Napoleon in Egypt (68 page)

Ironically, by the time Napoleon arrived back in Paris the immediate war crisis was largely over. The German advance had been halted, the situation in Switzerland had stabilized, and the Anglo-Russian expedition into the Netherlands was about to be thwarted. Only in Italy had things remained much the same, with the gains of Napoleon’s great campaign having been lost.

Meanwhile the Directory continued with its corrupt machinations. For some time Barras had been scheming to overthrow the government and bring the exiled King Louis XVIII to power. In an attempt to forestall this, one of the new members of the Directory, the fifty-one-year-old former priest Sièyes, was plotting to bring about a coup, followed by the installation of a military dictator, who would be in his pocket. For this he needed a “sword” (a powerful military figurehead), but most of the generals he approached turned him down, largely because they were involved in plots of their own. It was at this stage that Napoleon turned up in Paris, his arrival greeted by cheering crowds. Sièyes was initially reluctant to approach him, rightly fearing that once installed he would be a difficult man to control; but he was eventually persuaded by Napoleon’s brother Lucien, and Talleyrand, who had recently lost his post as foreign minister. Amidst scenes of increasing civil turmoil, the coup was finally staged on 18–19 Brumaire VIII (November 9–10, 1799). The Directory was replaced by three consuls, with Napoleon as First Consul quickly emerging as the dominant force.

Napoleon knew that his popularity depended upon France achieving an honorable peace with her enemies, preferably by means of a spectacular military victory. After a rapid reorganization of the army, he launched a surprise attack on Italy, marching across the snow-covered St. Bernard pass in May with 40,000 men.
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This led to his totally unexpected appearance behind the Austrian lines as they were besieging Genoa. The Austrians had by this stage been deserted by their Russian allies, but still remained a formidable force, with considerably more men at their disposal in Italy than the French.

On June 18 Napoleon and 22,000 of his troops were camped by the village of Marengo, near the Bormida River, some thirty miles northwest of Genoa. By now he had been joined by Desaix, who had traveled back from Egypt on his express command. The Austrians, with 30,000 men, supported by cavalry and over 100 cannon, crossed the river, taking Napoleon by surprise. After hours of fierce fighting, the French were finally driven into retreat. By mid-afternoon it was all over, and the Austrian commander Melas dispatched news of his victory to Vienna. His army marched from the field of battle, its bands playing and its soldiers singing. As Napoleon sat on his horse dejectedly looking down on the battlefield, he was joined by Desaix. He asked Desaix what he thought of the situation. Desaix pulled out his watch and said calmly: “It’s three o’clock, the battle is lost. But there’s still time to win another battle.”
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Spurred on by this reply, Napoleon ordered an artillery barrage, which was followed by a desperate charge led by Desaix. The enemy was caught by surprise, and the tired Austrian soldiers were eventually routed. Napoleon was jubilant—but his joy was tempered when he was informed that Desaix had been killed. Berthier heard his young commander-in-chief remark: “Why am I not permitted to weep?”
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Napoleon was deeply moved by the death of his fellow “Egyptian,” as he would sympathetically refer to his colleagues from this campaign. He had admired Desaix’s military skill, recognizing it as second only to his own, and unusually amongst his generals he had come to regard Desaix as a friend. That night, a search of the battlefield was undertaken by lanternlight, and Desaix’s body was discovered amongst the many fallen. A large musket ball had penetrated the left side of his chest, literally blasting his heart to pieces.

Meanwhile the plots continued in Paris, and those hoping for Napoleon’s downfall awaited news of his defeat, ready to overthrow him. But his great victory at Marengo put an end to their schemes. This battle saw the triumph of the thirty-one-year-old Napoleon over his enemies both within and outside the country. From now on he would be the supreme ruler of France.

