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A History of Military Occupation from 1792 to 1914$

Peter M. R. Stirk

Print publication date: 2016

Print ISBN-13: 9780748675999

Published to Edinburgh Scholarship Online: September 2016

DOI: 10.3366/edinburgh/9780748675999.001.0001

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The Era of the French Revolutionary and the Napoleonic Wars

The Era of the French Revolutionary and the Napoleonic Wars

Chapter:
(p.39) Chapter 1. The Era of the French Revolutionary and the Napoleonic Wars
Source:
A History of Military Occupation from 1792 to 1914
Author(s):

Peter M. R. Stirk

Publisher:
Edinburgh University Press
DOI:10.3366/edinburgh/9780748675999.003.0002

Abstract and Keywords

This chapter demonstrates how military occupation as a distinct concept and practice emerged in this period, though it emphasises that this was not a clear and unilinear process. It argues that the provisionality of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic orders was a key factor in promoting the concept and practice of military occupation. The doctrines of the French Revolution, often argued to be decisive, are shown to have been more ambiguous. It emphasises the practice of French armies and attempts by French generals and political authorities to control the behaviour of the armies and the administrative agencies set up to administer occupied territory. It shows how occupied populations, especially administrative and police officials were caught between the need to cooperate with the occupant and fear of being seen as traitors. It also argues for the importance of non-belligerent occupations, those established under peace treaties or other conventions, in understanding occupation. Allied military occupation at the end of the Napoleonic wars is shown to have striking clarity about occupation. It comments finally on the earlier responses of courts to these developments.

Keywords:   Revolution, Napoleon, Provisionality, Liberation, Conquest, Military Occupation

The Provisionality of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Order

The wars that would make military occupation a recurrent feature of the European experience for over two decades and that overturned the eighteenth-century balance of power were so often justified in terms of competing principles and constitutional orders that principle and competition of constitutions have been seen as the cause of the wars and the factor behind their continuation.1 From the Declaration of Pillnitz of 27 August 1791, in which Frederick William II of Prussia and Leopold II of Austria declared ‘that they regard the present position of His Majesty the King of France as a matter of common concern to all the sovereigns of Europe’, and the inflammatory speech of Jacques-Pierre Brissot de Warville, of 20 October 1791, invoking the spectre of an anti-revolutionary conspiracy to be met by war, it readily appeared that the eventual declaration of war against Austria by the French Legislative Assembly on 20 April 1792 was an inevitability.2 By the same token Napoleon has been seen as the heir of the Revolution, or even as a ‘Robespierre on horseback’, whose opponents finally set the seal on the Revolution at the Congress of Vienna, some of them at least creating a Holy Alliance to smother any revolutionary sparks that might ignite a renewed conflagration.3

Others have seen more traditional factors of great power rivalry at work, with the French revolutionaries and Napoleon inheriting the goals of the French monarchy, and France’s opponents, and sometime allies, continuing their respective traditions. From this perspective the wars amounted not to the violent imposition of the Revolution but its betrayal and both sides were ultimately corrupted by their attempt to deal with the other. As Albert Sorel put it: ‘In order to deal with the French Revolution, old Europe abdicated its principle: in order to deal (p.40) with the old Europe the French Revolution falsified its own’.4 More nuanced accounts have tried to integrate both sets of factors, adding the influence of mutual misperception and miscalculation.5

Revolutionary ideology and counter-ideologies of the most diverse kind as well as considerations of power, national or dynastic honour, and misperception and miscalculation continued to feed the wars after 1792. However one judges the precise combination of such factors, which varied throughout the wars and regions, it is clear that reconciling Revolutionary France or the Empire with some stable European order was difficult, and ultimately proved impossible. This outcome was itself the product of a combination of factors. The revolutionaries proclaimed as a matter of principle that treaties concluded without the consent of peoples had no validity. Philippe-Antoine Merlin de Douai put it succinctly: ‘It is not the treaties of princes that regulate the rights of nations.’6 In a Europe overwhelmingly characterised by monarchical government, that amounted to the denunciation of the entire system of international law as understood by the governments of the day. It has been argued that there was in reality no meaningful system of European law in the eighteenth century or that such law as existed entailed no constraint on the predatory ambitions of eighteenth-century international politics.7 Ironically such interpretations were heralded by the revolutionaries themselves. Drawing on established indignation at the perceived hypocrisy of statesmen who preached international morality but were driven by the lust for conquest, Garran de Coulon proclaimed that in times of war all the ties of humanity dissolved, leaving only the reciprocity of reprisals as the law of nations.8 Other revolutionaries drew a different contrast, pitting the Republic as the guardian of the true law of nations, which was not to be confused with the treaty law of Europe, against the hypocrisy and perfidy embodied in Austrian practice.9 Despite the radically different principles espoused by the French revolutionaries, the outcome was the same: assertion of the profound difference between the values recognised by or embodied in the Republic and existing values.

This was not the only factor that called into question the legitimacy of established governments and opened the way to the emergence of military occupation as a recurrent feature of the turbulence that would last for over two decades. Other factors were equally important. The Republic embarked upon war without any clear strategic goals.10 The only goal it might be said to have had was that of saving the Republic from the conspiracy it believed it faced. Thus (p.41) began the pursuit of the elusive concept of security. The difficulty lay in determining where that lay, whether at the Rhine and France’s other supposedly natural frontiers, a notion that had indeed become commonplace by the end of 1792, or beyond those frontiers in the shape of buffer states of indeterminate extent.11 As the impecunious Republic turned, as it soon did, to the notion that ‘war must feed war’ another force for instability was added.12 The Republic could be safeguarded only by its armies but its armies could live, in some cases literally live, only by drawing on the resources of foreign territory. The generals who led them often had their own ambitions, seeing foreign territory as potential fiefdoms over which they would exercise personal rule. General Dumouriez’s ambitions in Belgium, General Hoche’s in the Rhineland, and General Bonaparte’s in Italy, illustrate this combination of political ambition and military strategy on all three major fronts in the early years of the wars.13 Uncertainty about the eventual status of these territories and the extent of France’s territorial ambitions would create the conditions in which military force and authority constituted de facto government.

Napoleon Bonaparte went on to attempt to establish new political structures across much of Europe, but at each step he embarked on new ventures in which military occupation resurfaced with varying degrees of clarity. To his military successes under the Directory which governed France from 1795 to 1799 he added the title of First Consul after the coup of 18 Brumaire (9–10 November 1799), then Emperor in May 1804 and King of Italy the following year. It would be in the name of ‘His Majesty the Emperor and King’ that Napoleon’s generals would take possession of conquered territory, though what this seizure of possession would mean for the future of those lands was uncertain.14 The empire over which he presided was strictly speaking pre-1789 France plus the territories formally annexed to it, though by the final years of the Empire this was very extensive. The governments of the Revolutionary Republic had begun the pattern of annexation with the papal enclaves of Avignon and the Comtat Venaissin (1791), Savoy (1792), Nice (1793), Belgium (1795) and Geneva (1798). After the 18 Brumaire the left bank of the Rhine, whose fate had already been determined, was formally incorporated. From 1805 Genoa and other minor Italian territories were added, including Rome (1810). The wave of annexations of Italian territories had only just ended when a northern expansion incorporated Holland, the Hanseatic ports and Oldenburg. A southern expansion into (p.42) Spain, namely Catalonia, was underway when Napoleon embarked upon his invasion of Russia in 1812. In addition to these formally annexed areas Napoleon’s relatives ruled the Duchy of Berg and Kingdom of Westphalia in the north of Germany, the Kingdom of Naples and Spain. Holland had also been ruled by a Bonaparte as the Kingdom of Holland before its annexation. In varying degrees these territories were subject to processes of ‘raillement’ and ‘amalgame’, signifying ever greater levels of integration.15 Exactly what was understood by these terms is not entirely clear. It is clear that Napoleon himself recommended the principle of amalgamation and saw it as replicating the fusion of the nation within France on a larger scale.16 To that extent, Napoleon’s successes culminated in conquest on a scale that Louis XIV could never have realistically aspired to.

This complex edifice, however, was marked by the instability and provisionality that were to become the marks of military occupation. Even within the territories ruled by members of his family the impermanence was evident in the transfer of his brother Joseph from Naples to Spain in 1808 and his replacement by Napoleon’s general and brother in law, Joachim Murat, who had been Duke of Berg. Berg, in turn, was ruled after Murat’s departure by an Imperial Commissioner, Count Beugnot, nominally on behalf of Napoleon’s nephew. Beugnot would later recall that ‘I was in Germany what the proconsuls were in Rome’.17 A later historian would observe in respect of the structures imposed by Napoleon in Italy that they never ‘lost this aspect of impermanence, of improvisation’.18 That was more than a retrospective gloss. The language of provisionality was the language of Napoleon and his sympathisers. It can be found from the beginning of the period of Napoleon’s rule to the dying years of the Empire. Not long after he had seized power he wrote to Talleyrand, in September 1801, stating that it was not his intention to give a ‘definitive organization’ to the Cisalpine Republic until the conclusion of peace.19 What had seemed stable and definitive, a kingdom no less, could turn out to have been merely provisional. Thus, in 1810, he gave instructions that the Dutch should be informed of his ‘solicitude’ and his desire to ‘put an end to the provisional governments … which have tormented this part of the Empire’.20 Equally striking is the justification offered by a Spanish official in French service for a delay in the implementation of the Napoleonic Code, namely that they should wait for the final victory of French arms.21

Therein lay the problem. It was not at all clear what final victory (p.43) would mean for Napoleon and his empire any more than it was clear what would satisfy the Revolution’s search for security. At least, in Napoleon’s case it was not clear what it would mean short of the subjugation of every competing power in Europe. It is worth emphasising that this was not because the other powers had been consistently intent on destroying his empire any more than the opponents of the Revolutionary Republic had been consistently intent on strangling it at birth. The French émigrés in the German principalities had found that the monarchs to whom they appealed were willing enough to make gestures but would ignore them or even consent to their dispersal if that seemed expedient.22 Even Britain, which only once, and then briefly, made peace with France, had an equivocal attitude to the Revolutionary government in France, leaving Edmund Burke railing against those who would make peace with regicides.23 Peace was made, first by Prussia in the Treaty of Basel in 1795 and subsequently by every significant power in Europe, all of which save Britain became Napoleon’s allies at one point or another. None of them could find a stable mode of coexistence with Napoleon’s Empire.24 That was clear in the final coalition which brought about his fall and which had been so difficult to construct because two of the parties to the coalition, Prussia and Austria, knew that the price of failure of this final gamble could well be their own destruction. Metternich put it well: ‘All the calculation of Austria and other poor intermediaries must be directed at how not to be wiped out.’25

The road to the war in which Metternich gambled Austria’s existence had begun at a militarily indecisive battle at Valmy on 20 September 1792 that served, however, to block a Prussian advance on Paris and was elevated by the French into a symbol of the resolve of the French nation.26 The French could now go on the offensive which would bring them the first significant challenge of deciding how to deal with foreign territory. To the south-west a largely unopposed French army moved into Savoy and Nice in the immediate aftermath of Valmy. In the Rhineland General Custine pushed forward, on 21 October seizing Mainz, from which the French would not be dislodged until the following July. Following a decisive victory over Austrian forces at Jemappes on 6 November by General Dumouriez, French forces quickly occupied most of Belgium.27 The following year demonstrated the fragility of the French hold on territory to the west and north. The military victories of France, abetted by revolutionary rhetoric, had, moreover, promoted the emergence of (p.44) a wider anti-French coalition including the Netherlands and Britain, on whom the French declared war on 1 February 1793 in a catalogue of grievances against the supposed malevolence of Britain towards the Republic, and Spain.28

The year 1793 started well for the French as they pushed into the Netherlands but the tide turned with the defeat of Dumouriez’s army at Neerwinden on 18 March. Following this disaster the French were driven from Belgium and the Netherlands and suffered reversals in the Rhine. The Holy Roman Empire resolved on war with France on 22 March, citing the need to combat revolutionary ideology as well as French invasion of territories of the Empire.29 Toulon surrendered to a British fleet on 29 August, presenting the British with their own problems about how to treat occupied territory. Even the Spanish enjoyed success, occupying French territory. Paris was faced with counter-revolutionary insurgency within France itself. To add to French woes, Dumouriez, fearing that defeat would be followed by accusations of treason, having failed to rally his army behind a march on Paris to restore the authority of the French king, defected to the Allies. All of these twists and turns of war, as well as the threat to the Revolution from within, would shape the attitude of the various parties to the territory they seized, as they would shape the attitude of the inhabitants of such territory as they contemplated the possible return of former rulers or of the occupant. The prospect of the return of the occupant was made clear in the chilling warning of the representative of the National Convention with the French forces in Mainz, Antoine-Christophe Merlin de Thionville, as he responded to hostility to the departing French: ‘it is not the last time that you will see me here’.30 These sudden changes in control over significant tracts of territory heightened the sense of uncertainty and the provisionality of such control as the contending parties were able to exert.

Although the French would not return to Mainz until much later, 1794 ended well for them. Following victory at Fleurus on 26 June 1794 they reasserted their grip on Belgium. After some hesitation, linked to the uncertainty following the overthrow of Robespierre, the French resolved on another attempt to invade Holland, this time successfully.31 Utrecht surrendered on 16 January and three days later the first French troops entered Amsterdam where the Provisional Representatives of the People of Amsterdam waited to greet them.32 This extension of French control brought new problems. Most of the territory lay unequivocally beyond France’s natural frontiers and (p.45) the Dutch Patriots had more authority in their own country than the beleaguered republicans of the Rhineland. Yet, whereas the Patriots saw the French as liberators, Lazare Nicolaus Marguerite Carnot of the Committee of Public Safety saw the Dutchmen as ‘so-called patriots, interested only in the expulsion of their personal enemies so that they could replace them in their turn’.33 Conquest and annexation were not options but the viability of an independent Dutch state was far from clear.

