Napoleon’s Commercial War with Great Britain
(1807)
From the terms of the secret understanding between Napoleon and
Alexander at Tilsit, it is obvious that the former had made up his mind
to stand or fall in a last desperate encounter with Great Britain.
Secure in her island home, that Power alone had been successful in
thwarting Napoleon. Her ships and her money were constant menaces to
the accomplishment of his over-lordship of the Continent. England’s
wooden walls barricaded the principal harbours; by her gold she largely
helped to provide the sinews of war which enabled her allies to resist
the oppressor. To make war on the sea, to drive it home to the coasts
of the enemy, was not possible in the shattered condition of the French
marine.
How then was her downfall to be brought about? Before his war with
Prussia, Napoleon had taken a preliminary step by compelling Frederick
William III. to forbid British vessels the use of the ports of his
Kingdom and of Hanover. On the 21st November 1806 he augmented his plan
by the stringent regulations of the Berlin Decree, so called because
it was issued from that city. His powerful rival was to be cut off
from all further intercourse with Europe. No letters were to pass, all
commerce was to cease, every British subject in France or any country
allied to her, or occupied by French troops, was liable to be declared
a prisoner of war.
In theory the United Kingdom was in a state of blockade. By excluding
her goods, the sale of which amounted to an enormous sum every year,
from the countries of his allies and those directly under his control,
Napoleon hoped that she would be forced to give up the unequal contest.
Great Britain had retaliated speedily and effectually upon Prussia by
seizing several hundred of her ships then lying in British harbours, by
blockading her coasts, and by declaring war. She met the Berlin Decree
by turning the tables on France, proclaiming France and her allies to
be in a state of blockade, and providing that any ship which had not
set out from, or touched at, a British harbour should be considered a
lawful prize. Napoleon retorted by his Milan Decree of the 7th December
1807, whereby ships that had issued from or touched at British ports
were put at the mercy of the French privateers which scoured the seas;
“all ships going to or coming from any harbour in Great Britain or her
colonies, or any country occupied by British troops, should be made a
prize.”
The banning of British goods and the fostering of home manufactures
were the main planks of the great Continental System. Started with the
ostensible purpose of ruining Great Britain, it contributed largely
to Napoleon’s downfall. In order to make Europe self-contained it was
necessary to add conquest to conquest, and an interminable war does
not contribute to happiness or make for prosperity. Eventually the
French themselves lost their zest for strife, and the real meaning of
nationality began to make itself felt in countries whose inhabitants
groaned under the intolerable burden of a foreign task-master. The
System, which Bourrienne calls “an act of tyranny and madness” which
was “worthy only of the dark and barbarous ages,” was applied to
France, Italy, Switzerland, Holland, Austria, Russia, Prussia, the
Rhenish Confederation, Denmark, Spain and Portugal. If you glance at
the map of Europe you will see that there were few States to which the
Napoleonic rule in some way or other did not apply. The people who
benefited chiefly by this cutting off of England were the smugglers,
who plied a magnificent trade both on sea and land. Thousands of
persons were engaged in the business of contraband, conveying goods
into French territories and assisting the sending of Continental
productions to Great Britain. The cost of many articles went up to an
extravagant figure. For instance, in France cotton stockings ranged
from six shillings to seven shillings per pair; sugar varied from five
shillings to six shillings per pound, while the same quantity of coffee
sold at from ten shillings to eleven shillings. When we compare the
last commodity with the price which obtained in England the difference
is astounding. In 1812 coffee could be purchased in Liverpool for
one-fifteenth of the price paid in Paris.
“Take especial care,” the Emperor wrote to Junot, “that the ladies
of your establishment use Swiss tea. It is as good as that of China.
Coffee made from chicory is not at all inferior to that of Arabia. Let
them make use of these substitutes in their drawing-rooms, instead of
amusing themselves with talking politics like Madame de Staël. Let
them take care, also, that no part of their dress is made of English
merchandise. If the wives of my chief officers do not set the example,
whom can I expect to follow it? It is a contest of life or death
between France and England. I must look for the most cordial support in
all those by whom I am surrounded.”
Napoleon’s tariff reform, instead of materially benefiting the
manufacturers, tended to decrease the consumption of raw materials,
because they could not be obtained. When uniforms were required for
the French troops in the Eylau campaign they had to be purchased in
England! Gradually the barriers began to break down, and by the sale
of licenses for the bringing in of hitherto forbidden goods with the
proviso that French manufactured goods must be taken in exchange,
Napoleon replenished his war chests preparatory to the next campaign.
It was the Czar’s abandonment of the Continental System which led
to the Emperor’s disastrous Russian campaign. After that mammoth
catastrophe, the whole scheme gradually fell to pieces, but not before
all concerned, including Great Britain, had suffered very considerably.
