conception. The intellectual force of this man never seemed overtaxed.
But the lack of resolution became still more marked. He began by
winning two battles,--Lützen and Bautzen,--in which he freely exposed
himself and worked with all his old energy, to lend his young troops
confidence. He was then weak enough to enter into an armistice with the
allies. This was a singularly un-Napoleonic thing to do. He had turned
the enemy’s right and was strategically well placed. It was just the
time to push home. If the reasons he alleged--want of cavalry and fear
of the dubious position of Austria--were really the prevailing ones,
Napoleon was no longer himself, for his wonderful successes hitherto
had come from bold disregard of just such things.
Napoleon here shows us how often fortune is of a man’s own making. So
long as he would not allow circumstances to dictate to him, fortune was
constant. When he began to heed adverse facts, we see first indecisive
victories, then half successes, and by and by we shall see failure and
destruction.
The operations about and succeeding Dresden show a vacillation
which contrasts with the intellectual vigor. For the first time
Napoleon conducted a defensive campaign. He studied his chances of
an offensive, and cast them aside for reasons which would not have
weighed a moment with him in 1805. And yet the defensive against his
concentrically advancing enemies was no doubt the best policy. It
shows Napoleon’s judgment to have been better than ever. After this
brilliant victory Napoleon ordered a pursuit--which he ought to have
made effective--across the Erzgebirge, but without issuing definite
instructions. Sickness forbade the personal supervision he had expected
to give; troops intended to sustain the advanced corps were diverted
from this duty by a sudden change of purpose. Here was, as Jomini says,
“without contradiction, one of Napoleon’s gravest faults.” But Napoleon
had got used to seeing things turn in his favor, until he deemed
constant personal effort unnecessary. Decreasing strength had limited
his activity; great exertion was irksome. The immediate result of this
ill-ordered operation was the destruction of a corps; the secondary
result, the re-encouragement of the allies, whose _morale_ had been
badly shaken by three defeats, and whose main army he should have
followed into Bohemia and broken up. The grand result was loss of time,
which to Napoleon was a dead loss, a new advance of the allies, and the
battle of Leipsic. During all this time, while Napoleon’s execution
was weak compared to his old habit, his utterances and orders showed
the clearest, broadest conception of what was essential. But he was no
longer the man who used to gallop forty to sixty miles a day to use his
eyes. Even at Leipsic he exhibited at times his old power; when defeat
was certain he lapsed into the same indifference he had shown on the
Russian retreat.
Nothing now, in a military sense, could save Napoleon, except to
concentrate all his forces into one body and manœuvre against the
allies with his old vigor. But the Emperor Napoleon could not bear
to give up Italy, Belgium, Spain, as General Bonaparte had given up
Mantua to beat the enemy at Castiglione; and he committed the grievous
mistake of not concentrating all his forces for the defence of France.
The campaign around Paris is a marvel of audacious activity, though
indeed it did not bring up any of the larger intellectual problems of
Marengo, Ulm, or Jena. If Napoleon had done half as good work with
the larger army he might have had, there is scarce a doubt but that
he would have gone far towards peace with honor. As it was, he was
crushed by numbers. But no words can too highly phrase his military
conduct, within its limits, in this brief campaign. There is but one
mistake,--the underrating of his enemy, the misinterpretation of
manifest facts.
The Waterloo campaign (1815), as already said, bears marked resemblance
to that of 1796. The details of Waterloo are so well known that only
the reasons will be noted which appear to make Napoleon’s first so
great a success and his last so great a failure.
At the beginning of June, Napoleon had available for Belgium, where
he proposed to strike the allied forces, one hundred and ten thousand
foot, and thirteen thousand five hundred horse. In Belgium were
Wellington, covering Brussels with ninety-five thousand men, and
Blucher lying from Charleroi to Namur with one hundred and twenty-four
thousand. Napoleon was superior to either; inferior to both together.
He chose against these allied armies the same offensive manœuvre he
had employed against Beaulieu and Colli,--a strategic breaking of
their centre, so as to separate them and attack each one separately.
The controlling reasons were the same. The allies were of different
nationalities, and each had a different base, as well as varying
interests. If cut in two they no doubt would retire eccentrically, of
which Napoleon could take immediate advantage. The key to the whole
problem was the exhibition by him of foresight, boldness, and rapid
action. The plan could not be better.
He concentrated on Charleroi. From here led two pikes, one to Brussels,
which was Wellington’s line of advance and retreat, one to Liège,
which was Blucher’s. Wellington and Blucher were connected by the
Namur-Nivelles road, which cut the other pikes at Quatre-Bras and near
Ligny. In order to push in between the allies to any effect, Napoleon
must seize on both these points.