The rapid French advance into the Netherlands had been helped by the increasing lack of coordination and resolution amongst its enemies. The same feebleness of opposition facilitated their reassertion in the Rhineland. By the end of 1794 the left bank of the Rhine was in French hands. That too presented a problem. The People’s Representatives with the Army of the Moselle reported the desire of the soldiers to proclaim the Rhine as the frontier of France but Paris was so hesitant about that option that it even omitted that part of their report from the published version.34 Wider diplomatic considerations were also at work here. They were also reflected in the Treaty of Basel with Prussia of 4 April 1795, the first significant crack in the anti-French coalition. The Treaty of Basel brought peace with Prussia and provided for, but did not formally agree, French acquisition of Prussian territory on the left bank, and explicitly referred to ‘occupation’ as the interim arrangement.35

The next wave of French military victories brought no resolution of the fate of the left bank of the Rhine, though the French National Convention had resolved upon the annexation of Belgium on 1 October 1795.36 That French victories did not ensure annexation of the Rhineland was due primarily to the architect of those victories, Napoleon Bonaparte. Bonaparte swept through northern Italy in 1796, crushing the feeble resistance of Piedmont and driving the Austrians out of Italy. Turning south he imposed an armistice on the Pope on 23 June 1796. The following year he imposed the Treaty of Tolentino on the Pope and then moved north into Carinthia and Styria. The Austrians responded with alacrity to a proposed armistice. The negotiation of the outcome, the Preliminary Treaty of Leoben of 18 April 1797, was, on the French side, the work of Bonaparte. Here Bonaparte’s agenda was different from that of the Directory in Paris. The Directory’s policy was to exchange the gains in Italy for Austrian recognition of French possession of the left bank of the Rhine. Bonaparte’s policy was to secure the gains in Italy. It was the latter that prevailed. The (p.46) fate of the left bank of the Rhine remained unsettled, though Austria recognised French annexation of Belgium.37 In the end only one of the directors, Reubell, voted against accepting the treaty, though another, La Revelière, protested vigorously against the proposed partition of Venice.38 While the treaty perpetuated the uncertainty in the Rhineland, another kind of uncertainty was created as Bonaparte began reorganising northern Italy. Even before Leoben he had supported the spontaneous formation of a Cispadane Republic in 1796, though he was dissatisfied with the elections they held the following April. The republic, he told the Directory, would need a ‘provisional government’ for three or four years in order to diminish ‘the influence of the priests’.39 After Leoben he created a Ligurian Republic out of the former Republic of Genoa on 6 June 1797 and a Cisalpine Republic on 29 June 1797 centred on Milan, to which the Cispadane Republic was added.40 All of these were notionally ‘sister republics’ following the example of the Republic of the United Provinces created in 1795 in the Netherlands.41

Leoben clearly entailed no end to the instability for Venice, upon which France declared war on 9 April 1797, inaugurating a period of French transformation of those parts of Venetian territory assigned to France and French occupation of the remainder until the Austrians installed themselves in the following January in accordance with the terms of the Peace of Campo Formio of October 1797.42 Before the end of the year, with the murder of a French general accompanying the French ambassador in Rome, another pretext for war appeared. By February the papal government had been suppressed by a small French army that had occupied the city without resistance and another republic was created. Citing French treatment of the Pope, the King of Naples unwisely moved against the French, briefly dislodging them from Rome only to see his army defeated and Naples occupied by General Championnet, who created the short-lived Parthenopian Republic at the beginning of 1799. For Italy the French intervention had signified only the ‘indefinite existence of provisionality’.43 For Switzerland, where the French took advantage of internal conflict, it also entailed territorial losses to the Cisalpine Republic in 1797 and the loss of Geneva, which was annexed by France in 1798. In the now familiar pattern a sister republic, the Helvetic Republic, was established in the same year.44

The fragility of the structures created by Bonaparte and other French generals in Switzerland and Italy was promptly demonstrated (p.47) by their collapse in the War of the Second Coalition as Allied armies swept into Italy. Bonaparte himself returned from the ill-fated expedition to Egypt he had embarked upon in 1798 and seized power in Paris in the coup of 18th Brumaire 1799, and in the following year inflicted a defeat on the Austrians at Marengo on 14 June 1800 which arguably consolidated his power in a way that the 18th Brumaire had not.45 A truce was followed by another crushing French victory, under General Moreau at Hohenlinden in December, and Austria accepted French terms for peace in the Treaty of Lunéville in 1801. Austria now recognised French annexation of the left bank of the Rhine and the sister republics. Peace with Britain followed at Amiens in the following year. Bonaparte had consolidated French gains and his own power and arguably brought about a settlement with which both the major powers and many minor ones on the continent could live, and some were even eager to live.46

Bonaparte could not. The resumption of war with Britain brought an added motive for occupation: the occupation of Hanover and its Hanseatic dependencies sought to close the Elbe to British trade while the occupation of Italian ports served the same function in the south.47 At this point Bonaparte embarked upon a veritable ‘rage of organisation’.48 This would contribute to and be reinforced by the War of the Third Coalition. On 26 May 1805 he transformed the Republic of Italy he had established in 1802 into a kingdom, crowning himself in Milan. The following month he annexed the Ligurian Republic to France. Both events antagonised Austria and Russia.49 In the ensuing war Austria suffered heavy defeat at Ulm in October and a combined Austrian and Russian force was crushed at Austerlitz in December. With Vienna under French occupation Austria signed the humiliating Treaty of Pressburg. Prussia had remained aloof and was being encouraged by the prospect of the acquisition of Hanover, which Prussian forces had occupied as the French withdrew in 1805. Prussia, however, was not consulted in the formation of the Confederation of the Rhine in July 1806 and finally stung by news that Bonaparte had offered to return Hanover to Britain in abortive peace negotiations. In the war that followed Prussian armies were destroyed at Jena and Auerstadt in October and Berlin was occupied by French troops. French occupation returned to both Hanover and the Hanseatic ports. It was from Berlin that Napoleon issued the decree of 21 November 1806 reinforcing the attempt to exclude British trade from the continent and reinforcing that motive (p.48) for occupation. Territory seized from Prussia helped to form the new duchies of Berg and Warsaw and the Kingdom of Westphalia, while French occupation of the Kingdom of Naples led to the imposition of Napoleon’s bother Joseph as King of Naples.

In part in pursuit of his economic conflict with Britain, Bonaparte occupied Portugal in 1807, albeit briefly, in alliance with Spain, only to convert the alliance into an occupation during which he forced the claimants to the Spanish throne to abdicate, transferring Joseph to Madrid as the new king in 1808. From then until Wellington crossed the Pyrenees in 1814 war and occupation were constant features in the Iberian Peninsula. Indeed while the Duchy of Berg and Kingdom of Westphalia acquired sufficient stability and recognition for the rule of Napoleon’s relatives to be considered as at least legitimate interim rulers, the instability of Spain and, to a lesser extent and for different reasons, Naples, readily invites the suggestion that military occupation is a better characterisation of their condition.50 At the time the fate of Spain encouraged Austria to embark upon its gamble to take on Napoleon alone, leading to Austrian defeat at Wagram in July 1809 and the Peace of Schönbrunn, which included territorial losses in the south-east that helped form the Illyrian provinces.

At the height of French power Napoleon had still failed to build a stable system. Military occupation remained a feature. Further annexations in 1810 and the contemplated annexation of Catalonia in 1812 failed to eliminate it as Napoleon departed for his ill-fated invasion of Russia and the subsequent formation of the final coalition which would lead to his defeat. In 1814 it was the turn of the Allied victors to face the problem of military occupation, most notably in Germany, in a political landscape that had been turned upside down by Napoleon, and then in France itself. Competition between the Allies themselves, acceptance that France not only had to continue to exist but had to remain a significant European power meant that annexation offered a limited solution to the problem of how to treat these lands. Pending the determination of their fate the only solution was military occupation. Napoleon’s failed bid to return to power reinforced a resort to military occupation. Indeed military occupation would form part of the provisions of the second Treaty of Paris, of 1815, which marked the final end of the Napoleonic enterprise.

Although of no comparable military or political significance, one of the consequences of the economic struggle between the British and Napoleon was the Anglo-American War of 1812, which was (p.49) finally brought to an end by the Treaty of Ghent, signed at the end of 1814. The occupations it entailed, to the extent that they were understood as occupations, were brief and geographically limited. It had none of the ideological overtones or institutional innovations that complicated the European stage. Yet here too there were signs of the problems and solution that would slowly crystallise into the concept of military occupation.

In Europe it was the sheer pace and scale of events, the sweep of Revolutionary and especially Napoleonic armies, the sequence of armistices, peace treaties, conventions and then renewed war, and the persistent provisionality of the political structures left in their wake, that provided the context in which military occupation as a distinct phenomenon began to crystallise. The French Revolution and Napoleon had put an end to the old order in Europe and as a by-product of the march of their armies created a transient political and military arrangement, military occupation, that was beginning to acquire its own language, but slowly and inconsistently.

Revolutionary Doctrine: Between Liberation and Conquest

The French revolutionaries were not concerned at the outset with the language of military occupation. It was the language of conquest and liberty that first attracted, and continued to dominate, their attention. Even here their interest was engaged by specific concerns and contexts. It was the potential embroilment of France in a dispute between Spain and Britain on the other side of the Atlantic that induced the National Assembly to begin to formulate a policy relating to war and conquest.51 The Assembly promptly discerned the wider constitutional issue at stake, that is, the relative powers of the king and his ministers and the legislative power.52 In a protracted debate lasting several days there were repeated assertions of French respect for the rights and liberty of other nations and the associated disavowal of conquest, some even seeing this as the key to the entire debate.53 Yet it is the constitutional question that still shone through the final version of the disavowal of conquest in article 4 of the declaration of 22 May 1790. According to this article ministers or other agents of the executive would be held guilty of a crime against the nation if they undertook a war of aggression and for this purpose the Assembly declared that the ‘French nation renounces (p.50) undertaking any war with a view to making conquests and that it will never use its forces against the liberty of any people’.54 The same language appeared in the constitution of 1791.55 No sooner had the constitution come into effect than the Assembly voted for the reunion of Avignon and the Comtat Venaissin, a step which it had been debating, and postponing ever since the insurgents in the papal enclaves had requested reunion over a year earlier.56

The prime argument in favour of this step, which circumvented the charge that France was engaged in conquest, was that it was a response to the freely expressed wish of the inhabitants. Underlying this doctrine, however, was a more far reaching claim that was expressed in November 1790 by Jérôme Pétion de Villeneuve:

There is no true political union, a union engaging all the members of society, unless its conditions have been regulated by the individuals who compose it. An engagement without will is null; this truth is safe from all attack and the United States have rendered it solemn homage during the formation of their government. There is no point at which France has had a genuine political federation. Each of the provinces which compose this beautiful empire was a separate state which had its particular statutes, its privileges … One could perhaps say that the provinces of an empire, whatever title might be attached to it, find themselves bound together by a tacit consent … It is not necessary to allow oneself to be misled here by this appearance of consent; it is nothing other than the submission of weakness to the empire of force. As long as the parts of an empire do not bind themselves, do not incorporate themselves by a free vote, there is no association, there is no alliance; force alone establishes the relationship: but force violates the law instead of consecrating it.57

By this logic there was only one true political union in Europe: France, once it had given itself a constitution. The rest of Europe was composed only of mere agglomerations of men held together by the iron bands of tyranny. As yet, however, the French had not drawn the full consequences from Pétion’s claims for the uniqueness of their country.

As French armies entered foreign territory in the wake of the Battle of Valmy the pressure to clarify the implications of the declarations of principle mounted. From Savoy, General Montesquiou wrote in September 1792 asking for guidance on how he should respond to what appeared to be sentiments ‘disposed to a revolution resembling ours’ and to whether to favour the idea that Savoy should become a (p.51) French department or ‘a republic under its protection’, and whether to replace the existing authorities or nominate a governor general.58 The debate in the National Convention witnessed the reassertion of the renunciation of conquest but division on whether this entailed allowing the Savoyards to give themselves whatever constitution they deemed fit or whether, as Danton preferred, the French should instruct the Savoyards not to give themselves any more kings.59 Amidst the debate on principles one contributor tried, unsuccessfully, to insist that they were confronted with two distinct issues: ‘the general principle and the request that Montesquiou has put to you to give him a plan of conduct for the particular circumstances in which he finds himself’.60 The outcome was that the Convention had to return to the matter the following month when it also condemned General Anselm for taking possession of Nice in the name of the French nation, a practice rejected as more appropriate to conquerors in the service of kings, and legislating for the territory.61 Only in the following month did the Convention move towards reunion, though still showing great concern to distinguish this from the hated conquest and on taking precautions to assure itself that this was indeed the freely expressed wish of the inhabitants of Nice and not merely the views of a minority.62

The desire to unite the renunciation of conquest with the promotion of liberty became stronger in two decrees that followed these debates. By the first decree, of 19 November 1792, responding this time to pleas for guidance from General Custine in Mainz, the Convention declared

in the name of the French nation, that it will grant fraternity and aid to all peoples who wish to recover their liberty; and it charges the executive power with giving the generals the orders necessary for bringing aid to such peoples and for defending citizens who have been, or who might be, harassed for the cause of liberty.63

Cursory and vague though this was, there was no sign of the earlier reluctance to intervene or to accept whatever constitution the liberated might deem fit for their particular circumstances.64 The second decree, of 15 December 1792, sought to provide greater guidance and to respond to the problem which had emerged in Belgium, that is, of a people who seemed to lack the strength to liberate themselves. Pierre-Joseph Cambon, who proposed the decree, made clear that (p.52) in such cases ‘it is necessary that its liberator take its place and act in its interest, momentarily exercising the revolutionary power’.65 Consistent with this the decree provided that ‘In the territories which are or may be occupied by the armies of the Republic, the generals shall proclaim immediately, in the name of the French nation, the sovereignty of the people’.66 Unlike the decree of 19 November, this time the implications were spelled out. Taxes and feudal rights were to be suppressed. The people was to be convoked ‘in primary or communal assemblies, in order to create a provisional administration and justice’, with all officials of the former government being excluded from such assemblies and ineligible for office in the administration.67 French generals would exercise authority over public assets and resources. The French Executive Council was to despatch national commissioners to such territories. The decree also provided that France would be reimbursed for the expenses incurred in the ‘common defence’ and where the ‘common interest requires the troops of the Republic to remain upon foreign territory’ measures would be agreed for their maintenance.68 The language was that of liberation, though the tension between the proclamation of the sovereignty of the people and the French assumption of the ‘revolutionary power’, that is sovereignty, did not go unnoticed.69

Just as it had been the implications of the presence of French armies on foreign territory that induced the Convention to clarify, and radicalise, its position so too French reverses brought about a significant change in tone. As early as April 1793, Danton, who had wished to deny the liberated the right to choose monarchical government, now lamented that the Convention had passed a decree, ‘in a moment of enthusiasm’, committing it to give protection to all peoples wishing to liberate themselves from tyrants.70 The Convention then decreed that it would not ‘intervene in any manner in the government of other powers but would not tolerate any inference by them in France’s internal affairs.71 This defensive tone, indicative of the threat the Convention faced from its enemies, was also evident in the constitution of 1793. It reiterated the prohibition on intervention and added that the French people ‘do not make peace with an enemy who is occupying their territory’.72 It was consistent with the perception of the threat that the Convention decreed a new law of 30 April 1793 on the Representatives on Mission, giving them a wide-ranging remit of surveillance over French armies and civil agents, including the right to dismiss both civil and military officials, (p.53) and, more generally, ‘unlimited powers in order to exercise the functions delegated to them’.73 As the instructions of the Committee of Public Safety that followed shortly after make clear, the loyalty and commitment of French generals was a prime concern.74

This, however, was only one direction which the reaction against the decree of 15 December 1792 took. More significant for future conduct was a decree of 15 September 1793. According to this French generals would ‘henceforth renounce all philanthropic ideas’ and ‘conduct themselves towards the enemies of France in the same manner as the powers of the coalition conduct themselves’. This meant that they would, ‘in respect of countries and individuals subjugated by their arms, exercise the ordinary rights of war’.75 Two days later the Committee of Public Safety specified that those rights included seizing hostages, levying contributions, living off the land and transporting foodstuff, forage, animals and much else behind the French lines.76 This meant reverting to the doctrine of conquest of the ancien régime, not in the sense of asserting an immediate displacement of sovereignty, but in the sense of a right of seizure of persons and moveable goods.

Just as the proclamation of liberation had not initially clarified exactly how French generals would behave towards occupied populations, so too the doctrine of conquest, although more specific from the outset, did not fully clarify how French generals would behave in pursuit of the policy of conquest. Again clarification slowly emerged in the light of experience and the need to impose some regularity on the behaviour of different armies and the host of civil agents accompanying them. Thus, on the 18 July 1794, the Committee of Public Safety issued new instructions to the Representatives of the People attached to the armies. The Representatives of the People, or in their absence the generals, were to assemble the magistrates ‘in all places occupied by the armies of the Republic’ and to demand a list of all civil and military officials. Military officials were to be dismissed but the Representatives were to declare that

civil functionaries are provisionally maintained in their employment under the protection of the Republic in order to fulfil the functions which will be delegated to them; but that they [the Representatives] will dismiss and replace those they judge not to merit confidence and those who manifest sentiments opposed to the interests of the Republic.77

(p.54) Fuller clarification came at the initiative of some of those Representatives of the People, namely those attached to the armies of the North and the Sambre and Meuse. Their express purpose was to combine in a single decree all the existing provisions relating to ‘the police, general administration and order which should be observed in Belgium and other countries conquered by the armies of the Republic’.78 The result was a set of instructions of 14 August 1794, running to 34 articles marked by a desire to impose some order on French occupation policy and practice. Those, for example, who sought to levy contributions or make requisitions without due authorisation were to be punished by death.79 The instructions repeated the provisions for the continued employment of civil functionaries made by the Committee of Public Safety. It stated, moreover, that ‘The laws and particular customs of the conquered country are provisionally maintained’, specifying that this included regulations affecting policing matters, regulations relating to forests and markets and taxation, unless specification derogation was made by the Representatives of the People.80

Revolutionary doctrine had begun with the renunciation of conquest but was from the outset based on a doctrine of legitimate power, of true political union, that effectively denied the legitimacy of all states not founded upon the kind of compact the revolutionaries believed had constituted their own nation. That this opened the road to conquest was more or less concealed by the language of reunion supposedly supported by the wish of those who were to united with the Republic. The tension, however, between the renunciation of conquest and French assumption of the ‘revolutionary power’ in occupied territory was evident even at the time. More importantly, the pressures of war and the reality of occupation promoted the reassertion of the language of conquest and then of instructions that did not automatically assume liberation or annexation, but rather the provisional employment of existing officials and the continuing validity of existing laws and customs. Although still formulated in terms of rights of conquest, an understanding of military occupation was beginning to emerge. There would, however, be no simple, linear development towards a distinct concept of military occupation. The tensions and ambiguities that emerged in the early years of the Republic would continue to mark the efforts of the French revolutionaries and their Napoleonic successors, especially as general principles, and general instructions, clashed and intertwined with the reality of military occupation.