On the Emperor’s return to Paris from Tilsit in July 1807, he gave his
attention for a short time to home affairs. He had been away for ten
months, and the keenest enthusiasm for him was shown on all sides. The
Great Nation was indeed worthy of the name which had been given to the
French long before Napoleon and his armies had proved their right to
it, and his subjects shared in the glamour of victory if not in the
spoil. They furnished him with troops, were the props which supported
his throne, and if they gave their sons to be victims of war they did
not show on festive occasions that they regarded this as aught but a
cruel necessity. The French love glory above everything, and to have
a son serving with the eagles was a matter of pride to every true
Frenchman.
Chancellor Pasquier attended the _Te Deum_ to celebrate Napoleon’s
triumphs which was sung at the cathedral of Notre Dame, and he tells
us in his “Memoirs” that he sat almost opposite the throne; from which
point of vantage he studied the Emperor’s face with quiet persistency.
“He was obviously pleased with the religious sanction,” the judge
relates, “which, in the eyes of the people, consecrated his glory and
omnipotence; he set a price on it, all the greater from the fact that
up to the time of his coming it had been absolutely denied to all the
works of the Revolution, and that it distinguished him from all that
had preceded him.
“I am of opinion,” adds the same authority, “that at no moment of his
career did he enjoy more completely, or at least with more apparent
security, the favours of fortune. Generally, in the midst of his
greatest successes, he affected an anxious air, as if he wished it to
be understood that his great designs were not yet accomplished, and
that people ought not to think that there remained nothing more to do.
The observation which I here record has been repeatedly made by those
who have come into close contact with him, and who never found him less
approachable than at times when it was reasonable to suppose that some
most fortunate happening would open his soul to the sentiments of a
more expansive good nature.
“Generally speaking, it was better for one having a favour to ask of
him to approach him in his moments of worry, rather than on the days
of his most brilliant successes. His character did not err on the
generous side. I think I see him still, as he was on that day, dressed
in his State costume, which, though a little theatrical, was noble and
fine. His features, always calm and serious, recalled the cameos which
represent the Roman Emperors. He was small; still his whole person, in
this imposing ceremony, was in harmony with the part he was playing. A
sword glittering with precious stones was at his side, and the famous
diamond called the _Régent_ formed its pommel. Its brilliancy did not
let us forget that this sword was the sharpest and most victorious that
the world had seen since those of Alexander and Cæsar. I remember that
M. Beugnot, who sat by me, gave utterance to this thought. Both of us
were then far from dreaming that less than seven years would suffice to
break it.”
The following is an instance in support of Pasquier’s statement
regarding favours. When the Emperor was deeply engrossed in the
Austrian campaign of 1809, one of his servants, named Fischer, went
out of his mind. His master refused to fill his post, and paid the
poor fellow, who had to be put in an asylum, his full salary of 12,000
francs a year until the end of 1812, when Napoleon gave him an annual
pension of 6000 francs. Such kindness on the part of the man who might
well be pardoned for forgetting or overlooking some claim, real or
fancied, on his good-will was not rare but common.
Napoleon soon settled down to work, forsaking the hubbub of war for the
quietness of the study. He established the University of France, which
included every school both large and small, the primary object being
to train the children in patriotism. In a word, he sought to dominate
the mind. “There will never be fixity in politics,” the Emperor
averred, “if there is not a teaching body with fixed principles. As
long as people do not from their infancy learn whether they ought to
be republicans or monarchists, Catholics or sceptics, the State will
never form a nation: it will rest on unsafe and shifting foundations,
always exposed to changes and disorders.” The first effort of the
Council of the University was to compile the “Imperial Catechism,” one
of the articles of the Napoleonic faith being that “Christians owe to
the princes who govern them, and we in particular owe to Napoleon I.,
our Emperor, love, respect, obedience, fidelity, military service, and
the taxes levied for the preservation and defence of the Empire and of
his throne. We also owe him fervent prayers for his safety and for the
spiritual and temporal prosperity of the State.”
The founder took the greatest possible interest in the work of the
University, delighting to pay surprise visits to the schools. On one
occasion he was somewhat nonplussed by a girl of whom he had asked the
question: “How many needlesful of thread does it take to make a shirt?”
“Sire,” she replied, “I should need but one, if I could have that
sufficiently long.” The Emperor gave the witty scholar a gold chain as
a reward.
