Part 14

Succeeding this defeat were the skilful preparations for a new crossing and battle, the putting over from Lobau of one hundred and fifty thousand men and four hundred guns in one night, and the victory of Wagram. Truly a marvellous performance! The strength of mind and constancy displayed by Napoleon on Lobau recalls the elastic courage of Alexander when, cut off from his communications, he turned upon the Persians at Issus. But after Wagram the Austrians retired in good order and Napoleon did not pursue. It was no doubt a difficult task, but with the inspiration of his earlier days he would certainly have pushed the Archduke home,--or lost the game. He forgot the principles which had made him what he was, in not following up the retreat. To other and even great generals this criticism could not apply, but Napoleon has created a measure by which himself must be tried and which fits but a limited group. In 1805 he said, “One has but a certain time for war. I shall be good for it but six years more; then even I shall have to stop.” Was Napoleon’s best term drawing to a close? Or was it that the Archduke Charles was not a Würmser or a Mack?

In Napoleon’s battles, tactical details are made to yield to strategic needs. Frederick generally chose his point of attack from a strictly tactical standpoint. Napoleon did not appear to consider that there were such things as tactical difficulties. He always moved on the enemy as seemed to him strategically desirable, and with his great masses he could readily do so. The result of Napoleon’s battles was so wonderful, just because he always struck from such a strategic direction as to leave a beaten enemy no kind of loophole. But Napoleon would have been more than human if his extraordinary successes had not finally damaged his character. It is but the story of Alexander with a variation. In the beginning he was, after securing strategic value, strenuous to preserve his tactical values. By and by he began to pay less heed to these; stupendous successes bred disbelief in failure; carelessness resulted, then indecision. Those historians who maintain that Napoleon succumbed solely to the gigantic opposition his status in Europe had evoked, can show good reasons for their belief, for Napoleon’s task was indeed immense. But was he overtaxed more than Hannibal, Cæsar, or Frederick?

In the Russian campaign (1812) Napoleon’s original idea was to turn the Russian right, but finding the Russian position further north than he expected, he resorted to breaking the Russian centre. It here first became a question whether the rule of one mass on one line, distinctly sound with smaller armies, will hold good with the enormous armies of 1812 or of modern days; whether the mere manœuvre may not become so difficult of execution as to open the way to the destruction of the entire plan by a single accident. Certainly its logistics grow to a serious problem with a force beyond two hundred thousand men, and it seems probable that when armies much exceed this figure, the question of feeding, transportation, and command, even with railroads and telegraph, make concentric operations more available. And the fact that even Napoleon could not, in the absence of a thoroughly educated staff and perfectly drilled army, obtain good results from the handling of such enormous forces, gives prominence to the value of the Prussian idea of placing greater reliance on an army drawn from the personal service of the people and made perfect in all its details from the ranks up, than on the genius of a single general.

The entire plan of the Russian campaign was consistent and good. The Bonaparte of 1796 would probably have carried it through, despite its unprecedented difficulties. But its execution was seriously marred by the absence of Napoleon at the front, and the want of his ancient decisiveness. To be sure he had nearly half a million men to command and feed; but he was no longer the slim, nervously active, omnipresent man. He was corpulent, liked his ease, and shunned bad weather. This want appears in his long stay in Wilna, his failure to put his own individuality into the details of the advance; his now relying on his lieutenants, whom he had never trained, and some of whom were unable, to rely on themselves. Napoleon began to draw his conclusions, not from personal observation, but from assumed premises. He had from the beginning the habit of underrating the enemy’s forces. It now grew to be a rule with him to take one-third off from what the enemy really had and double his own forces, in order to encourage his subordinates. This exaggerated reckoning could not but lead to evil. There is none of Frederick’s straightforward dependence on his own brain and his army’s courage. The king’s frankness stands out in high relief against Napoleon’s simulation.

But we must constantly bear in mind that Napoleon led an army of unprecedented size, made up of different nationalities, in a limitless territory, and that his difficulties were enormous. It should be noted that Alexander’s largest army in the field numbered one hundred and thirty-five thousand men; Hannibal’s less than sixty thousand; Cæsar’s about eighty thousand; Gustavus’ never reached eighty thousand men; Frederick had to parcel out his forces so that of his one hundred and fifty thousand men he rarely could personally dispose of more than fifty thousand in one body. Napoleon carried three hundred and sixty thousand men into Russia. This is not a final measure of the task, but it stakes out its size.

