THE GREATEST PALADIN
IN the course of his military career Napoleon found he needed three
different kinds of subordinate officers. First, he wanted men of supreme
courage and vigour in action, whose other talents need not be more than
mediocre. These he could keep under his own hand until the decisive
moment arrived, and could then let loose, confident that they would
complete the work which his strategic achievements had begun. Of this
type, Ney, Augereau and Oudinot were examples.
Then he needed a few generals who combined initiative and resource along
with their tactical talents. On these he could rely to execute minor
strategical movements, knowing that their tactical skill would help them
to sustain any difficulties into which they might fall until the
perfection of his strategical arrangements helped them out. The supreme
example of this type was Lannes the irreplaceable.
Besides these, Napoleon needed one or two men who could combine all the
qualities necessary to a good general, so that he could entrust to them
the supreme command of the minor theatres of war. To be a good general,
a man must possess strategical skill, tactical skill and administrative
ability, as well as the personality to ensure that his ideas are carried
out. But to satisfy Napoleon’s jealousy, such a general in the Imperial
army had to have another quality—he had to be a man who would never
allow his thoughts to wander in the direction of obtaining the throne
for himself. If Napoleon could have found three men with all these
qualifications he could very possibly have maintained his Empire, since
they would have assured to him the safety of Italy, Spain and Poland.
But there was only one of these Admirable Crichtons available, and that
was Davout. Under Davout Poland and North Germany were held strongly for
the Empire. In Italy Eugène de Beauharnais, by the aid of powerful
common-sense, high ideals and capable subordinates, was fairly
successful, but in Spain there was nothing but shame and disaster.
Masséna failed badly; so did Marmont; Joseph Bonaparte and his
Major-General, Jourdan, were worse than useless; Soult and Suchet made a
fair show, but could not rise superior to the handicap of circumstances.
Another Davout might have saved Spain for the Empire, but there was only
one Davout.
Davout is the ideal type of the man who combines ability with a sense of
duty. In many ways he reminds one of Wellington. He was the scion of an
old noble and military family of Burgundy, and was born a year later
than Napoleon. He passed through the military college, and received his
commission in 1789, just before the Revolution. The loss of many
officers through emigration gave him rapid promotion. He was a colonel
in 1791 (at the age of twenty-one!) and a brigadier-general two years
later. Already he had attracted attention by the stern discipline he
maintained (discipline was hardly the most noticeable feature of the
Revolutionary armies) and Napoleon, realizing his ability, included him
in his army after Campo Formo. He went to Egypt as one of Desaix’
brigadiers, and returned with the same general in 1800. After Marengo
and the treaty of Luneville, Napoleon gave him employment suitable to
his talents, and appointed him to the command of the 3rd Corps of the
Army of the Ocean. A marshalate followed in 1804. As commander of the
3rd Corps Davout began to build up the wonderful reputation which he
later enjoyed. There was no other force in the Grand Army which could
rival the 3rd Corps for discipline, for marching capacity, for fighting
capacity, and for perfection of equipment.
The 3rd Corps was to Napoleon what the Numidians were to Hannibal, the
Tenth Legion to Cæsar, the archers to Edward III., the Light Division to
Wellington—they were the men who could be trusted most nearly to
achieve the impossible.
At Austerlitz Davout was called upon to sustain the attack of
practically the whole of the Austro-Russian army, and he and the 3rd
Corps clung doggedly on to the difficult country round the lakes for
hour after hour while Napoleon developed his attack on the heights of
Pratzen. Before Austerlitz Napoleon had declared that an ordinary
victory would be of no use to him; on the morning of the battle he
called upon his men for a “_coup de tonnerre_.” But for Davout
Austerlitz would have been at best an “ordinary victory.”