(p.55) Military Occupations by the Armies of the Republic

The first test of French Revolutionary principles and organisation came with the short-lived occupations of Mainz and surrounding territory which lasted from October 1792 to the surrender of the French garrison in Mainz on 23 July 1793 and in Belgium between the victory at Jemappes on 6 November 1792 and defeat at Neerwinden on 18 March 1793. In both cases the commanding generals, Custine in Mainz and Dumouriez in Belgium, clearly grasped that the reaction they would meet from populations would depend in large part upon the conduct and discipline of their soldiers. Custine, for example, reacted to initial outbreaks of plundering by his soldiers by having three soldiers arrested as ringleaders and summarily condemned and shot.81 In Belgium, Dumouriez sought to avoid the worst of requisitioning, paying for what his troops needed wherever possible. This was not merely a pragmatic matter but was consistent with their understanding of themselves as liberators and of the superiority of the virtuous soldiers of the Revolution compared with the predatory soldiery of the ancien régime. In Mainz, the impact of this initially seemed equivocal. The German Jacobin Georg Forster recorded that the inhabitants received the French invaders ‘in a kind of gloomy silence, without any vigorous signs of opposition, but without any applause and without any rejoicing’.82 In fact this augured well for the French, who stood to benefit from the simple contrast between their discipline and the depredations which inhabitants of occupied towns customarily expected. What mattered here was not only the instructions of commanding generals but the behaviour of subordinate officers and even ordinary soldiers. Concrete demonstrations of the revolutionary doctrine of equality could impress people from lower social orders for whom revolutionary rhetoric had little if any meaning.83 In Belgium the French benefited from the pre-existing conflict between the majority of the population and their Austrian rulers. In Mons, Dumouriez’s soldiers were greeted with cries of ‘Long live the saviours of the Belgians’.84 The French claim to be liberators could appear to be welcome, at least insofar as this meant liberation from the Austrians. The French, of course, thought that liberation meant much more than that. In a related miscalculation the French took the relative friendliness and cooperation of the inhabitants of Mainz that emerged after the initial hesitations as evidence of revolutionary inclinations; a misperception that influenced the (p.56) formation of liberation policy in Paris in November.85 The scene was already set for disillusion on both sides.

In both cases, however, the proclamations issued by the commanding generals suggested a more tolerant approach to the future of the occupied territories than eventually emerged. In Mainz on 23 October, Custine went so far as to proclaim that although he came to offer the inhabitants liberty, a ‘spontaneous wish will decide your fate’ and they could choose slavery and the despot under which they preferred to live.86 Custine repeated this offer two days later in a proclamation to the ‘oppressed people of the German nation’.87 In fact this broader proclamation, extending the promise of self-determination to all territories occupied by the French, already amounted to a commitment to support self-determination in disregard of the integrity of the German Empire within whose structures the German people lived.88

More significant, though, than the rhetorical flourish respecting a preference for slavery was Custine’s promise to respect existing institutions until a free wish of the inhabitants decided to amend them.89 In Belgium, Dumouriez also pronounced that he came bearing liberty but would not interfere in their choice of constitution.90 He instructed his generals not to intervene in the administration nor in ‘any political details’, nor to influence the choice the Belgians made for the arrangements they deemed appropriate to maintain liberty.91

In reality neither general could honour these promises. In differing degrees their own convictions, the constraints emanating from Paris, either in the shape of proclamations of principle or civilian agents despatched to the occupied territory, and the dilemma faced by occupants in divided societies meant that they had to choose between different domestic factions. Indeed, even in calling for the national view of the Belgian people Dumouriez set himself on a collision course with those who defended the constitutions and rights of the distinct states that composed Belgium.92 His claim to stand, so to speak, above the contesting parties was as fatally flawed as similar claims by later occupiers faced with divided societies, further dislocated by the impact of invasion and occupation.93 In Mainz, Custine’s assertion of neutrality was qualified not only by the rhetorical option of slavery that he offered the inhabitants but also by his avowed intent in the same proclamations to impose contributions only on those who had oppressed the people. More significant still was Custine’s extension (p.57) of French protection to the Jacobin club, the Society of the Friends of Freedom and Equality, in Mainz and his recruitment of revolutionary orators in Strasbourg ‘to preach the French revolution’.94 Similarly, in Belgium, immediately after Jemappes, Dumouriez welcomed the establishment of a radical club in Mons.95 Where Dumouriez was not present other French generals, some notably more radical than Dumouriez, stood behind the clubs.96

Again, in both cases the French ran into significant barriers. In Belgium, in almost all cases where the election of provisional authorities was not strictly controlled it was the defenders of the traditional rights and liberties of the Belgians, enshrined in the medieval Joyeuse Entrée, who triumphed.97 Alongside genuine commitment to these traditional rights lay an interesting consideration that appeared in some pamphlets. If the fortunes of war led to the return of the Austrians they would have the right to govern the country as they found it. If they found it without Belgium’s traditional institutions, the inhabitants could not appeal to the rights and protections enshrined in those institutions.98 The strident anticlericalism of many French generals, evident in General Verrière’s boast of his pride in being an enemy of the ‘despots of the cross and the mitre’, could only provoke further opposition, strengthening in its turn the French tendency to blame all opposition on the machinations of ‘priestly cabals’.99 In Mainz, early indication of the barriers came in a carefully worded response from the guilds to Custine’s proclamations. It expressed admiration for the French along with the regret that their temperament and condition made it impossible for the citizens of Mainz to imitate them. It conceded the need for constitutional reform but then minimised the actual reforms required and pleaded for time.100 Here too conflict with a strong religious ethos, as well as different understandings of liberty and even of patriotism compounded mutual misunderstanding between the majority of the population on the one hand and the French occupants and their Jacobin sympathisers on the other.101

Resistance from the indigenous societies encouraged administrative reform and reliance upon the limited number who were committed to the goals of the revolution. It was this that led Custine to dissolve the existing administration and install a new body, the General Administration, in the middle of November 1792. This had the further advantage that, given its more extensive territorial remit compared with the old Mainz authorities, there was now a single (p.58) administrative body for the occupied area.102 Subordinate municipal authorities for the various towns within occupied territory followed. In general there was a clear attempt to reshape the administrative structure on the French model and to staff it with those seen as politically reliable. The shortage of such personnel meant, however, that members of the old administrative elite remained predominant in the lower echelons. The indigenous Jacobins now had administrative authority behind their programme as well as the propaganda of the Jacobin clubs.103 Administrative reform in Belgium was more chaotic. The greater territorial extent, the diversity of indigenous opinion, the wilful behaviour of French generals, who often clashed with Dumouriez, and the impact of the revolutionary decree of 15 December 1792, all contributed to this outcome. Reaction to the decree in Belgium was hostile leading to protests that the French were acting as conquerors and were imposing change of such an extent that not even the Austrians had dared to impose.104 French generals feared insurrection. Even the radical General Labourdonnaye, one of those who clashed with Dumouriez, counselled caution. Yet only Dumouriez protested vigorously against the decree. He even sought to avoid implication in its implementation by claiming that his soldiers lacked the requisite administrative and judicial skills to enforce it.105 The result was administrative chaos and inconsistency. There was no uniformity in the administrative structure of the different provinces. Effective government was paralysed in any case by the suppression of existing taxes in accordance with the first article of the decree of 15 December.106 Coordination among the various French agencies was almost nonexistent, leading to calls for the appointment of a plenipotentiary minister to supervise them, though the prospects of such a minister imposing his authority on the generals, the Representatives of the People and the national commissars were slim.107

Although the Representatives of the People and the national commissars, that is, the commissars of the French Executive Council, were intended to ensure the coordination and implementation of French policy, neither group had sufficient authority or coordination to impose order. The Representatives, despatched by the Convention, acted as ‘ambulant dictators’, while the national commissars, of whom there were only thirty for the whole of Belgium, had a broad remit covering security, registration of property placed under the protection of the Republic, the enforced circulation of the hated (p.59) assignats, the Republic’s paper currency, and requisitioning to supply the army.108 In Mainz they worked well together and pushed General Custine into the background.109 As Mainz was besieged in April 1793 they even played a prominent role in the war council established by the new commanding general, François d’Oyré. As Oyré recalled, their influence was enhanced by the fact that their powers had not been clearly delimited.110 In Belgium, however, the generals continued to effectively conduct their individual occupation policies.

All of these actors, the generals, the Representatives of the People, the national commissars and the indigenous Jacobins, whether in the administration or purely the clubs, were resented and even hated not just because of their administrative reforms or their anticlerical views but above all because of requisitioning. The impact of this was clear to the French authorities. Commissar Simon reported from Mainz that the practice had ‘turned the inhabitants of the countryside against the French Revolution’.111 As discipline disintegrated, along with the shortage of food General Beurnonville lamented that the atrocities committed by his men made him shiver, threatened to have the first man he caught shot, but ended writing: ‘Am I Cartouche or a general of the army?’112 In Belgium inadequate provisioning of the army was well known. Dumouriez engaged in a vitriolic dispute with the minister of war, whom Dumouriez accused of being responsible for the disorganisation of his army. Some of those charged with provisioning the army were arrested. Broken promises and mutual recrimination became commonplace. What all agreed upon was that the condition of the army was indeed deplorable.113 Decades later General von Moltke would claim that one of the greatest factors that had lessened the barbarity of war was ‘vigilance of administration which provides for the subsistence of troops in the field’.114 It was a vigilance that the armies of Revolutionary and Napoleonic France never attained with any consistency. Having conceived themselves as liberators, French generals and soldiers came to see themselves as conquerors even where they had no wish to act as such. It was inevitable that those who had supported the revolutionary programme, who were indeed genuinely committed to the abolition of privilege, the cause of liberty and enlightenment found themselves caught between the ill-provisioned armies and the populace they had to exploit. Georg Forster from Mainz was left asking: ‘Are we only the officials and bailiffs of the army, executors of military orders dictated by necessity (p.60) or whim? Are we only the blind instruments of an enemy power?’115

In both Belgium and Mainz in the last weeks of the occupation the French organised bodies that would proclaim the desire of the territories they claimed to represent to unite with the French Republic. In Mainz, the Rhenish-German National Convention opened on 17 March 1793. Georg Forster played a leading role in its decisions, including the resolution on 21 March requesting the incorporation of the Rhenish-German people into the French Republic. Although diverse arguments for reunion were rehearsed there was never any doubt about the outcome.116 Forster was amongst the group that took this request to Paris. In Belgium the organisation of the call for reunion was more difficult. Meetings in the major towns had to be staggered, beginning with Mons on the 11 February 1793, in order to allow the French authorities time to arrange that the meetings could be harangued by French commissars and protected by French soldiers, who also ensured that only those disposed to vote for reunion were allowed to attend.

Military defeat promptly ensured that these requests were, as yet, meaningless. Especially in Mainz itself, French defeat had dire consequences for those who had supported the French. Although the French garrison marched out under terms of the capitulation of the city, it had failed to get agreement from the Prussian General Kalckreuth that Mainz’s Jacobins could leave with it. It was not the Prussians, however, from whom the Jacobins had the most to fear. Their fellow citizens organised ‘clubist hunts’ to search them out. The savagery which then met them was bad enough for the Prussian commandant who took over from the French to issue, as one of his first decrees, a warning of severe punishment for those who resorted to ad hoc justice.117 The fate of Mainz’s Jacobins would weigh heavily in the minds of German revolutionaries when the French returned.

When the French swept into Belgium again following the Battle of Fleurus of June 1794, the Representatives with the armies of the North and the Sambre and Meuse asked for guidance on how to treat the country. Their request was probably motivated by the fall of Maximilien Robespierre and uncertainty about whether this would be followed by a change of policy in the Committee of Public Safety. On 3 August 1794 the Committee pointedly reaffirmed the commitment to a policy of conquest it had adopted after the reverses of the previous year: ‘We have told you … to treat these countries as occupied territory, do not fraternise, do not municipalise, do not (p.61) concern yourselves with reunion’.118 They specified that this entailed complete disarmament of the inhabitants, prohibition of assemblies, seizing hostages, stripping Belgium of everything useful for French consumption and enforcing the circulation of the assignats. The only overt remnant of revolutionary principle was the injunction to ‘bear down on the rich’ but to respect the people, including its ‘prejudices’, by which they meant its religious prejudices. In reality Belgian elites proved adept at deflecting the burden of requisitions to their poorer fellow countrymen.119 The Representatives had grasped that their new instructions entailed more coherent organisation than had been the practice in the initial French occupations of enemy territory. That awareness was evident in the general instructions of 14 August, intended for application in all occupied territory. It was reflective of the problems of coordination even between the Committee and the Representatives, that in the Committee’s response approving the general instructions, the Committee expressed surprise that its own decrees relative to Belgium, which the Representatives had also requested, had not already been sent to them.120 Awareness of the need for greater coordination was also evident in the Representatives’ more specific plans for Belgium, where, as they noted, each province had its own distinctive administrative structure. Such diversity was incompatible with the need to centrally coordinate information about the available resources.121 In order to rectify this they decreed, on 5 September, the creation of a Central Military Administration. A Committee of Surveillance in Brussels followed, with similar bodies in other major towns. Local administration was standardised throughout Belgium. Finally, in October, a General Administration was established in each province reporting to a Central Superior Administration in Brussels which was created in the following month.122 Criminal tribunals were established, which were aided by the Committees of Surveillance, to try offences against the French army and the decrees of the Representatives.123 Nothing, it seemed, would be allowed to stand in the way of this centralised machine. Even the radical popular societies would be swept aside if they disrupted the central purpose, as was that of Brussels on 13 September for indulging in ‘incendiary declarations’.124

Yet despite the frenetic administrative activity the reality underlying these structures was chaotic. There was widespread pillaging by the army. Where they sought to pay in assignats, which exchanged on the free market at a fraction of their face value, Belgians often (p.62) refused to accept the near worthless paper currency. This led to brawls, sometimes deadly, between soldiers and inhabitants.125 Despite the large number of French troops in the country, amounting at one point to one for every ten Belgians, they could not protect areas especially in the north from organised brigandage.126 Chronic shortage of personnel, given the scale of French ambition, meant that hordes of French agents were recruited to conduct the various forms of requisitioning with scant attention being paid to their competence or probity.127 As early as 22 August one Representative reported that Belgian communes were often confronted with agents, or individuals calling themselves agents, demanding exactly the same goods, and that that the communes did not know whom to obey and supply.128 Even at the heart of Brussels, chaos reigned. Another Representative deliberately deployed the word ‘chaos’ explaining that

you will not find the word improper when you understand that there are ten volumes of decrees by the Representatives of the People, most of which are inconsistent with each other, independent of the ancient customs and usages that one has allowed to continue and certain laws of the Republic.129

It took, he added, considerable courage to undertake the task of administration ‘amidst this organized anarchy’.

On the left bank of the Rhine the situation was complicated by the fact that two separate armies had occupied the region and the administrative structures, designed as they were to support the army, were not only coextensive with the areas held by the respective armies but also varied in structure.130 In both cases, the army proved difficult to control. Coordination existed only at the highest level of the civilian and military structures. To the south, in the area between the Moselle and the Rhine, the Representatives issued a brief decree on 12 August 1794, emphasising the authority of the army but without imposing any new administrative structures.131 Two days later a further decree specified that all war contributions and other assets seized by the Republic were to be delivered to the paymaster general of the army.132 Over the next year little more was done to ensure effective administration in this zone. Even the French agents supposed to extract resources lacked any fixed residence and had no significant administrative apparatus. The indigenous administrative bodies that the decree of 12 August had instructed to remain in place (p.63) operated only at the level of the communes.133 A year later plans were being made for a more structured administration, though ones explicitly designed to avoid the ‘multitude of administrations that had been adopted in Belgium’.134 Those plans were effectively stifled as the Austrians pushed the French out of most of that part of the Rhineland.

