MORE PALADINS
WHEN the Marshalate was inaugurated, the first list afforded many
opportunities for dissatisfaction, both among those included and those
excluded.
Men like Macdonald and St. Cyr, of high reputation and undoubted
talents, found themselves ignored for political reasons, while giants of
the Republican armies like Masséna found that Napoleon’s family feeling
had given comparatively unknown men like Murat seniority over them.
Masséna’s curt reply to congratulations on his new appointment was “Yes,
one of fourteen,” and it must indeed have been galling to him to have
Bessières, Moncey and other nonentities raised to a rank equal to his
own.
For in 1804 Masséna towered in achievement head and shoulders above all
other French soldiers, with the exception of Napoleon. He was of Italian
extraction (many people said Jewish-Italian, and hinted that Masséna was
a euphonized version of Manasseh), and he had served fourteen years in
Louis XVI.’s regiment of Italian mercenaries. Quitting the army, he had
plunged into the various shady employments of the Côte d’Azur. Smuggling
by land and by sea, coast trading, wine-dealing, fruit-selling, he tried
his hand at them all, mainly successfully.
But with the revolution came his chance. In two years he was general of
division, and he actually had under his orders at Toulon a certain
Napoleon Bonaparte. For two campaigns Masséna was the life and soul of
the army of the Riviera; Dumerbion, Schérer, and even Moreau turned to
him for counsel. Then suddenly Barras sent Napoleon as
commander-in-chief in 1796. It is perhaps the greatest tribute to
Napoleon’s personality that as a young man of twenty-six he was able to
compel obedience from a crowd of generals, many years his senior both in
age and experience. Masséna yielded place to him grudgingly, but
Napoleon found a golden salve for his injured amour-propre. The campaign
of Italy laid the foundations of the enormous fortune which Masséna
later built up. Every general pillaged and peculated right and left in
those two memorable years. Napoleon himself was moderate; his fortune at
the end of 1797 only amounted to about two hundred thousand pounds
sterling; Masséna and Augereau acquired about half a million each.
But if they could steal, these men could also fight. Masséna was the
supreme master of tactics, and it was his division which at that time
was given the most difficult tasks. Battle followed battle, Montenotte,
Mondovi, Lodi, Lonato, Castiglione, Mantua, Arcola, Rivoli, until at
last Austria succumbed; and by that time, what with gold and glory, the
generals of the army of Italy were Napoleon’s slaves.
Napoleon had served another purpose, too, in enriching Masséna, for his
wealth kept him quiet while Napoleon was in Egypt. In 1798 the Directory
made a curious blunder. Their army of Rome, maddened by the peculations
of generals and commissaries, which left the men half starved and in
rags, broke out into mutiny. The man who was sent to quell them was
Masséna! The mutiny naturally redoubled in intensity, and Masséna was
compelled to give up his command. But at once more congenial work was
given him. Another coalition had declared war upon France, and the
Archduke Charles in Germany and Suvaroff in Italy were gaining success
after success. Masséna was sent to command in Switzerland, the last
buttress of France. Upon him depended all the hopes of the Republic, and
well he justified the Republic’s confidence. He clung on desperately,
holding back immensely superior numbers. At last the Aulic Council at
Vienna blundered more badly than usual, and Masséna grasped at the
opportunity, as if it had been a moneybag. He flung himself upon
Korsakoff at Zürich, and practically destroyed his army. Suvaroff,
marching over the St. Gotthard, only escaped the same fate by a
desperate march along the wildest paths of Switzerland. France was saved
in the same hour as Napoleon seized the reins of the Government.
By varied cajolery Napoleon next prevailed upon Masséna to take command
of the army of Italy, and to hold back the Austrian army while he
himself organized the army of reserve. Napoleon had assured Masséna that
the army of Italy was in good condition, and that supplies and
reinforcements would be sent him in abundance, but as soon as Masséna
arrived he found how little trust could be placed in the First Consul’s
word. The men were starving and dispirited, and they were attacked by
vastly superior forces. Somehow Masséna held them together, but he was
forced back into Genoa and closely besieged. For the troops there was
some sort of food, hair-powder and cocoa mainly, but for the inhabitants
there was—_nothing_. For nine weeks Masséna held out. The troops died
in hundreds by the sword, by disease, by starvation; the inhabitants
died in thousands, and their bodies littered the streets. The Austrian
prisoners who were taken starved to death in the hulks in the harbour.
No wonder that Masséna said that after the siege he had not one hair
left which was not white on his whole body.
