полная версия

Harold Wheeler
The Story of Napoleon

CHAPTER XXV
The Austrian Campaign—continued
(1809)

On the 10th May 1809, the French were before Vienna, and preparations were made for a vigorous attack. Late in the evening of the 11th the Emperor’s artillerymen began to hurl shells into the city, which was but ill-defended by Archduke Maximilian, who thought too much of his own skin to be of any considerable service, and speedily retired with his troops from the capital. Within forty-eight hours of the first shot being fired many of the French troops were in Vienna, the Emperor taking up his quarters in the palace of Schönbrünn near by.

Here he issued a decree annexing Rome, to which Pius VII. retorted with a Bull of excommunication. Napoleon, always an admirer of Charlemagne, referred to that monarch as “our august predecessor.” He had already hinted that the Pope should be no more than Bishop of Rome, as was the case under the rule of the founder of the Empire of the West. Several weeks later the Holy Father was escorted from the Quirinal to Avignon, and thence to Savona, in which quiet retreat the Emperor hoped he would come to his senses, in other words, to Napoleon’s way of thinking. This is exactly what the aged and determined Pontiff did not do, however. He preferred to remain virtually a prisoner and to pray for the recovery of his temporal kingdom rather than to submit to the dictatorship of the Emperor. The latter did not see fit to relent until 1814, the Pope then being at Fontainebleau. He offered to restore a portion of his states, but Pius VII. refused to discuss any terms except from Rome, to which city he returned on the Emperor’s abdication.

Decisive victory over his Austrian foes had yet to be gained by Napoleon, and while Hillier was slowly endeavouring to unite with Archduke Charles on the left bank of the Danube, the Emperor was laying his well-conceived plans before his generals.

The following interesting anecdote is related of this campaign. It shows how a raw recruit may become imbued with a keen sense of responsibility after spending a few months in the ranks.

A sentinel, Jean Baptiste Coluche, was stationed by two paths near the Emperor’s temporary headquarters on a certain night. He had been told to allow no one to pass, so when his quick ears detected a scrunch on the gravel some distance away, he carried out his instructions without question. Jean shouted to the intruder to stop. No notice was taken; the heavy, measured steps drew nearer. Again he repeated his summons, and bringing his carbine to his shoulder, prepared to fire. At that moment the outline of a dark and unmistakable figure approached. It was the Emperor himself. When the guard, alarmed by the cries, came up to render assistance, they set to chaffing Coluche, but the only reply of the peasant conscript was: “I’ve carried out my orders.”

This was by no means the only occasion on which the Emperor appeared when least expected, and he was wont to reward the soldier whom he found on the qui vive under such circumstances. It was not so with the faithful Coluche. But in 1814 the much-coveted Cross of the Legion of Honour was pinned on his breast for his heroism at the battle of Arcis-sur-Aube, when the man whom he had ordered to halt before the walls of Vienna was forced to beat a retreat.

Bourrienne relates another interesting anecdote told to him by Rapp, the Emperor’s aide-de-camp during the Austrian campaign. It concerns “one of those striking remarks of Napoleon,” to quote Bourrienne, “which, when his words are compared with the events that follow them, would almost appear to indicate a foresight of his future destiny. The Emperor, when within a few day’s march of Vienna, procured a guide to explain to him the names of every village, or ruin, however insignificant, that presented itself on his road. The guide pointed to an eminence, on which were still visible a few remaining vestiges of an old fortified castle. ‘Those,’ said the guide, ‘are the ruins of the castle of Diernstein.’ Napoleon suddenly stopped, and remained for some time silently contemplating the ruins, then turning to Marshal Lannes, who was with him, he said: ‘See! yonder is the prison of Richard Cœur de Lion. He, too, like us, went to Syria and Palestine. But Cœur de Lion, my brave Lannes, was not more brave than you. He was more fortunate than I at St Jean d’Acre. A duke of Austria sold him to an emperor of Germany, who shut him up in yonder castle. Those were the days of barbarism. How different the civilisation of our times! The world has seen how I treated the Emperor of Austria, whom I might have imprisoned—and I would treat him so again. I take no credit to myself for this. In the present age crowned heads must be respected. A conqueror imprisoned!’” and yet that is exactly what happened to the speaker but a few years later.

