals.
The first extant manuscript of Napoleon, written at Valence in April,
1786, shows that he sought in Rousseau's armoury the logical weapons
for demonstrating the "right" of the Corsicans to rebel against the
French. The young hero-worshipper begins by noting that it is the
birthday of Paoli. He plunges into a panegyric on the Corsican
patriots, when he is arrested by the thought that many censure them
for rebelling at all. "The divine laws forbid revolt. But what have
divine laws to do with a purely human affair? Just think of the
absurdity--divine laws universally forbidding the casting off of a
usurping yoke! ... As for human laws, there cannot be any after the
prince violates them." He then postulates two origins for government
as alone possible. Either the people has established laws and
submitted itself to the prince, or the prince has established laws. In
the first case, the prince is engaged by the very nature of his office
to execute the covenants. In the second case, the laws tend, or do not
tend, to the welfare of the people, which is the aim of all
government: if they do not, the contract with the prince dissolves of
itself, for the people then enters again into its primitive state.
Having thus proved the sovereignty of the people, Buonaparte uses his
doctrine to justify Corsican revolt against France, and thus concludes
his curious medley: "The Corsicans, following all the laws of justice,
have been able to shake off the yoke of the Genoese, and may do the
same with that of the French. Amen."
Five days later he again gives the reins to his melancholy. "Always
alone, though in the midst of men," he faces the thought of suicide.
With an innate power of summarizing and balancing thoughts and
sensations, he draws up arguments for and against this act. He is in
the dawn of his days and in four months' time he will see "la patrie,"
which he has not seen since childhood. What joy! And yet--how men have
fallen away from nature: how cringing are his compatriots to their
conquerors: they are no longer the enemies of tyrants, of luxury, of
vile courtiers: the French have corrupted their morals, and when "la
patrie" no longer survives, a good patriot ought to die. Life among
the French is odious: their modes of life differ from his as much as
the light of the moon differs from that of the sun.--A strange
effusion this for a youth of seventeen living amidst the full glories
of the spring in Dauphine. It was only a few weeks before the ripening
of cherries. Did that cherry-idyll with Mdlle. de Colombier lure him
back to life? Or did the hope of striking a blow for Corsica stay his
suicidal hand? Probably the latter; for we find him shortly afterwards
tilting against a Protestant minister of Geneva who had ventured to
criticise one of the dogmas of Rousseau's evangel.
The Genevan philosopher had asserted that Christianity, by enthroning
in the hearts of Christians the idea of a Kingdom not of this world,
broke the unity of civil society, because it detached the hearts of
its converts from the State, as from all earthly things. To this the
Genevan minister had successfully replied by quoting Christian
teachings on the subject at issue. But Buonaparte fiercely accuses
the pastor of neither having understood, nor even read, "Le Contrat
Social": he hurls at his opponent texts of Scripture which enjoin
obedience to the laws: he accuses Christianity of rendering men slaves
to an anti-social tyranny, because its priests set up an authority in
opposition to civil laws; and as for Protestantism, it propagated
discords between its followers, and thereby violated civic unity.
Christianity, he argues, is a foe to civil government, for it aims at
making men happy in this life by inspiring them with hope of a future
life; while the aim of civil government is "to lend assistance to the
feeble against the strong, and by this means to allow everyone to
enjoy a sweet tranquillity, the road of happiness." He therefore
concludes that Christianity and civil government are diametrically
opposed.
In this tirade we see the youth's spirit of revolt flinging him not
only against French law, but against the religion which sanctions it.
He sees none of the beauty of the Gospels which Rousseau had
admitted. His views are more rigid than those of his teacher.
Scarcely can he conceive of two influences, the spiritual and the
governmental, working on parallel lines, on different parts of man's
nature. His conception of human society is that of an indivisible,
indistinguishable whole, wherein materialism, tinged now and again by
religious sentiment and personal honour, is the sole noteworthy
influence. He finds no worth in a religion which seeks to work from
within to without, which aims at transforming character, and thus
transforming the world. In its headlong quest of tangible results his
eager spirit scorns so tardy a method: he will "compel men to be
happy," and for this result there is but one practicable means, the
Social Contract, the State. Everything which mars the unity of the
Social Contract shall be shattered, so that the State may have a clear
field for the exercise of its beneficent despotism. Such is
Buonaparte's political and religious creed at the age of seventeen,
and such it remained (with many reservations suggested by maturer
thought and self-interest) to the end of his days. It reappears in his
policy anent the Concordat of 1802, by which religion was reduced to
the level of handmaid to the State, as also in his frequent assertions
that he would never have quite the same power as the Czar and the
Sultan, because he had not undivided sway over the consciences of his
people.[10] In this boyish essay we may perhaps discern the
fundamental reason of his later failures. He never completely
understood religion, or the enthusiasm which it can evoke; neither did
he ever fully realize the complexity of human nature, the
many-sidedness of social life, and the limitations that beset the
action even of the most intelligent law-maker.[11]
His reading of Rousseau having equipped him for the study of human
society and government, he now, during his first sojourn at Auxonne
(June, 1788--September, 1789), proceeds to ransack the records of the
ancient and modern world. Despite ill-health, family troubles, and the
outbreak of the French Revolution, he grapples with this portentous
task. The history, geography, religion, and social customs of the
ancient Persians, Scythians, Thracians, Athenians, Spartans,
Egyptians, and Carthaginians--all furnished materials for his
encyclopaedic note-books. Nothing came amiss to his summarizing genius.
Here it was that he gained that knowledge of the past which was to
astonish his contemporaries. Side by side with suggestions on
regimental discipline and improvements in artillery, we find notes on
the opening episodes of Plato's "Republic," and a systematic summary
of English history from the earliest times down to the Revolution of
1688. This last event inspired him with special interest, because the
Whigs and their philosophic champion, Locke, maintained that James II.
had violated the original contract between prince and people.
Everywhere in his notes Napoleon emphasizes the incidents which led to
conflicts between dynasties or between rival principles. In fact,
through all these voracious studies there appear signs of his
determination to write a history of Corsica; and, while inspiriting
his kinsmen by recalling the glorious past, he sought to weaken the
French monarchy by inditing a "Dissertation sur l'Autorite Royale."
His first sketch of this work runs as follows:
"23 October, 1788. Auxonne.
"This work will begin with general ideas as to the origin and the
enhanced prestige of the name of king. Military rule is favourable
to it: this work will afterwards enter into the details of the
usurped authority enjoyed by the Kings of the twelve Kingdoms of
Europe.
"There are very few Kings who have not deserved dethronement[12]."
This curt pronouncement is all that remains of the projected work. It
sufficiently indicates, however, the aim of Napoleon's studies. One
and all they were designed to equip him for the great task of
re-awakening the spirit of the Corsicans and of sapping the base of
the French monarchy.
But these reams of manuscript notes and crude literary efforts have an
even wider source of interest. They show how narrow was his outlook on
life. It all turned on the regeneration of Corsica by methods which he
himself prescribed. We are therefore able to understand why, when his
own methods of salvation for Corsica were rejected, he tore himself
away and threw his undivided energies into the Revolution.
Yet the records of his early life show that in his character there was
a strain of true sentiment and affection. In him Nature carved out a
character of rock-like firmness, but she adorned it with flowers of
human sympathy and tendrils of family love. At his first parting from
his brother Joseph at Autun, when the elder brother was weeping
passionately, the little Napoleon dropped a tear: but that, said the
tutor, meant as much as the flood of tears from Joseph. Love of his
relatives was a potent factor of his policy in later life; and slander
has never been able wholly to blacken the character of a man who loved
and honoured his mother, who asserted that her advice had often been
of the highest service to him, and that her justice and firmness of
spirit marked her out as a natural ruler of men. But when these
admissions are freely granted, it still remains true that his
character was naturally hard; that his sense of personal superiority
made him, even as a child, exacting and domineering; and the sequel
was to show that even the strongest passion of his youth, his
determination to free Corsica from France, could be abjured if
occasion demanded, all the force of his nature being thenceforth
concentrated on vaster adventures.
* * * * *
CHAPTER II
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND CORSICA
"They seek to destroy the Revolution by attacking my person: I will
defend it, for I am the Revolution." Such were the words uttered by
Buonaparte after the failure of the royalist plot of 1804. They are a
daring transcript of Louis XIV.'s "L'etat, c'est moi." That was a bold
claim, even for an age attuned to the whims of autocrats: but this of
the young Corsican is even more daring, for he thereby equated himself
with a movement which claimed to be wide as humanity and infinite as
truth. And yet when he spoke these words, they were not scouted as
presumptuous folly: to most Frenchmen they seemed sober truth and
practical good sense. How came it, one asks in wonder, that after the
short space of fifteen years a world-wide movement depended on a
single life, that the infinitudes of 1789 lived on only in the form,
and by the pleasure, of the First Consul? Here surely is a political
incarnation unparalleled in the whole course of human history. The
riddle cannot be solved by history alone. It belongs in part to the
domain of psychology, when that science shall undertake the study, not
merely of man as a unit, but of the aspirations, moods, and whims of
communities and nations. Meanwhile it will be our far humbler task to
strive to point out the relation of Buonaparte to the Revolution, and
to show how the mighty force of his will dragged it to earth.
The first questions that confront us are obviously these. Were the
lofty aims and aspirations of the Revolution attainable? And, if so,
did the men of 1789 follow them by practical methods? To the former of
these questions the present chapter will, in part at least, serve as
an answer. On the latter part of the problem the events described in
later chapters will throw some light: in them we shall see that the
great popular upheaval let loose mighty forces that bore Buonaparte on
to fortune.
Here we may notice that the Revolution was not a simple and therefore
solid movement. It was complex and contained the seeds of discord
which lurk in many-sided and militant creeds. The theories of its
intellectual champions were as diverse as the motives which spurred on
their followers to the attack on the outworn abuses of the age.
Discontent and faith were the ultimate motive powers of the
Revolution. Faith prepared the Revolution and discontent accomplished
it. Idealists who, in varied planes of thought, preached the doctrine
of human perfectibility, succeeded in slowly permeating the dull
toiling masses of France with hope. Omitting here any notice of
philosophic speculation as such, we may briefly notice the teachings
of three writers whose influence on revolutionary politics was to be
definite and practical. These were Montesquieu, Voltaire, and
Rousseau. The first was by no means a revolutionist, for he decided in
favour of a mixed form of government, like that of England, which
guaranteed the State against the dangers of autocracy, oligarchy, and
mob-rule. Only by a ricochet did he assail the French monarchy. But he
re-awakened critical inquiry; and any inquiry was certain to sap the
base of the _ancien regime_ in France. Montesquieu's teaching inspired
the group of moderate reformers who in 1789 desired to re-fashion the
institutions of France on the model of those of England. But popular
sentiment speedily swept past these Anglophils towards the more
attractive aims set forth by Voltaire.
This keen thinker subjected the privileged classes, especially the
titled clergy, to a searching fire of philosophic bombs and barbed
witticisms. Never was there a more dazzling succession of literary
triumphs over a tottering system. The satirized classes winced and
laughed, and the intellect of France was conquered, for the
Revolution. Thenceforth it was impossible that peasants who were
nominally free should toil to satisfy the exacting needs of the
State, and to support the brilliant bevy of nobles who flitted gaily
round the monarch at Versailles. The young King Louis XVI., it is
true, carried through several reforms, but he had not enough strength
of will to abolish the absurd immunities from taxation which freed the
nobles and titled clergy from the burdens of the State. Thus, down to
1789, the middle classes and peasants bore nearly all the weight of
taxation, while the peasants were also encumbered by feudal dues and
tolls. These were the crying grievances which united in a solid
phalanx both thinkers and practical men, and thereby gave an immense
impetus to the levelling doctrines of Rousseau.
Two only of his political teachings concern us here, namely, social
equality and the unquestioned supremacy of the State; for to these
dogmas, when they seemed doomed to political bankruptcy, Napoleon
Buonaparte was to act as residuary legatee. According to Rousseau,
society and government originated in a social contract, whereby all
members of the community have equal rights. It matters not that the
spirit of the contract may have evaporated amidst the miasma of
luxury. That is a violation of civil society; and members are
justified in reverting at once to the primitive ideal. If the
existence of the body politic be endangered, force may be used:
"Whoever refuses to obey the general will shall be constrained to do
so by the whole body; which means nothing else than that he shall be
forced to be free." Equally plausible and dangerous was his teaching
as to the indivisibility of the general will. Deriving every public
power from his social contract, he finds it easy to prove that the
sovereign power, vested in all the citizens, must be incorruptible,
inalienable, unrepresentable, indivisible, and indestructible.
Englishmen may now find it difficult to understand the enthusiasm
called forth by this quintessence of negations; but to Frenchman
recently escaped from the age of privilege and warring against the
coalition of kings, the cry of the Republic one and indivisible was a
trumpet call to death or victory. Any shifts, even that of a
dictatorship, were to be borne, provided that social equality could be
saved. As republican Rome had saved her early liberties by intrusting
unlimited powers to a temporary dictator, so, claimed Rousseau, a
young commonwealth must by a similar device consult Nature's first law
of self-preservation. The dictator saves liberty by temporarily
abrogating it: by momentary gagging of the legislative power he
renders it truly vocal.
The events of the French Revolution form a tragic commentary on these
theories. In the first stage of that great movement we see the
followers of Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Rousseau marching in an
undivided host against the ramparts of privilege. The walls of the
Bastille fall down even at the blast of their trumpets. Odious feudal
privileges disappear in a single sitting of the National Assembly; and
the _Parlements_, or supreme law courts of the provinces, are swept
away. The old provinces themselves are abolished, and at the beginning
of 1790 France gains social and political unity by her new system of
Departments, which grants full freedom of action in local affairs,
though in all national concerns it binds France closely to the new
popular government at Paris. But discords soon begin to divide the
reformers: hatred of clerical privilege and the desire to fill the
empty coffers of the State dictate the first acts of spoliation.
Tithes are abolished: the lands of the Church are confiscated to the
service of the State; monastic orders are suppressed; and the
Government undertakes to pay the stipends of bishops and priests.
Furthermore, their subjection to the State is definitely secured by
the Civil Constitution of the Clergy (July, 1790) which invalidates
their allegiance to the Pope. Most of the clergy refuse: these are
termed non-jurors or orthodox priests, while their more complaisant
colleagues are known as constitutional priests. Hence arises a serious
schism in the Church, which distracts the religious life of the land,
and separates the friends of liberty from the champions of the
rigorous equality preached by Rousseau.
The new constitution of 1791 was also a source of discord. In its
jealousy of the royal authority, the National Assembly seized very
many of the executive functions of government. The results were
disastrous. Laws remained without force, taxes went uncollected, the
army was distracted by mutinies, and the monarchy sank slowly into the
gulf of bankruptcy and anarchy. Thus, in the course of three years,
the revolutionists goaded the clergy to desperation, they were about
to overthrow the monarchy, every month was proving their local
self-government to be unworkable, and they themselves split into
factions that plunged France into war and drenched her soil by
organized massacres.
* * * * *
We know very little about the impression made on the young Buonaparte
by the first events of the Revolution. His note-book seems even to
show that he regarded them as an inconvenient interference with his
plans for Corsica. But gradually the Revolution excites his interest.
In September, 1789, we find him on furlough in Corsica sharing the
hopes of the islanders that their representatives in the French
National Assembly will obtain the boon of independence. He exhorts
his compatriots to favour the democratic cause, which promises a
speedy deliverance from official abuses. He urges them to don the new
tricolour cockade, symbol of Parisian triumph over the old monarchy;
to form a club; above all, to organize a National Guard. The young
officer knew that military power was passing from the royal army, now
honeycombed with discontent, to the National Guard. Here surely was
Corsica's means of salvation. But the French governor of Corsica
intervenes. The club is closed, and the National Guard is dispersed.
Thereupon Buonaparte launches a vigorous protest against the tyranny
of the governor and appeals to the National Assembly of France for
some guarantee of civil liberty. His name is at the head of this
petition, a sufficiently daring step for a junior lieutenant on
furlough. But his patriotism and audacity carry him still further. He
journeys to Bastia, the official capital of his island, and is
concerned in an affray between the populace and the royal troops
(November 5th, 1789). The French authorities, fortunately for him, are
nearly powerless: he is merely requested to return to Ajaccio; and
there he organizes anew the civic force, and sets the dissident
islanders an example of good discipline by mounting guard outside the
house of a personal opponent.
Other events now transpired which began to assuage his opposition to
France. Thanks to the eloquent efforts of Mirabeau, the Corsican
patriots who had remained in exile since 1768 were allowed to return
and enjoy the full rights of citizenship. Little could the friends of
liberty at Paris, or even the statesman himself, have foreseen all the
consequences of this action: it softened the feelings of many
Corsicans towards their conquerors; above all, it caused the heart of
Napoleon Buonaparte for the first time to throb in accord with that of
the French nation. His feelings towards Paoli also began to cool. The
conduct of this illustrious exile exposed him to the charge of
ingratitude towards France. The decree of the French National
Assembly, which restored him to Corsican citizenship, was graced by
acts of courtesy such as the generous French nature can so winningly
dispense. Louis XVI. and the National Assembly warmly greeted him, and
recognized him as head of the National Guard of the island. Yet,
amidst all the congratulations, Paoli saw the approach of anarchy, and
behaved with some reserve. Outwardly, however, concord seemed to be
assured, when on July 14th, 1790, he landed in Corsica; but the hatred
long nursed by the mountaineers and fisherfolk against France was not
to be exorcised by a few demonstrations. In truth, the island was
deeply agitated. The priests were rousing the people against the newly
decreed Civil Constitution of the Clergy; and one of these
disturbances endangered the life of Napoleon himself. He and his
brother Joseph chanced to pass by when one of the processions of
priests and devotees was exciting the pity and indignation of the
townsfolk. The two brothers, who were now well known as partisans of
the Revolution, were threatened with violence, and were saved only by
their own firm demeanour and the intervention of peacemakers.
Then again, the concession of local self-government to the island, as
one of the Departments of France, revealed unexpected difficulties.
Bastia and Ajaccio struggled hard for the honour of being the official
capital. Paoli favoured the claims of Bastia, thereby annoying the
champions of Ajaccio, among whom the Buonapartes were prominent. The
schism was widened by the dictatorial tone of Paoli, a demeanour which
ill became the chief of a civic force. In fact, it soon became
apparent that Corsica was too small a sphere for natures so able and
masterful as those of Paoli and Napoleon Buonaparte.
The first meeting of these two men must have been a scene of deep
interest. It was on the fatal field of Ponte Nuovo. Napoleon doubtless
came there in the spirit of true hero-worship. But hero-worship which
can stand the strain of actual converse is rare indeed, especially
when the expectant devotee is endowed with keen insight and habits of
trenchant expression. One phrase has come down to us as a result of
the interview; but this phrase contains a volume of meaning. After
Paoli had explained the disposition of his troops against the French
at Ponte Nuovo, Buonaparte drily remarked to his brother Joseph, "The
result of these dispositions was what was inevitable." [13]
For the present, Buonaparte and other Corsican democrats were closely
concerned with the delinquencies of the Comte de Buttafuoco, the
deputy for the twelve nobles of the island to the National Assembly of
France. In a letter written on January 23rd, 1791, Buonaparte
overwhelms this man with a torrent of invective.--He it was who had
betrayed his country to France in 1768. Self-interest and that alone
prompted his action then, and always. French rule was a cloak for his
design of subjecting Corsica to "the absurd feudal _regime_" of the
barons. In his selfish royalism he had protested against the new
French constitution as being unsuited to Corsica, "though it was
exactly the same as that which brought us so much good and was wrested
from us only amidst streams of blood."--The letter is remarkable for
the southern intensity of its passion, and for a certain hardening of
tone towards Paoli. Buonaparte writes of Paoli as having been ever
"surrounded by enthusiasts, and as failing to understand in a man any
other passion than fanaticism for liberty and independence," and as
duped by Buttafuoco in 1768.[14] The phrase has an obvious reference
to the Paoli of 1791, surrounded by men who had shared his long exile
and regarded the English constitution as their model. Buonaparte, on
the contrary, is the accredited champion of French democracy, his
furious epistle being printed by the Jacobin Club of Ajaccio.
After firing off this tirade Buonaparte returned to his regiment at
Auxonne (February, 1791). It was high time; for his furlough, though
prolonged on the plea of ill-health, had expired in the preceding
October, and he was therefore liable to six months' imprisonment. But
the young officer rightly gauged the weakness of the moribund
monarchy; and the officers of his almost mutinous regiment were glad
to get him back on any terms. Everywhere in his journey through
Provence and Dauphine, Buonaparte saw the triumph of revolutionary
principles. He notes that the peasants are to a man for the
Revolution; so are the rank and file of the regiment. The officers
are aristocrats, along with three-fourths of those who belong to "good
society": so are all the women, for "Liberty is fairer than they, and
eclipses them." The Revolution was evidently gaining completer hold
over his mind and was somewhat blurring his insular sentiments, when a
rebuff from Paoli further weakened his ties to Corsica. Buonaparte had
dedicated to him his work on Corsica, and had sent him the manuscript
for his approval. After keeping it an unconscionable time, the old man
now coldly replied that he did not desire the honour of Buonaparte's
panegyric, though he thanked him heartily for it; that the
consciousness of having done his duty sufficed for him in his old age;
and, for the rest, history should not be written in youth. A further
request from Joseph Buonaparte for the return of the slighted
manuscript brought the answer that he, Paoli, had no time to search
his papers. After this, how could hero-worship subsist?
The four months spent by Buonaparte at Auxonne were, indeed, a time of
disappointment and hardship. Out of his slender funds he paid for the
education of his younger brother, Louis, who shared his otherwise
desolate lodging. A room almost bare but for a curtainless bed, a
table heaped with books and papers, and two chairs--such were the
surroundings of the lieutenant in the spring of 1791. He lived on
bread that he might rear his brother for the army, and that he might
buy books, overjoyed when his savings mounted to the price of some
coveted volume.
Perhaps the depressing conditions of his life at Auxonne may account
for the acrid tone of an essay which he there wrote in competition for
a prize offered by the Academy of Lyons on the subject--"What truths
and sentiments ought to be inculcated to men for their happiness." It
was unsuccessful; and modern readers will agree with the verdict of
one of the judges that it was incongruous in arrangement and of a bad
and ragged style. The thoughts are set forth in jerky, vehement
clauses; and, in place of the _sensibilite_ of some of his earlier
effusions, we feel here the icy breath of materialism. He regards an
ideal human society as a geometrical structure based on certain
well-defined postulates. All men ought to be able to satisfy certain
elementary needs of their nature; but all that is beyond is
questionable or harmful. The ideal legislator will curtail wealth so
as to restore the wealthy to their true nature--and so forth. Of any
generous outlook on the wider possibilities of human life there is
scarcely a trace. His essay is the apotheosis of social mediocrity. By
Procrustean methods he would have forced mankind back to the dull
levels of Sparta: the opalescent glow of Athenian life was beyond his
ken. But perhaps the most curious passage is that in which he preaches
against the sin and folly of ambition. He pictures Ambition as a
figure with pallid cheeks, wild eyes, hasty step, jerky movements and
sardonic smile, for whom crimes are a sport, while lies and calumnies
are merely arguments and figures of speech. Then, in words that recall
Juvenal's satire on Hannibal's career, he continues: "What is
Alexander doing when he rushes from Thebes into Persia and thence into
India? He is ever restless, he loses his wits, he believes himself
God. What is the end of Cromwell? He governs England. But is he not
tormented by all the daggers of the furies?"--The words ring false,
even for this period of Buonaparte's life; and one can readily
understand his keen wish in later years to burn every copy of these
youthful essays. But they have nearly all survived; and the diatribe
against ambition itself supplies the feather wherewith history may
wing her shaft at the towering flight of the imperial eagle.[15]
At midsummer he is transferred, as first lieutenant, to another
regiment which happened to be quartered at Valence; but his second
sojourn there is remarkable only for signs of increasing devotion to
the revolutionary cause. In the autumn of 1791 he is again in Corsica
on furlough, and remains there until the month of May following. He
finds the island rent by strifes which it would be tedious to
describe. Suffice it to say that the breach between Paoli and the
Buonapartes gradually widened owing to the dictator's suspicion of all
who favoured the French Revolution. The young officer certainly did
nothing to close the breach. Determined to secure his own election as
lieutenant-colonel in the new Corsican National Guard, he spent much
time in gaining recruits who would vote for him. He further assured
his success by having one of the commissioners, who was acting in
Paoli's interest, carried off from his friends and detained at the
Buonapartes' house in Ajaccio--his first _coup_[16] Stranger events
were to follow. At Easter, when the people were excited by the
persecuting edicts against the clergy and the closing of a monastery,
there was sharp fighting between the populace and Buonaparte's
companies of National Guards. Originating in a petty quarrel, which
was taken up by eager partisans, it embroiled the whole of the town
and gave the ardent young Jacobin the chance of overthrowing his
enemies. His plans even extended to the seizure of the citadel, where
he tried to seduce the French regiment from its duty to officers
whom he dubbed aristocrats. The attempt was a failure. The whole
truth can, perhaps, scarcely be discerned amidst the tissue of
lies which speedily enveloped the affair; but there can be no
doubt that on the second day of strife Buonaparte's National
Guards began the fight and subsequently menaced the regular troops in
the citadel. The conflict was finally stopped by commissioners sent by
Paoli; and the volunteers were sent away from the town.
Buonaparte's position now seemed desperate. His conduct exposed him to
the hatred of most of his fellow-citizens and to the rebukes of the
French War Department. In fact, he had doubly sinned: he had actually
exceeded his furlough by four months: he was technically guilty, first
of desertion, and secondly of treason. In ordinary times he would have
been shot, but the times were extraordinary, and he rightly judged
that when a Continental war was brewing, the most daring course was
also the most prudent, namely, to go to Paris. Thither Paoli allowed
him to proceed, doubtless on the principle of giving the young madcap
a rope wherewith to hang himself.
On his arrival at Marseilles, he hears that war has been declared by
France against Austria; for the republican Ministry, which Louis XVI.
had recently been compelled to accept, believed that war against an
absolute monarch would intensify revolutionary fervour in France and
hasten the advent of the Republic. Their surmises were correct.
Buonaparte, on his arrival at Paris, witnessed the closing scenes of
the reign of Louis XVI. On June 20th he saw the crowd burst into the
Tuileries, when for some hours it insulted the king and queen. Warmly
though he had espoused the principles of the Revolution, his patrician
blood boiled at the sight of these vulgar outrages, and he exclaimed:
"Why don't they sweep off four or five hundred of that _canaille_ with
cannon? The rest would then run away fast enough." The remark is
significant. If his brain approved the Jacobin creed, his instincts
were always with monarchy. His career was to reconcile his reason with
his instincts, and to impose on weary France the curious compromise of
a revolutionary Imperialism.
On August 10th, from the window of a shop near the Tuileries, he
looked down on the strange events which dealt the _coup de grace_ to
the dying monarchy. Again the chieftain within him sided against the
vulture rabble and with the well-meaning monarch who kept his troops
to a tame defensive. "If Louis XVI." (so wrote Buonaparte to his
brother Joseph) "had mounted his horse, the victory would have been
his--so I judge from the spirit which prevailed in the morning."
When all was over, when Louis sheathed his sword and went for
shelter to the National Assembly, when the fierce Marseillais were
slaughtering the Swiss Guards and bodyguards of the king, Buonaparte
dashed forward to save one of these unfortunates from a southern
sabre. "Southern comrade, let us save this poor wretch.--Are you
of the south?--Yes.--Well, we will save him."
Altogether, what a time of disillusionment this was to the young
officer. What depths of cruelty and obscenity it revealed in the
Parisian rabble. What folly to treat them with the Christian
forbearance shown by Louis XVI. How much more suitable was grapeshot
than the beatitudes. The lesson was stored up for future use at a
somewhat similar crisis on this very spot.
During the few days when victorious Paris left Louis with the sham
title of king, Buonaparte received his captain's commission, which was
signed for the king by Servan, the War Minister. Thus did the
revolutionary Government pass over his double breach of military
discipline at Ajaccio. The revolutionary motto, "La carriere ouverte
aux talents," was never more conspicuously illustrated than in the
facile condoning of his offences and in this rapid promotion. It was
indeed a time fraught with vast possibilities for all republican or
Jacobinical officers. Their monarchist colleagues were streaming over
the frontiers to join the Austrian and Prussian invaders. But National
Guards were enrolling by tens of thousands to drive out the Prussian
and Austrian invaders; and when Europe looked to see France fall for
ever, it saw with wonder her strength renewed as by enchantment. Later
on it learnt that that strength was the strength of Antaeus, of a
peasantry that stood firmly rooted in their native soil. Organization
and good leadership alone were needed to transform these ardent masses
into the most formidable soldiery; and the brilliant military
prospects now opened up certainly knit Buonaparte's feelings more
closely with the cause of France. Thus, on September 21st, when the
new National Assembly, known as the Convention, proclaimed the
Republic, we may well believe that sincere convictions no less than
astute calculations moved him to do and dare all things for the sake
of the new democratic commonwealth.[17]
For the present, however, a family duty urges him to return to
Corsica. He obtains permission to escort home his sister Elise, and
for the third time we find him on furlough in Corsica. This laxity of
military discipline at such a crisis is explicable only on the
supposition that the revolutionary chiefs knew of his devotion to
their cause and believed that his influence in the island would render
his informal services there more valuable than his regimental duties
in the army then invading Savoy. For the word Republic, which fired
his imagination, was an offence to Paoli and to most of the
islanders; and the phrase "Republic one and indivisible," ever on the
lips of the French, seemed to promise that the island must become a
petty replica of France--France that was now dominated by the authors
of the vile September massacres. The French party in the island was
therefore rapidly declining, and Paoli was preparing to sever the
union with France. For this he has been bitterly assailed as a
traitor. But, from Paoli's point of view, the acquisition of the
island by France was a piece of rank treachery; and his allegiance to
France was technically at an end when the king was forcibly dethroned
and the Republic was proclaimed. The use of the appellation "traitor"
in such a case is merely a piece of childish abuse. It can be
justified neither by reference to law, equity, nor to the popular
sentiment of the time. Facts were soon to show that the islanders were
bitterly opposed to the party then dominant in France. This hostility
of a clannish, religious, and conservative populace against the
bloodthirsty and atheistical innovators who then lorded it over France
was not diminished by the action of some six thousand French
volunteers, the off-scourings of the southern ports, who were landed
at Ajaccio for an expedition against Sardinia. In their zeal for
Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity, these _bonnets rouges_ came to
blows with the men of Ajaccio, three of whom they hanged. So fierce
was the resentment caused by this outrage that the plan of a joint
expedition for the liberation of Sardinia from monarchical tyranny had
to be modified; and Buonaparte, who was again in command of a
battalion of Corsican guards, proposed that the islanders alone should
proceed to attack the Madalena Isles.
These islands, situated between Corsica and Sardinia, have a double
interest to the historical student. One of them, Caprera, was destined
to shelter another Italian hero at the close of his career, the noble
self-denying Garibaldi: the chief island of the group was the
objective of Buonaparte's first essay in regular warfare. After some
delays the little force set sail under the command of Cesari-Colonna,
the nephew of Paoli. According to Buonaparte's own official statement
at the close of the affair, he had successfully landed his men near
the town to be assailed, and had thrown the Sardinian defences into
confusion, when a treacherous order from his chief bade him to cease
firing and return to the vessels. It has also been stated that this
retreat was the outcome of a secret understanding between Paoli and
Cesari-Colonna that the expedition should miscarry. This seems highly
probable. A mutiny on board the chief ship of the flotilla was
assigned by Cesari-Colonna as the cause of his order for a retreat;
but there are mutinies and mutinies, and this one may have been a
trick of the Paolists for thwarting Buonaparte's plan and leaving him
a prisoner. In any case, the young officer only saved himself and his
men by a hasty retreat to the boats, tumbling into the sea a mortar
and four cannon. Such was the ending to the great captain's first
military enterprise.
On his return to Ajaccio (March 3rd, 1793), Buonaparte found affairs
in utter confusion. News had recently arrived of the declaration of
war by the French Republic against England and Holland. Moreover,
Napoleon's young brother, Lucien, had secretly denounced Paoli to the
French authorities at Toulon; and three commissioners were now sent
from Paris charged with orders to disband the Corsican National
Guards, and to place the Corsican dictator under the orders of the
French general commanding the army of Italy.[18]
A game of truly Macchiavellian skill is now played. The French
commissioners, among whom the Corsican deputy, Salicetti, is by far
the most able, invite Paoli to repair to Toulon, there to concert
measures for the defence of Corsica. Paoli, seeing through the ruse
and discerning a guillotine, pleads that his age makes the journey
impossible; but with his friends he quietly prepares for resistance
and holds the citadel of Ajaccio. Meanwhile the commissioners make
friendly overtures to the old chief; in these Napoleon participates,
being ignorant of Lucien's action at Toulon. The sincerity of these
overtures may well be called in question, though Buonaparte still used
the language of affection to his former idol. However this may be, all
hope of compromise is dashed by the zealots who are in power at Paris.
On April 2nd they order the French commissioners to secure Paoli's
person, by whatever means, and bring him to the French capital. At
once a cry of indignation goes up from all parts of Corsica; and
Buonaparte draws up a declaration, vindicating Paoli's conduct and
begging the French Convention to revoke its decree.[19] Again, one
cannot but suspect that this declaration was intended mainly, if not
solely, for local consumption. In any case, it failed to cool the
resentment of the populace; and the partisans of France soon came to
blows with the Paolists.
Salicetti and Buonaparte now plan by various artifices to gain the
citadel of Ajaccio from the Paolists, but guile is three times foiled
by guile equally astute. Failing here, the young captain seeks to
communicate with the French commissioners at Bastia. He sets out
secretly, with a trusty shepherd as companion, to cross the island:
but at the village of Bocognano he is recognized and imprisoned by the
partisans of Paoli. Some of the villagers, however, retain their old
affection to the Buonaparte family, which here has an ancestral
estate, and secretly set him free. He returns to Ajaccio, only to find
an order for his arrest issued by the Corsican patriots. This time he
escapes by timely concealment in the grotto of a friend's garden; and
from the grounds of another family connection he finally glides away
in a vessel to a point of safety, whence he reaches Bastia.
Still, though a fugitive, he persists in believing that Ajaccio is
French at heart, and urges the sending of a liberating force. The
French commissioners agree, and the expedition sails--only to meet
with utter failure. Ajaccio, as one man, repels the partisans of
France; and, a gale of wind springing up, Buonaparte and his men
regain their boats with the utmost difficulty. At a place hard by, he
finds his mother, uncle, brothers and sisters. Madame Buonaparte, with
the extraordinary tenacity of will that characterized her famous son,
had wished to defend her house at Ajaccio against the hostile
populace; but, yielding to the urgent warnings of friends, finally
fled to the nearest place of safety, and left the house to the fury of
the populace, by whom it was nearly wrecked.
For a brief space Buonaparte clung to the hope of regaining Corsica
for the Republic, but now only by the aid of French troops. For the
islanders, stung by the demand of the French Convention that Paoli
should go to Paris, had rallied to the dictator's side; and the aged
chief made overtures to England for alliance. The partisans of France,
now menaced by England's naval power, were in an utterly untenable
position. Even the steel-like will of Buonaparte was bent. His career
in Corsica was at an end for the present; and with his kith and kin he
set sail for France.
The interest of the events above described lies, not in their
intrinsic importance, but in the signal proof which they afford of
Buonaparte's wondrous endowments of mind and will. In a losing cause
and in a petty sphere he displays all the qualities which, when the
omens were favourable, impelled him to the domination of a Continent.
He fights every inch of ground tenaciously; at each emergency he
evinces a truly Italian fertility of resource, gliding round obstacles
or striving to shatter them by sheer audacity, seeing through men,
cajoling them by his insinuations or overawing them by his mental
superiority, ever determined to try the fickle jade Fortune to the
very utmost, and retreating only before the inevitable. The sole
weakness discoverable in this nature, otherwise compact of strength,
is an excess of will-power over all the faculties that make for
prudence. His vivid imagination only serves to fire him with the full
assurance that he must prevail over all obstacles.
And yet, if he had now stopped to weigh well the lessons of the past,
hitherto fertile only in failures and contradictions, he must have
seen the powerlessness of his own will when in conflict with the
forces of the age; for he had now severed his connection with the
Corsican patriots, of whose cause he had only two years before been
the most passionate champion. It is evident that the schism which
finally separated Buonaparte and Paoli originated in their divergence
of views regarding the French Revolution. Paoli accepted revolutionary
principles only in so far as they promised to base freedom on a due
balance of class interests. He was a follower of Montesquieu. He
longed to see in Corsica a constitution similar to that of England or
to that of 1791 in France. That hope vanished alike for France and
Corsica after the fall of the monarchy; and towards the Jacobinical
Republic, which banished orthodox priests and guillotined the amiable
Louis, Paoli thenceforth felt naught but loathing: "We have been the
enemies of kings," he said to Joseph Buonaparte; "let us never be
their executioners." Thenceforth he drifted inevitably into alliance
with England.
Buonaparte, on the other hand, was a follower of Rousseau, whose ideas
leaped to power at the downfall of the monarchy. Despite the excesses
which he ever deplored, this second Revolution appeared to him to be
the dawn of a new and intelligent age. The clear-cut definitions of
the new political creed dovetailed in with his own rigid views of
life. Mankind was to be saved by law, society being levelled down and
levelled up until the ideals of Lycurgus were attained. Consequently
he regarded the Republic as a mighty agency for the social
regeneration not only of France, but of all peoples. His insular
sentiments were gradually merged in these vaster schemes.
Self-interest and the differentiating effects of party strifes
undoubtedly assisted the mental transformation; but it is clear that
the study of the "Social Contract" was the touchstone of his early
intellectual growth. He had gone to Rousseau's work to deepen his
Corsican patriotism: he there imbibed doctrines which drew him
irresistibly into the vortex of the French Revolution, and of its wars
of propaganda and conquest.
* * * * *
CHAPTER III
TOULON
When Buonaparte left Corsica for the coast of Provence, his career had
been remarkable only for the strange contrast between the brilliance
of his gifts and the utter failure of all his enterprises. His French
partisanship had, as it seemed, been the ruin of his own and his
family's fortunes. At the age of twenty-four he was known only as the
unlucky leader of forlorn hopes and an outcast from the island around
which his fondest longings had been entwined. His land-fall on the
French coast seemed no more promising; for at that time Provence was
on the verge of revolt against the revolutionary Government. Even
towns like Marseilles and Toulon, which a year earlier had been noted
for their republican fervour, were now disgusted with the course of
events at Paris. In the third climax of revolutionary fury, that of
June 2nd, 1793, the more enlightened of the two republican factions,
the Girondins, had been overthrown by their opponents, the men of the
Mountain, who, aided by the Parisian rabble, seized on power. Most of
the Departments of France resented this violence and took up arms. But
the men of the Mountain acted with extraordinary energy: they
proclaimed the Girondins to be in league with the invaders, and
blasted their opponents with the charge of conspiring to divide France
into federal republics. The Committee of Public Safety, now installed
in power at Paris, decreed a _levee en masse_ of able-bodied patriots
to defend the sacred soil of the Republic, and the "organizer of
victory," Carnot, soon drilled into a terrible efficiency the hosts
that sprang from the soil. On their side the Girondins had no
organization whatever, and were embarrassed by the adhesion of very
many royalists. Consequently their wavering groups speedily gave way
before the impact of the new, solid, central power.
A movement so wanting in definiteness as that of the Girondins was
destined to slide into absolute opposition to the men of the Mountain:
it was doomed to become royalist. Certainly it did not command the
adhesion of Napoleon. His inclinations are seen in his pamphlet, "Le
Souper de Beaucaire," which he published in August, 1793. He wrote it
in the intervals of some regimental work which had come to hand: and
his passage through the little town of Beaucaire seems to have
suggested the scenic setting of this little dialogue. It purports to
record a discussion between an officer--Buonaparte himself--two
merchants of Marseilles, and citizens of Nimes and Montpellier. It
urges the need of united action under the lead of the Jacobins. The
officer reminds the Marseillais of the great services which their city
has rendered to the cause of liberty. Let Marseilles never disgrace
herself by calling in the Spanish fleet as a protection against
Frenchmen. Let her remember that this civil strife was part of a fight
to the death between French patriots and the despots of Europe. That
was, indeed, the practical point at issue; the stern logic of facts
ranged on the Jacobin side all clear-sighted men who were determined
that the Revolution should not be stamped out by the foreign invaders.
On the ground of mere expediency, men must rally to the cause of the
Jacobinical Republic. Every crime might be condoned, provided that the
men now in power at Paris saved the country. Better their tyranny than
the vengeance of the emigrant _noblesse_. Such was the instinct of
most Frenchmen, and it saved France.
As an _expose_ of keen policy and all-dominating opportunism, "Le
Souper de Beaucaire" is admirable. In a national crisis anything that
saves the State is justifiable--that is its argument. The men of the
Mountain are abler and stronger than the Girondins: therefore the
Marseillais are foolish not to bow to the men of the Mountain. The
author feels no sympathy with the generous young Girondins, who, under
the inspiration of Madame Roland, sought to establish a republic of
the virtues even while they converted monarchical Europe by the sword.
Few men can now peruse with undimmed eyes the tragic story of their
fall. But the scenes of 1793 had transformed the Corsican youth into a
dry-eyed opportunist who rejects the Girondins as he would have thrown
aside a defective tool: nay, he blames them as "guilty of the greatest
of crimes."[20]
Nevertheless Buonaparte was alive to the miseries of the situation. He
was weary of civil strifes, in which it seemed that no glory could be
won. He must hew his way to fortune, if only in order to support his
family, which was now drifting about from village to village of
Provence and subsisting on the slender sums doled out by the Republic
to Corsican exiles.
He therefore applied, though without success, for a regimental
exchange to the army of the Rhine. But while toiling through his
administrative drudgery in Provence, his duties brought him near to
Toulon, where the Republic was face to face with triumphant royalism.
The hour had struck: the man now appeared.
In July, 1793, Toulon joined other towns of the south in declaring
against Jacobin tyranny; and the royalists of the town, despairing of
making headway against the troops of the Convention, admitted English
and Spanish squadrons to the harbour to hold the town for Louis XVII,
(August 28th). This event shot an electric thrill through France. It
was the climax of a long series of disasters. Lyons had hoisted the
white flag of the Bourbons, and was making a desperate defence against
the forces of the Convention: the royalist peasants of La Vendee had
several times scattered the National Guards in utter rout: the
Spaniards were crossing the Eastern Pyrenees: the Piedmontese were
before the gates of Grenoble; and in the north and on the Rhine a
doubtful contest was raging.
Such was the condition of France when Buonaparte drew near to the
republican forces encamped near Ollioules, to the north-west of
Toulon. He found them in disorder: their commander, Carteaux, had left
the easel to learn the art of war, and was ignorant of the range of
his few cannon; Dommartin, their artillery commander, had been
disabled by a wound; and the Commissioners of the Convention, who were
charged to put new vigour into the operations, were at their wits' end
for lack of men and munitions. One of them was Salicetti, who hailed
his coming as a godsend, and urged him to take Dommartin's place.
Thus, on September 16th, the thin, sallow, threadbare figure took
command of the artillery.
The republicans menaced the town on two sides. Carteaux with some
8,000 men held the hills between Toulon and Ollioules, while a corps
3,000 strong, under Lapoype, observed the fortress on the side of La
Valette. Badly led though they were, they wrested the valley north of
Mount Faron from the allied outposts, and nearly completed the
besiegers' lines (September 18th). In fact, the garrison, which
comprised only 2,000 British troops, 4,000 Spaniards, 1,500 French
royalists, together with some Neapolitans and Piedmontese, was
insufficient to defend the many positions around the city on which its
safety depended. Indeed, General Grey wrote to Pitt that 50,000 men
were needed to garrison the place; but, as that was double the
strength of the British regular army then, the English Minister could
only hold out hopes of the arrival of an Austrian corps and a few
hundred British.[21]
Before Buonaparte's arrival the Jacobins had no artillery: true, they
had a few field-pieces, four heavier guns and two mortars, which a
sergeant helplessly surveyed; but they had no munitions, no tools,
above all no method and no discipline. Here then was the opportunity
for which he had been pining. At once he assumes the tone of a master.
"You mind your business, and let me look after mine," he exclaims to
officious infantrymen; "it is artillery that takes fortresses:
infantry gives its help." The drudgery of the last weeks now yields
fruitful results: his methodical mind, brooding over the chaos before
him, flashes back to this or that detail in some coast fort or
magazine: his energy hustles on the leisurely Provencaux, and in a few
days he has a respectable park of artillery--fourteen cannon, four
mortars, and the necessary stores. In a brief space the Commissioners
show their approval of his services by promoting him to the rank of
_chef de bataillon_.
By this time the tide was beginning to turn in favour of the Republic.
On October 9th Lyons fell before the Jacobins. The news lends a new
zest to the Jacobins, whose left wing had (October 1st) been severely
handled by the allies on Mount Faron. Above all, Buonaparte's
artillery can be still further strengthened. "I have despatched," he
wrote to the Minister of War, "an intelligent officer to Lyons,
Briancon, and Grenoble, to procure what might be useful to us. I have
requested the Army of Italy to furnish us with the cannon now useless
for the defence of Antibes and Monaco.... I have established at
Ollioules an arsenal with 80 workers. I have requisitioned horses from
Nice right to Valence and Montpellier.... I am having 5,000 gabions
made every day at Marseilles." But he was more than a mere organizer.
He was ever with his men, animating them by his own ardour: "I always
found him at his post," wrote Doppet, who now succeeded Carteaux;
"when he needed rest he lay on the ground wrapped in his cloak: he
never left the batteries." There, amidst the autumn rains, he
contracted the febrile symptoms which for several years deepened the
pallor of his cheeks and furrowed the rings under his eyes, giving him
that uncanny, almost spectral, look which struck a chill to all who
saw him first and knew not the fiery energy that burnt within. There,
too, his zeal, his unfailing resource, his bulldog bravery, and that
indefinable quality which separates genius from talent speedily
conquered the hearts of the French soldiery. One example of this
magnetic power must here suffice. He had ordered a battery to be made
so near to Fort Mulgrave that Salicetti described it as within a
pistol-shot of the English guns. Could it be worked, its effect would
be decisive. But who could work it? The first day saw all its gunners
killed or wounded, and even the reckless Jacobins flinched from facing
the iron hail. "Call it _the battery of the fearless_," ordered the
young captain. The generous French nature was touched at its tenderest
point, personal and national honour, and the battery thereafter never
lacked its full complement of gunners, living and dead.
The position at Fort Mulgrave, or the Little Gibraltar, was, indeed,
all important; for if the republicans seized that commanding position,
the allied squadrons could be overpowered, or at least compelled to
sail away; and with their departure Toulon must fall.
Here we come on to ground that has been fiercely fought over in wordy
war. Did Bonaparte originate the plan of attack? Or did he throw his
weight and influence into a scheme that others beside him had
designed? Or did he merely carry out orders as a subordinate?