Some of Napoleon’s Russian manœuvres are fully up to the old ones. The manner of the attempt to turn the Russian left at Smolensk and seize their communications so as to fight them at a disadvantage, is a magnificent exhibition of genius. But at the last moment he failed. The _spirit_ of his plan was to seize the communications of his opponent and force him to fight; the _letter_ was to seize Smolensk. When he reached Smolensk, the Russians had retired to the east of the city. Napoleon apparently overlooked the _spirit_ of his plan, and though he could easily have done so, he did not cut the Russians off by a tactical turning movement. He was not personally where he needed to be,--on the right,--but remained at his headquarters. It may be claimed that the commander of so huge an army must necessarily remain at central headquarters. It is rather true that his administrative aide should be there, and he at the point of greatest importance. At Smolensk, theoretically and practically, this was the right, and operations at this point were intrusted to by no means the best of his subordinates. Napoleon’s intellect was still as clear as ever. It was his physique and his power of decision which were weakening. Even allowing the utmost to all the difficulties of the situation, if tried by the rule of 1796 or 1805, this seems to be indisputable.

When Napoleon did not bring on a battle at Smolensk, the Russian campaign had become a certain failure. For it was there settled that he could not reach Moscow with a force sufficient to hold himself. He had crossed the Niemen with three hundred and sixty-three thousand men. At Moscow he could have no more than one hundred thousand. Arrived at Smolensk he was called on to face retreat, which was failure; or an advance to Moscow, which was but worse failure deferred,--almost sure annihilation. This seems clear enough from the military standpoint. But Napoleon advanced to Moscow relying largely on the hope that the Russians would sue for a peace. For this dubious hope of the statesman, Napoleon committed an undoubted blunder as a captain. It is hard to divorce the statesman from the soldier. All great captains have relied on state-craft, and properly so. But such was the purely military syllogism.

Much has been written about Napoleon’s failure to put the guard in at Borodino. Under parallel conditions at an earlier day, he would certainly have done so. That he did not is but one link more in the growing chain of indecisiveness. But had he done so, and won a more complete victory, would it have made any eventual difference? Smolensk was his last point of military safety. Even had he been able to winter in Russia, it is not plain how spring would have bettered his case, in view of the logistic difficulties and of the temper of the Russian emperor and people. Time in this campaign was of the essence.

Once or twice on the terrible retreat, Napoleon’s old fire and decision came to the fore, but during the bulk of it he was apparently careless of what was happening. He habitually left to his generals all but the crude direction of the outlying corps. The contrast between Napoleon in this disaster and Napoleon after raising the siege of Acre, or after the defeat at Aspern and Essling, is marked. He did not oppose his old countenance to misfortune.

After this campaign, in which the grand army of half a million men was practically annihilated, Napoleon showed extraordinary energy in raising new troops, and actually put into the field, the succeeding spring, no less than three hundred and fifty thousand men. They were not the old army, but they were so many men. Napoleon understood this: “We must act with caution, not to bring bad troops into danger, and be so foolish as to think that a man is a soldier.” He had thirteen hundred guns. “Poor soldiers need much artillery.” The lack of good officers was the painful feature. The few old ones who were left were ruined by bad discipline. The new ones were utterly inexperienced.

In the campaign of 1813, Napoleon showed all his old power of conception. The intellectual force of this man never seemed overtaxed. But the lack of resolution became still more marked. He began by winning two battles,--Lützen and Bautzen,--in which he freely exposed himself and worked with all his old energy, to lend his young troops confidence. He was then weak enough to enter into an armistice with the allies. This was a singularly un-Napoleonic thing to do. He had turned the enemy’s right and was strategically well placed. It was just the time to push home. If the reasons he alleged--want of cavalry and fear of the dubious position of Austria--were really the prevailing ones, Napoleon was no longer himself, for his wonderful successes hitherto had come from bold disregard of just such things.

Napoleon here shows us how often fortune is of a man’s own making. So long as he would not allow circumstances to dictate to him, fortune was constant. When he began to heed adverse facts, we see first indecisive victories, then half successes, and by and by we shall see failure and destruction.

The operations about and succeeding Dresden show a vacillation which contrasts with the intellectual vigor. For the first time Napoleon conducted a defensive campaign. He studied his chances of an offensive, and cast them aside for reasons which would not have weighed a moment with him in 1805. And yet the defensive against his concentrically advancing enemies was no doubt the best policy. It shows Napoleon’s judgment to have been better than ever. After this brilliant victory Napoleon ordered a pursuit--which he ought to have made effective--across the Erzgebirge, but without issuing definite instructions. Sickness forbade the personal supervision he had expected to give; troops intended to sustain the advanced corps were diverted from this duty by a sudden change of purpose. Here was, as Jomini says, “without contradiction, one of Napoleon’s gravest faults.” But Napoleon had got used to seeing things turn in his favor, until he deemed constant personal effort unnecessary. Decreasing strength had limited his activity; great exertion was irksome. The immediate result of this ill-ordered operation was the destruction of a corps; the secondary result, the re-encouragement of the allies, whose _morale_ had been badly shaken by three defeats, and whose main army he should have followed into Bohemia and broken up. The grand result was loss of time, which to Napoleon was a dead loss, a new advance of the allies, and the battle of Leipsic. During all this time, while Napoleon’s execution was weak compared to his old habit, his utterances and orders showed the clearest, broadest conception of what was essential. But he was no longer the man who used to gallop forty to sixty miles a day to use his eyes. Even at Leipsic he exhibited at times his old power; when defeat was certain he lapsed into the same indifference he had shown on the Russian retreat.

