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BOOKS: Romping Through Europe
By Henrik Bering
Henrik Bering on The End of the Old Order: Napoleon and Europe 1801-1805 by Frederick W. Kagan
Frederick W. Kagan.
The End of the Old Order: Napoleon and
Europe 1801–1805. Perseus Books. 774 pages.
$40.00
N
apoleon
was not only a great man; he was also a
great pr
man, a self-promoter of the first rank: Throughout his career, he
carefully fashioned the image of himself as the ultimate romantic
hero and man of action, an image that was reinforced by the memoirs
of his closest associates. And after his body was brought back to
France from St. Helena on the oddly named warship La Belle Poule in 1840 and re-interred in brooding majesty at Les Invalides, a regular
Bonaparte cult developed among artists and intellectuals, both in
France and abroad, the effects of which are felt to this day. As a
result, his triumphs are remembered and celebrated, his failures
excused or discreetly forgotten.
Just consider his Egyptian adventure, in which
he landed in Alexandria in 1798 with a force of 30,000 soldiers and led them to the Pyramids, where
“forty centuries were looking down upon them,” as he
put it in his order of the day. What we recall today from this
expedition are the artistic and scientific contributions of the
scientists, archaeologists, and artists he brought along, echoes of
which crop up everywhere in the empire style in the form of
obelisks, pyramids, and sphinxes. And there is Antoine Jean
Gros’s great painting showing the fearless Napoleon visiting
his troops in the plague hospital in Jaffa, a kind of martial
Messiah among the lepers.
In reality, of course, the campaign was a
disaster, with Nelson sinking the French fleet in Abukir Bay
outside Alexandria, leaving the army stranded and its numbers
whittled away by disease and sandstorms. After Napoleon’s
excursion to Syria, where he failed to take the city of Acre
— which was defended by Commodore Sir William Sidney Smith
while Syria’s governor, Djezzar Pasha, sat merrily paying
cash for every severed French head brought to him — Napoleon
had had it. Claiming to be urgently needed elsewhere, he deserted
his troops and hightailed it back to France, leaving his army to
fend for itself.
An exasperated General Jean Baptiste Kleber,
who took over the command, grumbled that he had been left holding
Napoleon’s britches, which were full of merde, and someday he would
“rub Napoleon’s face in it.” Kleber never got to
fulfill his promise, as he was assassinated by an Egyptian in 1800, and the French
finally capitulated the following year.
As for Napoleon’s European campaigns, his
military opponents — Wellington apart — have regularly
been dismissed as a sorry lot, especially Austrian general Karl von
Mack, the loser in the battle of Ulm, who has been depicted by
Habsburg historians, eager to protect the reputation of their
patrons, as certifiably insane. And the Russian commander, prince
Mikhail Illarionovich Kutuzov, comes across as a fat fatalist in
Tolstoy’s War and Peace, nodding off to sleep during war councils, in
keeping with Tolstoy’s theory that history is governed by
huge impenetrable forces, and generals and princes do not really
matter.
Napoleon’s defeats have routinely been
ascribed to the incompetence of others, to bad weather or to
illness, piles, bladder trouble, and indigestion, afflictions which
no mortal can escape. Rod Steiger, in the movie Waterloo, portrays the
emperor’s Maalox moment with spectacular intensity.
The problem with such explanations, according
to historian Frederick Kagan, is that they do not teach us very
much, except that it is a dumb idea to invade Russia and that piles
and stomach upset are a damned nuisance. So this is what Kagan, who
has taught at West Point and is now a resident scholar at the
American Enterprise Institute, sets out to rectify in his mammoth
four-volume undertaking on the Napoleonic wars, of which The End of the Old Order: Napoleon and Europe
1801–1805 is the first
volume.
Citing Clausewitz, whose On War distilled the essence of
Napoleonic warfare, as his guiding light, Kagan’s ambition is
to weave the military, economic, diplomatic, and political strands
of the Napoleonic wars together into a coherent whole. Though
Clausewitz himself emphasized the inseparability between war and
those other areas, as an officer he was mostly concerned with the
military aspects.
