CAMPAIGN OF 1805—CAMPAIGN OF 1806–1807—PEACE OF TILSIT
Austria looked with jealousy on this increase of power, and particularly
on the change in the institutions of her neighbors. In assuming control
of the Italian and Germanic States, Napoleon gave the people his code
and his methods; personal liberty, equality before the law, religious
toleration, took the place of the unjust and narrow feudal institutions.
These new ideas were quite as hateful to Austria as the disturbance in
the balance of power, and more dangerous to her system. Russia and
Prussia felt the same suspicion of Napoleon as Austria did. All three
powers were constantly incited to action against France by England, who
offered unlimited gold if they would but combine with her. In the summer
of 1805 Austria joined England and Russia in a coalition against France.
Prussia was not yet willing to commit herself.
The great army which for so many months had been gathering around
Boulogne, preparing for the descent on England, waited anxiously for the
arrival of the French fleet to cover its passage. But the fleet did not
come; and, though hoping until the last that his plan would still be
carried out, Napoleon quietly and swiftly made ready to transfer the
army of England into the Grand Army, and to turn its march against his
continental enemies.
Never was his great war rule, “Time is everything,” more thoroughly
carried out. “Austria will employ fine phrases in order to gain time,”
he wrote Talleyrand, “and to prevent me accomplishing anything this
year; ... and in April I shall find one hundred thousand Russians in
Poland, fed by England, twenty thousand English at Malta, and fifteen
thousand Russians at Corfu. I should then be in a critical position. My
mind is made up.” His orders flew from Boulogne to Paris, to the German
States, to Italy, to his generals, to his naval commanders. By the 28th
of August the whole army had moved. A month later it had crossed the
Rhine, and Napoleon was at its head.
The force which he commanded was in every way an extraordinary one.
Marmont’s enthusiastic description was in no way an exaggeration:
“This army, the most beautiful that was ever seen, was less
redoubtable from the number of its soldiers than from their nature.
Almost all of them had carried on war and had won victories. There
still existed among them something of the enthusiasm and exaltation
of the Revolutionary campaigns; but this enthusiasm was
systematized. From the supreme chief down—the chiefs of the army
corps, the division commanders, the common officers and
soldiers—everybody was hardened to war. The eighteen months in
splendid camps had produced a training, an _ensemble_, which has
never existed since to the same degree, and a boundless confidence.
This army was probably the best and the most redoubtable that modern
times have seen.”
The force responded to the imperious genius of its commander with a
beautiful precision which amazes and dazzles one who follows its march.
So perfectly had all been arranged, so exactly did every corps and
officer respond, that nine days after the passage of the Rhine, the army
was in Bavaria, several marches in the rear of the enemy. The weather
was terrible, but nothing checked them. The emperor himself set the
example. Day and night he was on horseback in the midst of his troops;
once for a week he did not take off his boots. When they lagged, or the
enemy harassed them, he would gather each regiment into a circle,
explain to it the position of the enemy, the imminence of a great
battle, and his confidence in his troops. These harangues sometimes took
place in driving snowstorms, the soldiers standing up to their knees in
icy slush. By October 13th, such was the extraordinary march they had
made, the emperor was able to issue this address to the army:
“Soldiers, a month ago we were encamped on the shores of the ocean,
opposite England, when an impious league forced us to fly to the
Rhine. Not a fortnight ago that river was passed; and the Alps, the
Neckar, the Danube, and the Lech, the celebrated barriers of
Germany, have not for a minute delayed our march.... The enemy,
deceived by our manœuvres and the rapidity of our movements, is
entirely turned.... But for the army before you, we should be in
London to-day, have avenged six centuries of insult, and have
liberated the sea.
“Remember to-morrow that you are fighting against the allies of
England.
“NAPOLEON.”