Nothing now, in a military sense, could save Napoleon, except to concentrate all his forces into one body and manœuvre against the allies with his old vigor. But the Emperor Napoleon could not bear to give up Italy, Belgium, Spain, as General Bonaparte had given up Mantua to beat the enemy at Castiglione; and he committed the grievous mistake of not concentrating all his forces for the defence of France. The campaign around Paris is a marvel of audacious activity, though indeed it did not bring up any of the larger intellectual problems of Marengo, Ulm, or Jena. If Napoleon had done half as good work with the larger army he might have had, there is scarce a doubt but that he would have gone far towards peace with honor. As it was, he was crushed by numbers. But no words can too highly phrase his military conduct, within its limits, in this brief campaign. There is but one mistake,--the underrating of his enemy, the misinterpretation of manifest facts.

The Waterloo campaign (1815), as already said, bears marked resemblance to that of 1796. The details of Waterloo are so well known that only the reasons will be noted which appear to make Napoleon’s first so great a success and his last so great a failure.

At the beginning of June, Napoleon had available for Belgium, where he proposed to strike the allied forces, one hundred and ten thousand foot, and thirteen thousand five hundred horse. In Belgium were Wellington, covering Brussels with ninety-five thousand men, and Blucher lying from Charleroi to Namur with one hundred and twenty-four thousand. Napoleon was superior to either; inferior to both together. He chose against these allied armies the same offensive manœuvre he had employed against Beaulieu and Colli,--a strategic breaking of their centre, so as to separate them and attack each one separately. The controlling reasons were the same. The allies were of different nationalities, and each had a different base, as well as varying interests. If cut in two they no doubt would retire eccentrically, of which Napoleon could take immediate advantage. The key to the whole problem was the exhibition by him of foresight, boldness, and rapid action. The plan could not be better.

He concentrated on Charleroi. From here led two pikes, one to Brussels, which was Wellington’s line of advance and retreat, one to Liège, which was Blucher’s. Wellington and Blucher were connected by the Namur-Nivelles road, which cut the other pikes at Quatre-Bras and near Ligny. In order to push in between the allies to any effect, Napoleon must seize on both these points.

The French army broke up June 15th at 3 A.M. Napoleon was full of eagerness and early in the saddle. The French advanced with slight opposition to Quatre-Bras, and forced the Prussians back to Fleurus. Napoleon remained in the saddle all day, then retired to Charleroi overcome with a fatigue which seemed to paralyze his mental faculties. He could no longer conquer sleep as of old. His bodily condition was bad, and even the necessity of present success was unable to evoke persistent effort. There is a singular difference between Napoleon at this time and grim old Frederick in 1759 suffering from gout. The king never gave up for an instant his restless work. Disease and pain could not subdue his obstinate diligence. The emperor’s ailments overcame his zeal. Here began those little lapses of unused time whose addition, in four days, sufficed to bring Napoleon to the end of his career. The plan of campaign was as brilliantly thought out and begun as that of 1796, and with equal vigor would have equally succeeded. Wellington and Blucher had foreseen the manœuvre, and agreed to concentrate for mutual support at Quatre-Bras and Ligny. But Wellington, instead of holding Quatre-Bras, gave Nivelles as the rallying-point. Not even Würmser or Mack could have made an error more in Napoleon’s favor, for this separated him from Blucher instead of gaining him his support. Napoleon had the chance to strike Blucher singly. Wellington had not yet assembled. Napoleon should have reached Quatre-Bras and Ligny on the 15th, as he could easily have done, or at a very early hour on the 16th. But no orders even were issued till nearly 9 A.M. of the 16th. In his old days, Napoleon would have been at the outposts at daylight, have gauged the situation with his own eyes and his incomparable power of judgment, and would have attacked at an early hour. But he did not reach the ground till noon nor finish his reconnoissance till 2 P.M. Ney had been sent to Quatre-Bras.