[Illustration: WATERLOO CAMPAIGN]
The French army broke up June 15th at 3 A.M. Napoleon was full of
eagerness and early in the saddle. The French advanced with slight
opposition to Quatre-Bras, and forced the Prussians back to Fleurus.
Napoleon remained in the saddle all day, then retired to Charleroi
overcome with a fatigue which seemed to paralyze his mental faculties.
He could no longer conquer sleep as of old. His bodily condition was
bad, and even the necessity of present success was unable to evoke
persistent effort. There is a singular difference between Napoleon at
this time and grim old Frederick in 1759 suffering from gout. The king
never gave up for an instant his restless work. Disease and pain could
not subdue his obstinate diligence. The emperor’s ailments overcame
his zeal. Here began those little lapses of unused time whose addition,
in four days, sufficed to bring Napoleon to the end of his career. The
plan of campaign was as brilliantly thought out and begun as that of
1796, and with equal vigor would have equally succeeded. Wellington
and Blucher had foreseen the manœuvre, and agreed to concentrate for
mutual support at Quatre-Bras and Ligny. But Wellington, instead of
holding Quatre-Bras, gave Nivelles as the rallying-point. Not even
Würmser or Mack could have made an error more in Napoleon’s favor, for
this separated him from Blucher instead of gaining him his support.
Napoleon had the chance to strike Blucher singly. Wellington had not
yet assembled. Napoleon should have reached Quatre-Bras and Ligny on
the 15th, as he could easily have done, or at a very early hour on the
16th. But no orders even were issued till nearly 9 A.M. of the 16th.
In his old days, Napoleon would have been at the outposts at daylight,
have gauged the situation with his own eyes and his incomparable power
of judgment, and would have attacked at an early hour. But he did not
reach the ground till noon nor finish his reconnoissance till 2 P.M.
Ney had been sent to Quatre-Bras.
Despite delays, however, part of Napoleon’s plan did succeed.
Wellington was prevented from joining Blucher, and Blucher was beaten
and fell back in disorder. Now Napoleon’s object was so to manœuvre as
to keep the allies apart. This could be done only by immediate pursuit.
He must push on after Blucher relentlessly, so as to throw him off in
an easterly direction, where he could observe him with a small force,
while he should dispose of Wellington singly. And the more Wellington
should manage to push back Ney, the graver danger he would run.
Nothing was done about the pursuit of Blucher on the night of 16th
to 17th. Next morning Napoleon leisurely visited the battle-field of
Ligny and conversed with his officers about indifferent things. None of
the old-time drive was manifest. It was again noon before he ordered
Grouchy in pursuit of the Prussians, while he himself would turn
against the English. Grouchy got off about 2 P.M. No one knew at that
time whether Blucher had retired on Namur or Wavre. In earlier days
Napoleon would have ascertained this fact with his own eyes, _for it
was the one fact to make no mistake about_. Whether to ascertain this
was the duty of the staff or the general is immaterial. That Napoleon
did not do so may not have been his fault; but it was his misfortune.
Great captains have won success by personal activity and by relying
only on themselves in critical matters. In estimating a great soldier,
one must number all his errors of omission and commission. No general
may shelter himself behind the lapse of a subordinate. He must stand or
fall by what he himself does or fails to do.
But the fate of the campaign was already sealed. Blucher had had the
night of the 16th to 17th, and the morning of the 17th, and he had used
the respite well. He boldly threw up his own base on Liège and marched
on Wavre to rejoin Wellington. Napoleon had assumed that Blucher would
retire along his line of communications. He desired him to do this,
and erroneously calculated on his having done so. The object of
breaking the allied centre, the sundering of the allies so as to beat
them in detail, had been forfeited by the sixteen or eighteen hours of
unnecessary delays after the battle of Ligny.
The battle of Waterloo itself has been so fully and ably discussed from
this rostrum, and Grouchy’s part of the failure so clearly explained,
that I will go no further. It seems clear that the battle was lost on
the day preceding it. If Blucher did not join Wellington by one means
he would by another, when Napoleon gave him so many hours leeway.
Nothing but the old activity in following up his initial success
could possibly have enabled Napoleon to fight Wellington and Blucher
separately,--and if they joined they were sure to beat him. Had he
kept right on, he would have beaten Wellington, and Blucher would
have retired. His difficulties here were not great. He was successful
in his early steps, and failed in later ones. The explanation of the
whole matter lies in the fact that Napoleon’s physical powers and moral
initiative had waned. His intellect was unimpaired, but his character
had lost its native quality.