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According to Kagan,
it was not a tummy ache that felled Napoleon at Waterloo but rather the coalition that had been formed against him, and it is the theme of coalition-building that has Kagan’s great interest. |
According to Kagan, it was not a tummy ache
that felled Napoleon at Waterloo but rather the coalition that had
been formed against him, and it is the theme of coalition-building
that has Kagan’s great interest: how counties face up to the
threat posed by a Napoleon, the essential undeterrable man. Writes
Kagan: “The real story of the coalitions that fought Napoleon
lies not in their increasing military prowess, but in their growing
skills as a coalition.” Thus, it was the same Gebhard von
Blucher who’d been whupped at Auerstedt in 1806 who came to
Wellington’s aid at Waterloo in 1815. What had changed was that by the time of Waterloo
the rest of Europe had finally gotten its act together.
Thus, Kagan is clearly less besotted than the
Napoleon worshippers and less emotional than Napoleon haters like
Paul Johnson, who in full and splendid John Bull mode in his hugely
entertaining biography tears the man to shreds as a tacky little
runt who cheated at cards, kicked his officers, and swiped the
sword and orders of Freddy the Great when visiting his grave at the
Garrison Church at Potsdam after the battle of Jena.
Kagan proves that it is perfectly possible to
see Napoleon’s flaws and essential nastiness while
acknowledging the brilliance of his mind, with its almost Mozartian
simplicity and elegance. Kagan dispassionately dissects Napoleons
failures as well as his successes — as was indeed
Napoleon’s own method when studying the ancients and
Frederick the Great: “Read and meditate upon the wars of the
greatest captains,” he admonished. “This is the only
means of rightly learning the science of war.”
E
urope
first got to know the name of Napoleon
Bonaparte in Italy in 1796, where the generalship over the French Army of Italy
was his reward for having saved the corrupt Directoire government
from a public insurrection. At first sight, it did not look like
much of a reward. Of the French armies, the Army of Italy was the
trash can, lacking in everything: cannon, horses, funds. But in
keeping with the precepts of Lazare Carnot, the reorganizer and
professionalizer of France’s revolutionary armies, that
“war must pay for war,” Napoleon promised his
“half naked and mistreated” soldiers “honor and
riches” beyond their wildest dreams if they would fight for
France.
His basic approach to war was simple:
“There are in Europe many good generals, but they see too
many things at once. I see only one thing, namely the enemy’s
main body. I try to crush it, confident that secondary matters will
then settle themselves.” Whereupon he proceeded to lick the
Austrians in the battles of Lodi, Arcola, and Rivoli, causing them
to withdraw from Italy. Under the peace treaty of Campo Formio, the
Cisalpine and Ligurian Republics were established under French
influence.
The French squandered most of these gains
during Napoleon’s trip to Egypt, where the Austrians
reconquered with Russian help what they had lost in Italy. Which
meant that Napoleon had to go back and lead an army of 50,000 from Switzerland
across the Alps through the Saint Bernard Pass (where the artist
David immortalized him on fiery horseback rather than on the
sensible mule he was actually riding) to defeat the much greater
Austrian army at Marengo, leading to the peace treaty at Luneville
in 1801,
which shut the Austrians out of northwestern Italy and established
the Rhine as France’s eastern border. A separate peace treaty
was made with Britain in 1801 and ratified the following year in Amiens. On his
return from Italy, Napoleon was made First Consul for life on
August 2, 1802.
Unfortunately, as the rest of Europe was soon
to learn, Napoleon’s treaties were not worth the paper they
were written on. In the period between April 1801 and September 1802, he annexed
Piedmont, re-occupied Switzerland and left his troops in Holland,
and he occupied Naples the following year. He was also actively
seeking to recover France’s overseas empire, which upset the
Brits. Diplomatically, his game was one of trying to split up his
opponents through a combination of threats and bribes.