According to the Commissioner Barras, the last was the case. But
Barras was with the eastern wing of the besiegers, that is, some miles
away from the side of La Seyne and L'Eguillette, where Buonaparte
fought. Besides, Barras' "Memoires" are so untruthful where Buonaparte
is concerned, as to be unworthy of serious attention, at least on
these points.[22] The historian M. Jung likewise relegates Buonaparte
to a quite subordinate position.[23] But his narrative omits some of
the official documents which show that Buonaparte played a very
important part in the siege. Other writers claim that Buonaparte's
influence on the whole conduct of operations was paramount and
decisive. Thus, M. Duruy quotes the letter of the Commissioners to the
Convention: "We shall take care not to lay siege to Toulon by ordinary
means, when we have a surer means to reduce it, that is, by burning
the enemy's fleet.... We are only waiting for the siege-guns before
taking up a position whence we may reach the ships with red-hot balls;
and we shall see if we are not masters of Toulon." But this very
letter disproves the Buonapartist claim. It was written on September
13th. Thus, _three days before Buonaparte's arrival_, the
Commissioners had fully decided on attacking the Little Gibraltar; and
the claim that Buonaparte originated the plan can only be sustained by
antedating his arrival at Toulon.[24] In fact, every experienced
officer among besiegers and besieged saw the weak point of the
defence: early in September Hood and Mulgrave began the fortification
of the heights behind L'Eguillette. In face of these facts, the
assertion that Buonaparte was the first to design the movements which
secured the surrender of Toulon must be relegated to the domain of
hero-worship. (See note on p. 56.)
[Illustration: THE SIEGE OF TOULON, 1793, from "L'Histoire de France
depuis la Revolution de 1789," by Emmanuel Toulougeon. Paris, An. XII.
[1803]. A. Fort Mulgrave. A'. Promontory of L'Eguillette. 1 and 2.
Batteries. 3. Battery "Hommes sans Peur." The black and shaded
rectangles are the Republican and Allied positions respectively.]
Carteaux having been superseded by Doppet, more energy was thrown
into the operations. Yet for him Buonaparte had scarcely more respect.
On November 15th an affair of outposts near Fort Mulgrave showed his
weakness. The soldiers on both sides eagerly took up the affray; line
after line of the French rushed up towards that frowning redoubt:
O'Hara, the leader of the allied troops, encouraged the British in a
sortie that drove back the blue-coats; whereupon Buonaparte headed the
rallying rush to the gorge of the redoubt, when Doppet sounded the
retreat. Half blinded by rage and by the blood trickling from a slight
wound in his forehead, the young Corsican rushed back to Doppet and
abused him in the language of the camp: "Our blow at Toulon has
missed, because a---- has beaten the retreat." The soldiery applauded
this revolutionary licence, and bespattered their chief with similar
terms.
A few days later the tall soldierly Dugommier took the command:
reinforcements began to pour in, finally raising the strength of the
besiegers to 37,000 men. Above all, the new commander gave Buonaparte
_carte blanche_ for the direction of the artillery. New batteries
accordingly began to ring the Little Gibraltar on the landward side;
O'Hara, while gallantly heading a sortie, fell into the republicans'
hands, and the defenders began to lose heart. The worst disappointment
was the refusal of the Austrian Court to fulfil its promise, solemnly
given in September, to send 5,000 regular troops for the defence of
Toulon.
The final conflict took place on the night of December 16-17, when
torrents of rain, a raging wind, and flashes of lightning added new
horrors to the strife. Scarcely had the assailants left the sheltering
walls of La Seyne, than Buonaparte's horse fell under him, shot dead:
whole companies went astray in the darkness: yet the first column of
2,000 men led by Victor rush at the palisades of Fort Mulgrave, tear
them down, and sweep into the redoubt, only to fall in heaps before a
second line of defence: supported by the second column, they rally,
only to yield once more before the murderous fire. In despair,
Dugommier hurries on the column of reserve, with which Buonaparte
awaits the crisis of the night. Led by the gallant young Muiron, the
reserve sweeps into the gorge of death; Muiron, Buonaparte, and
Dugommier hack their way through the same embrasure: their men swarm
in on the overmatched red-coats and Spaniards, cut them down at their
guns, and the redoubt is won.
This event was decisive. The Neapolitans, who were charged to hold the
neighbouring forts, flung themselves into the sea; and the ships
themselves began to weigh anchor; for Buonaparte's guns soon poured
their shot on the fleet and into the city itself. But even in that
desperate strait the allies turned fiercely to bay. On the evening of
December 17th a young officer, who was destined once more to thwart
Buonaparte's designs, led a small body of picked men into the dockyard
to snatch from the rescuing clutch of the Jacobins the French warships
that could not be carried off. Then was seen a weird sight. The galley
slaves, now freed from their chains and clustering in angry groups,
menaced the intruders. Yet the British seamen spread the combustibles
and let loose the demon of destruction. Forthwith the flames shot up
the masts, and licked up the stores of hemp, tar, and timber: and the
explosion of two powder-ships by the Spaniards shook the earth for
many miles around. Napoleon ever retained a vivid mental picture of
the scene, which amid the hated calm of St. Helena he thus described:
"The whirlwind of flames and smoke from the arsenal resembled the
eruption of a volcano, and the thirteen vessels blazing in the roads
were like so many displays of fireworks: the masts and forms of the
vessels were distinctly traced out by the flames, which lasted many
hours and formed an unparalleled spectacle." [25] The sight struck
horror to the hearts of the royalists of Toulon, who saw in it the
signal of desertion by the allies; and through the lurid night crowds
of panic-stricken wretches thronged the quays crying aloud to be taken
away from the doomed city. The glare of the flames, the crash of the
enemy's bombs, the explosion of the two powder-ships, frenzied many a
soul; and scores of those who could find no place in the boats flung
themselves into the sea rather than face the pikes and guillotines of
the Jacobins. Their fears were only too well founded; for a fortnight
later Freron, the Commissioner of the Convention, boasted that two
hundred royalists perished daily.
It remains briefly to consider a question of special interest to
English readers. Did the Pitt Ministry intend to betray the confidence
of the French royalists and keep Toulon for England? The charge has
been brought by certain French writers that the British, after
entering Toulon with promise that they would hold it in pledge for
Louis XVII., nevertheless lorded it over the other allies and revealed
their intention of keeping that stronghold. These writers aver that
Hood, after entering Toulon as an equal with the Spanish admiral,
Langara, laid claim to entire command of the land forces; that English
commissioners were sent for the administration of the town; and that
the English Government refused to allow the coming of the Comte de
Provence, who, as the elder of the two surviving brothers of Louis
XVI., was entitled to act on behalf of Louis XVII.[26] The facts in
the main are correct, but the interpretation put upon them may well be
questioned. Hood certainly acted with much arrogance towards the
Spaniards. But when the more courteous O'Hara arrived to take command
of the British, Neapolitan, and Sardinian troop, the new commander
agreed to lay aside the question of supreme command. It was not till
November 30th that the British Government sent off any despatch on the
question, which meanwhile had been settled at Toulon by the exercise
of that tact in which Hood seems signally to have been lacking. The
whole question was personal, not national.
Still less was the conduct of the British Government towards the Comte
de Provence a proof of its design to keep Toulon. The records of our
Foreign Office show that, before the occupation of that stronghold for
Louis XVII., we had declined to acknowledge the claims of his uncle to
the Regency. He and his brother, the Comte d'Artois, were notoriously
unpopular in France, except with royalists of the old school; and
their presence at Toulon would certainly have raised awkward questions
about the future government. The conduct of Spain had hitherto been
similar.[27] But after the occupation of Toulon, the Court of Madrid
judged the presence of the Comte de Provence in that fortress to be
advisable; whereas the Pitt Ministry adhered to its former belief,
insisted on the difficulty of conducting the defence if the Prince
were present as Regent, instructed Mr. Drake, our Minister at Genoa,
to use every argument to deter him from proceeding to Toulon, and
privately ordered our officers there, in the last resort, to refuse
him permission to land. The instructions of October 18th to the royal
commissioners at Toulon show that George III. and his Ministers
believed they would be compromising the royalist cause by recognizing
a regency; and certainly any effort by the allies to prejudice the
future settlement would at once have shattered any hopes of a general
rally to the royalist side.[28]
Besides, if England meant to keep Toulon, why did she send only 2,200
soldiers? Why did she admit, not only 6,900 Spaniards, but also 4,900
Neapolitans and 1,600 Piedmontese? Why did she accept the armed help
of 1,600 French royalists? Why did she urgently plead with Austria to
send 5,000 white-coats from Milan? Why, finally, is there no word in
the British official despatches as to the eventual keeping of Toulon;
while there are several references to _indemnities_ which George III.
would require for the expenses of the war--such as Corsica or some of
the French West Indies? Those despatches show conclusively that
England did not wish to keep a fortress that required a permanent
garrison equal to half of the British army on its peace footing; but
that she did regard it as a good base of operations for the overthrow
of the Jacobin rule and the restoration of monarchy; whereupon her
services must be requited with some suitable indemnity, either one of
the French West Indies or Corsica. These plans were shattered by
Buonaparte's skill and the valour of Dugommier's soldiery; but no
record has yet leaped to light to convict the Pitt Ministry of the
perfidy which Buonaparte, in common with nearly all Frenchmen, charged
to their account.
* * * * *
CHAPTER IV
VENDEMIAIRE
The next period of Buonaparte's life presents few features of
interest. He was called upon to supervise the guns and stores for the
Army of Italy, and also to inspect the fortifications and artillery of
the coast. At Marseilles his zeal outstripped his discretion. He
ordered the reconstruction of the fortress which had been destroyed
during the Revolution; but when the townsfolk heard the news, they
protested so vehemently that the work was stopped and an order was
issued for Buonaparte's arrest. From this difficulty the friendship of
the younger Robespierre and of Salicetti, the Commissioners of the
Convention, availed to rescue him; but the incident proves that his
services at Toulon were not so brilliant as to have raised him above
the general level of meritorious officers, who were applauded while
they prospered, but might be sent to the guillotine for any serious
offence.
In February, 1794, he was appointed at Nice general in command of the
artillery of the Army of Italy, which drove the Sardinian troops from
several positions between Ventimiglia and Oneglia. Thence, swinging
round by passes of the Maritime Alps, they outflanked the positions of
the Austro-Sardinian forces at the Col di Tenda, which had defied all
attack in front. Buonaparte's share in this turning operation seems to
have been restricted to the effective handling of artillery, and the
chief credit here rested with Massena, who won the first of his
laurels in the country of his birth. He was of humble parentage;
yet his erect bearing, proud animated glance, curt penetrating speech,
and keen repartees, proclaimed a nature at once active and wary, an
intellect both calculating and confident. Such was the man who was to
immortalize his name in many a contest, until his glory paled before
the greater genius of Wellington.
Much of the credit of organizing this previously unsuccessful army
belongs to the younger Robespierre, who, as Commissioner of the
Convention, infused his energy into all departments of the service.
For some months his relations to Buonaparte were those of intimacy;
but whether they extended to complete sympathy on political matters
may be doubted. The younger Robespierre held the revolutionary creed
with sufficient ardour, though one of his letters dated from Oneglia
suggests that the fame of the Terror was hurtful to the prospects of
the campaign. It states that the whole of the neighbouring inhabitants
had fled before the French soldiers, in the belief that they were
destroyers of religion and eaters of babies: this was inconvenient, as
it prevented the supply of provisions and the success of forced loans.
The letter suggests that he was a man of action rather than of ideas,
and probably it was this practical quality which bound Buonaparte in
friendship to him. Yet it is difficult to fathom Buonaparte's ideas
about the revolutionary despotism which was then deluging Paris with
blood. Outwardly he appeared to sympathize with it. Such at least is
the testimony of Marie Robespierre, with whom Buonaparte's sisters
were then intimate. "Buonaparte," she said, "was a republican: I will
even say that he took the side of the Mountain: at least, that was the
impression left on my mind by his opinions when I was at Nice.... His
admiration for my elder brother, his friendship for my younger
brother, and perhaps also the interest inspired by my misfortunes,
gained for me, under the Consulate, a pension of 3,600 francs."[29]
Equally noteworthy is the later declaration of Napoleon that
Robespierre was the "scapegoat of the Revolution." [30] It appears
probable, then, that he shared the Jacobinical belief that the Terror
was a necessary though painful stage in the purification of the body
politic. His admiration of the rigour of Lycurgus, and his dislike of
all superfluous luxury, alike favour this supposition; and as he
always had the courage of his convictions, it is impossible to
conceive him clinging to the skirts of the terrorists merely from a
mean hope of prospective favours. That is the alternative explanation
of his intimacy with young Robespierre. Some of his injudicious
admirers, in trying to disprove his complicity with the terrorists,
impale themselves on this horn of the dilemma. In seeking to clear
him from the charge of Terrorism, they stain him with the charge of
truckling to the terrorists. They degrade him from the level of St.
Just to that of Barrere.
A sentence in one of young Robespierre's letters shows that he never
felt completely sure about the young officer. After enumerating to his
brother Buonaparte's merits, he adds: "He is a Corsican, and offers
only the guarantee of a man of that nation who has resisted the
caresses of Paoli and whose property has been ravaged by that
traitor." Evidently, then, Robespierre regarded Buonaparte with some
suspicion as an insular Proteus, lacking those sureties, mental and
pecuniary, which reduced a man to dog-like fidelity.
Yet, however warily Buonaparte picked his steps along the slopes of
the revolutionary volcano, he was destined to feel the scorch of the
central fires. He had recently been intrusted with a mission to the
Genoese Republic, which was in a most difficult position. It was
subject to pressure from three sides; from English men-of-war that had
swooped down on a French frigate, the "Modeste," in Genoese waters;
and from actual invasion by the French on the west and by the
Austrians on the north. Despite the great difficulties of his task, the
young envoy bent the distracted Doge and Senate to his will. He
might, therefore, have expected gratitude from his adopted country;
but shortly after he returned to Nice he was placed under arrest, and
was imprisoned in a fort near Antibes.
The causes of this swift reverse of fortune were curiously complex.
The Robespierres had in the meantime been guillotined at Paris (July
28th, or Thermidor 10th); and this "Thermidorian" reaction alone would
have sufficed to endanger Buonaparte's head. But his position was
further imperilled by his recent strategic suggestions, which had
served to reduce to a secondary _role_ the French Army of the Alps.
The operations of that force had of late been strangely thwarted; and
its leaders, searching for the paralyzing influence, discovered it in
the advice of Buonaparte. Their suspicions against him were formulated
in a secret letter to the Committee of Public Safety, which stated
that the Army of the Alps had been kept inactive by the intrigues of
the younger Robespierre and of Ricord. Many a head had fallen for
reasons less serious than these. But Buonaparte had one infallible
safeguard: he could not well be spared. After a careful examination of
his papers, the Commissioners, Salicetti and Albitte, provisionally
restored him to liberty, but not, for some weeks, to his rank of
general (August 20th, 1794). The chief reason assigned for his
liberation was the service which his knowledge and talents might
render to the Republic, a reference to the knowledge of the Italian
coast-line which he had gained during the mission to Genoa.
For a space his daring spirit was doomed to chafe in comparative
inactivity, in supervising the coast artillery. But his faults were
forgotten in the need which was soon felt for his warlike prowess. An
expedition was prepared to free Corsica from "the tyranny of the
English"; and in this Buonaparte sailed, as general commanding the
artillery. With him were two friends, Junot and Marmont, who had clung
to him through his recent troubles; the former was to be helped to
wealth and fame by Buonaparte's friendship, the latter by his own
brilliant gifts.[31] In this expedition their talent was of no avail.
The French were worsted in an engagement with the British fleet, and
fell back in confusion to the coast of France. Once again Buonaparte's
Corsican enterprises were frustrated by the ubiquitous lords of the
sea: against them he now stored up a double portion of hate, for in
the meantime his inspectorship of coast artillery had been given to
his fellow-countryman, Casabianca.
The fortunes of these Corsican exiles drifted hither and thither in
many perplexing currents, as Buonaparte was once more to discover. It
was a prevalent complaint that there were too many of them seeking
employment in the army of the south; and a note respecting the career
of the young officer made by General Scherer, who now commanded the
French Army of Italy, shows that Buonaparte had aroused at least as
much suspicion as admiration. It runs: "This officer is general of
artillery, and in this arm has sound knowledge, but has somewhat too
much ambition and intriguing habits for his advancement." All things
considered, it was deemed advisable to transfer him to the army which
was engaged in crushing the Vendean revolt, a service which he loathed
and was determined, if possible, to evade. Accompanied by his faithful
friends, Marmont and Junot, as also by his young brother Louis, he set
out for Paris (May, 1795).
In reality Fortune never favoured him more than when she removed him
from the coteries of intriguing Corsicans on the coast of Provence and
brought him to the centre of all influence. An able schemer at Paris
could decide the fate of parties and governments. At the frontiers men
could only accept the decrees of the omnipotent capital. Moreover, the
Revolution, after passing through the molten stage, was now beginning
to solidify, an important opportunity for the political craftsman. The
spring of the year 1795 witnessed a strange blending of the new
fanaticism with the old customs. Society, dammed up for a time by the
Spartan rigour of Robespierre, was now flowing back into its wonted
channels. Gay equipages were seen in the streets; theatres, prosperous
even during the Terror, were now filled to overflowing; gambling,
whether in money or in stocks and _assignats_, was now permeating all
grades of society; and men who had grown rich by amassing the
confiscated State lands now vied with bankers, stock-jobbers, and
forestallers of grain in vulgar ostentation. As for the poor, they
were meeting their match in the gilded youth of Paris, who with
clubbed sticks asserted the right of the rich to be merry. If the
_sansculottes_ attempted to restore the days of the Terror, the
National Guards of Paris were ready to sweep them back into the slums.
Such was their fate on May 20th, shortly after Buonaparte's arrival at
Paris. Any dreams which he may have harboured of restoring the
Jacobins to power were dissipated, for Paris now plunged into the
gaieties of the _ancien regime_. The Terror was remembered only as a
horrible nightmare, which served to add zest to the pleasures of the
present. In some circles no one was received who had not lost a
relative by the guillotine. With a ghastly merriment characteristic of
the time, "victim balls" were given, to which those alone were
admitted who could produce the death warrant of some family
connection: these secured the pleasure of dancing in costumes which
recalled those of the scaffold, and of beckoning ever and anon to
their partners with nods that simulated the fall of the severed head.
It was for this, then, that the amiable Louis, the majestic Marie
Antoinette, the Minerva-like Madame Roland, the Girondins vowed to the
utter quest of liberty, the tyrant-quelling Danton, the incorruptible
Robespierre himself, had felt the fatal axe; in order that the mimicry
of their death agonies might tickle jaded appetites, and help to weave
anew the old Circean spells. So it seemed to the few who cared to
think of the frightful sacrifices of the past, and to measure them
against the seemingly hopeless degradation of the present.
Some such thoughts seem to have flitted across the mind of Buonaparte
in those months of forced inactivity. It was a time of disillusionment.
Rarely do we find thenceforth in his correspondence any gleams of
faith respecting the higher possibilities of the human race. The
golden visions of youth now vanish along with the _bonnet rouge_ and
the jargon of the Terror. His bent had ever been for the material and
practical: and now that faith in the Jacobinical creed was vanishing,
it was more than ever desirable to grapple that errant balloon to
substantial facts. Evidently, the Revolution must now trust to the
clinging of the peasant proprietors to the recently confiscated lands
of the Church and of the emigrant nobles. If all else was vain and
transitory, here surely was a solid basis of material interests to
which the best part of the manhood of France would tenaciously adhere,
defying alike the plots of reactionaries and the forces of monarchical
Europe. Of these interests Buonaparte was to be the determined
guarantor. Amidst much that was visionary in his later policy he never
wavered in his championship of the new peasant proprietors. He was
ever the peasants' General, the peasants' Consul, the peasants'
Emperor.
The transition of the Revolution to an ordinary form of polity was
also being furthered by its unparalleled series of military triumphs.
When Buonaparte's name was as yet unknown, except in Corsica and
Provence, France practically gained her "natural boundaries," the
Rhine and the Alps. In the campaigns of 1793-4, the soldiers of
Pichegru, Kleber, Hoche, and Moreau overran the whole of the Low
Countries and chased the Germans beyond the Rhine; the Piedmontese
were thrust behind the Alps; the Spaniards behind the Pyrenees. In
quick succession State after State sued for peace: Tuscany in
February, 1795; Prussia in April; Hanover, Westphalia, and Saxony in
May; Spain and Hesse-Cassel in July; Switzerland and Denmark in
August.
Such was the state of France when Buonaparte came to seek his
fortunes in the Sphinx-like capital. His artillery command had been
commuted to a corresponding rank in the infantry--a step that deeply
incensed him. He attributed it to malevolent intriguers; but all his
efforts to obtain redress were in vain. Lacking money and patronage,
known only as an able officer and facile intriguer of the bankrupt
Jacobinical party, he might well have despaired. He was now almost
alone. Marmont had gone off to the Army of the Rhine; but Junot was
still with him, allured perhaps by Madame Permon's daughter, whom he
subsequently married. At the house of this amiable hostess, an old
friend of his family, Buonaparte found occasional relief from the
gloom of his existence. The future Madame Junot has described him as
at this time untidy, unkempt, sickly, remarkable for his extreme
thinness and the almost yellow tint of his visage, which was, however,
lit up by "two eyes sparkling with keenness and will-power"--evidently
a Corsican falcon, pining for action, and fretting its soaring spirit
in that vapid town life. Action Buonaparte might have had, but only of
a kind that he loathed. He might have commanded the troops destined to
crush the brave royalist peasants of La Vendee. But, whether from
scorn of such vulture-work, or from an instinct that a nobler quarry
might be started at Paris, he refused to proceed to the Army of the
West, and on the plea of ill-health remained in the capital. There he
spent his time deeply pondering on politics and strategy. He designed
a history of the last two years, and drafted a plan of campaign for
the Army of Italy, which, later on, was to bear him to fortune.
Probably the geographical insight which it displayed may have led to
his appointment (August 20th, 1795) to the topographical bureau of the
Committee of Public Safety. His first thought on hearing of this
important advancement was that it opened up an opportunity for
proceeding to Turkey to organize the artillery of the Sultan; and in a
few days he sent in a formal request to that effect--the first
tangible proof of that yearning after the Orient which haunted him all
through life. But, while straining his gaze eastwards, he experienced
a sharp rebuff. The Committee was on the point of granting his
request, when an examination of his recent conduct proved him guilty
of a breach of discipline in not proceeding to his Vendean command. On
the very day when one department of the Committee empowered him to
proceed to Constantinople, the Central Committee erased his name from
the list of general officers (September 15th).
This time the blow seemed fatal. But Fortune appeared to compass his
falls only in order that he might the more brilliantly tower aloft.
Within three weeks he was hailed as the saviour of the new republican
constitution. The cause of this almost magical change in his prospects
is to be sought in the political unrest of France, to which we must
now briefly advert.
All through this summer of 1795 there were conflicts between Jacobins
and royalists. In the south the latter party had signally avenged
itself for the agonies of the preceding years, and the ardour of the
French temperament seemed about to drive that hapless people from the
"Red Terror" to a veritable "White Terror," when two disasters checked
the course of the reaction. An attempt of a large force of emigrant
French nobles, backed up by British money and ships, to rouse Brittany
against the Convention was utterly crushed by the able young Hoche;
and nearly seven hundred prisoners were afterwards shot down in cold
blood (July). Shortly before this blow, the little prince styled Louis
XVII. succumbed to the brutal treatment of his gaolers at the Temple
in Paris; and the hopes of the royalists now rested on the unpopular
Comte de Provence. Nevertheless, the political outlook in the summer
of 1795 was not reassuring to the republicans; and the Commission of
Eleven, empowered by the Convention to draft new organic laws, drew up
an instrument of government, which, though republican in form, seemed
to offer all the stability of the most firmly rooted oligarchy. Some
such compromise was perhaps necessary; for the Commonwealth was
confronted by three dangers, anarchy resulting from the pressure of
the mob, an excessive centralization of power in the hands of two
committees, and the possibility of a _coup d'etat_ by some pretender
or adventurer. Indeed, the student of French history cannot fail to
see that this is the problem which is ever before the people of
France. It has presented itself in acute though diverse phases in
1797,1799,1814, 1830, 1848, 1851, and in 1871. Who can say that the
problem has yet found its complete solution?
In some respects the constitution which the Convention voted in
August, 1795, was skilfully adapted to meet the needs of the time.
Though democratic in spirit, it granted a vote only to those citizens
who had resided for a year in some dwelling and had paid taxes, thus
excluding the rabble who had proved to be dangerous to any settled
government. It also checked the hasty legislation which had brought
ridicule on successive National Assemblies. In order to moderate the
zeal for the manufacture of decrees, which had often exceeded one
hundred a month, a second or revising chamber was now to be formed on
the basis of age; for it had been found that the younger the deputies
the faster came forth the fluttering flocks of decrees, that often
came home to roost in the guise of curses. A senatorial guillotine, it
was now proposed, should thin out the fledglings before they flew
abroad at all. Of the seven hundred and fifty deputies of France, the
two hundred and fifty oldest men were to form the Council of Ancients,
having powers to amend or reject the proposals emanating from the
Council of Five Hundred. In this Council were the younger deputies,
and with them rested the sole initiation of laws. Thus the young
deputies were to make the laws, but the older deputies were to amend
or reject them; and this nice adjustment of the characteristics of
youth and age, a due blending of enthusiasm with caution, promised to
invigorate the body politic and yet guard its vital interests.
Lastly, in order that the two Councils should continuously represent
the feelings of France, one third of their members must retire for
re-election every year, a device which promised to prevent any violent
change in their composition, such as might occur if, at the end of
their three years' membership, all were called upon to resign at once.
But the real crux of constitution builders had hitherto been in the
relations of the Legislature to the Executive. How should the brain of
the body politic, that is, the Legislature, be connected with the
hand, that is, the Executive? Obviously, so argued all French
political thinkers, the two functions were distinct and must be kept
separate. The results of this theory of the separation of powers were
clearly traceable in the course of the Revolution. When the hand had
been left almost powerless, as in 1791-2, owing to democratic jealousy
of the royal Ministry, the result had been anarchy. The supreme needs
of the State in the agonies of 1793 had rendered the hand omnipotent:
the Convention, that is, the brain, was for some time powerless before
its own instrument, the two secret committees. Experience now showed
that the brain must exercise a general control over the hand, without
unduly hampering its actions. Evidently, then, the deputies of France
must intrust the details of administration to responsible Ministers,
though some directing agency seemed needed as a spur to energy and a
check against royalist plots. In brief, the Committee of Public
Safety, purged of its more dangerous powers, was to furnish the model
for a new body of five members, termed the Directory. This
organism, which was to give its name to the whole period 1795-1799,
was not the Ministry. There was no Ministry as we now use the term.
There were Ministers who were responsible individually for their
departments of State: but they never met for deliberation, or
communicated with the Legislature; they were only heads of
departments, who were responsible individually to the Directors. These
five men formed a powerful committee, deliberating in private on the
whole policy of the State and on all the work of the Ministers. The
Directory had not, it is true, the right of initiating laws and of
arbitrary arrest which the two committees had freely exercised during
the Terror. Its dependence on the Legislature seemed also to be
guaranteed by the Directors being appointed by the two legislative
Councils; while one of the five was to vacate his office for
re-election every year. But in other respects the directorial powers
were almost as extensive as those wielded by the two secret
committees, or as those which Bonaparte was to inherit from the
Directory in 1799. They comprised the general control of policy in
peace and war, the right to negotiate treaties (subject to
ratification by the legislative councils), to promulgate laws voted by
the Councils and watch over their execution, and to appoint or dismiss
the Ministers of State.
Such was the constitution which was proclaimed on September 22nd,
1795, or 1st Vendemiaire, Year IV., of the revolutionary calendar. An
important postscript to the original constitution now excited fierce
commotions which enabled the young officer to repair his own shattered
fortunes. The Convention, terrified at the thought of a general
election, which might send up a malcontent or royalist majority,
decided to impose itself on France for at least two years longer. With
an effrontery unparalleled in parliamentary annals, it decreed that
the law of the new constitution, requiring the re-election of
one-third of the deputies every year, should now be applied to itself;
and that the rest of its members should sit in the forthcoming
Councils. At once a cry of disgust and rage arose from all who were
weary of the Convention and all its works. "Down with the
two-thirds!" was the cry that resounded through the streets of Paris.
The movement was not so much definitely royalist as vaguely
malcontent. The many were enraged by the existing dearth and by the
failure of the Revolution to secure even cheap bread. Doubtless the
royalists strove to drive on the discontent to the desired goal, and
in many parts they tinged the movement with an unmistakably Bourbon
tint. But it is fairly certain that in Paris they could not alone have
fomented a discontent so general as that of Vendemiaire. That they
would have profited by the defeat of the Convention is, however,
equally certain. The history of the Revolution proves that those who
at first merely opposed the excesses of the Jacobins gradually drifted
over to the royalists. The Convention now found itself attacked in the
very city which had been the chosen abode of Liberty and Equality.
Some thirty thousand of the Parisian National Guards were determined
to give short shrift to this Assembly that clung so indecently to
life; and as the armies were far away, the Parisian malcontents seemed
masters of the situation. Without doubt they would have been but for
their own precipitation and the energy of Buonaparte.
But how came he to receive the military authority which was so
potently to influence the course of events? We left him in Fructidor
disgraced: we find him in the middle of Vendemiaire leading part of
the forces of the Convention. This bewildering change was due to the
pressing needs of the Republic, to his own signal abilities, and to
the discerning eye of Barras, whose career claims a brief notice.
Paul Barras came of a Provencal family, and had an adventurous life
both on land and in maritime expeditions. Gifted with a robust frame,
consummate self-assurance, and a ready tongue, he was well equipped
for intrigues, both amorous and political, when the outbreak of the
Revolution gave his thoughts a more serious turn. Espousing the
ultra-democratic side, he yet contrived to emerge unscathed from the
schisms which were fatal to less dextrous trimmers. He was present at
the siege of Toulon, and has striven in his "Memoires" to disparage
Buonaparte's services and exalt his own. At the crisis of Thermidor
the Convention intrusted him with the command of the "army of the
interior," and the energy which he then displayed gained for him the
same position in the equally critical days of Vendemiaire. Though he
subsequently carped at the conduct of Buonaparte, his action proved
his complete confidence in that young officer's capacity: he at once
sent for him, and intrusted him with most important duties. Herein
lies the chief chance of immortality for the name of Barras; not that,
as a terrorist, he slaughtered royalists at Toulon; not that he was
the military chief of the Thermidorians, who, from fear of their own
necks, ended the supremacy of Robespierre; not even that he degraded
the new _regime_ by a cynical display of all the worst vices of the
old; but rather because he was now privileged to hold the stirrup for
the great captain who vaulted lightly into the saddle.
The present crisis certainly called for a man of skill and
determination. The malcontents had been emboldened by the timorous
actions of General Menou, who had previously been intrusted with the
task of suppressing the agitation. Owing to a praiseworthy desire to
avoid bloodshed, that general wasted time in parleying with the most
rebellious of the "sections" of Paris. The Convention now appointed
Barras to the command, while Buonaparte, Brune, Carteaux, Dupont,
Loison, Vachot, and Vezu were charged to serve under him.[32] Such was
the decree of the Convention, which therefore refutes Napoleon's later
claim that he was in command, and that of his admirers that he was
second in command.
Yet, intrusted from the outset by Barras with important duties, he
unquestionably became the animating spirit of the defence. "From the
first," says Thiebault, "his activity was astonishing: he seemed to be
everywhere at once: he surprised people by his laconic, clear, and
prompt orders: everybody was struck by the vigour of his arrangements,
and passed from admiration to confidence, from confidence to
enthusiasm." Everything now depended on skill and enthusiasm. The
defenders of the Convention, comprising some four or five thousand
troops of the line, and between one and two thousand patriots,
gendarmes, and Invalides, were confronted by nearly thirty thousand
National Guards. The odds were therefore wellnigh as heavy as those
which menaced Louis XVI. on the day of his final overthrow. But the
place of the yielding king was now filled by determined men, who saw
the needs of the situation. In the earlier scenes of the Revolution,
Buonaparte had pondered on the efficacy of artillery in
street-fighting--a fit subject for his geometrical genius. With a few
cannon, he knew that he could sweep all the approaches to the palace;
and, on Barras' orders, he despatched a dashing cavalry officer,
Murat--a name destined to become famous from Madrid to Moscow--to
bring the artillery from the neighbouring camp of Sablons. Murat
secured them before the malcontents of Paris could lay hands on them;
and as the "sections" of Paris had yielded up their own cannon after
the affrays of May, they now lacked the most potent force in
street-fighting. Their actions were also paralyzed by divided
counsels: their commander, an old general named Danican, moved his men
hesitatingly; he wasted precious minutes in parleying, and thus gave
time to Barras' small but compact force to fight them in detail.
Buonaparte had skilfully disposed his cannon to bear on the royalist
columns that threatened the streets north of the Tuileries. But for
some time the two parties stood face to face, seeking to cajole or
intimidate one another. As the autumn afternoon waned, shots were
fired from some houses near the church of St. Roch, where the
malcontents had their headquarters.[33] At once the streets became the
scene of a furious fight; furious but unequal; for Buonaparte's cannon
tore away the heads of the malcontent columns. In vain did the
royalists pour in their volleys from behind barricades, or from the
neighbouring houses: finally they retreated on the barricaded church,
or fled down the Rue St. Honore. Meanwhile their bands from across the
river, 5,000 strong, were filing across the bridges, and menaced the
Tuileries from that side, until here also they melted away before the
grapeshot and musketry poured into their front and flank. By six
o'clock the conflict was over. The fight presents few, if any,
incidents which are authentic. The well-known engraving of Helman,
which shows Buonaparte directing the storming of the church of St.
Roch is unfortunately quite incorrect. He was not engaged there, but
in the streets further east: the church was not stormed: the
malcontents held it all through the night, and quietly surrendered it
next morning.
Such was the great day of Vendemiaire. It cost the lives of about two
hundred on each side; at least, that is the usual estimate, which
seems somewhat incongruous with the stories of fusillading and
cannonading at close quarters, until we remember that it is the custom
of memoir-writers and newspaper editors to trick out the details of a
fight, and in the case of civil warfare to minimise the bloodshed.
Certainly the Convention acted with clemency in the hour of victory:
two only of the rebel leaders were put to death; and it is pleasing to
remember that when Menou was charged with treachery, Buonaparte used
his influence to procure his freedom.
Bourrienne states that in his later days the victor deeply regretted
his action in this day of Vendemiaire. The assertion seems
incredible. The "whiff of grapeshot" crushed a movement which could
have led only to present anarchy, and probably would have brought
France back to royalism of an odious type. It taught a severe lesson
to a fickle populace which, according to Mme. de Stael, was hungering
for the spoils of place as much as for any political object. Of all
the events of his post-Corsican life, Buonaparte need surely never
have felt compunctions for Vendemiaire.[34]
After four signal reverses in his career, he now enters on a path
strewn with glories. The first reward for his signal services to the
Republic was his appointment to be second in command of the army of
the interior; and when Barras resigned the first command, he took that
responsible post. But more brilliant honours were soon to follow, the
first of a social character, the second purely military.
Buonaparte had already appeared timidly and awkwardly at the _salon_
of the voluptuous Barras, where the fair but frail Madame
Tallien--Notre Dame de Thermidor she was styled--dazzled Parisian
society by her classic features and the uncinctured grace of her
attire. There he reappeared, not in the threadbare uniform that had
attracted the giggling notice of that giddy throng, but as the lion of
the society which his talents had saved. His previous attempts to gain
the hand of a lady had been unsuccessful. He had been refused, first
by Mlle. Clary, sister of his brother Joseph's wife, and quite
recently by Madame Permon. Indeed, the scarecrow young officer had not
been a brilliant match. But now he saw at that _salon_ a charming
widow, Josephine de Beauharnais, whose husband had perished in the
Terror. The ardour of his southern temperament, long repressed by his
privations, speedily rekindles in her presence: his stiff, awkward
manners thaw under her smiles: his silence vanishes when she praises
his military gifts: he admires her tact, her sympathy, her beauty: he
determines to marry her. The lady, on her part, seems to have been
somewhat terrified by her uncanny wooer: she comments questioningly on
his "violent tenderness almost amounting to frenzy": she notes
uneasily his "keen inexplicable gaze which imposes even on our
Directors": How would this eager nature, this masterful energy,
consort with her own "Creole nonchalance"? She did well to ask herself
whether the general's almost volcanic passion would not soon exhaust
itself, and turn from her own fading charms to those of women who
were his equals in age. Besides, when she frankly asked her own heart,
she found that she loved him not: she only admired him. Her chief
consolation was that if she married him, her friend Barras would help
to gain for Buonaparte the command of the Army of Italy. The advice of
Barras undoubtedly helped to still the questioning surmises of
Josephine; and the wedding was celebrated, as a civil contract, on
March 9th, 1796. With a pardonable coquetry, the bride entered her age
on the register as four years less than the thirty-four which had
passed over her: while her husband, desiring still further to lessen
the disparity, entered his date of birth as 1768.
A fortnight before the wedding, he had been appointed to command the
Army of Italy: and after a honeymoon of two days at Paris, he left his
bride to take up his new military duties. Clearly, then, there was
some connection between this brilliant fortune and his espousal of
Josephine. But the assertion that this command was the "dowry" offered
by Barras to the somewhat reluctant bride is more piquant than
correct. That the brilliance of Buonaparte's prospects finally
dissipated her scruples may be frankly admitted. But the appointment
to a command of a French army did not rest with Barras. He was only
one of the five Directors who now decided the chief details of
administration. His colleagues were Letourneur, Rewbell, La
Reveilliere-Lepeaux, and the great Carnot; and, as a matter of fact,
it was the last-named who chiefly decided the appointment in question.
He had seen and pondered over the plan of campaign which Buonaparte
had designed for the Army of Italy; and the vigour of the conception,
the masterly appreciation of topographical details which it displayed,
and the trenchant energy of its style had struck conviction to his
strategic genius. Buonaparte owed his command, not to a backstairs
intrigue, as was currently believed in the army, but rather to his own
commanding powers. While serving with the Army of Italy in 1794, he
had carefully studied the coast-line and the passes leading inland;
and, according to the well-known savant, Volney, the young officer,
shortly after his release from imprisonment, sketched out to him and
to a Commissioner of the Convention the details of the very plan of
campaign which was to carry him victoriously from the Genoese Riviera
into the heart of Austria.[35] While describing this masterpiece of
strategy, says Volney, Buonaparte spoke as if inspired. We can fancy
the wasted form dilating with a sense of power, the thin sallow cheeks
aglow with enthusiasm, the hawk-like eyes flashing at the sight of the
helpless Imperial quarry, as he pointed out on the map of Piedmont and
Lombardy the features which would favour a dashing invader and carry
him to the very gates of Vienna. The splendours of the Imperial Court
at the Tuileries seem tawdry and insipid when compared with the
intellectual grandeur which lit up that humble lodging at Nice with
the first rays that heralded the dawn of Italian liberation.
With the fuller knowledge which he had recently acquired, he now in
January, 1796, elaborated this plan of campaign, so that it at once
gained Carnot's admiration. The Directors forwarded it to General
Scherer, who was in command of the Army of Italy, but promptly
received the "brutal" reply that the man who had drafted the plan
ought to come and carry it out. Long dissatisfied with Scherer's
inactivity and constant complaints, the Directory now took him at his
word, and replaced him by Buonaparte. Such is the truth about
Buonaparte's appointment to the Army of Italy.
To Nice, then, the young general set out (March 21st) accompanied, or
speedily followed, by his faithful friends, Marmont and Junot, as well
as by other officers of whose energy he was assured, Berthier, Murat,
and Duroc. How much had happened since the early summer of 1795, when
he had barely the means to pay his way to Paris! A sure instinct had
drawn him to that hot-bed of intrigues. He had played a desperate
game, risking his commission in order that he might keep in close
touch with the central authority. His reward for this almost
superhuman confidence in his own powers was correspondingly great; and
now, though he knew nothing of the handling of cavalry and infantry
save from books, he determined to lead the Army of Italy to a series
of conquests that would rival those of Caesar. In presence of a will so
stubborn and genius so fervid, what wonder that a friend prophesied
that his halting-place would be either the throne or the scaffold?
* * * * *
CHAPTER V
THE ITALIAN CAMPAIGN
(1796)
In the personality of Napoleon nothing is more remarkable than the
combination of gifts which in most natures are mutually exclusive; his
instincts were both political and military; his survey of a land took
in not only the geographical environment but also the material welfare
of the people. Facts, which his foes ignored, offered a firm fulcrum
for the leverage of his will: and their political edifice or their
military policy crumbled to ruin under an assault planned with
consummate skill and pressed home with relentless force.
For the exercise of all these gifts what land was so fitted as the
mosaic of States which was dignified with the name of Italy?
That land had long been the battle-ground of the Bourbons and the
Hapsburgs; and their rivalries, aided by civic dissensions, had
reduced the people that once had given laws to Europe into a condition
of miserable weakness. Europe was once the battle-field of the Romans:
Italy was now the battle-field of Europe. The Hapsburgs dominated the
north, where they held the rich Duchy of Milan, along with the great
stronghold of Mantua, and some scattered imperial fiefs. A scion of
the House of Austria reigned at Florence over the prosperous Duchy of
Tuscany. Modena and Lucca were under the general control of the Court
of Vienna. The south of the peninsula, along with Sicily, was swayed
by Ferdinand IV., a descendant of the Spanish Bourbons, who kept his
people in a condition of mediaeval ignorance and servitude; and this
dynasty controlled the Duchy of Parma. The Papal States were also sunk
in the torpor of the Middle Ages; but in the northern districts of
Bologna and Ferrara, known as the "Legations," the inhabitants still
remembered the time of their independence, and chafed under the
irritating restraints of Papal rule. This was seen when the leaven of
French revolutionary thought began to ferment in Italian towns. Two
young men of Bologna were so enamoured of the new ideas, as to raise
an Italian tricolour flag, green, white, and red, and summon their
fellow-citizens to revolt against the rule of the Pope's legate
(November, 1794). The revolt was crushed, and the chief offenders were
hanged; but elsewhere the force of democracy made itself felt,
especially among the more virile peoples of Northern Italy. Lombardy
and Piedmont throbbed with suppressed excitement. Even when the King
of Sardinia, Victor Amadeus III., was waging war against the French
Republic, the men of Turin were with difficulty kept from revolt; and,
as we have seen, the Austro-Sardinian alliance was powerless to
recover Savoy and Nice from the soldiers of liberty or to guard the
Italian Riviera from invasion.
In fact, Bonaparte--for he henceforth spelt his name thus--detected
the political weakness of the Hapsburgs' position in Italy. Masters of
eleven distinct peoples north of the Alps, how could they hope
permanently to dominate a wholly alien people south of that great
mountain barrier? The many failures of the old Ghibelline or Imperial
party in face of any popular impulse which moved the Italian nature to
its depths revealed the artificiality of their rule. Might not such an
impulse be imparted by the French Revolution? And would not the hopes
of national freedom and of emancipation from feudal imposts fire these
peoples with zeal for the French cause? Evidently there were vast
possibilities in a democratic propaganda. At the outset Bonaparte's
racial sympathies were warmly aroused for the liberation of
Italy; and though his judgment was to be warped by the promptings of
ambition, he never lost sight of the welfare of the people whence he
was descended. In his "Memoirs written at St. Helena" he summed up his
convictions respecting the Peninsula in this statesmanlike utterance:
"Italy, isolated within its natural limits, separated by the sea and
by very high mountains from the rest of Europe, seems called to be a
great and powerful nation.... Unity in manners, language, literature
ought finally, in a future more or less remote, to unite its
inhabitants under a single government.... Rome is beyond doubt the
capital which the Italians will one day choose." A prophetic saying:
it came from a man who, as conqueror and organizer, awakened that
people from the torpor of centuries and breathed into it something of
his own indomitable energy.
And then again, the Austrian possessions south of the Alps were
difficult to hold for purely military reasons. They were separated
from Vienna by difficult mountain ranges through which armies
struggled with difficulty. True, Mantua was a formidable stronghold,
but no fortress could make the Milanese other than a weak and
straggling territory, the retention of which by the Court of Vienna
was a defiance to the gospel of nature of which Rousseau was the
herald and Bonaparte the militant exponent.
The Austro-Sardinian forces were now occupying the pass which
separates the Apennines from the Maritime Alps north of the town of
Savona. They were accordingly near the headwaters of the Bormida and
the Tanaro, two of the chief affluents of the River Po: and roads
following those river valleys led, the one north-east, in the
direction of Milan, the other north-west towards Turin, the Sardinian
capital. A wedge of mountainous country separated these roads as they
diverged from the neighbourhood of Montenotte. Here obviously was the
vulnerable point of the Austro-Sardinian position. Here therefore
Bonaparte purposed to deliver his first strokes, foreseeing that,
should he sever the allies, he would have in his favour every
advantage both political and topographical.
All this was possible to a commander who could overcome the initial
difficulties. But these difficulties were enormous. The position of
the French Army of Italy in March, 1796, was precarious. Its
detachments, echelonned near the coast from Savona to Loano, and
thence to Nice, or inland to the Col di Tende, comprised in all
42,000 men, as against the Austro-Sardinian forces amounting to
52,000 men.[36] Moreover, the allies occupied strong positions on the
northern slopes of the Maritime Alps and Apennines, and, holding the
inner and therefore shorter curve, they could by a dextrous
concentration have pushed their more widely scattered opponents on to
the shore, where the republicans would have been harassed by the guns
of the British cruisers. Finally, Bonaparte's troops were badly
equipped, worse clad, and were not paid at all. On his arrival at Nice
at the close of March, the young commander had to disband one
battalion for mutinous conduct.[37] For a brief space it seemed
doubtful how the army would receive this slim, delicate-looking youth,
known hitherto only as a skilful artillerist at Toulon and in the
streets of Paris. But he speedily gained the respect and confidence of
the rank and file, not only by stern punishment of the mutineers, but
by raising money from a local banker, so as to make good some of the
long arrears of pay. Other grievances he rectified by prompt
reorganization of the commissariat and kindred departments. But, above
all, by his burning words he thrilled them: "Soldiers, you are half
starved and half naked. The Government owes you much, but can do
nothing for you. Your patience and courage are honourable to you, but
they procure you neither advantage nor glory. I am about to lead you
into the most fertile valleys of the world: there you will find
flourishing cities and teeming provinces: there you will reap honour,
glory, and riches. Soldiers of the Army of Italy, will you lack
courage?" Two years previously so open a bid for the soldiers'
allegiance would have conducted any French commander forthwith to the
guillotine.
[Illustration: MAP TO ILLUSTRATE THE CAMPAIGNS IN NORTH ITALY.]
But much had changed since the days of Robespierre's supremacy;
Spartan austerity had vanished; and the former insane jealousy of
individual pre-eminence was now favouring a startling reaction which
was soon to install the one supremely able man as absolute master of
France.