At last Archduke Charles and Hillier joined forces on the Marchfeld, intent on regaining the lost capital. Napoleon had made up his mind to fight in the very camp of the enemy by crossing the Danube. For this purpose he built a succession of bridges consisting of boats and pontoons from Ebersdorf to the three islands in the river, and linked the last and largest of these, that of Lobau, to the opposite bank.

The first troops to cross occupied the stone-built villages of Aspern and Essling, which served somewhat as fortified places. The French found themselves confronted by quite double the number of Imperialists. Both villages were attacked with feverish energy, the assault on Aspern being the more severe. It was ably defended by Masséna, while Lannes at Essling fought as he had never done before. When night fell, the latter still successfully defied the Austrians, while the white coats, after making repeated unsuccessful attempts to capture Aspern, had effected a lodgment in the church and the graveyard. This was partly due to the energy of Archduke Charles, who led the last attack of the day in person.

Good use was made of the succeeding night by Napoleon. He hurried over as many troops as possible to the bank of the Danube occupied by the Imperialists, a necessarily slow process owing to the frequent breaches made in the temporary bridges by obstructions floated down the rapidly-rising river by the Austrians. These difficulties taxed the resources of the engineers, but they stuck manfully to their task, while the troops cared little if the pontoons were under water provided they could reach the opposite bank. Early on the 22nd May there were 63,000 troops ready to advance against the Imperialists who, not having been called upon to labour so arduously through the night as the French had done, were considerably fresher for the day’s work. Fighting at Aspern and Essling had been resumed long since, if indeed it had left off, the first charge of the day being against the Austrian centre by Lannes. The French battalions sustained a raking fire from the enemy’s artillery, some of whose infantry, however, soon showed such signs of weakness that Archduke Charles, as on the day before, caught up a standard and shouted to the grenadiers to follow him. They did so to such good purpose that further progress of the French infantry was impossible. Nor did their comrades of the cavalry, sent to their relief under Bessières, fare better. According to some accounts, when victory seemed almost in the grasp of Napoleon’s men, the Austrians were reinforced in the nick of time and Bessières compelled to retire.

Other disasters of an even more serious nature were in store for the French. The bridge between the right bank and the island of Lobau was severed, thus cutting off all connection with the Emperor’s troops and those fighting against the Austrians.

Meanwhile the Archduke took advantage of his enemy’s discomfiture by attacking the two villages which had figured so prominently in the contest of the previous day with greater energy than ever. Still the French fought on. Many a brave man fell in the desperate struggle, which finally resulted in Aspern being held by the Austrians and the French retaining Essling. The gallant Lannes had both his knees almost carried away by a shot when the battle was beginning to slacken. He had defended Essling with all his native genius and the most consummate bravery, amply retrieving his somewhat inglorious doings in the Spanish Campaign. The Emperor frequently visited the stricken Marshal, who shortly before he passed away feebly murmured: “Another hour and your Majesty will have lost one of your most zealous and faithful friends.” This was on the last day of May, 1809, and the master whom he had served so well wrote to Josephine in words which show how keenly he appreciated the fallen warrior: “The loss of the Duke of Montebello, who died this morning, deeply affects me. Thus all things end. Adieu, my love. If you can contribute to the consolation of the poor Marchioness, do it.” At St Helena the fallen King-maker said, “I found Lannes a dwarf, but I made him a giant!”

On the following day (the 23rd), the bridge being now repaired, the French retired to well-wooded Lobau, soon to be re-named the Ile Napoléon. The honours of the fight remained with the Austrians; the great Napoleon had been defeated! True to his creed, the Emperor announced a victory, “since we remain masters of the field of battle,” and admitted simply that the fight had been “severe,” in which latter contention he was indisputably correct. Success or failure, it proved to his enemies that either Napoleon’s genius for war was failing or that he had undertaken more than he could carry out. This disaster, added to those which had occurred in the Peninsula, was regarded as proof positive in certain quarters that Napoleon’s star was setting. They took little account of the fact that the French forces had been greatly outnumbered both in men and munitions of war, remembering only that they had retreated. Beaten many times before, a defeat or two more did not affect the prestige of the Imperialists, but for the hitherto invincible warrior no excuse was found.