As an example of Napoleon’s bullying
tactics, Kagan cites two celebrated incidents from early 1803 involving the
British ambassador, Lord Whitworth, whose aristocratic
imperturbability got Napoleon’s goat. At the first meeting,
Napoleon demanded, in a two-hour monologue, that Britain quit
Malta, restrain its press, and chuck out French refugees. The
alternative would be war.
At a diplomatic function in the Tuilleries
shortly thereafter, Napoleon threw a regular fit, according to the
notes of the Russian ambassador reporting the incident back to the
czar. He threatened Whitworth with “throwing black
crepe” over treaties and announced that “he would try
to make a landing in England, and put himself at the head of that
expedition. This would be a war of extermination in which he
expected to have a great deal of success.” By May 1803, Britain and France
were back at war.
Napoleon committed a further gross act of
provocation in March 1804, when he had a troop of cavalry kidnap the Duke of
Enghien, a member of the Bourbon family, whom he suspected of
conspiring against him and who lived on the other side of the
border in the neutral electorate of Baden. (Napoleon was rather
casual when it came to other people’s borders.) After a short
trial before a military tribunal on phony charges, he had the duke
shot at the Chateau de Vincennes, sending shockwaves throughout the
courts of Europe — a deed his wily foreign minister
Talleyrand famously characterized as “worse than a crime. It
was a mistake.”
To top it off, in order to establish a greater
legitimacy and secure the succession in the hope of creating a
dynastic line, in May 1804 he proclaimed himself emperor after a popular
election to which he for good measure had added an extra 500,000 votes in
favor from the army and navy, though they had never been consulted
on the matter. And he made marshals of his generals, forming the
nucleus of a new instant nobility, to be showered with fancy titles
and possessions.
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Alexander wanted a
stable system in Europe, based on international law; he had first hoped that Napoleon could be hemmed in by defensive alliances, but had
reached the conclusion that Napoleon could
not be contained. |
H
ow
to stop this monster? The main
players on the continent were the Russians, the Austrians, and the
Prussians, while the Royal Navy controlled the oceans. Aware of the
failures of the two previous attempts at anti-French coalitions,
the young and idealistic Czar Alexander of Russia took the lead in
the effort to form a new coalition, the so-called third coalition,
which is the main topic of this volume. Alexander wanted a stable
system in Europe, based on international law; he had first hoped
that Napoleon could be hemmed in by defensive alliances but reached
the conclusion that Napoleon could not be contained and therefore
had to be fought and defeated.
Alexander first approached the British. Though
the Brits were Napoleon’s most implacable foes, a number of
obstacles had to be overcome — the British were skeptical of
the czar’s idealism and suspicious of Russian intentions
toward Turkey, while the Russians objected to the British naval
policy of confiscating the cargo of neutral shipping — before
a treaty could be signed. The Brits could be relied upon to provide
financing — Napoleon would forever rail against
“Pitt’s gold” — but at that time, they did
not have an army on the continent. For that, continental allies
were needed. Alexander had first hoped to persuade Prussia’s
King Frederick William iii into joining the game when Napoleon invaded
Hanover. But Prussia was poor and threadbare, its military
leadership ancient and stuck in Frederick the Great’s parade
manual. In fact, so far had military expenses been cut that the
Prussians relied on showing visiting dignitaries their parade
troops, hoping to impress them with military theater. Besides,
Frederick William feared the Austrians and the Russians almost as
much as he feared the French; he was determined to stay neutral.
Alexander then turned to Francis, the emperor
of Austria. Francis’s Austro-Hungarian empire had also seen
better days, and he feared that a mobilization on his part would
invite a French attack. What abruptly changed his mind and brought
the third coalition into being was Napoleon’s decision in 1804 to make Italy a
kingdom and put himself on its throne, leaving the day-to-day
running of the place to his stepson, Eugène Beauharnais. To
Napoleon, this was just a bit of routine housekeeping, but to
Francis it presented a mortal threat to Austria, as it put the
French armies permanently within striking distance of Vienna. With
a heavy heart, he started to mobilize.