At last surrender was necessary. Napoleon had promised him prompt
relief, but the relief never came. Day by day Masséna had listened for
the thunder of his guns in the near-by Apennines, but it had never
reached his ears. The capitulation was signed, and the French marched
out. But while Masséna had been clinging to Genoa, Napoleon’s army was
swinging over the Alps. Ten days after the surrender of Genoa, Marengo
gave Italy once more to the French.
To Masséna, covered with glory, Napoleon gave the command of the army of
Italy on his own return to Paris; but the arrangement did not long
endure. Within two months Masséna’s avarice had got the better of him,
and he was removed from his command and placed upon half-pay on account
of his sharp practice.
This retirement endured for four years, but in the Austerlitz campaign
Masséna received the command-in-chief in Italy. If he accomplished
little here, at least he prevented the enemy from achieving any success,
and after Austerlitz and the treaty of Presburg he was sent to conquer
Naples for Joseph Bonaparte. The campaign was a mere military promenade,
but it ended, as did so many of Masséna’s commands, in his compulsory
resignation on account of his illicit money-making. On this occasion
Napoleon improved on his previous practice, and confiscated over a
hundred thousand pounds which Masséna had accumulated in a Livornese
bank.
Once again Napoleon summoned Masséna to his aid in 1807, and at Pultusk
and Friedland Masséna divided the laurels with Lannes and Ney. But it
was the Wagram campaign which brought him the greatest glory, as it did
also to Davout. At Eckmühl Masséna performed the turning movement which
gained the victory after Davout’s holding attack. At Essling it was
Masséna who held the reeling French line together until darkness brought
relief. At Wagram Masséna, crippled just before by a fall from his
horse, led his corps in a coach drawn by white horses, the mark for all
the enemy’s guns. Small wonder was it that the end of the campaign found
Masséna both Duke of Rivoli and Prince of Essling, with a pension of
twenty thousand pounds a year in addition to his pay, his perquisites
and his enormous savings.
But this was the zenith of Masséna’s fame; it was to reach its nadir
immediately afterwards. Masséna had lived hard all his life; he had
spared himself no more than he had spared his men, and in addition he
had at intervals indulged in unbridled debauchery. By 1810 Masséna was
an old, worn-out, satiated man, although he was only fifty-five years of
age. All he wished to do was to retire and live in peace, but Napoleon
was at his wits’ end to find someone who could be trusted in Spain.
Masséna found the command thrust upon him, and he was forced to accept.
Then followed the blundering campaign of Torres Vedras. Blunders in the
choice of route, blunders in the attack at Busaco, blunders at Torres
Vedras, and finally, in 1811, the crowning blunder of Fuentes d’Onoro.
These blunders might have been foreseen; Masséna was old and feeble; he
knew nothing of Spain; he took women with him on the campaign; his corps
commanders were Ney, Junot and Reynier, all men of hot temper and
inferior talent; while opposed to him was the inflexible Wellington with
his incomparable English infantry.
In March, 1811, Masséna was removed from his command. He crept miserably
away, to bury his shame in the retirement of the Marseilles command.
From that time forward his one aim was to enjoy his riches in comfort;
he made submission to the Bourbons, and then reverted to Napoleon in
1815; after Waterloo he went back to the Bourbons.
But though he retained his wealth and his rank, there was yet further
trouble awaiting him. His treason in 1815 had not been sufficiently
extensive in that age of treason for him to suffer any penalty, and
Louis XVIII., like the most humane Mikado, determined to make the
punishment fit the crime as far as possible by appointing him one of
Ney’s judges. Masséna must have had a guilty conscience, and the horror
of having to condemn his former colleague for the same crime as his own
weighed heavily on him. At the same time the atrocious murder of his
friend and fellow Marshal Brune during the White Terror at Avignon was a
further blow. Tortured by remorse, hated by all parties alike, worn out
with a life lived at high pressure, Masséna died in 1817 at the age of
fifty-nine.
Masséna and Davout were the two foremost officers of Napoleon; the great
contrast between them is due to the fact that one of them was guided by
a strict sense of duty, the other merely by avarice.
There was another Marshal who is frequently considered to be at least
the equal of these two, and the fact that he is so considered is
peculiarly illustrative of his whole career, for Soult was for ever
thrusting himself into the limelight and being elbowed out of it. Like
many of the other Marshals, he rose from the ranks of the old regular
army, and he first attained high rank by attracting Masséna’s attention.