In both Belgium and the Rhineland what mattered to most of the population was less the administrative structures to which they were subject and more the ruthless requisitioning. By the beginning of 1795 the Representatives in both areas were protesting that the current system could not continue. From Belgium they wrote in February that the country ‘is exhausted, its inhabitants reduced to despair’.135 They feared that in the event of a French military reverse they would be faced with a veritable ‘Sicilian vespers’.136 Another Representative responded to the imposition of another contribution in the area between the Meuse and the Rhine by writing that ‘the country has been devastated by the calamities of war for three years … What is left? Nothing, or as good as nothing’.137 It was not just the sheer scale of contributions and requisitioning, it was the violent and often undisciplined manner in which they were imposed. Ironically, French revolutionary ideals contributed to this. Reacting against the severity and arbitrariness of systems of justice in the armies of the ancien régime, which they held to be incompatible with armies of citizens, they had introduced a system of military justice based on the principles of the Revolution. Custine’s earlier resort to the practices of the ancien régime, despite its salutary effect, did not accord with the new spirit, and would indeed be one of the grounds on which he was condemned.138 The outcome of the new spirit, as General Championnet complained, was that ‘The soldier was judged by his comrades, who had an interest in betraying their conscience, because almost all of them had committed the offence they were asked to try or were ready to do so at the first opportunity’.139 A policy of requisitioning, of treating enemy territory as conquered territory, based on the principle that war had to feed war, because the impecunious Republic could not feed it, combined with an inadequate and often corrupt supply system and an inadequate system of military justice.

In Belgium, the French, in February 1795, had sought to alleviate some of the more oppressive measures they had imposed, revoking the committees of surveillance, remitting fines imposed for non-payment of contribution, allowing payment of part of the contributions in (p.64) assignats and releasing hostages seized to enforce payment of contributions. The following month they decided to introduce jury trails.140 Jury trials signified a return to more normal forms of justice, though the picture of a period of bloody revolutionary justice painted by later Belgian historians was an exaggeration; only twenty-two death penalties had been imposed in the entire period by the revolutionary tribunals.141 None of this brought about any fundamental improvement in Belgian views of the French. Belgian functionaries resigned from administrative posts in increasing numbers. By March the situation was so bad that the Representatives decreed that henceforth they would only accept resignations if they were accompanied by a medical certificate.142 Despite, or rather precisely because of these sentiments, a mass meeting of delegates from Belgian towns, held in January1795, had already called for reunion with France. The meeting had submitted a memorandum, headed ‘remonstrances’, the term customarily used for the petitions of grievances addressed to their sovereigns.143 The Representatives replied accusing the Belgian delegates of merely wanting to put an end to the regime of contributions, of having no sincere attachment to France, of having stood by or even betrayed the French when they were driven out of Belgium in 1793.144 All that was true. Accepting the sovereignty of the conqueror, as the Belgians had in the ancien régime, was preferable to the regime of requisitioning and outright pillaging. Yet the Representatives themselves could see no viable alternative to annexation. In the French Convention which debated the issue at the end of September members were divided but finally voted for reunion.145

By the time the Convention decided the fate of Belgium two other decisions had been made that had considerable significance for the history of military occupation. One concerned the fate of the Dutch. The French had invaded the United Provinces in the autumn of 1794. As the momentum of the French advance gathered pace in January the Committee of Public Safety assured representatives of the Dutch Patriots on 10 January that as soon as revolution broke out and a provisional government had seized power, ‘hostilities will cease and the Batavians, their persons and property will be treated not as enemies but as friends … in no case will the French Republic interfere with the form of government which the Bataves wish to introduce in their own country’.146 General Souham went further in accepting the surrender of Utrecht by the established authorities, the States of Utrecht, and giving them his assurance that existing political (p.65) institutions would be respected.147 By the time the French entered Amsterdam they were met by the Provisional Representatives of the People of Amsterdam. The old order was crumbling. Shortly before their own entry into Amsterdam the French Representatives with the Army of the North reported their first impressions, reserving final judgement, but expressing cautious optimism about the new authorities in Amsterdam.148 They were much more decisive in matters of requisitioning. They asserted that arrangements would be made with the ‘constituted authorities’ and that thereby they would avoid ‘that horde of agents and requisitioners whose presence, ignorance or impropriety has been so disastrous in the countries we have conquered’.149 Their determination was evident in their assertion that Frenchmen and foreigners alike would be denied entry to the country unless they served in the army or had their passports approved by the Representatives themselves. In a fuller consideration of the options, on 17 February 1795, they listed the possibility of direct requisitioning by French agents only to conclude immediately that it did not ‘merit any attention’ because of the vices it had brought with it in Belgium and other conquered countries.150

Although they continued sometimes to use the language of conquest the Representatives expressed caution, as indeed did the Committee of Public Safety and General Pichegru. The Representatives warned against the exaggerated expectation in France about the wealth of the country, widely believed sufficient to support the 300,000 men of the French armies on the Rhine. In reality, Representative Ramel asserted, the ‘public fortune is almost zero in the United Provinces’.151 The true resources of the Provinces lay in the support which their citizens could give to the French. One could, of course, treat them as ‘conquered territory’ but the result would be the exhaustion of their resources in a month, after which famine would rage amongst the French army and Dutch citizens alike.152 For its part the Committee of Public Safety repeatedly warned against allowing French troops to enter the larger towns, especially Amsterdam.153 General Pichegru was even reluctant to disband the Dutch army because the French lacked the numbers to ensure security throughout the Provinces, and for fear that if he did disband it the large number of foreigners enlisted in the army would run riot through the countryside.154 Not all Frenchmen, military or otherwise, were inclined to such moderation. At the beginning of February, General Sauviac expressed open contempt for the ‘timid adventurers’ he saw in the Dutch Patriots, (p.66) asserting that they had done nothing to bring about their own liberation. There was no reason, he asserted, ‘to treat it [Holland] differently from a conquered country’.155 Even more striking was the reaction of the French Convention to news of the terms of the capitulation of the province of Zeeland. This was judged too conciliatory by many members of the Convention.156 The Committee of Public Safety wrote anxiously to the Representatives explaining that the Convention had demanded a report on the affair, wanting to know whether ‘the conquerors received law from the vanquished’; while the Committee feared that the tone of the debate would produce a dire impression amongst the Dutch.157

The moderation of the Committee was in fact relative. When the Dutch learned the proposed terms of the treaty, by which hostilities would formally cease and the new Dutch authorities would be formally recognised by the French Republic, they were shocked by the severity of the terms, which included territorial secessions, an indemnity and a loan.158 From the French perspective they had little choice. Pichegru’s army was on the verge of starvation. Conditions in the Rhineland were desperate. Salvation could only come from the resources of the Dutch. As the French negotiators increased the pressure in the final days before agreement was reached, Reubell and Sieyès, who had been despatched from Paris to join the French negotiating team, reported that one of the greatest outstanding difficulties was the question of military occupation by the French after the conclusion of peace.159

Article 1 of the Treaty of the Hague, signed on 16 May 1795, proclaimed French recognition of the Republic of the United Provinces ‘as a free and independent power’ whose liberty and independence was guaranteed by France.160 The treaty did entail territorial losses by the Dutch and provision for a French garrison in the port of Flushing, which was to be treated as ‘common to the two nations’.161 Article 20 provided for the payment by the Dutch of an indemnity of 100 million florins. Vital though this was to the French war effort the prime purpose of the treaty was to ensure the loyalty of the new ‘sister republic’ to France. That was clear from article 17, according to which

The French Republic will continue to militarily occupy, but by a number of troops to be determined and agreed between the two nations, the places and positions it will be useful to guard for the defence of the country, during the present war alone.162

(p.67) The restriction of the occupation to the present war was, however, contradicted by article 3 of the Separate and Secret Articles of the treaty, which provided the continued presence of the French army after the present war.163 The conditions and remit of this French presence were more closely specified in a Convention and set of Regulations, both signed on 27 July. Neither employed the term occupation but they did provide for the presence of an autonomous body of French troops, maintained at Dutch expense. According to the Convention the commanding French general would notify the Dutch of troop movements but article 2 stated that French troops would receive orders only from their French commander.164 That autonomy was reflected in article 11 of the Regulations: ‘All military delicts which are committed in the French army will be subject to the jurisdiction of a French tribunal, organised according to the laws of the Republic’.165 The Convention also set out the remit of the French forces, consistent with the wider purpose of the treaty. According to article 7, ‘French military personnel will not intervene in the discussion which may take place between the inhabitants of the country, as regards public affairs, save in the cases specified above’.166 Those cases, set out in articles 5 and 6, were where the Dutch authorities requested assistance or where, by virtue of sedition or violence, the Dutch authorities were unable to convene or issue the necessary request, in which event the French could act independently in order to ‘restore order and public tranquillity’.167 No such constraints had appeared in the Treaty of Basel of 5 April 1795, though this too had explicitly referred to French occupation of foreign territory in article 5:

The troops of the French Republic will continue to occupy the parts of the state of the King of Prussia, situated on the left bank of the Rhine. All definitive arrangements in respect of these provinces will be postponed until the general pacification between France and the German Empire.168

It was not war alone, but peace as well that induced the French to begin to clarify their understanding of the purpose, authority and remit of armies of occupation. The extent to which they would abide by the terms of those treaties, conventions and regulations varied. In relation to the Prussian provinces on the left bank of the Rhine they did adhere to their commitment not to annex them until a general peace was signed with the Empire. That would mean (p.68) another six years of uncertainty for the inhabitants of those territories. For the Dutch, French recognition of a free and independent sister republic entailed another kind of uncertainty. What was clear was that peace and recognition had not meant the end of occupation but its indefinite prolongation. The promise not to intervene was not respected. The French were never convinced of the stability of the Dutch Republic and were involved in coups in 1798. The commitments respecting Flushing led to endless conflicts with the Dutch, who attempted to assert civil authority throughout the port, including the area occupied by the French, and denied that they had ever ceded sovereignty.169

When French armies under Napoleon invaded northern Italy the Directory was far from convinced that the creation of sister republics was desirable, both because of the intent to exchange gains in Italy for recognition of the French hold on Belgium and the Rhineland and because of doubts about the revolutionary potential of the Italians and increasing contempt for the radical Italian refugees.170 Initially at least, Napoleon affected to leave the decision about the fate of Lombardy to the Directory.171 In Milan, he satisfied himself with removing the highest authorities of the ousted Austrian rulers, and installing a three-man ‘Military Agency’ in their place. The rest of the existing administration was to be ‘provisionally maintained’ and effusive assurances were given of the supposed differences between victorious monarchist armies and those of a republic, along with promises of respect for property, persons and religion.172 The reality was the imposition of contributions to feed the army and transfer funds to the regime in Paris. Privately, Napoleon boasted to the Directory of the sums that could be extracted from ‘our prey’ in Italy.173 The mechanics of these exactions, however, left Bonaparte exasperated. The private contractor, the company Flachat, was, he wrote, ‘a bunch of swindlers, devoid of real credit, devoid of money and devoid of morality’.174 The combination of the policy of extracting as much as possible from occupied territory, aggravated by widespread corruption, contributed to a series of uprisings against the French which Napoleon and his generals suppressed with increasing brutality throughout 1796.

Nor was this the only obstacle to the management of occupied territory. The tensions between French civilian officials and the military, which had been there from the outset of the French occupations, became especially acute in Italy. Initially the civilian (p.69) commissioner, Saliceti, had worked with the military to establish the Military Agency. His successor, Pinsot, however, sought to overturn Saliceti’s organisation and clashed repeatedly with the military and the Italians appointed by them. This was not only a matter of disagreement about the appropriate administrative structures but also about taxation strategies and the ultimate fate of Lombardy.175 In the end Pinsot lost the battle and was recalled. That was the prelude to dismantling the principle of direct civilian oversight of the military, which amounted to a break not only with the practices of the Revolution but also the practice of pre-Revolutionary France.176 Although this did not mean the end to the deployment of civilians in other capacities, and although the principle of direct oversight would be reasserted in 1798, the measure did reflect the growing independence of the generals in matters of occupation policy.177

The autonomy of the generals was promptly demonstrated. Napoleon had been favourable to the aspirations of some Italians for the creation of a republic from the outset. Throughout 1796 and into 1797 that inclination became more pronounced. By December 1796 Bonaparte had moved to promise the Lombards a union, but without a revolution. It was to be a republic led by moderates.178 The following May he established a committee of Italians to draft a constitution and at the end of June he issued a proclamation in which he claimed that the French Republic had succeeded to the rights of the former sovereign, Austria, ‘by right of conquest’, but that France was renouncing this right in favour of a ‘free and independent’ Cisalpine Republic within which the Cisalpine people would pass from a ‘military regime’ to ‘a constitutional regime’.179 In retrospect at least one member of the Directory, Jean-François Reubell, denounced Bonaparte’s role in the creation the Cisalpine Republic: ‘There never was a constitution accepted by the people in the Cisalpine. General Bonaparte, as a general, gave them a provisional government or constitution, as an experiment.’180 Summarising Reubell’s views, a modern historian has concluded that for Reubell the constitution of the Cisalpine Republic ‘was only a military ordnance without popular legitimacy and that the provisional authorities could not be considered as a government representing the wishes of the sovereign’.181 At the time the Directory accepted Bonaparte’s fait accompli and also consented to the absorption of the stillborn Cispadane Republic into the Cisalpine Republic. The model of the sister republic also found favour in the case of Genoa, where the French were drawn into what (p.70) amounted to a civil war. The outcome of French occupation was the imposition of a Ligurian Republic.

The same outcome seemed to be an option for the Venetian mainland territory despite the fact that Venice itself was neutral as French armies occupied Venetian territory in pursuit of the Austrians. Although French generals did not initially disarm Venetian garrisons they tolerated or actively aided declarations of independence by Venetian cities even before the declaration of war and occupation of the city of Venice. On the mainland French generals organised new administrations according to their inclinations, though all shared a dependence on French military authority. Even after moves were made to provide some wider administrative coordination stark military tutelage was unmistakeable.182 Venice itself followed the familiar path towards the proclamation of a Republic. Concern in Paris about the increasing autonomy shown by Napoleon and his fellow generals only elicited the menacing response from Napoleon that he spoke ‘in the name of 80,000 soldiers’.183

All of these republics also followed the Dutch model in signing treaties or conventions regulating the presence of French armies of occupation. It was in these agreements, as well as in a peace treaty with the King of Sardinia and an armistice and then a treaty with the Pope, that the French formally clarified their understanding of occupation, though this formal understanding sometimes indicated more restraint than the practice of French generals and agents actually exhibited. Indeed it is not without irony that the Convention with the Republic of Genoa of 9 October 1796 provided that French commanders would not interfere ‘in any manner’ in civil and political matters.184 Within months French commanders intervened decisively in the creation of the Ligurian Republic. In June 1796 the armistice with the Pope provided that the Legations of Bologna and Ferrara were to ‘remain in the possession’ of France while the citadel of Ancona was to be ‘placed in the hands of the French army’, though the town of Ancona was ‘remain under the civil government of the pope’.185 By the treaty between France and the Republic of Venice of 16 May 1797 the latter requested ‘a division of French troops in order to maintain order and the safety of persons and property and to assist the first steps of the government in all areas of its administration’.186 By the treaty of alliance with the Cisalpine Republic of 21 February 1798 the French Republic recognised the ‘free and independent’ Cisalpine Republic which requested French (p.71) forces ‘sufficient to maintain its liberty, its independence and its public tranquillity’.187 The sister republics were in fact dependent upon continued French occupation for their very existence. They were all consequently subject to continuing French interference and to the consequences of disagreements between Paris and the French authorities in the republics, which in turn were often divided. In the Cisalpine Republic, for example, refusal by the legislature to ratify the 1798 treaty led to the French Directory’s decision to purge the legislature though General Berthier resisted full implementation. His successor, General Brune, proved to be too radical, leading to the dispatch of a civilian, Trouvé, to act as restraint upon the general and force through more conservative constitutional revision. His successor, Fouché, however, made common cause with General Brune, seeking to undo Trouvé’s work until both Brune and Fouché were recalled.188