The next campaign, that of Jena, was marked by the failure of Napoleon’s
intelligence arrangements and by confusion in his strategical
arrangements. But it was also marked by the most sweeping success
Napoleon ever gained. He himself with most of the Grand Army fought and
routed half the Prussian army at Jena. On the same day Davout, with a
single corps, fought and routed the other half at Auerstädt.
Single-handed Davout sustained the attack of an army of twice his
strength; he beat off Blücher and the furious Prussian squadrons; he
counter-attacked without hesitation; he called for efforts of which few
troops could have been capable, and finally he flung the enemy back in
utter disorder.
The battle was more than a mere tactical success. Without Davout’s
victory the pursuit after Jena would never have become historic. In fact
Napoleon refrained from pursuit until he had heard from Davout. Well he
might, indeed. Had Davout been beaten, Napoleon must have swung aside to
face the victors, who would have been menacing his flank; Bernadotte’s
corps would have been isolated and in serious peril, and there would
have been no chance of close pursuit of Hohenlohe’s force. This would
have had time to rally; the stern Prussian discipline would have knitted
it once more together; it might have made a good defence of the line of
the Elbe; the Russians might have arrived in time to save Berlin; there
would perhaps have been no Friedland, and no Tilsit.
The stout little bald-pated man who commanded the 3rd Corps changed the
face of Europe at Auerstädt.
Davout brought his corps through blizzards and across marshes to save
the situation at Eylau; it was his opportune arrival and bold counsel
which saved Napoleon from a grave tactical reverse, with probable
serious consequences.
After Friedland Napoleon needed, as has already been said, a man of iron
to hold down the north while he attended to the south. He made the only
possible choice in Davout.
It would seem curious to us nowadays to hear that a general had made his
fortune while in command; what a storm of rage would be aroused if
anyone were to suggest that a modern English general had acquired three
or four hundred thousand pounds while commanding in France! But
apparently under the First Republic and First Empire it was the usual
practice for all officers of high rank to plunder for their own hands,
and to make enormous fortunes out of perquisites. Davout was the only
exception, but Napoleon saw that he did not suffer on account of his
singular disinterestedness, and heaped wealth upon him.
Another peculiar distinction which he gave him was the title of Duke of
Auerstädt. When, about the beginning of 1808, Napoleon first began to
bestow titles of honour, as distinct from titles of sovereignty, he
acted upon a very definite plan. No one was to receive a title which did
not enhance the glory of the Emperor. The less famous Marshals received
ducal fiefs in Italy; Macdonald was made Duke of Tarentum, Mortier Duke
of Treviso, Bessières Duke of Istria. With the title the Marshals
received the fief with some show of sovereignty, but they were
allowed—encouraged, in fact—to sell their sovereignties to the Empire
as soon as received.
The more famous Marshals took their titles from the battles in which
they had taken part; Lannes was made Duke of Montebello, Ney Duke of
Elchingen. Lefebvre, whose reputation for republicanism Napoleon
repeatedly employed to hallmark his own actions, was created Duke of
Dantzic. Soult strove to obtain for himself the title of Duke of
Austerlitz, but Napoleon put the idea impatiently aside. He wished to
reserve the glory of Austerlitz entirely for himself, and Soult had to
be content with the title of Duke of Dalmatia, which set him in the
lower class of Marshal. But Napoleon’s jealousy went further than this.
He did not want to give anyone a title derived from a battle which had
not been fought under his own direction. He forced the title of Duke of
Rivoli upon Masséna, although that Marshal had to his credit the far
greater achievements of Zürich and Genoa. When it was suggested to him
that it would be a kindly action to make the unhappy, neglected Jourdan
Duke of Fleurus, he replied “Never! I might as well make him King of
France at once.”
To this rule Napoleon only made two exceptions. One was Kellermann, whom
he made Duke of Valmy, but by now Kellermann was too old (he was
seventy-three) to be any danger, while Valmy was a landmark in French
history. The other was Davout.