He was second-in-command to that Marshal during the siege of Genoa,
until he was taken prisoner during a sortie. He received his Marshalate
in 1804, at a time when he was commanding a corps of the army at
Boulogne, and he continued in command during the historic march to the
Danube. At Austerlitz he was in command of the centre, and all his life
he considered that the battle was won mainly by himself. He ignored
Davout’s splendid defence of the lake defiles, Murat’s wonderful
handling of the cavalry reserve, Lannes’ management of the left, and
Bernadotte’s assault of the centre; he, and he alone, he said, was
responsible for Austerlitz. He was greatly disappointed when he was
created Duke of Dalmatia in 1808; he claimed that the only fitting title
for him was Duke of Austerlitz. Napoleon ignored his pleadings.
Soult fought at Jena, Eylau and Friedland, 1806-1807, and was then sent
to Spain. To him was entrusted the pursuit of Sir John Moore to Corunna,
and it cannot be denied that he failed in his mission. Moore was never
seriously engaged throughout the retreat, and when finally Soult caught
him up at Corunna he was easily beaten back, despite his superior
numbers. But for all that Soult had the impertinence to claim a victory.
To him next was assigned the conquest of Portugal; all he conquered was
the northern extremity; he was two months late in his arrival at Oporto,
and once there he settled down and would not budge. The reason for this
delay soon emerged. Soult was scheming for the crown of Portugal. But
the plan evaporated promptly when Wellington unexpectedly passed the
Douro, surprised Soult in his cantonments and bundled him out of
Portugal, compelling him to abandon his guns, his train, his treasure,
his sick—everything, in fact, except what was on his men’s backs.
Had Wellington ever suffered a similar reverse he would probably have
received the same treatment as did Admiral Byng fifty years before, but
Napoleon was lenient and retained Soult in command. The new task
assigned to him was the conquest of Andalusia, and against the wretched
Spanish armies he achieved some remarkable successes. Seville and
Granada fell before him; and he quietly proceeded to establish himself
firmly and make his fortune. He looted cathedrals and treasuries, and
sent the proceeds home. He ignored the Government of Madrid, and
conducted himself like an independent and absolute monarch. Cadiz defied
him, and all the efforts of his subordinate, Victor, Duke of Belluno,
could not gain the place for him.
Masséna, held up at Torres Vedras by Wellington, with his army starving
and disorganized, appealed to Soult for help. It was grudgingly
given—too late. By the time Soult was ready to move upon the Tagus
Masséna had already fallen back, utterly ruined. Soult was eventually
stirred to action by Beresford’s siege of Badajoz, but he met with an
unexpected reverse at Albuera (which, characteristically, he claimed as
a victory), and after that he was content to hold on to Andalusia until
at last Wellington’s victory at Salamanca and capture of Madrid
compelled him to abandon his conquests. So exasperated was Joseph
Bonaparte, King of Spain, by Soult’s independence that he demanded
Soult’s recall, threatening abdication in the event of refusal. Napoleon
complied, and during the beginning of 1813 Soult commanded the Guard in
Germany, but after Vittoria he was sent back to try and keep the English
out of France.
It was during this campaign of the Pyrenees that Soult’s talents were
exhibited at their best, but even here he failed. His manœuvres,
concentrations and determined counter-attacks are models of technical
skill, but the fire, resolution and insight of greater generals are
sadly lacking. He certainly delayed Wellington, and achieved a fair
success considering the means at his disposal, but he was beaten back
across the Pyrenees, back from Bayonne, from Orthez, and at last from
Toulouse. Napoleon’s abdication found Soult’s army rapidly
disintegrating, and it is certain that the Duke of Dalmatia could not
have continued the struggle much longer.
In 1814 and 1815 Soult conducted himself as might have been expected of
a self-seeker. He submitted to the Bourbons, but went over to Napoleon
as soon as the Emperor was on the throne after the descent from Elba.
Napoleon appointed him chief of staff during the Waterloo campaign. The
choice was unfortunate in the event, but it is difficult to see what
other course the Emperor could have pursued. Of the five Marshals fit
for service of whom Napoleon could dispose, Davout had to be left to
hold down Paris, and Suchet had to guard the south. Ney was obviously
useless for staff work, and Grouchy had neither the brains nor the
prestige for a position of such vital responsibility. So Soult took
charge of the staff, and the staff work was badly done. Blunders were
committed even in the orders given for the crossing of the Sambre, and
subsequently delay followed delay and error followed error in fatal
sequence. Ney, d’Erlon and Grouchy were in turn misled by ambiguous
orders. The responsibility for the failure of Waterloo is undoubtedly
partly Soult’s.