Encouraged by the French reverse, an alliance between Austria and Prussia was now mooted, but Frederick William showed his usual indecision, and consequently the negotiations collapsed, to the great disappointment of the Emperor Francis’s hope of an almost unanimous rising in Germany.

Had the King of Prussia possessed some of the pluck displayed by several officers who had served in his army, and now attempted to raise the standard of revolt against Napoleon in Westphalia and Saxony, Frederick William III. would have been a less sorry figure in the history of his country. For instance, Baron von Dörnberg headed a campaign against the unpopular King Jerome, while Major Frederick von Schill, after attempting to capture Wittenberg and Magdeburg, laid down his life for the national cause in the assault on Stralsund. Neither of these soldiers of fortune accomplished anything of importance, mainly because the means at their disposal were abnormally small, but they displayed a spirit of true patriotism. Duke Frederick William of Brunswick-Oels succeeded in occupying Dresden and Leipzig and in forcing Jerome to retreat, but in the end the enthusiastic volunteer and his Black Band were compelled to seek refuge on British ships and sail for England.

For seven weeks after the battle of Aspern the two armies prepared for the next contest, but in expedition and thoroughness Napoleon far outstripped his opponents. If occasional fighting sometimes occurred it was usually no more than an affair of outposts. Both sides were far too busily engaged in repairing their misfortunes, securing reinforcements and additional supplies, to waste men and ammunition in conflicts which could not be other than indecisive. Napoleon took good care to see that the new bridges were more solidly constructed than those which had contributed so much to his defeat. Not only were his arrangements for their protection more complete, but gunboats were stationed in suitable positions for their defence. Lobau was entrenched and fortified; nothing was to be left to chance on the next occasion.

CHAPTER XXVI
The War in Poland and Tyrol
(1809)

At the beginning of July Napoleon’s movements showed that a battle was imminent. By means of feints he succeeded in making the enemy believe that his plan was similar to that which had obtained at the battle of Aspern. Thus while the Austrians were occupying their attention with the bridge of Aspern, Napoleon’s forces were crossing by movable bridges lower down the river, near Enzersdorf. This was accomplished during a tremendous thunderstorm, the rain soaking the poor fellows to the skin. On the 5th July the greater part of the troops now at his disposal was ready for action, including those of Prince Eugène. The Emperor’s step-son, successful against Archduke John at the battle of Raab on the 14th June—the anniversary of Marengo—had joined forces with Napoleon; his opponent was hastening to the assistance of Archduke Charles. Marmont and Macdonald, after desultory fighting, also arrived at Lobau. The French army now outnumbered its opponents by 30,000 men.

The battle of Wagram began on the 5th July, but the issue was not determined until the following day. Macdonald, who played a prominent part in the fighting, as will be narrated, thus describes it in a private letter:—

“The crossing of the Danube [on the 4th and 5th July] was a masterpiece of prodigious genius, and it was reserved for the Emperor to conceive, create, and carry it out. It was performed in presence of an army of over 180,000 men.² The enemy expected the attempt to be made at the same point as that of May 21st.³ They had prepared tremendous entrenchments, and had brought up a formidable body of artillery; but, to their great surprise, they suddenly saw us attack their left flank and turn all the lines of their redoubts. We drove them back three leagues, and when, next day, they tried conclusions with us, they lost the game.

“Never, sir, had two armies a mightier force of artillery, never was battle fought more obstinately. Picture to yourself 1,000 or 1,200 pieces of artillery vomiting forth death upon nearly 350,000 combatants, and you will have an idea of what this hotly-disputed field of battle was like. The enemy, posted upon the heights, entrenched to the teeth in all the villages, formed a sort of crescent, or horse-shoe. The Emperor did not hesitate to enter into the midst of them, and to take up a parallel position.

“His Majesty did me the honour of giving me the command of a corps, with orders to break through the enemy’s centre. I, fortunately, succeeded, notwithstanding the fire of a hundred guns, masses of infantry, and charges of cavalry, led by the Archduke Charles in person. His infantry would never cross bayonets with mine, nor would his cavalry wait till mine came up; the Uhlans alone made a stand, and they were scattered.