The Duke of Auerstädt had before him in 1807 a task which would give his
sternness and devotion to duty free play. He had command of at least a
hundred thousand men. For the support of these he received not a sou
from the French Government—everything, pay, provisions and equipment,
had to be wrung from the wretched countries in which they were in
garrison. From Prussia Davout had to grind the enormous indemnity which
Napoleon had imposed. In Westphalia he had to see that Jerome Bonaparte
did not make too big a fool of himself. He had to keep a sharp eye upon
the movements of Austria. Besides all this, he had to govern the infant
Grand Duchy of Warsaw, where he had simultaneously to assure the Poles
that an independent kingdom of Poland would shortly be set up, and the
Russians and Austrians that an independent kingdom of Poland would never
be set up.
And yet he succeeded. Throughout northern central Europe he built
himself up a reputation as the justest brute in Christendom. His army
was well fed and well equipped, but he did his best to make the burden
as light as possible. He saw that Napoleon’s outrageous demands of
Prussia were complied with, but at the same time he was not
unnecessarily harsh. He sent Polish regiments to fight in Spain (at
Poland’s expense) while he kept French troops about Warsaw (also at
Poland’s expense), but he managed to persuade the Poles that such a
proceeding was just. He carried out Napoleon’s orders both in the spirit
and to the letter, but after that he made enormous and successful
efforts to minimize the damage done. What would a second Davout have
done in Spain?
Early in 1809 his proceedings were interrupted. Austria, undaunted by
the conference of Erfurt, and inspirited by the success of the
Spaniards, was on the move again. Davout had to concentrate his enormous
force on the upper Danube as rapidly as possible, with a weather eye
lifting in case of a further effort by Prussia, and, once there, he had
to weld his troops once more into divisions and army corps. From all
quarters other troops were being rushed to the scene of action, and in
command of them all was the hesitating Berthier. Napoleon, with his
hands full with the Spanish muddle, tried to direct operations from
Paris as long as possible. The natural result was that when the Emperor
arrived at headquarters he found his army divided and in an apparently
hopeless position, with the skilful and resolute Archduke Charles
thrusting enormous forces between the dislocated wings. Only a supreme
effort could save the situation, but the situation was saved. Napoleon
gathered together Lannes, Vandamme and Masséna, and hurled them forward.
He called upon Davout to achieve the impossible, and make a flank march
of thirty miles while in actual contact with superior forces. The
impossible was achieved. Davout brought his men safely through, to gain
along with the other forces the shattering victory of Eckmühl.
Davout’s performance is practically unique in military history. A year
or two later the disastrous possibilities of a flank march were
thoroughly demonstrated at Salamanca, where Marmont, who prided himself
upon his tactical ability, was utterly routed in an hour’s fighting by
Wellington. Marmont had good troops, and his army was as nearly as
possible equal to Wellington’s, but this did not save him. Davout’s
force was partly composed of new troops, and of disaffected allies,
while his opponents were nearly twice his strength. Only the most
consummate daring combined with the maximum of vigilance and skill could
have saved Davout, but Davout was saved. The title of Prince of Eckmühl
which Napoleon bestowed upon him was well deserved.
The next outstanding incident in the campaign was Napoleon’s first
defeat in the open field. He dared just a little too much in attempting
to cross a broad river in the face of a powerful opponent, with the
result that he was beaten back with frightful loss. Lannes was mortally
wounded; the bridges by which the army had crossed were broken before
Davout’s turn came to pass over.
For a while the Empire tottered. A prompt offensive on the part of the
Archduke Charles might have overthrown it, but his army, too, had been
hard hit, and he delayed. Napoleon’s frantic exertions turned the scale
in the end. He claimed Aspern as a victory, and so skilfully did he make
his claim that for a time he was believed throughout Europe. Masséna was
created Prince of Essling, to conceal the defeat—in much the same way
as the Earl of Chatham might have been made Duke of Walcheren in the
same year. The army of Italy, under Eugène, Macdonald and Marmont
outmarched their opponents, and arrived in time to enable the Emperor to
cast the die once more.