It was not fated, however, that the arts of peace should for long
occupy first place in the attention either of Napoleon or his people,
and soon the country was again engrossed in rumours of war. British
agents had not been asleep on the Continent, indeed, on the 15th July
1807, less than a week after the signature of peace between France and
Prussia, Jackson confided to his “Diary” that he had “been positively
assured that Bonaparte has sent eventual orders to Denmark to shut
the Sound against us.” A secret article of the Tilsit treaty was to
the effect that should Sweden refuse to close her ports to England
and to declare war against her, Denmark should be compelled to fight
the former. This was to take effect if the negotiations for peace
between Great Britain and Russia failed, but recent research shows
that Canning, our Foreign Minister, was not correctly informed on
this matter, and believed that the arrangement was to take effect
immediately. England determined not to be forestalled, and proposed
that Denmark should hand over her fleet until a general peace was
proclaimed. The Prince Royal positively refused to entertain the
proposition. As a land expedition was contemplated by Great Britain
thousands of peasants were enlisted to defend Copenhagen, the garrison
there consisting of some 4000 troops ill-provided with artillery. An
army of 27,000 strong under Lord Cathcart sailed from Yarmouth in a
fleet commanded by Admiral Gambier and disembarked on the morning of
the 16th August some ten miles north of the Danish Capital. Batteries
were erected, but little actual progress was made until Arthur
Wellesley, who had recently returned from India, attacked a corps of
4000 of the militia at Kioge, 900 of whom were killed or wounded, and
1500 taken prisoners. Jackson’s description of them is anything but
picturesque. “The men are on board prison ships,” he writes, “and
miserable wretches they are, fit for nothing but following the plough.
They wear red and green striped woollen jackets, and wooden _sabots_.
Their long lank hair hangs over their shoulders, and gives to their
rugged features a wild expression. The knowing ones say that after
the first fire they threw away their arms, hoping, without them, to
escape the pursuit of our troops. In fact, the _battle_ was not a very
glorious one, but this you will keep for yourself.... The Danes have
not yet been put to any severe trial; but they show symptoms of a
resolute spirit, and seem determined to fight it out with us. They have
already burnt their suburbs and destroyed every house that was likely
to afford shelter to our people.”
The bombardment of the capital began on the 2nd September, 1807, and
ended on the 5th, when the British took possession of the citadel and
arsenals. The Danish fleet was surrounded and convoyed to England the
following month. Jackson thus describes the contest, beginning with the
preliminary passage from Landscrona to the fleet off Copenhagen, which
occupied two hours and a half.
“It was nearly dark when we sailed out of the harbour; and in about
half an hour afterwards we saw a great many rockets in the air,
succeeded by shells on either side. The wind was so violent that we
heard nothing until we were actually in the midst of the fleet, though
we saw everything distinctly. Several shells fell in our direction,
and so frightened our boatmen, that they repeatedly urged us to turn
back. This, of course, we would not hear of; and at last we succeeded
in getting alongside the flag-ship, where we found the Admiral and my
brother in the stern gallery looking at the conflagration--for the
city was on fire in three places. I never saw, nor can well conceive,
a more awful, yet magnificent spectacle. It was the beginning of the
bombardment _in forma_. We saw and heard it going on until daylight,
as we lay in our cots; and as the work of destruction proceeded, I
cannot describe to you the appalling effect it had on me. Our cabin was
illuminated with an intensely red glow, then suddenly wrapped in deep
gloom, as the flames rose and fell, while the vessel quivered and every
plank in her was shaken by the loud reverberation of the cannon. Alas!
poor Danes! I could not but feel for them.
“Lord Cathcart told me the next morning that he had thrown two thousand
shells into the town, besides the fire from our gun-boats and the
famous catamaran rockets. And this sort of work was to begin again at
night....
“In the afternoon the firing began again with greater fury than ever,
and for two or three hours there was a tremendous blaze. The wind was
high; the flames spread rapidly, and towards night vividly illumined
the horizon, so that at the distance of five miles from the city we
could see each other on the quarter-deck as if it had been broad
daylight, and into the city in the same manner; the intervening ships
forming very picturesque objects.
“... Ere I left, the fire had increased to a prodigious height, the
principal church was in flames, looking like a pyramid of fire, and
the last I saw and heard of the ill-fated city was the falling-in of
the steeple with a tremendous crash, and the distant loud hurrahs it
occasioned along our line.
“I own that my heart ached as I thought of the many scenes of horror
that must inevitably take place in the midst of all this--and soon
there would be but a heap of ruins instead of a city to take.”
Few people were surprised when Denmark definitely allied herself to
France and declared war against Great Britain, as did Russia, after
some show of negotiations, in November. In the following spring war
was declared upon Sweden by the Czar without any just cause. Finland
was overrun by his troops, but the resistance of the brave inhabitants
led to an Act of Guarantee whereby the Czar promised to uphold the old
laws. Still eager to share in the dismemberment of the Turkish Empire,
Alexander clung to the Danubian provinces of Moldavia and Wallachia
which were to have been restored to the Sultan by the terms of the
Treaty of Tilsit, and Napoleon, on his part, continued to keep Prussia
full of French soldiers. Thus both parties were unfaithful to their
most solemn promises, but this did not preclude a joint expedition to
India to be undertaken by France, Russia, and Austria from being mooted.
Napoleon now took occasion to visit Italy, with the usual results.
Etruria, whose king was a grandson of Charles IV. of Spain, became a
department of France, the young monarch being promised a province in
Portugal with the title of King of Northern Lusitania, and the Papal
States were filled with French troops and shortly afterwards absorbed
in the kingdom of Italy.