XXVIII

An Abandoned Army

W
HEN
Kléber learned that Napoleon had departed from Egypt, leaving him in command, without even having the decency to consult him in person, he was furious, exclaiming to his fellow officers: “That bugger has deserted us with his breeches full of shit. When we get back to Europe we’ll rub his face in it.”
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Napoleon’s letter informed him: “If by May you have not received any help or news, and if by this stage, despite all precautions, you have lost during the course of the year more than 1,500 men to the plague, you are authorized to make peace with the Ottoman Porte, even if they make the evacuation of Egypt their first condition.”
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But this was not really what he had in mind, for he immediately added: “All you have to do is play for time and put off actually complying with this condition, if possible, until a general [European] peace treaty is concluded.” Then, with no European power in a position to oppose them, the French would be able to renege on their treaty with the Porte and hang on to Egypt.

Having transferred his powers to Kléber, Napoleon was in no position to “authorize” him to do anything. Despite this, his lengthy letter included pages of detailed instructions and advice, treating the veteran Kléber as if he was an inexperienced officer assuming command for the first time. One can but imagine Kléber’s reaction when he was also helpfully informed: “I have already asked several times for a troupe of comedians to be sent out to Egypt, I will take particular care to make sure they reach you. This item is highly important for the army, and to begin to change the habits of the Egyptians.”

When Kléber discovered the true state in which Napoleon had left the army, he vented his spleen by dictating a no-holds-barred letter to the Directory, informing them that the Army of the Orient was now reduced to half strength, with many of its soldiers dressed in rags and without boots. As for the exchequer: “Bonaparte, on his departure, left not a sou in the till, not even any bills of credit. On the contrary, he left a deficit of nearly 10 million francs; this is more than a year’s revenue under the present circumstances. The back-pay owed to the whole army amounts to 4 million. . . . Due to the seasonal flooding of the Nile . . . we will not be able to restart collecting taxes until Frimaire [late November].”
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This letter would be intercepted by the British navy, and sent to London. When it was read by the prime minister William Pitt he decided mischievously that it should be sent on to Paris, where the Directory had now been deposed by Napoleon, thus ensuring that it caused the maximum damage all round.

Kléber then turned his mind to other matters, and set about seducing Pauline Fourès (though he was not the first to comfort Napoleon’s deserted mistress; this accolade fell to Napoleon’s ever-resourceful aide Junot, who had not regained Napoleon’s favor since enlightening him about Josephine’s infidelity and had been left behind in Egypt).

Despite Napoleon’s attempt to convince Kléber otherwise, the forthright Alsatian had continued to believe that the entire Egyptian expedition was a misguided enterprise, whose sole purpose was the aggrandizement of its commander-in-chief. Consequently, his first announcement to the troops suggested an early end to their present discomforts: “Soldiers, powerful help will soon be arriving, or if not we will negotiate a glorious peace, a peace with dignity which recognizes you and your efforts, and will return you to your homeland.”
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There was no doubt which option Kléber favored, and without waiting to hear from France he opened peace negotiations with the Turks and Sir Sidney Smith. These were held on board Smith’s flagship the
Tigre
, anchored off El-Arish. An agreement was soon reached: the French would leave Egypt, taking their arms with them, and the Turkish army would occupy the country; honor was satisfied on all sides. The Convention of El-Arish, as it became known, was ratified on January 28, 1800.

Unfortunately, both Kléber and Smith had exceeded their authority in signing this agreement. Smith’s role as plenipotentiary, with power to act on behalf of the British government, had now expired. He was by this stage nothing more than a naval commodore, and was due to return to the role of plain captain when he no longer commanded the squadron off Egypt. Kléber, for his part, was only the French governor of Egypt, a military and administrative command which gave him no authority to sign a peace treaty with a foreign power on behalf of the French government. When news of the El-Arish agreement reached London, Pitt immediately repudiated it, insisting that the French should submit to an unconditional surrender, after which they would be treated as prisoners of war and only be allowed to leave Egypt after giving up their arms. Britain and France were still at war, and there was no question of Britain allowing the fully armed Army of the Orient back to France to reinforce Napoleon. The well-meaning attempts of Smith and Kléber had come to nothing. Their superiors concurred that they had been out of their depth and had failed to take into account the overall situation.

