It is not possible but that Napoleon must have been elated by so
resplendent a victory. He knew that Marengo would be classed as the
most brilliant of his achievements. The blow had fallen with such
terrible severity that the haughty allies were thoroughly humbled.
Melas was now at his mercy. Napoleon could dictate peace upon his
own terms. Yet he rode over the field of his victory with a saddened
spirit, and gazed mournfully upon the ruin and the wretchedness
around him. As he was slowly and thoughtfully passing along, through
the heaps of the dead with which the ground was encumbered, he met
a number of carts, heavily laden with the wounded, torn by balls,
and bullets, and fragments of shells, into most hideous spectacles
of deformity. As the heavy wheels lumbered over the rough ground,
grating the splintered bones, and bruising and opening afresh
the inflamed wounds, shrieks of torture were extorted from the
victims. Napoleon stopped his horse and uncovered his head, as the
melancholy procession of misfortune and woe passed along. Turning
to a companion, he said, "We can not but regret not being wounded
like these unhappy men, that we might share their sufferings."
A more touching expression of sympathy never has been recorded.
He who says that this was hypocrisy is a stranger to the generous
impulses of a noble heart. This instinctive outburst of emotion
never could have been instigated by policy.
Napoleon had fearlessly exposed himself to every peril during this
conflict. His clothes were repeatedly pierced by bullets. Balls
struck between the legs of his horse, covering him with earth. A
cannon-ball took away a piece of the boot from his left leg and a
portion of the skin, leaving a scar which was never obliterated.
Before Napoleon Marched for Italy, he had made every effort in his
power for the attainment of peace. Now, with magnanimity above all
praise, without waiting for the first advance from his conquered
foes, he wrote again imploring peace. Upon the field of Marengo,
having scattered all his enemies like chaff before him, with the
smoke of the conflict still darkening the air, and the groans of
the dying swelling upon his ears, laying aside all the formalities
of state, with heartfelt feeling and earnestness he wrote to the
Emperor of Austria. This extraordinary epistle was thus commenced:
"Sire! It is on the field of battle, amid the sufferings of a
multitude of wounded, and surrounded by fifteen thousand corpses,
that I beseech your majesty to listen to the voice of humanity,
and not to suffer two brave nations to cut each others' throats
for interests not their own. It is my part to press this upon your
majesty, being upon the very theatre of war. Your majesty's heart
can not feel it so keenly as does mine."
The letter was long and most eloquent. "For what are you fighting?"
said Napoleon. "For religion? Then make war on the Russians and the
English who are the enemies of your faith. Do you wish to guard
against revolutionary principles? It is this very war which has
extended them over half the Continent, by extending the conquests
of France. The continuance of the war can not fail to diffuse them
still further. Is it for the balance of Europe? The English threaten
that balance far more than does France, for they have become the
masters and the tyrants of commerce, and are beyond the reach of
resistance. Is it to secure the interests of the house of Austria!
Let us then execute the treaty of Campo Formio, which secures to
your majesty large indemnities in compensation for the provinces
lost in the Netherlands, and secures them to you where you most
wish to obtain them, that is, in Italy. Your majesty may send
negotiators whither you will, and we will add to the treaty of
Campo Formio stipulations calculated to assure you of the continued
existence of the secondary states, of all which the French Republic
is accused of having shaken. Upon these conditions pace is made,
if you will. Let us make the armistice general for all the armies,
and enter into negotiations instantly."
A courier was immediately dispatched to Vienna, to convey this letter
to the Emperor. In the evening, Bourrienne hastened to congratulate
Napoleon upon his extraordinary victory. "What a glorious
day!" said Bourrienne. "Yes!" replied Napoleon, mournfully; "very
glorious--could I this evening but have embraced Desaix upon the
field of battle."
On the same day, and at nearly the same hour in which the fatal
bullet pierced the breast of Desaix, an assassin in Egypt plunged
a dagger into the bosom of Kleber. The spirits of these illustrious
men, these blood-stained warriors, thus unexpectedly met in the
spirit-land. There they wander now. How impenetrable the vail which
shuts their destiny from our view. The soul longs for clearer vision
of that far-distant world, people by the innumerable host of the
mighty dead. There Napoleon now dwells. Does he retain his intellectual
supremacy? Do his generals gather around him with love and homage!