The recall of their self-willed proconsuls, whether military or civilian, was one of the few weapons the Directory could effectively deploy. It had already had occasion to resort to it in respect of the occupation of Rome and would do so again in the respect of the occupation of Naples. The invasion of Rome issued in the proclamation of a Republic of Rome in February 1798, although General Berthier continued to issue decrees without consulting the consuls of new republic.189 His replacement, General Masséna, ran into a rare problem in the record of military occupation in this time, namely the revolt of his own army. The soldiers even openly posted the address to Masséna which he had refused to accept. In it they protested that they had not come to Rome to pillage the city, disavowed those who seized goods without issuing receipts, claimed that such actions dishonoured the name of France, and protested about their lack of pay.190 Although their motives were wider even than this address reveals, the address does indicate some widespread understanding of the normative bounds within which the soldiers thought they and their fellow Frenchmen ought to operate. Masséna’s position was untenable, though the civil commissioners dispatched from Rome hesitated to openly challenge his command, reflecting the deference to military authority. Only the eventual decision of the Directory transferring Masséna to Geneva alleviated their embarrassment.191 With the restoration of order in the army under new command, the French oversaw a new constitution which reconfirmed military authority. Indeed, article 369 specified that until the conclusion of (p.72) a treaty of alliance with France, all legislation by the authorities of the Roman Republic required the assent of the French general.192 The civil commissioners sought to avoid any public display of their authority, publishing their own laws and decrees under the name of the general in order to avoid any public challenge to military authority.193 This attempt to emphasise unity of command barely concealed the tensions between civil commissioners, the army and the various factions of the Roman Republic which variously sought allies amongst the commissioners or the generals. Nor was conflict amongst the French authorities the only problem. The commissioners reported to Paris their view of the officials of the new republic: ‘it is difficult to find in history a species of government more debased … Corruption, venality, spiteful and vindictive passions animate every discussion.’194 It was, however, the conflict between French civil authority and French military authority, a conflict the Directory was unwilling to resolve, that paralysed French efforts to induce more order in their new creation.195

The tension between the generals and the civil commissioners was even more intense in the occupation of Naples that began in January 1799.196 The commander in Naples, General Championnet, had already shown his disregard of the civil commissioners when he reoccupied Rome after the French had been briefly driven out by the Neapolitans. In Naples, however, his hostility to them, and especially to commissioner Faipoult, reached new heights. Faipoult had been charged by the Directory with rooting out corruption, though he had direct authority only over civilians, being obliged to report his suspicions about military personnel to Championnet. Nevertheless, Championnet refused to acknowledge that Faipoult and his civil commissioners had any authority and ended by expelling them from Naples. The Directory was already angered by Championnet’s proclamation of the Parthenopian Republic in Naples, a creation they opposed on wider foreign policy grounds, and suspicious of the radicals with whom he surrounded himself.197 Now forced to act by the total breakdown of relations between the military and civilian wings of the occupation administration, the Directory recalled Championnet. His fragile creation, the Parthenopian, lasted a mere five months. Those Neapolitans who had collaborated with it faced execution or long prison sentences.

A year before Championnet entered Naples, General Brune had invaded Switzerland, seizing the city of Berne and its treasury. As with (p.73) Naples, the Directory had not wanted a military invasion, hoping instead, in the case of Switzerland, to bring about internal change by a mixture of pressure and support for Swiss opponents of the existing regimes, and to secure access across the Alps for French troop movements into northern Italy. Bernese resistance to the independence of the Vaud, which the French supported, induced the French to invade. Initially the Directory was embarrassed by the bloodshed which it had hoped to avoid and uncertain what to do with its new victory, at one point ordering its generals to prepare the division of Switzerland into three separate republics.198 After the Directory reversed its decision, General Brune proclaimed the ‘Helvetic Republic, one and indivisible’ on 22 March 1798.199 Brune was not without some political skill and had closed the divisive radical clubs in Berne to the outrage of the more revolutionary elements.200 The same could not be said for his successor, General Schauenbourg, though he had a reputation for imposing discipline upon his own soldiers and had some of those found guilty of pillaging executed. The choice of civil commissioners was especially important given that the Directory wanted to persuade the other European powers, especially the Austrians, that despite the occupation the Helvetic Republic was a genuinely independent body. The task of the commissioners was aggravated, however, by the need to extract contributions for the French war efforts, especially once the funds of the Bernese treasury were exhausted, and the need to control the corruption which as usual accompanied French requisitioning. Indeed, some members of the Directory, notably Reubell, paid detailed attention to remonstrances from the Swiss about French abuse of power.201 Commissioner Rapinat, angered by both Swiss recourse to the authorities in Paris and recalcitrance in making financial contributions, struck out at the Swiss Directory, purging it of those he deemed most obstructive. Unfortunately, this made a mockery of the French Directory’s protestations to the Austrians about the spontaneity of the Swiss revolution and the independence of the Helvetic Republic. Quite how seriously they took this was proven by their prompt dismissal of Rapinat. The limits of their concern and their scope for manoeuvre were also demonstrated by their decision to reinstate him but leaving him humiliated in the process.202 Independent civil commissioners could be almost as troublesome as independent generals. For the Swiss commissioner, Rapinat would become the symbol of French exactions though these were probably less harsh than those suffered by the Italian states.

(p.74) Once again the French had resorted to the creation of a sister republic as an alternative to annexation. Although the Treaty of Alliance between the new republic and France of 19 August 1798 did not provide for the continuation of occupation both external theatres and internal dissent would later give the French the occasion to return to the practice of occupation. The possibility of a sister republic as a solution for the Rhineland had never been a strong one. Even many German radicals had little conviction in it. It was, however, only in September 1797 that the Directory definitively informed General Hoche that reunion with France was the fate of the Rhineland. A separate republic, they argued, would be unable to support itself and would only be an embarrassment for France.203 By then Hoche had managed to persuade the Directory to resolve at least one problem of the management of occupied territory in the Rhineland, namely its fragmentation. After ineffective administrative reform in 1796 the Directory first agreed to Hoche’s argument that restoration of indigenous administrative structures would both facilitate better provisioning of the army and reduce antipathy to the French. The following month, March 1797, it extended Hoche’s remit over civil administration, until then restricted to the area of operation of his own army, to the entire left bank of the Rhineland. Ironically that created a new problem in the shape of opposition from General Moreau, commander of the other French army in the region, who refused to cooperate with Hoche’s agents. That problem was not resolved until Moreau’s recall to Paris on grounds unconnected with the administration of occupied territory.204 Even so, Hoche’s hopes that hostility to France would diminish met with limited success. It is true that even in the Prussian provinces in the Rhineland, faltering conviction in Prussian commitment to their recovery induced some pragmatic adaptation but that failed to alter the underlying antipathy amongst the majority of the population.205 Even pragmatists were antagonised by the demands of the French army and often fearful of the possible charge of treason that might await those too closely associated with French occupation.

The armies of the French Revolution had not been prepared for the task of military occupation. They lacked any guidance in the shape of international law or military manuals. They possessed what in retrospect inevitably looks like a rudimentary understanding of occupation, or, more in tune with their own language, were caught between the language of conquest and the language of liberation, (p.75) neither of which was well-suited to capture some of the difficulties they experienced. They were hampered by the strain caused by armies whose country could not adequately provision them, aggravated as it was by rampant corruption. Frequently, they were troubled by the unresolved relationship between military and civilian agencies. Their prime alternative to annexation, the creation of sister republics, more often prolonged than ended military occupation. The triumph of military power with Napoleon’s coup would simplify one of these problems but little else.

Military Occupations by Napoleonic Armies

The occupations that followed the resumption of French military successes after the reversal of 1799 exhibited considerable continuity with the occupations under the Directory. That was clear as the French re-established the provisional authorities of the Cisalpine and Ligurian republics. The requisitions, with their attendant disorder and corruption, continued. In the Ligurian Republic, Dejean, the minister extraordinary, who presided over the governing commission, was soon lamenting his inability to exercise effective control and wrote to Talleyrand pleading for his intercession with Napoleon to secure Dejean’s recall.206 For both the Ligurian and Cisalpine republics as well as for Piedmont, which had been under more or less continuous French occupation since 1796, Napoleon instructed that nothing definitive was to be agreed concerning their futures. The fate of Piedmont, however, became clear as early as April 1801 when Napoleon ordered that it was to form a ‘military division’ and that General Jourdan, until then French minister attached to the government of Piedmont, was to be the Administrator General of Piedmonnt. Jourdan was advised to ‘apply the principle of amalgamation which has succeeded so well in France’.207 Formal reunion with France would not come until over a year later, in September 1802. By then the Cisalpine Republic had been transformed into the Republic of Italy, with Napoleon as its president and the Italian Francesco Melzi d’Eril as its vice president. To what extent that marked the end of military occupation is questionable. The new republic continued to support a French army and Melzi’s authority was weakened by conflict with the French General Joachim Murat, who even established a secret military police which operated independently of the national police force of the Republic.208 Ironically, Joachim Murat would find (p.76) his own authority subject to challenge by an occupation force when he became King of Naples in 1808. Murat had shown too much independence for Napoleon’s liking, seeming to treat his kingdom as if it were an autonomous entity, even daring to replace the French flags on fortresses and Neapolitan naval vessels with the Neapolitan flag. Napoleon responded by reminding him that his kingdom was part of the French Empire and that he himself remained French. Even more significantly he instructed General Grenier, commander of the Observation Corps of Meridional Italy, that Grenier had the authority to issue orders to all Frenchmen ‘regardless of the opposition of the King of Naples’.209 In retrospect this curious situation led Raymond Robin to conclude that ‘this is, in reality, the occupation of French territory by French troops’.210 It could also be said that the existence of the satellite kingdoms served to inhibit the emergence of a clear concept of military occupation at the time.

As Napoleon’s armies continued to expand across Europe, neither sister republics or satellite kingdoms ruled by Napoleon himself or his relatives or annexation were obvious options, at least not initially. In the case of the occupation of Munich in June 1800, for example, indigenous radicals were few in number and, more importantly, French strategy was to win over the Elector of Bavaria and the Palatinate as a future ally against Austria. Thus, when General Decaën was approached by a delegation from republican clubs seeking support for a rising against the elector he rebuffed them. When they turned to Decaën’s superior, General Moreau, they were informed that his task had been to conquer the territory but not to transform it into a republic.211 Indeed. Although the inhabitants of occupied Munich suffered from the usual outbreaks of indiscipline, requisitioning and inflated prices, especially of food, caused by the presence of a large French army, there was no attempt on the part of the French to bring about any change of regime.

The French initially also had limited ambitions in Hanover, which they invaded in response to the resumption of war with England. After desultory defence the Hanoverians agreed to the Convention of Sulingen of 3 June 1803. This expressly provided that ‘Hanover will be occupied by the French army’.212 Article 10 provided that ‘The General and Commander in Chief reserves the right to make such changes as he deems convenient in the government and authorities established by the Elector’.213 That provision, however, was not a prelude to revolutionary transformation but a pragmatic (p.77) measure for the modification of government structures to allow the French occupiers to more effectively manage the occupation. The French commander, General Mortier, promptly proceeded to create an Executive Commission composed of Hanoverian officials, over which a French Government Commissioner, a former administrator of occupied territory in the Rhineland, Durbach, sometimes presided.214 His prime task was to ensure that French financial demands were met, though the Hanoverians exploited the intricacies of their archaic financial system to hide at least some sums from the French. Those officials were also in contact with Hanoverian ministers who had fled to neighbouring territory, as General Bernadotte, Mortier’s successor, indignantly complained. In other respects the French limited their interference in Hanover’s affairs, leaving the administration of justice in place and not even interfering in civil claims made by Frenchmen against Hanoverians.215 Both generals also sought to maintain strict discipline. The financial strain on the inhabitants, both because of French exactions and the disruption of trade with England, was considerable. Some relief came as the main French force withdrew to confront the Austrians in 1805, ceding Hanover to occupation by France’s ally, Prussia.

Officially Prussia claimed that its intent was purely to ensure Hanoverian neutrality. The Prussian Administrative Commission was to supervise the existing Hanoverian administration and even cover some of the costs of the occupation force out of Prussian funds.216 The Hanoverians were cautious. They agreed that Hanoverian judges should continue to sit but only as long as the Prussian commissioner did not interfere in their judgements or require anything incompatible with their official oaths. They also obstructed Prussian attempts to gain an accurate overview of Hanoverian finances, just as they had obstructed the French. Hanoverian suspicion of Prussian ambitions was fully justified when the Prussian king issued a Patent of 1 April 1806 in which he proclaimed the ‘effective seizure of possession’ of Hanover, which would henceforth be ruled in ‘our name and supreme authority’.217 Yet despite this assertion of Prussian sovereignty, the Prussian authorities were reluctant to undertake wholesale change in the administration of Hanoverian territory until their possession had been confirmed in a general peace. On the other hand they were determined to demonstrate their will to retain possession to the Hanoverians, selecting reform of the postal service as an example.218 Most Hanoverians were convinced that the return of (p.78) the French was more likely than the persistence of the Prussian hold on their territory.219

French withdrawal from Hanover was soon followed by occupation of Vienna in November 1805. Here too the French left the existing municipal authorities in place, including the national guard, which contributed to the maintenance of order on several occasions, sparing the French the resources that would have been needed to replace it. The predicament of Vienna did, however, lead to a direct threat to its existing authorities. The city was dependent on food supplies shipped up the Danube from Hungary. When these supplies were cut Napoleon responded by writing to the Austrian emperor, stating that he had so far not instituted changes in the administration of the city associated with his right of conquest but warning that if he was obliged to take the city under his ‘protection’ it would be necessary to give it a constitution more appropriate to the times. The warning, effectively to challenge the legitimacy of the institutions of Austria’s capital, was effective.220

Vienna’s occupation had been brief, a total of 62 days, but the wave of occupations that followed the war between France and Prussia were more prolonged, more extensive and more varied in their consequences than Vienna’s first experience of occupation. It is clear from some of these occupations that there was no consistent set of expectations even about the simple proclamation of the occupation. Thus when General Mortier occupied Hesse he announced to the inhabitants ‘I come to take possession of your country’, adding that ‘Your religion, your laws your customs your privileges will be respected, discipline will be maintained’.221 In Hanover he declared ‘I come to take possession of your country in the name of His Majesty the Emperor and King, my august sovereign. The revenues will be collected and justice administered in his name.’222 This time there was no explicit guarantee of religion, laws and customs, though he did confirm that the existing local administration would be maintained. The language of possession which the Prussians used to announce a claim to sovereignty and the prospect of regime transformation elicited no apparent protest or concern, despite, in the case of Hanover, the fact that the administration of justice in the name of a power had often been construed as signifying the assertion of sovereignty. In Bremen, however, the proclamation of ‘possession’ by Colonel Clément was met with vigorous and prolonged protest by Bremen’s Senate which demanded a new proclamation asserting only French ‘occupation’ of the city.223

(p.79) In practice, however, the form in which Napoleon’s generals took ‘possession’ of territory provides no consistent guide to the nature of the occupation they imposed or to its outcome. Much depended on the significance of the occupied territory in the wider conduct of Napoleon’s wars and on the character of the general in command. Although sometimes subject to precise instruction from Napoleon himself, his generals had considerable latitude. That is strikingly illustrated by General Lagrange, who had taken over from Mortier in Hesse. In the wake of a brief unsuccessful revolt by elements of Hesse’s former army, Napoleon ordered extensive and savage reprisals but Lagrange, though pushed further than his initial inclination, significantly mitigated the reprisals demanded by Napoleon.224 Open revolt in the German territories was rare though clashes between smugglers and French customs officials on the north German coast were not uncommon. French attempts to cut off trade with England from the proclamation of the Berlin decrees of 21 November 1806 onwards forced a significant percentage of the population in the coastal cities into smuggling. Violence, however, could sometimes be avoided by the simple expedient of paying French officials, who were as intent upon enriching themselves during the occupation as most of Napoleon’s generals.225

Inhabitants could also exploit the shortage of French personnel and French preference for relying on local officials. Hanoverian officials were adept at this, especially after the French intendant, Belleville, let slip French reluctance to take over the administration of the complex Hanoverian taxation system.226 By the same token the French could exert pressure on the occupied by threatening to replace indigenous officials with Frenchman as they did when the Hanoverians were slow to find what the French regarded as an effective director of police.227 French dependence on the occupied also increased whenever the main body of French military forces withdrew to take part in the ever more wide ranging manoeuvres of the French armies. Thus, in 1807, both the French gendarmerie and customs officials in the Hanseatic ports found themselves reliant upon local agents and authorities.228 Dependence on indigenous officials also offered the opportunity to play off the different branches of the French occupation regime against each other. The conflicts between them frequently crippled the efforts of the occupation regime, even where, as in Hamburg, a special council was created precisely to ensure coordination.229 Yet there were limits to such strategies. There were gains to be had from (p.80) persuading the occupant of the willingness of officials to cooperate with the occupation regime. This was well understood by the key figure on the Government Commission in Hanover, a coordinating body of indigenous officials created by the French commander.230 Cooperation in its turn brought with it the risk of being accused of lack of loyalty to the legitimate power, especially where indigenous officials were seen as too closely involved in the enforcement measures of exactions of the French authorities. Both sides were aware of this constraint, though the extent to which they made provisions to mitigate the risk varied.