Four days after this address came the capitulation of Ulm—a “new Caudine
Forks,” as Marmont called it. It was, as Napoleon said, a victory won by
legs, instead of by arms. The great fatigue and the forced marches which
the army had undergone had gained them sixty thousand prisoners, one
hundred and twenty guns, ninety colors, more than thirty generals, at a
cost of but fifteen hundred men, two-thirds of them but slightly
wounded.
But there was no rest for the army. Before the middle of November it had
so surrounded Vienna that the emperor and his court had fled to Brünn,
seventy or eighty miles north of Vienna, to meet the Russians, who,
under Alexander I., were coming from Berlin. Thither Napoleon followed
them, but the Austrians retreated eastward, joining the Russians at
Olmütz. The combined force of the allies was now some ninety thousand
men. They had a strong reserve, and it looked as if the Prussian army
was about to join them. Napoleon at Brünn had only some seventy or
eighty thousand men, and was in the heart of the enemy’s country.
Alexander, flattered by his aides, and confident that he was able to
defeat the French, resolved to leave his strong position at Olmütz and
seek battle with Napoleon.
[Illustration:
NAPOLEON, 1805.
Engraved in 1812 by Massard, after Bouillon.]
The position the French occupied can be understood if one draws a rough
diagram of a right-angled triangle, Brünn being at the right angle
formed by two roads, one running south to Vienna, by which Napoleon had
come, and the other running eastward to Olmütz. The hypotenuse of this
angle, running from northeast to southwest, is formed by Napoleon’s
army.
When the allies decided to leave Olmütz their plan was to march
southwestward, in face of Napoleon’s line, get between him and Vienna,
and thus cut off what they supposed was his base of supplies (in this
they were mistaken, for Napoleon had, unknown to them, changed his base
from Vienna to Bohemia), separate him from his Italian army, and drive
him, routed, into Bohemia.
On the 27th of November the allies advanced, and their first encounter
with a small French vanguard was successful. It gave them confidence,
and they continued their march on the 28th, 29th, and 30th, gradually
extending a long line facing westward and parallel with Napoleon’s line.
The French emperor, while this movement was going on, was rapidly
calling up his reserves and strengthening his position. By the first day
of December Napoleon saw clearly what the allies intended to do, and had
formed his plan. The events of that day confirmed his ideas. By nine
o’clock in the evening he was so certain of the plan of the coming
battle that he rode the length of his line, explaining to his troops the
tactics of the allies, and what he himself proposed to do.
Napoleon’s appearance before the troops, his confident assurance of
victory, called out a brilliant demonstration from the army. The
divisions of infantry raised bundles of blazing straw on the ends of
long poles, giving him an illumination as imposing as it was novel. It
was a happy thought, for the day was the anniversary of his coronation.
The emperor remained in bivouac all night. At four o’clock of the
morning of the 2d of December he was in the saddle. When the gray fog
lifted he saw the enemy’s divisions arranged exactly as he had divined.
Three corps faced his right—the southwest part of the hypotenuse. These
corps had left a splendid position facing his centre, the heights of
Pratzen.
This advance of the enemy had left their centre weak and unprotected,
and had separated the body of the army from its right, facing Napoleon’s
left. The enemy was in exactly the position Napoleon wished for the
attack he had planned.
It was eight o’clock in the morning when the emperor galloped up his
line, proclaiming to the army that the enemy had exposed himself, and
crying out: “Close the campaign with a clap of thunder.” The generals
rode to their positions, and at once the battle opened. Soult, who
commanded the French centre, attacked the allies’ centre so unexpectedly
that it was driven into retreat. The Emperor Alexander and his
headquarters were in this part of the army, and though the young czar
did his best to rouse his forces, it was a hopeless task. The Russian
centre was defeated and the wings divided. At the same time the allies’
left, where the bulk of their army was massed in a marshy country of
which they knew little, was engaged and held in check by Davoust, and
their right was overcome by Lannes, Murat, and Bernadotte. As soon as
the centre and right of the allies had been driven into retreat,
Napoleon concentrated his forces on their left, the strongest part of
his enemy. In a very short time the allies were driven back into the
canals and lakes of the country, and many men and nearly all the
artillery lost. Before night the routed enemy had fallen back to
Austerlitz.