He passed the Danube a little lower down than at his previous attempt,
turned the Austrian position, and fought the battle of Wagram on
practically equal terms. It was evenly contested, too. Masséna on the
left was beaten back until the flank was nearly turned; Bernadotte’s
Saxon corps was repulsed in terrible disorder, and the French reserves
were drawn in at an alarming rate. A hundred French guns, massed in the
centre, battered the Austrian line, and Macdonald led his corps, formed
in a gigantic square, against the gap. But he suffered terribly from the
Austrian artillery, and his men left the ranks in thousands. In the end,
it was Davout on the right who won the battle for the French, for he
turned the Austrian left and began to roll up their line; the Austrians
fell sullenly back. It was a defeat, not a disaster, but the Austrians
sued for peace immediately afterwards.
After Wagram Davout went back to his old post in the north. Month by
month the position grew more and more difficult, as the topsy-turvy
finances of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw verged nearer to bankruptcy, and
the spirit of nationality grew in Prussia. But there was never a hint of
open rebellion as long as the bald-headed little man was at the head of
affairs; the Tugendbund might plot in secret; English agents might stir
up trouble at every opportunity; Blücher might fume and Alexander might
plan, but Davout’s grip was never loosened.
At last, after three years, came the Russian campaign. Half a million
Frenchmen and allies came thronging forward to the Niemen. A hundred
thousand of these men were under Davout’s command, and, with Napoleon’s
new supply arrangements breaking down at once, they had to plunder in
order to live. Prussia was left behind secretly raging, and the doomed
army pressed forward over the barren plains of Lithuania. Everything
seemed to go wrong. The half-trained levies could not perform the feats
of marching which had gained such marvellous successes at Ulm and after
Jena; the Marshals wrangled among themselves; while Napoleon, angered by
the failure of his plans, dealt out reprimands right and left until the
irritation became almost unbearable. Jerome Bonaparte, King of
Westphalia, was placed under Davout’s command in consequence of his
blundering, but he could not endure such a state of affairs, threw up
his command, and went back to the softer delights of his palace at
Cassel.
With Moscow almost in sight, the Russians delivered battle. Napoleon’s
powers were fast waning, and he paid no heed to Davout’s urgent pleading
that he should be allowed to turn their left. At Wagram he had
exclaimed, “You will see Davout gain another battle for me,” but at
Borodino he had forgotten this. The battle resolved itself into a series
of horribly costly frontal assaults, and the victors lost as heavily as
their opponents. There followed five weeks’ useless delay in Moscow;
Napoleon waited for Alexander to plead for terms, and Alexander refused
to consider the matter as long as a Frenchman remained on Russian soil.
No course was open to the French except retreat, and retreat they did.
There is no need to describe in detail that exhausted famished army
crawling across the Russian plains; sufficient to say that of the half
million men who had advanced in 1812 hardly thirty thousand remained to
rally on the Oder in 1813.
Napoleon left them as soon as hope was lost. He tore across Europe from
Smorgoni to Paris in the depth of winter with hardly a stop, bent on
making a last effort to save his Empire. Murat was left in command, but
Murat flinched from his task. Three weeks of command were enough for
him, and then he said he was ill. Ill or not, he travelled from Posen to
Naples in a fortnight, in January weather.