“I pursued the enemy closely with bayonet and cannon for about four leagues, and it was only at ten o’clock at night that, worn out and overwhelmed with fatigue, my men ceased their firing and their pursuit.

“The same success attended us at all other points. His Majesty, who directed everything, amazed me by his coolness and by the precision of his orders. It was the first time I had fought under his eyes, and this opportunity gave me an even higher opinion than I already had of his great talents, as I was able to form my own judgment upon them....”

Napoleon had almost used up his reserves when the Austrian retreat began. No fewer than 24,000 dead and wounded Imperialists were left on the field, a loss of probably 6000 more than that sustained by the French. Not until daybreak on the 7th did the victorious troops lay down their arms. “I soon fell asleep,” says Macdonald, “but not for long, as I was awakened by cries of ‘Long live the Emperor!’ which redoubled when he entered my camp. I asked for my horse, but he had been taken away. I had no other, as the rest were far behind. As I could not walk (the General had been kicked by the animal), I remained on my straw, when I heard someone enquiring for me.... He came by the Emperor’s order to look for me. On my remarking that I had no horse and could not walk, he offered me his, which I accepted. I saw the Emperor surrounded by my troops, whom he was congratulating. He approached me, and embracing me cordially, said:—

“‘Let us be friends henceforward.’

“‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘till death.’ And I have kept my word, not only up to the time of his abdication, but even beyond it. He added: ‘You have behaved valiantly, and have rendered me the greatest services, as, indeed, throughout the entire campaign. On the battle-field of your glory, where I owe you so large a part of yesterday’s success, I make you a Marshal of France’ (he used this expression instead of ‘of the Empire’). You have long deserved it.’

“‘Sire,’ I answered, ‘since you are satisfied with us, let the rewards and recompenses be apportioned and distributed among my army corps, beginning with Generals Lamarque, Broussier, and others, who so ably seconded me.’

“‘Anything you please,’ he replied; ‘I have nothing to refuse you.’”

In this abrupt but characteristic way Macdonald was created a Marshal—a well-merited distinction also conferred on Oudinot and Marmont for their services in this campaign. Napoleon’s opening remark as to friendship referred to the five years of disgrace which the general had suffered by being unjustly implicated in the affairs of Moreau, a disfavour now to fall on Bernadotte, whose corps had behaved ill at Wagram and was dissolved. Thus almost at the same time as he gained a friend the Emperor made an enemy. It is interesting to note that Macdonald’s father was a Scotsman who fought for the Pretender and his mother a Frenchwoman, and that he was born at Sedan.

Napoleon, usually the most active in following up a victory, did not actively pursue the Austrians after the battle of Wagram for the all-sufficient reason that his troops were worn-out with fatigue. If you want to know and see and feel what a battle-field is like, glance through the sombre pages of Carlyle’s “Sartor Resartus” until you come to his description of that of Wagram. Here is the passage, and it is one of the most vivid in literature: “The greensward,” says the philosopher, “is torn-up and trampled-down; man’s fond care of it, his fruit-trees, hedge-row, and pleasant dwellings, blown-away with gunpowder; and the kind seedfield lies a desolate, hideous place of Skulls.” There were two days of hard fighting at Znaym on the 10th and 11th July, in which Masséna and Marmont took part, Napoleon not coming up until the morning of the second day. On the 12th an armistice was arranged.

Brief notice must be taken of the course of the war in other parts of Europe. The formidable Walcheren Expedition, so called because of its disembarkation on the island of that name, was undertaken by Great Britain as a diversion against the French. The idea had been mooted and shelved three years before, to be revived when Austria pressed the British Government to send troops to Northern Germany in the hope of fostering insurrection there. The Duke of Portland’s government, prompted by Lord Castlereagh, thought that Antwerp would be a more desirable objective. Instead of the troops pushing on immediately to that city, Flushing must needs be first besieged and bombarded. This detour lost much precious time, which was used to good advantage by Bernadotte and King Louis in placing the city in a state of defence.