Naturally enough, Soult was proscribed after the second Restoration, but
after four years’ exile, he managed to ingratiate himself with the
Bourbons, and climbed steadily back to power by the aid of hypocrisy and
tuft-hunting. The July revolution brought him further power, and he was
one of the main props of Louis Philippe’s authority. In fact the citizen
king thought so much of him that he made Soult Marshal-General of
France, thus placing him on a level with Saxe and Turenne. He lived to
the venerable age of eighty-one, and died at last rich and honoured
above all the other soldiers of France. His reputation grew steadily
after the wars were over, partly on account of Napier’s liking for him,
partly on account of the natural tendency displayed by the English to
over-value a beaten antagonist, and partly on account of his own deft
powers of self-advertisement. His career is a striking example of the
success of cold, self-contained mediocrity.
There is only one other Marshal of Napoleon for whom any claims to
greatness have been made, and that is Suchet, Duke of Albufera. One of
the most interesting points about his career is that he had no military
training whatever before the Revolution. As a young man of twenty-three
years of age he enlisted; at twenty-five he was a colonel. He made
friends with the young Bonaparte at the siege of Toulon, and later
fought in the Italian campaign of 1796, gaining command of a brigade in
1797.
With the rank of general of division he served Masséna and Joubert, and
while Masséna held Genoa in 1800 Suchet guarded the frontiers of France
itself on the Var.
But for eight years longer Suchet had to be content with the rank of a
mere divisional commander, leading a division of Lannes’ corps at
Austerlitz, Jena and Friedland. At last the wholesale toppling of
reputations in the Spanish war brought him his chance, and he received
command of the army of Aragon. To say the least, at first his position
was rather awkward. His army was composed of raw troops, shaken by the
horrors of the siege of Saragossa; the Spaniards were in arms against
him on all sides; he was compelled by the neglect of the Paris
Government to live on the country; while to crown it all he was expected
to obey not only the orders from Paris but also the frequently
contradictory ones from Joseph at Madrid.
We must give Suchet credit for coming through the ordeal exceedingly
well. After an “unfortunate incident” at Alcaniz, Suchet got his men
well in hand, and, by victories at Maria and Belchite, he cleared Aragon
of the enemy and proceeded to subdue Catalonia. His way was barred in
every direction by fortresses, but, thanks partly to the folly of the
Spaniards and partly to his own resolution and determination, he
conquered the country inch by inch. Somewhat cynically, in his memoirs,
he tells us that at the storming of Lerida he took care to drive as many
women and children as possible into the citadel, and then by a vigorous
bombardment he so daunted the garrison that they surrendered. To what
total the casualties among the women and children amounted before the
surrender he does not say.
Catalonia in his power, Suchet moved on to the reduction of Valencia.
His previous campaigns repeated themselves. Battle followed siege, and
siege followed battle, until at last Suchet ruled all Aragon, Catalonia
and Valencia. Soult had already conquered Andalusia, so that all Spain
might, by straining the truth a little, be said to be in the hands of
the French. For his achievements Suchet received a Marshal’s bâton, the
title of Duke of Albufera and half a million francs.
However, he was not fated to retain his conquests long. Wellington’s
victory at Vittoria in 1813 brought about Suchet’s evacuation of
Valencia, just as Salamanca had caused Soult to abandon Andalusia.
The same year an Anglo-Sicilian expedition under Murray landed in
Catalonia, and once more set aflame the embers of the guerilla warfare.
Suchet himself, in action against unwontedly disciplined enemies, met
with a serious reverse at Castalla, but Murray was too much of a
nincompoop to follow up his success. In the end Murray once more took
ship, and Suchet still held Catalonia and most of Aragon. At this time
he had a great opportunity to turn against Wellington, who had his hands
full with Soult’s offensive in the Pyrenees, but he let the chance go.
Immediately afterwards Lord William Bentinck, who had succeeded to Sir
John Murray, kept him busy until the fall of the Empire. Soult’s and
Napoleon’s demands had deprived Suchet of his best troops, and he did
all that could be expected of him with the few men left to him.
In 1814 Suchet submitted to the Bourbons; in 1815 he betrayed them.
During the Hundred Days he was ordered to secure the south-east with a
few thousand men, and though unsuccessful, he accomplished much. After
the Restoration the Bourbons refused to re-employ him.
Napoleon is credited with saying that Suchet was the best of his
Marshals after Masséna’s decay, and also that with two men like Suchet
he would have held Spain against all endeavours. If Napoleon really did
say this (and O’Meara’s testimony is untrustworthy) Napoleon was wrong.