Has his pensive spirit sunk down into gloom and despair, or has
it soared into cloudless regions of purity and peace! The mystery
of death' Death alone can solve it. Christianity, with its lofty
revealings, sheds but dim twilight upon the world off departed
spirits. At St. Helena Napoleon said, "Of all the general I ever had
under my command Desaix and Kleber possessed the greatest talent.
In particular Desaix, as Kleber loved glory only as the means of
acquiring wealth and pleasure. Desaix loved glory for itself, and
despised every other consideration. To him riches and pleasure were
of no value, nor did he ever give them a moment's thought. He was
a little black-looking man, about an inch shorter than myself,
always badly dressed, sometimes even ragged, and despising alike
comfort and convenience. Enveloped in a cloak, Desaix would throw
himself under a gun and sleep as contentedly as if reposing in a
palace. Luxury had for him no charms. Frank and honest in all his
proceedings, he was denominated by the Arabs Sultan the Just. Nature
intended him to figure as a consummate general. Kleber and Desaix
were irreparable losses to France."
It is impossible to describe the dismay, which pervaded the camp
of the Austrians after this terrible defeat. They were entirely
cut from all retreat, and were at the mercy of Napoleon. A council
of war was held by the Austrian officers during the night, and it
was unanimously resolved that capitulation was unavoidable. Early
the next morning a flag of truce was sent to the head-quarters of
Napoleon. The Austrians offered to abandon Italy, if the generosity
of the victor would grant them the boon of not being made prisoners
of war. Napoleon met the envoy with great courtesy, and, according
to his custom, stated promptly and irrevocably the conditions
upon which he was willing to treat. The terms were generous. "The
Austrian armies," said he, "may unmolested return to their homes;
but all of Italy must be abandoned." Melas, who was eighty years
of age, hoped to modify the terms, and again sent the negotiator
to suggest some alterations. "Monsieur!" said Napoleon, "my
conditions are irrevocable. I did not begin to make war yesterday.
Your position is as perfectly comprehended by me as by yourselves.
You are encumbered with dead, sick, and wounded, destitute of
provisions, deprived of the elite of your army, surrounded on every
side, I might exact every thing. But I respect the white hairs of
your general, and the valor of your soldiers. I ask nothing but what
is rigorously justified by the present position of affairs. Take
what steps you may, you will have no other terms." The conditions
were immediately signed, and a suspension of arms was agreed upon,
until an answer could be received from Vienna.
Napoleon left Paris for this campaign on the 7th of May. The battle
of Marengo was fought on the 14th of June. Thus in five weeks
Napoleon has scaled the barrier of the Alps: with sixty thousand
soldiers, most of them undisciplined recruits, he had utterly
discomfited an army of one hundred and twenty thousand men, and
regained the whole of Italy. The bosom of every Frenchman throbbed
with gratitude and pride. One wild shout of enthusiasm ascended
from united France. Napoleon had laid the foundation of his throne
deep in the heart of the French nation, and there that foundation
still remains unshaken.
Napoleon now entered Milan in triumph. He remained there ten days,
busy apparently every hour, by day and by night, in re-organizing the
political condition of Italy. The serious and religious tendencies
of his mind are developed by the following note, which four days
after the battle of Marengo, he wrote to the Consuls in Paris:
"To-day, whatever our atheists may say to it, I go in great state
to the To Deum which is to be chanted in the Cathedral of Milan. *
* The Te Deum , is an anthem of praise, sung in churches on occasion
of thanksgiving. It is so called from the first words "Te Deum
laudamus," Thee God we praise
An unworthy spirit of detraction has vainly sought to wrest from
Napoleon the honor of this victory, and to attribute it all to the
flank charge made by Kellerman. Such attempts deserve no detail
reply. Napoleon had secretly and suddenly called into being an army,
and by its apparently miraculous creation had astounded Europe. He
had effectually deceived the vigilance of his enemies, so as to
leave them entirely in the dark respecting his point of attack.