The commanders of the English naval and military forces—Sir Richard Strachan and Lord Chatham respectively—now engaged in unseemly wrangling as to further movements, while meantime many of the soldiers fell victims to malarial fever. Eventually the army sailed for home, after an immense expenditure of blood and treasure, thousands of men dying and the cost amounting to many millions of pounds sterling. The expedition was for long the talk of the British people, the affair being epitomised in a witty couplet which aptly summed up the situation:—

 
Lord Chatham, with his sword undrawn,
Stood waiting for Sir Richard Strachan;
Sir Richard, longing to be at ’em,
Stood waiting for the Earl of Chatham.
 

In Spain things were going from bad to worse for Great Britain, and an expedition against Naples, commanded by Sir John Stewart, was eventually obliged to withdraw after some early successes. England felt the heavy hand of Napoleon very severely in the dark days of 1809.

We have noted that Archduke Ferdinand had troops to the number of 35,400 in Poland called the Army of Galicia. He was faced by Prince Galitzin and Prince Poniatovski, who had nearly 60,000 men, including Russians, Poles, and Saxons, under their command. Warsaw was secured by the Austrians after the battle of Raszyn, but following an attack on Thorn the Archduke was compelled to retreat, hostilities in Poland being terminated by the armistice of Znaym.

In Tyrol the peasant war was marked by many exciting events. The inhabitants of this picturesque land of forests and mountains were intensely patriotic and hated the Bavarians, under whose domination they had passed after Austerlitz, with an exceedingly bitter hatred. They felt that now was the time for revenge, for showing that the country was at heart still loyal to the Emperor Francis, descendant of a long line of monarchs who had exercised their feudal rights for over four centuries. A section of Archduke John’s army, amounting to some 10,000 men under General Chasteler, was accordingly sent to aid the ardent nationalists, who appointed their own leaders, the most celebrated of whom was Andreas Hofer, an innkeeper and cattle-dealer of considerable substance. A signal was agreed upon; when sawdust was seen floating on the waters of the Inn the people of the villages through which the river flowed were to understand that a general rising was expected of them. There was no fear that the news would not reach outlying districts. The people did not fail their leaders, and Innsbruck, the capital of the province, then in the hands of the Bavarians, was attacked, and did not long resist the gallantry of the Tyrolese. Other garrisons met a similar fate, and in less than a week but one fortress still held out in Northern Tyrol, so well had the rugged fellows performed their self-appointed task. Unhappily for the intrepid patriots—Napoleon with his usual partiality for misrepresentation called their leaders “brigands”—disasters succeeded their early victories, and Innsbruck was held for but six weeks before Lefebvre put himself in possession. Again fortune smiled on the Tyrolese. Wrede, who commanded the Bavarians, unduly weakened his forces by sending various regiments to join Napoleon. Taking advantage of their knowledge of this fact, 20,000 peasants presented themselves before the capital and regained it. Two more battles were waged outside the walls of Innsbruck, and innumerable skirmishes took place with the large army which the Emperor now poured into Tyrol before the flames were finally extinguished in December 1809. It is safe to say that the ashes would have continued to smoulder much longer had not Hofer been the victim of treachery. He was betrayed to the enemy by an ungrateful priest, and, after trial, executed on the 21st February 1810. Many of his colleagues availed themselves of an amnesty granted by Prince Eugène, but both Hofer and Peter Mayer preferred to fight to the end. The Emperor of Austria, grateful for the services rendered to him by the former innkeeper, provided the hero’s widow with a handsome pension and ennobled his son.

On the 15th October 1809 peace was restored between France and Austria by the Treaty of Schönbrünn, sometimes called the Peace of Vienna, by which the former chiefly benefited. More than once the negotiations trembled in the balance, but ultimately the Austrian war party was obliged to give way. Archduke Charles had grown tired of fighting, the wily Metternich could see nothing but disaster by its continuance. Just as business people sometimes ask a higher price than they expect to receive for an article of commerce and are content to be “beaten down,” so Napoleon made extravagant demands at first and was satisfied with smaller concessions. The apparent readiness to give way, for which he did not forget to claim credit, enabled him to pose as a political philanthropist. Nevertheless, three and a half million people were lost to Austria by the districts which she ceded to France, Bavaria, Russia, Saxony, Italy, and the Grand Duchy of Warsaw. Pursuing the same policy of army retrenchment he had followed with Prussia, Napoleon insisted that Austria should support not more than 150,000 troops. A big war indemnity was also exacted.

