catastrophically in the Ulm and Austerlitz campaign of 1 8 05, and yet it returned to the
combat in good enough condition to win a major battle against Napoleon at Aspern
(21–22 May 1 8 09), before being defeated at Wagram (5–6 July 1 8 09). Austria returned
to the combat as a major player in the coalitions that brought Napoleon down in the
warfare of 1 8 13 and 1 8 14, while its army was preparing to campaign in 1 8 15 when its
activity was pre-empted by the verdict of battle at Waterloo. Similarly, Prussia seemingly
was smashed at Jena–Auerstädt on 14 October 1 8 06, and subsequently was coerced into
a French alliance and into cooperating in Napoleon’s ill-judged Russian adventure in
18 12. And yet Berlin changed sides in the wake of the French debacle, fought hard
against Napoleon in 1 8 13 and 1 8 14, and played a crucial role in the Emperor’s final
defeat at Waterloo. Russia was beaten at Friedland on 14 June 1 8 07, but proved to be
distinctly unbowed, let alone accepting of a fate that required it to be a submissive servant
of Napoleon’s statecraft. In short, Napoleon’s exemplary record of military success was
not translated into lasting political advantage.
Napoleon’s failure was primarily political. No matter how many battles he won, how
many treaties he dictated to beaten foes, they always returned to fight him again. The
problem was that Napoleon did not really function strategically at all. Time after time, at
least until 1 8 12, he held the dominant hand in European politics, a hand won by the
sword. Yet he never succeeded in using – indeed, he never tried to use – his military
success as the platform for a lasting peace. He seemed to have no notion that in order to
secure an enduring and advantageous peace, France needed the active and willing
cooperation of former enemies. Napoleon’s proclivity to wage war appeared to be quite
out of rational, certainly reasonable, control. There was an acute, obvious and ultimately
fatal absence of restraint in his statecraft.
What was his strategy? To employ ever larger armies to win battles, which should lead
to dictated peace terms. But the defeated enemy of today is certain to recover, in time,
and return to the contest bent on revenge. In other words, Napoleonic warfare, whatever
its technical excellence for the period, was an exercise in strategic futility. Clausewitz
insisted that war had to be an instrument of policy. So what was Napoleon’s policy?
Even with his genius at the military helm, France, and its on-again, off-again allies, was
not strong enough to establish and hold a continent-wide empire against all comers.
Eventually, Napoleon’s contemporaries realized that serious diplomatic business could
not be done with the Emperor. He declined to accept real limitations upon his behaviour.
There did not appear to be any finite limit to his ambition. In a sense, Napoleon was akin
to a mad dog. He was beyond reason, and beyond discipline, so he needed to be put down.
As late as 1 8 14 the Emperor was offered a general settlement that was modestly to the
French advantage; yet, despite his unhappy contemporary plight, Napoleon refused. He
simply did not know when to stop. By 1 8 14–15 the whole of Europe finally had come to
appreciate that the Emperor could not be trusted to keep any promise or abide by any
treaty.
Strategic theory holds that war should be waged only for reasons of policy and in
pursuit of an advantageous peace. In addition, it advises that a lasting peace settlement
requires its genuine acceptance by those who have just been defeated militarily (absence
of such acceptance was an important factor undermining the European order after 1919).
Reviewed overall, the strategic history of the Napoleonic Wars shows unmistakably that
the Emperor did not wage war in search of that advantageous peace. Instead, he waged
From limited war to national war 47