Bonaparte's conduct produced a deep impression alike on troops and
officers. From Massena his energy and his trenchant orders extorted
admiration: and the tall swaggering Augereau shrank beneath the
intellectual superiority of his gaze. Moreover, at the beginning of
April the French received reinforcements which raised their total to
49,300 men, and gave them a superiority of force; for though the
allies had 52,000, yet they were so widely scattered as to be inferior
in any one district. Besides, the Austrian commander, Beaulieu, was
seventy-one years of age, had only just been sent into Italy, with
which land he was ill acquainted, and found one-third of his troops
down with sickness.[38]
Bonaparte now began to concentrate his forces near Savona. Fortune
favoured him even before the campaign commenced. The snows of winter,
still lying on the mountains, though thawing on the southern slopes,
helped to screen his movements from the enemy's outposts; and the
French vanguard pushed along the coastline even as far as Voltri. This
movement was designed to coerce the Senate of Genoa into payment of a
fine for its acquiescence in the seizure of a French vessel by a
British cruiser within its neutral roadstead; but it served to alarm
Beaulieu, who, breaking up his cantonments, sent a strong column
towards that city. At the time this circumstance greatly annoyed
Bonaparte, who had hoped to catch the Imperialists dozing in their
winter quarters. Yet it is certain that the hasty move of their left
flank towards Voltri largely contributed to that brilliant opening of
Bonaparte's campaign, which his admirers have generally regarded as
due solely to his genius.[39] For, when Beaulieu had thrust his column
into the broken coast district between Genoa and Voltri, he severed it
dangerously far from his centre, which marched up the valley of the
eastern branch of the Bormida to occupy the passes of the Apennines
north of Savona. This, again, was by no means in close touch with the
Sardinian allies encamped further to the west in and beyond Ceva.
Beaulieu, writing at a later date to Colonel Graham, the English
_attache_ at his headquarters, ascribed his first disasters to
Argenteau, his lieutenant at Montenotte, who employed only a third of
the forces placed under his command. But division of forces was
characteristic of the Austrians in all their operations, and they now
gave a fine opportunity to any enterprising opponent who should crush
their weak and unsupported centre. In obedience to orders from Vienna,
Beaulieu assumed the offensive; but he brought his chief force to bear
on the French vanguard at Voltri, which he drove in with some loss.
While he was occupying Voltri, the boom of cannon echoing across the
mountains warned his outposts that the real campaign was opening in
the broken country north of Savona.[40] There the weak Austrian centre
had occupied a ridge or plateau above the village of Montenotte,
through which ran the road leading to Alessandria and Milan.
Argenteau's attack partly succeeded: but the stubborn bravery of a
French detachment checked it before the redoubt which commanded the
southern prolongation of the heights named Monte-Legino.[41]
Such was the position of affairs when Bonaparte hurried up. On the
following day (April 12th), massing the French columns of attack
under cover of an early morning mist, he moved them to their
positions, so that the first struggling rays of sunlight revealed to
the astonished Austrians the presence of an army ready to crush their
front and turn their flanks. For a time the Imperialists struggled
bravely against the superior forces in their front; but when Massena
pressed round their right wing, they gave way and beat a speedy
retreat to save themselves from entire capture. Bonaparte took no
active share in the battle: he was, very properly, intent on the wider
problem of severing the Austrians from their allies, first by the
turning movement of Massena, and then by pouring other troops into the
gap thus made. In this he entirely succeeded. The radical defects in
the Austrian dispositions left them utterly unable to withstand the
blows which he now showered upon them. The Sardinians were too far
away on the west to help Argenteau in his hour of need: they were in
and beyond Ceva, intent on covering the road to Turin: whereas, as
Napoleon himself subsequently wrote, they should have been near enough
to their allies to form one powerful army, which, at Dego or
Montenotte, would have defended both Turin and Milan. "United, the two
forces would have been superior to the French army: separated, they
were lost."
The configuration of the ground favoured Bonaparte's plan of driving
the Imperialists down the valley of the Bormida in a north-easterly
direction; and the natural desire of a beaten general to fall back
towards his base of supplies also impelled Beaulieu and Argenteau to
retire towards Milan. But that would sever their connections with the
Sardinians, whose base of supplies, Turin, lay in a north-westerly
direction.
Bonaparte therefore hurled his forces at once against the Austrians
and a Sardinian contingent at Millesimo, and defeated them, Augereau's
division cutting off the retreat of twelve hundred of their men under
Provera. Weakened by this second blow, the allies fell back on the
intrenched village of Dego. Their position was of a strength
proportionate to its strategic importance; for its loss would
completely sever all connection between their two main armies save by
devious routes many miles in their rear. They therefore clung
desperately to the six mamelons and redoubts which barred the valley
and dominated some of the neighbouring heights. Yet such was the
superiority of the French in numbers that these positions were
speedily turned by Massena, whom Bonaparte again intrusted with the
movement on the enemy's flank and rear. A strange event followed. The
victors, while pillaging the country for the supplies which
Bonaparte's sharpest orders failed to draw from the magazines and
stores on the sea-coast, were attacked in the dead of night by five
Austrian battalions that had been ordered up to support their
countrymen at Dego. These, after straying among the mountains, found
themselves among bands of the marauding French, whom they easily
scattered, seizing Dego itself. Apprised of this mishap, Bonaparte
hurried up more troops from the rear, and on the 15th recovered the
prize which had so nearly been snatched from his grasp. Had Beaulieu
at this time thrown all his forces on the French, he might have
retrieved his first misfortunes: but foresight and energy were not to
be found at the Austrian headquarters: the surprise at Dego was the
work of a colonel; and for many years to come the incompetence of
their aged commanders was to paralyze the fine fighting qualities of
the "white-coats." In three conflicts they had been outmanoeuvred and
outnumbered, and drew in their shattered columns to Acqui.
The French commander now led his columns westward against the
Sardinians, who had fallen back on their fortified camp at Ceva, in
the upper valley of the Tanaro. There they beat off one attack of the
French. A check in front of a strongly intrenched position was
serious. It might have led to a French disaster, had the Austrians
been able to bring aid to their allies. Bonaparte even summoned a
council of war to deliberate on the situation. As a rule, a council of
war gives timid advice. This one strongly advised a second attack on
the camp--a striking proof of the ardour which then nerved the
republican generals. Not yet were they _condottieri_ carving out
fortunes by their swords: not yet were they the pampered minions of an
autocrat, intent primarily on guarding the estates which his favour
had bestowed. Timidity was rather the mark of their opponents. When
the assault on the intrenchments of Ceva was about to be renewed, the
Sardinian forces were discerned filing away westwards. Their general
indulged the fond hope of holding the French at bay at several
strong natural positions on his march. He was bitterly to rue his
error. The French divisions of Serurier and Dommartin closed in on
him, drove him from Mondovi, and away towards Turin.
Bonaparte had now completely succeeded. Using to the full the
advantage of his central position between the widely scattered
detachments of his foes, he had struck vigorously at their natural
point of junction, Montenotte, and by three subsequent successes--for
the evacuation of Ceva can scarcely be called a French victory--had
forced them further and further apart until Turin was almost within
his power.
It now remained to push these military triumphs to their natural
conclusion, and impose terms of peace on the House of Savoy, which was
secretly desirous of peace. The Directors had ordered Bonaparte that
he should seek to detach Sardinia from the Austrian alliance by
holding out the prospect of a valuable compensation for the loss of
Savoy and Nice in the fertile Milanese.[42] The prospect of this rich
prize would, the Directors surmised, dissolve the Austro-Sardinian
alliance, as soon as the allies had felt the full vigour of the French
arms. Not that Bonaparte himself was to conduct these negotiations. He
was to forward to the Directory all offers of submission. Nay, he was
not empowered to grant on his own responsibility even an armistice. He
was merely to push the foe hard, and feed his needy soldiers on the
conquered territory. He was to be solely a general, never a
negotiator.
The Directors herein showed keen jealousy or striking ignorance of
military affairs. How could he keep the Austrians quiet while envoys
passed between Turin and Paris? All the dictates of common sense
required him to grant an armistice to the Court of Turin before the
Austrians could recover from their recent disasters. But the King of
Sardinia drew him from a perplexing situation by instructing Colli to
make overtures for an armistice as preliminary to a peace. At once the
French commander replied that such powers belonged to the Directory;
but as for an armistice, it would only be possible if the Court of
Turin placed in his hands three fortresses, Coni, Tortona, and
Alessandria, besides guaranteeing the transit of French armies through
Piedmont and the passage of the Po at Valenza. Then, with his
unfailing belief in accomplished facts, Bonaparte pushed on his troops
to Cherasco.
Near that town he received the Piedmontese envoys; and from the pen of
one of them we have an account of the general's behaviour in his first
essay in diplomacy. His demeanour was marked by that grave and frigid
courtesy which was akin to Piedmontese customs. In reply to the
suggestions of the envoys that some of the conditions were of little
value to the French, he answered: "The Republic, in intrusting to me
the command of an army, has credited me with possessing enough
discernment to judge of what that army requires, without having
recourse to the advice of my enemy." Apart, however, from this
sarcasm, which was uttered in a hard and biting voice, his tone was
coldly polite. He reserved his home thrust for the close of the
conference. When it had dragged on till considerably after noon with
no definite result, he looked at his watch and exclaimed: "Gentlemen,
I warn you that a general attack is ordered for two o'clock, and that
if I am not assured that Coni will be put in my hands before
nightfall, the attack will not be postponed for one moment. It may
happen to me to lose battles, but no one shall ever see me lose
minutes either by over-confidence or by sloth." The terms of the
armistice of Cherasco were forthwith signed (April 28th); they were
substantially the same as those first offered by the victor. During
the luncheon which followed, the envoys were still further impressed
by his imperturbable confidence and trenchant phrases; as when he told
them that the campaign was the exact counterpart of what he had
planned in 1794; or described a council of war as a convenient device
for covering cowardice or irresolution in the commander; or asserted
that nothing could now stop him before the walls of Mantua.[43]
As a matter of fact, the French army was at that time so disorganized
by rapine as scarcely to have withstood a combined and vigorous attack
by Beaulieu and Colli. The republicans, long exposed to hunger and
privations, were now revelling in the fertile plains of Piedmont.
Large bands of marauders ranged the neighbouring country, and the
regiments were often reduced to mere companies. From the grave risks
of this situation Bonaparte was rescued by the timidity of the Court
of Turin, which signed the armistice at Cherasco eighteen days after
the commencement of the campaign. A fortnight later the preliminaries
of peace were signed between France and the King of Sardinia, by which
the latter yielded up his provinces of Savoy and Nice, and renounced
the alliance with Austria. Great indignation was felt in the
Imperialist camp at this news; and it was freely stated that the
Piedmontese had let themselves be beaten in order to compass a peace
that had been tacitly agreed upon in the month of January.[44]
Even before this auspicious event, Bonaparte's despatches to the
Directors were couched in almost imperious terms, which showed that he
felt himself the master of the situation. He advised them as to their
policy towards Sardinia, pointing out that, as Victor Amadeus had
yielded up three important fortresses, he was practically in the hands
of the French: "If you do not accept peace with him, if your plan is
to dethrone him, you must amuse him for a few decades[45] and must
warn me: I then seize Valenza and march on Turin." In military
affairs the young general showed that he would brook no interference
from Paris. He requested the Directory to draft 15,000 men from
Kellermann's Army of the Alps to reinforce him: "That will give me an
army of 45,000 men, of which possibly I may send a part to Rome. If
you continue your confidence and approve these plans, I am sure of
success: Italy is yours." Somewhat later, the Directors proposed to
grant the required reinforcements, but stipulated for the retention of
part of the army in the Milanese _under the command of Kellermann_.
Thereupon Bonaparte replied (May 14th) that, as the Austrians had been
reinforced, it was highly impolitic to divide the command. Each
general had his own way of making war. Kellermann, having more
experience, would doubtless do it better: but both together would do
it very badly.
Again the Directors had blundered. In seeking to subject Bonaparte to
the same rules as had been imposed on all French generals since the
treason of Dumouriez in 1793, they were doubtless consulting the vital
interests of the Commonwealth. But, while striving to avert all
possibilities of Caesarism, they now sinned against that elementary
principle of strategy which requires unity of design in military
operations. Bonaparte's retort was unanswerable, and nothing more was
heard of the luckless proposal.
Meanwhile the peace with the House of Savoy had thrown open the
Milanese to Bonaparte's attack. Holding three Sardinian fortresses, he
had an excellent base of operations; for the lands restored to the
King of Sardinia were to remain subject to requisitions for the French
army until the general peace. The Austrians, on the other hand, were
weakened by the hostility of their Italian subjects, and, worst of
all, they depended ultimately on reinforcements drawn from beyond the
Alps by way of Mantua. In the rich plains of Lombardy they, however,
had one advantage which was denied to them among the rocks of the
Apennines. Their generals could display the tactical skill on which
they prided themselves, and their splendid cavalry had some chance of
emulating the former exploits of the Hungarian and Croatian horse.
They therefore awaited the onset of the French, little dismayed by
recent disasters, and animated by the belief that their antagonist,
unversed in regular warfare, would at once lose in the plains the
bubble reputation gained in ravines. But the country in the second
part of this campaign was not less favourable to Bonaparte's peculiar
gifts than that in which he had won his first laurels as commander.
Amidst the Apennines, where only small bodies of men could be moved, a
general inexperienced in the handling of cavalry and infantry could
make his first essays in tactics with fair chances of success. Speed,
energy, and the prompt seizure of a commanding central position were
the prime requisites; the handling of vast masses of men was
impossible. The plains of Lombardy facilitated larger movements; but
even here the numerous broad swift streams fed by the Alpine snows,
and the network of irrigating dykes, favoured the designs of a young
and daring leader who saw how to use natural obstacles so as to baffle
and ensnare his foes. Bonaparte was now to show that he excelled his
enemies, not only in quickness of eye and vigour of intellect, but
also in the minutiae of tactics and in those larger strategic
conceptions which decide the fate of nations. In the first place,
having the superiority of force, he was able to attack. This is an
advantage at all times: for the aggressor can generally mislead his
adversary by a series of feints until the real blow can be delivered
with crushing effect. Such has been the aim of all great leaders from
the time of Epaminondas and Alexander, Hannibal and Caesar, down to the
age of Luxembourg, Marlborough, and Frederick the Great. Aggressive
tactics were particularly suited to the French soldiery, always eager,
active, and intelligent, and now endowed with boundless enthusiasm in
their cause and in their leader.
Then again he was fully aware of the inherent vice of the Austrian
situation. It was as if an unwieldy organism stretched a vulnerable
limb across the huge barrier of the Alps, exposing it to the attack of
a compacter body. It only remained for Bonaparte to turn against his
foes the smaller geographical features on which they too implicitly
relied. Beaulieu had retired beyond the Po and the Ticino, expecting
that the attack on the Milanese would be delivered across the latter
stream by the ordinary route, which crossed it at Pavia. Near that
city the Austrians occupied a strong position with 26,000 men, while
other detachments patrolled the banks of the Ticino further north, and
those of the Po towards Valenza, only 5,000 men being sent towards
Piacenza. Bonaparte, however, was not minded to take the ordinary
route. He determined to march, not as yet on the north of the River
Po, where snow-swollen streams coursed down from the Alps, but rather
on the south side, where the Apennines throw off fewer streams and
also of smaller volume. From the fortress of Tortona he could make a
rush at Piacenza, cross the Po there, and thus gain the Milanese
almost without a blow. To this end he had stipulated in the recent
terms of peace that he might cross the Po at Valenza; and now, amusing
his foes by feints on that side, he vigorously pushed his main columns
along the southern bank of the Po, where they gathered up all the
available boats. The vanguard, led by the impetuous Lannes, seized the
ferry at Piacenza, before the Austrian horse appeared, and scattered a
squadron or two which strove to drive them back into the river (May
7th).
Time was thus gained for a considerable number of French to cross the
river in boats or by the ferry. Working under the eye of their leader,
the French conquered all obstacles: a bridge of boats soon spanned
the stream, and was defended by a _tete de pont_; and with forces
about equal in number to Liptay's Austrians, the republicans advanced
northwards, and, after a tough struggle, dislodged their foes from the
village of Fombio. This success drove a solid wedge between Liptay and
his commander-in-chief, who afterwards bitterly blamed him, first for
retreating, and secondly for not reporting his retreat to
headquarters.
It would appear, however, that Liptay had only 5,000 men (not the
8,000 which Napoleon and French historians have credited to him), that
he was sent by Beaulieu to Piacenza too late to prevent the crossing
by the French, and that at the close of the fight on the following day
he was completely cut off from communicating with his superior.
Beaulieu, with his main force, advanced on Fombio, stumbled on the
French, where he looked to find Liptay, and after a confused fight
succeeded in disengaging himself and withdrawing towards Lodi, where
the high-road leading to Mantua crossed the River Adda. To that stream
he directed his remaining forces to retire. He thereby left Milan
uncovered (except for the garrison which held the citadel), and
abandoned more than the half of Lombardy; but, from the military point
of view, his retreat to the Adda was thoroughly sound. Yet here again
a movement strategically correct was marred by tactical blunders. Had
he concentrated all his forces at the nearest point of the Adda which
the French could cross, namely Pizzighetone, he would have rendered
any flank march of theirs to the northward extremely hazardous; but he
had not yet sufficiently learned from his terrible teacher the need of
concentration; and, having at least three passages to guard, he kept
his forces too spread out to oppose a vigorous move against any one of
them. Indeed, he despaired of holding the line of the Adda, and
retired eastwards with a great part of his army.
Consequently, when Bonaparte, only three days after the seizure of
Piacenza, threw his almost undivided force against the town of Lodi,
his passage was disputed only by the rearguard, whose anxiety to cover
the retreat of a belated detachment far exceeded their determination
to defend the bridge over the Adda. This was a narrow structure, some
eighty fathoms long, standing high above the swift but shallow river.
Resolutely held by well-massed troops and cannon, it might have cost
the French a severe struggle: but the Imperialists were badly
handled: some were posted in and around the town which was between the
river and the advancing French; and the weak walls of Lodi were soon
escaladed by the impetuous republicans. The Austrian commander,
Sebottendorf, now hastily ranged his men along the eastern bank of the
river, so as to defend the bridge and prevent any passage of the river
by boats or by a ford above the town. The Imperialists numbered only
9,627 men; they were discouraged by defeats and by the consciousness
that no serious stand could be attempted before they reached the
neighbourhood of Mantua; and their efforts to break down the bridge
were now frustrated by the French, who, posted behind the walls of
Lodi on the higher bank of the stream, swept their opponents' position
with a searching artillery fire. Having shaken the constancy of his
foes and refreshed his own infantry by a brief rest in Lodi, Bonaparte
at 6 p.m. secretly formed a column of his choicest troops and hurled
it against the bridge. A hot fire of grapeshot and musketry tore its
front, and for a time the column bent before the iron hail. But,
encouraged by the words of their young leader, generals, corporals,
and grenadiers pressed home their charge. This time, aided by
sharp-shooters who waded to islets in the river, the assailants
cleared the bridge, bayoneted the Austrian cannoneers, attacked the
first and second lines of supporting foot, and, when reinforced,
compelled horse and foot to retreat towards Mantua.[46]
Such was the affair of Lodi (May 10th). A legendary
glamour hovers around all the details of this conflict and invests it
with fictitious importance. Beaulieu's main force was far away, and
there was no hope of entrapping anything more than the rear of his
army. Moreover, if this were the object, why was not the flank move of
the French cavalry above Lodi pushed home earlier in the fight? This,
if supported by infantry, could have outflanked the enemy while the
perilous rush was made against the bridge; and such a turning movement
would probably have enveloped the Austrian force while it was being
shattered in front. That is the view in which the strategist,
Clausewitz, regards this encounter. Far different was the impression
which it created among the soldiers and Frenchmen at large. They
valued a commander more for bravery of the bull-dog type than for any
powers of reasoning and subtle combination. These, it is true,
Bonaparte had already shown. He now enchanted the soldiery by dealing
a straight sharp blow. It had a magical effect on their minds. On the
evening of that day the French soldiers, with antique republican
_camaraderie_, saluted their commander as _le petit caporal_ for his
personal bravery in the fray, and this endearing phrase helped to
immortalize the affair of the bridge of Lodi.[47] It shot a thrill of
exultation through France. With pardonable exaggeration, men told how
he charged at the head of the column, and, with Lannes, was the first
to reach the opposite side; and later generations have figured him
charging before his tall grenadiers--a feat that was actually
performed by Lannes, Berthier, Massena, Cervoni, and Dallemagne. It
was all one. Bonaparte alone was the hero of the day. He reigned
supreme in the hearts of the soldiers, and he saw the importance of
this conquest. At St. Helena he confessed to Montholon that it was the
victory of Lodi which fanned his ambition into a steady flame.
A desire of stimulating popular enthusiasm throughout Italy impelled
the young victor to turn away from his real objective, the fortress of
Mantua, to the political capital of Lombardy. The people of Milan
hailed their French liberators with enthusiasm: they rained flowers on
the bronzed soldiers of liberty, and pointed to their tattered
uniforms and worn-out shoes as proofs of their triumphant energy:
above all, they gazed with admiration, not unmixed with awe, at the
thin pale features of the young commander, whose plain attire bespoke
a Spartan activity, whose ardent gaze and decisive gestures proclaimed
a born leader of men. Forthwith he arranged for the investment of the
citadel where eighteen hundred Austrians held out: he then received
the chief men of the city with easy Italian grace; and in the evening
he gave a sumptuous ball, at which all the dignity, wealth, and beauty
of the old Lombard capital shone resplendent. For a brief space all
went well between the Lombards and their liberators. He received with
flattering distinction the chief artists and men of letters, and also
sought to quicken the activity of the University of Pavia. Political
clubs and newspapers multiplied throughout Lombardy; and actors,
authors, and editors joined in a paean of courtly or fawning praise, to
the new Scipio, Caesar, Hannibal, and Jupiter.
There were other reasons why the Lombards should worship the young
victor. Apart from the admiration which a gifted race ever feels for
so fascinating a combination of youthful grace with intellectual power
and martial prowess, they believed that this Italian hero would call
the people to political activity, perchance even to national
independence. For this their most ardent spirits had sighed,
conspired, or fought during the eighty-three years of the Austrian
occupation. Ever since the troublous times of Dante there had been
prophetic souls who caught the vision of a new Italy, healed of her
countless schisms, purified from her social degradations, and uniting
the prowess of her ancient life with the gentler arts of the present
for the perfection of her own powers and for the welfare of mankind.
The gleam of this vision had shone forth even amidst the thunder claps
of the French Revolution; and now that the storm had burst over the
plains of Lombardy, ecstatic youths seemed to see the vision embodied
in the person of Bonaparte himself. At the first news of the success
at Lodi the national colours were donned as cockades, or waved
defiance from balconies and steeples to the Austrian garrisons. All
truly Italian hearts believed that the French victories heralded the
dawn of political freedom not only for Lombardy, but for the whole
peninsula.
Bonaparte's first actions increased these hopes. He abolished the
Austrian machinery of government, excepting the Council of State, and
approved the formation of provisional municipal councils and of a
National Guard. At the same time, he wrote guardedly to the Directors
at Paris, asking whether they proposed to organize Lombardy as a
republic, as it was much more ripe for this form of government than
Piedmont. Further than this he could not go; but at a later date he
did much to redeem his first promises to the people of Northern Italy.
The fair prospect was soon overclouded by the financial measures urged
on the young commander from Paris, measures which were disastrous to
the Lombards and degrading to the liberators themselves. The Directors
had recently bidden him to press hard on the Milanese, and levy large
contributions in money, provisions, and objects of art, seeing that
they did not intend to keep this country.[48] Bonaparte accordingly
issued a proclamation (May 19th), imposing on Lombardy the sum of
twenty million francs, remarking that it was a very light sum for so
fertile a country. Only two days before he had in a letter to the
Directors described it as exhausted by five years of war. As for the
assertion that the army needed this sum, it may be compared with his
private notification to the Directory, three days after his
proclamation, that they might speedily count on six to eight millions
of the Lombard contribution, as lying ready at their disposal, "it
being over and above what the army requires." This is the first
definite suggestion by Bonaparte of that system of bleeding conquered
lands for the benefit of the French Exchequer, which enabled him
speedily to gain power over the Directors. Thenceforth they began to
connive at his diplomatic irregularities, and even to urge on his
expeditions into wealthy districts, provided that the spoils went to
Paris; while the conqueror, on his part, was able tacitly to assume
that tone of authority with which the briber treats the bribed.[49]
The exaction of this large sum, and of various requisites for the
army, as well as the "extraction" of works of art for the benefit of
French museums, at once aroused the bitterest feelings. The loss of
priceless treasures, such as the manuscript of Virgil which had
belonged to Petrarch, and the masterpieces of Raphael and Leonardo da
Vinci, might perhaps have been borne: it concerned only the cultured
few, and their effervescence was soon quelled by patrols of French
cavalry. Far different was it with the peasants between Milan and
Pavia. Drained by the white-coats, they now refused to be bled for the
benefit of the blue-coats of France. They rushed to arms. The city of
Pavia defied the attack of a French column until cannon battered in
its gates. Then the republicans rushed in, massacred all the armed men
for some hours, and glutted their lust and rapacity. By order of
Bonaparte, the members of the municipal council were condemned to
execution; but a delay occurred before this ferocious order was
carried out, and it was subsequently mitigated. Two hundred hostages
were, however, sent away into France as a guarantee for the good
behaviour of the unfortunate city: whereupon the chief announced to
the Directory that this would serve as a useful lesson to the peoples
of Italy.
In one sense this was correct. It gave the Italians a true insight
into French methods; and painful emotions thrilled the peoples of the
peninsula when they realized at what a price their liberation was to
be effected. Yet it is unfair to lay the chief blame on Bonaparte for
the pillage of Lombardy. His actions were only a development of
existing revolutionary customs; but never had these demoralizing
measures been so thoroughly enforced as in the present system of
liberation and blackmail. Lombardy was ransacked with an almost Vandal
rapacity. Bonaparte desired little for himself. His aim ever was power
rather than wealth. Riches he valued only as a means to political
supremacy. But he took care to place the Directors and all his
influential officers deeply in his debt. To the five _soi-disant_
rulers of France he sent one hundred horses, the finest that could be
found in Lombardy, to replace "the poor creatures which now draw your
carriages";[50] to his officers his indulgence was passive, but
usually effective. Marmont states that Bonaparte once reproached him
for his scrupulousness in returning the whole of a certain sum which
he had been commissioned to recover. "At that time," says Marmont, "we
still retained a flower of delicacy on these subjects." This Alpine
gentian was soon to fade in the heats of the plains. Some generals
made large fortunes, eminently so Massena, first in plunder as in the
fray. And yet the commander, who was so lenient to his generals,
filled his letters to the Directory with complaints about the cloud of
French commissioners, dealers, and other civilian harpies who battened
on the spoil of Lombardy. It seems impossible to avoid the conclusion
that this indulgence towards the soldiers and severity towards
civilians was the result of a fixed determination to link indissolubly
to his fortunes the generals and rank and file. The contrast in his
behaviour was often startling. Some of the civilians he imprisoned:
others he desired to shoot; but as the hardiest robbers had generally
made to themselves friends of the military mammon of unrighteousness,
they escaped with a fine ridiculously out of proportion to their
actual gains.[51]
The Dukes of Parma and Modena were also mulcted. The former of these,
owing to his relationship with the Spanish Bourbons, with whom the
Directory desired to remain on friendly terms, was subjected to the
fine of merely two million francs and twenty masterpieces of art,
these last to be selected by French commissioners from the galleries
of the duchy; but the Duke of Modena, who had assisted the Austrian
arms, purchased his pardon by an indemnity of ten million francs, and
by the cession of twenty pictures, the chief artistic treasures of his
States.[52] As Bonaparte naively stated to the Directors, the duke had
no fortresses or guns; consequently these could not be demanded from
him.
From this degrading work Bonaparte strove to wean his soldiers by
recalling them to their nobler work of carrying on the enfranchisement
of Italy. In a proclamation (May 20th) which even now stirs the blood
like a trumpet call, he bade his soldiers remember that, though much
had been done, a far greater task yet awaited them. Posterity must not
reproach them for having found their Capua in Lombardy. Rome was to be
freed: the Eternal City was to renew her youth and show again the
virtues of her ancient worthies, Brutus and Scipio. Then France would
give a glorious peace to Europe; then their fellow-citizens would say
of each champion of liberty as he returned to his hearth: "He was of
the Army of Italy." By such stirring words did he entwine with the
love of liberty that passion for military glory which was destined to
strangle the Republic.
Meanwhile the Austrians had retired behind the banks of the Mincio and
the walls of its guardian fortress, Mantua. Their position was one of
great strength. The river, which carries off the surplus waters of
Lake Garda, joins the River Po after a course of some thirty miles.
Along with the tongue-like cavity occupied by its parent lake, the
river forms the chief inner barrier to all invaders of Italy. From
the earliest times down to those of the two Napoleons, the banks of
the Mincio have witnessed many of the contests which have decided the
fortunes of the peninsula. On its lower course, where the river widens
out into a semicircular lagoon flanked by marshes and backwaters, is
the historic town of Mantua. For this position, if we may trust the
picturesque lines of Mantua's noblest son,[53] the three earliest
races of Northern Italy had striven; and when the power of imperial
Rome was waning, the fierce Attila pitched his camp on the banks of
the Mincio, and there received the pontiff Leo, whose prayers and
dignity averted the threatening torrent of the Scythian horse.
It was by this stream, famed in war as in song, that the Imperialists
now halted their shattered forces, awaiting reinforcements from Tyrol.
These would pass down the valley of the Adige, and in the last part of
their march would cross the lands of the Venetian Republic. For this
action there was a long-established right of way, which did not
involve a breach of the neutrality of Venice. But, as some of the
Austrian troops had straggled on to the Venetian territory south of
Brescia, the French commander had no hesitation in openly violating
Venetian neutrality by the occupation of that town (May 26th).
Augereau's division was also ordered to push on towards the west shore
of Lake Garda, and there collect boats as if a crossing were intended.
Seeing this, the Austrians seized the small Venetian fortress of
Peschiera, which commands the exit of the Mincio from the lake, and
Venetian neutrality was thenceforth wholly disregarded.
By adroit moves on the borders of the lake, Bonaparte now sought to
make Beaulieu nervous about his communications with Tyrol through the
river valley of the Adige; he completely succeeded: seeking to guard
the important positions on that river between Rivoli and Roveredo,
Beaulieu so weakened his forces on the Mincio, that at Borghetto and
Valeggio he had only two battalions and ten squadrons of horse, or
about two thousand men. Lannes' grenadiers, therefore, had little
difficulty in forcing a passage on May 30th, whereupon Beaulieu
withdrew to the upper Adige, highly satisfied with himself for having
victualled the fortress of Mantua so that it could withstand a long
siege. This was, practically, his sole achievement in the campaign.
Outnumbered, outgeneralled, bankrupt in health as in reputation, he
soon resigned his command, but not before he had given signs of
"downright dotage."[54] He had, however, achieved immortality: his
incapacity threw into brilliant relief the genius of his young
antagonist, and therefore appreciably affected the fortunes of Italy
and of Europe.
Bonaparte now despatched Massena's division northwards, to coop up the
Austrians in the narrow valley of the upper Adige, while other
regiments began to close in on Mantua. The peculiarities of the ground
favoured its investment. The semicircular lagoon which guards Mantua
on the north, and the marshes on the south side, render an assault
very difficult; but they also limit the range of ground over which
sorties can be made, thereby lightening the work of the besiegers; and
during part of the blockade Napoleon left fewer than five thousand men
for this purpose. It was clear, however, that the reduction of Mantua
would be a tedious undertaking, such as Bonaparte's daring and
enterprising genius could ill brook, and that his cherished design of
marching northwards to effect a junction with Moreau on the Danube was
impossible. Having only 40,400 men with him at midsummer, he had
barely enough to hold the line of the Adige, to blockade Mantua, and
to keep open his communications with France.
At the command of the Directory he turned southward against feebler
foes. The relations between the Papal States and the French Republic
had been hostile since the assassination of the French envoy,
Basseville, at Rome, in the early days of 1793; but the Pope, Pius
VI., had confined himself to anathemas against the revolutionists and
prayers for the success of the First Coalition.
This conduct now drew upon him a sharp blow. French troops crossed the
Po and seized Bologna, whereupon the terrified cardinals signed an
armistice with the republican commander, agreeing to close all their
States to the English, and to admit a French garrison to the port of
Ancona. The Pope also consented to yield up "one hundred pictures,
busts, vases, or statues, as the French Commissioners shall determine,
among which shall especially be included the bronze bust of Junius
Brutus and the marble bust of Marcus Brutus, together with five
hundred manuscripts." He was also constrained to pay 15,500,000
francs, besides animals and goods such as the French agents should
requisition for their army, exclusive of the money and materials drawn
from the districts of Bologna and Ferrara. The grand total, in money,
and in kind, raised from the Papal States in this profitable raid, was
reckoned by Bonaparte himself as 34,700,000 francs,[55] or about;
L1,400,000--a liberal assessment for the life of a single envoy and
the _bruta fulmina_ of the Vatican.
Equally lucrative was a dash into Tuscany. As the Grand Duke of this
fertile land had allowed English cruisers and merchants certain
privileges at Leghorn, this was taken as a departure from the
neutrality which he ostensibly maintained since the signature of a
treaty of peace with France in 1795. A column of the republicans now
swiftly approached Leghorn and seized much valuable property from
British merchants. Yet the invaders failed to secure the richest of
the hoped-for plunder; for about forty English merchantmen sheered off
from shore as the troops neared the seaport, and an English frigate,
swooping down, carried off two French vessels almost under the eyes of
Bonaparte himself. This last outrage gave, it is true, a slight
excuse for the levying of requisitions in Leghorn and its environs;
yet, according to the memoir-writer, Miot de Melito, this unprincipled
action must be attributed not to Bonaparte, but to the urgent needs of
the French treasury and the personal greed of some of the Directors.
Possibly also the French commissioners and agents, who levied
blackmail or selected pictures, may have had some share in the shaping
of the Directorial policy: at least, it is certain that some of them,
notably Salicetti, amassed a large fortune from the plunder of
Leghorn. In order to calm the resentment of the Grand Duke, Bonaparte
paid a brief visit to Florence. He was received in respectful silence
as he rode through the streets where his ancestors had schemed for the
Ghibelline cause. By a deft mingling of courtesy and firmness the new
conqueror imposed his will on the Government of Florence, and then
sped northward to press on the siege of Mantua.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VI
THE FIGHTS FOR MANTUA
The circumstances which recalled Bonaparte to the banks of the Mincio
were indeed serious. The Emperor Francis was determined at all costs
to retain his hold on Italy by raising the siege of that fortress; and
unless the French commander could speedily compass its fall, he had
the prospect of fighting a greatly superior army while his rear was
threatened by the garrison of Mantua. Austria was making unparalleled
efforts to drive this presumptuous young general from a land which she
regarded as her own political preserve. Military historians have
always been puzzled to account for her persistent efforts in 1796-7 to
re-conquer Lombardy. But, in truth, the reasons are diplomatic, not
military, and need not be detailed here. Suffice it to say that,
though the Hapsburg lands in Swabia were threatened by Moreau's Army
of the Rhine, Francis determined at all costs to recover his Italian
possessions.
To this end the Emperor now replaced the luckless Beaulieu by General
Wuermser, who had gained some reputation in the Rhenish campaigns; and,
detaching 25,000 men from his northern armies to strengthen his army
on the Adige, he bade him carry the double-headed eagle of Austria
victoriously into the plains of Italy. Though too late to relieve the
citadel of Milan, he was to strain every nerve to relieve Mantua; and,
since the latest reports represented the French as widely dispersed
for the plunder of Central Italy, the Emperor indulged the highest
hopes of Wuermser's success.[56]
Possibly this might have been attained had the Austrian Emperor and
staff understood the absolute need of concentration in attacking a
commander who had already demonstrated its supreme importance in
warfare. Yet the difficulties of marching an army of 47,000 men
through the narrow defile carved by the Adige through the Tyrolese
Alps, and the wide extent of the French covering lines, led to the
adoption of a plan which favoured rapidity at the expense of security.
Wuermser was to divide his forces for the difficult march southward
from Tyrol into Italy. In defence of this arrangement much could be
urged. To have cumbered the two roads, which run on either side of the
Adige from Trient towards Mantua, with infantry, cavalry, artillery,
and the countless camp-followers, animals, and wagons that follow an
army, would have been fatal alike to speed of marching and to success
in mountain warfare. Even in the campaign of 1866 the greatest
commander of this generation carried out his maxim, "March in separate
columns: unite for fighting." But Wuermser and the Aulic Council[57] at
Vienna neglected to insure that reunion for attack, on which von
Moltke laid such stress in his Bohemian campaign. The Austrian forces
in 1796 were divided by obstacles which could not quickly be crossed,
namely, by Lake Garda and the lofty mountains which tower above the
valley of the Adige. Assuredly the Imperialists were not nearly strong
enough to run any risks. The official Austrian returns show that the
total force assembled in Tyrol for the invasion of Italy amounted to
46,937 men, not to the 60,000 as pictured by the imagination of Thiers
and other French historians. As Bonaparte had in Lombardy-Venetia
fully 45,000 men (including 10,000 now engaged in the siege of
Mantua), scattered along a front of fifty miles from Milan to Brescia
and Legnago, the incursion of Wuermser's force, if the French were held
to their separate positions by diversions against their flanks, must
have proved decisive. But the fault was committed of so far dividing
the Austrians that nowhere could they deal a crushing blow.
Quosdanovich with 17,600 men was to take the western side of Lake
Garda, seize the French magazines at Brescia, and cut their
communications with Milan and France: the main body under Wuermser,
24,300 strong, was meanwhile to march in two columns on either bank of
the Adige, drive the French from Rivoli and push on towards Mantua:
and yet a third division, led by Davidovich from the district of
Friuli on the east, received orders to march on Vicenza and Legnago,
in order to distract the French from that side, and possibly relieve
Mantua if the other two onsets failed.
Faulty as these dispositions were, they yet seriously disconcerted
Bonaparte. He was at Montechiaro, a village situated on the road
between Brescia and Mantua, when, on July 29th, he heard that the
white-coats had driven in Massena's vanguard above Rivoli on the
Adige, were menacing other positions near Verona and Legnago, and were
advancing on Brescia. As soon as the full extent of the peril was
manifest, he sent off ten despatches to his generals, ordering a
concentration of troops--these, of course, fighting so as to delay the
pursuit--towards the southern end of Lake Garda. This wise step
probably saved his isolated forces from disaster. It was at that point
that the Austrians proposed to unite their two chief columns and crush
the French detachments. But, by drawing in the divisions of Massena
and Augereau towards the Mincio, Bonaparte speedily assembled a
formidable array, and held the central position between the eastern
and western divisions of the Imperialists. He gave up the important
defensive line of the Adige, it is true; but by promptly rallying on
the Mincio, he occupied a base that was defended on the north by the
small fortress of Peschiera and the waters of Lake Garda. Holding the
bridges over the Mincio, he could strike at his assailants wherever
they should attack; above all, he still covered the siege of Mantua.
Such were his dispositions on July 29th and 30th. On the latter day he
heard of the loss of Brescia, and the consequent cutting of his
communications with Milan. Thereupon he promptly ordered Serurier, who
was besieging Mantua, to make a last vigorous effort to take that
fortress, but also to assure his retreat westwards if fortune failed
him. Later in the day he ordered him forthwith to send away his
siege-train, throwing into the lake or burying whatever he could not
save from the advancing Imperialists.
This apparently desperate step, which seemed to forebode the
abandonment not only of the siege of Mantua, but of the whole of
Lombardy, was in reality a masterstroke. Bonaparte had perceived the
truth, which the campaigns of 1813 and 1870 were abundantly to
illustrate--that the possession of fortresses, and consequently their
siege by an invader, is of secondary importance when compared with a
decisive victory gained in the open. When menaced by superior forces
advancing towards the south of Lake Garda, he saw that he must
sacrifice his siege works, even his siege-train, in order to gain for
a few precious days that superiority in the field which the division
of the Imperialist columns still left to him.
The dates of these occurrences deserve close scrutiny; for they
suffice to refute some of the exorbitant claims made at a later time
by General Augereau, that only his immovable firmness forced Bonaparte
to fight and to change his dispositions of retreat into an attack
which re-established everything. This extraordinary assertion,
published by Augereau after he had deserted Napoleon in 1814, is
accompanied by a detailed recital of the events of July 30th-August
5th, in which Bonaparte appears as the dazed and discouraged
commander, surrounded by pusillanimous generals, and urged on to fight
solely by the confidence of Augereau. That the forceful energy of this
general had a great influence in restoring the _morale_ of the French
army in the confused and desperate movements which followed may freely
be granted. But his claims to have been the main spring of the French
movements in those anxious days deserve a brief examination. He
asserts that Bonaparte, "devoured by anxieties," met him at Roverbella
late in the evening of July 30th, and spoke of retiring beyond the
River Po. The official correspondence disproves this assertion.
Bonaparte had already given orders to Serurier to retire beyond the Po
with his artillery train; but this was obviously an attempt to save it
from the advancing Austrians; and the commander had ordered the
northern part of the French besieging force to join Augereau between
Roverbella and Goito. Augereau further asserts that, after he had
roused Bonaparte to the need of a dash to recover Brescia, the
commander-in-chief remarked to Berthier, "In that case we must raise
the siege of Mantua," which again he (Augereau) vigorously opposed.
This second statement is creditable neither to Augereau's accuracy nor
to his sagacity. The order for the raising of the siege had been
issued, and it was entirely necessary for the concentration of French
troops, on which Bonaparte now relied as his only hope against
superior force. Had Bonaparte listened to Augereau's advice and
persisted still in besieging Mantua, the scattered French forces must
have been crushed in detail. Augereau's words are those of a mere
fighter, not of a strategist; and the timidity which he ungenerously
attributed to Bonaparte was nothing but the caution which a superior
intellect saw to be a necessary prelude to a victorious move.
That the fighting honours of the ensuing days rightly belong to
Augereau may be frankly conceded. With forces augmented by the
northern part of the besiegers of Mantua, he moved rapidly westwards
from the Mincio against Brescia, and rescued it from the vanguard of
Quosdanovich (August 1st). On the previous day other Austrian
detachments had also, after obstinate conflicts, been worsted near
Salo and Lonato. Still, the position was one of great perplexity: for
though Massena's division from the Adige was now beginning to come
into touch with Bonaparte's chief force, yet the fronts of Wuermser's
columns were menacing the French from that side, while the troops of
Quosdanovich, hovering about Lonato and Salo, struggled desperately to
stretch a guiding hand to their comrades on the Mincio.
Wuermser was now discovering his error. Lured towards Mantua by false
reports that the French were still covering the siege, he had marched
due south when he ought to have rushed to the rescue of his
hard-pressed lieutenant at Brescia. Entering Mantua, he enjoyed a
brief spell of triumph, and sent to the Emperor Francis the news of
the capture of 40 French cannon in the trenches, and of 139 more on
the banks of the Po. But, while he was indulging the fond hope that
the French were in full retreat from Italy, came the startling news
that they had checked Quosdanovich at Brescia and Salo. Realizing his
errors, and determining to retrieve them before all was lost, he at
once pushed on his vanguard towards Castiglione, and easily gained
that village and its castle from a French detachment commanded by
General Valette.
The feeble defence of so important a position threw Bonaparte into one
of those transports of fury which occasionally dethroned his better
judgment. Meeting Valette at Montechiaro, he promptly degraded him to
the ranks, refusing to listen to his plea of having received a written
order to retire. A report of General Landrieux asserts that the rage
of the commander-in-chief was so extreme as for the time even to
impair his determination. The outlook was gloomy. The French seemed
about to be hemmed in amidst the broken country between Castiglione,
Brescia, and Salo. A sudden attack on the Austrians was obviously the
only safe and honourable course. But no one knew precisely their
numbers or their position. Uncertainty ever preyed on Bonaparte's
ardent imagination. His was a mind that quailed not before visible
dangers; but, with all its powers of decisive action, it retained so
much of Corsican eeriness as to chafe at the unknown,[58] and to lose
for the moment the faculty of forming a vigorous resolution. Like the
python, which grips its native rock by the tail in order to gain its
full constricting power, so Bonaparte ever needed a groundwork of fact
for the due exercise of his mental force.
One of a group of generals, whom he had assembled about him near
Montechiaro, proposed that they should ascend the hill which dominated
the plain. Even from its ridge no Austrians were to be seen. Again the
commander burst forth with petulant reproaches, and even talked of
retiring to the Adda. Whereupon, if we may trust the "Memoirs" of
General Landrieux, Augereau protested against retreat, and promised
success for a vigorous charge. "I wash my hands of it, and I am going
away," replied Bonaparte. "And who will command, if you go?" inquired
Augereau. "You," retorted Bonaparte, as he left the astonished circle.
However this may be, the first attack on Castiglione was certainly
left to this determined fighter; and the mingling of boldness and
guile which he showed on the following day regained for the French not
only the village, but also the castle, perched on a precipitous rock.
Yet the report of Colonel Graham, who was then at Marshal Wuermser's
headquarters, somewhat dulls the lustre of Augereau's exploit; for the
British officer asserts that the Austrian position had been taken up
quite by haphazard, and that fewer than 15,000 white-coats were
engaged in this first battle of Castiglione. Furthermore, the
narratives of this _melee_ written by Augereau himself and by two
other generals, Landrieux and Verdier, who were disaffected towards
Bonaparte, must naturally be received with much reserve. The effect of
Augereau's indomitable energy in restoring confidence to the soldiers
and victory to the French tricolour was, however, generously admitted
by the Emperor Napoleon; for, at a later time when complaints were
being made about Augereau, he generously exclaimed: "Ah, let us not
forget that he saved us at Castiglione."[59]
While Augereau was recovering this important position, confused
conflicts were raging a few miles further north at Lonato. Massena at
first was driven back by the onset of the Imperialists; but while they
were endeavouring to envelop the French, Bonaparte arrived, and in
conjunction with Massena pushed on a central attack such as often
wrested victory from the enemy. The white-coats retired in disorder,
some towards Gavardo, others towards the lake, hotly followed by the
French. In the pursuit towards Gavardo, Bonaparte's old friend,
Junot, distinguished himself by his dashing valour. He wounded a
colonel, slew six troopers, and, covered with wounds, was finally
overthrown into a ditch. Such is Bonaparte's own account. It is
gratifying to know that the wounds neither singly nor collectively
were dangerous, and did not long repress Junot's activity. A tinge of
romance seems, indeed, to have gilded many of these narratives; and a
critical examination of the whole story of Lonato seems to suggest
doubts whether the victory was as decisive as historians have often
represented. If the Austrians were "thrown back on Lake Garda and
Desenzano,"[60] it is difficult to see why the pursuers did not drive
them into the lake. As a matter of fact, nearly all the beaten troops
escaped to Gavardo, while others joined their comrades engaged in the
blockade of Peschiera.
A strange incident serves to illustrate the hazards of war and the
confusion of this part of the campaign. A detachment of the vanquished
Austrian forces some 4,000 strong, unable to join their comrades at
Gavardo or Peschiera, and yet unharmed by the victorious pursuers,
wandered about on the hills, and on the next day chanced near Lonato
to come upon a much smaller detachment of French. Though unaware of
the full extent of their good fortune, the Imperialists boldly sent an
envoy to summon the French commanding officer to surrender. When the
bandage was taken from his eyes, he was abashed to find himself in the
presence of Bonaparte, surrounded by the generals of his staff. The
young commander's eyes flashed fire at the seeming insult, and in
tones vibrating with well-simulated passion he threatened the envoy
with condign punishment for daring to give such a message to the
commander-in-chief at his headquarters in the midst of his army. Let
him and his men forthwith lay down their arms. Dazed by the demand,
and seeing only the victorious chief and not the smallness of his
detachment, 4,000 Austrians surrendered to 1,200 French, or rather to
the address and audacity of one master-mind.