By this stage, a Turkish army under the command of the grand vizier was advancing south through Syria towards Egypt, and despite Smith’s appeals the advance continued. When the grand vizier’s army reached the border fort at El-Arish, which contained a garrison of 250 French soldiers, the commander ordered the gates to be closed and told his soldiers to prepare to resist the Turkish invasion. But by now many of the soldiers had had enough of fighting. There was an immediate mutiny, during which the French flag was hauled down from the flagpole and soldiers broke into the stores, distributing barrels of liquor amongst their comrades. Amidst drunken scenes, the French soldiers lowered ropes over the walls, indicating that the enemy were welcome to join them, whereupon the Turkish soldiers began scaling the walls and the entire garrison was put to the sword.

Despite this, Kléber persisted in trying to negotiate with the Turks, and sent a representative to El-Arish. The French envoy found himself greeted by an extraordinary sight. The vast Turkish encampment was not guarded, but at its approaches were rows of putrefying heads on pikes—the remnants of the French garrison. The encampment itself stretched out over the surrounding wilderness and presented a spectacle of medieval exoticism and squalor. The army consisted of Turks, Arabs, Syrians, Albanians, Mamelukes, Moroccans and Nubians, each in their customary native dress. Their tents were equally diverse, ranging from primitive makeshift shelters made of skins to canopied pavilions whose interiors were hung with silken carpets. The soldiers squatted around their fires, roasting animal carcasses on spits, sharpening the glinting blades of their weapons. These fearsome warriors were accompanied by swarms of servants, stable boys, tailors, cooks, slaves, and an impoverished, filth-ridden rabble of hangers-on, many of whom appeared to be diseased. No provision was made for sanitation or medical treatment, and there was seemingly no collectivized order whatsoever. Each unit, with its national commander, appeared to decamp and move on as it saw fit. The camp seemed to stretch for miles, and each night various horsemen would set off from the grand vizier’s compound, stopping at salient points to dismount and cry out the latest news and orders of the day. The wary French negotiators were courteously received by the grand vizier, but it soon became clear to them why the Turkish army had not heeded Kléber’s appeals to halt, let alone retreat back to the border. It was explained to the French through interpreters that it was not the custom of the grand vizier to retreat, and they quickly came to the conclusion that his army was simply an unstoppable forward-moving force which appeared to advance by some collective will of its own.

Kléber remained uncertain what to do, until on March 18 he received a note from the British rejecting the peace treaty of El-Arish. This note was couched in the most insulting terms, and had the effect of clearing Kléber’s mind. The inexperienced administrator, unsure of how to react, was transformed into the decisive and brilliant general. Express orders were issued to all units to halt plans for evacuation and prepare for battle, and at two
A.M.
on March 20, Kléber led 10,000 men from Cairo towards the advancing Turkish army of 40,000 men. The two armies met by the ruins of Heliopolis, just five miles northeast of Cairo, where Kléber won a brilliant victory and the grand vizier’s army was put to flight, with the French in hot pursuit. Unfortunately for the French, the grand vizier’s son Nassif Pasha managed to separate his forces from the general retreat, circled round Kléber’s advance, and made for Cairo, which was only guarded by a skeleton force.

When Nassif Pasha entered the city and announced that the French had been defeated, Cairo was plunged into a bloody turmoil—more anarchy than uprising. By this stage many Mamelukes had joined up with the French, and Kléber had even sent out peace feelers to Murad Bey, offering him the governorship of Upper Egypt if he supported French rule. Murad Bey had tired of life on the run, and soon sent word that he accepted Kléber’s offer, his messenger arriving in the midst of the Cairo disturbances, which were still being orchestrated by Nassif Pasha. In the end it would take Kléber several weeks before he negotiated a peace, and order was fully returned to the streets of Cairo, with Nassif Pasha marching his men back to Syria.

Just two months later, on June 24, Kléber was walking on the terrace of his headquarters at Elfi Bey’s palace when he was approached by an Arab who he thought was begging for alms. In fact, this was a twenty-four-year-old Syrian from Aleppo called Soliman, who according to El-Djabarti had been studying at the Al-Azhar mosque and had told one of the sheiks that he “wanted to fight for the glory of God, which signifies that he wanted to kill a Christian.”
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Soliman pulled out a knife from under his robes and stabbed Kléber to death. (By a grim coincidence, it was on the very same day that Desaix also met his death, 1,500 miles away on the battlefield at Marengo.)