The only time Suchet encountered English troops he was beaten; he was
just as selfish and self-seeking as the other Marshals in Spain; he
refused help whenever he could; and his success was due in a great part
to the blunders of his opponents. Every French general and Marshal
(Dupont excepted) succeeded against Spaniards; it was only against the
English that they failed. Napoleon might just as well have said that
Bessières was his best Marshal, because Bessières beat the Spaniards at
Rio Seco while Masséna failed at Torres Vedras.
The one Marshal of Napoleon’s whose career is more interesting in its
pre-Revolutionary stages than under Napoleon is Augereau, Duke of
Castiglione. He was a gigantic, swaggering fellow with a nose rendered
brilliant by alcohol, devil-may-care and reckless, the ideal soldier of
fortune. For he was a soldier of fortune. As a young man in the army of
Louis XVI. he had killed one of his own officers on parade, and fled
from the country with the police at his heels. In exile, he wandered
through the East, joined the Russian army, took part in the storming of
Ismail under Suvaroff, and then deserted. Next he joined the Prussian
army, and served in the Prussian Guard, but once more he deserted.
Desertion from the Prussian army was a difficult matter, but Augereau
achieved it by banding together all the malcontents and fighting his way
to the frontier.
On the birth of the Dauphin (later the unhappy Louis XVII.) an amnesty
was proclaimed in France, and Augereau took advantage of it to rejoin
his old regiment, but once more tired of continuous service and got
himself sent off to Naples as an instructor to the Neapolitan troops.
From Naples he eloped with a Greek heiress to Lisbon, and in Lisbon he
annoyed the Inquisition, so that he was put in prison.
But still his luck held. He escaped from the clutches of the Holy
Office, and arrived with his wife in France just after the execution of
Louis XVI. His varied military experience naturally obtained him high
command in the Republican army; he fought in La Vendée and in the
Pyrenees, and then found himself a divisional general under Napoleon in
1796. In this campaign his reckless courage won him fame; he was one of
the heroes of the bridge of Lodi, and at Castiglione it was his dashing
leadership which gained the day.
Augereau received the command of the army of the Rhine after Bonaparte’s
departure for Egypt, but, suspected of intriguing for the supreme power,
he was dismissed from his command, and, two years later, he saw the
prize fall into Napoleon’s hands. Napoleon bought Augereau’s support
with huge gifts of money and, in 1804, a Marshal’s bâton.
During the Austerlitz campaign Augereau was only entrusted with the
minor operation of subduing Tyrol, but he fought well at Jena in 1806.
At Eylau came disaster. His corps, sent forward against the Russians in
the teeth of a blinding snowstorm, lost direction, and was torn to
pieces by a furious cannonade. Three-quarters of his men died; he
himself, already gravely ill, was badly wounded.
Napoleon was furious. Augereau was sent home in disgrace, and what
remained of the 7th Corps was broken up and distributed round the rest
of the army. This was practically the end of Augereau’s military life;
he held command for a brief space during the war in Spain, but he failed
again at Gerona and was superseded. By now he was well over fifty years
of age, and dissipation had sapped his vitality. In 1814 and 1815
Augereau received commands of minor importance, his chief duty being the
training of recruits, but his heart was not in his work. He lived long
enough to betray Napoleon twice and the Bourbons once, and then died in
1816.
These brief biographies are sufficient to illustrate what kind of men
the Marshals and their master were. With only a few exceptions they were
all traitors, from Napoleon, plotting against the constitution he had
sworn to uphold, to Ney, deserting his King. They were greedy, they were
unscrupulous, they were selfish. Many of them were men of second-rate
talent. Two attributes they had in common—extreme personal bravery and
enormous experience in war. Soult is the only Marshal about whom we find
any hints of cowardice (and there seems to be no foundation for these
hints), while Suchet, Mortier and Brune were the only ones who had not
served in the pre-Revolutionary army. None of the Marshals was a
heaven-sent genius, and only one, Davout, combined loyalty and honesty
with both military and administrative ability.
There is, of course, another side to the picture. If treachery can be
excused at all, then there were good excuses for the treachery of every
one of the guilty ones; if their talents appear mediocre to us now, it
cannot be denied that they were nevertheless highly successful for a
long period; if they were self-seeking, they were always ready, despite
their riches and titles, to risk their lives in action at the head of
their men.
The extravagant praise often meted out collectively to Napoleon’s
subordinates is undeserved, but somehow one can hardly avoid coming to
the conclusion that a nation might well consider itself fortunate could
it muster a similar array of men in high places.
[Illustration: AUGEREAU DUC DE CASTIGLIONE]