Elated by this augury of further victory, the republicans prepared for
the decisive blow. Wuermser, though checked on August 3rd, had been so
far reinforced from Mantua as still to indulge hopes of driving the
French from Castiglione and cutting his way through to rescue
Quosdanovich. He was, indeed, in honour bound to make the attempt; for
the engagement had been made, with the usual futility that dogged the
Austrian councils, to reunite their forces and _fight the French on
the 7th of August_. These cast-iron plans were now adhered to in spite
of their dislocation at the hands of Bonaparte and Augereau. Wuermser's
line stretched from near the village of Medole in a north-easterly
direction across the high-road between Brescia and Mantua; while his
right wing was posted in the hilly country around Solferino. In fact,
his extreme right rested on the tower-crowned heights of Solferino,
where the forces of Austria two generations later maintained so
desperate a defence against the onset of Napoleon III. and his
liberating army.
Owing to the non-arrival of Mezaros' corps marching from Legnago,
Wuermser mustered scarcely twenty-five thousand men on his long line;
while the very opportune approach of part of Serurier's division,
under the lead of Fiorella, from the south, gave the French an
advantage even in numbers. Moreover, Fiorella's advance on the south
of Wuermser's weaker flank, that near Medole, threatened to turn it and
endanger the Austrian communications with Mantua. The Imperialists
seem to have been unaware of this danger; and their bad scouting here
as elsewhere was largely responsible for the issue of the day.
Wuermser's desire to stretch a helping hand to Quosdanovich near Lonato
and his confidence in the strength of his own right wing betrayed him
into a fatal imprudence. Sending out feelers after his hard-pressed
colleague on the north, he dangerously prolonged his line, an error in
which he was deftly encouraged by Bonaparte, who held back his own
left wing. Meanwhile the French were rolling in the other extremity of
the Austrian line. Marmont, dashing forward with the horse artillery,
took the enemy's left wing in flank and silenced many of their pieces.
Under cover of this attack, Fiorella's division was able to creep up
within striking distance; and the French cavalry, swooping round the
rear of this hard-pressed wing, nearly captured Wuermser and his staff.
A vigorous counterattack by the Austrian reserves, or an immediate
wheeling round of the whole line, was needed to repulse this brilliant
flank attack; but the Austrian reserves had been expended in the north
of their line; and an attempt to change front, always a difficult
operation, was crushed by a headlong charge of Massena's and
Augereau's divisions on their centre. Before these attacks the whole
Austrian line gave way; and, according to Colonel Graham, nothing but
this retreat, undertaken "without orders," saved the whole force from
being cut off. The criticisms of our officer sufficiently reveal the
cause of the disaster. The softness and incapacity of Wuermser, the
absence of a responsible second in command, the ignorance of the
number and positions of the French, the determination to advance
towards Castiglione and to wait thereabouts for Quosdanovich until a
battle could be fought with combined forces on the 7th, the taking up
a position almost by haphazard on the Castiglione-Medole line, and the
failure to detect Fiorella's approach, present a series of defects and
blunders which might have given away the victory to a third-rate
opponent.[61]
The battle was by no means sanguinary: it was a series of manoeuvres
rather than of prolonged conflicts. Hence its interest to all who by
preference dwell on the intellectual problems of warfare rather than
on the details of fighting. Bonaparte had previously shown that he
could deal blows with telling effect. The ease and grace of his moves
at the second battle of Castiglione now redeemed the reputation which
his uncertain behaviour on the four preceding days had somewhat
compromised.
A complete and authentic account of this week of confused fighting has
never been written. The archives of Vienna have not as yet yielded up
all their secrets; and the reputations of so many French officers were
over-clouded by this prolonged _melee_ as to render even the victors'
accounts vague and inconsistent. The aim of historians everywhere to
give a clear and vivid account, and the desire of Napoleonic
enthusiasts to represent their hero as always thinking clearly and
acting decisively, have fused trusty ores and worthless slag into an
alloy which has passed for true metal. But no student of Napoleon's
"Correspondence," of the "Memoirs" of Marmont, and of the recitals of
Augereau, Dumas, Landrieux, Verdier, Despinois and others, can hope
wholly to unravel the complications arising from the almost continuous
conflicts that extended over a dozen leagues of hilly country. War is
not always dramatic, however much the readers of campaigns may yearn
after thrilling narratives. In regard to this third act of the Italian
campaign, all that can safely be said is that Bonaparte's intuition to
raise the siege of Mantua, in order that he might defeat in detail the
relieving armies, bears the imprint of genius: but the execution of
this difficult movement was unequal, even at times halting; and the
French army was rescued from its difficulties only by the grand
fighting qualities of the rank and file, and by the Austrian blunders,
which outnumbered those of the republican generals.
Neither were the results of the Castiglione cycle of battles quite so
brilliant as have been represented. Wuermser and Quosdanovich lost in
all 17,000 men, it is true: but the former had re-garrisoned and
re-victualled Mantua, besides capturing all the French siege-train.
Bonaparte's primary aim had been to reduce Mantua, so that he might be
free to sweep through Tyrol, join hands with Moreau, and overpower the
white-coats in Bavaria. The aim of the Aulic Council and Wuermser had
been to relieve Mantua and restore the Hapsburg rule over Lombardy.
Neither side had succeeded. But the Austrians could at least point to
some successes; and, above all, Mantua was in a better state of
defence than when the French first approached its walls: and while
Mantua was intact, Bonaparte was held to the valley of the Mincio, and
could not deal those lightning blows on the Inn and the Danube which
he ever regarded as the climax of the campaign. Viewed on its material
side, his position was no better than it was before Wuermser's
incursion into the plains of Venetia.[62]
With true Hapsburg tenacity, Francis determined on further efforts for
the relief of Mantua. Apart from the promptings of dynastic pride, his
reasons for thus obstinately struggling against Alpine gorges, Italian
sentiment, and Bonaparte's genius, are wellnigh inscrutable; and
military writers have generally condemned this waste of resources on
the Brenta, which, if hurled against the French on the Rhine, would
have compelled the withdrawal of Bonaparte from Italy for the defence
of Lorraine. But the pride of the Emperor Francis brooked no surrender
of his Italian possessions, and again Wuermser was spurred on from
Vienna to another invasion of Venetia. It would be tedious to give an
account of Wuermser's second attempt, which belongs rather to the
domain of political fatuity than that of military history. Colonel
Graham states that the Austrian rank and file laughed at their
generals, and bitterly complained that they were being led to the
shambles, while the officers almost openly exclaimed: "We must make
peace, for we don't know how to make war." This was again apparent.
Bonaparte forestalled their attack. Their divided forces fell an easy
prey to Massena, who at Bassano cut Wuermser's force to pieces and sent
the _debris_ flying down the valley of the Brenta. Losing most of
their artillery, and separated in two chief bands, the Imperialists
seemed doomed to surrender: but Wuermser, doubling on his pursuers,
made a dash westwards, finally cutting his way to Mantua. There again
he vainly endeavoured to make a stand. He was driven from his
positions in front of St. Georges and La Favorita, and was shut up in
the town itself. This addition to the numbers of the garrison was no
increase to its strength; for the fortress, though well provisioned
for an ordinary garrison, could not support a prolonged blockade, and
the fevers of the early autumn soon began to decimate troops worn out
by forced marches and unable to endure the miasma ascending from the
marshes of the Mincio.
The French also were wearied by their exertions in the fierce heats of
September. Murmurs were heard in the ranks and at the mess tables that
Bonaparte's reports of these exploits were tinged by favouritism
and by undue severity against those whose fortune had been less
conspicuous than their merits. One of these misunderstandings was of
some importance. Massena, whose services had been brilliant at Bassano
but less felicitous since the crossing of the Adige, reproached
Bonaparte for denying praise to the most deserving and lavishing it on
men who had come in opportunely to reap the labours of others. His
written protest, urged with the old republican frankness, only served
further to cloud over the relations between them, which, since Lonato,
had not been cordial.[63] Even thus early in his career Bonaparte
gained the reputation of desiring brilliant and entire success, and of
visiting with his displeasure men who, from whatever cause, did not
wrest from Fortune her utmost favours. That was his own mental
attitude towards the fickle goddess. After entering Milan he cynically
remarked to Marmont: "Fortune is a woman; and the more she does for
me, the more I will require of her." Suggestive words, which explain
at once the splendour of his rise and the rapidity of his fall.
During the few weeks of comparative inaction which ensued, the affairs
of Italy claimed his attention. The prospect of an Austrian
re-conquest had caused no less concern to the friends of liberty in
the peninsula than joy to the reactionary coteries of the old
sovereigns. At Rome and Naples threats against the French were
whispered or openly vaunted. The signature of the treaties of peace
was delayed, and the fulminations of the Vatican were prepared against
the sacrilegious spoilers. After the Austrian war-cloud had melted
away, the time had come to punish prophets of evil. The Duke of Modena
was charged with allowing a convoy to pass from his State to the
garrison of Mantua, and with neglecting to pay the utterly impossible
fine to which Bonaparte had condemned him. The men of Reggio and
Modena were also encouraged to throw off his yoke and to confide in
the French. Those of Reggio succeeded; but in the city of Modena
itself the ducal troops repressed the rising. Bonaparte accordingly
asked the advice of the Directory; but his resolution was already
formed. Two days after seeking their counsel, he took the decisive
step of declaring Modena and Reggio to be under the protection of
France. This act formed an exceedingly important departure in the
history of France as well as in that of Italy. Hitherto the Directory
had succeeded in keeping Bonaparte from active intervention in affairs
of high policy. In particular, it had enjoined on him the greatest
prudence with regard to the liberated lands of Italy, so as not to
involve France in prolonged intervention in the peninsula, or commit
her to a war _a outrance_ with the Hapsburgs; and its warnings were
now urged with all the greater emphasis because news had recently
reached Paris of a serious disaster to the French arms in Germany. But
while the Directors counselled prudence, Bonaparte forced their hand
by declaring the Duchy of Modena to be under the protection of France;
and when their discreet missive reached him, he expressed to them his
regret that it had come too late. By that time (October 24th) he had
virtually founded a new State, for whose security French honour was
deeply pledged. This implied the continuance of the French occupation
of Northern Italy and therefore a prolongation of Bonaparte's command.
It was not the Duchy of Modena alone which felt the invigorating
influence of democracy and nationality. The Papal cities of Bologna
and Ferrara had broken away from the Papal sway, and now sent deputies
to meet the champions of liberty at Modena and found a free
commonwealth. There amidst great enthusiasm was held the first truly
representative Italian assembly that had met for many generations; and
a levy of 2,800 volunteers, styled the Italian legion, was decreed.
Bonaparte visited these towns, stimulated their energy, and bade the
turbulent beware of his vengeance, which would be like that of "the
exterminating angel." In a brief space these districts were formed
into the Cispadane Republic, destined soon to be merged into a yet
larger creation. A new life breathed from Modena and Bologna into
Central Italy. The young republic forthwith abolished all feudal laws,
decreed civic equality, and ordered the convocation at Bologna of a
popularly elected Assembly for the Christmas following. These events
mark the first stage in the beginning of that grand movement, _Il
Risorgimento,_ which after long delays was finally consummated in
1870.
This period of Bonaparte's career may well be lingered over by those
who value his invigorating influence on Italian life more highly than
his military triumphs. At this epoch he was still the champion of the
best principles of the Revolution; he had overthrown Austrian
domination in the peninsula, and had shaken to their base domestic
tyrannies worse than that of the Hapsburgs. His triumphs were as yet
untarnished. If we except the plundering of the liberated and
conquered lands, an act for which the Directory was primarily
responsible, nothing was at this time lacking to the full orb of his
glory. An envoy bore him the welcome news that the English, wearied by
the intractable Corsicans, had evacuated the island of his birth; and
he forthwith arranged for the return of many of the exiles who had
been faithful to the French Republic. Among these was Salicetti, who
now returned for a time to his old insular sphere; while his former
_protege_ was winning a world-wide fame. Then, turning to the affairs
of Central Italy, the young commander showed his diplomatic talents to
be not a whit inferior to his genius for war. One instance of this
must here suffice. He besought the Pope, who had broken off the
lingering negotiations with France, not to bring on his people the
horrors of war.[64] The beauty of this appeal, as also of a somewhat
earlier appeal to the Emperor Francis at Vienna, is, however,
considerably marred by other items which now stand revealed in
Bonaparte's instructive correspondence. After hearing of the French
defeats in Germany, he knew that the Directors could spare him very
few of the 25,000 troops whom he demanded as reinforcements.
He was also aware that the Pope, incensed at his recent losses in
money and lands, was seeking to revivify the First Coalition. The
pacific precepts addressed by the young Corsican to the Papacy must
therefore be viewed in the light of merely mundane events and of his
secret advice to the French agent at Rome: "The great thing is to gain
time.... Finally, the game really is for us to throw the ball from one
to the other, so as to deceive this old fox."[65]
From these diplomatic amenities the general was forced to turn to the
hazards of war. Gauging Bonaparte's missive at its true worth, the
Emperor determined to re-conquer Italy, an enterprise that seemed well
within his powers. In the month of October victory had crowned the
efforts of his troops in Germany. At Wuerzburg the Archduke Charles had
completely beaten Jourdan, and had thrown both his army and that of
Moreau back on the Rhine. Animated by reviving hopes, the Imperialists
now assembled some 60,000 strong. Alvintzy, a veteran of sixty years,
renowned for his bravery, but possessing little strategic ability, was
in command of some 35,000 men in the district of Friuli, north of
Trieste, covering that seaport from a threatened French attack. With
this large force he was to advance due west, towards the River Brenta,
while Davidovich, marching through Tyrol by the valley of the Adige,
was to meet him with the remainder near Verona. As Jomini has
observed, the Austrians gave themselves infinite trouble and
encountered grave risks in order to compass a junction of forces
which they might quietly have effected at the outset. Despite all
Bonaparte's lessons, the Aulic Council still clung to its old plan of
enveloping the foe and seeking to bewilder them by attacks delivered
from different sides. Possibly also they were emboldened by the
comparative smallness of Bonaparte's numbers to repeat this hazardous
manoeuvre.
The French could muster little more than 40,000 men; and of these at
least 8,000 were needed opposite Mantua.
At first the Imperialists gained important successes; for though the
French held their own on the Brenta, yet their forces in the Tyrol
were driven down the valley of the Adige with losses so considerable
that Bonaparte was constrained to order a general retreat on Verona.
He discerned that from this central position he could hold in check
Alvintzy's troops marching westwards from Vicenza and prevent their
junction with the Imperialists under Davidovich, who were striving to
thrust Vaubois' division from the plateau of Rivoli.
But before offering battle to Alvintzy outside Verona, Bonaparte paid
a flying visit to his men posted on that plateau in order to rebuke
the wavering and animate the whole body with his own dauntless spirit.
Forming the troops around him, he addressed two regiments in tones of
grief and anger. He reproached them for abandoning strong positions in
a panic, and ordered his chief staff officer to inscribe on their
colours the ominous words: "They are no longer of the Army of
Italy."[66] Stung by this reproach, the men begged with sobs that the
general would test their valour before disgracing them for ever. The
young commander, who must have counted on such a result to his words,
when uttered to French soldiers, thereupon promised to listen to their
appeals; and their bravery in the ensuing fights wiped every stain of
disgrace from their colours. By such acts as these did he nerve his
men against superior numbers and adverse fortune.
Their fortitude was to be severely tried at all points. Alvintzy
occupied a strong position on a line of hills at Caldiero, a few miles
to the east of Verona. His right wing was protected by the spurs of
the Tyrolese Alps, while his left was flanked by the marshes which
stretch between the rivers Alpon and Adige; and he protected his front
by cannon skilfully ranged along the hills. All the bravery of
Massena's troops failed to dislodge the right wing of the
Imperialists. The French centre was torn by the Austrian cannon and
musketry. A pitiless storm of rain and sleet hindered the advance of
the French guns and unsteadied the aim of the gunners; and finally
they withdrew into Verona, leaving behind 2,000 killed and wounded,
and 750 prisoners (November 12th). This defeat at Caldiero--for it is
idle to speak of it merely as a check--opened up a gloomy vista of
disasters for the French; and Bonaparte, though he disguised his fears
before his staff and the soldiery, forthwith wrote to the Directors
that the army felt itself abandoned at the further end of Italy, and
that this fair conquest seemed about to be lost. With his usual device
of under-rating his own forces and exaggerating those of his foes, he
stated that the French both at Verona and Rivoli were only 18,000,
while the grand total of the Imperialists was upwards of 50,000. But
he must have known that for the present he had to deal with rather
less than half that number. The greater part of the Tyrolese force
had not as yet descended the Adige below Roveredo; and allowing for
detachments and losses, Alvintzy's array at Caldiero barely exceeded
20,000 effectives.
Bonaparte now determined to hazard one of the most daring turning
movements which history records. It was necessary at all costs to
drive Alvintzy from the heights of Caldiero before the Tyrolese
columns should overpower Vaubois' detachment at Rivoli and debouch in
the plains west of Verona. But, as Caldiero could not be taken by a
front attack, it must be turned by a flanking movement. To any other
general than Bonaparte this would have appeared hopeless; but where
others saw nothing but difficulties, his eye discerned a means of
safety. South and south-east of those hills lies a vast depression
swamped by the flood waters of the Alpon and the Adige. Morasses
stretch for some miles west of the village of Arcola, through which
runs a road up the eastern bank of the Alpon, crossing that stream at
the aforenamed village and leading to the banks of the Adige opposite
the village of Ronco; another causeway, diverging from the former a
little to the north of Ronco, leads in a north-westerly direction
towards Porcil. By advancing from Ronco along these causeways, and by
seizing Arcola, Bonaparte designed to outflank the Austrians and tempt
them into an arena where the personal prowess of the French veterans
would have ample scope, and where numbers would be of secondary
importance. Only heads of columns could come into direct contact; and
the formidable Austrian cavalry could not display its usual prowess.
On these facts Bonaparte counted as a set-off to his slight
inferiority in numbers.
In the dead of night the divisions of Augereau and Massena retired
through Verona. Officers and soldiers were alike deeply discouraged by
this movement, which seemed to presage a retreat towards the Mincio
and the abandonment of Lombardy. To their surprise, when outside the
gate they received the order to turn to the left down the western bank
of the Adige. At Ronco the mystery was solved. A bridge of boats had
there been thrown across the Adige; and, crossing this without
opposition, Augereau's troops rapidly advanced along the causeway
leading to Arcola and menaced the Austrian rear, while Massena's
column denied north-west, so as directly to threaten his flank at
Caldiero. The surprise, however, was by no means complete; for
Alvintzy himself purposed to cross the Adige at Zevio, so as to make a
dash on Mantua, and in order to protect his flank he had sent a
detachment of Croats to hold Arcola. These now stoutly disputed
Augereau's progress, pouring in from the loopholed cottages volleys
which tore away the front of every column of attack. In vain did
Augereau, seizing the colours, lead his foremost regiment to the
bridge of Arcola. Riddled by the musketry, his men fell back in
disorder. In vain did Bonaparte himself, dismounting from his charger,
seize a flag, rally these veterans and lead them towards the bridge.
The Croats, constantly reinforced, poured in so deadly a fire as to
check the advance: Muiron, Marmont, and a handful of gallant men still
pressed on, thereby screening the body of their chief; but Muiron fell
dead, and another officer, seizing Bonaparte, sought to drag him back
from certain death. The column wavered under the bullets, fell back to
the further side of the causeway, and in the confusion the commander
fell into the deep dyke at the side. Agonized at the sight, the French
rallied, while Marmont and Louis Bonaparte rescued their beloved chief
from capture or from a miry death, and he retired to Ronco, soon
followed by the wearied troops.[67]
[Illustration: PLAN TO ILLUSTRATE THE VICTORY OF ARCOLA.]
This memorable first day of fighting at Arcola (November 15th) closed
on the strange scene of two armies encamped on dykes, exhausted by an
almost amphibious conflict, like that waged by the Dutch "Beggars" in
their war of liberation against Spain. Though at Arcola the
republicans had been severely checked, yet further west Massena had
held his own; and the French movement as a whole had compelled
Alvintzy to suspend any advance on Verona or on Mantua, to come down
from the heights of Caldiero, and to fight on ground where his
superior numbers were of little avail. This was seen on the second day
of fighting on the dykes opposite Arcola, which was, on the whole,
favourable to the smaller veteran force. On the third day Bonaparte
employed a skilful ruse to add to the discouragement of his foes. He
posted a small body of horsemen behind a spinney near the Austrian
flank, with orders to sound their trumpets as if for a great cavalry
charge. Alarmed by the noise and by the appearance of French troops
from the side of Legnago and behind Arcola, the demoralized
white-coats suddenly gave way and retreated for Vicenza.
Victory again declared for the troops who could dare the longest, and
whose general was never at a loss in face of any definite danger. Both
armies suffered severely in these desperate conflicts;[68] but, while
the Austrians felt that the cup of victory had been snatched from
their very lips, the French soldiery were dazzled by this transcendent
exploit of their chief. They extolled his bravery, which almost vied
with the fabulous achievement of Horatius Cocles, and adored the
genius which saw safety and victory for his discouraged army amidst
swamps and dykes. Bonaparte himself, with that strange mingling of the
practical and the superstitious which forms the charm of his
character, ever afterwards dated the dawn of his fortune in its full
splendour from those hours of supreme crisis among the morasses of
Arcola. But we may doubt whether this posing as the favourite of
fortune was not the result of his profound knowledge of the credulity
of the vulgar herd, which admires genius and worships bravery, but
grovels before persistent good luck.
Though it is difficult to exaggerate the skill and bravery of the
French leader and his troops, the failure of his opponents is
inexplicable but for the fact that most of their troops were unable to
manoeuvre steadily in the open, that Alvintzy was inexperienced as a
commander-in-chief, and was hampered throughout by a bad plan of
campaign. Meanwhile the other Austrian army, led by Davidovich, had
driven Vaubois from his position at Rivoli; and had the Imperialist
generals kept one another informed of their moves, or had Alvintzy,
disregarding a blare of trumpets and a demonstration on his flank and
rear, clung to Arcola for two days longer--the French would have been
nipped between superior forces. But, as it was, the lack of accord in
the Austrian movements nearly ruined the Tyrolese wing, which pushed
on triumphantly towards Verona, while Alvintzy was retreating
eastwards. Warned just in time, Davidovich hastily retreated to
Roveredo, leaving a whole battalion in the hands of the French. To
crown this chapter of blunders, Wuermser, whose sortie after Caldiero
might have been most effective, tardily essayed to break through the
blockaders, when both his colleagues were in retreat. How different
were these ill-assorted moves from those of Bonaparte. His maxims
throughout this campaign, and his whole military career, were: (1)
divide for foraging, concentrate for fighting; (2) unity of command is
essential for success; (3) time is everything. This firm grasp of the
essentials of modern warfare insured his triumph over enemies who
trusted to obsolete methods for the defence of antiquated
polities.[69]
The battle of Arcola had an important influence on the fate of Italy
and Europe. In the peninsula all the elements hostile to the
republicans were preparing for an explosion in their rear which should
reaffirm the old saying that Italy was the tomb of the French. Naples
had signed terms of peace with them, it is true; but the natural
animosity of the Vatican against its despoilers could easily have
leagued the south of Italy with the other States that were working
secretly for their expulsion. While the Austrians were victoriously
advancing, these aims were almost openly avowed, and at the close of
the year 1796 Bonaparte moved south to Bologna in order to guide the
Italian patriots in their deliberations and menace the Pope with an
invasion of the Roman States. From this the Pontiff was for the
present saved by new efforts on the part of Austria. But before
describing the final attempt of the Hapsburgs to wrest Italy from
their able adversary, it will be well to notice his growing ascendancy
in diplomatic affairs.
While Bonaparte was struggling in the marshes of Arcola, the Directory
was on the point of sending to Vienna an envoy, General Clarke, with
proposals for an armistice preliminary to negotiations for peace with
Austria. This step was taken, because France was distracted by open
revolt in the south, by general discontent in the west, and by the
retreat of her Rhenish armies, now flung back on the soil of the
Republic by the Austrian Arch-duke Charles. Unable to support large
forces in the east of France out of its bankrupt exchequer, the
Directory desired to be informed of the state of feeling at Vienna. It
therefore sent Clarke with offers, which might enable him to look into
the political and military situation at the enemy's capital, and see
whether peace could not be gained at the price of some of Bonaparte's
conquests. The envoy was an elegant and ambitious young man, descended
from an Irish family long settled in France, who had recently gained
Carnot's favour, and now desired to show his diplomatic skill by
subjecting Bonaparte to the present aims of the Directory.
The Directors' secret instructions reveal the plans which they then
harboured for the reconstruction of the Continent. Having arranged an
armistice which should last up to the end of the next spring, Clarke
was to set forth arrangements which might suit the House of Hapsburg.
He might discuss the restitution of all their possessions in Italy,
and the acquisition of the Bishopric of Salzburg and other smaller
German and Swabian territories: or, if she did not recover the
Milanese, Austria might gain the northern parts of the Papal States as
compensation; and the Duke of Tuscany--a Hapsburg--might reign at
Rome, yielding up his duchy to the Duke of Parma; while, as this last
potentate was a Spanish Bourbon, France might for her good offices to
this House gain largely from Spain in America.[70] In these and other
proposals two methods of bargaining are everywhere prominent. The
great States are in every case to gain at the expense of their weaker
neighbours; Austria is to be appeased; and France is to reap enormous
gains ultimately at the expense of smaller Germanic or Italian States.
These facts should clearly be noted. Napoleon was afterwards
deservedly blamed for carrying out these unprincipled methods; but, at
the worst, he only developed them from those of the Directors, who,
with the cant of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity on their lips,
battened on the plunder of the liberated lands, and cynically proposed
to share the spoil of weaker States with the potentates against whom
they publicly declaimed as tyrants.
The chief aim of these negotiations, so Clarke was assured, was to
convince the Court of Vienna that it would get better terms by
treating with France directly and alone, rather than by joining in the
negotiations which had recently been opened at Paris by England. But
the Viennese Ministers refused to allow Clarke to proceed to their
capital, and appointed Vicenza as the seat of the deliberations.
They were brief. Through the complex web of civilian intrigue,
Bonaparte forthwith thrust the mailed hand of the warrior. He had
little difficulty in proving to Clarke that the situation was
materially altered by the battle of Arcola. The fall of Mantua was now
only a matter of weeks. To allow its provisions to be replenished for
the term of the armistice was an act that no successful general could
tolerate. For that fortress the whole campaign had been waged, and
three Austrian armies had been hurled back into Tyrol and Friuli. Was
it now to be provisioned, in order that the Directory might barter
away the Cispadane Republic? He speedily convinced Clarke of the
fatuity of the Directors' proposals. He imbued him with his own
contempt for an armistice that would rob the victors of their prize;
and, as the Court of Vienna still indulged hopes of success in Italy,
Clarke's negotiations at Vicenza came to a speedy conclusion.
In another important matter the Directory also completely failed.
Nervous as to Bonaparte's ambition, it had secretly ordered Clarke to
watch his conduct and report privately to Paris. Whether warned by a
friend at Court, or forearmed by his own sagacity, Bonaparte knew of
this, and in his intercourse with Clarke deftly let the fact be seen.
He quickly gauged Clarke's powers, and the aim of his mission. "He is
a spy," he remarked a little later to Miot, "whom the Directory have
set upon me: he is a man of no talent--only conceited." The splendour
of his achievements and the mingled grace and authority of his
demeanour so imposed on the envoy that he speedily fell under the
influence of the very man whom he was to watch, and became his
enthusiastic adherent.
Bonaparte was at Bologna, supervising the affairs of the Cispadane
Republic, when he heard that the Austrians were making a last effort
for the relief of Mantua. Another plan had been drawn up by the Aulic
Council at Vienna. Alvintzy, after recruiting his wearied force at
Bassano, was quickly to join the Tyrolese column at Roveredo, thereby
forming an army of 28,000 men wherewith to force the position of
Rivoli and drive the French in on Mantua: 9,000 Imperialists under
Provera were also to advance from the Brenta upon Legnago, in order to
withdraw the attention of the French from the real attempt made by the
valley of the Adige; while 10,000 others at Bassano and elsewhere were
to assail the French front at different points and hinder their
concentration. It will be observed that the errors of July and
November, 1796, were now yet a third time to be committed: the forces
destined merely to make diversions were so strengthened as not to be
merely light bodies distracting the aim of the French, while
Alvintzy's main force was thereby so weakened as to lack the impact
necessary for victory.
Nevertheless, the Imperialists at first threw back their foes with
some losses; and Bonaparte, hurrying northwards to Verona, was for
some hours in a fever of uncertainty as to the movements and strength
of the assailants. Late at night on January 13th he knew that
Provera's advance was little more than a demonstration, and that the
real blow would fall on the 10,000 men marshalled by Joubert at Monte
Baldo and Rivoli. Forthwith he rode to the latter place, and changed
retreat and discouragement into a vigorous offensive by the news that
13,000 more men were on the march to defend the strong position of
Rivoli.
The great defensive strength of this plateau had from the first
attracted his attention. There the Adige in a sharp bend westward
approaches within six miles of Lake Garda. There, too, the mountains,
which hem in the gorge of the river on its right bank, bend away
towards the lake and leave a vast natural amphitheatre, near the
centre of which rises the irregular plateau that commands the exit
from Tyrol. Over this plateau towers on the north Monte Baldo, which,
near the river gorge, sends out southward a sloping ridge, known as
San Marco, connecting it with the plateau. At the foot of this spur is
the summit of the road which leads the traveller from Trent to Verona;
and, as he halts at the top of the zigzag, near the village of Rivoli,
his eye sweeps over the winding gorge of the river beneath, the
threatening mass of Monte Baldo on the north, and on the west of the
village he gazes down on a natural depression which has been sharply
furrowed by a torrent. The least experienced eye can see that the
position is one of great strength. It is a veritable parade ground
among the mountains, almost cut off from them by the ceaseless action
of water, and destined for the defence of the plains of Italy. A small
force posted at the head of the winding roadway can hold at bay an
army toiling up from the valley; but, as at Thermopylae, the position
is liable to be outflanked by an enterprising foe, who should scale
the footpath leading over the western offshoots of Monte Baldo, and,
fording the stream at its foot, should then advance eastwards against
the village. This, in part, was Alvintzy's plan, and having nearly
28,000 men,[71] he doubted not that his enveloping tactics must
capture Joubert's division of 10,000 men. So daunted was even this
brave general by the superior force of his foes that he had ordered a
retreat southwards when an aide-de-camp arrived at full gallop and
ordered him to hold Rivoli at all costs. Bonaparte's arrival at 4 a.m.
explained the order, and an attack made during the darkness wrested
from the Austrians the chapel on the San Marco ridge which stands on
the ridge above the zigzag track. The reflection of the Austrian
watch-fires in the wintry sky showed him their general position. To an
unskilled observer the wide sweep of the glare portended ruin for the
French. To the eye of Bonaparte the sight brought hope. It proved that
his foes were still bent on their old plan of enveloping him: and from
information which he treacherously received from Alvintzy's staff he
must have known that that commander had far fewer than the 45,000 men
which he ascribed to him in bulletins.
[Illustration: NEIGHBOURHOOD OF RIVOLI.]
Yet the full dawn of that January day saw the Imperialists flushed
with success, as their six separate columns drove in the French
outposts and moved towards Rivoli. Of these, one was on the eastern
side of the Adige and merely cannonaded across the valley: another
column wound painfully with most of the artillery and cavalry along
the western bank, making for the village of Incanale and the foot of
the zigzag leading up to Rivoli: three others denied over Monte Baldo
by difficult paths impassable to cannon: while the sixth and
westernmost column, winding along the ridge near Lake Garda, likewise
lacked the power which field-guns and horsemen would have added to its
important turning movement. Never have natural obstacles told more
potently on the fortunes of war than at Rivoli; for on the side where
the assailants most needed horses and guns they could not be used;
while on the eastern edge of their broken front their cannon and
horse, crowded together in the valley of the Adige, had to climb the
winding road under the plunging fire of the French infantry and
artillery. Nevertheless, such was the ardour of the Austrian attack,
that the tide of battle at first set strongly in their favour. Driving
the French from the San Marco ridge and pressing their centre hard
between Monte Baldo and Rivoli, they made it possible for their troops
in the valley to struggle on towards the foot of the zigzag; and on
the west their distant right wing was already beginning to threaten
the French rear. Despite the arrival of Massena's troops from Verona
about 9 a.m., the republicans showed signs of unsteadiness. Joubert on
the ground above the Adige, Berthier in the centre, and Massena on the
left, were gradually forced back. An Austrian column, advancing from
the side of Monte Baldo by the narrow ravine, stole round the flank of
a French regiment in front of Massena's division, and by a vigorous
charge sent it flying in a panic which promised to spread to another
regiment thus uncovered. This was too much for the veteran, already
dubbed "the spoilt child of victory "; he rushed to its captain,
bitterly upbraided him and the other officers, and finally showered
blows on them with the flat of his sword. Then, riding at full speed
to two tried regiments of his own division, he ordered them to check
the foe; and these invincible heroes promptly drove back the
assailants. Even so, however, the valour of the best French regiments
and the skill of Massena, Berthier, and Joubert barely sufficed to
hold back the onstreaming tide of white-coats opposite Rivoli.
Yet even at this crisis the commander, confident in his central
position, and knowing his ability to ward off the encircling swoops of
the Austrian eagle, maintained that calm demeanour which moved the
wonder of smaller minds. His confidence in his seasoned troops was not
misplaced. The Imperialists, overburdened by long marches and faint
now for lack of food, could not maintain their first advantage. Some
of their foremost troops, that had won the broken ground in front of
St. Mark's Chapel, were suddenly charged by French horse; they fled in
panic, crying out, "French cavalry!" and the space won was speedily
abandoned to the tricolour. This sudden rebuff was to dash all their
hopes of victory; for at that crisis of the day the chief Austrian
column of nearly 8,000 men was struggling up the zigzag ascent leading
from the valley of the Adige to the plateau, in the fond hope that
their foes were by this time driven from the summit. Despite the
terrible fire that tore their flanks, the Imperialists were clutching
desperately at the plateau, when Bonaparte put forth his full striking
power. He could now assail the crowded ranks of the doomed column in
front and on both flanks. A charge of Leclerc's horse and of Joubert's
infantry crushed its head; volleys of cannon and musketry from the
plateau tore its sides; an ammunition wagon exploded in its midst; and
the great constrictor forthwith writhed its bleeding coils back into
the valley, where it lay crushed and helpless for the rest of the
fight.
Animated by this lightning stroke of their commander, the French
turned fiercely towards Monte Baldo and drove back their opponents
into the depression at its foot. But already at their rear loud shouts
warned them of a new danger. The western detachment of the
Imperialists had meanwhile worked round their rear, and, ignorant of
the fate of their comrades, believed that Bonaparte's army was caught
in a trap. The eyes of all the French staff officers were now turned
anxiously on their commander, who quietly remarked, "We have them
now." He knew, in fact, that other French troops marching up from
Verona would take these new foes in the rear; and though Junot and his
horsemen failed to cut their way through so as to expedite their
approach, yet speedily a French regiment burst through the encircling
line and joined in the final attack which drove these last assailants
from the heights south of Rivoli, and later on compelled them to
surrender.
Thus closed the desperate battle of Rivoli (January 14th). Defects in
the Austrian position and the opportune arrival of French
reinforcements served to turn an Austrian success into a complete
rout. Circumstances which to a civilian may seem singly to be of small
account sufficed to tilt the trembling scales of warfare, and
Alvintzy's army now reeled helplessly back into Tyrol with a total
loss of 15,000 men and of nearly all its artillery and stores. Leaving
Joubert to pursue it towards Trent, Bonaparte now flew southwards
towards Mantua, whither Provera had cut his way. Again his untiring
energy, his insatiable care for all probable contingencies, reaped a
success which the ignorant may charge to the account of his fortune.
Strengthening Augereau's division by light troops, he captured the
whole of Provera's army at La Favorita, near the walls of Mantua
(January 16th). The natural result of these two dazzling triumphs was
the fall of the fortress for which the Emperor Francis had risked and
lost five armies. Wuermser surrendered Mantua on February 2nd with
18,000 men and immense supplies of arms and stores. The close of this
wondrous campaign was graced by an act of clemency. Generous terms
were accorded to the veteran marshal, whose fidelity to blundering
councillors at Vienna had thrown up in brilliant relief the prudence,
audacity, and resourcefulness of the young war-god.
It was now time to chastise the Pope for his support of the enemies of
France. The Papalini proved to be contemptible as soldiers. They fled
before the republicans, and a military promenade brought the invaders
to Ancona, and then inland to Tolentino, where Pius VI. sued for
peace. The resulting treaty signed at that place (February 19th)
condemned the Holy See to close its ports to the allies, especially to
the English; to acknowledge the acquisition of Avignon by France, and
the establishment of the Cispadane Republic at Bologna, Ferrara, and
the surrounding districts; to pay 30,000,000 francs to the French
Government; and to surrender 100 works of art to the victorious
republicans.
It is needless to describe the remaining stages in Bonaparte's
campaign against Austria. Hitherto he had contended against fairly
good, though discontented and discouraged troops, badly led, and
hampered by the mountain barrier which separated them from their real
base of operations. In the last part of the war he fought against
troops demoralized by an almost unbroken chain of disasters. The
Austrians were now led by a brave and intelligent general, the
Archduke Charles; but he was hampered by rigorous instructions from
Vienna, by senile and indolent generals, by the indignation or despair
of the younger officers at the official favouritism which left them in
obscurity, and by the apathy of soldiers who had lost heart. Neither
his skill nor the natural strength of their positions in Friuli and
Carinthia could avail against veterans flushed with victory and
marshalled with unerring sagacity. The rest of the war only served to
emphasize the truth of Napoleon's later statement, that the moral
element constitutes three-fourths of an army's strength. The barriers
offered by the River Tagliamento and the many commanding heights of
the Carnic and the Noric Alps were as nothing to the triumphant
republicans; and from the heights that guard the province of Styria,
the genius of Napoleon flashed as a terrifying portent to the Court of
Vienna and the potentates of Central Europe. When the tricolour
standards were nearing the town of Leoben, the Emperor Francis sent
envoys to sue for peace;[72] and the preliminaries signed there,
within one hundred miles of the Austrian capital, closed the campaign
which a year previously had opened with so little promise for the
French on the narrow strip of land between the Maritime Alps and the
petty township of Savona.
These brilliant results were due primarily to the consummate
leadership of Bonaparte. His geographical instincts discerned the
means of profiting by natural obstacles and of turning them when they
seemed to screen his opponents. Prompt to divine their plans, he
bewildered them by the audacity of his combinations, which overbore
their columns with superior force at the very time when he seemed
doomed to succumb. Genius so commanding had not been displayed even by
Frederick or Marlborough. And yet these brilliant results could not
have been achieved by an army which rarely exceeded 45,000 men without
the strenuous bravery and tactical skill of the best generals of
division, Augereau, Massena, and Joubert, as well as of officers who
had shown their worth in many a doubtful fight; Lannes, the hero of
Lodi and Arcola; Marmont, noted for his daring advance of the guns at
Castiglione; Victor, who justified his name by hard fighting at La
Favorita; Murat, the _beau sabreur_, and Junot, both dashing cavalry
generals; and many more whose daring earned them a soldier's death in
order to gain glory for France and liberty for Italy. Still less ought
the soldiery to be forgotten; those troops, whose tattered uniforms
bespoke their ceaseless toils, who grumbled at the frequent lack of
bread, but, as Massena observed, never _before_ a battle, who even in
retreat never doubted the genius of their chief, and fiercely rallied
at the longed-for sign of fighting. The source of this marvellous
energy is not hard to discover. Their bravery was fed by that
wellspring of hope which had made of France a nation of free men
determined to free the millions beyond their frontiers. The French
columns were "equality on the march"; and the soldiery, animated by
this grand enthusiasm, found its militant embodiment in the great
captain who seemed about to liberate Italy and Central Europe.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VII
LEOBEN TO CAMPO FORMIO
In signing the preliminaries of peace at Leoben, which formed in part
the basis for the Treaty of Campo Formio, Bonaparte appears as a
diplomatist of the first rank. He had already signed similar articles
with the Court of Turin and with the Vatican. But such a transaction
with the Emperor was infinitely more important than with the
third-rate powers of the peninsula. He now essays his first flight to
the highest levels of international diplomacy. In truth, his mental
endowments, like those of many of the greatest generals, were no less
adapted to success in the council-chamber than on the field of battle;
for, indeed, the processes of thought and the methods of action are
not dissimilar in the spheres of diplomacy and war. To evade obstacles
on which an opponent relies, to multiply them in his path, to bewilder
him by feints before overwhelming him by a crushing onset, these are
the arts which yield success either to the negotiator or to the
commander.
In imposing terms of peace on the Emperor at Leoben (April 18th,
1797), Bonaparte reduced the Directory, and its envoy, Clarke, who was
absent in Italy, to a subordinate _role_. As commander-in-chief, he
had power only to conclude a brief armistice, but now he signed the
preliminaries of peace. His excuse to the Directory was ingenious.
While admitting the irregularity of his conduct, he pleaded the
isolated position of his army, and the absence of Clarke, and that,
under the circumstances, his act had been merely "a military
operation." He could also urge that he had in his rear a disaffected
Venetia, and that he believed the French armies on the Rhine to be
stationary and unable to cross that river. But the very tardy advent
of Clarke on the scene strengthens the supposition that Bonaparte was
at the time by no means loth to figure as the pacifier of the
Continent. Had he known the whole truth, namely, that the French were
gaining a battle on the east bank of the Rhine while the terms of
peace were being signed at Leoben, he would most certainly have broken
off the negotiations and have dictated harsher terms at the gates of
Vienna. That was the vision which shone before his eyes three years
previously, when he sketched to his friends at Nice the plan of
campaign, beginning at Savona and ending before the Austrian capital;
and great was his chagrin at hearing the tidings of Moreau's success
on April 20th. The news reached him on his return from Leoben to
Italy, when he was detained for a few hours by a sudden flood of the
River Tagliamento. At once he determined to ride back and make some
excuse for a rupture with Austria; and only the persistent
remonstrances of Berthier turned him from this mad resolve, which
would forthwith have exhibited him to the world as estimating more
highly the youthful promptings of destiny than the honour of a French
negotiator.
The terms which he had granted to the Emperor were lenient enough. The
only definitive gain to France was the acquisition of the Austrian
Netherlands (Belgium), for which troublesome possession the Emperor
was to have compensation elsewhere. Nothing absolutely binding was
said about the left, or west, bank of the Rhine, except that Austria
recognized the "constitutional limits" of France, but reaffirmed the
integrity of "The Empire."[73] These were contradictory statements;
for France had declared the Rhine to be her natural boundary, and the
old "Empire" included Belgium, Treves, and Luxemburg. But, for the
interpretation of these vague formularies, the following secret and
all-important articles were appended. While the Emperor renounced that
part of his Italian possessions which lay to the west of the Oglio, he
was to receive all the mainland territories of Venice east of that
river, including Dalmatia and Istria, Venice was also to cede her
lands west of the Oglio to the French Government; and in return for
these sacrifices she was to gain the three legations of Romagna,
Ferrara, and Bologna--the very lands which Bonaparte had recently
formed into the Cispadane Republic! For the rest, the Emperor would
have to recognize the proposed Republic at Milan, as also that already
existing at Modena, "compensation" being somewhere found for the
deposed duke.
From the correspondence of Thugut, the Austrian Minister, it appears
certain that Austria herself had looked forward to the partition of
the Venetian mainland territories, and this was the scheme which
Bonaparte _actually proposed to her at Leoben_. Still more
extraordinary was his proposal to sacrifice, ostensibly to Venice but
ultimately to Austria, the greater part of the Cispadane Republic. It
is, indeed, inexplicable, except on the ground that his military
position at Leoben was more brilliant than secure. His uneasiness
about this article of the preliminaries is seen in his letter of April
22nd to the Directors, which explains that the preliminaries need not
count for much. But most extraordinary of all was his procedure
concerning the young Lombard Republic. He seems quite calmly to have
discussed its retrocession to the Austrians, and that, too, after he
had encouraged the Milanese to found a republic, and had declared that
every French victory was "a line of the constitutional charter."[74]
The most reasonable explanation is that Bonaparte over-estimated the
military strength of Austria, and undervalued the energy of the men of
Milan, Modena, and Bologna, of whose levies he spoke most
contemptuously. Certain it is that he desired to disengage himself
from their affairs so as to be free for the grander visions of
oriental conquest that now haunted his imagination. Whatever were his
motives in signing the preliminaries at Leoben, he speedily found
means for their modification in the ever-enlarging area of negotiable
lands.
It is now time to return to the affairs of Venice. For seven months
the towns and villages of that republic had been a prey to pitiless
warfare and systematic rapacity, a fate which the weak ruling
oligarchy could neither avert nor avenge. In the western cities,
Bergamo and Brescia, whose interests and feelings linked them with
Milan rather than Venice, the populace desired an alliance with the
nascent republic on the west and a severance from the gloomy
despotism of the Queen of the Adriatic. Though glorious in her prime,
she now governed with obscurantist methods inspired by fear of her
weakness becoming manifest; and Bonaparte, tearing off the mask which
hitherto had screened her dotage, left her despised by the more
progressive of her own subjects. Even before he first entered the
Venetian territory, he set forth to the Directory the facilities for
plunder and partition which it offered. Referring to its reception of
the Comte de Provence (the future Louis XVIII.) and the occupation of
Peschiera by the Austrians, he wrote (June 6th, 1796):
"If your plan is to extract five or six million francs from Venice,
I have expressly prepared for you this sort of rupture with her....
If you have intentions more pronounced, I think that you ought to
continue this subject of contention, instruct me as to your
desires, and wait for the favourable opportunity, which I will
seize according to circumstances, for we must not have everybody on
our hands at the same time."