He had conveyed that army with all its stores, over the pathless
crags of the Great St. Bernard. Like an avalanche he had descended
from the mountains upon the plains of startled Italy. He had
surrounded the Austrian hosts, though they were doubled his numbers,
with a net through which they could not break. In a decisive
battle he had scattered their ranks before him, like chaff by the
whirlwind. He was nobly seconded by those generals whom his genius
had chosen and created. It is indeed true, that without his generals
and his soldiers he could not have gained the victory. Massena
contributed to the result by his matchless defense of Genoa; Moreau,
by holding in abeyance the army of the Rhine; Lannes, by his iron
firmness on the plain of Montebello; Desaix, by the promptness
with which he rushed to the rescue, as soon as his car caught the
far-off thunders of the cannon of Marengo; and Kellerman, by his
admirable flank charge of cavalry. But it was the genius of Napoleon
which planned the mighty combination, which roused and directed
the enthusiasm of the generals, which inspired the soldiers with
fearlessness and nerved them for the strife, and which, through
these efficient agencies, secured the astounding results.
Napoleon established his triumphant army, now increased to eighty
thousand men, in the rich valley of the Po. He assigned to the
heroic Massena the command of this triumphant host, and ordering
all the forts and citadels which blocked the approaches from France
to be blown up, set out, on the 24th of June, for his return to
Paris. In re-crossing the Alps, by the pass of Mt. Cenis, he met
the carriage of Madame Kellerman, who was going to Italy to join
her husband. Napoleon ordered his carriage to be stopped, and
alighting, greeted the lady with great courtesy, and congratulated
her upon the gallant conduct of her husband at Marengo. As he was
riding along one day, Bourrienne spoke of the world-wide renown
which the First Consul had attained.
"Yes," Napoleon thoughtfully replied. "A few more events like this
campaign, and my name may perhaps go down to posterity."
"I think," Bourrienne rejoined, "that you have already done enough
to secure a long and lasting fame."
"Done enough!" Napoleon replied. "You are very good! It is true
that in less than two years I have conquered Cairo, Paris, Milan.
But were I to die to-morrow, half a page of general history would
be all that would be devoted to my exploits."
Napoleon's return to Paris, through the provinces of France, was
a scene of constant triumph. The joy of the people amounted almost
to frenzy. Bonfires, illuminations, the pealing of bells, and the
thunders of artillery accompanied him all the way. Long lines of
young maidens, selected for their grace and beauty, formed avenues
of loveliness and smiles through which he was to pass, and carpeted
his path with flowers. He arrived in Paris at midnight the 2d of
July, having been absent but eight weeks.
The enthusiasm of the Parisians was unbounded and inexhaustible.
Day after day, and night after night, the festivities continued.
The Palace of the Tuileries was ever thronged with a crowd, eager
to catch a glimpse of the preserver of France. All the public bodies
waited upon him with congratulations. Bells rung, cannon thundered,
bonfires and illuminations blazed, rockets and fire-works,
in meteoric splendor filled the air, bands of music poured forth
their exuberant strains, and united Paris, thronging the garden of
the Tuileries and flooding back into the Elysian Fields, rent the
heavens with deafening shouts of exultation. As Napoleon stood at
the window of his palace, witnessing this spectacle of a nation's
gratitude, he said, "The sound of these acclamations is as sweet
to me, as the voice of Josephine. How happy I am to be beloved by
such a people." Preparations were immediately made for a brilliant
and imposing solemnity in commemoration of the victory. "Let
no triumphal arch be raised to me," said Napoleon. "I wish for no
triumphal arch but the public satisfaction."
It is not strange that enthusiasm and gratitude should have glowed
in the ardent bosoms of the French. In four months Napoleon had
raised France from an abyss of ruin to the highest pinnacle of
prosperity and renown. For anarchy he had substituted law, for bankruptcy
a well-replenished treasury, for ignominious defeat resplendent
victory, for universal discontent as universal satisfaction. The
invaders were driven from France, the hostile alliance broken, and
the blessings of peace were now promised to the war-harassed nation.
During this campaign there was presented a very interesting
illustration of Napoleon's wonderful power of anticipating the
progress of coming events. Bourrienne, one day, just before the
commencement of the campaign, entered the cabinet at the Tuileries,
and found an immense map of Italy, unrolled upon the carpet, and
Napoleon stretched upon it. With pins, whose heads were tipped with
red and black sealing-wax, to represent the French and Austrian
forces, Napoleon was studying all the possible combinations and
evolutions of the two hostile armies. Bourrienne, in silence, but
with deep interest, watched the progress of this pin campaign.
Napoleon, having arranged the pins with red heads, where he intended
to conduct the French troops, and with the black pins designating
the point which he supposed the Austrians would occupy, looked up
to his secretary, and said:
"Do you think that I shall beat Melas?"
"Why, how can I tell!" Bourrienne answered.