Those pressures were especially apparent in Berlin which was occupied in October 1806 in the wake of the devastating defeat of Prussian forces by Napoleon. There both the city authorities and the head of the civil guard which helped the French maintain order were obliged to swear an oath to obey French orders, an oath that many fellow Germans found degrading as well as potentially treacherous. The attempts of the officials to mitigate the appearance of the oath by inserting the reservation ‘within the limits of our employment’ were rejected by the French civil intendant, Louis Bignon, who threatened those who showed an inclination to refuse the oath that they would be dismissed and their offices taken over by French officials.231 Ironically, even French soldiers and officials could express their disdain for the lack of patriotism of those subject to their authority, especially where this involved relations between the sexes.232 The perspective of the occupant was, however, no more uniform than the perspective of the occupied. In the second occupation of Vienna in 1809, while some Frenchman were struck by what they saw as Viennese commitment to the pleasures of life others feared an uprising analogous to the one the French had faced in their occupation of Madrid in 1808.233 The French could also show some understanding for the predicament of those who had cooperated with them, insisting in the Peace of Tilsit that the Prussian king undertook not to punish either members of the city authorities in Berlin or the members of the Berlin civil guard.234

The peace had at least preserved the existence of a rump Prussia. For the Hanoverians and the inhabitants of the Hanseatic states the occupation was brought to an end only by annexation of the latter to France and the incorporation of the former into the Kingdom of Westphalia at the end of 1810. Prussia in 1807, by contrast, preserved its existence but only at the cost of prolonging the occupation (p.81) until payment of a war indemnity. French control of the size of the indemnity effectively allowed Napoleon to use this provision to prolong the occupation, only agreeing to modify the terms in 1808 in response to pressure from Russia and the need to transfer forces to Spain. Even then the Treaty of September 1808 maintained French garrisons in specified fortresses. Although the treaty provided that the administration of revenues and justice in these fortresses belonged to the King of Prussia, it also provided that the police would be ‘in the hands of the French commandant’.235 Such cursory provisions, however, left considerable scope for uncertainty, even in the minds of the French, about the extent of the authority of the occupier.236 As French troop strength increased again in preparation for the invasion of Russia in 1812, the Treaty of Alliance and associated Convention of February 1812 provided greater clarity about the supposed extent of French authority but no more certainty in practice as the French generals repeatedly exceeded the limits of what was agreed by the alliance.237

Occupation of Prussian territory had been complicated by the fact that part of it was used to create the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, Napoleon’s concession to the idea of recreating an independent Poland. The titular head of the duchy was Napoleon’s German ally the King of Saxony, but it was French authorities that dominated and ensured the existence of this political structure. When French troops entered former Polish territory this outcome had not been determined, leaving French generals and those Poles who fought with them to establish local and diverse administrations that took account of the need to avoid immediately alienating the Prussian administrators whilst acknowledging the ambitions of the Poles who saw the French as their liberators.238 Even once a more centralised Polish authority was established in the shape of a Government Commission in 1807, it was the French army under General Davout and the French intendants, supervised from Berlin by Intendant General Daru, who exercised ultimate authority. One of those intendants became the first French Resident in Warsaw. Notionally a diplomatic office, the Resident was, as one of them put it, a ‘legal intermediary’ between the French army and the government of the duchy.239 The French army also stood behind the Resident’s policies when these went beyond what could be agreed with the official authorities of the duchy.240 Even after the withdrawal of the main French force in August 1808 the Residents remained a powerful force in a duchy whose continued existence was (p.82) dependent upon French military backing. Although the duchy was the most plausible instance of occupations by Napoleonic armies that could be seen by both sides in terms of liberation, the reality of occupation and mutual misunderstanding coloured attitudes on both sides. As early as September 1807 Resident Vincent was reporting that despite the orderly behaviour of French soldiers, the Poles treated them with a coldness that bordered on rudeness.241 Of course, the behaviour of the French soldiery was not always orderly at all and French disdain for the country and culture of the Poles was frequently intense.242

Cultural misunderstanding and antipathy had been a frequent characteristic of the occupations since the outbreak of the wars of Revolutionary France. In the occupation of Spain they took on a violent intensity that has made that occupation the most widely referred to of all the Napoleonic occupations. Napoleon’s own reflections, notably his reference to it as ‘that fatal knot’ which undermined his empire, contributed significantly to its prominence.243 It was here that the term ‘guerrilla’ took on its modern connotations of the armed civilian fighting against the occupier, a sense clearly recognised by the British General Wellesley as early as 1809.244 In the same year the Spanish Central Junta, the provisional authority claiming to speak in the name of the Spanish, called for resistance to the French, whom it described as ‘bandits not soldiers, ferocious monsters not men’.245 The French responded in kind, refusing to treat the guerrillas as legitimate belligerents and executing many as bandits. The cycle of violence began with a revolt against the French in Madrid in May 1808 while Napoleon, whose forces had originally entered Spain as allies, was forcing the abdication of the Spanish royal family, which he would replace with his brother Joseph as king. Although the revolt soon spread it was never uniform, much more intense in Navarre and surrounding provinces, and the character of the guerrilla remains disputed.246 It was moreover only one factor that complicated understanding the situation in Spain.

Part of the difficulty was evident in one of first Spanish cities occupied by the French, Barcelona. There General Duhesme had taken command in February 1808. Duhesme experienced the usual difficulties in preventing pillaging by his own soldiers, lacked an adequate administrative staff or specialised services and was plagued by a chronic shortage of food in Barcelona.247 Duhesme was also concerned about the nature and extent of his own authority, especially in (p.83) relation to Spanish officials. He had received no guidance beyond the general instruction to secure Barcelona and to take hostages. Joseph made no attempt to exert or even display his authority in Barcelona. Duhesme’s request in June 1808 that he be endowed explicitly with ‘superior authority’ elicited no response.248 In practice Duhesme tried to rely on Spanish officials where he could and sought to preserve at least the appearance of their authority and status. They in turn did not exhibit any overt spirit of opposition but nor did they exhibit much zeal in fulfilling the tasks Duhesme bestowed on them.249 The uneasy and ineffective cooperation was eased by Duhesme’s avoidance of any attempt to impose an oath of loyalty, even to Joseph, on the Spanish functionaries. However, when Duhesme came under the command of General Gouvion Saint-Cyr, the latter insisted in April 1809 on the imposition of an oath. The result, with few exceptions, was the resignation of the Spanish officials who found themselves, quite contrary to their inclinations, elevated into heroes and martyrs by their fellow countrymen.250 Duhesme, against his own inclinations, in turn found himself forced more and more into the role of an administrator rather than a soldier, as he understood that profession.

Not all of Napoleon’s generals saw the two roles as mutually exclusive. General Suchet in Aragon realised that his task as a soldier, including establishing security, could be reinforced by political and administrative measures. He recalled in his memoirs, with an inevitable positive gloss, ‘introducing a policy of justice and moderation, which he calculated would enable him, whilst he held possession of Aragon, to subdue the animosity of its population’.251 There were, of course, limits to Suchet’s moderation. Nevertheless, he skilfully exploited Aragonese provincial identity, blocking the transfer of religious plate from Saragossa to Madrid demanded by the minister of finance.252 He rejected functionaries sent from Madrid, and made concessions to Aragonese religious authorities, while imprisoning and deporting recalcitrant priests. He also made genuine efforts to promote economic development in Aragon, even seeking authorisation to import sheep in order to avoid further depleting Aragonese flocks.253 The comparative success of Suchet’s administration of Spain did not prevent guerrilla incursions from neighbouring provinces whenever Suchet had to withdraw forces for operations elsewhere. Nor was there any central organisation for the administration of Spain as a whole.

Indeed, Napoleon contributed to the fragmentation of the (p.84) administration of Spain in February 1810. He instructed that Suchet be ordered to ‘consider Aragon as a province in a state of siege’ and not to tolerate any communication between the Aragonese and Madrid. Suchet was to be warned that Napoleon’s interests and those of France did not necessarily coincide with those of the ministers in Madrid, that is, the minsters of the King of Spain, Napoleon’s own brother. Should the latter seek to issue administrative orders Suchet was authorised to inform the king that Suchet exercised command in Aragon.254 Similar instructions went out to several other generals in Spain. For Suchet this created the paradox, enhanced by the difficulty of communicating in a country wracked by insurrection, that whilst he understood that he had absolute authority in respect of the government of Aragon, he remained bound by an earlier regulation identifying Joseph as commander-in-chief in Spain and hence bound to obey Joseph in ‘purely military operations’.255 Despite Suchet’s confusion the outcome of Napoleon’s instructions of February 1812 was to consolidate the reality of uncoordinated and fragmented military government. It was as if Napoleon’s generals were in occupation of parts of the country contrary to the authority of King Joseph. Attempts to reverse this amidst Napoleon’s plans for the invasion of Russia came too late to change the established practices of Napoleon’s generals, as Joseph himself was painfully aware. Nor was his position enhanced by lack of consultation about the prospective annexation of Catalonia, notionally part of Joseph’s kingdom, by France.256 On the eve of the invasion which would herald the downfall of Napoleon’s empire, Napoleon had reaffirmed the complete absence of any systematic approach to the problems of military occupation which had characterised his rule and had come to such striking fruition in Spain.

Allied Military Occupations

Allied occupations had occurred throughout the period of the wars of Revolutionary France and the Napoleonic Wars but until 1813 they had been brief and small in scale compared with those conducted by the French. On the other side of the Atlantic, in the war between the British and the Americans of 1812, raiding rather than occupation was the prime activity and concern.257 Nevertheless on both sides of the Atlantic some of the problems of military occupation, including efforts to make sense of it and to apply or formulate rules governing (p.85) its conduct, were evident. Early in the wars, during the brief occupation of Toulon, the British had exhibited no great inclination to engage in regime transformation and the civil commissioner had been instructed ‘not to do violence to existing Prejudices’.258 No such restraint was exercised in what the French courts would later see as the British occupation of Corsica from 1794 to 1796 but where at the time the British and their Corsican supporters saw a kingdom of Corsica headed by George III with institutions modelled on those of Britain.259 Elsewhere the brief Allied occupations typically involved the proclamation of the return of the regime ousted by the French and similar patterns of requisitioning and excesses associated with the occupations by the French. None of these, however, compared with the challenges that the Allies faced after 1813, especially in Germany and France itself. It was here that military occupation as a clear concept and practice emerged most fully.

The driving force behind this was the Prussian reformer Baron vom Stein. It was at Stein’s prompting that the Prusso-Russian Convention of Breslau in March 1813 established an Administrative Council for the administration of occupied territory, though this came to little, in part because of uncertainty about whether the sovereignty of the princes of the Confederation of the Rhine would be respected or, temporarily at least, set aside by the Council. The prospective remit of the Administrative Council soon seemed to be curtailed by the decision of the Convention of Kalisch of April 1813 to distinguish between territory subject to military occupation and territory belonging to states which would join the alliance against Napoleon.260 However, the chaos that accompanied the Allied move into Saxony gave Stein the opportunity to revive the idea of the need for a coordinated approach to occupation. The outcome was the Leipzig Convention of 21 October 1813. According to this agreement a central administration would be created to which military governors would be subordinate. The central administration was to report to a Ministerial Council, though in practice this turned out to be relatively inactive.261

Stein’s ambition for the central administration was extensive. In relation to the princes of the Confederation of the Rhine, Stein suggested that they should ‘suspend the power of the princes until the peace by virtue of the right of conquest of the Allies’ and even that the princes should be physically removed from the territories concerned.262 When some of the princes of the smaller (p.86) former Westphalian territories made claims to the restoration of their position, Stein’s response was to suggest that if they sought to interfere in the government of these territories they should be arrested and deported.263 Although Stein still used the language of the rights of conquest to justify suspension of the sovereignty of these princes, it was a suspension of sovereignty, not the assertion of the sovereignty of one of the Allied powers that he sought. Indeed Stein insisted that his officials issue their decrees in the name of the Allied powers and not in the name of their own sovereign.264 Similar considerations, though less precisely formulated, can be found elsewhere. Thus the British Foreign Minister Castlereagh suggested that although Antwerp would be occupied by either the British or a combination of the British and Dutch, ‘I do not think it prudent to hoist these colours exclusively, as all the ceded territory, of which this place forms a part, must be held in the name of the Allied Sovereigns generally’.265 Stein also had a clear conception of the limited authority proper to the provisional government exercised by the central administration, even if he did not always insist that his subordinates abided by it.266

It was Stein’s intent that the central administration and the subordinate General Governments should take over the existing administration, coordinate the provisioning of the Allied armies, manage the finances of occupied territories, oversee policing and, in occupied German territories, recruit further troops for the conduct of the war against Napoleon. Much of this Stein and his subordinates achieved, though imperfectly and not without recurrent conflict with recalcitrant Allied generals jealous of their own authority, sometimes attentive to the specific interests of their own sovereigns, and unaccustomed to such restraint. Since Stein and his agents lacked any power of command of their own over the soldiers winning the cooperation of the generals was as crucial as the backing of the Allied powers themselves for his central administration. Here Stein invoked not only the principled agreements on which his authority was based but also the benefits to army commanders whose operational movements, he suggested, made it impractical for them to exercise administration over specific fixed territories.267

Although the remit of Stein’s central administration extended into part of France as well as part of occupied German territory, it was far from being responsible for the administration of the entirety of territory nor did the brevity of the first Allied occupation of France (p.87) favour the full development of Stein’s plans.268 Nor could Stein’s overstretched organisation directly curtail the excesses which accompanied both the occupation of 1814 and the occupation 1815. In both there were significant differences between the attitudes of the generals of the diverse armies. Those from countries which had been humiliated and occupied by Napoleon and coerced into becoming France’s allies were more prone to sanction the desire for revenge. The proclivity to resort to violence was probably also promoted by the anxieties of the occupiers. The Prussians, especially, often seen as the harshest of the occupiers, feared both an uprising by the French and that there might be attempts to poison the food the French were obliged to supply the occupants.269 If anything, the second occupation of France was more marked by such anxieties than the first. In 1814 the official view of the Allied powers had been that they were at war with Napoleon not with the French nation. The number of Frenchmen who had rallied to Napoleon in 1815, however, gave rise to quite different sentiments.270 Nor was this the only cause for concern. Wellington, who tried to moderate the behaviour of the Allies and exhorted his own troops to moderation but was frequently exasperated by the excesses to which all, including his own soldiers, were prone, had seen the vicious spiral of violence induced by the French occupation in Spain. That experience was reflected in his warning in July 1815 that ‘we shall immediately set the whole country against us … if the useless … oppression practised on the French people, is not put a stop to’.271

In 1815 there was no central administration to coordinate the Allied occupation. The French had created a Requisition Commission the day after the French king returned to Paris on 8 July and somewhat later the Allies created an Administrative Council, though the conceptions behind the two were very different. The Allied Council, which evaded meaningful cooperation with the Requisitions Commission, asserted the direct authority of military governors and commanders and even refused to receive complaints channelled through the Commission.272 Wellington did persuade the Allies to adopt a more organised dispersal of their now massive armies though their sheer size inevitably led to a catalogue of complaints about arbitrary and often violent behaviour. Nevertheless there was no outbreak of the kind of revolt Wellington feared and by late September the Allies had begun the withdrawal of the bulk of their forces even before the signature of Treaty of Paris of 20 November 1815. As with so (p.88) many of the occupations by the French in the preceding years, the restoration of peace meant the continuation of occupation.