The events which now transpired in Venetia gave him excuses for the
projected partition. The weariness felt by the Brescians and
Bergamesques for Venetian rule had been artfully played on by the
Jacobins of Milan and by the French Generals Kilmaine and Landrieux;
and an effort made by the Venetian officials to repress the growing
discontent brought about disturbances in which some men of the
"Lombard legion" were killed. The complicity of the French in the
revolt is clearly established by the Milanese journals and by the fact
that Landrieux forthwith accepted the command of the rebels at Bergamo
and Brescia.[75] But while these cities espoused the Jacobin cause,
most of the Venetian towns and all the peasantry remained faithful to
the old Government. It was clear that a conflict must ensue, even if
Bonaparte and some of his generals had not secretly worked to bring it
about. That he and they did so work cannot now be disputed. The circle
of proof is complete. The events at Brescia and Bergamo were part of
a scheme for precipitating a rupture with Venice; and their success
was so far assured that Bonaparte at Leoben secretly bargained away
nearly the whole of the Venetian lands. Furthermore, a fortnight
before the signing of these preliminaries, he had suborned a vile
wretch, Salvatori by name, to issue a proclamation purporting to come
from the Venetian authorities, which urged the people everywhere to
rise and massacre the French. It was issued on April 5th, though it
bore the date of March 20th. At once the Doge warned his people that
it was a base fabrication, But the mischief had been done. On Easter
Monday (April 17th) a chance affray in Verona let loose the passions
which had been rising for months past: the populace rose in fury
against the French detachment quartered on them: and all the soldiers
who could not find shelter in the citadel, even the sick in the
hospitals, fell victims to the craving for revenge for the
humiliations and exactions of the last seven months.[76] Such was
Easter-tide at Verona--_les Paques veronaises_--an event that recalls
the Sicilian Vespers of Palermo in its blind southern fury.
The finale somewhat exceeded Bonaparte's expectations, but he must
have hailed it with a secret satisfaction. It gave him a good excuse
for wholly extinguishing Venice as an independent power. According to
the secret articles signed at Leoben, the city of Venice was to have
retained her independence and gained the Legations. But her contumacy
could now be chastised by annihilation. Venice could, in fact,
indemnify the Hapsburgs for the further cessions which France exacted
from them elsewhere; and in the process Bonaparte would free himself
from the blame which attached to his hasty signature of the
preliminaries at Leoben.[77] He was now determined to secure the Rhine
frontier for France, to gain independence, under French tutelage, not
only for the Lombard Republic, but also for Modena and the Legations.
These were his aims during the negotiations to which he gave the full
force of his intellect during the spring and summer of 1797.
The first thing was to pour French troops into Italy so as to extort
better terms: the next was to declare war on Venice. For this there
was now ample justification; for, apart from the massacre at Verona,
another outrage had been perpetrated. A French corsair, which had
persisted in anchoring in a forbidden part of the harbour of Venice,
had been riddled by the batteries and captured. For this act, and for
the outbreak at Verona, the Doge and Senate offered ample reparation:
but Bonaparte refused to listen to these envoys, "dripping with French
blood," and haughtily bade Venice evacuate her mainland
territories.[78] For various reasons he decided to use guile rather
than force. He found in Venice a secretary of the French legation,
Villetard by name, who could be trusted dextrously to undermine the
crumbling fabric of the oligarchy.[79] This man persuaded the
terrified populace that nothing would appease the fury of the
French general but the deposition of the existing oligarchy and the
formation of a democratic municipality. The people and the patricians
alike swallowed the bait; and the once haughty Senate tamely
pronounced its own doom. Disorders naturally occurred on the downfall
of the ancient oligarchy, especially when the new municipality ordered
the removal of Venetian men-of-war into the hands of the French and
the introduction of French troops by help of Venetian vessels. A
mournful silence oppressed even the democrats when 5,000 French troops
entered Venice on board the flotilla. The famous State, which for
centuries had ruled the waters of the Levant, and had held the fierce
Turks at bay, a people numbering 3,000,000 souls and boasting a
revenue of 9,000,000 ducats, now struck not one blow against
conquerors who came in the guise of liberators.
On the same day Bonaparte signed at Milan a treaty of alliance with
the envoys of the new Venetian Government. His friendship was to be
dearly bought. In secret articles, which were of more import than the
vague professions of amity which filled the public document, it was
stipulated that the French and Venetian Republics should come to an
understanding as to the _exchange_ of certain territories, that Venice
should pay a contribution in money and in materials of war, should aid
the French navy by furnishing three battleships and two frigates, and
should enrich the museums of her benefactress by 20 paintings and 500
manuscripts. While he was signing these conditions of peace, the
Directors were despatching from Paris a declaration of war against
Venice. Their decision was already obsolete: it was founded on
Bonaparte's despatch of April 30th; but in the interval their
proconsul had wholly changed the situation by overthrowing the rule of
the Doge and Senate, and by setting up a democracy, through which he
could extract the wealth of that land. The Directors' declaration of
war was accordingly stopped at Milan, and no more was heard of it.
They were thus forcibly reminded of the truth of his previous warning
that things would certainly go wrong unless they consulted him on all
important details.[80]
This treaty of Milan was the fourth important convention concluded by
the general, who, at the beginning of the campaign of 1796, had been
forbidden even to sign an armistice without consulting Salicetti!
It was speedily followed by another, which in many respects redounds
to the credit of the young conqueror. If his conduct towards Venice
inspires loathing, his treatment of Genoa must excite surprise and
admiration. Apart from one very natural outburst of spleen, it shows
little of that harshness which might have been expected from the man
who had looked on Genoa as the embodiment of mean despotism. Up to the
summer of 1796 Bonaparte seems to have retained something of his old
detestation of that republic; for at midsummer, when he was in the
full career of his Italian conquests, he wrote to Faypoult, the French
envoy at Genoa, urging him to keep open certain cases that were in
dispute, and three weeks later he again wrote that the time for Genoa
had not yet come. Any definite action against this wealthy city was,
indeed, most undesirable during the campaign; for the bankers of
Genoa supplied the French army with the sinews of war by means of
secret loans, and their merchants were equally complaisant in regard
to provisions. These services were appreciated by Bonaparte as much as
they were resented by Nelson; and possibly the succour which Genoese
money and shipping covertly rendered to the French expeditions for
the recovery of Corsica may have helped to efface from Bonaparte's
memory the associations clustering around the once-revered name of
Paoli. From ill-concealed hostility he drifted into a position of
tolerance and finally of friendship towards Genoa, provided that she
became democratic. If her institutions could be assimilated to those
of France, she might prove a valuable intermediary or ally.
The destruction of the Genoese oligarchy presented no great
difficulties. Both Venice and Genoa had long outlived their power, and
the persistent violation of their neutrality had robbed them of that
last support of the weak, self-respect. The intrigues of Faypoult and
Salicetti were undermining the influence of the Doge and Senate, when
the news of the fall of the Venetian oligarchy spurred on the French
party to action, But the Doge and Senate armed bands of mountaineers
and fishermen who were hostile to change; and in a long and desperate
conflict in the narrow streets of Genoa the democrats were completely
worsted (May 23rd). The victors thereupon ransacked the houses of the
opposing faction and found lists of names of those who were to have
been proscribed, besides documents which revealed the complicity of
the French agents in the rising. Bonaparte was enraged at the folly of
the Genoese democrats, which deranged his plans. As he wrote to the
Directory, if they had only remained quiet for a fortnight, the
oligarchy would have collapsed from sheer weakness. The murder of a
few Frenchmen and Milanese now gave him an excuse for intervention. He
sent an aide-de-camp, Lavalette, charged with a vehement diatribe
against the Doge and Senate, which lost nothing in its recital before
that august body. At the close a few senators called out, "Let us
fight": but the spirit of the Dorias flickered away with these
protests; and the degenerate scions of mighty sires submitted to the
insults of an aide-de-camp and the dictation of his master.
The fate of this ancient republic was decided by Bonaparte at the
Castle of Montebello, near Milan, where he had already drawn up her
future constitution. After brief conferences with the Genoese envoys,
he signed with them the secret convention which placed their
republic--soon to be renamed the Ligurian Republic--under the
protection of France and substituted for the close patrician rule a
moderate democracy. The fact is significant. His military instincts
had now weaned him from the stiff Jacobinism of his youth; and, in
conjunction with Faypoult and the envoys, he arranged that the
legislative powers should be intrusted to two popularly elected
chambers of 300 and 150 members, while the executive functions were to
be discharged by twelve senators, presided over by a Doge; these
officers were to be appointed by the chambers: for the rest, the
principles of religious liberty and civic equality were recognized,
and local self-government was amply provided for. Cynics may, of
course, object that this excellent constitution was but a means of
insuring French supremacy and of peacefully installing Bonaparte's
regiments in a very important city; but the close of his intervention
may be pronounced as creditable to his judgment as its results were
salutary to Genoa. He even upbraided the demagogic party of that city
for shivering in pieces the statue of Andrea Doria and suspending the
fragments on some of the innumerable trees of liberty recently
planted.
"Andrea Doria," he wrote, "was a great sailor and a great
statesman. Aristocracy was liberty in his time. The whole of Europe
envies your city the honour of having produced that celebrated man.
You will, I doubt not, take pains to rear his statue again: I pray
you to let me bear a part of the expense which that will entail,
which I desire to share with those who are most zealous for the
glory and welfare of your country."
In contrasting this wise and dignified conduct with the hatred which
most Corsicans still cherished against Genoa, Bonaparte's greatness of
soul becomes apparent and inspires the wish: _Utinam semper sic
fuisses!_
Few periods of his life have been more crowded with momentous events
than his sojourn at the Castle of Montebello in May-July, 1797.
Besides completing the downfall of Venice and reinvigorating the life
of Genoa, he was deeply concerned with the affairs of the Lombard or
Cisalpine Republic, with his family concerns, with the consolidation
of his own power in French politics, and with the Austrian
negotiations. We will consider these affairs in the order here
indicated.
The future of Lombardy had long been a matter of concern to Bonaparte.
He knew that its people were the _fittest_ in all Italy to benefit by
_constitutional rule_, but it must be dependent on France. He felt
little confidence in the Lombards if left to themselves, as is seen in
his conversation with Melzi and Miot de Melito at the Castle of
Montebello. He was in one of those humours, frequent at this time of
dawning splendour, when confidence in his own genius betrayed him into
quite piquant indiscretions. After referring to the Directory, he
turned abruptly to Melzi, a Lombard nobleman:
"As for your country, Monsieur de Melzi, it possesses still fewer
elements of republicanism than France, and can be managed more
easily than any other. You know better than anyone that we shall do
what we like with Italy. But the time has not yet come. We must
give way to the fever of the moment. We are going to have one or
two republics here of our own sort. Monge will arrange that for
us."
He had some reason for distrusting the strength of the democrats in
Italy. At the close of 1796 he had written that there were three
parties in Lombardy, one which accepted French guidance, another which
desired liberty even with some impatience, and a third faction,
friendly to the Austrians: he encouraged the first, checked the
second, and repressed the last. He now complained that the Cispadanes
and Cisalpines had behaved very badly in their first elections, which
had been conducted in his absence; for they had allowed clerical
influence to override all French predilections. And, a little later,
he wrote to Talleyrand that the genuine love of liberty was feeble in
Italy, and that, as soon as French influences were withdrawn, the
Italian Jacobins would be murdered by the populace. The sequel was to
justify his misgivings, and therefore to refute the charges of those
who see in his conduct respecting the Cisalpine Republic nothing but
calculating egotism. The difficulty of freeing a populace that had
learnt to hug its chains was so great that the temporary and partial
success which his new creation achieved may be regarded as a proof of
his political sagacity.
After long preparations by four committees, which Bonaparte kept at
Milan closely engaged in the drafting of laws, the constitution of the
Cisalpine Republic was completed. It was a miniature of that of
France, and lest there should be any further mistakes in the
elections, Bonaparte himself appointed, not only the five Directors
and the Ministers whom they were to control, but even the 180
legislators, both Ancients and Juniors. In this strange fashion did
democracy descend on Italy, not mainly as the work of the people, but
at the behest of a great organizing genius. It is only fair to add
that he summoned to the work of civic reconstruction many of the best
intellects of Italy. He appointed a noble, Serbelloni, to be the first
President of the Cisalpine Republic, and a scion of the august House
of the Visconti was sent as its ambassador to Paris. Many able men
that had left Lombardy during the Austrian occupation or the recent
wars were attracted back by Bonaparte's politic clemency; and the
festival of July 9th at Milan, which graced the inauguration of the
new Government, presented a scene of civic joy to which that unhappy
province had long been a stranger. A vast space was thronged with an
enormous crowd which took up the words of the civic oath uttered by
the President. The Archbishop of Milan celebrated Mass and blessed the
banners of the National Guards; and the day closed with games, dances,
and invocations to the memory of the Italians who had fought and died
for their nascent liberties. Amidst all the vivas and the clash of
bells Bonaparte took care to sound a sterner note. On that very day
he ordered the suppression of a Milanese club which had indulged in
Jacobinical extravagances, and he called on the people "to show to the
world by their wisdom, energy, and by the good organization of their
army, that modern Italy has not degenerated and is still worthy of
liberty."
The contagion of Milanese enthusiasm spread rapidly. Some of the
Venetian towns on the mainland now petitioned for union with the
Cisalpine Republic; and the deputies of the Cispadane, who were
present at the festival, urgently begged that their little State might
enjoy the same privilege. Hitherto Bonaparte had refused these
requests, lest he should hamper the negotiations with Austria, which
were still tardily proceeding; but within a month their wish was
gratified, and the Cispadane State was united to the larger and more
vigorous republic north of the River Po, along with the important
districts of Como, Bergamo, Brescia, Crema, and Peschiera.
Disturbances in the Swiss district of the Valteline soon enabled
Bonaparte to intervene on behalf of the oppressed peasants, and to
merge this territory also in the Cisalpine Republic, which
consequently stretched from the high Alps southward to Rimini, and
from the Ticino on the west to the Mincio on the east.[81]
Already, during his sojourn at the Castle of Montebello, Bonaparte
figured as the all-powerful proconsul of the French Republic. Indeed,
all his surroundings--his retinue of complaisant generals, and the
numerous envoys and agents who thronged his ante-chambers to beg an
audience--befitted a Sulla or a Wallenstein, rather than a general of
the regicide Republic. Three hundred Polish soldiers guarded the
approaches to the castle; and semi-regal state was also observed in
its spacious corridors and saloons. There were to be seen Italian
nobles, literati, and artists, counting it the highest honour to visit
the liberator of their land; and to them Bonaparte behaved with that
mixture of affability and inner reserve, of seductive charm
alternating with incisive cross-examination which proclaimed at once
the versatility of his gifts, the keenness of his intellect, and his
determination to gain social, as well as military and political,
supremacy. And yet the occasional abruptness of his movements, and the
strident tones of command lurking beneath his silkiest speech, now and
again reminded beholders that he was of the camp rather than of the
court. To his generals he was distant; for any fault even his
favourite officers felt the full force of his anger; and aides-de-camp
were not often invited to dine at his table. Indeed, he frequently
dined before his retinue, almost in the custom of the old Kings of
France.
With him was his mother, also his brothers, Joseph and Louis, whom he
was rapidly advancing to fortune. There, too, were his sisters; Elise,
proud and self-contained, who at this period married a noble but
somewhat boorish Corsican, Bacciocchi; and Pauline, a charming girl of
sixteen, whose hand the all-powerful brother offered to Marmont, to be
by him unaccountably refused, owing, it would seem, to a prior
attachment. This lively and luxurious young creature was not long to
remain unwedded. The adjutant-general, Leclerc, became her suitor;
and, despite his obscure birth and meagre talents, speedily gained her
as his bride. Bonaparte granted her 40,000 francs as her dowry;
and--significant fact--the nuptials were privately blessed by a priest
in the chapel of the Palace of Montebello.
There, too, at Montebello was Josephine.
Certainly the Bonapartes were not happy in their loves: the one dark
side to the young conqueror's life, all through this brilliant
campaign, was the cruelty of his bride. From her side he had in March,
1796, torn himself away, distracted between his almost insane love for
her and his determination to crush the chief enemy of France: to her
he had written long and tender letters even amidst the superhuman
activities of his campaign. Ten long despatches a day had not
prevented him covering as many sheets of paper with protestations of
devotion to her and with entreaties that she would likewise pour out
her heart to him. Then came complaints, some tenderly pleading, others
passionately bitter, of her cruelly rare and meagre replies. The sad
truth, that Josephine cares much for his fame and little for him
himself, that she delays coming to Italy, these and other afflicting
details rend his heart. At last she comes to Milan, after a
passionate outburst of weeping--at leaving her beloved Paris. In Italy
she shows herself scarcely more than affectionate to her doting
spouse. Marlborough's letters to his peevish duchess during the
Blenheim campaign are not more crowded with maudlin curiosities than
those of the fierce scourge of the Austrians to his heartless fair. He
writes to her agonizingly, begging her to be less lovely, less
gracious, less good--apparently in order that he may love her less
madly: but she is never to be jealous, and, above all, never to weep:
for her tears burn his blood: and he concludes by sending millions of
kisses, and also to her dog! And this mad effusion came from the man
whom the outside world took to be of steel-like coldness: yet his
nature had this fevered, passionate side, just as the moon, where she
faces the outer void, is compact of ice, but turns a front of molten
granite to her blinding, all-compelling luminary.
Undoubtedly this blazing passion helped to spur on the lover to that
terrific energy which makes the Italian campaign unique even amidst
the Napoleonic wars. Beaulieu, Wuermser, and Alvintzy were not rivals
in war; they were tiresome hindrances to his unsated love. On the eve
of one of his greatest triumphs he penned to her the following
rhapsody:
"I am far from you, I seem to be surrounded by the blackest night:
I need the lurid light of the thunder-bolts which we are about to
hurl on our enemies to dispel the darkness into which your absence
has plunged me. Josephine, you wept when we parted: you wept! At
that thought all my being trembles. But be consoled! Wuermser shall
pay dearly for the tears which I have seen you shed."
What infatuation! to appease a woman's fancied grief, he will pile
high the plains of Mincio with corpses, recking not of the thousand
homes where bitter tears will flow. It is the apotheosis of
sentimental egotism and social callousness. And yet this brain, with
its moral vision hopelessly blurred, judged unerringly in its own
peculiar plane. What power it must have possessed, that, unexhausted
by the flames of love, it grasped infallibly the myriad problems of
war, scanning them the more clearly, perchance, in the white heat of
its own passion.
At last there came the time of fruition at Montebello: of fruition,
but not of ease or full contentment; for not only did an average of
eight despatches a day claim several hours, during which he jealously
guarded his solitude; but Josephine's behaviour served to damp his
ardour. As, during the time of absence, she had slighted his urgent
entreaties for a daily letter, so too, during the sojourn at
Montebello, she revealed the shallowness and frivolity of her being.
Fetes, balls, and receptions, provided they were enlivened by a light
crackle of compliments from an admiring circle, pleased her more than
the devotion of a genius. She had admitted, before marriage, that her
"Creole _nonchalance_" shrank wearily away from his keen and ardent
nature; and now, when torn away from the _salons_ of Paris, she seems
to have taken refuge in entertainments and lap-dogs.[82] Doubtless
even at this period Josephine evinced something of that warm feeling
which deepened with ripening years and lit up her later sorrows with a
mild radiance; but her recent association with Madame Tallien and that
giddy _cohue_ had accentuated her habits of feline complaisance to all
and sundry. Her facile fondnesses certainly welled forth far too
widely to carve out a single channel of love and mingle with the deep
torrent of Bonaparte's early passion. In time, therefore, his
affections strayed into many other courses; and it would seen that
even in the later part of this Italian epoch his conduct was
irregular. For this Josephine had herself mainly to thank. At last she
awakened to the real value and greatness of the love which her neglect
had served to dull and tarnish, but then it was too late for complete
reunion of souls: the Corsican eagle had by that time soared far
beyond reach of her highest flutterings.[83]
At Montebello, as also at Passeriano, whither the Austrian
negotiations were soon transferred, Bonaparte, though strictly
maintaining the ceremonies of his proconsular court, yet showed the
warmth of his social instincts. After the receptions of the day and
the semi-public dinner, he loved to unbend in the evening. Sometimes,
when Josephine formed a party of ladies for _vingt-et-un_, he would
withdraw to a corner and indulge in the game of _goose_; and
bystanders noted with amusement that his love of success led him to
play tricks and cheat in order not to "fall into the pit." At other
times, if the conversation languished, he proposed that each person
should tell a story; and when no Boccaccio-like facility inspired the
company, he sometimes launched out into one of those eerie and
thrilling recitals, such as he must often have heard from the
_improvisatori_ of his native island. Bourrienne states that
Bonaparte's realism required darkness and daggers for the full display
of his gifts, and that the climax of his dramatic monologue was not
seldom enhanced by the screams of the ladies, a consummation which
gratified rather than perturbed the accomplished actor.
A survey of Bonaparte's multifarious activity in Italy enables the
reader to realize something of the wonder and awe excited by his
achievements. Like an Athena he leaped forth from the Revolution,
fully armed for every kind of contest. His mental superiority
impressed diplomats as his strategy baffled the Imperialist generals;
and now he was to give further proofs of his astuteness by
intervening in the internal affairs of France.
In order to understand Bonaparte's share in the _coup d'etat_ of
Fructidor, we must briefly review the course of political events at
Paris. At the time of the installation of the Directory the hope was
widely cherished that the Revolution was now entirely a thing of the
past. But the unrest of the time was seen in the renewal of the
royalist revolts in the west, and in the communistic plot of Babeuf
for the overthrow of the whole existing system of private property.
The aims of these desperadoes were revealed by an accomplice; the
ringleaders were arrested, and after a long trial Babeuf was
guillotined and his confederates were transported (May, 1797). The
disclosure of these ultra-revolutionary aims shocked not only the
bourgeois, but even the peasants who were settled on the confiscated
lands of the nobles and clergy. The very class which had given to the
events of 1789 their irresistible momentum was now inclined to rest
and be thankful; and in this swift revulsion of popular feeling the
royalists began to gain ground. The elections for the renewal of a
third part of the Councils resulted in large gains for them, and they
could therefore somewhat influence the composition of the Directory by
electing Barthelemy, a constitutional royalist. Still, he could not
overbear the other four regicide Directors, even though one of these,
Carnot, also favoured moderate opinions more and more. A crisis
therefore rapidly developed between the still Jacobinical Directory
and the two legislative Councils, in each of which the royalists, or
moderates, had the upper hand. The aim of this majority was to
strengthen the royalist elements in France by the repeal of many
revolutionary laws. Their man of action was Pichegru, the conqueror of
Holland, who, abjuring Jacobinism, now schemed with a club of
royalists, which met at Clichy, on the outskirts of Paris. That their
intrigues aimed at the restoration of the Bourbons had recently been
proved. The French agents in Venice seized the Comte d'Entraigues, the
confidante of the _soi-disant_ Louis XVIII.; and his papers, when
opened by Bonaparte, Clarke, and Berthier at Montebello, proved that
there was a conspiracy in France for the recall of the Bourbons. With
characteristic skill, Bonaparte held back these papers from the
Directory until he had mastered the difficulties of the situation. As
for the count, he released him; and in return for this signal act of
clemency, then very unusual towards an _emigre_, he soon became the
object of his misrepresentation and slander.
The political crisis became acute in July, when the majority
of the Councils sought to force on the Directory Ministers who
would favour moderate or royalist aims. Three Directors, Barras, La
Reveilliere-Lepeaux, and Rewbell, refused to listen to these behests,
and insisted on the appointment of Jacobinical Ministers even in the
teeth of a majority of the Councils. This defiance of the deputies of
France was received with execration by most civilians, but with
jubilant acclaim by the armies; for the soldiery, far removed from the
partisan strifes of the capital, still retained their strongly
republican opinions. The news that their conduct towards Venice was
being sharply criticised by the moderates in Paris aroused their
strongest feelings, military pride and democratic ardour.
Nevertheless, Bonaparte's conduct was eminently cautious and reserved.
In the month of May he sent to Paris his most trusted aide-de-camp,
Lavalette, instructing him to sound all parties, to hold aloof from
all engagements, and to report to him dispassionately on the state of
public opinion.[84] Lavalette judged the position of the Directory, or
rather of the Triumvirate which swayed it, to be so precarious that he
cautioned his chief against any definite espousal of its cause; and in
June-July, 1797, Bonaparte almost ceased to correspond with the
Directors except on Italian affairs, probably because he looked
forward to their overthrow as an important step towards his own
supremacy. There was, however, the possibility of a royalist reaction
sweeping all before it in France and ranging the armies against the
civil power. He therefore waited and watched, fully aware of the
enhanced importance which an uncertain situation gives to the outsider
who refuses to show his hand.
Duller eyes than his had discerned that the constitutional conflict
between the Directory and the Councils could not be peaceably
adjusted. The framers of the constitution had designed the slowly
changing Directory as a check on the Councils, which were renewed to
the extent of one-third every year; but, while seeking to put a
regicide drag on the parliamentary coach, they had omitted to provide
against a complete overturn. The Councils could not legally override
the Directory; neither could the Directory veto the decrees of the
Councils, nor, by dissolving them, compel an appeal to the country.
This defect in the constitution had been clearly pointed out by
Necker, and it now drew from Barras the lament:
"Ah, if the constitution of the Year III., which offers so many
sage precautions, had not neglected one of the most important; if
it had foreseen that the two great powers of the State, engaged in
heated debates, must end with open conflicts, when there is no high
court of appeal to arrange them; if it had sufficiently armed the
Directory with the right of dissolving the Chamber!"[85]
As it was, the knot had to be severed by the sword: not, as yet, by
Bonaparte's trenchant blade: he carefully drew back; but where as yet
he feared to tread, Hoche rushed in. This ardently republican general
was inspired by a self-denying patriotism, that flinched not before
odious duties. While Bonaparte was culling laurels in Northern Italy,
Hoche was undertaking the most necessary task of quelling the Vendean
risings, and later on braved the fogs and storms of the Atlantic in
the hope of rousing all Ireland in revolt. His expedition to Bantry
Bay in December, 1796, having miscarried, he was sent into the
Rhineland. The conclusion of peace by Bonaparte at Leoben again dashed
his hopes, and he therefore received with joy the orders of the
Directory that he should march a large part of his army to Brest for a
second expedition to Ireland. The Directory, however, intended to use
those troops nearer home, and appointed him Minister of War (July
16th). The choice was a good one; Hoche was active, able, and popular
with the soldiery; but he had not yet reached the thirtieth year of
his age, the limit required by the constitution. On this technical
defect the majority of the Councils at once fastened; and their
complaints were redoubled when a large detachment of his troops came
within the distance of the capital forbidden to the army. The
moderates could therefore accuse the triumvirs and Hoche of conspiracy
against the laws; he speedily resigned the Ministry (July 22nd), and
withdrew his troops into Champagne, and finally to the Rhineland.
Now was the opportunity for Bonaparte to take up the _role_ of
Cromwell which Hoche had so awkwardly played. And how skilfully the
conqueror of Italy plays it--through subordinates. He was too well
versed in statecraft to let his sword flash before the public gaze. By
this time he had decided to act, and doubtless the fervid Jacobinism
of the soldiery was the chief cause determining his action. At the
national celebration on July 14th he allowed it to have free vent, and
thereupon wrote to the Directory, bitterly reproaching them for their
weakness in face of the royalist plot: "I see that the Clichy Club
means to march over my corpse to the destruction of the Republic." He
ended the diatribe by his usual device, when he desired to remind the
Government of his necessity to them, of offering his resignation, in
case they refused to take vigorous measures against the malcontents.
Yet even now his action was secret and indirect. On July 27th he sent
to the Directors a brief note stating that Augereau had requested
leave to go to Paris, "where his affairs call him"; and that he sent
by this general the originals of the addresses of the army, avowing
its devotion to the constitution. No one would suspect from this that
Augereau was in Bonaparte's confidence and came to carry out the
_coup d'etat_. The secret was well preserved. Lavalette was
Bonaparte's official representative; and his neutrality was now
maintained in accordance with a note received from his chief:
"Augereau is coming to Paris: do not put yourself in his power: he has
sown disorder in the army: he is a factious man."
But, while Lavalette was left to trim his sails as best he might,
Augereau was certain to act with energy. Bonaparte knew well that his
Jacobinical lieutenant, famed as the first swordsman of the day, and
the leader of the fighting division of the army, would do his work
thoroughly, always vaunting his own prowess and decrying that of his
commander. It was so. Augereau rushed to Paris, breathing threats of
slaughter against the royalists. Checked for a time by the calculating
_finesse_ of the triumvirs, he prepared to end matters by a single
blow; and, when the time had come, he occupied the strategic points of
the capital, drew a cordon of troops round the Tuileries, where the
Councils sat, invaded the chambers of deputies and consigned to the
Temple the royalists and moderates there present, with their leader,
Pichegru. Barthelemy was also seized; but Carnot, warned by a friend,
fled during the early hours of this eventful day--September 4th (or 18
Fructidor). The mutilated Councils forthwith annulled the late
elections in forty-nine Departments, and passed severe laws against
orthodox priests and the unpardoned _emigres_ who had ventured to
return to France. The Directory was also intrusted with complete power
to suppress newspapers, to close political clubs, and to declare any
commune in a state of siege. Its functions were now wellnigh as
extensive and absolute as those of the Committee of Public Safety, its
powers being limited only by the incompetence of the individual
Directors and by their paralyzing consciousness that they ruled only
by favour of the army. They had taken the sword to solve a political
problem: two years later they were to fall by that sword.[86]
Augereau fully expected that he would be one of the two Directors who
were elected in place of Carnot and Barthelemy; but the Councils had
no higher opinion of his civic capacity than Bonaparte had formed;
and, to his great disgust, Merlin of Douai and Francois of Neufchatel
were chosen. The last scenes of the _coup d'etat_ centred around the
transportation of the condemned deputies. One of the early memories of
the future Duc de Broglie recalled the sight of the "_deputes
fructidorises_ travelling in closed carriages, railed up like cages,"
to the seaport whence they were to sail to the lingering agonies of a
tropical prison in French Guiana.
It was a painful spectacle: "the indignation was great, but the
consternation was greater still. Everybody foresaw the renewal of the
Reign of Terror and resignedly prepared for it."
Such were the feelings, even of those who, like Madame de Stael and
her friend Benjamin Constant, had declared before the _coup d'etat_
that it was necessary to the salvation of the Republic. That
accomplished woman was endowed with nearly every attribute of genius
except political foresight and self-restraint. No sooner had the blow
been dealt than she fell to deploring its results, which any
fourth-rate intelligence might have foreseen. "Liberty was the only
power really conquered"--such was her later judgment on Fructidor. Now
that Liberty fled affrighted, the errant enthusiasms of the gifted
authoress clung for a brief space to Bonaparte. Her eulogies on his
exploits, says Lavalette, who listened to her through a dinner in
Talleyrand's rooms, possessed all the mad disorder and exaggeration of
inspiration; and, after the repast was over, the votaress refused to
pass out before an aide-de-camp of Bonaparte! The incident is
characteristic both of Madame de Stael's moods and of the whims of the
populace. Amidst the disenchantments of that time, when the pursuit of
liberty seemed but an idle quest, when royalists were the champions of
parliamentary rule and republicans relied on military force, all eyes
turned wearily away from the civic broils at Paris to the visions of
splendour revealed by the conqueror of Italy. Few persons knew how
largely their new favourite was responsible for the events of
Fructidor; all of them had by heart the names of his victories; and
his popularity flamed to the skies when he recrossed the Alps,
bringing with him a lucrative peace with Austria.
The negotiations with that Power had dragged on slowly through the
whole summer and far into the autumn, mainly owing to the hopes of the
Emperor Francis that the disorder in France would filch from her the
meed of victory. Doubtless that would have been the case, had not
Bonaparte, while striking down the royalists at Paris through his
lieutenant, remained at the head of his victorious legions in Venetia
ready again to invade Austria, if occasion should arise.
In some respects, the _coup d'etat_ of Fructidor helped on the
progress of the negotiations. That event postponed, if it did not
render impossible, the advent of civil war in France; and, like
Pride's Purge in our civil strifes, it installed in power a Government
which represented the feelings of the army and of its chief. Moreover,
it rid him of the presence of Clarke, his former colleague in the
negotiations, whose relations with Carnot aroused the suspicions of
Barras and led to his recall. Bonaparte was now the sole
plenipotentiary of France. The final negotiations with Austria and the
resulting treaty of Campo Formio may therefore be considered as almost
entirely his handiwork.
And yet, at this very time, the head of the Foreign Office at Paris
was a man destined to achieve the greatest diplomatic reputation of
the age. Charles Maurice de Talleyrand seemed destined for the task of
uniting the society of the old _regime_ with the France of the
Revolution. To review his life would be to review the Revolution. With
a reforming zeal begotten of his own intellectual acuteness and of
resentment against his family, which had disinherited him for the
crime of lameness, he had led the first assaults of 1789 against the
privileges of the nobles and of the clerics among whom his lot had
perforce been cast. He acted as the head of the new "constitutional"
clergy, and bestowed his episcopal blessing at the Feast of Pikes in
1790; but, owing to his moderation, he soon fell into disfavour with
the extreme men who seized on power. After a sojourn in England and
the United States, he came back to France, and on the suggestion of
Madame de Stael was appointed Minister for Foreign Affairs (July,
1797). To this post he brought the highest gifts: his early clerical
training gave a keen edge to an intellect naturally subtle and
penetrating: his intercourse with Mirabeau gave him a grip on the
essentials of sound policy and diplomacy: his sojourn abroad widened
his vision, and imbued him with an admiration for English institutions
and English moderation. Yet he loved France with a deep and fervent
love. For her he schemed; for her he threw over friends or foes with a
Machiavellian facility. Amidst all the glamour of the Napoleonic
Empire he discerned the dangers that threatened France; and he warned
his master--as uselessly as he warned reckless nobles, priestly
bigots, and fanatical Jacobins in the past, or the unteachable zealots
of the restored monarchy. His life, when viewed, not in regard to its
many sordid details, but to its chief guiding principle, was one long
campaign against French _elan_ and partisan obstinacy; and he sealed
it with the quaint declaration in his will that, on reviewing his
career, he found he had never abandoned a party before it had
abandoned itself. Talleyrand was equipped with a diversity of gifts:
his gaze, intellectual yet composed, blenched not when he uttered a
scathing criticism or a diplomatic lie: his deep and penetrating voice
gave force to all his words, and the curl of his lip or the scornful
lifting of his eyebrows sometimes disconcerted an opponent more than
his biting sarcasm. In brief, this disinherited noble, this unfrocked
priest, this disenchanted Liberal, was the complete expression of the
inimitable society of the old _regime_, when quickened intellectually
by Voltaire and dulled by the Terror. After doing much to destroy the
old society, he was now to take a prominent share in its
reconstruction on a modern basis.[87]
Such was the man who now commenced his chief life-work, the task of
guiding Napoleon. "The mere name of Bonaparte is an aid which ought to
smooth away all my difficulties"--these were the obsequious terms in
which he began his correspondence with the great general. In reality,
he distrusted him; but whether from diffidence, or from the weakness
of his own position, which as yet was little more than that of
the head clerk of his department, he did nothing to assert the
predominance of civil over military influence in the negotiations now
proceeding.
Two months before Talleyrand accepted office, Bonaparte had enlarged
his original demands on Austria, and claimed for France the whole of
the lands on the left or west bank of the Rhine, and for the Cisalpine
Republic all the territory up to the River Adige. To these demands the
Court of Vienna offered a tenacious resistance which greatly irritated
him. "These people are so slow," he exclaimed, "they think that a
peace like this ought to be meditated upon for three years first."
Concurrently with the Franco-Austrian negotiations, overtures for a
peace between France and England were being discussed at Lille. Into
these it is impossible to enter farther than to notice that in these
efforts Pitt and the other British Ministers (except Grenville) were
sincerely desirous of peace, and that negotiations broke down owing to
the masterful tone adopted by the Directory. It was perhaps
unfortunate that Lord Malmesbury was selected as the English
negotiator, for his behaviour in the previous year had been construed
by the French as dilatory and insincere. But the Directors may on
better evidence be charged with postponing a settlement until they
had struck down their foes within France. Bonaparte's letters at this
time show that he hoped for the conclusion of a peace with England,
doubtless in order that his own pressure on Austria might be
redoubled. In this he was to be disappointed. After Fructidor the
Directory assumed overweening airs. Talleyrand was bidden to enjoin on
the French plenipotentiaries the adoption of a loftier tone. Maret,
the French envoy at Lille, whose counsels had ever been on the side of
moderation, was abruptly replaced by a "Fructidorian"; and a decisive
refusal was given to the English demand for the retention of Trinidad
and the Cape, at the expense of Spain and the Batavian Republic
respectively. Indeed, the Directory intended to press for the cession
of the Channel Islands to France and of Gibraltar to Spain, and that,
too, at the end of a maritime war fruitful in victories for the Union
Jack.[88]
Towards the King of Sardinia the new Directory was equally imperious.
The throne of Turin was now occupied by Charles Emmanuel IV. He
succeeded to a troublous heritage. Threatened by democratic republics
at Milan and Genoa, and still more by the effervescence of his own
subjects, he strove to gain an offensive and defensive alliance with
France, as the sole safeguard against revolution. To this end he
offered 10,000 Piedmontese for service with Bonaparte, and even
secretly covenanted to cede the island of Sardinia to France. But
these offers could not divert Barras and his colleagues from their
revolutionary policy. They spurned the alliance with the House of
Savoy, and, despite the remonstrances of Bonaparte, they fomented
civil discords in Piedmont such as endangered his communications with
France. Indeed, the Directory after Fructidor was deeply imbued with
fear of their commander in Italy. To increase his difficulties was
now their paramount desire; and under the pretext of extending liberty
in Italy, they instructed Talleyrand to insist on the inclusion of
Venice and Friuli in the Cisalpine Republic. Austria must be content
with Trieste, Istria, and Dalmatia, must renounce all interest in the
fate of the Ionian Isles, and find in Germany all compensation for her
losses in Italy. Such was the ultimatum of the Directory (September
16th). But a loophole of escape was left to Bonaparte; the conduct of
these negotiations was confided solely to him, and he had already
decided their general tenor by giving his provisional assent to the
acquisition by Austria of the east bank of the Adige and the city of
Venice. From these terms he was disinclined to diverge. He was weary
of "this old Europe": his gaze was directed towards Corfu, Malta, and
Egypt; and when he received the official ultimatum, he saw that the
Directory desired a renewal of the war under conditions highly
embarrassing for him. "Yes: I see clearly that they are preparing
defeats for me," he exclaimed to his aide-de-camp Lavalette. They
angered him still more when, on the death of Hoche, they intrusted
their Rhenish forces, numbering 120,000 men, to the command of
Augereau, and sent to the Army of Italy an officer bearing a manifesto
written by Augereau concerning Fructidor, which set forth the anxiety
felt by the Directors concerning Bonaparte's political views. At this
Bonaparte fired up and again offered his resignation (September 25th):
"No power on earth shall, after this horrible and most unexpected
act of ingratitude by the Government, make me continue to serve it.
My health imperiously demands calm and repose.... My recompense is
in my conscience and in the opinion of posterity. Believe me, that
at any time of danger, I shall be the first to defend the
Constitution of the Year III."
The resignation was of course declined, in terms most flattering to
Bonaparte; and the Directors prepared to ratify the treaty with
Sardinia.
Indeed, the fit of passion once passed, the determination to dominate
events again possessed him, and he decided to make peace, despite the
recent instructions of the Directory that no peace would be honourable
which sacrificed Venice to Austria. There is reason to believe that he
now regretted this sacrifice. His passionate outbursts against Venice
after the _Paques veronaises_, his denunciations of "that fierce and
bloodstained rule," had now given place to some feelings of pity for
the people whose ruin he had so artfully compassed; and the social
intercourse with Venetians which he enjoyed at Passeriano, the castle
of the Doge Manin, may well have inspired some regard for the proud
city which he was now about to barter away to Austria. Only so,
however, could he peacefully terminate the wearisome negotiations with
the Emperor. The Austrian envoy, Count Cobenzl, struggled hard to gain
the whole of Venetia, and the Legations, along with the half of
Lombardy.[89] From these exorbitant demands he was driven by the
persistent vigour of Bonaparte's assaults. The little Corsican proved
himself an expert in diplomatic wiles, now enticing the Imperialist on
to slippery ground, and occasionally shocking him by calculated
outbursts of indignation or bravado. After many days spent in
intellectual fencing, the discussions were narrowed down to Mainz,
Mantua, Venice, and the Ionian Isles. On the fate of these islands a
stormy discussion arose, Cobenzl stipulating for their complete
independence, while Bonaparte passionately claimed them for France. In
one of these sallies his vehement gestures overturned a cabinet with a
costly vase; but the story that he smashed the vase, as a sign of his
power to crush the House of Austria, is a later refinement on the
incident, about which Cobenzl merely reported to Vienna--"He behaved
like a fool." Probably his dextrous disclosure of the severe terms
which the Directory ordered him to extort was far more effective than
this boisterous _gasconnade_. Finally, after threatening an immediate
attack on the Austrian positions, he succeeded on three of the
questions above named, but at the sacrifice of Venice to Austria.
The treaty was signed on October 17th at the village of Campo Formio.
The published articles may be thus summarized: Austria ceded to the
French Republic her Belgic provinces. Of the once extensive Venetian
possessions France gained the Ionian Isles, while Austria acquired
Istria, Dalmatia, the districts at the mouth of the Cattaro, the city
of Venice, and the mainland of Venetia as far west as Lake Garda, the
Adige, and the lower part of the River Po. The Hapsburgs recognized
the independence of the now enlarged Cisalpine Republic. France and
Austria agreed to frame a treaty of commerce on the basis of "the most
favoured nation." The Emperor ceded to the dispossessed Duke of Modena
the territory of Breisgau on the east of the Rhine. A congress was to
be held at Rastadt, at which the plenipotentiaries of France and of
the Germanic Empire were to regulate affairs between these two Powers.
Secret articles bound the Emperor to use his influence in the Empire
to secure for France the left bank of the Rhine; while France was to
use her good offices to procure for the Emperor the Archbishopric of
Salzburg and the Bavarian land between that State and the River Inn.
Other secret articles referred to the indemnities which were to be
found in Germany for some of the potentates who suffered by the
changes announced in the public treaty.
The bartering away of Venice awakened profound indignation. After more
than a thousand years of independence, that city was abandoned to the
Emperor by the very general who had promised to free Italy. It was in
vain that Bonaparte strove to soothe the provisional government of
that city through the influence of a Venetian Jew, who, after his
conversion, had taken the famous name of Dandolo. Summoning him to
Passeriano, he explained to him the hard necessity which now dictated
the transfer of Venice to Austria. France could not now shed any more
of her best blood for what was, after all, only "a moral cause": the
Venetians therefore must cultivate resignation for the present and
hope for the future.
[Illustration: CENTRAL EUROPE AFTER THE PEACE OF CAMPO FORMIO, 1797
The boundaries of the Holy Roman Empire are indicated by thick dots.
The Austrian Dominions are indicated by vertical lines. The Prussian
Dominions are indicated by horizontal lines. The Ecclesiastical
States are indicated by dotted areas.]
The advice was useless. The Venetian democrats determined on a last
desperate venture. They secretly sent three deputies, among them
Dandolo, with a large sum of money wherewith to bribe the Directors to
reject the treaty of Campo Formio. This would have been quite
practicable, had not their errand become known to Bonaparte. Alarmed
and enraged at this device, which, if successful, would have consigned
him to infamy, he sent Duroc in chase; and the envoys, caught before
they crossed the Maritime Alps, were brought before the general at
Milan. To his vehement reproaches and threats they opposed a dignified
silence, until Dandolo, appealing to his generosity, awakened those
nobler feelings which were never long dormant. Then he quietly
dismissed them--to witness the downfall of their beloved city.
_Acribus initiis, ut ferme talia, incuriosa fine_; these cynical
words, with which the historian of the Roman Empire blasted the
movements of his age, may almost serve as the epitaph to Bonaparte's
early enthusiasms. Proclaiming at the beginning of his Italian
campaigns that he came to free Italy, he yet finished his course of
almost unbroken triumphs by a surrender which his panegyrists have
scarcely attempted to condone. But the fate of Venice was almost
forgotten amidst the jubilant acclaim which greeted the conqueror of
Italy on his arrival at Paris. All France rang with the praises of the
hero who had spread liberty throughout Northern and Central Italy,
had enriched the museums of Paris with priceless masterpieces of art,
whose army had captured 150,000 prisoners, and had triumphed in 18
pitched battles--for Caldiero was now reckoned as a French
victory--and 47 smaller engagements. The Directors, shrouding their
hatred and fear of the masterful proconsul under their Roman togas,
greeted him with uneasy effusiveness. The climax of the official
comedy was reached when, at the reception of the conqueror, Barras,
pointing northwards, exclaimed: "Go there and capture the giant
corsair that infests the seas: go punish in London outrages that have
too long been unpunished": whereupon, as if overcome by his emotions,
he embraced the general. Amidst similar attentions bestowed by the
other Directors, the curtain falls on the first, or Italian, act of
the young hero's career, soon to rise on oriental adventures that were
to recall the exploits of Alexander.
* * * * *
CHAPTER VIII
EGYPT
Among the many misconceptions of the French revolutionists none was
more insidious than the notion that the wealth and power of the
British people rested on an artificial basis. This mistaken belief in
England's weakness arose out of the doctrine taught by the
_Economistes_ or _Physiocrates_ in the latter half of last century,
that commerce was not of itself productive of wealth, since it only
promoted the distribution of the products of the earth; but that
agriculture was the sole source of true wealth and prosperity. They
therefore exalted agriculture at the expense of commerce and
manufactures, and the course of the Revolution, which turned largely
on agrarian questions, tended in the same direction. Robespierre and
St. Just were never weary of contrasting the virtues of a simple
pastoral life with the corruptions and weakness engendered by foreign
commerce; and when, early in 1793, Jacobinical zeal embroiled the
young Republic with England, the orators of the Convention confidently
prophesied the downfall of the modern Carthage. Kersaint declared that
"the credit of England rests upon fictitious wealth: ... bounded in
territory, the public future of England is found almost wholly in its
bank, and this edifice is entirely supported by naval commerce. It is
easy to cripple this commerce, and especially so for a power like
France, which stands alone on her own riches."[90]
Commercial interests played a foremost part all through the struggle.
The official correspondence of Talleyrand in 1797 proves that the
Directory intended to claim the Channel Islands, the north of
Newfoundland, and all our conquests in the East Indies made since
1754, besides the restitution of Gibraltar to Spain.[91] Nor did these
hopes seem extravagant. The financial crisis in London and the mutiny
at the Nore seemed to betoken the exhaustion of England, while the
victories of Bonaparte raised the power of France to heights never
known before. Before the victory of Duncan over the Dutch at
Camperdown (October 11th, 1797), Britain seemed to have lost her naval
supremacy.
The recent admission of State bankruptcy at Paris, when two-thirds of
the existing liabilities were practically expunged, sharpened the
desire of the Directory to compass England's ruin, an enterprise which
might serve to restore French credit and would certainly engage those
vehement activities of Bonaparte that could otherwise work mischief in
Paris. On his side he gladly accepted the command of the _Army of
England_.
"The people of Paris do not remember anything," he said to
Bourrienne. "Were I to remain here long, doing nothing, I should be
lost. In this great Babylon everything wears out: my glory has
already disappeared. This little Europe does not supply enough of
it for me. I must seek it in the East: all great fame comes from
that quarter. However, I wish first to make a tour along the
[northern] coast to see for myself what may be attempted. If the
success of a descent upon England appear doubtful, as I suspect it
will, the Army of England shall become the Army of the East, and I
go to Egypt."[92]
In February, 1798, he paid a brief visit to Dunkirk and the Flemish
coast, and concluded that the invasion of England was altogether too
complicated to be hazarded except as a last desperate venture. In a
report to the Government (February 23rd) he thus sums up the whole
situation:
"Whatever efforts we make, we shall not for some years gain the
naval supremacy. To invade England without that supremacy is the
most daring and difficult task ever undertaken.... If, having
regard to the present organization of our navy, it seems impossible
to gain the necessary promptness of execution, then we must really
give up the expedition against England, _be satisfied with keeping
up the pretence of it_, and concentrate all our attention and
resources on the Rhine, in order to try to deprive England of
Hanover and Hamburg:[93] ... or else undertake an eastern
expedition which would menace her trade with the Indies. And if
none of these three operations is practicable, I see nothing else
for it but to conclude peace with England."