Of all Napoleon’s battles, Austerlitz was the one of which he was the
proudest. It was here that he showed best the “divine side of war.”
The familiar note in which Napoleon announced to his brother Joseph the
result of the battle, is a curious contrast to the oratorical bulletins
which for some days flowed to Paris. His letter is dated Austerlitz,
December 3, 1805:
“After manœuvring for a few days I fought a decisive battle
yesterday. I defeated the combined armies commanded by the Emperors
of Russia and Germany. Their force consisted of eighty thousand
Russians and thirty thousand Austrians. I have made forty thousand
prisoners, taken forty flags, one hundred guns, and all the
standards of the Russian Imperial Guard.... Although I have
bivouacked in the open air for a week, my health is good. This
evening I am in bed in the beautiful castle of Monsieur de Kaunitz,
and have changed my shirt for the first time in eight days.”
The battle of Austerlitz obliged Austria to make peace (the treaty was
signed at Presburg on December 26, 1805), compelled Russia to retire
disabled from the field, transformed the haughty Prussian _ultimatim_
which had just been presented into humble submission, and changed the
rejoicings of England over the magnificent naval victory of Trafalgar
(October 21st) into despair. It even killed Pitt. Napoleon it enabled to
make enormous strides in establishing a kingdom of the West. Naples was
given to Joseph, the Bavarian Republic was made a kingdom for Louis, and
the states between the Lahn, the Rhine, and the Upper Danube were formed
into a league, called the Confederation of the Rhine, and Napoleon was
made Protector.
[Illustration:
1806. BATTLE OF JENA.
After the picture by Meissonier in the collection of Monsieur Edmond
Simon.]
At the beginning of 1806 Napoleon was again in Paris. He had been absent
but three months. Eight months of this year were spent in fruitless
negotiations with England and in an irritating correspondence with
Prussia. The latter country had many grievances against Napoleon, the
sum of them all being that “French politics had been the scourge of
humanity for the last fifteen years,” and that an “insatiable ambition
was still the ruling passion of France.” By the end of September war was
declared, and Napoleon, whose preparations had been conducted secretly,
it being given out that he was going to Compiègne to hunt, suddenly
joined his army.
The first week of October the Grand Army advanced from southern Germany
towards the valley of the Saale. This movement brought them on the
flanks of the Prussians, who were scattered along the upper Saale. The
unexpected appearance of the French army, which was larger and much
better organized than the Prussians, caused the latter to retreat
towards the Elbe. The retreating army was in two divisions; the first
crossing the Saale to Jena, the second falling back towards the Unstrut.
As soon as Napoleon understood these movements he despatched part of his
force under Davoust and Bernadotte to cut off the retreat of the second
Prussian division, while he himself hurried on to Jena to force battle
on the first. The Prussians were encamped at the foot of a height known
as the Landgrafenberg. To command this height was to command the
Prussian forces. By a series of determined and repeated efforts Napoleon
reached the position desired, and by the morning of the 14th of October
had his foes in his power. Advancing from the Landgrafenberg in three
divisions, he turned the Prussian flanks at the same moment that he
attacked their centre. The Prussians never fought better, perhaps, than
at Jena. The movements of their cavalry awakened even Napoleon’s
admiration, but they were surrounded and outnumbered, and the army was
speedily broken into pieces and driven into a retreat.
While Napoleon was fighting at Jena, to the right at Auerstadt, Davoust
was engaging Brunswick and his seventy thousand men with a force of
twenty-seven thousand. In spite of the great difference in numbers the
Prussians were unable to make any impression on the French; and
Brunswick falling, they began to retreat towards Jena, expecting to join
the other division of the army, of whose route they were ignorant. The
result was frightful. The two flying armies suddenly encountered each
other, and, pursued by the French on either side, were driven in
confusion towards the Elbe.