The Emperor afterwards maintained that this “pound of flesh” was insufficient. “I committed a great fault after the battle of Wagram,” he remarked, “in not reducing the power of Austria still more. She remained too strong for our safety, and to her we must attribute our ruin. The day after the battle, I should have made known, by proclamation, that I would treat with Austria only on condition of the preliminary separation of the three crowns of Austria, Hungary, and Bohemia.” As a matter of fact the abdication of the Emperor Francis had been one of his extortionate demands in the early stages of the negotiations.

If proof were necessary of the truth of the proverb that “truth is stranger than fiction” the marriage of Napoleon to the Archduchess Marie Louise of Austria, but a few months after he had threatened to dispossess her father of his throne, would surely justify it. Poor childless, light-hearted Josephine was put away for this daughter of the Cæsars. The Emperor had first asked for a Russian Princess, then as suddenly turned in the direction of the House of Hapsburg because his former suit was not immediately accepted. From that time Napoleon’s friendship with Alexander began to wane perceptibly. The Czar was under no delusion when he prophetically remarked, on hearing of the Emperor’s change of front in wooing an Austrian princess, “Then the next thing will be to drive us back into our forests.”

Small wonder that in after years Napoleon referred to his second marriage as “That abyss covered with flowers which was my ruin.”

To compare Napoleon’s two consorts is extremely difficult, because their temperaments were essentially different. Josephine was vivacious, witty, fond of dress and of admiration, and brought up in a very different school of thought to that of Marie Louise. The former had witnessed, and to some extent felt, the terrors of the Revolution at their worst; she had mixed with all sorts and conditions of men and women, some good, many bad; the latter had been nurtured with scrupulous care, so shielded and safeguarded that she scarcely knew of the follies and sins which mar the everyday world. She once wrote to a friend that she believed Napoleon “is none other than Anti-Christ.” When she heard that the man she felt to be “our oppressor” was to become her husband, she lifted her pale blue eyes to the skies and remarked that the birds were happier because they could choose their own mates! And yet, although she was so horrified, she had a certain nobility of character which enabled her to understand that in making the surrender she would be performing a double duty to her father and to her country: “This marriage gives pleasure to my father, and though separation from my family always will make me miserable, I will have the consolation of having obeyed his wishes. And Providence, it is my firm belief, directs the lot of us princesses in a special manner; and in obeying my father I feel I am obeying Providence.”

But what were the reasons for Napoleon’s dissolution of his first marriage when his love for Josephine is beyond question? Pasquier thus sums up the matter for us:

“For some time past,” he says, “the greater number of those about him, and especially the members of his family, had been urging him to repudiate a union which could not give him an heir, and which precluded the idea of his dreaming of certain most advantageous alliances. As early as the time of his consecration as Emperor, the greatest pressure had been put upon him to prevent him from strengthening the bonds uniting him to Josephine, by having her crowned by his side; but all these endeavours had been neutralized by the natural and potent ascendancy of a woman full of charm and grace, who had given herself to him at a time when nothing gave any indication of his high destinies, whose conciliatory spirit had often removed from his path difficulties of a somewhat serious nature, and brought back to him many embittered or hostile minds, who seemed to have been constantly a kind of good genius, entrusted with the care of watching over his destiny and of dispelling the clouds which came to darken its horizon....

“I can never forget the evening,” adds Pasquier, “on which the discarded Empress did the honours of her Court for the last time. It was the day before the official dissolution. A great throng was present, and supper was served, according to custom, in the gallery of Diana, on a number of little tables. Josephine sat at the centre one, and the men went round her, waiting for that particularly graceful nod which she was in the habit of bestowing on those with whom she was acquainted. I stood at a short distance from her for a few minutes, and I could not help being struck with the perfection of her attitude in the presence of all these people who still did her homage, while knowing full well that it was for the last time; that, in an hour, she would descend from the throne, and leave the palace never to re-enter it. Only women can rise superior to the difficulties of such a situation, but I have my doubts as to whether a second one could have been found to do it with such perfect grace and composure. Napoleon did not show as bold a front as did his victim.”