In Wellington’s view occupation was a clear and preferable alternative to conquest: ‘I prefer the temporary occupation of some of the strong places … to the permanent cession of even all of the places which in my opinion ought to be occupied for a time’.273 It was a preference which the Allied powers shared. Hence, according to the Peace, ‘it has been judged indispensable to occupy … by a corps of Allied Troops certain military positions along the frontiers of France, under the express reserve, that such occupation shall in no way prejudice the Sovereignty of His Most Christian Majesty’.274 The French king of course could not see the continued presence of 150,000 foreign troops on his territory as anything other than a restriction of his sovereignty, and in this case, as expression of doubt about his government’s ability to maintain internal security within France. Although the Convention governing the occupation specified that civil administration, the collection of taxes and the administration of justice were to remain in French hands even in the occupied fortresses, French military authority was excluded. Moreover, the ambassadors of the four powers formed a surveillance committee to monitor developments in France and were not averse to intervening in French political life.275 Ironically, however, it was the very possibility that had induced the Allies to insist on the occupation, concern about the internal stability of France, which allowed the French to successfully argue for ending the occupation earlier than the maximum term of five years set out in the Treaty. The commander of the occupation force, Wellington, agreed that the persistence of the occupation was itself more likely to provoke the unrest it had been created to prevent than its withdrawal.276 The ensuing Allied agreement in 1818 finally brought to an end the last occupation of the Napoleonic Wars.

The Allied occupations exhibited many of the features of their French counterparts. They were expressed as much in the language of conquest and liberation as occupation, though the language of occupation came out most clearly in the provision of occupation beyond the realm of war. Though not driven by the underlying financial constraints of Revolutionary and Napoleonic France, both logistics and the rights of the victor meant that the burden on the occupied was extremely heavy. Wilful generals and undisciplined troops exacerbated the inevitable problems. Even a strong and determined commander such as Wellington seems to have been (p.89) frequently frustrated by his inability to suppress the excesses of his own troops, still more so the excesses of his Allies’ troops. An able administrator such as Stein could see many of the problems but was limited by his own lack of direct authority and divided views of his political masters. Nevertheless, the Allied occupations exhibited both a clearer understanding of the distinctive nature and problems of military occupation.

Judging Military Occupation

Although legal assessment of these occupations was relatively infrequent during or in the aftermath of them compared with occupations later in the century, courts were being forced to consider the meaning of military occupation. It was in fact French courts that began to grapple more clearly with the problematic nature of military occupation. One striking case involved the prospective trial of the Italian commandant of the fortress of Barcelona and the Spanish police commissioner for the murder of a Spanish inhabitant of Barcelona during the French occupation. The Court of Cassation was troubled by the consequences of the fact that Napoleon’s armies were not merely French and by the status of an indigenous inhabitant who was the police commissioner. Moreover the court specifically raised the implications of the fact that Barcelona at the time of the crime had been ‘as it still is today, occupied by French troops and governed, militarily as well as politically in the name of France’.277 It concluded that despite these facts ‘the town of Barcelona is not the less foreign; it is not the less governed by foreign laws; it is not the less in the name of a foreign sovereign that justice is administered’.278 The court thereby acknowledged French occupation, notwithstanding the fact that it was nominally ruled by one of Napoleon’s relatives, who Napoleon insisted should never forget they were French, and insisted that occupation did not signify the extension of French sovereignty.279

The following year the Court of Cassation had to determine French attitudes to the validity of acts, in this case an amnesty which was considered to be an act of sovereignty, issued by Neapolitan authorities occupying Rome, in 1800. Here it envisaged two possibilities, either that the King of Naples had reconquered it from the French on behalf of the Pope or that he had conquered it in his own name from both the French and the Pope. In the former case it concluded that the King of Naples never exercised sovereignty. In the latter (p.90) case it concluded that the King of Naples had exercised sovereignty, but that the validity of his acts ceased the moment he lost possession of Rome.280 This was not obviously consistent with the Court of Cassation’s view the previous year but still reflected awareness of the potentially problematic status of an occupant or interim ruler. There was, however, as yet no clear and consistent distinction between the status of an interim ruler who exercised sovereignty and an occupant who was not considered to be sovereign.

There was greater clarity in a decision after the wars but relating to the French occupation of Catalonia in 1811. There the court overturned the judgement of the Assize Court to the effect that ‘Catalonia was occupied by French troops and administered by French authorities suffices for it be reputed an integral part of French territory’. To the contrary the Court of Cassation decided that

this occupation and this administration by French troops and authorities had never communicated to the inhabitants of Catalonia the title of Frenchmen, nor to their territory the quality of French territory; that this communication could only have resulted from an act of reunion emanating from the public authority, which never existed.281

Military occupation alone did not, in this view, entail the extension of sovereignty.

The French Court of Cassation would continue to return to the occupations of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars for several decades, even concluding in 1841 that the acts of the British authorities in their brief occupation of Corsica, which the British understood to be sovereign possession, but which the court assimilated to ‘hostile occupation’, were null and void, with retroactive effect, from the moment the British lost possession of the island.282 By then, however, the language of occupation and the contrast between occupation and conquest was more clearly, if still inconsistently, applied. It was, however, the experience of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars that had laid the foundations for the emergence of a concept of military occupation. It was not a clear or unilinear process, let alone an abrupt and decisive one. Both regime transformation and hesitancy to engage in regime transformation accompanied what looked in other respects like military occupation. In some ways occupation was more clearly defined in the provisions for military occupation beyond the realm of war, in peace treaties and conventions, than in (p.91) belligerent occupation itself. While some, notably Baron vom Stein, had a relatively coherent concept of military occupation, others did not and continued to try to make sense of their experience and ambition in the language of conquest and liberation. Such confusion would in fact continue. So too would the experience evident in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars of being unprepared for the challenges of occupation, of the difficulty generals experienced in controlling their own soldiers and of the tensions between military and civil authority.

Notes

(1.) For an early example of this see A. H. L. Heeren, A Manual of the History of the Political System of Europe and its Colonies (London: Bohn, 1874). The first German edition appeared in 1809.

(2.) For the Declaration of Pillnitz and the declaration of war see John Hall Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution (Toronto: Macmillan, 1951), pp. 223–4 and 286–8; for Brissot’s speech see Archives parlementaires, 34 (1890), 309–17.

(3.) The image of the Holy Alliance enjoyed an influence that exceeded the actual power of the Alliance.

(4.) Albert Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 1 (Paris: Plon, 1887), p. 3.

(5.) See the judgement of T. C. W. Blanning, The Origins of the French Revolutionary Wars (London: Longman, 1986), p. 123.

(6.) Quoted in André Fugier, Histoire des relations internationales: La Révolution Française et l’Empire Napoléonien (Paris: Hachette, 1954), p. 25.

(7.) Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 1, pp. 9–11. For a somewhat different, more recent version see James R. Sofka, ‘The eighteenth century international system: parity or primacy’, Review of International Studies, 27 (2001), 147–63. For an evaluation see David Armstrong, Revolution and World Order: The Revolutionary State in International Society (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), pp. 79–84.

(8.) Marc Belissa, ‘Garran de Coulon, la conquête de la Belgique et l’elaboration d’un nouveau droit public’, Revue du Nord, 81 (1999), 553.

(9.) Hervé Leuwers, ‘République et relations entre les peuples’, Annales historiques de la Révolution française, no. 318 (1999), 2–4.

(10.) David A. Bell, The First Total War: Napoleon’s Europe and the Birth of Modern Warfare (London: Bloomsbury, 2007), p. 126.

(11.) For an assessment of the debate on natural frontiers see Peter Sahlins, (p.92) ‘Natural frontiers revisited: France’s boundaries since the seventeenth century’, American Historical Review, 95 (1990), 1423–51. T. C. W. Blanning points out that even the natural frontiers doctrine was not as clear a guide as the name might suggest, The French Revolutionary Wars 1787–1802 (London: Arnold, 1996), p. 92.

(12.) For the parlous state of French armies during the first winter see Albert Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 4 (Paris: Plon, 1891), pp. 245–7.

(13.) Jacques Godechot, La Grande Nation: L’expansion révolutionnaire de la France dans le monde de 1789 à 1799, 2nd edn (Paris: Montaigne, 1983), pp. 128–9. As Godechot notes, not all generals shared these expansionist ambitions, ibid. p. 128, citing General Jean-Baptiste Kléber.

(14.) Thus General Mortier in respect of Hanover on 12 Novemer 1806, Frignet Despréaux, Le Maréchal Mortier, vol. 3 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1920), p. 292.

(15.) On these terms see Stuart Woolf, Napoleon’s Integration of Europe (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 109–10, 166–7, 195–6, and Michael Rowe, ‘Between empire and home town: Napoleonic rule on the Rhine’, Historical Journal, 42 (1999), 649.

(16.) See his letter of 13 April 1801 to Talleyrand, Correspondence de Napoléon Ier, vol. 7 (Paris: Plon, 1861), p. 121.

(17.) Quoted in Herbert A. L. Fisher, Studies in Napoleonic Statesmanship: Germany (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903), p. 191.

(18.) Geoffrey Bruun, Europe and the French Imperium 1799–1814 (New York: Harper & Row, 1938), p. 110.

(19.) J.-E. Driault, Napoléon en Italie (1800–1812) (Paris: Alcan, 1906), p. 53.

(20.) Correspondance de Napoléon 1 e, vol. 20 (Paris: Plon, 1866), pp. 453–4.

(21.) Frédéric Camp, ‘Des Catalans et de Napoléon’, Revue des etudes napoléoniennes, 33 (1931), 37.

(22.) Blanning, The Origins of the French Revolutionary Wars, p. 101.

(23.) See Edmund Burke, Select Works of Edmund Burke, vol. 3: Letters on a Regicide Peace (Indianapolis: Liberty, 1999). For the equivocation see Jennifer Mori, ‘The British government and the Bourbon restoration: the occupation of Toulon, 1793’, Historical Journal, 40 (1997), 669–719.

(24.) See Paul Schroeder, The Transformation of European Politics 1763–1848 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994).

(25.) Quoted in ibid. p. 460.

(26.) Bell, The First Total War, pp. 129–36.

(27.) Blanning, The French Revolutionary Wars, pp. 88–91.

(p.93) (28.) For the declaration see Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution, pp. 398–401. The French declaration of war on Spain followed on 7 March 1793.

(29.) Hansgeorg Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1980), pp. 18–19.

(30.) Alfred Rambaud, Les Français sur le Rhin (1792–1804) (Paris: Perrin, 1891), p. 267.

(31.) For the hesitations see Simon Schama, Patriots and Liberators: Revolution in the Netherlands 1780–1813 (London: Collins, 1977), pp. 174–5.

(32.) Ibid. pp. 188–91.

(33.) Quoted in ibid. p. 201.

(34.) Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, p. 27.

(35.) The hesitation lay in the fact that these territories formed part of the Holy Roman Empire whose integrity the Prussian kingwas reluctant to openly violate. Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, p. 28. According to the Prussian king, publication of such an agreement would be pointless and would undermine confidence in him by his fellow members of the Empire. Joseph Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes im Zeitalter der Französischen Revolution 1780–1801, vol. 3 (Bonn: Hanstein, 1935), pp. 472–3.

(36.) M. R. Thielemans, ‘Deux institutions centrales sous le régime français en Belgique’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 44 (1966), 518–28.

(37.) For the details of the manoeuvring see Raymond Guyot, Le Directoire et la paix de l’Europe (Paris: Alcan, 1911), pp. 356–64.

(38.) Ibid. pp. 366–7.

(39.) Driault, Napoléon en Italie, p. 26.

(40.) Blanning, The French Revolutionary Wars, p. 178.

(41.) The debate leading to the model of the sister republics had begun in relation to Belgium: Sophie Wahnich, ‘Les républiques-soeurs, débat théorique et réalité historique, conquêtes et reconquêtes d’identité républicaine’, Annales historique de la Révolution française, no. 296 (1994), 165–77.

(42.) Filberto Agostini, ‘L’installation des municipalités républicaines et des gouvernements centraux dans la Terre Ferme vénitienne (1797)’, Annales historique de la Révolution française, no. 313 (1998), 567–92.

(43.) Driault, Napoléon en Italie, p. 57.

(44.) Alexander Grab, Napoleon and the Transformation of Europe (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), pp. 114–15.

(45.) Blanning, The French Revolutionary Wars, p. 226.

(p.94) (46.) Schroeder, The Transformation of European Politics, pp. 213–16. According to Schroeder the prospect of French domination of Europe emerged only after the settlements at Lunéville and Amiens, p. 213.

(47.) Charles J. Esdaille, The Wars of Napoleon (London: Longman, 1995), p. 22.

(48.) E. Chevalley, Essai sur la droit des gens napoléonien (Paris: Delagrave, 1912), p. 30.

(49.) Esdaille, The Wars of Napoleon, p. 24; Schroeder, The Transformation of European Politics, p. 264.

(50.) See Esdaille: ‘beset by popular resistance, the operations of Spanish and Anglo-Portuguese regular armies, the intransigence of military commanders whom Napoleon purposely allowed to operate outside Joseph’s authority, and growing bankruptcy, the administration of el rey intruso was reduced to impotent irrelevance. In consequence, Spain is perhaps better regarded as an occupied territory rather than a satellite’, The Wars of Napoleon, p. 73. See also Stuart Woolf’s reference to Napoleon’s ‘ultimate inability to find a definitive solution to the mechanics of occupation’, and to Spain as the ‘simplified, exasperated and appropriately belligerent means of resolving the issue’, Napoleon’s Integration of Europe, p. 53.

(51.) On the dispute see Blanning, The Origins of the French Revolutionary Wars, pp. 61–2, 79.

(52.) Archives parlementaires, 15 (1883), 510–11, 515–19.

(53.) Ibid. p. 609.

(54.) Ibid. p. 667.

(55.) Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution, p. 260.

(56.) Blanning, The Origins of the French Revolutionary Wars, p. 75; Albert Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 2 (Paris: Plon, 1887), pp. 195–203, 293–4.

(57.) Quoted by Jules Basdevant, La revolution française et la droit de la guerre continentale (Paris: Larose and Forcel, 1901), p. 191.

(58.) Archives parlementaires, 52 (1897), 189.

(59.) Ibid. pp. 180, 191.

(60.) Ibid. p. 190.

(61.) Ibid. pp. 653–4.

(62.) Archives parlementaires, 53 (1898), 146–7.

(63.) Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution, p. 381. For Custine’s request see Joseph Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes im Zeitalter der Französischen Revolution 1780–1801, vol. 2 (Bonn: Hanstein, 1933), pp. 601–2.

(64.) Franz Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93 (Alzey: RDW, 1982), p. 93.

(65.) Archives parlementaires, 55 (1899), 71.

(66.) Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution, p. 382.

(p.95) (67.) Ibid. p. 382.

(68.) Ibid. p. 383.

(69.) Archives parlementaires, 55 (1899), 74. The record notes that the protest against the violation of sovereignty was made ‘with fervency’.

(70.) Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes, vol. 2, p. 821.

(71.) Ibid. pp. 820–1.

(72.) Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution, p. 468.

(73.) F.-A. Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 3 (1890), pp. 536–7.

(74.) F.-A. Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 4 (1891), pp. 25–7. Their powers would be continually expanded until the fall of Robespierre on 27 July 1794, Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, p. 34.

(75.) Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes, vol. 2, pp. 904–6.

(76.) Ibid. p. 906.

(77.) F.-A. Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 15 (1903), p. 261.

(78.) A. V. Daniels (ed.), Handbuch der für die Königl. Preuss. Rheinprovinzen verküngikten Gestetze, Verordnungnen und Regierungs-bechlüsse aus der Zeit der Fremdherrschaft, vol. 6 (Cologne: Bachem, 1841), pp. 4–5.