At this point Napoleon was up on the Channel
coast at Boulogne with his Army of England, consisting of 200,000 men, busily
preparing for the invasion of Britain, for which an armada of small
boats and barges had been assembled to get the troops across. He
always regarded Britain as his main enemy, and its destruction was
priority one. According to Kagan, the coalition’s
mobilization moves took him by surprise and annoyed him intensely;
he did not want war in that part of Europe just then.
Hence, Napoleon waited to the very end to see
whether his useless admiral, Pierre-Charles de Villeneuve, would
show up in the Channel with his fleet to support his landing in
Britain. But de Villeneuve, whom Napoleon derided as a Jean-foutre (French
for klutz), judged his fleet too vulnerable and failed to arrive.
The book thus dismisses those historians who
claim that the Army of England was just an elaborate ruse, that
Napoleon never intended to invade Britain, that in fact he had
planned the whole time to strike in the middle of Germany. This,
according to Kagan, is the view of those for whom Napoleon is
incapable of miscalculation — a group, incidentally, to which
Napoleon belonged himself. In 1810 he asserted to Count Metternich that “I
would never have been stupid enough to undertake an assault on
England. The army assembled at Boulogne was always an army aimed at
Austria.” But, Kagan cautions, Napoleon on Napoleon should
always be taken with a grain of salt: His invasion set-up was far
too elaborate to be a decoy operation.
While inept at sea, Napoleon certainly knew how
to move on land. His plan was to go to the center of Europe and
clobber the Austrians before the Russians arrived. His great
advantage was that he had a fully trained and equipped army at his
disposal whose skills had been honed to a fine edge over two years.
Leaving a shadow force on the Channel, he renamed his Army of
England “Le Grande Armée” and sent it racing to
Germany, covering 20 to 30 miles a day, fully equipped with drummers placed at
the head, middle, and rear of every brigade column, drumming them
along.
Showing up in unexpected places was very much
the Napoleonic way; as he put it, “Marches are war.”
The army’s movements were masked by a screening force of
light cavalry under the command of his brother-in-law, the
flamboyant gascon Marshal Joachim Murat, who was known for his
courage and his extravagant self-designed uniforms.
As befits a man who has taught at West Point,
Kagan is particularly good on the rather unglamorous topic of
logistics, without which no army will get anywhere. Napoleon was
meticulous in planning his routes, calculating what each would take
in ammunition and horses, and the separate courses his army corps
were going to take; as they had to live off the land, the routes
had to vary. Living off the land enables an army to march fast
without relying on slow carts of food supplies and pre-positioning
of depots. The drawback, of course, is that it upsets the local
populations, especially when you claim to have come to liberate
them from their oppressive rulers.
The Austrians and the Russians had the numbers
in their favor, with some 350,000 men, of whom Austria would provide 235,000 and Russia 115,000. But mere numbers
did not faze a man like Napoleon, whose favorite game was to split
his opponents up, isolate them, and then defeat them in detail
before their overall superiority could be brought to bear.
Napoleon’s Austrian opponent was Baron
Karl von Mack, in charge of an army of 80,000. Mack was a self-made man of huge ambition and
self-confidence who had risen from private all the way to
quartermaster general of the Austrian army. He had promised his
master that he could mobilize in two months, where others claimed
it would take six.
As Kagan says, generals should be self-confident.
But Mack’s was the kind of overconfidence that springs from
insecurity. High-strung and in permanent crisis mode, demanding
instant execution, Mack would issue a blizzard of orders, some of
them contradictory, without checking to see whether they were
implemented.
Above all, according to Kagan, Mack lacked what
Clausewitz calls “coup d’oeil,” an eye for
battle; that is, an ability to read a situation and intervene at
exactly the right moment. Mack had a fondness for complicated
maneuvers, exhausting his officers and troops in futile marches and
counter marches, in contrast to Napoleon, who preferred keeping
things simple, which is always advisable when the bullets start to
fly.