"Why, you simpleton," said Napoleon, playfully; "just look here.
Melas is at Alexandria, where he has his head-quarters. He will remain
there until Genoa surrenders. He has in Alexandria his magazines,
his hospitals, his artillery, his reserves. Passing the Alps here,"
sticking a pin into the Great St. Bernard, "I fall upon Melas in
his rear; I cut off his communications with Austria. I meet him
here in the valley of the Bormida." So saying, he stuck a red pin
into the plain of Marengo.
Bourrienne regarded this maneuvering of pins as mere pastime. His
countenance expressed his perfect incredulity. Napoleon, perceiving
this, addressed to him some of his usual apostrophes, in which he
was accustomed playfully to indulge in moments of relaxation, such
as, You ninny, You goose; and rolled up the map. Ten weeks passed
away, and Bourrienne found himself upon the banks of the Bormida,
writing, at Napoleon's dictation, an account of the battle of
Marengo. Astonished to find Napoleon's anticipations thus minutely
fulfilled, he frankly avowed his admiration of the military
sagacity thus displayed. Napoleon himself smiled at the justice of
his foresight.
Two days before the news of the battle of Marengo arrived in Vienna,
England effected a new treaty with Austria, for the more vigorous
prosecution of the war. By this convention it was provided that
England should loan Austria ten millions of dollars, to bear no
interest during the continuance of the conflict. And the Austrian
cabinet bound itself not to make peace with France, without
the consent of the Court of St. James. The Emperor of Austria was
now sadly embarrassed. His sense of honor would not allow him to
violate his pledge to the King of England, and to make peace. On
the other hand, he trembled at the thought of seeing the armies
of the invincible Napoleon again marching upon his capital. He,
therefore, resolved to temporize, and, in order to gain time, sent
an embassador to Paris. The plenipotentiary presented to Napoleon
a letter, in which the Emperor stated, "You will give credit to
every thing which Count Julien shall say on my part. I will ratify
whatever he shall do." Napoleon, prompt in action, and uniformed
of the new treaty between Ferdinand and George III., immediately
caused the preliminaries of peace to be drawn up, which were signed
by the French and Austrian ministers. The cabinet in Vienna, angry
with their embassador for not protracting the discussion, refused
to ratify the treaty, recalled Count Julien, sent him into exile,
informed the First Consul of the treat which bound Austria not to
make peace without the concurrence of Great Britain, assured France
of the readiness of the English Cabinet to enter into negotiations,
and urged the immediate opening of a Congress at Luneville, to
which plenipotentiaries should be sent from each of the three great
contending powers. Napoleon was highly indignant in view of this
duplicity and perfidy. Yet, controlling his anger, he consented to
treat with England, and with that view proposed a naval armistice
, with the mistress of the seas. To this proposition England
peremptorily refused to accede, as it would enable France to throw
supplies into Egypt and Malta, which island England was besieging.
The naval armistice would have been undeniably for the interests
of France. But the continental armistice was as undeniably adverse
to her interests, enabling Austria to recover from her defeats, and
to strengthen her armies. Napoleon, fully convinced that England,
in he[r inaccessible position, did not wish for peace, and that her
only object, in endeavoring to obtain admittance to the Congress,
was that she might throw obstacles in the way of reconciliation
with Austria, offered to renounce all armistice with England, and
to treat with her separately. This England also refused.
It was now September. Two months had passed in these vexations and
sterile negotiations. Napoleon had taken every step in his power to
secure peace. He sincerely desired it. He had already won all the
laurels he could wish to win on the field of battle. The reconstruction
of society in France, and the consolidation of his power, demanded
all his energies. The consolidation of his power! That was just what
the government of England dreaded. The consolidation of democratic
power in France was dangerous to king and to noble. William Pits,
the soul of the aristocratic government of England, determined still
to prosecute the war. France could not harm England. But England,
with her invincible fleet, could sweep the commerce of France from
the seas. Fox and his coadjutors with great eloquence and energy
opposed the war. Their efforts were, however, unavailing. The
people of England, notwithstanding all the efforts of the government
to defame the character of the First Consul, still cherished the
conviction that, after all, Napoleon was their friend. Napoleon,
in subsequent years, while reviewing these scenes of his early
conflicts, with characteristic eloquence and magnanimity, gave
utterance to the following sentiments which, it is as certain as
destiny, that the verdict of the world will yet confirm.
