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.
[2] In reality about 140,000.
[3] First day of the battle of Aspern.
“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.”
The Archduchess was in her eighteenth year, Napoleon in his
forty-first. She was not without personal charms, although Pasquier,
who keenly sympathised with Josephine, scarcely does her justice.
“Her face,” he says, “was her weakest point; but her figure was fine,
although somewhat stiff. Her personality was attractive, and she had
very pretty feet and hands.” The marriage was celebrated by proxy at
Vienna on the 11th March 1810.
That Marie Louise grew to love the man of whom she once wrote that “the
very sight of this creature would be the worst of all my sufferings”
is very improbable, and in the end she played him false. She certainly
showed no wish to join him at Elba, and shortly after his death married
the dissolute Adam Albert, Graf von Neipperg, her third husband being
the Comte de Bombelles. The Emperor believed in her faithfulness to
the last. “I desire,” he said to his physician, Antommarchi, “that you
preserve my heart in spirits of wine, and that you carry it to Parma to
my dear Marie Louise. Please tell her that I loved her tenderly, and
that I have not ceased to love her.”