Despite delays, however, part of Napoleon’s plan did succeed. Wellington was prevented from joining Blucher, and Blucher was beaten and fell back in disorder. Now Napoleon’s object was so to manœuvre as to keep the allies apart. This could be done only by immediate pursuit. He must push on after Blucher relentlessly, so as to throw him off in an easterly direction, where he could observe him with a small force, while he should dispose of Wellington singly. And the more Wellington should manage to push back Ney, the graver danger he would run.

Nothing was done about the pursuit of Blucher on the night of 16th to 17th. Next morning Napoleon leisurely visited the battle-field of Ligny and conversed with his officers about indifferent things. None of the old-time drive was manifest. It was again noon before he ordered Grouchy in pursuit of the Prussians, while he himself would turn against the English. Grouchy got off about 2 P.M. No one knew at that time whether Blucher had retired on Namur or Wavre. In earlier days Napoleon would have ascertained this fact with his own eyes, _for it was the one fact to make no mistake about_. Whether to ascertain this was the duty of the staff or the general is immaterial. That Napoleon did not do so may not have been his fault; but it was his misfortune. Great captains have won success by personal activity and by relying only on themselves in critical matters. In estimating a great soldier, one must number all his errors of omission and commission. No general may shelter himself behind the lapse of a subordinate. He must stand or fall by what he himself does or fails to do.

But the fate of the campaign was already sealed. Blucher had had the night of the 16th to 17th, and the morning of the 17th, and he had used the respite well. He boldly threw up his own base on Liège and marched on Wavre to rejoin Wellington. Napoleon had assumed that Blucher would retire along his line of communications. He desired him to do this, and erroneously calculated on his having done so. The object of breaking the allied centre, the sundering of the allies so as to beat them in detail, had been forfeited by the sixteen or eighteen hours of unnecessary delays after the battle of Ligny.

The battle of Waterloo itself has been so fully and ably discussed from this rostrum, and Grouchy’s part of the failure so clearly explained, that I will go no further. It seems clear that the battle was lost on the day preceding it. If Blucher did not join Wellington by one means he would by another, when Napoleon gave him so many hours leeway. Nothing but the old activity in following up his initial success could possibly have enabled Napoleon to fight Wellington and Blucher separately,--and if they joined they were sure to beat him. Had he kept right on, he would have beaten Wellington, and Blucher would have retired. His difficulties here were not great. He was successful in his early steps, and failed in later ones. The explanation of the whole matter lies in the fact that Napoleon’s physical powers and moral initiative had waned. His intellect was unimpaired, but his character had lost its native quality.

No man should be subject to criticism for inability to do his best work when suffering from disease. It is not intended to criticise in this sense. _La critique est facile; l’art est difficile._ The motto of these lectures is that coexistent intellect, character, and opportunity go to make the great captain. We see Napoleon for twelve years possibly the greatest soldier who ever lived. We then see his successes lessen. It was not from declining intellect. It was partly lesser opportunity,--that is, greater difficulties,--partly loss of activity and decisiveness,--or, in other words, character,--proceeding from weakening physique or decrease of moral strength. There may be room for doubt whether failing health alone, or failing health combined with waning character, caused the indecisiveness. It descends into a question of nomenclature. Of the bald fact there can be no doubt. Napoleon at Waterloo was not as great as Napoleon at Austerlitz.

The secret of Napoleon’s power lay in his clear eye for facts, his positive mind. Carlyle says: “The man had a certain, instinctive, ineradicable feeling for reality, and did base himself upon fact so long as he had any basis.” Napoleon said of himself that he was most of a slave of all men, obliged to obey a heartless master, the calculation of circumstances and the nature of things. Coupled with this were a reliance on facts, rare capacity for divination, and an immense power of imagination. But finally the latter overran the other qualities. His successes convinced him that he could do anything; he forgot what his success had been grounded on, and he began to neglect facts. “It is not possible” is not French, said he. This is the best of maxims construed one way,--the worst, if misconstrued. Napoleon believed himself able to accomplish all things, until his accuracy of judgment was lost in his refusal to look facts in the face. He ceased to be slave of the nature of things. He deserted belief in facts for belief in his destiny. Finally facts became for him not what they were, but what he wished them to be. He refused credit to what did not suit his theory of how things ought to turn.

Napoleon had what rarely coexists,--an equally clear head on the map and in the field. On the map he was able in both theory and practice. His theories are text-books; his letters are treatises. No higher praise can be spoken than to say that every one of Napoleon’s fourteen campaigns was, in a military sense, properly planned.

Napoleon showed the value of masses in strategy as well as tactics. In former times the worth of troops was of greater value than numbers. To-day worth of itself is less essential than it was. Napoleon founded his calculations on the equality of thousands. It is he who collated all that was done by the other great captains, clothed it in a dress fit for our own days, and taught the modern world how to make war in perfect form.