But it is marvellous that Napoleon, who revolutionized the strategy of war, improved nothing, invented nothing, in the instruments of warfare. A Prussian offered to him the original of the needle-gun, and he totally failed to grasp the terrible effectiveness of the weapon. True, he experimented with it, ordering that specimens should be made and shown him. But when his armories turned out clumsy models, as at first they were almost sure to do, he seemingly lost interest. The Prussian carried his invention to Germany; and the Austrians and French of a later day melted like snow before this new and fearful gun.
When Fulton came to France with his steam-boat discovery, offering a means by which Napoleon might have destroyed with ease England’s all-powerful navy, his invention was not appreciated. True, Napoleon gave him encouragement and money, and urged the wise men of the Institute to look into the thing; but Napoleon himself did not “take hold.” When the sages of the Institute reported adversely to the new invention, as sages almost always do, Napoleon let the subject drop, apparently forgetting that it is usually the ignorant “crank” and the untutored “tenderfoot” who stumbles upon great inventions and the richest mines. So far-sighted in some directions, it seems unaccountable that he did not realize immediately the vast importance of the breech-loading gun, and the steam-propelled vessel. With the same muzzle-loading muskets he fought the first battle and the last. The same little cannon which could not batter down the old walls of Acre, sent balls which rebounded from the farmyard enclosures at Waterloo.
During all of his campaigns prior to 1812, Napoleon gave personal attention to everything; no detail was neglected. He saw with his own eyes, taking nothing for granted, nothing on trust. As far as possible he followed up his orders, seeing to it that they were executed. Thus on the night before Jena he risked his life and came near being shot reconnoitring the Prussian position, and after he had selected positions for his batteries, and marked out the path up which the guns were to be drawn to the heights, he could not rest until he had gone in person and seen how his orders were being executed. It was fortunate that he did so. The foremost cannon carriage had got jammed between the rocks of the passage and had blocked the way of all the others. The whole battery was at a halt, and nothing being done to forward the guns. Angry as he was, Napoleon at once took command, ordered up the sappers, held a lantern while they were at work, and showed them how to widen the road. Not until the first gun had passed through did he leave the place. The failure to look after such things was one cause of the disasters of his later years.
He spared himself no fatigue in war. Sensitive to cold, to evil smells, to ugly scenes, to physical discomfort of all sorts, the Sybarite of the palace became the Spartan on the campaign. He could stand as much cold, or heat, or hunger, or thirst, camp hardships and camp nastiness as any private. He could stay in the saddle day and night, could march on foot by the hour in snow or mud, could stand the storms of rain, sleet, and wind, made no complaint of filthy beds and disgusting surroundings, and could eat a soldier’s bread out of the knapsack with all of a soldier’s relish.
In later years he carried his habits of luxury to the army, and with them came defeats. The general who in Italy could have taken all his baggage in a cart was followed in 1812 by a train of seventy wagons. He went to war then like Louis XIV., and the luck of Louis XIV. overtook him.
On the field of battle his aspect was one of perfect composure. No turn of the tide broke through his absolute self-control.
At Marengo, when the great plain was covered with the flying fragments of his army, and fugitives were crying: “All is lost! Save himself who can!” he was as calm as at a review. Berthier galloping up with more bad news, Napoleon rebuked him with, “You do not tell me that with sufficient coolness.” When Desaix arrived, Napoleon took all the time that was necessary to make proper dispositions for the attack, exhibiting not the slightest nervousness under the galling Austrian fire.
In the retreat from Russia he was stoically serene, save on the rarest occasions. Only a few intimates knew how much, in private, he gave way to his immense burden of care, of grief, of impotent rage. To the army he appeared as cold, as hard, as unyielding as granite. When a general brought him some unusually appalling news, Napoleon turned away as though he did not wish to hear. The officer persisted; Napoleon asked, “Why do you wish to disturb my equanimity?”
If his fatigues had been excessive in the preparation for battle, and his dispositions had been made, and all was going as he had foreseen, he could slumber restfully while the combat raged. Thus at Jena, Ségur speaks of Napoleon asleep on the ground where his great map was unrolled—asleep with the grenadiers standing in hollow square about him.
Lord Brougham writes: “Lying under some cover in fire, he would remain for an hour or two, receiving reports and issuing his orders, sometimes with a plan before him, sometimes with the face of the ground in his mind only.