Somehow Davout and Ney and Eugène de Beauharnais held the wretched Grand
Army together until Napoleon’s return, and then Davout was sent off to
hold down Northern Germany once more. It was a task which might have
daunted anybody. Prussia was ablaze with hatred of Napoleon, and
Prussian troops were swarming forward to the attack. The citizens of the
Hanseatic towns, ruined by the Continental system, and bankrupted by
Napoleon’s requisitions, were in a state of sullen rebellion. Davout’s
troops consisted merely of invalids, cripples and raw levies, while the
loyalty of most of them was to be doubted. Bernadotte, once a Marshal of
France, was leading his Swedes against his old countrymen. Benningsen
with a Russian army advanced to the attack. But Davout’s grip was upon
Hamburg, and it was a grip which nothing could break. He held on through
the summer of 1813, while the armistice of Pleissvitz gave hope of
relief. He held on through the autumn, while Austria joined the ranks of
Napoleon’s enemies. The victory of Dresden was followed by the defeats
of the Katzbach, of Kulm, of Gross Beeren, of Dennewitz, and finally by
the complete disaster of Leipzig, but Davout still held on to Hamburg.
Provisions began to fail, the populace broke into insurrection; it was
known that the Allies were over the Rhine, that Napoleon was carrying on
a hopeless struggle in France itself. Marmont, Mortier, Ney, in turn
deserted, but Davout still held on to Hamburg. It was not until the end
of April, when the Bourbons were once more on the throne of France, and
a Bourbon general was sent to take command, that he relaxed his grip.
Half his army had died during the horrors of the siege, enormous offers
had been made to him for his submission, the famished inhabitants had
implored him to surrender, but he had allowed nothing to interfere with
his fulfilment of his duty.
The Bourbons tried to have him shot for this on his return, but such a
feat was beyond their power. Thus he was not asked, nor did he ask to
take the oath of allegiance.
On Napoleon’s return from Elba Davout was the only Marshal who could
join him without staining his honour. Marmont stayed by the Bourbons,
for fear of the consequences of his surrender of Paris; Macdonald and
St. Cyr, Oudinot and Victor, held to their oaths. Ney flagrantly broke
his word to serve his old Emperor once more; Masséna, as was to be
expected, tried to keep a middle course. Davout was the one man free
from the Bourbon taint, and in consequence Napoleon had to leave him
behind as Governor of Paris and Minister of War to hold France quiet
during the Waterloo campaign.
Could it have been otherwise, Waterloo might well have been a victory
for France. We can picture Davout in command of the left wing in the
advance over the Sambre. In place of Ney’s bungled staff work and
haphazard arrangements, there would have been a prompt and orderly
movement. The columns would have been kept closed up, instead of
straggling for miles. Davout’s accurate, lengthy reports would have kept
Napoleon clearly informed as to the situation. A prompt attack on the
morning of the 16th of June at Quatre Bras would have cleared the air
effectively, and d’Erlon, instead of wasting his strength in marching
and counter-marching, could have been employed to much better advantage
at Ligny. Ney’s position at Quatre Bras was, as a matter of fact, very
like Davout’s at Auerstädt eleven years before. Davout succeeded at
Auerstädt; Ney failed at Quatre Bras. With Davout in command of the left
wing in the Waterloo campaign, the history of the world might have been
different.
At Waterloo, when the cavalry was dashing itself to pieces on the
English squares, Napoleon is said to have cried, “Oh, for one hour of
Murat.” Murat by that time would not have made an atom of difference.
The destiny of France had been decided two days before at Quatre Bras.
One hour of Davout would have been worth fifty hours of Murat.
After Waterloo had been lost and won, for a few days it was the Prince
of Eckmühl who ruled France. He pulled the army together, and thereby
saved Napoleon’s life, for he managed to stave off the Prussian army
while Napoleon fled to Rochefort. But with the return of the Bourbons he
sank into oblivion, and died of pneumonia eight years afterwards almost
unnoticed.
Such was the end of the one great officer of Napoleon’s whose honour had
never been sullied, who had always done his duty, and who had never
failed. His enemies hated him as well as feared him; his friends feared
him as well as trusted him. His one aim in life was to do his duty; in
this aim he stood almost alone in his age, and in its achievement he
stood quite alone.
[Illustration: EUGÈNE DE BEAUHARNAIS
(VICEROY OF ITALY PRINCE DE VENISE)]