No man should be subject to criticism for inability to do his best
work when suffering from disease. It is not intended to criticise
in this sense. _La critique est facile; l’art est difficile._ The
motto of these lectures is that coexistent intellect, character, and
opportunity go to make the great captain. We see Napoleon for twelve
years possibly the greatest soldier who ever lived. We then see his
successes lessen. It was not from declining intellect. It was partly
lesser opportunity,--that is, greater difficulties,--partly loss of
activity and decisiveness,--or, in other words, character,--proceeding
from weakening physique or decrease of moral strength. There may be
room for doubt whether failing health alone, or failing health combined
with waning character, caused the indecisiveness. It descends into
a question of nomenclature. Of the bald fact there can be no doubt.
Napoleon at Waterloo was not as great as Napoleon at Austerlitz.
The secret of Napoleon’s power lay in his clear eye for facts, his
positive mind. Carlyle says: “The man had a certain, instinctive,
ineradicable feeling for reality, and did base himself upon fact so
long as he had any basis.” Napoleon said of himself that he was most of
a slave of all men, obliged to obey a heartless master, the calculation
of circumstances and the nature of things. Coupled with this were a
reliance on facts, rare capacity for divination, and an immense power
of imagination. But finally the latter overran the other qualities. His
successes convinced him that he could do anything; he forgot what his
success had been grounded on, and he began to neglect facts. “It is not
possible” is not French, said he. This is the best of maxims construed
one way,--the worst, if misconstrued. Napoleon believed himself able to
accomplish all things, until his accuracy of judgment was lost in his
refusal to look facts in the face. He ceased to be slave of the nature
of things. He deserted belief in facts for belief in his destiny.
Finally facts became for him not what they were, but what he wished
them to be. He refused credit to what did not suit his theory of how
things ought to turn.
Napoleon had what rarely coexists,--an equally clear head on the map
and in the field. On the map he was able in both theory and practice.
His theories are text-books; his letters are treatises. No higher
praise can be spoken than to say that every one of Napoleon’s fourteen
campaigns was, in a military sense, properly planned.
Napoleon showed the value of masses in strategy as well as tactics. In
former times the worth of troops was of greater value than numbers.
To-day worth of itself is less essential than it was. Napoleon founded
his calculations on the equality of thousands. It is he who collated
all that was done by the other great captains, clothed it in a dress
fit for our own days, and taught the modern world how to make war in
perfect form.
Strategy will always remain the same art. Its uses are to-day varied
by railroads, telegraphs, arms of precision. What was not allowable
in the Napoleonic era can be undertaken now with safety. But all this
has only modified, it has not changed strategy. The tendency of modern
armies is toward better organization. Ramrod discipline is giving
way to dependence on the individuality of officers and men, and to
instruction in doing what at the moment is the most expedient thing.
But every great soldier will be great hereafter from the same causes
which have made all captains what they were; in conducting war he
will be governed by the same intellectual and moral strength which
they exhibited, and will do, as they always did, what befits the time,
unfettered by rules and maxims, but with a broad comprehension of their
true value.
Napoleon is so close to this generation that he sometimes appears to us
gigantic beyond all others. He certainly moulded into shape the method
in use to-day, which the Prussians have carried forward to its highest
development by scrupulous preparation in every department, personal
service, and the teaching of individuals to act with intelligent
independence. That Napoleon was always intellectually the equal, and,
in the first part of his career in the moral forces, the equal of any
of the captains, cannot be denied. But we must remember that because
Napoleon wrought in our own times we can the better appreciate what he
did, while our more meagre knowledge of the others makes it impossible
to see as clearly the manner in which, to accomplish their great deeds,
they must have patterned their means to the work to be done. “The most
important qualities of an army leader,” says Jomini, “will always be
a great character or constitutional courage, which leads to great
determinations; _sang froid_ or bodily courage which conquers danger;
learning appears in third line, but it will be a strong help.”
Napoleon exhibited these qualities in full measure up to 1808, and
comes close to being, at his best, the greatest of the captains. He
failed to exhibit the moral power in as great measure thereafter. It
was not years, for Cæsar and Frederick were older when they showed
these same qualities in the highest degree. That Napoleon lost activity
and decisiveness, and thereby forfeited success, is no reproach. No
man can keep his faculties beyond a certain period. He lacked that
equipoise which enables a man to stand success. He did not last as
the others lasted; and proved that only so long as a man retains the
highest grade of character can he remain a great captain. At the same
time it is but fair to repeat that the conditions under which Napoleon
worked gradually became more difficult; that the allies learned from
him as the Romans did from Hannibal, and made fewer mistakes as the
years went on; that he was not always able to retain about him the most
efficient of his marshals; that he commanded vastly larger armies than
the other captains. His task was larger accordingly.