The greater part of his career serves as a commentary on these
designs. To one or other of them he was constantly turning as
alternative schemes for the subjugation of his most redoubtable foe.
The first plan he now judged to be impracticable; the second, which
appears later in its fully matured form as his Continental System, was
not for the present feasible, because France was about to settle
German affairs at the Congress of Rastadt; to the third he therefore
turned the whole force of his genius.
The conquest of Egypt and the restoration to France of her supremacy
in India appealed to both sides of Bonaparte's nature. The vision of
the tricolour floating above the minarets of Cairo and the palace of
the Great Mogul at Delhi fascinated a mind in which the mysticism of
the south was curiously blent with the practicality and passion for
details that characterize the northern races. To very few men in the
world's history has it been granted to dream grandiose dreams and all
but realize them, to use by turns the telescope and the microscope of
political survey, to plan vast combinations of force, and yet to
supervise with infinite care the adjustment of every adjunct. Caesar,
in the old world, was possibly the mental peer of Bonaparte in this
majestic equipoise of the imaginative and practical qualities; but of
Caesar we know comparatively little; whereas the complex workings of
the greatest mind of the modern world stand revealed in that
storehouse of facts and fancies, the "Correspondance de Napoleon." The
motives which led to the Eastern Expedition are there unfolded. In the
letter which he wrote to Talleyrand shortly before the signature of
the peace of Campo Formio occurs this suggestive passage:
"The character of our nation is to be far too vivacious amidst
prosperity. If we take for the basis of all our operations true
policy, which is nothing else than the calculation of combinations
and chances, we shall long be _la grande nation_ and the arbiter of
Europe. I say more: we hold the balance of Europe: we will make
that balance incline as we wish; and, if such is the order of fate,
I think it by no means impossible that we may in a few years attain
those grand results of which the heated and enthusiastic
imagination catches a glimpse, and which the extremely cool,
persistent, and calculating man will alone attain."
This letter was written when Bonaparte was bartering away Venice to
the Emperor in consideration of the acquisition by France of the
Ionian Isles. Its reference to the vivacity of the French was
doubtless evoked by the orders which he then received to
"revolutionize Italy." To do that, while the Directory further
extorted from England Gibraltar, the Channel Islands, and her eastern
conquests, was a programme dictated by excessive vivacity. The
Directory lacked the practical qualities that selected one great
enterprise at a time and brought to bear on it the needful
concentration of effort. In brief, he selected the war against
England's eastern commerce as his next sphere of action; for it
offered "an arena vaster, more necessary and resplendent" than war
with Austria; "if we compel the [British] Government to a peace, the
advantages we shall gain for our commerce in both hemispheres will be
a great step towards the consolidation of liberty and the public
welfare."[94]
For this eastern expedition he had already prepared. In May, 1797, he
had suggested the seizure of Malta from the Knights of St. John; and
when, on September 27th, the Directory gave its assent, he sent
thither a French commissioner, Poussielgue, on a "commercial mission,"
to inspect those ports, and also, doubtless, to undermine the
discipline of the Knights. Now that the British had retired from
Corsica, and France disposed of the maritime resources of Northern
Italy, Spain, and Holland, it seemed quite practicable to close the
Mediterranean to those "intriguing and enterprising islanders," to
hold them at bay in their dull northern seas, to exhaust them by
ruinous preparations against expected descents on their southern
coasts, on Ireland, and even on Scotland, while Bonaparte's eastern
conquests dried up the sources of their wealth in the Orient: "Let us
concentrate all our activity on our navy and destroy England. That
done, Europe is at our feet."[95]
But he encountered opposition from the Directory. They still clung to
their plan of revolutionizing Italy; and only by playing on their fear
of the army could he bring these civilians to assent to the
expatriation of 35,000 troops and their best generals. On La
Reveilliere-Lepeaux the young commander worked with a skill that
veiled the choicest irony. This Director was the high-priest of a
newly-invented cult, termed _Theo-philanthropie_, into the dull embers
of which he was still earnestly blowing. To this would-be prophet
Bonaparte now suggested that the eastern conquests would furnish a
splendid field for the spread of the new faith; and La Reveilliere was
forthwith converted from his scheme of revolutionizing Europe to the
grander sphere of moral proselytism opened out to him in the East by
the very chief who, on landing in Egypt, forthwith professed the
Moslem creed.
After gaining the doubtful assent of the Directory, Bonaparte had to
face urgent financial difficulties. The dearth of money was, however,
met by two opportune interventions. The first of these was in the
affairs of Rome. The disorders of the preceding year in that city had
culminated at Christmas in a riot in which General Duphot had been
assassinated; this outrage furnished the pretext desired by the
Directory for revolutionizing Central Italy. Berthier was at once
ordered to lead French troops against the Eternal City. He entered
without resistance (February 15th, 1798), declared the civil authority
of the Pope at an end, and proclaimed the _restoration_ of the Roman
Republic. The practical side of the liberating policy was soon
revealed. A second time the treasures of Rome, both artistic and
financial, were rifled; and, as Lucien Bonaparte caustically remarked
in his "Memoirs," the chief duty of the newly-appointed consuls and
quaestors was to superintend the packing up of pictures and statues
designed for Paris. Berthier not only laid the basis of a large
private fortune, but showed his sense of the object of the expedition
by sending large sums for the equipment of the armada at Toulon. "In
sending me to Rome," wrote Berthier to Bonaparte, "you appoint me
treasurer to the expedition against England. I will try to fill the
exchequer."
The intervention of the Directory in the affairs of Switzerland was
equally lucrative. The inhabitants of the district of Vaud, in their
struggles against the oppressive rule of the Bernese oligarchy, had
offered to the French Government the excuse for interference: and a
force invading that land, overpowered the levies of the central
cantons.[96] The imposition of a centralized form of government
modelled on that of France, the wresting of Geneva from this ancient
confederation, and its incorporation with France, were not the only
evils suffered by Switzerland. Despite the proclamation of General
Brune that the French came as friends to the descendants of William
Tell, and would respect their independence and their property, French
commissioners proceeded to rifle the treasuries of Berne, Zuerich,
Solothurn, Fribourg, and Lucerne of sums which amounted in all to
eight and a half million francs; fifteen millions were extorted in
forced contributions and plunder, besides 130 cannon and 60,000
muskets which also became the spoils of the liberators.[97] The
destination of part of the treasure was already fixed; on April 13th
Bonaparte wrote an urgent letter to General Lannes, directing him to
expedite the transit of the booty to Toulon, where three million
francs were forthwith expended on the completion of the armada.
This letter, and also the testimony of Madame de Stael, Barras,
Bourrienne, and Mallet du Pan, show that he must have been a party to
this interference in Swiss affairs, which marks a debasement, not only
of Bonaparte's character, but of that of the French army and people.
It drew from Coleridge, who previously had seen in the Revolution the
dawn of a nobler era, an indignant protest against the prostitution of
the ideas of 1789:
"Oh France that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind,
Are these thy boasts, champion of human kind?
To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt and join the murderous prey? ...
The sensual and the dark rebel in vain
Slaves by their own compulsion. In mad game
They burst their manacles: but wear the name
Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain."
The occupation by French troops of the great central bastion of the
European system seemed a challenge, not only to idealists, but to
German potentates. It nearly precipitated a rupture with Vienna, where
the French tricolour had recently been torn down by an angry crowd.
But Bonaparte did his utmost to prevent a renewal of war that would
blight his eastern prospects; and he succeeded. One last trouble
remained. At his final visit to the Directory, when crossed about some
detail, he passionately threw up his command. Thereupon Rewbell, noted
for his incisive speech, drew up the form of resignation, and
presenting it to Bonaparte, firmly said, "Sign, citizen general." The
general did not sign, but retired from the meeting apparently
crestfallen, but really meditating a _coup d'etat_. This last
statement rests on the evidence of Mathieu Dumas, who heard it
through General Desaix, a close friend of Bonaparte; and it is clear
from the narratives of Bourrienne, Barras, and Madame Junot that,
during his last days in Paris, the general was moody, preoccupied, and
fearful of being poisoned.
At last the time of preparation and suspense was at an end. The aims
of the expedition as officially defined by a secret decree on April
12th included the capture of Egypt and the exclusion of the English
from "all their possessions in the East to which the general can
come"; Bonaparte was also to have the isthmus of Suez cut through; to
"assure the _free and exclusive_ possession of the Red Sea to the
French Republic"; to improve the condition of the natives of Egypt,
and to cultivate good relations with the Grand Signior. Another secret
decree empowered Bonaparte to seize Malta. To these schemes he added
another of truly colossal dimensions. After conquering the East, he
would rouse the Greeks and other Christians of the East, overthrow the
Turks, seize Constantinople, and "take Europe in the rear."
Generous support was accorded to the _savants_ who were desirous of
exploring the artistic and literary treasures of Egypt and
Mesopotamia. It has been affirmed by the biographer of Monge that the
enthusiasm of this celebrated physicist first awakened Bonaparte's
desire for the eastern expedition; but this seems to have been
aroused earlier by Volney, who saw a good deal of Bonaparte in 1791.
In truth, the desire to wrest the secrets of learning from the
mysterious East seems always to have spurred on his keenly inquisitive
nature. During the winter months of 1797-8 he attended the chemical
lectures of the renowned Berthollet; and it was no perfunctory choice
which selected him for the place in the famous institute left vacant
by the exile of Carnot. The manner in which he now signed his orders
and proclamations--Member of the Institute, General in Chief of the
Army of the East--showed his determination to banish from the life of
France that affectation of boorish ignorance by which the Terrorists
had rendered themselves uniquely odious.
After long delays, caused by contrary winds, the armada set sail from
Toulon. Along with the convoys from Marseilles, Genoa, and Civita
Vecchia, it finally reached the grand total of 13 ships of the line, 7
frigates, several gunboats, and nearly 300 transports of various
sizes, conveying 35,000 troops. Admiral Brueys was the admiral, but
acting under Bonaparte. Of the generals whom the commander-in-chief
took with him, the highest in command were the divisional generals
Kleber, Desaix, Bon, Menou, Reynier, for the infantry: under them
served 14 generals, a few of whom, as Marmont, were to achieve a wider
fame. The cavalry was commanded by the stalwart mulatto, General
Alexandre Dumas, under whom served Leclerc, the husband of Pauline
Bonaparte, along with two men destined to world-wide renown, Murat and
Davoust. The artillery was commanded by Dommartin, the engineers by
Caffarelli: and the heroic Lannes was quarter-master general.
The armada appeared off Malta without meeting with any incident. This
island was held by the Knights of St. John, the last of those
companies of Christian warriors who had once waged war on the infidels
in Palestine. Their courage had evaporated in luxurious ease, and
their discipline was a prey to intestine schisms and to the intrigues
carried on with the French Knights of the Order. A French fleet had
appeared off Valetta in the month of March in the hope of effecting a
surprise; but the admiral, Brueys, judging the effort too hazardous,
sent an awkward explanation, which only served to throw the knights
into the arms of Russia. One of the chivalrous dreams of the Czar Paul
was that of spreading his influence in the Mediterranean by a treaty
with this Order. It gratified his crusading ardour and promised to
Russia a naval base for the partition of Turkey which was then being
discussed with Austria: to secure the control of the island, Russia
was about to expend 400,000 roubles, when Bonaparte anticipated
Muscovite designs by a prompt seizure.[98] An excuse was easily found
for a rupture with the Order: some companies of troops were
disembarked, and hostilities commenced.
Secure within their mighty walls, the knights might have held the
intruders at bay, had they not been divided by internal disputes: the
French knights refused to fight against their countrymen; and a revolt
of the native Maltese, long restless under the yoke of the Order, now
helped to bring the Grand Master to a surrender. The evidence of the
English consul, Mr. Williams, seems to show that the discontent of the
natives was even more potent than the influence of French gold in
bringing about this result.[99] At any rate, one of the strongest
places in Europe admitted a French garrison, after so tame a defence
that General Caffarelli, on viewing the fortifications, remarked to
Bonaparte: "Upon my word, general, it is lucky there was some one in
the town to open the gates to us."
During his stay of seven days at Malta, Bonaparte revealed the vigour
of those organizing powers for which the half of Europe was soon to
present all too small an arena. He abolished the Order, pensioning off
those French knights who had been serviceable: he abolished the
religious houses and confiscated their domains to the service of the
new government: he established a governmental commission acting under
a military governor: he continued provisionally the existing taxes,
and provided for the imposition of customs, excise, and octroi dues:
he prepared the way for the improvement of the streets, the erection
of fountains, the reorganization of the hospitals and the post
office. To the university he gave special attention, rearranging the
curriculum on the model of the more advanced _ecoles centrales_ of
France, but inclining the studies severely to the exact sciences and
the useful arts. On all sides he left the imprint of his practical
mind, that viewed life as a game at chess, whence bishops and knights
were carefully banished, and wherein nothing was left but the heavy
pieces and subservient pawns.
After dragging Malta out of its mediaeval calm and plunging it into
the full swirl of modern progress, Bonaparte set sail for Egypt. His
exchequer was the richer by all the gold and silver, whether in
bullion or in vessels, discoverable in the treasury of Malta or in the
Church of St. John. Fortunately, the silver gates of this church had
been coloured over, and thus escaped the fate of the other
treasures.[100] On the voyage to Alexandria he studied the library of
books which he had requested Bourrienne to purchase for him. The
composition of this library is of interest as showing the strong trend
of his thoughts towards history, though at a later date he was careful
to limit its study in the university and schools which he founded. He
had with him 125 volumes of historical works, among which the
translations of Thucydides, Plutarch, Tacitus, and Livy represented
the life of the ancient world, while in modern life he concentrated
his attention chiefly on the manners and institutions of peoples and
the memoirs of great generals--as Turenne, Conde, Luxembourg, Saxe,
Marlborough, Eugene, and Charles XII. Of the poets he selected the
so-called Ossian, Tasso, Ariosto, Homer, Virgil, and the masterpieces
of the French theatre; but he especially affected the turgid and
declamatory style of Ossian. In romance, English literature was
strongly represented by forty volumes of novels, of course in
translations. Besides a few works on arts and sciences, he also had
with him twelve volumes of "Barclay's Geography," and three volumes of
"Cook's Voyages," which show that his thoughts extended to the
antipodes; and under the heading of Politics he included the Bible,
the Koran, the Vedas, a Mythology, and Montesquieu's "Esprit des
Lois"! The composition and classification of this library are equally
suggestive. Bonaparte carefully searched out the weak places of the
organism which he was about to attack--in the present campaign, Egypt
and the British Empire. The climate and natural products, the genius
of its writers and the spirit of its religion--nothing came amiss to
his voracious intellect, which assimilated the most diverse materials
and pressed them all into his service. Greek mythology provided
allusions for the adornment of his proclamations, the Koran would
dictate his behaviour towards the Moslems, and the Bible was to be his
guide-book concerning the Druses and Armenians. All three were
therefore grouped together under the head of Politics.
And this, on the whole, fairly well represents his mental attitude
towards religion: at least, it was his work-a-day attitude. There were
moments, it is true, when an overpowering sense of the majesty of the
universe lifted his whole being far above this petty opportunism: and
in those moments, which, in regard to the declaration of character,
may surely be held to counterbalance whole months spent in tactical
shifts and diplomatic wiles, he was capable of soaring to heights of
imaginative reverence. Such an episode, lighting up for us the
recesses of his mind, occurred during his voyage to Egypt. The
_savants_ on board his ship, "L'Orient," were discussing one of those
questions which Bonaparte often propounded, in order that, as arbiter
in this contest of wits, he might gauge their mental powers. Mental
dexterity, rather than the Socratic pursuit after truth, was the aim
of their dialectic; but on one occasion, when religion was being
discussed, Bonaparte sounded a deeper note: looking up into the
midnight vault of sky, he said to the philosophizing atheists: "Very
ingenious, sirs, but who made all that?" As a retort to the
tongue-fencers, what could be better? The appeal away from words to
the star-studded canopy was irresistible: it affords a signal proof of
what Carlyle has finely called his "instinct for nature" and his
"ineradicable feeling for reality." This probably was the true man,
lying deep under his Moslem shifts and Concordat bargainings.
That there was a tinge of superstition in Bonaparte's nature, such as
usually appears in gifted scions of a coast-dwelling family, cannot be
denied;[101] but his usual attitude towards religion was that of the
political mechanician, not of the devotee, and even while professing
the forms of fatalistic belief, he really subordinated them to his own
designs. To this profound calculation of the credulity of mankind we
may probably refer his allusions to his star. The present writer
regards it as almost certain that his star was invoked in order to
dazzle the vulgar herd. Indeed, if we may trust Miot de Melito, the
First Consul once confessed as much to a circle of friends. "Caesar,"
he said, "was right to cite his good fortune and to appear to believe
in it. That is a means of acting on the imagination of others without
offending anyone's self-love." A strange admission this; what
boundless self-confidence it implies that he should have admitted the
trickery. The mere acknowledgment of it is a proof that he felt
himself so far above the plane of ordinary mortals that, despite the
disclosure, he himself would continue to be his own star. For the
rest, is it credible that this analyzing genius could ever have
seriously adopted the astrologer's creed? Is there anything in his
early note-books or later correspondence which warrants such a belief?
Do not all his references to his star occur in proclamations and
addresses intended for popular consumption?
Certainly Bonaparte's good fortune was conspicuous all through these
eastern adventures, and never more so than when he escaped the pursuit
of Nelson. The English admiral had divined his aim. Setting all sail,
he came almost within sight of the French force near Crete, and he
reached Alexandria barely two days before his foes hove in sight.
Finding no hostile force there, he doubled back on his course and
scoured the seas between Crete, Sicily, and the Morca, until news
received from a Turkish official again sent him eastwards. On such
trifles does the fate of empires sometimes depend.
Meanwhile events were crowding thick and fast upon Bonaparte. To free
himself from the terrible risks which had menaced his force off the
Egyptian coast, he landed his troops, 35,000 strong, with all possible
expedition at Marabout near Alexandria, and, directing his columns of
attack on the walls of that city, captured it by a rush (July 2nd).
For this seizure of neutral territory he offered no excuse other than
that the Beys, who were the real rulers of Egypt, had favoured English
commerce and were guilty of some outrages on French merchants. He
strove, however, to induce the Sultan of Turkey to believe that the
French invasion of Egypt was a friendly act, as it would overthrow the
power of the Mamelukes, who had reduced Turkish authority to a mere
shadow. This was the argument which he addressed to the Turkish
officials, but it proved to be too subtle even for the oriental mind
fully to appreciate. Bonaparte's chief concern was to win over the
subject population, which consisted of diverse races. At the surface
were the Mamelukes, a powerful military order, possessing a
magnificent cavalry, governed by two Beys, and scarcely recognizing
the vague suzerainty claimed by the Porte. The rivalries of the Beys,
Murad and Ibrahim, produced a fertile crop of discords in this
governing caste, and their feuds exposed the subject races, both Arabs
and Copts, to constant forays and exactions. It seemed possible,
therefore, to arouse them against the dominant caste, provided that
the Mohammedan scruples of the whole population were carefully
respected. To this end, the commander cautioned his troops to act
towards the Moslems as towards "Jews and Italians," and to respect
their muftis and imams as much as "rabbis and bishops." He also
proclaimed to the Egyptians his determination, while overthrowing
Mameluke tyranny, to respect the Moslem faith: "Have we not destroyed
the Pope, who bade men wage war on Moslems? Have we not destroyed the
Knights of Malta, because those fools believed it to be God's will to
war against Moslems?" The French soldiers were vastly amused by the
humour of these proceedings, and the liberated people fully
appreciated the menaces with which Bonaparte's proclamation closed,
backed up as these were by irresistible force.[102]
After arranging affairs at Alexandria, where the gallant Kleber was
left in command, Bonaparte ordered an advance into the interior.
Never, perhaps, did he show the value of swift offensive action more
decisively than in this prompt march on Damanhour across the desert.
The other route by way of Rosetta would have been easier; but, as it
was longer, he rejected it, and told off General Menou to capture that
city and support a flotilla of boats which was to ascend the Nile and
meet the army on its march to Cairo. On July 4th the first division of
the main force set forth by night into the desert south of Alexandria.
All was new and terrible; and, when the rays of the sun smote on their
weary backs, the murmurings of the troops grew loud. This, then, was
the land "more fertile than Lombardy," which was the goal of their
wanderings. "See, there are the six acres of land which you are
promised," exclaimed a waggish soldier to his comrade as they first
gazed from ship-board on the desert east of Alexandria; and all the
sense of discipline failed to keep this and other gibes from the ears
of staff officers even before they reached that city. Far worse was
their position now in the shifting sand of the desert, beset by
hovering Bedouins, stung by scorpions, and afflicted by intolerable
thirst. The Arabs had filled the scanty wells with stones, and only
after long toil could the sappers reach the precious fluid beneath.
Then the troops rushed and fought for the privilege of drinking a few
drops of muddy liquor. Thus they struggled on, the succeeding
divisions faring worst of all. Berthier, chief of the staff, relates
that a glass of water sold for its weight in gold. Even brave officers
abandoned themselves to transports of rage and despair which left them
completely prostrate.[103]
But Bonaparte flinched not. His stern composure offered the best
rebuke to such childish sallies; and when out of a murmuring group
there came the bold remark, "Well, General, are you going to take us
to India thus," he abashed the speaker and his comrades by the quick
retort, "No, I would not undertake that with such soldiers as you."
French honour, touched to the quick, reasserted itself even above the
torments of thirst; and the troops themselves, when they tardily
reached the Nile and slaked their thirst in its waters, recognized the
pre-eminence of his will and his profound confidence in their
endurance. French gaiety had not been wholly eclipsed even by the
miseries of the desert march. To cheer their drooping spirits the
commander had sent some of the staunchest generals along the line of
march. Among them was the gifted Caffarelli, who had lost a leg in the
Rhenish campaign: his reassuring words called forth the inimitable
retort from the ranks: "Ah! he don't care, not he: he has one leg in
France." Scarcely less witty was the soldier's description of the
prowling Bedouins, who cut off stragglers and plunderers, as "The
mounted highway police."
After brushing aside a charge of 800 Mamelukes at Chebreiss, the army
made its way up the banks of the Nile to Embabeh, opposite Cairo.
There the Mamelukes, led by the fighting Bey, Murad, had their
fortified camp; and there that superb cavalry prepared to overwhelm
the invaders in a whirlwind rush of horse (July 21st, 1798). The
occasion and the surroundings were such as to inspire both sides with
desperate resolution. It was the first fierce shock on land of eastern
chivalry and western enterprise since the days of St. Louis; and the
ardour of the republicans was scarcely less than that which had
kindled the soldiers of the cross. Beside the two armies rolled the
mysterious Nile; beyond glittered the slender minarets of Cairo; and
on the south there loomed the massy Pyramids. To the forty centuries
that had rolled over them, Bonaparte now appealed, in one of those
imaginative touches which ever brace the French nature to the utmost
tension of daring and endurance. Thus they advanced in close formation
towards the intrenched camp of the Mamelukes. The divisions on the
left at once rushed at its earthworks, silenced its feeble artillery,
and slaughtered the fellahin inside.
But the other divisions, now ranged in squares, while gazing at this
exploit, were assailed by the Mamelukes. From out the haze of the
mirage, or from behind the ridges of sand and the scrub of the
water-melon plants that dotted the plain, some 10,000 of these superb
horsemen suddenly appeared and rushed at the squares commanded by
Desaix and Reynier. Their richly caparisoned chargers, their waving
plumes, their wild battle-cries, and their marvellous skill with
carbine and sword, lent picturesqueness and terror to the charge.
Musketry and grapeshot mowed down their front coursers in ghastly
swathes; but the living mass swept on, wellnigh overwhelming the
fronts of the squares, and then, swerving aside, poured through the
deadly funnel between. Decimated here also by the steady fire of the
French files, and by the discharges of the rear face, they fell away
exhausted, leaving heaps of dead and dying on the fronts of the
squares, and in their very midst a score of their choicest cavaliers,
whose bravery and horsemanship had carried them to certain death
amidst the bayonets. The French now assumed the offensive, and
Desaix's division, threatening to cut off the retreat of Murad's
horsemen, led that wary chief to draw off his shattered squadrons;
others sought, though with terrible losses, to escape across the Nile
to Ibrahim's following. That chief had taken no share in the fight,
and now made off towards Syria. Such was the battle of the Pyramids,
which gained a colony at the cost of some thirty killed and about ten
times as many wounded: of the killed about twenty fell victims to the
cross fire of the two squares.[104]
After halting for a fortnight at Cairo to recruit his weary troops and
to arrange the affairs of his conquest, Bonaparte marched eastwards in
pursuit of Ibrahim and drove him into Syria, while Desaix waged an
arduous but successful campaign against Murad in Upper Egypt. But the
victors were soon to learn the uselessness of merely military triumphs
in Egypt. As Bonaparte returned to complete the organization of the
new colony, he heard that Nelson had destroyed his fleet.
On July 3rd, before setting out from Alexandria, the French commander
gave an order to his admiral, though it must be added that its
authenticity is doubtful:
"The admiral will to-morrow acquaint the commander-in-chief by a
report whether the squadron can enter the port of Alexandria, or
whether, in Aboukir Roads, bringing its broadside to bear, it can
defend itself against the enemy's superior force; and in case both
these plans should be impracticable, he must sail for Corfu ...
leaving the light ships and the flotilla at Alexandria."
Brueys speedily discovered that the first plan was beset by grave
dangers: the entrance to the harbour of Alexandria, when sounded,
proved to be most difficult for large ships--such was his judgment and
that of Villeneuve and Casabianca--and the exit could be blocked by a
single English battleship. As regards the alternatives of Aboukir or
Corfu, Brueys went on to state: "My firm desire is to be useful to you
in every possible way: and, as I have already said, every post will
suit me well, provided that you placed me there in an active way." By
this rather ambiguous phrase it would seem that he scouted the
alternative of Corfu as consigning him to a degrading inactivity;
while at Aboukir he held that he could be actively useful in
protecting the rear of the army. In that bay he therefore anchored his
largest ships, trusting that the dangers of the approach would screen
him from any sudden attack, but making also special preparations in
case he should be compelled to fight at anchor.[105] His decision was
probably less sound than that of Bonaparte, who, while marching to
Cairo, and again during his sojourn there, ordered him to make for
Corfu or Toulon; for the general saw clearly that the French fleet,
riding in safety in those well-protected roadsteads, would really
dominate the Mediterranean better than in the open expanse of Aboukir.
But these orders did not reach the admiral before the blow fell; and
it is, after all, somewhat ungenerous to censure Brueys for his
decision to remain at Aboukir and risk a fight rather than comply with
the dictates of a prudent but inglorious strategy.
The British admiral, after sweeping the eastern Mediterranean, at last
found the French fleet in Aboukir Bay, about ten miles from the
Rosetta mouth of the Nile. It was anchored under the lee of a shoal
which would have prevented any ordinary admiral from attacking,
especially at sundown. But Nelson, knowing that the head ship of the
French was free to swing at anchor, rightly concluded that there must
be room for British ships to sail between Brueys' stationary line and
the shallows. The British captains thrust five ships between the
French and the shoal, while the others, passing down the enemy's line
on the seaward side, crushed it in detail; and, after a night of
carnage, the light of August 2nd dawned on a scene of destruction
unsurpassed in naval warfare. Two French ships of the line and two
frigates alone escaped: one, the gigantic "Orient," had blown up with
the spoils of Malta on board: the rest, eleven in number, were
captured or burnt.
To Bonaparte this disaster came as a bolt from the blue. Only two days
before, he had written from Cairo to Brueys that all the conduct of
the English made him believe them to be inferior in numbers and fully
satisfied with blockading Malta. Yet, in order to restore the _morale_
of his army, utterly depressed by this disaster, he affected a
confidence which he could no longer feel, and said: "Well! here we
must remain or achieve a grandeur like that of the ancients."[106] He
had recently assured his intimates that after routing the Beys' forces
he would return to France and strike a blow direct at England.
Whatever he may have designed, he was now a prisoner in his conquest.
His men, even some of his highest officers, as Berthier, Bessieres,
Lannes, Murat, Dumas, and others, bitterly complained of their
miserable position. But the commander, whose spirits rose with
adversity, took effective means for repressing such discontent. To the
last-named, a powerful mulatto, he exclaimed: "You have held seditious
parleys: take care that I do not perform my duty: your six feet of
stature shall not save you from being shot": and he offered passports
for France to a few of the most discontented and useless officers,
well knowing that after Nelson's victory they could scarcely be used.
Others, again, out-Heroding Herod, suggested that the frigates and
transports at Alexandria should be taken to pieces and conveyed on
camels' backs to Suez, there to be used for the invasion of
India.[107]
The versatility of Bonaparte's genius was never more marked than at
this time of discouragement. While his enemies figured him and his
exhausted troops as vainly seeking to escape from those arid wastes;
while Nelson was landing the French prisoners in order to increase his
embarrassment about food, Bonaparte and his _savants_ were developing
constructive powers of the highest order, which made the army
independent of Europe. It was a vast undertaking. Deprived of most of
their treasure and many of their mechanical appliances by the loss of
the fleet, the _savants_ and engineers had, as it were, to start from
the beginning. Some strove to meet the difficulties of food-supply by
extending the cultivation of corn and rice, or by the construction of
large ovens and bakeries, or of windmills for grinding corn. Others
planted vineyards for the future, or sought to appease the ceaseless
thirst of the soldiery by the manufacture of a kind of native beer.
Foundries and workshops began, though slowly, to supply tools and
machines; the earth was rifled of her treasures, natron was wrought,
saltpetre works were established, and gunpowder was thereby procured
for the army with an energy which recalled the prodigies of activity
of 1793.
With his usual ardour in the cause of learning, Bonaparte several
times a week appeared in the chemical laboratory, or witnessed the
experiments performed by Berthollet and Monge. Desirous of giving
cohesion to the efforts of his _savants_, and of honouring not only
the useful arts but abstruse research, he united these pioneers of
science in a society termed the Institute of Egypt. On August 23rd,
1798, it was installed with much ceremony in the palace of one of the
Beys, Monge being president and Bonaparte vice-president. The general
also enrolled himself in the mathematical section of the institute.
Indeed, he sought by all possible means to aid the labours of the
_savants_, whose dissertations were now heard in the large hall of the
harem that formerly resounded only to the twanging of lutes, weary
jests, and idle laughter. The labours of the _savants_ were not
confined to Cairo and the Delta. As soon as the victories of Desaix
in Upper Egypt opened the middle reaches of the Nile to peaceful
research, the treasures of Memphis were revealed to the astonished
gaze of western learning. Many of the more portable relics were
transferred to Cairo, and thence to Rosetta or Alexandria, in order to
grace the museums of Paris. The _savants_ proposed, but sea-power
disposed, of these treasures. They are now, with few exceptions, in
the British Museum.
Apart from archaeology, much was done to extend the bounds of learning.
Astronomy gained much by the observations of General Caffarelli. A
series of measurements was begun for an exact survey of Egypt: the
geologists and engineers examined the course of the Nile, recorded the
progress of alluvial deposits at its mouth or on its banks, and
therefrom calculated the antiquity of divers parts of the Delta. No
part of the great conqueror's career so aptly illustrates the truth of
his noble words to the magistrates of the Ligurian Republic: "The true
conquests, the only conquests which cost no regrets, are those
achieved over ignorance."
Such, in brief outline, is the story of the renascence in Egypt. The
mother-land of science and learning, after a wellnigh barren interval
of 1,100 years since the Arab conquest, was now developed and
illumined by the application of the arts with which in the dim past
she had enriched the life of barbarous Europe. The repayment of this
incalculable debt was due primarily to the enterprise of Bonaparte. It
is one of his many titles to fame and to the homage of posterity. How
poor by the side of this encyclopaedic genius are the gifts even of
his most brilliant foes! At that same time the Archduke Charles of
Austria was vegetating in inglorious ease on his estates. As for
Beaulieu and Wuermser, they had subsided into their native obscurity.
Nelson, after his recent triumph, persuading himself that "Bonaparte
had gone to the devil," was bending before the whims of a professional
beauty and the odious despotism of the worst Court in Europe. While
the admiral tarnished his fame on the Syren coast of Naples, his great
opponent bent all the resources of a fertile intellect to retrieve his
position, and even under the gloom of disaster threw a gleam of light
into the dark continent. While his adversaries were merely generals or
admirals, hampered by a stupid education and a narrow nationality,
Bonaparte had eagerly imbibed the new learning of his age and saw its
possible influence on the reorganization of society. He is not merely
a general. Even when he is scattering to the winds the proud chivalry
of the East, and is prescribing to Brueys his safest course of action,
he finds time vastly to expand the horizon of human knowledge.
Nor did he neglect Egyptian politics. He used a native council for
consultation and for the promulgation of his own ideas. Immediately
after his entry into Cairo he appointed nine sheikhs to form a divan,
or council, consulting daily on public order and the food-supplies of
the city. He next assembled a general divan for Egypt, and a smaller
council for each province, and asked their advice concerning the
administration of justice and the collection of taxes.[108] In its use
of oriental terminology, this scheme was undeniably clever; but
neither French, Arabs, nor Turks were deceived as to the real
government, which resided entirely in Bonaparte; and his skill in
reapportioning the imposts had some effect on the prosperity of the
land, enabling it to bear the drain of his constant requisitions. The
welfare of the new colony was also promoted by the foundation of a
mint and of an Egyptian Commercial Company.
His inventive genius was by no means exhausted by these varied toils.
On his journey to Suez he met a camel caravan in the desert, and
noticing the speed of the animals, he determined to form a camel
corps; and in the first month of 1799 the experiment was made with
such success that admission into the ranks of the camelry came to be
viewed as a favour. Each animal carried two men with their arms and
baggage: the uniform was sky-blue with a white turban; and the speed
and precision of their movements enabled them to deal terrible blows,
even at distant tribes of Bedouins, who bent before a genius that
could outwit them even in their own deserts.
The pleasures of his officers and men were also met by the opening of
the Tivoli Gardens; and there, in sight of the Pyramids, the life of
the Palais Royal took root: the glasses clinked, the dice rattled, and
heads reeled to the lascivious movements of the eastern dance; and
Bonaparte himself indulged a passing passion for the wife of one of
his officers, with an openness that brought on him a rebuke from his
stepson, Eugene Beauharnais. But already he had been rendered
desperate by reports of the unfaithfulness of Josephine at Paris; the
news wrung from him this pathetic letter to his brother Joseph--the
death-cry of his long drooping idealism:
"I have much to worry me privately, for the veil is entirely torn
aside. You alone remain to me; your affection is very dear to me:
nothing more remains to make me a misanthrope than to lose her and
see you betray me.... Buy a country seat against my return, either
near Paris or in Burgundy. I need solitude and isolation: grandeur
wearies me: the fount of feeling is dried up: glory itself is
insipid. At twenty-nine years of age I have exhausted everything.
It only remains to me to become a thorough egoist."[109]
Many rumours were circulated as to Bonaparte's public appearance in
oriental costume and his presence at a religious service in a mosque.
It is even stated by Thiers that at one of the chief festivals he
repaired to the great mosque, repeated the prayers like a true Moslem,
crossing his legs and swaying his body to and fro, so that he "edified
the believers by his orthodox piety." But the whole incident, however
attractive scenically and in point of humour, seems to be no better
authenticated than the religious results about which the historian
cherished so hopeful a belief. The truth seems to be that the general
went to the celebration of the birth of the Prophet as an interested
spectator, at the house of the sheik, El Bekri. Some hundred sheikhs
were there present: they swayed their bodies to and fro while the
story of Mahomet's life was recited; and Bonaparte afterwards partook
of an oriental repast. But he never forgot his dignity so far as
publicly to appear in a turban and loose trousers, which he donned
only once for the amusement of his staff.[110] That he endeavoured to
pose as a Moslem is beyond doubt. Witness his endeavour to convince
the imams at Cairo of his desire to conform to their faith. If we may
believe that dubious compilation, "A Voice from St. Helena," he bade
them consult together as to the possibility of admission of men, who
were not circumcised and did not abstain from wine, into the true
fold. As to the latter disability, he stated that the French were poor
cold people, inhabitants of the north, who could not exist without
wine. For a long time the imams demurred to this plea, which involved
greater difficulties than the question of circumcision: but after long
consultations they decided that both objections might be waived in
consideration of a superabundance of good works. The reply was
prompted by an irony no less subtle than that which accompanied the
claim, and neither side was deceived in this contest of wits.
A rude awakening soon came. For some few days there had been rumours
that the division under Desaix which was fighting the Mamelukes in
Upper Egypt had been engulfed in those sandy wastes; and this report
fanned to a flame the latent hostility against the unbelievers. From
many minarets of Cairo a summons to arms took the place of the
customary call to prayer: and on October 21st the French garrison was
so fiercely and suddenly attacked as to leave the issue doubtful.
Discipline and grapeshot finally prevailed, whereupon a repression of
oriental ferocity cowed the spirits of the townsfolk and of the
neighbouring country. Forts were constructed in Cairo and at all the
strategic points along the lower Nile, and Egypt seemed to be
conquered.
Feeling sure now of his hold on the populace, Bonaparte, at the close
of the year, undertook a journey to Suez and the Sinaitic peninsula.
It offered that combination of utility and romance which ever appealed
to him. At Suez he sought to revivify commerce by lightening the
customs' dues, by founding a branch of his Egyptian commercial
company, and by graciously receiving a deputation of the Arabs of Tor
who came to sue for his friendship.[111] Then, journeying on, he
visited the fountains of Moses; but it is not true that (as stated by
Lanfrey) he proceeded to Mount Sinai and signed his name in the
register of the monastery side by side with that of Mahomet. On his
return to the isthmus he is said to have narrowly escaped from the
rising tide of the Red Sea. If we may credit Savary, who was not of
the party, its safety was due to the address of the commander, who, as
darkness fell on the bewildered band, arranged his horsemen in files,
until the higher causeway of the path was again discovered. North of
Suez the traces of the canal dug by Sesostris revealed themselves to
the trained eye of the commander. The observations of his engineers
confirmed his conjecture, but the vast labour of reconstruction
forbade any attempt to construct a maritime canal. On his return to
Cairo he wrote to the Imam of Muscat, assuring him of his friendship
and begging him to forward to Tippoo Sahib a letter offering alliance
and deliverance from "the iron yoke of England," and stating that the
French had arrived on the shores of the Red Sea "with a numerous and
invincible army." The letter was intercepted by a British cruiser; and
the alarm caused by these vast designs only served to spur on our
forces to efforts which cost Tippoo his life and the French most of
their Indian settlements.
* * * * *
CHAPTER IX
SYRIA
Meanwhile Turkey had declared war on France, and was sending an army
through Syria for the recovery of Egypt, while another expedition was
assembling at Rhodes. Like all great captains, Bonaparte was never
content with the defensive: his convictions and his pugnacious
instincts alike urged him to give rather than to receive the blow; and
he argued that he could attack and destroy the Syrian force before the
cessation of the winter's gales would allow the other Turkish
expedition to attempt a disembarkation at Aboukir. If he waited in
Egypt, he might have to meet the two attacks at once, whereas, if he
struck at Jaffa and Acre, he would rid himself of the chief mass of
his foes. Besides, as he explained in his letter of February 10th,
1799, to the Directors, his seizure of those towns would rob the
English fleet of its base of supplies and thereby cripple its
activities off the coast of Egypt. So far, his reasons for the Syrian
campaign are intelligible and sound. But he also gave out that,
leaving Desaix and his Ethiopian supernumeraries to defend Egypt, he
himself would accomplish the conquest of Syria and the East: he would
raise in revolt the Christians of the Lebanon and Armenia, overthrow
the Turkish power in Asia, and then march either on Constantinople or
Delhi.
It is difficult to take this quite seriously, considering that he had
only 12,000 men available for these adventures; and with anyone but
Bonaparte they might be dismissed as utterly Quixotic. But in his case
we must seek for some practical purpose; for he never divorced fancy
from fact, and in his best days imagination was the hand-maid of
politics and strategy rather than the mistress. Probably these
gorgeous visions were bodied forth so as to inspirit the soldiery and
enthrall the imagination of France. He had already proved the immense
power of imagination over that susceptible people. In one sense, his
whole expedition was but a picturesque drama; and an imposing climax
could now be found in the plan of an Eastern Empire, that opened up
dazzling vistas of glory and veiled his figure in a grandiose mirage,
beside which the civilian Directors were dwarfed into ridiculous
puppets.
If these vast schemes are to be taken seriously, another explanation
of them is possible, namely, that he relied on the example set by
Alexander the Great, who with a small but highly-trained army had
shattered the stately dominions of the East. If Bonaparte trusted to
this precedent, he erred. True, Alexander began his enterprise with a
comparatively small force: but at least he had a sure base of
operations, and his army in Thessaly was strong enough to prevent
Athens from exchanging her sullen but passive hostility for an
offensive that would endanger his communications by sea. The Athenian
fleet was therefore never the danger to the Macedonians that Nelson
and Sir Sidney Smith were to Bonaparte. Since the French armada
weighed anchor at Toulon, Britain's position had became vastly
stronger. Nelson was lord of the Mediterranean: the revolt in Ireland
had completely failed: a coalition against France was being formed;
and it was therefore certain that the force in Egypt could not be
materially strengthened. Bonaparte did not as yet know the full extent
of his country's danger; but the mere fact that he would have to bear
the pressure of England's naval supremacy along the Syrian coast
should have dispelled any notion that he could rival the exploits of
Alexander and become Emperor of the East.[112]
From conjectures about motives we turn to facts. Setting forth early
in February, the French captured most of the Turkish advanced guard at
the fort of El Arisch, but sent their captives away on condition of
not bearing arms against France for at least one year. The victors
then marched on Jaffa, and, in spite of a spirited defence, took it
by storm (March 7th). Flushed with their triumph over a cruel and
detested foe, the soldiers were giving up the city to pillage and
massacre, when two aides-de-camp promised quarter to a large body of
the defenders, who had sought refuge in a large caravanserai; and
their lives were grudgingly spared by the victors. Bonaparte
vehemently reproached his aides-de-camp for their ill-timed clemency.
What could he now do with these 2,500 or 3,000 prisoners? They could
not be trusted to serve with the French; besides, the provisions
scarcely sufficed for Bonaparte's own men, who began to complain
loudly at sharing any with Turks and Albanians. They could not be sent
away to Egypt, there to spread discontent: and only 300 Egyptians were
so sent away.[113] Finally, on the demand of his generals and troops,
the remaining prisoners were shot down on the seashore. There is,
however, no warrant for the malicious assertion that Bonaparte readily
gave the fatal order. On the contrary, he delayed it for three days,
until the growing difficulties and the loud complaints of his soldiers
wrung it from him as a last resort.
Moreover, several of the victims had already fought against him at El
Arisch, and had violated their promise that they would fight no more
against the French in that campaign. M. Lanfrey's assertion that there
is no evidence for the identification is untenable, in view of a
document which I have discovered in the Records of the British
Admiralty. Inclosed with Sir Sidney Smith's despatches is one from the
secretary of Gezzar, dated Acre, March 1st, 1799, in which the Pacha
urgently entreats the British commodore to come to his help, because
his (Gezzar's) troops had failed to hold El Arisch, and the _same
troops_ had also abandoned Gaza and were in great dread of the French
at Jaffa. Considered from the military point of view, the massacre at
Jaffa is perhaps defensible; and Bonaparte's reluctant assent
contrasts favourably with the conduct of many commanders in similar
cases. Perhaps an episode like that at Jaffa is not without its uses
in opening the eyes of mankind to the ghastly shifts by which military
glory may have to be won. The alternative to the massacre was the
detaching of a French battalion to conduct their prisoners to Egypt.
As that would seriously have weakened the little army, the prisoners
were shot.
A deadlier foe was now to be faced. Already at El Arisch a few cases
of the plague had appeared in Kleber's division, which had come from
Rosetta and Damietta; and the relics of the retreating Mameluke and
Turkish forces seem also to have bequeathed that disease as a fatal
legacy to their pursuers. After Jaffa the malady attacked most
battalions of the army; and it may have quickened Bonaparte's march
towards Acre. Certain it is that he rejected Kleber's advice to
advance inland towards Nablus, the ancient Shechem, and from that
commanding centre to dominate Palestine and defy the power of
Gezzar.[114]
[Illustration: PLAN OF THE SIEGE OF ACRE FROM A CONTEMPORARY SKETCH]
Always prompt to strike at the heart, the commander-in-chief
determined to march straight on Acre, where that notorious Turkish
pacha sat intrenched behind weak walls and the ramparts of terror
which his calculating ferocity had reared around him. Ever since the
age of the Crusades that seaport had been the chief place of arms of
Palestine; but the harbour was now nearly silted up, and even the
neighbouring roadstead of Hayfa was desolate. The fortress was
formidable only to orientals. In his work, "Les Ruines," Volney had
remarked about Acre: "Through all this part of Asia bastions, lines of
defence, covered ways, ramparts, and in short everything relating to
modern fortification are utterly unknown; and a single thirty-gun
frigate would easily bombard and lay in ruins the whole coast." This
judgment of his former friend undoubtedly lulled Bonaparte into
illusory confidence, and the rank and file after their success at
Jaffa expected an easy triumph at Acre.
This would doubtless have happened but for British help. Captain
Miller, of H.M.S. "Theseus," thus reported on the condition of Acre
before Sir Sidney Smith's arrival:
"I found almost every embrasure empty except those towards the sea.
Many years' collection of the dirt of the town thrown in such a
situation as completely covered the approach to the gate from the
only guns that could flank it and from the sea ... none of their
batteries have casemates, traverses, or splinter-proofs: they have
many guns, but generally small and defective--the carriages in
general so." [115]
Captain Miller's energy made good some of these defects; but the place
was still lamentably weak when, on March 15th, Sir Sidney Smith
arrived. The English squadron in the east of the Mediterranean had,
to Nelson's chagrin, been confided to the command of this ardent young
officer, who now had the good fortune to capture off the promontory of
Mount Carmel seven French vessels containing Bonaparte's siege-train.
This event had a decisive influence on the fortunes of the siege and
of the whole campaign. The French cannon were now hastily mounted on
the very walls that they had been intended to breach; while the gun
vessels reinforced the two English frigates, and were ready to pour a
searching fire on the assailants in their trenches or as they rushed
against the walls. These had also been hastily strengthened under the
direction of a French royalist officer named Phelippeaux, an old
schoolfellow of Bonaparte, and later on a comrade of Sidney Smith,
alike in his imprisonment and in his escape from the clutches of the
revolutionists. Sharing the lot of the adventurous young seaman,
Phelippeaux sailed to the Levant, and now brought to the defence of
Acre the science of a skilled engineer. Bravely seconded by British
officers and seamen, he sought to repair the breach effected by the
French field-pieces, and constructed at the most exposed points inner
defences, before which the most obstinate efforts of the storming
parties melted away. Nine times did the assailants advance against the
breaches with the confidence born of unfailing success and redoubled
by the gaze of their great commander; but as often were they beaten
back by the obstinate bravery of the British seamen and Turks.