To make matters worse, the Austrians —
who had only met Napoleon as a tactical commander in Italy before
and not at the strategic level — prepared for battle in
Italy, where they had an army of 95,000 men and where they believed Napoleon would
strike again. When he realized that Napoleon was coming right at
him in Germany, Mack should have changed his plan, and fast.
But Mack was surrounded by aristocrats who
would have been only too pleased to see him fall flat on his face;
under the circumstances, he could not admit to having made a
mistake and therefore did very little to modify his war plan. As a
result, his army was encircled in the battle of Ulm, and on October
17, 1805, he
surrendered without having put up a proper fight; he was
subsequently sentenced to death by an Austrian court martial but
was imprisoned instead and eventually pardoned.
H
aving
dealt with the hapless Mack,
Napoleon now prepared to face the Russians. In an effort to split
the allies, he tried to tempt Francis into making a separate peace,
all the while readying himself to do battle with the Russians. He
needed to defeat them decisively before the Austrian troops arrived
from Italy and before his own lines of communications became
overextended.
Being too late to rescue the Austrians in Ulm,
the Russian general Kutuzov, with his army of 40,000 troops, did not
much fancy doing battle with Napoleon with the odds running heavily
against him and was retreating as fast as he could to link up with
Russian and Austrian reinforcements in a more defensible position.
Kutuzov enjoyed a five-day advantage, and Napoleon’s initial
moves were uncharacteristically slow and uncertain.
Indeed, Kutuzov was about to escape, in part
because Napoleon’s cavalry commander, Murat, had allowed
himself to be sidetracked by the pleasing prospect of entering
Vienna — which was undefended and of no military importance
— as its conqueror. This earned him a stinging rebuke from
Napoleon for having disobeyed orders to pursue the Russians
“with your sword in their kidneys” and instead behaving
“like a scatterbrain.”
Napoleon’s tongue-lashings of his
glitter-prone brother-in-law are always enjoyable: This incident
presages the occasion, after the battle of Friedland in 1807, on which Napoleon
disgustedly compared him to “Franconi the circus
rider.” But cavalrymen cannot always be expected to be master
strategists, and the fault was Napoleon’s for not having kept
Murat properly informed of his priorities.
At his point, Napoleon got some unintended
help from Emperor Alexander of Russia, who had joined his army in
the field and who, as a matter of honor, wanted Kutuzov — by
now heading a force of 82,500 men — to attack immediately.
Alexander’s fellow emperor, Francis, was less keen on the
idea, but he had already lost one battle and could not afford to
look timid.
Alexander had interpreted an offer from
Napoleon to enter an armistice as a sign of weakness, and he was
confirmed in his error by the report of one of his arrogant young
aides, who had met Napoleon on the front line and was clearly not
impressed, describing to Alexander how he had seen “emerging
from the trenches a small figure, very greasy and dressed in an
exceedingly funny manner.”
Alexander thus overruled the cautious Kutuzov,
and this, according to Kagan, explains Kutuzov’s famous
nodding off during the war council. There was nothing he could do
to avert catastrophe.
T
he
great climax known as the battle of the
three emperors occurred on December 2,
1805 near the village of Austerlitz
in present-day Slovakia and displayed the essence of Napoleonic
warfare: speed, maneuver, and deception. Here Napoleon’s
ability to read the terrain can be seen in its purest form in the
trap he set for the Russians and Austrians. Instead of seizing the
high ground of the plateau of Pratzen, where only someone suicidal
would attack him, he left that position to his opponents. And he
left his right flank weak on purpose, instructing his soldiers to
fall back as if frightened by the firepower and numbers opposing
them, thereby encouraging the Russians to leave the high ground.
Marshal Soult’s troops, carefully hidden
by the terrain, would then seize the plateau and attack the
Russians from behind while the fleeing French would suddenly stand,
trapping the Russians between hammer and anvil. Having his army
feign a withdrawal was, of course, extremely risky, demanding very
disciplined and motivated troops. Napoleon had that.
