Napoleon and Wellington [Hardcover]

After his provocative Eminent Churchillians and his magisterial, award-winning Salisbury, Andrew Roberts' Napoleon and Wellington moves further back into the past to examine those titans of early 19th-century Europe. One was revolutionary, one deeply conservative. One aimed to change everything, the other aimed to achieve nothing except to stop the other changing anything. Roberts pre-empts the obvious moan regarding this well-tilled field, by pointing out that this is the first book to examine exactly what the two men thought of each other, and revealing the fascinating contradiction between what they said in public and in private. Roberts' cautious, subtle reading of character, and the narrow focus on just two men--not a mention of Rifleman Harris here--gives the book a novelistic brio. Wellington could be every bit as vainglorious as Napoleon, but Napoleon was unforgiving. Wellington saved Napoleon from execution after Waterloo, but Napoleon left money in his will to the man who had tried to assassinate the Duke. And once Napoleon had gone, Wellington amassed endless trophies of his great enemy--including not one but two of the Emperor's mistresses. Roberts' wry comment: "To sleep with one of Napoleon's mistresses might be considered an accident, but to sleep with two might suggest a pattern of triumphalism..." English readers, who have long lived with the notoriously bitchy comment from another of Wellington's mistresses, that one of their greatest national heroes was, in bed at least, "a cold fish," will be delighted to hear a second opinion from one of these ex-Imperial bed-warmers, that compared to Napoleon, Wellington was "beaucoup le plus fort". So there. Roberts is witty as well as wise, with chapter titles such as "The War for Clio's Ear". And he ends on a provocative, characteristically Euro-sceptic note: Wellington may have won at Waterloo, but today's "politically united Europe led by a centralised (French-led) bureaucracy", represents a final triumph for the Napoleonic vision... touché. --Christopher Hart

Roberts' study of the two greatest opposing generals of their age instantly recalls Alan Bullock's highly praised Hitler and Stalin. Here we also have two titans who, even though violently opposed, had much in common. This is a highly original revisionist study of the two men and some readers may be surprised by the fresh interpretation placed upon some well-known events. Napoleon praised Wellington's ruthlessness in private but criticised him as a mere "sepoy general" in public; Wellington in contrast publicly lauded the Corsican and his value on the battlefield, but in his correspondence criticised his military techniques. The British General saved Bonaparte from assassination after Waterloo, and Napoleon bequeathed money to the man who tried to kill the Duke (later Prime Minister). This animosity, mixed with admiration, charged the relationship between the two men and lies at the heart of this book. Fortunately Roberts makes light work of the contradictions. The legacy of both men has helped to shape modern Europe and, ultimately, it is this mixed achievement which makes this account so interesting.

A dual biography in the manner of Alan Bullock's celebrated Hitler and Stalin of the greatest opposing generals of their age who ultimately became fixated with each other.

On the morning of the battle of Waterloo, the Emperor Napoleon declared that the Duke of Wellington was a bad general, the British were bad soldiers and that France could not fail to win an easy victory. Forever afterwards historians have accused him of gross overconfidence, and massively underestimating the calibre of the British commander opposed to him. Andrew Roberts presents an original, highly revisionist view of the relationship between the two greatest captains of their age. Napoleon, who was born in the same year as Wellington - 1769 - fought Wellington by proxy years earlier in the Peninsula War, praising his ruthlessness in private while publicly deriding him as a mere 'sepoy general'. In contrast, Wellington publicly lauded Napoleon, saying that his presence on a battlefield was worth forty thousand men, but privately wrote long memoranda lambasting Napoleon's campaigning techniques. Although Wellington saved Napoleon from execution after Waterloo, Napoleon left money in his will to the man who had tried to assassinate Wellington. Wellington in turn amassed a series of Napoleonic trophies of his great victory, even sleeping with two of the Emperor's mistresses. The constantly changing relationship between these two nineteenth-century giants forms the basis of Andrew Roberts' compelling study in pride, rivalry, propaganda, nostalgia, and posthumous revenge.

Napoleon and Wellington by Andrew Roberts

As a schoolboy I was captivated by the romance of history. I’d imagine myself as great historical characters, Alfred the Great one week, Admiral Nelson the next. Once when the teacher asked my classmates what they wanted to do when they grew up – and they said they’d like to be firemen, doctors or policemen - I answered; ‘Lord High Protector of England, please sir.’

Of all the periods of history that I fantasised about, the Napoleonic Wars came top. The beautiful uniforms, the great causes, the extraordinary personalities, above all of course the long litany of bloody battles. By the age of ten I could recite the names of all the captains and the ships they commanded at the battle of Trafalgar, complete with the number of guns on each vessel. History was story-telling, romance, fun.

Then, when A Levels and eventually Cambridge history dawned, I had to do the unromantic slog through ‘real’ history – those social, economic and issue-related topics upon which the world really turned, far removed from the wonderful battles, assassinations and inspirational speeches of the history of my youth.

After having spent six years working on the biography of Lord Salisbury, which was published in 1999 and which won the Wolfson Prize, I decided to award myself a jeu d’esprit. I’d long wondered why, since the Emperor Napoleon was clearly a genius, he had so badly underestimated the Duke of Wellington on the morning of the battle of Waterloo, writing him off as ‘a mere sepoy general’ (i.e. one fit for nothing better than fighting in India), and boasting that he’d win the battle by lunchtime.

A man of Napoleon’s obvious and multifarious abilities must have known that Wellington was far more formidable than that, for had he not defeated six of the emperor’s own marshals during the Peninsular War? From that question the premise of my next book arose. It led to other questions, most importantly: What did Wellington think of Napoleon? How did their views about one another change over the years? Did the battle of Waterloo mark a watershed in their respective viewpoints? Did Napoleon ever admit his error?

There are of course literally thousands of books, papers, pamphlets and articles that have been written about Napoleon in the two centuries since he seized power in France in the Brumaire coup of 1799, and it is completely impossible even in one lifetime to read them all, let alone the two years I had given myself to write this book. Fortunately the glorious London Library in St James’s Square in London had most of them, so I settled down to explore the subject as deeply as I could in the time, consulting several hundred before I picked up my pen.

There, working alone at a desk among the shelves, I rediscovered the passion that had led me to love history a quarter of a century ago. Personalities such as Talleyrand, Metternich and Marshal Soult came back to me, with their schemes and plots and jokes – this book has plenty of jokes. Everyone asks writers whether they enjoy their work, and they often get rather pretentious replies about the ‘pain’ inherent in the creative process. I can honestly say that I adored writing this book and would love to do it all over again.

Andrew Roberts took a first in Modern History at Cambridge. He has been a professional historian since the publication of his life of Lord Halifax , The Holy Fox, in 1991. He contributes regularly to the Sunday Telegraph. Lives in Chelsea, London, and has two children. His Salisbury won the Wolfson History Prize in 2000.