The monotony was once relieved by a quaint incident. In the course of
a correspondence with Bonaparte, Sir Sidney Smith is said to have
shown his annoyance by sending him a challenge to a duel. It met with
the very proper reply that he would fight, if the English would send
out _a Marlborough_.
During these desperate conflicts Bonaparte detached a considerable
number of troops inland to beat off a large Turkish and Mameluke force
destined for the relief of Acre and the invasion of Egypt. The first
encounter was near Nazareth, where Junot displayed the dash and
resource which had brought him fame in Italy; but the decisive battle
was fought in the Plain of Esdraelon, not far from the base of Mount
Tabor. There Kleber's division of 2,000 men was for some hours hard
pressed by a motley array of horse and foot drawn from diverse parts
of the Sultan's dominions. The heroism of the burly Alsacian and the
toughness of his men barely kept off the fierce rushes of the Moslem
horse and foot. At last Bonaparte's cannon were heard. The chief,
marching swiftly on with his troops drawn up in three squares,
speedily brushed aside the enveloping clouds of orientals; finally, by
well-combined efforts the French hurled back the enemy on passes, some
of which had been seized by the commander's prescience. At the close
of this memorable day (April 15th) an army of nearly 30,000 men was
completely routed and dispersed by the valour and skilful dispositions
of two divisions which together amounted to less than a seventh of
that number. No battle of modern times more closely resembles the
exploits of Alexander than this masterly concentration of force; and
possibly some memory of this may have prompted the words of
Kleber--"General, how great you are!"--as he met and embraced his
commander on the field of battle. Bonaparte and his staff spent the
night at the Convent of Nazareth; and when his officers burst out
laughing at the story told by the Prior of the breaking of a pillar by
the angel Gabriel at the time of the Annunciation, their untimely
levity was promptly checked by the frown of the commander.
The triumph seemed to decide the Christians of the Lebanon to ally
themselves with Bonaparte, and they secretly covenanted to furnish
12,000 troops at his cost; but this question ultimately depended on
the siege of Acre. On rejoining their comrades before Acre, the
victors found that the siege had made little progress: for a time the
besiegers relied on mining operations, but with little success; though
Phelippeaux succumbed to a sunstroke (May 1st), his place was filled
by Colonel Douglas, who foiled the efforts of the French engineers
and enabled the place to hold out till the advent of the long-expected
Turkish succours. On May 7th their sails were visible far out on an
almost windless sea. At once Bonaparte made desperate efforts to carry
the "mud-hole" by storm. Led with reckless gallantry by the heroic
Lannes, his troops gained part of the wall and planted the tricolour
on the north-east tower; but all further progress was checked by
English blue-jackets, whom the commodore poured into the town; and the
Turkish reinforcements, wafted landwards by a favouring breeze, were
landed in time to wrest the ramparts from the assailants' grip. On the
following day an assault was again attempted: from the English ships
Bonaparte could be clearly seen on Richard Coeur de Lion's mound
urging on the French; but though, under Lannes' leadership, they
penetrated to the garden of Gezzar's seraglio, they fell in heaps
under the bullets, pikes, and scimitars of the defenders, and few
returned alive to the camp. Lannes himself was dangerously wounded,
and saved only by the devotion of an officer.
Both sides were now worn out by this extraordinary siege. "This town
is not, nor ever has been, defensible according to the rules of art;
but according to every other rule it must and shall be defended"--so
wrote Sir Sidney Smith to Nelson on May 9th. But a fell influence was
working against the besiegers; as the season advanced, they succumbed
more and more to the ravages of the plague; and, after failing again
on May 10th, many of their battalions refused to advance to the breach
over the putrid remains of their comrades. Finally, Bonaparte, after
clinging to his enterprise with desperate tenacity, on the night of
May 20th gave orders to retreat.
This siege of nine weeks' duration had cost him severe losses, among
them being Generals Caffarelli and Bon: but worst of all was the loss
of that reputation for invincibility which he had hitherto enjoyed.
His defeat at Caldiero, near Verona, in 1796 had been officially
converted into a victory: but Acre could not be termed anything but a
reverse. In vain did the commander and his staff proclaim that, after
dispersing the Turks at Mount Tabor, the capture of Acre was
superfluous; his desperate efforts in the early part of May revealed
the hollowness of his words. There were, it is true, solid reasons for
his retreat. He had just heard of the breaking out of the war of the
Second Coalition against France; and revolts in Egypt also demanded
his presence.[116] But these last events furnished a damning
commentary on his whole Syrian enterprise, which had led to a
dangerous diffusion of the French forces. And for what? For the
conquest of Constantinople or of India? That dream seems to have
haunted Bonaparte's brain even down to the close of the siege of Acre.
During the siege, and later, he was heard to inveigh against "the
miserable little hole" which had come between him and his destiny--the
Empire of the East; and it is possible that ideas which he may at
first have set forth in order to dazzle his comrades came finally to
master his whole being. Certainly the words just quoted betoken a
quite abnormal wilfulness as well as a peculiarly subjective notion of
fatalism. His "destiny" was to be mapped out by his own prescience,
decided by his own will, gripped by his own powers. Such fatalism had
nothing in common with the sombre creed of the East: it was merely an
excess of individualism: it was the matured expression of that feature
of his character, curiously dominant even in childhood, that _what he
wanted he must of necessity have_. How strange that this imperious
obstinacy, this sublimation of western willpower, should not have been
tamed even by the overmastering might of Nature in the Orient!
As for the Empire of the East, the declared hostility of the tribes
around Nablus had shown how futile were Bonaparte's efforts to win
over Moslems: and his earlier Moslem proclamations were skilfully
distributed by Sir Sidney Smith among the Christians of Syria, and
served partly to neutralize the efforts which Bonaparte made to win
them over.[117] Vain indeed was the effort to conciliate the Moslems
in Egypt, and yet in Syria to arouse the Christians against the
Commander of the Faithful. Such religious opportunism smacked of the
Parisian boulevards: it utterly ignored the tenacity of belief of the
East, where the creed is the very life. The outcome of all that
_finesse_ was seen in the closing days of the siege and during the
retreat towards Jaffa, when the tribes of the Lebanon and of the
Nablus district watched like vultures on the hills and swooped down on
the retreating columns. The pain of disillusionment, added to his
sympathy with the sick and wounded, once broke down Bonaparte's
nerves. Having ordered all horsemen to dismount so that there might be
sufficient transport for the sick and maimed, the commander was asked
by an equerry which horse he reserved for his own use. "Did you not
hear the order," he retorted, striking the man with his whip,
"everyone on foot." Rarely did this great man mar a noble action by
harsh treatment: the incident sufficiently reveals the tension of
feelings, always keen, and now overwrought by physical suffering and
mental disappointment.
There was indeed much to exasperate him. At Acre he had lost nearly
5,000 men in killed, wounded, and plague-stricken, though he falsely
reported to the Directory that his losses during the whole expedition
did not exceed 1,500 men: and during the terrible retreat to Jaffa he
was shocked, not only by occasional suicides of soldiers in his
presence, but by the utter callousness of officers and men to the
claims of the sick and wounded. It was as a rebuke to this inhumanity
that he ordered all to march on foot, and his authority seems even to
have been exerted to prevent some attempts at poisoning the
plague-stricken. The narrative of J. Miot, commissary of the army,
shows that these suggestions originated among the soldiery at Acre
when threatened with the toil of transporting those unfortunates back
to Egypt; and, as his testimony is generally adverse to Bonaparte, and
he mentions the same horrible device, when speaking of the hospitals
at Jaffa, as a camp rumour, it may be regarded as scarcely worthy of
credence.[118]
Undoubtedly the scenes were heartrending at Jaffa; and it has been
generally believed that the victims of the plague were then and there
put out of their miseries by large doses of opium. Certainly the
hospitals were crowded with wounded and victims of the plague; but
during the seven days' halt at that town adequate measures were taken
by the chief medical officers, Desgenettes and Larrey, for their
transport to Egypt. More than a thousand were sent away on ships,
seven of which were fortunately present; and 800 were conveyed to
Egypt in carts or litters across the desert.[119] Another fact
suffices to refute the slander mentioned above. From the despatch of
Sir Sidney Smith to Nelson of May 30th, 1799, it appears that, when
the English commodore touched at Jaffa, he found some of the abandoned
ones _still alive_: "We have found seven poor fellows in the hospital
and will take care of them." He also supplied the French ships
conveying the wounded with water, provisions, and stores, of which
they were much in need, and allowed them to proceed to their
destination. It is true that the evidence of Las Cases at St. Helena,
eagerly cited by Lanfrey, seems to show that some of the worst cases
in the Jaffa hospitals were got rid of by opium; but the admission by
Napoleon that the administering of opium was justifiable occurred in
one of those casuistical discussions which turn, not on facts, but on
motives. Conclusions drawn from such conversations, sixteen years or
more after the supposed occurrence, must in any case give ground
before the evidence of contemporaries, which proves that every care
was taken of the sick and wounded, that the proposals of poisoning
first came from the soldiery, that Napoleon both before and after
Jaffa set the noble example of marching on foot so that there might be
sufficiency of transport, that nearly all the unfortunates arrived in
Egypt and in fair condition, and that seven survivors were found alive
at Jaffa by English officers.[120]
The remaining episodes of the Eastern Expedition may be briefly
dismissed. After a painful desert march the army returned to Egypt in
June; and, on July 25th, under the lead of Murat and Lannes, drove
into the sea a large force of Turks which had effected a landing in
Aboukir Bay. Bonaparte was now weary of gaining triumphs over foes
whom he and his soldiers despised. While in this state of mind, he
received from Sir Sidney Smith a packet of English and German
newspapers giving news up to June 6th, which brought him quickly to a
decision. The formation of a powerful coalition, the loss of Italy,
defeats on the Rhine, and the schisms, disgust, and despair prevalent
in France--all drew his imagination westwards away from the illusory
Orient; and he determined to leave his army to the care of Kleber and
sail to France.
The morality of this step has been keenly discussed. The rank and
file of the army seem to have regarded it as little less than
desertion,[121] and the predominance of personal motives in this
important decision can scarcely be denied. His private aim in
undertaking the Eastern Expedition, that of dazzling the imagination
of the French people and of exhibiting the incapacity of the
Directory, had been abundantly realized. His eastern enterprise had
now shrunk to practical and prosaic dimensions, namely, the
consolidation of French power in Egypt. Yet, as will appear in later
chapters, he did not give up his oriental schemes; though at St.
Helena he once oddly spoke of the Egyptian expedition as an "exhausted
enterprise," it is clear that he worked hard to keep his colony. The
career of Alexander had for him a charm that even the conquests of
Caesar could not rival; and at the height of his European triumphs, the
hero of Austerlitz was heard to murmur: "J'ai manque a ma fortune a
Saint-Jean d'Acre."[122]
In defence of his sudden return it may be urged that he had more than
once promised the Directory that his stay in Egypt would not exceed
five months; and there can be no doubt that now, as always, he had an
alternative plan before him in case of failure or incomplete success
in the East. To this alternative he now turned with that swiftness and
fertility of resource which astonished both friends and foes in
countless battles and at many political crises.
It has been stated by Lanfrey that his appointment of Kleber to
succeed him was dictated by political and personal hostility; but it
may more naturally be considered a tribute to his abilities as a
general and to his influence over the soldiery, which was only second
to that of Bonaparte and Desaix. He also promised to send him speedy
succour; and as there seemed to be a probability of France regaining
her naval supremacy in the Mediterranean by the union of the fleet of
Bruix with that of Spain, he might well hope to send ample
reinforcements. He probably did not know the actual facts of the case,
that in July Bruix tamely followed the Spanish squadron to Cadiz, and
that the Directory had ordered Bruix to withdraw the French army from
Egypt. But, arguing from the facts as known to him, Bonaparte might
well believe that the difficulties of France would be fully met by his
own return, and that Egypt could be held with ease. The duty of a
great commander is to be at the post of greatest danger, and that was
now on the banks of the Rhine or Mincio.
The advent of a south-east wind, a rare event there at that season of
the year, led him hastily to embark at Alexandria in the night of
August 22nd-23rd. His two frigates bore with him some of the greatest
sons of France; his chief of the staff, Berthier, whose ardent love
for Madame Visconti had been repressed by his reluctant determination
to share the fortunes of his chief; Lannes and Murat, both recently
wounded, but covered with glory by their exploits in Syria and at
Aboukir; his friend Marmont, as well as Duroc, Andreossi, Bessieres,
Lavalette, Admiral Gantheaume, Monge, and Berthollet, his secretary
Bourrienne, and the traveller Denon. He also left orders that Desaix,
who had been in charge of Upper Egypt, should soon return to France,
so that the rivalry between him and Kleber might not distract French
councils in Egypt. There seems little ground for the assertion that he
selected for return his favourites and men likely to be politically
serviceable to him. If he left behind the ardently republican Kleber,
he also left his old friend Junot: if he brought back Berthier and
Marmont, he also ordered the return of the almost Jacobinical Desaix.
Sir Sidney Smith having gone to Cyprus for repairs, Bonaparte slipped
out unmolested. By great good fortune his frigates eluded the English
ships cruising between Malta and Cape Bon, and after a brief stay at
Ajaccio, he and his comrades landed at Frejus (October 9th). So great
was the enthusiasm of the people that, despite all the quarantine
regulations, they escorted the party to shore. "We prefer the plague
to the Austrians," they exclaimed; and this feeling but feebly
expressed the emotion of France at the return of the Conqueror of the
East.
And yet he found no domestic happiness. Josephine's _liaison_ with a
young officer, M. Charles, had become notorious owing to his prolonged
visits to her country house, La Malmaison. Alarmed at her husband's
return, she now hurried to meet him, but missed him on the way; while
he, finding his home at Paris empty, raged at her infidelity, refused
to see her on her return, and declared he would divorce her. From this
he was turned by the prayers of Eugene and Hortense Beauharnais, and
the tears of Josephine herself. A reconciliation took place; but there
was no reunion of hearts, and Mme. Reinhard echoed the feeling of
respectable society when she wrote that he should have divorced her
outright. Thenceforth he lived for Glory alone.
* * * * *
CHAPTER X
BRUMAIRE
Rarely has France been in a more distracted state than in the summer
of 1799. Royalist revolts in the west and south rent the national
life. The religious schism was unhealed; education was at a
standstill; commerce had been swept from the seas by the British
fleets; and trade with Italy and Germany was cut off by the war of
the Second Coalition.
The formation of this league between Russia, Austria, England, Naples,
Portugal, and Turkey was in the main the outcome of the alarm and
indignation aroused by the reckless conduct of the Directory, which
overthrew the Bourbons at Naples, erected the Parthenopaean Republic,
and compelled the King of Sardinia to abdicate at Turin and retire to
his island. Russia and Austria took a leading part in forming the
Coalition. Great Britain, ever hampered by her inept army
organization, offered to supply money in place of the troops which she
could not properly equip.
But under the cloak of legitimacy the monarchical Powers harboured
their own selfish designs. This Nessus' cloak of the First Coalition
soon galled the limbs of the allies and rendered them incapable of
sustained and vigorous action. Yet they gained signal successes over
the raw conscripts of France. In July, 1799, the Austro-Russian army
captured Mantua and Alessandria; and in the following month Suvoroff
gained the decisive victory of Novi and drove the remains of the
French forces towards Genoa. The next months were far more favourable
to the tricolour flag, for, owing to Austro-Russian jealousies,
Massena was able to gain an important victory at Zurich over a Russian
army. In the north the republicans were also in the end successful.
Ten days after Bonaparte's arrival at Frejus, they compelled an
Anglo-Russian force campaigning in Holland to the capitulation of
Alkmaar, whereby the Duke of York agreed to withdraw all his troops
from that coast. Disgusted by the conduct of his allies, the Czar Paul
withdrew his troops from any active share in the operations by land,
thenceforth concentrating his efforts on the acquisition of Corsica,
Malta, and posts of vantage in the Adriatic. These designs, which were
well known to the British Government, served to hamper our naval
strength in those seas, and to fetter the action of the Austrian arms
in Northern Italy.[123]
Yet, though the schisms of the allies finally yielded a victory to the
French in the campaigns of 1799, the position of the Republic was
precarious. The danger was rather internal than external. It arose
from embarrassed finances, from the civil war that burst out with new
violence in the north-west, and, above all, from a sense of the
supreme difficulty of attaining political stability and of reconciling
liberty with order. The struggle between the executive and legislative
powers which had been rudely settled by the _coup d'etat_ of
Fructidor, had been postponed, not solved. Public opinion was speedily
ruffled by the Jacobinical violence which ensued. The stifling of
liberty of the press and the curtailment of the right of public
meeting served only to instill new energy into the party of resistance
in the elective Councils, and to undermine a republican government
that relied on Venetian methods of rule. Reviewing the events of those
days, Madame de Stael finely remarked that only the free consent of
the people could breathe life into political institutions; and that
the monstrous system of guaranteeing freedom by despotic means served
only to manufacture governments that had to be wound up at intervals
lest they should stop dead.[124] Such a sarcasm, coming from the
gifted lady who had aided and abetted the stroke of Fructidor, shows
how far that event had falsified the hopes of the sincerest friends of
the Revolution. Events were therefore now favourable to a return from
the methods of Rousseau to those of Richelieu; and the genius who was
skilfully to adapt republicanism to autocracy was now at hand. Though
Bonaparte desired at once to attack the Austrians in Northern Italy,
yet a sure instinct impelled him to remain at Paris, for, as he said
to Marmont: "When the house is crumbling, is it the time to busy
oneself with the garden? A change here is indispensable."
The sudden rise of Bonaparte to supreme power cannot be understood
without some reference to the state of French politics in the months
preceding his return to France. The position of parties had been
strangely complicated by the unpopularity of the Directors. Despite
their illegal devices, the elections of 1798 and 1799 for the renewal
of a third part of the legislative Councils had signally strengthened
the anti-directorial ranks. Among the Opposition were some royalists,
a large number of constitutionals, whether of the Feuillant or
Girondin type, and many deputies, who either vaunted the name of
Jacobins or veiled their advanced opinions under the convenient
appellation of "patriots." Many of the deputies were young,
impressionable, and likely to follow any able leader who promised to
heal the schisms of the country. In fact, the old party lines were
being effaced. The champions of the constitution of 1795 (Year III.)
saw no better means of defending it than by violating electoral
liberties--always in the sacred name of Liberty; and the Directory,
while professing to hold the balance between the extreme parties,
repressed them by turns with a vigour which rendered them popular and
official moderation odious.
In this general confusion and apathy the dearth of statesmen was
painfully conspicuous. Only true grandeur of character can defy the
withering influences of an age of disillusionment; and France had for
a time to rely upon Sieyes. Perhaps no man has built up a reputation
for political capacity on performances so slight as the Abbe Sieyes.
In the States General of 1789 he speedily acquired renown for oracular
wisdom, owing to the brevity and wit of his remarks in an assembly
where such virtues were rare. But the course of the Revolution soon
showed the barrenness of his mind and the timidity of his character.
He therefore failed to exert any lasting influence upon events. In the
time of the Terror his insignificance was his refuge. His witty reply
to an inquiry how he had then fared--"J'ai vecu "--sufficiently
characterizes the man. In the Directorial period he displayed more
activity. He was sent as French ambassador to Berlin, and plumed
himself on having persuaded that Court to a neutrality favourable to
France. But it is clear that the neutrality of Prussia was the outcome
of selfish considerations. While Austria tried the hazards of war, her
northern rival husbanded her resources, strengthened her position as
the protectress of Northern Germany, and dextrously sought to attract
the nebula of middle German States into her own sphere of influence.
From his task of tilting a balance which was already decided, Sieyes
was recalled to Paris in May, 1799, by the news of his election to the
place in the Directory vacated by Rewbell. The other Directors had
striven, but in vain, to prevent his election: they knew well that
this impracticable theorist would speedily paralyze the Government;
for, when previously elected Director in 1795, he had refused to
serve, on the ground that the constitution was thoroughly bad. He now
declared his hostility to the Directory, and looked around for some
complaisant military chief who should act as his tool and then be
cast away. His first choice, Joubert, was killed at the battle of
Novi. Moreau seems then to have been looked on with favour; he was a
republican, able in warfare and singularly devoid of skill or ambition
in political matters. Relying on Moreau, Sieyes continued his
intrigues, and after some preliminary fencing gained over to his side
the Director Barras. But if we may believe the assertions of the
royalist, Hyde de Neuville, Barras was also receiving the advances of
the royalists with a view to a restoration of Louis XVIII., an event
which was then quite within the bounds of probability. For the
present, however, Barras favoured the plans of Sieyes, and helped him
to get rid of the firmly republican Directors, La Reveilliere-Lepeaux
and Merlin, who were deposed (30th Prairial).[125]
The new Directors were Gohier, Roger Ducos, and Moulin; the first, an
elderly respectable advocate; the second, a Girondin by early
associations, but a trimmer by instinct, and therefore easily gained
over by Sieyes; while the recommendation of the third, Moulin, seem to
have been his political nullity and some third-rate military services
in the Vendean war. Yet the Directory of Prairial was not devoid of a
spasmodic energy, which served to throw back the invaders of France.
Bernadotte, the fiery Gascon, remarkable for his ardent gaze, his
encircling masses of coal-black hair, and the dash of Moorish blood
which ever aroused Bonaparte's respectful apprehensions, was Minister
of War, and speedily formed a new army of 100,000 men: Lindet
undertook to re-establish the finances by means of progressive taxes:
the Chouan movement in the northern and western departments was
repressed by a law legalising the seizure of hostages; and there
seemed some hope that France would roll back the tide of invasion,
keep her "natural frontiers," and return to normal methods of
government.
Such was the position of affairs when Bonaparte's arrival inspired
France with joy and the Directory with ill-concealed dread. As in
1795, so now in 1799, he appeared at Paris when French political life
was in a stage of transition. If ever the Napoleonic star shone
auspiciously, it was in the months when he threaded his path between
Nelson's cruisers and cut athwart the maze of Sieyes' intrigues. To
the philosopher's "J'ai vecu" he could oppose the crushing retort
"J'ai vaincu."
The general, on meeting the thinker at Gohier's house, studiously
ignored him. In truth, he was at first disposed to oust both Sieyes
and Barras from the Directory. The latter of these men was odious to
him for reasons both private and public. In time past he had had good
reasons for suspecting Josephine's relations with the voluptuous
Director, and with the men whom she met at his house. During the
Egyptian campaign his jealousy had been fiercely roused in another
quarter, and, as we have seen, led to an almost open breach with his
wife. But against Barras he still harboured strong suspicions; and the
frequency of his visits to the Director's house after returning from
Egypt was doubtless due to his desire to sound the depths of his
private as well as of his public immorality. If we may credit the
_embarras de mensonges_ which has been dignified by the name of
Barras' "Memoirs," Josephine once fled to his house and flung herself
at his knees, begging to be taken away from her husband; but the story
is exploded by the moral which the relator clumsily tacks on, as to
the good advice which he gave her.[126] While Bonaparte seems to have
found no grounds for suspecting Barras on this score, he yet
discovered his intrigues with various malcontents; and he saw that
Barras, holding the balance of power in the Directory between the
opposing pairs of colleagues, was intriguing to get the highest
possible price for the betrayal of the Directory and of the
constitution of 1795.
For Sieyes the general felt dislike but respect. He soon saw the
advantage of an alliance with so learned a thinker, so skilful an
intriguer, and so weak a man. It was, indeed, necessary; for, after
making vain overtures to Gohier for the alteration of the law which
excluded from the Directory men of less than forty years of age,
the general needed the alliance of Sieyes for the overthrow of the
constitution. In a short space he gathered around him the malcontents
whom the frequent crises had deprived of office, Roederer, Admiral
Bruix, Real, Cambaceres, and, above all, Talleyrand. The last-named;
already known for his skill in diplomacy, had special reasons for
favouring the alliance of Bonaparte and Sieyes: he had been dismissed
from the Foreign Office in the previous month of July because in his
hands it had proved to be too lucrative to the holder and too
expensive for France. It was an open secret that, when American
commissioners arrived in Paris a short time previously, for the
settlement of various disputes between the two countries, they found
that the negotiations would not progress until 250,000 dollars had
changed hands. The result was that hostilities continued, and that
Talleyrand soon found himself deprived of office, until another turn
of the revolutionary kaleidoscope should restore him to his coveted
place.[127] He discerned in the Bonaparte-Sieyes combination the force
that would give the requisite tilt now that Moreau gave up politics.
The army and most of the generals were also ready for some change,
only Bernadotte and Jourdan refusing to listen to the new proposals;
and the former of these came "with sufficiently bad grace" to join
Bonaparte at the time of action. The police was secured through that
dextrous trimmer, the regicide Fouche, who now turned against the very
men who had recently appointed him to office. Feeling sure of the
soldiery and police, the innovators fixed the 18th of Brumaire as the
date of their enterprise. There were many conferences at the houses of
the conspirators; and one of the few vivid touches which relieve the
dull tones of the Talleyrand "Memoirs" reveals the consciousness of
these men that they were conspirators. Late on a night in the middle
of Brumaire, Bonaparte came to Talleyrand's house to arrange details
of the _coup d'etat,_ when the noise of carriages stopping outside
caused them to pale with fear that their plans were discovered. At
once the diplomatist blew out the lights and hurried to the balcony,
when he found that their fright was due merely to an accident to the
carriages of the revellers and gamesters returning from the Palais
Royal, which were guarded by gendarmes. The incident closed with
laughter and jests; but it illustrates the tension of the nerves of
the political gamesters, as also the mental weakness of Bonaparte when
confronted by some unknown danger. It was perhaps the only weak point
in his intellectual armour; but it was to be found out at certain
crises of his career.
Meanwhile in the legislative Councils there was a feeling of vague
disquiet. The Ancients were, on the whole, hostile to the Directory,
but in the Council of Five Hundred the democratic ardour of the
younger deputies foreboded a fierce opposition. Yet there also the
plotters found many adherents, who followed the lead now cautiously
given by Lucien Bonaparte. This young man, whose impassioned speeches
had marked him out as an irreproachable patriot, was now President of
that Council. No event could have been more auspicious for the
conspirators. With Sieyes, Barras, and Ducos, as traitors in the
Directory, with the Ancients favourable, and the junior deputies under
the presidency of Lucien, the plot seemed sure of success.
The first important step was taken by the Council of Ancients, who
decreed the transference of the sessions of the Councils to St. Cloud.
The danger of a Jacobin plot was urged as a plea for this motion,
which was declared carried without the knowledge either of the
Directory as a whole, or of the Five Hundred, whose opposition would
have been vehement. The Ancients then appointed Bonaparte to command
the armed forces in and near Paris. The next step was to insure the
abdication of Gohier and Moulin. Seeking to entrap Gohier, then the
President of the Directory, Josephine invited him to breakfast on the
morning of 18th Brumaire; but Gohier, suspecting a snare, remained at
his official residence, the Luxemburg Palace. None the less the
Directory was doomed; for the two defenders of the institution had not
the necessary quorum for giving effect to their decrees. Moulin
thereupon escaped, and Gohier was kept under guard--by Moreau's
soldiery![128]
Meanwhile, accompanied by a brilliant group of generals, Bonaparte
proceeded to the Tuileries, where the Ancients were sitting; and by
indulging in a wordy declamation he avoided taking the oath to the
constitution required of a general on entering upon a new command. In
the Council of Five Hundred, Lucien Bonaparte stopped the eager
questions and murmurs, on the pretext that the session was only legal
at St. Cloud.
There, on the next day (19th Brumaire or 10th November), a far more
serious blow was to be struck. The overthrow of the Directory was a
foregone conclusion. But with the Legislature it was far otherwise,
for its life was still whole and vigorous. Yet, while amputating a
moribund limb, the plotters did not scruple to paralyze the brain of
the body politic.
Despite the adhesion of most of the Ancients to his plans, Bonaparte,
on appearing before them, could only utter a succession of short,
jerky phrases which smacked of the barracks rather than of the Senate.
Retiring in some confusion, he regains his presence of mind among the
soldiers outside, and enters the hall of the Five Hundred, intending
to intimidate them not only by threats, but by armed force. At the
sight of the uniforms at the door, the republican enthusiasm of the
younger deputies catches fire. They fiercely assail him with cries of
"Down with the tyrant! down with the Dictator! outlaw him!" In vain
Lucien Bonaparte commands order. Several deputies rush at the general,
and fiercely shake him by the collar. He turns faint with excitement
and chagrin; but Lefebvre and a few grenadiers rushing up drag him
from the hall. He comes forth like a somnambulist (says an onlooker),
pursued by the terrible cry, "Hors la loi!" Had the cries at once
taken form in a decree, the history of the world might have been
different. One of the deputies, General Augereau, fiercely demands
that the motion of outlawry be put to the vote. Lucien Bonaparte
refuses, protests, weeps, finally throws off his official robes, and
is rescued from the enraged deputies by grenadiers whom the
conspirators send in for this purpose. Meanwhile Bonaparte and his
friends were hastily deliberating, when one of their number brought
the news that the deputies had declared the general an outlaw. The
news chased the blood from his cheek, until Sieyes, whose _sang froid_
did not desert him in these civilian broils, exclaims, "Since they
outlaw you, they are outlaws." This revolutionary logic recalls
Bonaparte to himself. He shouts, "To arms!" Lucien, too, mounting a
horse, appeals to the soldiers to free the Council from the menaces
of some deputies armed with daggers, and in the pay of England, who
are terrorising the majority. The shouts of command, clinched by the
adroit reference to daggers and English gold, cause the troops to
waver in their duty; and Lucien, pressing his advantage to the utmost,
draws a sword, and, holding it towards his brother, exclaims that he
will stab him if ever he attempts anything against liberty. Murat,
Leclerc, and other generals enforce this melodramatic appeal by shouts
for Bonaparte, which the troops excitedly take up. The drums sound for
an advance, and the troops forthwith enter the hall. In vain the
deputies raise the shout, "Vive la Republique," and invoke the
constitution. Appeals to the law are overpowered by the drum and by
shouts for Bonaparte; and the legislators of France fly pell-mell from
the hall through doors and windows.[129]
Thus was fulfilled the prophecy which eight years previously Burke had
made in his immortal work on the French Revolution. That great thinker
had predicted that French liberty would fall a victim to the first
great general who drew the eyes of all men upon himself. "The moment
in which that event shall happen, the person who really commands the
army is your master, the master of your king, the master of your
Assembly, the master of your whole republic."
Discussions about the _coup d'etat_ of Brumaire generally confuse the
issue at stake by ignoring the difference between the overthrow of the
Directory and that of the Legislature. The collapse of the Directory
was certain to take place; but few expected that the Legislature of
France would likewise vanish. For vanish it did: not for nearly half
a century had France another free and truly democratic representative
assembly. This result of Brumaire was unexpected by several of the men
who plotted the overthrow of unpopular Directors, and hoped for the
nipping of Jacobinical or royalist designs. Indeed, no event in French
history is more astonishing than the dispersal of the republican
deputies, most of whom desired a change of _personnel_ but not a
revolution in methods of government. Until a few days previously the
Councils had the allegiance of the populace and of the soldiers; the
troops at St. Cloud were loyal to the constitution, and respected the
persons of the deputies until they were deluded by Lucien. For a few
minutes the fate of France trembled in the balance; and the
conspirators knew it.[130] Bonaparte confessed it by his incoherent
gaspings; Sieyes had his carriage ready, with six horses, for flight;
the terrible cry, "Hors la loi!" if raised against Bonaparte in the
heart of Paris, would certainly have roused the populace to fury in
the cause of liberty and have swept the conspirators to the
guillotine. But, as it was, the affair was decided in the solitudes of
St. Cloud by Lucien and a battalion of soldiers.
Efforts have frequently been made to represent the events of Brumaire
as inevitable and to dovetail them in with a pretended philosophy of
history. But it is impossible to study them closely without observing
how narrow was the margin between the success and failure of the plot,
and how jagged was the edge of an affair which philosophizers seek to
fit in with their symmetrical explanations. In truth, no event of
world-wide importance was ever decided by circumstances so trifling.
"There is but one step from triumph to a fall. I have seen that in the
greatest affairs a little thing has always decided important
events"--so wrote Bonaparte three years before his triumph at St.
Cloud: he might have written it of that event. It is equally
questionable whether it can be regarded as saving France from anarchy.
His admirers, it is true, have striven to depict France as trodden
down by invaders, dissolved by anarchy, and saved only by the stroke
of Brumaire. But she was already triumphant: it was quite possible
that she would peacefully adjust her governmental difficulties: they
were certainly no greater than they had been in and since the year
1797: Fouche had closed the club of the Jacobins: the Councils had
recovered their rightful influence, and, but for the plotters of
Brumaire, might have effected a return to ordinary government of the
type of 1795-7. This was the real blow; that the vigorous trunk, the
Legislature, was struck down along with the withering Directorial
branch.
The friends of liberty might well be dismayed when they saw how tamely
France accepted this astounding stroke. Some allowance was naturally
to be made, at first, for the popular apathy: the Jacobins, already
discouraged by past repression, were partly dazed by the suddenness of
the blow, and were also ignorant of the aims of the men who dealt it;
and while they were waiting to see the import of events, power passed
rapidly into the hands of Bonaparte and his coadjutors. Such is an
explanation, in part at least, of the strange docility now shown by a
populace which still vaunted its loyalty to the democratic republic.
But there is another explanation, which goes far deeper. The
revolutionary strifes had wearied the brain of France and had
predisposed it to accept accomplished facts. Distracted by the talk
about royalist plots and Jacobin plots, cowering away from the white
ogre and the red spectre, the more credulous part of the populace was
fain to take shelter under the cloak of a great soldier, who at least
promised order. Everything favoured the drill-sergeant theory of
government. The instincts developed by a thousand years of monarchy
had not been rooted out in the last decade. They now prompted France
to rally round her able man; and, abandoning political liberty as a
hopeless quest, she obeyed the imperious call which promised to
revivify the order and brilliance of her old existence with the
throbbing blood of her new life.
The French constitution was now to be reconstructed by a
self-appointed commission which sat with closed doors. This strange
ending to all the constitution-building of a decade was due to the
adroitness of Lucien Bonaparte. At the close of that eventful day, the
19th of Brumaire, he gathered about him in the deserted hall at St.
Cloud some score or so of the dispersed deputies known to be
favourable to his brother, declaimed against the Jacobins, whose
spectral plot had proved so useful to the real plotters, and proposed
to this "Rump" of the Council the formation of a commission who should
report on measures that were deemed necessary for the public safety.
The measures were found to be the deposition of the Directory, the
expulsion of sixty-one members from the Councils, the nomination of
Sieyes, Roger Ducos, and Bonaparte as provisional Consuls and the
adjournment of the Councils for four months. The Consuls accordingly
took up their residence in the Luxemburg Palace, just vacated by the
Directors, and the drafting of a constitution was confided to them and
to an _interim_ commission of fifty members chosen equally from the
two Councils.
The illegality of these devices was hidden beneath a cloak of politic
clemency. To this commission the Consuls, or rather Bonaparte--for
his will soon dominated that of Sieyes--proposed two most salutary
changes. He desired to put an end to the seizure of hostages from
villages suspected of royalism; and also to the exaction of taxes
levied on a progressive scale, which harassed the wealthy without
proportionately benefiting the exchequer. These two expedients,
adopted by the Directory in the summer of 1799, were temporary
measures adopted to stem the tide of invasion and to crush revolts;
but they were regarded as signs of a permanently terrorist policy, and
their removal greatly strengthened the new consular rule. The blunder
of nearly all the revolutionary governments had been in continuing
severe laws after the need for them had ceased to be pressing.
Bonaparte, with infinite tact, discerned this truth, and, as will
shortly appear, set himself to found his government on the support of
that vast neutral mass which was neither royalist nor Jacobin, which
hated the severities of the reds no less than the abuses of the
_ancien regime_.
While Bonaparte was conciliating the many, Sieyes was striving to body
forth the constitution which for many years had been nebulously
floating in his brain. The function of the Socratic [Greek: maieutaes]
was discharged by Boulay de la Meurthe, who with difficulty reduced
those ideas to definite shape. The new constitution was based on the
principle: "Confidence comes from below, power from above." This meant
that the people, that is, all adult males, were admitted only to the
preliminary stages of election of deputies, while the final act of
selection was to be made by higher grades or powers. The "confidence"
required of the people was to be shown not only towards their
nominees, but towards those who were charged with the final and most
important act of selection. The winnowing processes in the election of
representatives were to be carried out on a decimal system. The adult
voters meeting in their several districts were to choose one-tenth of
their number, this tenth being named the Notabilities of the Commune.
These, some five or six hundred thousand in number, meeting in their
several Departments, were thereupon to choose one-tenth of their
number; and the resulting fifty or sixty thousand men, termed
Notabilities of the Departments, were again to name one-tenth of their
number, who were styled Notabilities of the Nation. But the most
important act of selection was still to come--from above. From this
last-named list the governing powers were to select the members of the
legislative bodies and the chief officials and servants of the
Government.
The executive now claims a brief notice. The well-worn theory of the
distinction of powers, that is, the legislative and executive powers,
was maintained in Sieyes' plan. At the head of the Government the
philosopher desired to enthrone an august personage, the Grand
Elector, who was to be selected by the Senate. This Grand Elector was
to nominate two Consuls, one for peace, the other for war; they were
to nominate the Ministers of State, who in their turn selected the
agents of power from the list of Notabilities of the Nation. The two
Consuls and their Ministers administered the executive affairs. The
Senate, sitting in dignified ease, was merely to safeguard the
constitution, to elect the Grand Elector, and to select the members of
the _Corps Legislatif_ (proper) and the Tribunate.
Distrust of the former almost superhuman activity in law-making now
appeared in divisions, checks, and balances quite ingenious in their
complexity. The Legislature was divided into three councils: the
_Corps Legislatif_, properly so called, which listened in silence to
proposals of laws offered by the Council of State and criticised or
orally approved by the Tribunate.[131] These three bodies were not
only divided, but were placed in opposition, especially the two
talking bodies, which resembled plaintiff and defendant pleading
before a gagged judge. But even so the constitution was not
sufficiently guarded against Jacobins or royalists. If by any chance a
dangerous proposal were forced through these mutually distrustful
bodies, the Senate was charged with the task of vetoing it, and if the
Grand Elector, or any other high official, strove to gain a perpetual
dictatorship, the Senate was at once to _absorb_ him into its ranks.
Moreover, lest the voters should send up too large a proportion of
Jacobins or royalists, the first selection of members of the great
Councils and the chief functionaries for local affairs was to be made
by the Consuls, who thus primarily exercised not only the "power from
above," but also the "confidence" which ought to have come from below.
Perhaps this device was necessary to set in motion Sieyes' system of
wheels within wheels; for the Senate, which was to elect the Grand
Elector, by whom the executive officers were indirectly to be chosen,
was in part self-sufficient: the Consuls named the first members, who
then co-opted, that is, chose the new members. Some impulse from
without was also needed to give the constitution life; and this
impulse was now to come. Where Sieyes had only contrived wheels,
checks, regulator, break, and safety-valve, there now rushed in an
imperious will which not only simplified the parts but supplied an
irresistible motive power.
The complexity of much of the mechanism, especially that relating to
popular election and the legislature, entirely suited Bonaparte. But,
while approving the triple winnowing, to which Sieyes subjected the
results of manhood suffrage, and the subordination of the legislative
to the executive authority,[132] the general expressed his entire
disapproval of the limitations of the Grand Elector's powers. The name
was anti-republican: let it be changed to First Consul. And whereas
Sieyes condemned his grand functionary to the repose of a _roi
faineant_, Bonaparte secured to him practically all the powers
assigned by Sieyes to the Consuls for Peace and for War. Lastly,
Bonaparte protested against the right of absorbing him being given to
the Senate. Here also he was successful; and thus a delicately poised
bureaucracy was turned into an almost unlimited dictatorship.
This metamorphosis may well excite wonder. But, in truth, Sieyes and
his colleagues were too weary and sceptical to oppose the one
"intensely practical man." To Bonaparte's trenchant reasons and
incisive tones the theorist could only reply by a scornful silence
broken by a few bitter retorts. To the irresistible power of the
general he could only oppose the subtlety of a student. And, indeed,
who can picture Bonaparte, the greatest warrior of the age, delegating
the control of all warlike operations to a Consul for War while
Austrian cannon were thundering in the county of Nice and British
cruisers were insulting the French coasts? It was inevitable that the
reposeful Grand Elector should be transformed into the omnipotent
First Consul, and that these powers should be wielded by Bonaparte
himself.[133]
The extent of the First Consul's powers, as finally settled by the
joint commission, was as follows. He had the direct and sole
nomination of the members of the general administration, of those of
the departmental and municipal councils, and of the administrators,
afterwards called prefects and sub-prefects. He also appointed all
military and naval officers, ambassadors and agents sent to foreign
Powers, and the judges in civil and criminal suits, except the _juges
de paix_ and, later on, the members of the _Cour de Cassation_. He
therefore controlled the army, navy, and diplomatic service, as well
as the general administration. He also signed treaties, though these
might be discussed, and must be ratified, by the legislative bodies.
The three Consuls were to reside in the Tuileries palace; but, apart
from the enjoyment of 150,000 francs a year, and occasional
consultation by the First Consul, the position of these officials was
so awkward that Bonaparte frankly remarked to Roederer that it would
have been better to call them Grand Councillors. They were, in truth,
supernumeraries added to the chief of the State, as a concession to
the spirit of equality and as a blind to hide the reality of the new
despotism. All three were to be chosen for ten years, and were
re-eligible.
Such is an outline of the constitution of 1799 (Year VIII.). It was
promulgated on December 15th, 1799, and was offered to the people for
acceptance, in a proclamation which closed with the words: "Citizens,
the Revolution is confined to the principles which commenced it. It is
finished." The news of this last fact decided the enthusiastic
acceptance of the constitution. In a _plebiscite_, or mass vote of the
people, held in the early days of 1800, it was accepted by an
overwhelming majority, viz., by 3,011,007 as against only 1,562
negatives. No fact so forcibly proves the failure of absolute
democracy in France; and, whatever may be said of the methods of
securing this national acclaim, it was, and must ever remain, the
soundest of Bonaparte's titles to power. To a pedant who once
inquired about his genealogy he significantly replied: "It dates from
Brumaire."
Shortly before the _plebiscite_, Sieyes and Ducos resigned their
temporary commissions as Consuls: they were rewarded with seats in the
Senate; and Sieyes, in consideration of his constitutional work,
received the estate of Crosne from the nation.
"Sieyes a Bonaparte a fait present du trone,
Sous un pompeux debris croyant l'ensevelir.
Bonaparte a Sieyes a fait present de Crosne
Pour le payer et l'avilir."
The sting in the tail of Lebrun's epigram struck home. Sieyes'
acceptance of Crosne was, in fact, his acceptance of notice to quit
public affairs, in which he had always moved with philosophic disdain.
He lived on to the year 1836 in dignified ease, surveying with
Olympian calm the storms of French and Continental politics.
The two new Consuls were Cambaceres and Lebrun. The former was known
as a learned jurist and a tactful man. He had voted for the death of
Louis XVI., but his subsequent action had been that of a moderate, and
his knowledge of legal affairs was likely to be of the highest service
to Bonaparte, who intrusted him with a general oversight of
legislation. His tact was seen in his refusal to take up his abode in
the Tuileries, lest, as he remarked to Lebrun, he might have to move
out again soon. The third Consul, Lebrun, was a moderate with leanings
towards constitutional royalty. He was to prove another useful
satellite to Bonaparte, who intrusted him with the general oversight
of finance and regarded him as a connecting link with the moderate
royalists. The chief secretary to the Consuls was Maret, a trusty
political agent, who had striven for peace with England both in 1793
and in 1797.
As for the Ministers, they were now reinforced by Talleyrand, who took
up that of Foreign Affairs, and by Berthier, who brought his powers of
hard work to that of War, until he was succeeded for a time by Carnot.
Lucien Bonaparte, and later Chaptal, became Minister of the Interior,
Gaudin controlled Finance, Forfait the Navy, and Fouche the Police.
The Council of State was organized in the following sections; that of
_War_, which was presided over by General Brune: _Marine_, by Admiral
Gantheaume: _Finance_, by Defermon: _Legislation_, by Boulay de la
Meurthe: the _Interior_, by Roederer.
The First Consul soon showed that he intended to adopt a non-partisan
and thoroughly national policy. That had been, it is true, the aim of
the Directors in their policy of balance and repression of extreme
parties on both sides. For the reasons above indicated, they had
failed: but now a stronger and more tactful grasp was to succeed in a
feat which naturally became easier every year that removed the
passions of the revolutionary epoch further into the distance. Men
cannot for ever perorate, and agitate and plot. A time infallibly
comes when an able leader can successfully appeal to their saner
instincts: and that hour had now struck. Bonaparte's appeal was made
to the many, who cared not for politics, provided that they themselves
were left in security and comfort: it was urged quietly, persistently,
and with the reserve power of a mighty prestige and of overwhelming
military force. Throughout the whole of the Consulate, a policy of
moderation, which is too often taken for weakness, was strenuously
carried through by the strongest man and the greatest warrior of the
age.
The truly national character of his rule was seen in many ways. He
excluded from high office men who were notorious regicides, excepting
a few who, like Fouche, were too clever to be dispensed with. The
constitutionals of 1791 and even declared royalists were welcomed back
to France, and many of the Fructidorian exiles also returned.[134] The
list of _emigres_ was closed, so that neither political hatred nor
private greed could misrepresent a journey as an act of political
emigration. Equally generous and prudent was the treatment of Roman
Catholics. Toleration was now extended to orthodox or non-juring
priests, who were required merely to _promise_ allegiance to the new
constitution. By this act of timely clemency, orthodox priests were
allowed to return to France, and they were even suffered to officiate
in places where no opposition was thereby aroused.
While thus removing one of the chief grievances of the Norman, Breton
and Vendean peasants, who had risen as much for their religion as for
their king, he determined to crush their revolts. The north-west, and
indeed parts of the south of France, were still simmering with
rebellions and brigandage. In Normandy a daring and able leader named
Frotte headed a considerable band of malcontents, and still more
formidable were the Breton "Chouans" that followed the peasant leader
Georges Cadoudal. This man was a born leader. Though but thirty years
of age, his fierce courage had long marked him out as the first
fighter of his race and creed. His features bespoke a bold, hearty
spirit, and his massive frame defied fatigue and hardship. He
struggled on; and in the autumn of 1799 fortune seemed about to favour
the "whites": the revolt was spreading; and had a Bourbon prince
landed in Brittany before Bonaparte returned from Egypt, the royalists
might quite possibly have overthrown the Directory. But Bonaparte's
daring changed the whole aspect of affairs. The news of the stroke of
Brumaire gave the royalists pause. At first they believed that the
First Consul would soon call back the king, and Bonaparte skilfully
favoured this notion: he offered a pacification, of which some of the
harassed peasants availed themselves. Georges himself for a time
advised a reconciliation, and a meeting of the royalist leaders voted
to a man that they desired "to have the king and you" (Bonaparte). One
of them, Hyde de Neuville, had an interview with the First Consul at
Paris, and has left on record his surprise at seeing the slight form
of the man whose name was ringing through France. At the first glance
he took him for a rather poorly dressed lackey; but when the general
raised his eyes and searched him through and through with their eager
fire, the royalist saw his error and fell under the spell of a gaze
which few could endure unmoved. The interview brought no definite
result.