The result was a Russian rout. General Kutuzov
received a slight wound in the fighting but declined the
ministrations of Alexander’s doctor. “Thank the Czar,
and tell him that my wound is not dangerous, but over there is the
fatal wound,” he said, indicating the oncoming French. The
czar himself tried in vain to rally his fleeing troops with the
words “I am with you, I am sharing your danger. Stop.”
Understandably, the experience left the czar in a foul mood. Later
on, some of those who had fled had five years added to their
service time and their uniforms downgraded. Altogether, Russian
casualties amounted to some 20,000 men, while the French lost around 8,000.
This being said, Austerlitz was not as
one-sided an affair as it has often been labeled. Many Russians
fought hard, Kagan says, adding that Napoleon’s boast that
whole sections of the Russian army were forced out into the marshes
and frozen lakes — where his artillerists broke the ice with
preheated red-hot cannon-shot, causing them to perish — was
pure propaganda. The water was too low for that. In fact, at one
point during the battle some of Napoleon’s own troops, facing
the Russian imperial guard, lost their nerve and came rushing past
him, remembering to shout “Vive
l’empereur!” before they
were outta there.
Thus, Kagan argues in his anatomy of the third
coalition’s defeat, it wasn’t so much the allied troops
as their leadership that was at fault. Alexander had no trusted
military advisors in his inner circle, only diplomats. The allied
plan was dictated more by the exigencies of holding the coalition
together and by the fear of appearing weak than by sound military
considerations. There was no proper coordination between the
political and military levels, and there was no overall military
command to plan for the entire coalition’s operations and to
coordinate among the theatres. Individual commanders cared only for
their own armies.
The plans should have involved careful
synchronization, and they failed to take into consideration the
distances between the armies and the problems of communication at a
time when contact between them had to be made by courier. It was
just assumed that troops could be moved hundreds of miles by the
stroke of a pen and be expected to show up on time too.
According to Kagan the coalition plans were
simply too complex for the command and staff structures of the
time. The same men who developed the grand strategy were
responsible for developing detailed plans for each individual
theatre. In Kagan’s apt comparison, this would correspond to
having Roosevelt and Marshall set the strategic priorities during
World War ii and
allocate the resources while at the same time requiring them to
work out the specifics for D-Day and Okinawa. Worst of all, their
plans rested on the assumption of a passive and predictable enemy
who would obey the role assigned to him. Napoleon was not that kind
of opponent.
T
he
aftermath of Austerlitz found
Napoleon’s foreign minister Talleyrand trying to prepare the
peace treaty in nearby Brno and complaining about his working
conditions: “Brno is a horrible place. There are four
thousand wounded here right now; every day there are quantities of
deaths. Yesterday the stench was detestable.” Talleyrand
wanted to conclude a lasting peace with lenient terms for the
Austrians that would secure them in the French camp, but Napoleon
would not listen. He preferred to humiliate the Austrians with the
Treaty of Pressburg, which took Venice and the Tyrol away from them
and stripped them of influence in southwestern Germany, not to
mention compensations.
Among the coalition members, the defeat led to
further rancor and suspicion. The Austrians charged the Russians
with deserting them, while the Russians accused the Austrians of
seeking their own deals with Napoleon. As for the Prussians, who
had finally mobilized as a result of Napoleon’s troops having
broken their neutrality, their negotiator simply disobeyed his
instructions and betrayed the Austrians, signing his own treaty of
alliance with Napoleon at Schonbrunn.
The Brits were gloomy. An exasperated Pitt told
his aides after Austerlitz to “roll up the map of Europe; it
will not be needed for the next ten years.” This contributed
to Pitt’s death soon after.
In the sense of splitting up his enemies and
sowing discord among them, Napoleon was successful. But his harsh
treaties ensured that new coalitions would form against him. In the
sense of creating a stable peace in Europe, as Kagan’s
masterful volume shows, Napoleon failed dismally.
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