Napoleon’s strategy shows a magnificence in conception, a boldness in
execution, and a completeness and homogeneity not shown by any other
leader. The other captains can only stand beside him because they
builded so that he might add; they invented so that he might improve.
But while Napoleon reached a height beyond the others, they did not
show the decrease of genius which he showed.
Too little time is left to draw a satisfactory comparison between
Napoleon and his peers in arms. In Frederick we recognize a man of
higher standard than Napoleon reached. Not merely because Frederick
was, of all the captains, the only one who, with vastly smaller
forces, attacked troops equal to his own and defeated them right and
left,--in other words, because he was typical tactician, the typical
fighter,--but because he was steadfast in victory and defeat alike;
because he was so truly a king to his people as well as a soldier;
because he so truly merged his own self in the good of Prussia.
Napoleon flared like a comet. Frederick burned like a planet or a fixed
star,--less brilliant, less startling, but ever constant. Frederick at
the close of his life was the same great man. Napoleon had burned out
his lamp. Frederick never waned. Years or infirmity never changed his
force or determination, or limited his energies. Moreover, Frederick,
like Hannibal, was greater in disaster than in success. Napoleon
succumbed to disaster. Frederick and Hannibal alone held themselves
against overwhelming civilized armies. They were stronger, more able,
more determined, more to be feared the more misfortune crowded upon
them. We instinctively couple Napoleon’s genius with his greatest
success; we couple Hannibal’s or Frederick’s with their direst
disasters. Alexander and Gustavus never looked real disaster in the
face, as Frederick before Leuthen, or Hannibal after the Metaurus.
Nor indeed did Cæsar. But Cæsar opposed wonderful countenance to
threatening calamity.
Looking at Napoleon and Gustavus, it is perhaps impossible to compare
them. Gustavus was immeasurably above all the others in purity of
character, and their equal in force and intellect. To him we owe the
revival of intellectual war, lost for seventeen centuries; and on
what he did Frederick and Napoleon builded. Napoleon is nearer akin
to Cæsar. Perhaps, take them all in all, as soldiers, statesmen,
law-givers, Cæsar and Napoleon are the two greatest men. But they
sink below the rest in their motives and aspirations. Neither ever
lost sight of self; while Alexander’s ambition was not only to conquer
the East, but to extend Greek civilization; the motive of Hannibal
and Frederick was patriotic, and that of Gustavus love of country
and religion. Three of the captains were kings from the start. Their
ambition was naturally impersonal. Of the other three, Hannibal alone
worked from purely unselfish motives.
Nor can we compare Napoleon with Hannibal. In his successes Napoleon is
equally brilliant, more titanic; in his failures he falls so far below
the level of this great pattern of patient, never-yielding resistance
to adversity as to be lost. To Alexander fighting semi-civilized
armies, Napoleon can only be likened in his Egyptian campaigns, and in
this he in no sense rises to the height of the Macedonian. Napoleon’s
genius was most apparent on the familiar fields of Europe.
In intellectual grasp, all six great captains stand side by side.
In enthusiastic activity and in all the qualities which compel good
fortune, Alexander stands clearly at the head. No one but Frederick has
perhaps so brilliant a string of tactical jewels as Hannibal, while
in a persistent unswerving struggle of many years to coerce success
against the constantly blackening frowns of Fortune, Hannibal stands
alone and incomparable. Cæsar was a giant in conception and execution
alike, and stands apart in having taught himself in middle life how to
wage war, and then waging in it a fashion equalled only by the other
five. Gustavus will always rank, not only as the man who rescued
intellectual war from oblivion, but as the most splendid character, in
nobility of purpose and intelligence of method, which the annals of
the world have to show. Frederick is not only the Battle Captain who
never blenched at numbers, but truly the Last of the Kings,--king and
priest, in the history of mankind. Napoleon carries us to the highest
plane of genius and power and success, and then declines. We begin by
feeling that here is indeed the greatest of the captains, and we end by
recognizing that he has not acted out the part. No doubt, taking him in
his many-sidedness, Cæsar is the greatest character in history. It may
not unfairly be claimed that Napoleon follows next, especially in that
he preserved for Europe many germs of the liberty which was born of the
blood of the Revolution. Cæsar was the most useful man of antiquity;
Napoleon comes near to being the most useful man of modern times. But
neither Cæsar nor Napoleon appeal to us as do splendid, open-hearted
Alexander; patient, intrepid, ever-constant Hannibal; the Christian
hero, Gustavus; and daring, obstinate, royal Frederick.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.
Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.
Page 85: “He went to school as Cæsar” was originally printed as “He
went to school to Cæsar.”