Other overtures made by Bonaparte were more effective. True to his
plan of dividing his enemies, he appealed to the clergy to end the
civil strife. The appeal struck home to the heart or the ambitions of
a cleric named Bernier. This man was but a village priest of La
Vendee: yet his natural abilities gained him an ascendancy in the
councils of the insurgents, which the First Consul was now
victoriously to exploit. Whatever may have been Bernier's motives, he
certainly acted with some duplicity. Without forewarning Cadoudal,
Bourmont, Frotte, and other royalist leaders, he secretly persuaded
the less combative leaders to accept the First Consul's terms; and a
pacification was arranged (January 18th), In vain did Cadoudal rage
against this treachery: in vain did he strive to break the armistice.
Frotte in Normandy was the last to capitulate and the first to feel
Bonaparte's vengeance: on a trumped-up charge of treachery he was
hurried before a court-martial and shot. An order was sent from Paris
for his pardon; but a letter which Bonaparte wrote to Brune on the day
of the execution contains the ominous phrase: _By this time Frotte
ought to be shot_; and a recently published letter to Hedouville
expresses the belief that _the punishment of that desperate leader
will doubtless contribute to the complete pacification of the
West_.[135]
In the hope of gaining over the Chouans, Bonaparte required their
chiefs to come to Paris, where they received the greatest
consideration. In Bernier the priest, Bonaparte discerned diplomatic
gifts of a high order, which were soon to be tested in a far more
important negotiation. The nobles, too, received flattering
attentions which touched their pride and assured their future
insignificance. Among them was Count Bourmont, the Judas of the
Waterloo campaign.
In contrast with the priest and the nobles, Georges Cadoudal stood
firm as a rock. That suave tongue spoke to him of glory, honour, and
the fatherland: he heeded it not, for he knew it had ordered the death
of Frotte. There stood these fighters alone, face to face, types of
the north and south, of past and present, fiercest and toughest of
living men, their stern wills racked in wrestle for two hours. But
southern craft was foiled by Breton steadfastness, and Georges went
his way unshamed. Once outside the palace, his only words to his
friend, Hyde de Neuville, were: "What a mind I had to strangle him in
these arms!" Shadowed by Bonaparte's spies, and hearing that he was
to be arrested, he fled to England; and Normandy and Brittany enjoyed
the semblance of peace.[136]
Thus ended the civil war which for nearly seven years had rent France
in twain. Whatever may be said about the details of Bonaparte's
action, few will deny its beneficent results on French life. Harsh and
remorseless as Nature herself towards individuals, he certainly, at
this part of his career, promoted the peace and prosperity of the
masses. And what more can be said on behalf of a ruler at the end of a
bloody revolution?
Meanwhile the First Consul had continued to develop Sieyes'
constitution in the direction of autocracy. The Council of State,
which was little more than an enlarged Ministry, had been charged with
the vague and dangerous function of "developing the sense of laws" on
the demand of the Consuls; and it was soon seen that this Council was
merely a convenient screen to hide the operations of Bonaparte's will.
On the other hand, a blow was struck at the Tribunate, the only public
body which had the right of debate and criticism. It was now proposed
(January, 1800) that the time allowed for debate should be strictly
limited. This restriction to the right of free discussion met with
little opposition. One of the most gifted of the new tribunes,
Benjamin Constant, the friend of Madame de Stael, eloquently pleaded
against this policy of distrust which would reduce the Tribunate to a
silence that would be _heard by Europe_. It was in vain. The rabid
rhetoric of the past had infected France with a foolish fear of all
free debate. The Tribunate signed its own death warrant; and the sole
result of its feeble attempt at opposition was that Madame de Stael's
_salon_ was forthwith deserted by the Liberals who had there found
inspiration; while the gifted authoress herself was officially
requested to retire into the country.
The next act of the central power struck at freedom of the press. As a
few journals ventured on witticisms at the expense of the new
Government, the Consuls ordered the suppression of all the political
journals of Paris except thirteen; and three even of these favoured
papers were suppressed on April 7th. The reason given for this
despotic action was the need of guiding public opinion wisely during
the war, and of preventing any articles "contrary to the respect due
to the social compact, to the sovereignty of the people, and to the
glory of the armies." By a finely ironical touch Rousseau's doctrine
of the popular sovereignty was thus invoked to sanction its violation.
The incident is characteristic of the whole tendency of events, which
showed that the dawn of personal rule was at hand. In fact, Bonaparte
had already taken the bold step of removing to the Tuileries, and that
too, on the very day when he ordered public mourning for the death of
Washington (February 7th). No one but the great Corsican would have
dared to brave the comments which this coincidence provoked. But he
was necessary to France, and all men knew it. At the first sitting of
the provisional Consuls, Ducos had said to him: "It is useless to vote
about the presidence; it belongs to you of right"; and, despite the
wry face pulled by Sieyes, the general at once took the chair.
Scarcely less remarkable than the lack of energy in statesmen was the
confusion of thought in the populace. Mme. Reinhard tells us that
after the _coup d'etat_ people _believed they had returned to the
first days of liberty_. What wonder, then, that the one able and
strong-willed man led the helpless many and re-moulded Sieyes'
constitution in a fashion that was thus happily parodied:
"J'ai, pour les fous, d'un Tribunat
Conserve la figure;
Pour les sots je laisse un Senat,
Mais ce n'est qu'en peinture;
A ce stupide magistrat
Ma volonte preside;
Et tout le Conseil d'Etat
Dans mon sabre reside."
* * * * *
CHAPTER XI
MARENGO: LUNEVILLE
Reserving for the next chapter a description of the new civil
institutions of France, it will be convenient now to turn to foreign
affairs. Having arranged the most urgent of domestic questions, the
First Consul was ready to encounter the forces of the Second
Coalition. He had already won golden opinions in France by
endeavouring peacefully to dissolve it. On the 25th of December, 1799,
he sent two courteous letters, one to George III., the other to the
Emperor Francis, proposing an immediate end to the war. The close of
the letter to George III. has been deservedly admired: "France and
England by the abuse of their strength may, for the misfortune of all
nations, be long in exhausting it: but I venture to declare that the
fate of all civilized nations is concerned in the termination of a war
which kindles a conflagration over the whole world." This noble
sentiment touched the imagination of France and of friends of peace
everywhere.
And yet, if the circumstances of the time be considered, the first
agreeable impressions aroused by the perusal of this letter must be
clouded over by doubts. The First Consul had just seized on power by
illegal and forcible means, and there was as yet little to convince
foreign States that he would hold it longer than the men whom he had
displaced. Moreover, France was in a difficult position. Her treasury
was empty; her army in Italy was being edged into the narrow
coast-line near Genoa; and her oriental forces were shut up in their
new conquest. Were not the appeals to Austria and England merely a
skillful device to gain time? Did his past power in Italy and Egypt
warrant the belief that he would abandon the peninsula and the new
colony? Could the man who had bartered away Venetia and seized Malta
and Egypt be fitly looked upon as the sacred'r peacemaker? In
diplomacy men's words are interpreted by their past conduct and
present circumstances, neither of which tended to produce confidence
in Bonaparte's pacific overtures; and neither Francis nor George III.
looked on the present attempt as anything but a skilful means of
weakening the Coalition.
Indeed, that league was, for various reasons, all but dissolved by
internal dissensions. Austria was resolved to keep all the eastern
part of Piedmont and the greater part of the Genoese Republic. While
welcoming the latter half of this demand, George III.'s Ministers
protested against the absorption of so great a part of Piedmont as an
act of cruel injustice to the King of Sardinia. Austria was annoyed at
the British remonstrances and was indignant at the designs of the Czar
on Corsica. Accordingly no time could have been better chosen by
Bonaparte for seeking to dissolve the Coalition, as he certainly hoped
to do by these two letters. Only the staunch support of legitimist
claims by England then prevented the Coalition from degenerating into
a scramble for Italian territories.[137] And, if we may trust the
verdict of contemporaries and his own confession at St. Helena,
Bonaparte never expected any other result from these letters than an
increase of his popularity in France. This was enhanced by the British
reply, which declared that His Majesty could not place his reliance on
"general professions of pacific dispositions": France had waged
aggressive war, levied exactions, and overthrown institutions in
neighbouring States; and the British Government could not as yet
discern any abandonment of this system: something more was required
for a durable peace: "The best and most natural pledge of its reality
and permanence would be the restoration of that line of princes which
for so many centuries maintained the French nation in prosperity at
home and in consideration and respect abroad." This answer has been
sharply criticised, and justly so, if its influence on public opinion
be alone considered. But a perusal of the British Foreign Office
Records reveals the reason for the use of these stiffly legitimist
claims. Legitimacy alone promised to stop the endless shiftings of the
political kaleidoscope, whether by France, Austria, or Russia. Our
ambassador at Vienna was requested to inform the Government of Vienna
of the exact wording of the British reply:
"As a proof of the zeal and steadiness with which His Majesty
adheres to the principles of the Confederacy, and as a testimony of
the confidence with which he anticipates a similar answer from His
Imperial Majesty, to whom an overture of a similar nature has
without doubt been made."
But this correct conduct, while admirably adapted to prop up the
tottering Coalition, was equally favourable to the consolidation of
Bonaparte's power. It helped to band together the French people to
resist the imposition of their exiled royal house by external force.
Even George III. thought it "much too strong," though he suggested no
alteration. At once Bonaparte retorted in a masterly note; he
ironically presumed that His Britannic Majesty admitted the right of
nations to choose their form of government, since only by that right
did he wear the British crown; and he invited him not to apply to
other peoples a principle which would recall the Stuarts to the throne
of Great Britain.
Bonaparte's diplomatic game was completely won during the debates on
the King's speech at Westminster at the close of January, 1800. Lord
Grenville laboriously proved that peace was impossible with a nation
whose war was against all order, religion, and morality; and he cited
examples of French lawlessness from Holland and Switzerland to Malta
and Egypt. Pitt declared that the French Revolution was the severest
trial which Providence had ever yet inflicted on the nations of the
earth; and, claiming that there was no security in negotiating with
France, owing to her instability, he summed up his case in the
Ciceronian phrase: _Pacem nolo quia infida_. Ministers carried the day
by 260 votes to 64; but they ranged nearly the whole of France on the
side of the First Consul. No triumph in the field was worth more to
him than these Philippics, which seemed to challenge France to build
up a strong Government in order that the Court of St. James might find
some firm foundation for future negotiations.
Far more dextrous was the conduct of the Austrian diplomatists.
Affecting to believe in the sincerity of the First Consul's proposal
for peace, they so worded their note as to draw from him a reply that
he was prepared to discuss terms of peace on the basis of the Treaty
of Campo Formio.[138] As Austria had since then conquered the greater
part of Italy, Bonaparte's reply immediately revealed his
determination to reassert French supremacy in Italy and the Rhineland.
The action of the Courts of Vienna and London was not unlike that of
the sun and the wind in the proverbial saw. Viennese suavity induced
Bonaparte to take off his coat and show himself as he really was:
while the conscientious bluster of Grenville and Pitt made the First
Consul button up his coat, and pose as the buffeted peacemaker.
The allies had good grounds for confidence. Though Russia had
withdrawn from the Second Coalition yet the Austrians continued their
victorious advance in Italy. In April, 1800, they severed the French
forces near Savona, driving back Suchet's corps towards Nice, while
the other was gradually hemmed in behind the redoubts of Genoa. There
the Imperialist advance was stoutly stayed. Massena, ably seconded by
Oudinot and Soult, who now gained their first laurels as generals,
maintained a most obstinate resistance, defying alike the assaults of
the white-coats, the bombs hurled by the English squadron, and the
deadlier inroads of famine and sickness. The garrison dwindled by
degrees to less than 10,000 effectives, but they kept double the
number of Austrians there, while Bonaparte was about to strike a
terrible blow against their rear and that of Melas further west. It
was for this that the First Consul urged Massena to hold out at Genoa
to the last extremity, and nobly was the order obeyed.
Suchet meanwhile defended the line of the River Var against Melas. In
Germany, Moreau with his larger forces slowly edged back the chief
Austrian army, that of General Kray, from the defiles of the Black
Forest, compelling it to fall back on the intrenched camp at Ulm.
On their side, the Austrians strove to compel Massena to a speedy
surrender, and then with a large force to press on into Nice,
Provence, and possibly Savoy, surrounding Suchet's force, and rousing
the French royalists of the south to a general insurrection. They also
had the promise of the help of a British force, which was to be landed
at some point on the coast and take Suchet in the flank or rear.[139]
Such was the plan, daring in outline and promising great things,
provided that everything went well. If Massena surrendered, if the
British War Office and Admiralty worked up to time, if the winds were
favourable, and if the French royalists again ventured on a revolt,
then France would be crippled, perhaps conquered. As for the French
occupation of Switzerland and Moreau's advance into Swabia, that was
not to prevent the prosecution of the original Austrian plan of
advancing against Provence and wresting Nice and Savoy from the French
grasp. This scheme has been criticised as if it were based solely on
military considerations; but it was rather dictated by schemes of
political aggrandizement. The conquest of Nice and Savoy was necessary
to complete the ambitious schemes of the Hapsburgs, who sought to gain
a large part of Piedmont at the expense of the King of Sardinia, and
after conquering Savoy and Nice, to thrust that unfortunate king to
the utmost verge of the peninsula, which the prowess of his
descendants has ultimately united under the Italian tricolour.
The allied plan sinned against one of the elementary rules of
strategy; it exposed a large force to a blow from the rear, namely,
from Switzerland. The importance of this immensely strong central
position early attracted Bonaparte's attention. On the 17th of March
he called his secretary, Bourrienne (so the latter states), and lay
down with him on a map of Piedmont: then, placing pins tipped, some
with red, others with black wax, so as to denote the positions of the
troops, he asked him to guess where the French would beat their foes:
"How the devil should I know?" said Bourrienne. "Why, look here,
you fool," said the First Consul: "Melas is at Alessandria with his
headquarters. There he will remain until Genoa surrenders. He has
at Alessandria his magazines, his hospitals, his artillery, his
reserves. Crossing the Alps here (at the Great St. Bernard), I
shall fall upon Melas, cut off his communications with Austria, and
meet him here in the plains of the River Scrivia at San Giuliano."
I quote this passage as showing how readily such stories of ready-made
plans gain credence, until they come to be tested by Napoleon's
correspondence. There we find no strategic soothsaying, but only a
close watching of events as they develop day by day. In March and
April he kept urging on Moreau the need of an early advance, while he
considered the advantages offered by the St. Gotthard, Simplon, and
Great St. Bernard passes for his own army. On April 27th he decided
against the first (except for a detachment), because Moreau's advance
was too slow to safeguard his rear on that route. He now preferred the
Great St. Bernard, but still doubted whether, after crossing, he
should make for Milan, or strike at Massena's besiegers, in case that
general should be very hard pressed. Like all great commanders, he
started with a general plan, but he arranged the details as the
situation required. In his letter of May 19th, he poured scorn on
Parisian editors who said he prophesied that in a month he would be at
Milan. "That is not in my character. Very often I do _not_ say what I
know: but never do I say what will be."
The better to hide his purpose, he chose as his first base of
operations the city of Dijon, whence he seemed to threaten either the
Swabian or the Italian army of his foes. But this was not enough. At
the old Burgundian capital he assembled his staff and a few regiments
of conscripts in order to mislead the English and Austrian spies;
while the fighting battalions were drafted by diverse routes to Geneva
or Lausanne. So skilful were these preparations that, in the early
days of May, the greater part of his men and stores were near the lake
of Geneva, whence they were easily transferred to the upper valley of
the Rhone. In order that he might have a methodical, hard-working
coadjutor he sent Berthier from the office of the Ministry of War,
where he had displayed less ability than Bernadotte, to be
commander-in-chief of the "army of reserve." In reality Berthier was,
as before in Italy and Egypt, chief of the staff; but he had the
titular dignity of commander which the constitution of 1800 forbade
the First Consul to assume.
On May 6th Bonaparte left Paris for Geneva, where he felt the pulse of
every movement in both campaigns. At that city, on hearing the report
of his general of engineers, he decided to take the Great St. Bernard
route into Italy, as against the Simplon. With redoubled energy, he
now supervised the thousands of details that were needed to insure
success: for, while prone to indulging in grandiose schemes, he
revelled in the work which alone could bring them within his grasp:
or, as Wellington once remarked, "Nothing was too great or too small
for his proboscis." The difficulties of sending a large army over the
Great St. Bernard were indeed immense. That pass was chosen because it
presented only five leagues of ground impracticable for carriages. But
those five leagues tested the utmost powers of the army and of its
chiefs. Marmont, who commanded the artillery, had devised the
ingenious plan of taking the cannon from their carriages and placing
them in the hollowed-out trunks of pine, so that the trunnions fitting
into large notches kept them steady during the ascent over the snow
and the still more difficult descent.[140] The labour of dragging the
guns wore out the peasants; then the troops were invited--a hundred at
a time--to take a turn at the ropes, and were exhilarated by martial
airs played by the bands, or by bugles and drums sounding the charge
at the worst places of the ascent.
The track sometimes ran along narrow ledges where a false step meant
death, or where avalanches were to be feared. The elements, however,
were propitious, and the losses insignificant. This was due to many
causes: the ardour of the troops in an enterprise which appealed to
French imagination and roused all their activities; the friendliness
of the mountaineers; and the organizing powers of Bonaparte and of his
staff; all these may be cited as elements of success. They present a
striking contrast to the march of Hannibal's army over one of the
western passes of the Alps. His motley host struggled over a long
stretch of mountains in the short days of October over unknown paths,
in one part swept away by a fall of the cliff, and ever and anon beset
by clouds of treacherous Gauls. Seeing that the great Carthaginian's
difficulties began long before he reached the Alps, that he was
encumbered by elephants, and that his army was composed of diverse
races held together only by trust in the prowess of their chief, his
exploit was far more wonderful than that of Bonaparte, which, indeed,
more nearly resembles the crossing of the St. Bernard by Francis I. in
1515. The difference between the conditions of Hannibal's and
Bonaparte's enterprises may partly be measured by the time which they
occupied. Whereas Hannibal's march across the Alps lasted fifteen
days, three of which were spent in the miseries of a forced halt
amidst the snow, the First Consul's forces took but seven days.
Whereas the Carthaginian army was weakened by hunger, the French
carried their full rations of biscuit; and at the head of the pass the
monks of the Hospice of St. Bernard served out the rations of bread,
cheese, and wine which the First Consul had forwarded, and which their
own generosity now doubled. The hospitable fathers themselves served
at the tables set up in front of the Hospice.
After insuring the regular succession of troops and stores, Bonaparte
himself began the ascent on May 20th. He wore the gray overcoat which
had already become famous; and his features were fixed in that
expression of calm self-possession which he ever maintained in face of
difficulty. The melodramatic attitudes of horse and rider, which David
has immortalized in his great painting, are, of course, merely
symbolical of the genius of militant democracy prancing over natural
obstacles and wafted onwards and upwards by the breath of victory. The
living figure was remarkable only for stern self-restraint and
suppressed excitement; instead of the prancing war-horse limned by
David, his beast of burden was a mule, led by a peasant; and, in place
of victory, he had heard that Lannes with the vanguard had found an
unexpected obstacle to his descent into Italy. The narrow valley of
the Dora Baltea, by which alone they could advance, was wellnigh
blocked by the fort of Bard, which was firmly held by a small Austrian
garrison and defied all the efforts of Lannes and Berthier. This was
the news that met the First Consul during his ascent, and again at the
Hospice. After accepting the hospitality of the monks, and spending a
short time in the library and chapel, he resumed his journey; and on
the southern slopes he and his staff now and again amused themselves
by sliding down the tracks which the passage of thousands of men had
rendered slippery. After halting at Aosta, he proceeded down the
valley to the fort of Bard.
Meanwhile some of his foot-soldiers had worked their way round this
obstacle by a goat-track among the hills and had already reached Ivrea
lower down the valley. Still the fort held out against the cannonade
of the French. Its commanding position seemed to preclude all hope of
getting the artillery past it; and without artillery the First Consul
could not hope for success in the plains of Piedmont. Unable to
capture the fort, he bethought him of hurrying by night the now
remounted guns under the cover of the houses of the village. For this
purpose he caused the main street to be strewn with straw and dung,
while the wheels of the cannon were covered over so as to make little
noise. They were then dragged quietly through the village almost
within pistol shot of the garrison: nevertheless, the defenders took
alarm, and, firing with musketry and grenades, exploded some
ammunition wagons and inflicted other losses; yet 40 guns and 100
wagons were got past the fort.
How this unfailing resource contrasts with the heedless behaviour of
the enemy! Had they speedily reinforced their detachment at Bard,
there can be little doubt that Bonaparte's movements could have been
seriously hampered. But, up to May 21st, Melas was ignorant that his
distant rear was being assailed, and the 3,000 Austrians who guarded
the vale of the Dora Baltea were divided, part being at Bard and
others at Ivrea. The latter place was taken by a rush of Lannes'
troops on May 22nd, and Bard was blockaded by part of the French
rearguard.
Bonaparte's army, if the rearguard be included, numbered 41,000 men.
Meanwhile, farther east, a French force of 15,000 men, drawn partly
from Moreau's army and led by Moncey, was crossing the St. Gotthard
pass and began to drive back the Austrian outposts in the upper valley
of the Ticino; and 5,000 men, marching over the Mont Cenis pass,
threatened Turin from the west. The First Consul's aim now was to
unite the two chief forces, seize the enemy's magazines, and compel
him to a complete surrender. This daring resolve took shape at Aosta
on the 24th, when he heard that Melas was, on the 19th, still at Nice,
unconscious of his doom. The chance of ending the war at one blow was
not to be missed, even if Massena had to shift for himself.
But already Melas' dream of triumph had vanished. On the 21st, hearing
the astonishing news that a large force had crossed the St. Bernard,
he left 18,000 men to oppose Suchet on the Var, and hurried back with
the remainder to Turin. At the Piedmontese capital he heard that he
had to deal with the First Consul; but not until the last day of May
did he know that Moncey was forcing the St. Gotthard and threatening
Milan. Then, realizing the full extent of his danger, he hastily
called in all the available troops in order to fight his way through
to Mantua. He even sent an express to the besiegers of Genoa to retire
on Alessandria; but negotiations had been opened with Massena for the
surrender of that stronghold, and the opinion of Lord Keith, the
English admiral, decided the Austrian commander there to press the
siege to the very end. The city was in the direst straits. Horses,
dogs, cats, and rats were at last eagerly sought as food: and at
every sortie crowds of the starving inhabitants followed the French in
order to cut down grass, nettles, and leaves, which they then boiled
with salt.[141] A revolt threatened by the wretched townsfolk was
averted by Massena ordering his troops to fire on every gathering of
more than four men. At last, on June 4th, with 8,000 half-starved
soldiers he marched through the Austrian posts with the honours of
war. The stern warrior would not hear of the word surrender or
capitulation. He merely stated to the allied commanders that on June
4th his troops would evacuate Genoa or clear their path by the
bayonet.
Bonaparte has been reproached for not marching at once to succour
Massena: the charge of desertion was brought by Massena and Thiebault,
and has been driven home by Lanfrey with his usual skill. It will,
however, scarcely bear a close examination. The Austrians, at the
first trustworthy news of the French inroads into Piedmont and
Lombardy, were certain to concentrate either at Turin or Alessandria.
Indeed, Melas was already near Turin, and would have fallen on the
First Consul's flank had the latter marched due south towards
Genoa.[142] Such a march, with only 40,000 men, would have been
perilous: and it could at most only have rescued a now reduced and
almost famishing garrison. Besides, he very naturally expected the
besiegers of Genoa to retreat now that their rear was threatened.
Sound policy and a desire to deal a dramatic stroke spurred on the
First Consul to a more daring and effective plan; to clear Lombardy of
the Imperialists and seize their stores; then, after uniting with
Moncey's 15,000 troops, to cut off the retreat of all the Austrian
forces west of Milan.
On entering Milan he was greeted with wild acclaim by the partisans of
France (June 2nd); they extolled the energy and foresight that brought
two armies, as it were down from the clouds, to confound their
oppressors. Numbers of men connected with the Cisalpine Republic had
been proscribed, banished, or imprisoned by the Austrians; and their
friends now hailed him as the restorer of their republic. The First
Consul spent seven days in selecting the men who were to rebuild the
Cisalpine State, in beating back the eastern forces of Austria beyond
the River Adda, and in organizing his troops and those of Moncey for
the final blow. The military problems, indeed, demanded great care and
judgment. His position was curiously the reverse of that which he had
occupied in 1796. Then the French held Tortona, Alessandria, and
Valenza, and sought to drive back the Austrians to the walls of
Mantua. Now the Imperialists, holding nearly the same positions, were
striving to break through the French lines which cut them off from
that city of refuge; and Bonaparte, having forces slightly inferior to
his opponents, felt the difficulty of frustrating their escape.
Three routes were open to Melas. The most direct was by way of Tortona
and Piacenza along the southern bank of the Po, through the difficult
defile of Stradella: or he might retire towards Genoa, across the
Apennines, and regain Mantua by a dash across the Modenese: or he
might cross the Po at Valenza and the Ticino near Pavia. All these
roads had to be watched by the French as they cautiously drew towards
their quarry. Bonaparte's first move was to send Murat with a
considerable body of troops to seize Piacenza and to occupy the defile
of Stradella. These important posts were wrested from the Austrian
vanguard; and this success was crowned on June 9th by General Lannes'
brilliant victory at Montebello over a superior Austrian force
marching from Genoa towards Piacenza, which he drove back towards
Alessandria. Smaller bodies of French were meanwhile watching the
course of the Ticino, and others seized the magazines of the enemy at
Cremona.
After gaining precious news as to Melas' movements from an intercepted
despatch, Bonaparte left Milan on June 9th, and proceeded to
Stradella. There he waited for news of Suchet and Massena from the
side of Savona and Ceva; for their forces, if united, might
complete the circle which he was drawing around the Imperialists.[143]
He hoped that Massena would have joined Suchet near Savona; but owing
to various circumstances, for which Massena was in no wise to blame,
their junction was delayed; and Suchet, though pressing on towards
Acqui, was unable to cut off the Austrian retreat on Genoa. Yet he so
harassed the corps opposed to him in its retreat from Nice that only
about 8,000 Austrians joined Melas from that quarter.[144]
Doubtless, Melas' best course would still have been to make a dash for
Genoa and trust to the English ships. But this plan galled the pride
of the general, who had culled plenteous laurels in Italy until the
approach of Bonaparte threatened to snatch the whole chaplet from his
brow. He and his staff sought to restore their drooping fortunes by a
bold rush against the ring of foes that were closing around. Never has
an effort of this kind so nearly succeeded and yet so wholly failed.
The First Consul, believing that the Austrians were bent solely on
flight, advanced from Stradella, where success would have been
certain, into the plains of Tortona, whence he could check any move of
theirs southwards on Genoa. But now the space which he occupied was so
great as to weaken his line at any one point; while his foes had the
advantage of the central position.
Bonaparte was also forced to those enveloping tactics which had so
often proved fatal to the Austrians four years previously; and this
curious reversal of his usual tactics may account for the anxiety
which he betrayed as he moved towards Marengo. He had, however,
recently been encouraged by the arrival of Desaix from Paris after his
return from Egypt. This dashing officer and noble man inspired him
with a sincere affection, as was seen by the three hours of eager
converse which he held with him on his arrival, as also by his words
to Bourrienne: "He is quite an antique character." Desaix with 5,300
troops was now despatched on the night of June 13th towards Genoa to
stop the escape of the Austrians in that direction. This eccentric
move has been severely criticised: but the facts, as then known by
Bonaparte, seemed to show that Melas was about to march on Genoa. The
French vanguard under Gardane had in the afternoon easily driven the
enemy's front from the village of Marengo; and Gardane had even
reported that there was no bridge over the River Bormida by which the
enemy could debouch into the plain of Marengo. Marmont, pushing on
later in the evening, had discovered that there was at least one
well-defended bridge; and when early next morning Gardane's error was
known, the First Consul, with a blaze of passion against the offender,
sent a courier in hot haste to recall Desaix. Long before he could
arrive, the battle of Marengo had begun: and for the greater part of
that eventful day, June the 14th, the French had only 18000 men
wherewith to oppose the onset of 31,000 Austrians.[145]
As will be seen by the accompanying map, the village of Marengo lies
in the plain that stretches eastwards from the banks of the River
Bormida towards the hilly country of Stradella. The village lies on
the high-road leading eastwards from the fortress of Alessandria, the
chief stronghold of north-western Italy.
[Illustration: BATTLE OF MARENGO TO ILLUSTRATE KELLERMANN'S CHARGE]
The plain is cut up by numerous obstacles. Through Marengo runs a
stream called the Fontanone. The deep curves of the Bormida, the steep
banks of the Fontanone, along with the villages, farmsteads, and
vineyards scattered over the plain, all helped to render an advance
exceedingly difficult in face of a determined enemy; and these natural
features had no small share in deciding the fortunes of the day.
Shortly after dawn Melas began to pour his troops across the Bormida,
and drove in the French outposts on Marengo: but there they met with a
tough resistance from the soldiers of Victor's division, while
Kellermann, the son of the hero of Valmy, performed his first great
exploit by hurling back some venturesome Austrian horsemen into the
deep bed of the Fontanone. This gave time to Lannes to bring up his
division, 5,000 strong, into line between Marengo and Castel Ceriolo.
But when the full force of the Austrian attack was developed about 10
a.m., the Imperialists not only gained Marengo, but threw a heavy
column, led by General Ott, against Lannes, who was constrained to
retire, contesting every inch of the ground. Thus, when, an hour
later, Bonaparte rode up from the distant rear, hurrying along his
Consular Guard, his eye fell upon his battalions overpowered in front
and outflanked on both wings. At once he launched his Consular Guard,
1,000 strong, against Ott's triumphant ranks. Drawn up in square near
Castel Ceriolo, it checked them for a brief space, until, plied by
cannon and charged by the enemy's horse, these chosen troops also
began to give ground. But at this crisis Monnier's division of 3,600
men arrived, threw itself into the fight, held up the flood of
white-coats around the hamlet of Li Poggi, while Carra St. Cyr
fastened his grip on Castel Ceriolo. Under cover of this welcome
screen, Victor and Lannes restored some order to their divisions and
checked for a time the onsets of the enemy. Slowly but surely,
however, the impact of the Austrian main column, advancing along the
highroad, made them draw back on San Giuliano.
By 2 p.m. the battle seemed to be lost for the French; except on the
north of their line they were in full retreat, and all but five of
their cannon were silenced. Melas, oppressed by his weight of years,
by the terrific heat, and by two slight wounds, retired to
Alessandria, leaving his chief of the staff, Zach, to direct the
pursuit. But, unfortunately, Melas had sent back 2,200 horsemen to
watch the district between Alessandria and Acqui, to which latter
place Suchet's force was advancing. To guard against this remoter
danger, he weakened his attacking force at the critical time and
place; and now, when the Austrians approached the hill of San Giuliano
with bands playing and colours flying, their horse was not strong
enough to complete the French defeat. Still, such was the strength of
their onset that all resistance seemed unavailing, until about 5 p.m.
the approach of Desaix breathed new life and hope into the defence. At
once he rode up to the First Consul; and if vague rumours may be
credited, he was met by the eager question: "Well, what do you think
of it?" To which he replied: "The battle is lost, but there is time to
gain another." Marmont, who heard the conversation, denies that these
words were uttered; and they presume a boldness of which even Desaix
would scarcely have been guilty to his chief. What he unquestionably
did urge was the immediate use of artillery to check the Austrian
advance: and Marmont, hastily reinforcing his own five guns with
thirteen others, took a strong position and riddled the serried ranks
of the enemy as, swathed in clouds of smoke and dust, they pressed
blindly forward. The First Consul disposed the troops of Desaix behind
the village and a neighbouring hill; while at a little distance on the
French left, Kellermann was ready to charge with his heavy cavalry as
opportunity offered.
It came quickly. Marmont's guns unsteadied Zach's grenadiers: Desaix's
men plied them with musketry; and while they were preparing for a last
effort, Kellermann's heavy cavalry charged full on their flank. Never
was surprise more complete. The column was cut in twain by this onset;
and veterans, who but now seemed about to overbear all obstacles, were
lying mangled by grapeshot, hacked by sabres, flying helplessly amidst
the vineyards, or surrendering by hundreds. A panic spread to their
comrades; and they gave way on all sides before the fiercely rallying
French. The retreat became a rout as the recoiling columns neared the
bridges of the Bormida: and night closed over a scene of wild
confusion, as the defeated army, thrust out from the shelter of
Marengo, flung itself over the river into the stronghold of
Alessandria.
Such was the victory of Marengo. It was dearly bought; for, apart from
the heavy losses, amounting on either side to about one-third of the
number engaged, the victors sustained an irreparable loss in the death
of Desaix, who fell in the moment when his skill and vigour snatched
victory from defeat. The victory was immediately due to Kellermann's
brilliant charge; and there can be no doubt, in spite of Savary's
statements, that this young officer made the charge on his own
initiative. Yet his onset could have had little effect, had not Desaix
shaken the enemy and left him liable to a panic like that which
brought disaster to the Imperialists at Rivoli. Bonaparte's
dispositions at the crisis were undoubtedly skilful; but in the first
part of the fight his conduct was below his reputation. We do not hear
of him electrifying his disordered troops by any deed comparable with
that of Caesar, when, shield in hand, he flung himself among the
legionaries to stem the torrent of the Nervii. At the climax of the
fight he uttered the words "Soldiers, remember it is my custom to
bivouac on the field of battle"--tame and egotistical words
considering the gravity of the crisis.
On the evening of the great day, while paying an exaggerated
compliment to Bessieres and the cavalry of the Consular Guard, he
merely remarked to Kellermann: "You made a very good charge"; to which
that officer is said to have replied: "I am glad you are satisfied,
general: for it has placed the crown on your head." Such pettiness was
unworthy of the great captain who could design and carry through the
memorable campaign of Marengo. If the climax was not worthy of the
inception, yet the campaign as a whole must be pronounced a
masterpiece. Since the days of Hannibal no design so daring and
original had startled the world. A great Austrian army was stopped in
its victorious career, was compelled to turn on its shattered
communications, and to fight for its existence some 120 miles to the
rear of the territory which it seemed to have conquered. In fact, the
allied victories of the past year were effaced by this march of
Bonaparte's army, which, in less than a month after the ascent of the
Alps, regained Nice, Piedmont, and Lombardy, and reduced the
Imperialists to the direst straits.
Staggered by this terrific blow, Melas and his staff were ready to
accept any terms that were not deeply humiliating; and Bonaparte on
his side was not loth to end the campaign in a blaze of glory. He
consented that the Imperial troops should retire to the east of the
Mincio, except at Peschiera and Mantua, which they were still to
occupy. These terms have been variously criticised: Melas has been
blamed for cowardice in surrendering the many strongholds, including
Genoa, which his men firmly held. Yet it must be remembered that he
now had at Alessandria less than 20,000 effectives, and that 30,000
Austrians in isolated bodies were practically at the mercy of the
French between Savona and Brescia. One and all they could now retire
to the Mincio and there resume the defence of the Imperial
territories. The political designs of the Court of Vienna on Piedmont
were of course shattered; but it now recovered the army which it had
heedlessly sacrificed to territorial greed. Bonaparte has also been
blamed for the lenience of his terms. Severer conditions could
doubtless have been extorted; but he now merged the soldier in the
statesman. He desired peace for the sake of France and for his own
sake. After this brilliant stroke peace would be doubly grateful to a
people that longed for glory but also yearned to heal the wounds of
eight years' warfare. His own position as First Consul was as yet
ill-established; and he desired to be back at Paris so as to curb the
restive Tribunate, overawe Jacobins and royalists, and rebuild the
institutions of France.
Impelled by these motives, he penned to the Emperor Francis an
eloquent appeal for peace, renewing his offer of treating with Austria
on the basis of the treaty of Campo Formio.[146] But Austria was not
as yet so far humbled as to accept such terms; and it needed the
master-stroke of Moreau at the great battle of Hohenlinden (December
2nd, 1800), and the turning of her fortresses on the Mincio by the
brilliant passage of the Spluegen in the depths of winter by
Macdonald--a feat far transcending that of Bonaparte at the St.
Bernard--to compel her to a peace. A description of these events would
be beyond the scope of this work; and we now return to consider the
career of Bonaparte as a statesman.
After a brief stay at Milan and Turin, where he was received as the
liberator of Italy, the First Consul crossed the Alps by the Mont
Cenis pass and was received with rapturous acclaim at Lyons and Paris.
He had been absent from the capital less than two calendar months.
He now sent a letter to the Czar Paul, offering that, if the French
garrison of Malta were compelled by famine to evacuate that island, he
would place it in the hands of the Czar, as Grand Master of the
Knights of St. John. Rarely has a "Greek gift" been more skilfully
tendered. In the first place, Valetta was so closely blockaded by
Nelson's cruisers and invested by the native Maltese that its
surrender might be expected in a few weeks; and the First Consul was
well aware how anxiously the Czar had been seeking to gain a foothold
at Malta, whence he could menace Turkey from the south-east. In his
wish completely to gain over Russia, Bonaparte also sent back,
well-clad and well-armed, the prisoners taken from the Russian armies
in 1799, a step which was doubly appreciated at Petersburg because the
Russian troops which had campaigned with the Duke of York in Holland
were somewhat shabbily treated by the British Government in the
Channel Islands, where they took up their winter quarters. Accordingly
the Czar now sent Kalicheff to Paris, for the formation of a
Franco-Russian alliance. He was warmly received. Bonaparte promised in
general terms to restore the King of Sardinia to his former realm and
the Pope to his States. On his side, the Czar sent the alluring advice
to Bonaparte to found a dynasty and thereby put an end to the
revolutionary principles which had armed Europe against France. He
also offered to recognize the natural frontiers of France, the Rhine
and the Maritime Alps, and claimed that German affairs should be
regulated under his own mediation. When both parties were so
complaisant, a bargain was easily arranged. France and Russia
accordingly joined hands in order to secure predominance in the
affairs of Central and Southern Europe, and to counterbalance
England's supremacy at sea.
For it was not enough to break up the Second Coalition and recover
Northern Italy. Bonaparte's policy was more than European; it was
oceanic. England must be beaten on her own element: then and then only
could the young warrior secure his grasp on Egypt and return to his
oriental schemes. His correspondence before and after the Marengo
campaign reveals his eagerness for a peace with Austria and an
alliance with Russia. His thoughts constantly turn to Egypt. He
bargains with Britain that his army there may be revictualled, and so
words his claim that troops can easily be sent also. Lord Grenville
refuses (September 10th); whereupon Bonaparte throws himself eagerly
into further plans for the destruction of the islanders. He seeks to
inflame the Czar's wrath against the English maritime code. His
success for the time is complete. At the close of 1800 the Russian
Emperor marshals the Baltic Powers for the overthrow of England's
navy, and outstrips Bonaparte's wildest hopes by proposing a
Franco-Russian invasion of India with a view to "dealing his enemy a
mortal blow." This plan, as drawn up at the close of 1800, arranged
for the mustering of 35,000 Russians at Astrakan; while as many French
were to fight their way to the mouth of the Danube, set sail on
Russian ships for the Sea of Azov, join their allies on the Caspian
Sea, sail to its southern extremity, and, rousing the Persians and
Afghans by the hope of plunder, sweep the British from India. The
scheme received from Bonaparte a courteous perusal; but he subjected
it to several criticisms, which led to less patient rejoinders from
the irascible potentate. Nevertheless, Paul began to march his troops
towards the lower Volga, and several polks of Cossacks had crossed
that river on the ice, when the news of his assassination cut short
the scheme.[147]
The grandiose schemes of Paul vanished with their fantastic contriver;
but the _rapprochement_ of Russia to revolutionary France was
ultimately to prove an event of far-reaching importance; for the
eastern power thereby began to exert on the democracy of western
Europe that subtle, semi-Asiatic influence which has so powerfully
warped its original character.
The dawn of the nineteenth century witnessed some startling
rearrangements on the political chess-board.
While Bonaparte brought Russia and France to sudden amity, the
unbending maritime policy of Great Britain leagued the Baltic Powers
against the mistress of the seas. In the autumn of 1800 the Czar Paul,
after hearing of our capture of Malta, forthwith revived the Armed
Neutrality League of 1780 and opposed the forces of Russia, Prussia,
Sweden, and Denmark to the might of England's navy. But Nelson's
brilliant success at Copenhagen and the murder of the Czar by a palace
conspiracy shattered this league only four months after its formation,
and the new Czar, Alexander, reverted for a time to friendship with
England.[148] This sudden ending to the first Franco-Russia alliance
so enraged Bonaparte that he caused a paragraph to be inserted in the
official "Moniteur," charging the British Government with procuring
the assassination of Paul, an insinuation that only proclaimed his
rage at this sudden rebuff to his hitherto successful diplomacy.
Though foiled for a time, he never lost sight of the hoped-for
alliance, which, with a deft commixture of force and persuasion, he
gained seven years later after the crushing blow of Friedland.
Dread of a Franco-Russian alliance undoubtedly helped to compel
Austria to a peace. Humbled by Moreau at the great battle of
Hohenlinden, the Emperor Francis opened negotiations at Luneville in
Lorraine. The subtle obstinacy of Cobenzl there found its match in the
firm yet suave diplomacy of Joseph Bonaparte, who wearied out Cobenzl
himself, until the march of Moreau towards Vienna compelled Francis to
accept the River Adige as his boundary in Italy. The other terms of
the treaty (February 9th, 1801) were practically the same as those of
the treaty of Campo Formio, save that the Hapsburg Grand Duke of
Tuscany was compelled to surrender his State to a son of the Bourbon
Duke of Parma. He himself was to receive "compensation" in Germany,
where also the unfortunate Duke of Modena was to find consolation in
the district of the Breisgau on the Upper Rhine. The helplessness of
the old Holy Roman Empire was, indeed, glaringly displayed; for
Francis now admitted the right of the French to interfere in the
rearrangement of that medley of States. He also recognized the
Cisalpine, Ligurian, Helvetic, and Batavian Republics, as at present
constituted; but their independence, and the liberty of their peoples
to choose what form of government they thought fit, were expressly
stipulated.
The Court of Naples also made peace with France by the treaty of
Florence (March, 1801), whereby it withdrew its troops from the States
of the Church, and closed its ports to British and Turkish ships; it
also renounced in favour of the French Republic all its claims over a
maritime district of Tuscany known as the Presidii, the little
principality of Piombino, and a port in the Isle of Elba. These
cessions fitted in well with Napoleon's schemes for the proposed
elevation of the heir of the Duchy of Parma to the rank of King of
Tuscany or Etruria. The King of Naples also pledged himself to admit
and support a French corps in his dominions. Soult with 10,000 troops
thereupon occupied Otranto, Taranto, and Brindisi, in order to hold
the Neapolitan Government to its engagements, and to facilitate French
intercourse with Egypt.
In his relations with the New World Bonaparte had also prospered.
Certain disputes between France and the United States had led to
hostilities in the year 1798. Negotiations for peace were opened in
March, 1800, and led to the treaty of Morfontaine, which enabled
Bonaparte to press on the Court of Madrid the scheme of the
Parma-Louisiana exchange, that promised him a magnificent empire on
the banks of the Mississippi.
These and other grandiose designs were confided only to Talleyrand and
other intimate counsellors. But, even to the mass of mankind, the
transformation scene ushered in by the nineteenth century was one of
bewildering brilliance. Italy from the Alps to her heel controlled by
the French; Austria compelled to forego all her Italian plans;
Switzerland and Holland dominated by the First Consul's influence;
Spain following submissively his imperious lead; England, despite all
her naval triumphs, helpless on land; and France rapidly regaining
more than all her old prestige and stability under the new
institutions which form the most enduring tribute to the First
Consul's glory.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XII
THE NEW INSTITUTIONS OF FRANCE
"We have done with the romance of the Revolution: we must now commence
its history. We must have eyes only for what is real and practicable
in the application of principles, and not for the speculative and
hypothetical." Such were the memorable words of Bonaparte to his
Council of State at one of its early meetings. They strike the keynote
of the era of the Consulate. It was a period of intensely practical
activity that absorbed all the energies of France and caused the
earlier events of the Revolution to fade away into a seemingly remote
past. The failures of the civilian rulers and the military triumphs of
Bonaparte had exerted a curious influence on the French character,
which was in a mood of expectant receptivity. In 1800 everything was
in the transitional state that favours the efforts of a master
builder; and one was now at hand whose constructive ability in civil
affairs equalled his transcendent genius for war.
I propose here briefly to review the most important works of
reconstruction which render the Consulate and the early part of the
Empire for ever famous. So vast and complex were Bonaparte's efforts
in this field that they will be described, not chronologically, but
subject by subject. The reader will, however, remember that for the
most part they went on side by side, even amidst the distractions
caused by war, diplomacy, colonial enterprises, and the myriad details
of a vast administration. What here appears as a series of canals was
in reality a mighty river of enterprise rolling in undivided volume
and fed by the superhuman vitality of the First Consul. It was his
inexhaustible curiosity which compelled functionaries to reveal the
secrets of their office: it was his intelligence that seized on the
salient points of every problem and saw the solution: it was his
ardour and mental tenacity which kept his Ministers and committees
hard at work, and by toil of sometimes twenty hours a day supervised
the results: it was, in fine, his passion for thoroughness, his
ambition for France, that nerved every official with something of his
own contempt of difficulties, until, as one of them said, "the
gigantic entered into our very habits of thought."[149]
The first question of political reconstruction which urgently claimed
attention was that of local government. On the very day when it was
certain that the nation had accepted the new constitution, the First
Consul presented to the Legislature a draft of a law for regulating
the affairs of the Departments. It must be admitted that local
self-government, as instituted by the men of 1789 in their
Departmental System, had proved a failure. In that time of buoyant
hope, when every difficulty and abuse seemed about to be charmed away
by the magic of universal suffrage, local self-government of a most
advanced type had been intrusted to an inexperienced populace. There
were elections for the commune or parish, elections for the canton,
elections for the district, elections for the Department, and
elections for the National Assembly, until the rustic brain, after
reeling with excitement, speedily fell back into muddled apathy and
left affairs generally to the wire-pullers of the nearest Jacobin
club. A time of great confusion ensued. Law went according to local
opinion, and the national taxes were often left unpaid. In the Reign
of Terror this lax system was replaced by the despotism of the secret
committees, and the way was thus paved for a return to organized
central control, such as was exercised by the Directory.
The First Consul, as successor to the Directory, therefore found
matters ready to his hand for a drastic measure of centralization, and
it is curious to notice that the men of 1789 had unwittingly cleared
the ground for him. To make way for the "supre 
The Life of Napoleon I (Complete) / Rose, John Holland, 1855-1942