Berthier was in charge, and to him Napoleon had given full and explicit instructions. But Berthier, though a good chief of staff, had no power to grasp a strategic situation. By not obeying orders, he had, by the time Napoleon arrived, muddled the problem, and instead of concentrating behind the Lech, had got Davout’s corps pushed out to Ratisbon, where it was liable to be cut off. Napoleon was in perilous case. But by a beautiful and rapid series of manœuvres, in which he cut the enemy in two, he wrought victory out of threatening defeat. He was justly proud of this. “The greatest military manœuvres that I have ever made, and on which I most flatter myself, took place at Eckmühl, and were immensely superior to those of Marengo or other actions which preceded or followed them.” It is the rapidity and suddenness of these manœuvres which distinguished them from 1805. There was a regular plan. Here a constant series of surprises and changes.
In making his plans, Napoleon never began by “What can the enemy do?” but he first sought to place his army in the best position, and then asked, “What now can the enemy do?” This gave him the initiative. But his plan was always elastic enough to bend to what the enemy might do. He never made plans colored by the enemy’s possibilities. He chose his own plan intelligently, according to the geography, topography, and existing conditions, and made it elastic enough to be equal to the enemy’s. “The mind of a general should be like the glass of a telescope in sharpness and clearness, and never conjure up pictures.” The elasticity of Napoleon’s Eckmühl plan is well shown by his ability to turn threatening disaster into brilliant success.
During all these days, Napoleon was tremendously active. He was personally at the important points. He hardly ate or slept. His body was governed entirely by his will. The soldier of 1796 was again afoot. But he was well and hearty. The lapse he now made is all the more singular. The Archduke Charles had been beaten at Eckmühl and was retiring into Ratisbon to cross the Danube; Napoleon neglected to pursue. They say he was persuaded by his marshals that the troops were too tired. For the first time in his life he succumbed to an obstacle. “Genius consists in carrying out a plan despite obstacles, and in finding few or no obstacles,” he once said.
Failure to pursue may come from the difficulty of leaving one’s magazines, as in Frederick’s era, or because the captain is exhausted, as well as the troops. But if the captain wants to pursue, the troops can always do so. If the enemy can fly, the victor can follow. Some part of the army is always in condition to march.
Jomini says that if Napoleon had here pursued like the Prussians after Waterloo, it would have greatly modified the campaign. As it was, the Archduke made good his escape. Napoleon had broken in between the two wings of the Austrian army, but he had not crippled the one before turning against the other. So that when he reached Vienna on the heels of the left, he found ready to meet him the right wing, which he ought to have crushed beyond so quick recovery at Ratisbon. This failure to pursue is the first symptom of a habit which from now on is more observably of not utilizing every advantage.
Then followed the crossing of the Danube at Lobau and the battles around Aspern and Essling, which terminated with defeat and great loss. The Archduke was on hand, received in overwhelming numbers that part of the French army which crossed; the bridges were broken behind the French; and a disastrous retreat to Lobau followed.
Napoleon’s difficulties were growing apace with the size of his armies, and he was now opposed by abler men. But it also seems as if occasional fits of apathy or impatience of exertion were growing on him. His splendid energy at Eckmühl did not continue. Details received less personal attention. He was more rarely at the front. He began to rely on the eyes of others more than, with his ancient vigor, he would have done—despite his dictum that “a general who sees through the eyes of others will never be in condition to command an army as it should be commanded.” Until battle actually opened, he lacked his old enthusiasm. After the first gun he was himself again. But his method of conducting war was no longer so crisp as of yore. He was more daring than careful; he relied on his luck, and strove to cover errors of omission by stupendous blows. He was suffering from not having about him a well-educated, properly selected staff, each member drilled in his specific duties. Till now Napoleon had been his own staff; but with lessening activity, he had no one on whose eyes and judgment he could rely. “The general staff is so organized that one cannot see ahead at all by its means,” said he in the next campaign. Still it must constantly be borne in mind that one hundred and fifty thousand men cannot be commanded as readily as forty thousand. And Napoleon’s breadth of view, his power of grasping the tout ensemble, were still present in greater measure; and when he chose he could summon up all his old spirit.
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.