On October 25th the French were at Berlin. Their entry was one of the
great spectacles of the campaign. One particularly interesting incident
was the visit paid to Napoleon by the Protestant and Calvinist French
clergy. There were at that time twelve thousand French refugees in
Berlin, victims of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. They were
received with kindness by Napoleon, who told them they had good right to
protection, and that their privileges and worship should be respected.
Jena brought Napoleon something like one hundred and sixty million
francs in money, an enormous number of prisoners, guns, and standards,
the glory of the entry of Berlin, and a great number of interesting
articles for the Napoleon Museum of Paris, among them the column from
the field of Rosbach, the sword, the ribbon of the black eagle, and the
general’s sash of Frederick the Great, and the flags carried by his
guards during the Seven Years’ War. But it did not secure him peace. The
King of Prussia threw himself into the arms of Russia, and Napoleon
advanced boldly into Poland to meet his enemy.
The Poles welcomed the French with joy. They hoped to find in Napoleon
the liberator of their country, and they poured forth money and soldiers
to reënforce him. “Our entry into Varsovia,” wrote Napoleon, “was a
triumph, and the sentiments that the Poles of all classes show since our
arrival cannot be expressed. Love of country and the national sentiment
are not only entirely conserved in the heart of the people, but it has
been intensified by misfortune. Their first passion, their first desire,
is again to become a nation. The rich come from their _châteaux_,
praying for the reëstablishment of the nation, and offering their
children, their fortunes, and their influence.” Everything was done
during the months the French remained in Poland, to flatter and aid the
army.
The campaign against the Russians was carried on in Old Prussia, to the
southeast of the Gulf of Dantzic. Its first great engagement was the
battle of Eylau on February 8, 1807. This was the closest drawn battle
Napoleon had ever fought. His loss was enormous, and he was saved only
by a hair’s-breadth from giving the enemy the field of battle. After
Eylau the main army went into winter quarters to repair its losses,
while Marshal Lefebvre besieged Dantzic, a siege which military critics
declare to be, after Sebastopol, the most celebrated of modern times.
Dantzic capitulated in May. On June 14th the battle of Friedland was
fought. This battle on the anniversary of Marengo, was won largely by
Napoleon’s taking advantage of a blunder of his opponent. The French and
the Russian armies were on the opposite banks of the Alle. Benningsen,
the Russian commander, was marching towards Königsberg by the eastern
bank. Napoleon was pursuing by the western bank. The French forces,
however, were scattered; and Benningsen, thinking that he could engage
and easily rout a portion of the army by crossing the river at
Friedland, suddenly led his army across to the western bank. Napoleon
utilized this unwise movement with splendid skill. Calling up his
re-enforcements he attacked the enemy solidly. As soon as the Russian
centre was broken, defeat was inevitable, for the retreating army was
driven into the river, and thousands lost. Many were pursued through the
streets of Friedland by the French, and slaughtered there. The battle
was hardly over when Napoleon wrote to Josephine:
[Illustration:
MEETING OF FREDERICK WILLIAM III., KING OF PRUSSIA, NAPOLEON, AND
ALEXANDER I., EMPEROR OF RUSSIA, AT TILSIT. THE FIGURE ON THE LEFT
IS FREDERICK WILLIAM; THAT ON THE RIGHT IS ALEXANDER.
Engraved by Gügel, after a drawing by Wolff. The meeting occurred June
26, 1807, in the pavilion which had been erected for that purpose on
the River Nieman.]
“FRIEDLAND, 15th _June_, 1807.
“MY DEAR: I write you only a few words, for I am very tired. I have
been bivouacking for several days. My children have worthily
celebrated the anniversary of Marengo. The battle of Friedland will
be just as celebrated and as glorious for my people. The whole
Russian army routed, eighty guns captured, thirty thousand men taken
prisoners or killed, with twenty-five generals; the Russian guard
annihilated; it is the worthy sister of Marengo, Austerlitz, and
Jena. The bulletin will tell you the rest. My loss is not large. I
successfully out-manœuvred the enemy.
“NAPOLEON.”
Friedland ended the war. Directly after the battle Napoleon went to
Tilsit, which for the time was made neutral ground, and here he met the
Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia, and the map of Europe was
made over.
The relations between the royal parties seem to have been for the most
part amiable. Napoleon became very fond of Alexander I. at Tilsit. “Were
he a woman I think I should make love to him,” he wrote Josephine once.
Alexander, young and enthusiastic, had a deep admiration for Napoleon’s
genius, and the two became good comrades. The King of Prussia, overcome
by his losses, was a sorrowful figure in their company. It was their
habit at Tilsit to go out every day on horseback, but the king was
awkward, always crowding against Napoleon, beside whom he rode, and
making his two companions wait for him to climb from the saddle when he
returned. Their dinners together were dull, and the emperors, very much
in the style of two careless, fun-loving youths, bored by a solemn
elderly relative, were accustomed after dinner to make excuses to go
home early but later to meet at the apartments of one or the other, and
to talk together until after midnight.
[Illustration:
NAPOLEON RECEIVING QUEEN LOUISE OF PRUSSIA, JULY 6, 1807.
By Gosse. Versailles gallery.]
Just before the negotiation were completed, Queen Louise arrived, and
tried to use her influence with Napoleon to obtain at least Magdeburg.
Napoleon accused the queen to Las Cases of trying to win him at first by
a scene of high tragedy. But when they came to meet at dinner, her
policy was quite another. “The Queen of Prussia dined with me to-day,”
wrote Napoleon to the empress on July 7th. “I had to defend myself
against being obliged to make some further concessions to her
husband; ...” and the next day, “The Queen of Prussia is really
charming; she is full of _coquetterie_ towards me. But do not be
jealous; I am an oilcloth, off which all that runs. It would cost me too
dear to play the _galant_.”
The intercessions of the queen really hurried on the treaty. When she
learned that it had been signed, and her wishes not granted, she was
indignant, wept bitterly, and refused to go to the second dinner to
which Napoleon had invited her. Alexander was obliged to go himself to
decide her. After the dinner, when she withdrew, Napoleon accompanied
her. On the staircase she stopped.
“Can it be,” she said, “that after I have had the happiness of seeing so
near me the man of the age and of history, I am not to have the liberty
and satisfaction of assuring him that he has attached me for life?...”
“Madame, I am to be pitied,” said the emperor gravely. “It is my evil
star.”
By the treaty of Tilsit the map of the continent was transformed.
Prussia lost half her territory. Dantzic was made a free town. Magdeburg
went to France. Hesse-Cassel and the Prussian possessions west of the
Elbe went to form the kingdom of Westphalia. The King of Saxony received
the grand duchy of Warsaw. Finland and the Danubian principalities were
to go to Alexander in exchange for certain Ionian islands and the Gulf
of Cattaro in Dalmatia.
Of far more importance than this change of boundaries was the private
understanding which the emperors came to at Tilsit. They agreed that the
Ottoman Empire was to remain as it was unless they saw fit to change its
boundaries. Russia might occupy the principalities as far as the Danube.
Peace was to be made, if possible, with England, and the two powers were
to work together to bring it about. If they failed, Russia was to force
Sweden to close her ports to Great Britain, and Napoleon was to do the
same in Denmark, Portugal, and the States of the Pope. Nothing was to be
done about Poland by Napoleon.
According to popular belief, the secret treaty of Tilsit included plans
much more startling: the two emperors pledged themselves to drive the
Bourbons from Spain and the Braganzas from Portugal, and to replace them
by Bonapartes; give Russia Turkey in Europe and as much of Asia as she
wanted; end the temporal power of the Pope; place France in Egypt; shut
the English from the Mediterranean; and to undertake several other
equally ambitious enterprises.