(79.) Ibid. p. 10.

(80.) Ibid. p. 7.

(81.) Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93, p. 61.

(82.) Quoted in T. C. W. Blanning, Reform and Revolution in Mainz 1743–1803 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), p. 276.

(83.) Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93, p. 103.

(84.) Henri Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, vol. 6 (Brussels: Maurice Lamertin, 1926), p. 23.

(85.) Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93, p. 105.

(86.) Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes, vol. 2, p. 469.

(87.) Ibid. pp. 510–11.

(88.) As pointed out by Hansen, ibid. p. 511.

(89.) ibid. pp. 469, 510.

(90.) Archives parlementaires, 53 (1898), 103.

(91.) Arthur Chuquet, Jemappes et la conquête de la Belgique 1792–1793 (Paris: Chailley, 1890), p. 181.

(92.) As pointed out by Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, p. 25.

(93.) As noted by Ernst Fraenkel, Military Occupation and the Rule of Law: Occupation Government in the Rhineland, 1918–1923 (Oxford: (p.96) Oxford University Press, 1944), pp. 31–2.

(94.) Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93, pp. 99–101.

(95.) Chuquet, Jemappes et la conquête de la Belgique, p. 181.

(96.) See the case of General Moreton in Brussels whose agitation induced so much trouble he had to be replaced, ibid. pp. 215–16.

(97.) Ibid. pp. 185–90.

(98.) Ibid. pp. 190–1.

(99.) Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, pp. 30–1; Chuquet, Jemappes at la conquête de la Belgigue, p. 191.

(100.) Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes, vol. 2, pp. 569–73. For the context and implications see Blanning, Reform and Revolution in Mainz, pp. 279, 289–92.

(101.) Klaus R. Scherpe, ‘Der “allgemeine Freund: Das Vaterland”: Patriotismus in der Literatur der Mainzer Republik 1792/93’, Monatshefte, 81 (1989), 19–26.

(102.) Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93, p. 118.

(103.) Dumont emphasises that administrative authority was more effective in driving forward the revolutionary programme, ibid. p. 130.

(104.) Chuquet, Jemappes et la conquête de la Belgique, p. 200.

(105.) Ibid. pp. 200, 203–5, 207.

(106.) A. D. Borgnet, Histoire des Belges a la fin du XVIIIe siècle, vol. 2 (Brussels: Lacroix, 1861), pp. 180–1.

(107.) Chuquet, Jemappes et la conquête de la Belgique, p. 223.

(108.) For the description of the Representatives as ‘dictateurs ambulants’ see Chuquet, ibid. p. 229, and Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, p. 38. For the remit of the national commissars see Chuquet, Jemappes et la conquête de la Belgique, p. 234.

(109.) Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93, p. 322.

(110.) Athur Chuquet, Mayence (1792–1793) (Paris: Plon, 1892), p. 161.

(111.) Blanning, Reform and Revolution in Mainz, p. 299.

(112.) Arthur Chuquet, L’expedition de Custine (Paris: Plon, 1892), p. 168.

(113.) On the dispute see Suzanne Tassier, Histoire de la Belgique sous l’occupation française en 1792 et 1793 (Brussels: Falk, 1934), pp. 154–61.

(114.) Percy Bordwell, The Law of War Between Belligerents (Chicago: Callaghan, 1908), p. 114.

(115.) Chuquet, Mayence, p. 79.

(116.) Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93, pp. 429–35.

(117.) Ibid. pp. 474–5.

(118.) Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 15 (1903), p. 640.

(119.) Robert Devleeshouwer, ‘La cas de la Belgique’, in Colloque de Bruxelles (ed.), Occupants-occupés 1792–1815 (Brussels: Universite Libre (p.97) de Bruxelles, 1968), pp. 51–2.

(120.) Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 16 (1904), pp. 549–50.

(121.) Ibid. p. 674.

(122.) M. R. Thielemans, ‘Deux institutions centrales sous le régime français en Belgique’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 41 (1963), 1102–6.

(123.) Xavier Rousseaux, ‘De la justice révolutionnaire à la justice républicaine: le tribunal criminal de Bruxelles (1794–1795)’, in Michel Vovelle (ed.), La Révolution et l’ordre juridique privé, vol. 2 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1988), pp. 530–1.

(124.) Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, p. 64.

(125.) Michael Rapport, ‘Belgium under French occupation: between collaboration and resistance, July 1794 to October 1795’, French History, 16 (2002), 66.

(126.) Ibid. p. 61.

(127.) Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, p. 63.

(128.) Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 16 (1904), p. 276.

(129.) Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 20 (1910), p. 590.

(130.) Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, points out that this is typical of regimes of occupation, p. 38.

(131.) A. V. Daniels (ed.), Handbuch der für die Königl. Preuss. Rheinprovinzen verkündigkten Gestetze, Verordnungnen und Regierungs-bechlüsse aus der Zeit der Fremdherrschaft, vol. 7 (Cologne: Bachem, 1842), pp. 352–3.

(132.) Ibid. pp. 354–5.

(133.) Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, p. 44.

(134.) Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes, vol. 3, p. 583.

(135.) Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, p. 68.

(136.) Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 4, p. 245.

(137.) Albert Sorel, ‘L’Autriche et le Comité de Salut Public, Avril 1795’, Revue historique, 17 (1881), 35.

(138.) L. Hennequin, La justice militaire et la discipline à l’Armée du Rhin et à l’Armée de Rhin-et-Moselle (1792–1798) (Paris: Chapelot, 1909), pp. 17–19.

(139.) T. C. W. Blanning, The French Revolution in Germany: Occupation and Resistance in the Rhineland 1792–1802 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983), p. 94.

(140.) M. R. Thielemans, ‘Deux institutions centrales sous le régime français en Belgique’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 42 (1964), 417–18.

(p.98) (141.) Rousseaux, ‘De la justice révolutionnaire à la justice républicaine’, pp. 535, 537.

(142.) M. R. Thielemans, ‘Deux institutions centrales sous le régime français en Belgique’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 42 (1964), 427.

(143.) Ibid. pp. 403–4.

(144.) Ibid. pp. 404–5.

(145.) Ibid. pp. 518–28.

(146.) Schama, Patriots and Liberators, p. 195.

(147.) Ibid. p. 188.

(148.) H. T. Colenbrander (ed.), Gedenkstukken der Algemeene Geschiedenis van Nederland van 1795 tot 1840, vol. 1 (’s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff, 1905), p. 590.

(149.) Ibid. p. 591.

(150.) Aulard (ed.), Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 20 (1910), p. 349.

(151.) Colenbrander (ed.), Gedenkstukken der Algemeene Geschiedenis van Nederland, p. 612.

(152.) Ibid. p. 616.

(153.) Ibid. p. 606.

(154.) Aulard (ed.), Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 20 (1910), p. 355.

(155.) Colenbrander (ed.), Gedenkstukken der Algemeene Geschiedenis van Nederland, p. 595.

(156.) Aulard (ed.), Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 20 (1910), p. 185.

(157.) Ibid. p. 321.

(158.) Schama, Patriots and Liberators, p. 203.

(159.) Colenbrander (ed.), Gedenkstukken der Algemeene Geschiedenis van Nederland, p. 649.

(160.) Alexandre De Clercq (ed.), Recueil des traités de la France, vol. 1 (Paris: Pedone-Lauriel, 1880), p. 236.

(161.) Ibid. p. 238.

(162.) Ibid. p. 238. On this wider purpose see Raymond Robin, Des occupations militaires en dehors des occupations de guerre (Paris: Larose, 1913), pp. 75–6.

(163.) Clercq (ed.), Recueil des traités de la France, vol. 1, p. 239.

(164.) Ibid. p. 249.

(165.) Ibid. p. 264.

(166.) Ibid. p. 250.

(167.) Ibid. pp. 249–50.

(168.) Ibid. p. 233.

(169.) Schama, Patriots and Liberators, pp. 402–3.

(170.) R. R. Palmer, The Age of the Democratic Revolution, vol. 2 (Princeton: (p.99) Princeton University Press, 1964), pp. 272–3.

(171.) Paul Gaffarel, Bonaparte et les républiques italiennes (1796–1799) (Paris: Alcan, 1895), p. 8.

(172.) For his Proclamation and Decrees of 19 May 1796 see Correspondance de Napoléon 1 er, vol. 1 (Paris: Plon, 1858), pp. 297–301.

(173.) Gaffarel, Bonaparte et les républiques italiennes, p. 12.

(174.) Correspondance de Napoléon 1 er, vol. 2 (Paris: Plon, 1859), p. 50.

(175.) Jacques Godechot, Les commissaires aux armées sous le Directoire, vol. 1 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1941), pp. 371–85, and Palmer, The Age of the Democratic Revolution, vol. 2, pp. 300–1.

(176.) Godechot, Les commissaires aux armées sous le Directoire, vol. 1, p. 650.

(177.) For reassertion of the principle see Jacques Godechot, Les commissaires aux armées sous le Directoire, vol. 2 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1941), pp. 195–203, Guyot, Le Directoire et la paix de l’Europe, pp. 882–3.

(178.) Gaffarel, Bonaparte et les républiques italiennes, p. 41.

(179.) Ibid. pp. 45–6.

(180.) Quoted in Bernard Nabonne, La diplomatie du directoire et Bonaparte: D’après les papiers inédits de Reubell (Paris: La nouvelle edition, 1951), p. 175.

(181.) Leuwers, ‘République et relations entre les peuples’, p. 9.

(182.) See Agostini, ‘L’installation des municipalités républicaines et des gouvernements centraux dans la Terre Ferme vénitienne (1797)’, pp. 467–92.

(183.) Gaffarel, Bonaparte et les républiques italiennes, p. 159.

(184.) Clercq (ed.), Recueil des traités de la France, vol. 1, p. 301. For elaboration on these agreements see Robin, Des occupations militaires, pp. 93–6.

(185.) Clercq (ed.), Recueil des traités de la France, vol. 1, p. 276.

(186.) Ibid. p. 324.

(187.) Ibid. p. 351.

(188.) Palmer, The Age of the Democratic Revolution, vol. 2, pp. 320–2.

(189.) Gaffarel, Bonaparte et les républiques italiennes, p. 240.

(190.) Albert Dufourcq, Le régime Jacobin en Italie: Étude sur la République Romaine 1798–1799 (Paris: Perrin, 1900), pp. 127–8.

(191.) Ludovic Sciout, ‘Le Directoire et la République Romaine’, Revue de questions historiques, 39 (1886), 158–61.

(192.) Ibid. pp. 155–6.

(193.) Godechot, Les commissaires aux armées sous le Directoire, vol. 2, pp. 18–19.

(194.) Gaffarel, Bonaparte et les républiques italiennes, p. 244.

(p.100) (195.) Dufourcq, Le régime Jacobin en Italie, pp. 221–4.

(196.) On the occupation of Naples see Guyot, Le Directoire et la paix de l’Europe, pp. 886–96.

(197.) Eugenio di Rienzo, ‘Néo-jacobinisme et question italienne à travers les manuscrits de Marc-Antoine Jullien de Paris’, Annales historiques de la Révolution française, no. 313 (1998), 493–514.

(198.) Guyot, Le Directoire et la paix de l’Europe, pp. 660–1.

(199.) For his proclamation see Henry Zschokke, The History of the Invasion of Switzerland (London: Longman, 1803), pp. 205–6.

(200.) Ludovic Sciout, ‘Le Directoire et la République de Berne (1797–1799)’, Revue des questions historiques, 51 (1892), 535.

(201.) See Reubells comments in Emile Dunant, Les relations diplomatiques de la France et de la République Helvétique 1798–1803 (Basel: Basler Buch- und Antiquariatshandlung, 1901), pp. 81–3.

(202.) Guyot, Le Directoire et la paix de l’Europe, pp. 762–7.

(203.) Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes, vol. 3, pp. 1212–13.

(204.) Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, pp. 50–3, Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes, vol. 3, pp. 1041–3, 1170–1.

(205.) Wilhelm Steffens, ‘Die linksrheinischen Provinzen Preussens unter französischer Herrschaft 1794–1802’, Rheinische Vierteljahrsblätter, 19 (1954), 445–6.

(206.) Driault, Napoléon en Italie, pp. 119–20.

(207.) Ibid. pp. 103–4.

(208.) Albert Pingaud, Bonaparte: Président de la République Italienne, vol. 2 (Paris: Perrin, 1914), p. 139.

(209.) Albert Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 7 (Paris: Plon, 1904), p. 546.

(210.) Robin, Des occupations militaires, p. 114.

(211.) Manfred Peter Heimers, Die Trikolore über München (Munich: Buchendorfer, 2000), pp. 60–1.

(212.) Mathieu Dumas, Précis des événements militaires, vol. 9 (Paris: Treuttell, 1820), p. 392. This convention was not ratified but is indicative of understanding of occupation.

(213.) Ibid. p. 394.

(214.) Friedrich Thimme, Die inneren Zustände des Kurfürstentums Hannover unter der französisch-westfälischen Herrschaft 1806–1813 (Hanover: Hhn’sche, 1893), p. 61.

(215.) Ibid. pp. 70–1, 73, 82–3.

(216.) Ibid. pp. 136–8.

(217.) Leopold von Ranke (ed.), Denkwürdigkeiten des Staatskanzlers Fürsten von Hardenberg, vol. 2 (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1877), p. 526.

(218.) Thimme, Die inneren Zustände des Kurfürstentums Hannover, p. 175.

(p.101) (219.) Ibid. p. 177.

(220.) Anton Pfalz, Die Franzosen in Wien im Jahre 1805 (Vienna: Deutsch-Wagram, 1905), pp. 20–1.

(221.) Despréaux, Le Maréchal Mortier, vol. 3, p. 277.

(222.) Ibid. p. 292.

(223.) Helmut Stubbe da Luz, Okkupanten und Okkupierte, vol. 2 (Munich: Meidenbauer, 2005), pp. 18–19; Johann Hermann Duntze, Geschichte der freien Stadt Bremen (Bremen: Heyse, 1851), pp. 686–8.

(224.) Alfred Rambaud, L’Allemagne sous Napoléon 1er (Paris: Didier, 1897), pp. 188–95.

(225.) Katherine Aalestad, ‘Paying for war: experiences of Napoleonic rule in the Hanseatic cities’, Central European History, 39 (2006), 649–53.

(226.) Thimme, Die inneren Zustände des Kurfürstentums Hannover, p. 199.

(227.) Ibid. p. 377.

(228.) Stubbe da Luz, Okkupanten und Okkupierte, vol. 2, p. 77.

(229.) Ibid. p. 51.

(230.) Thimme, Die inneren Zustände des Kurfüstentums Hannover, p. 221.

(231.) Frank Bauer, Napoleon in Berlin (Berlin: Berlin Story Verlag, 2006), pp. 143–4.

(232.) Ibid. p. 103. See also Robert Ouvrard, 1809: Les Français à Vienne (Paris: Nouveau Monde, 2009), p. 109.

(233.) Ibid. pp. 174–5.

(234.) To the disgust of the Prussian officer Ludwig von Marwitz, Aus dem Nachlasse Friedrich August Ludwig von der Marwitz (Berlin: Mittler, 1852), p. 192.

(235.) De Clercq (ed.), Recueil des traités de la France, vol. 2 (Paris: Pedone-Lauriel, 1880), p. 272.

(236.) See C. de Mazade, Correspondance du Maréchal Davout, vol. 3 (Paris: Plon, 1885), pp. 198–9.

(237.) Karl Obermann, ‘La situation de la Prusse sous l’occupation française 1807–1813’, in Colloque de Bruxelles (ed.), Occupants-occupés, pp. 281–2.

(238.) Marcel Handelsman, Napoléon et la Pologne 1806–1807 (Paris: Alcan, 1909), pp. 70–6.

(239.) Marcel Handelsman, ‘Rapport du Baron Serra sur la mission à Varsovie’, Revue des etudes napoléoniennes, 3 (1913), 413.

(240.) John Stanley, ‘The French Residents in the Duchy of Warsaw’, Canadian Slavonic Papers, 27 (1985), 55.

(241.) Marcel Handelsman (ed.), Instructions et dépêches des Résidents de France à Varsovie 1807–1813, vol. 1 (Cracow: L’Academie des (p.102) Sciences de Cracovie, 1914), p. 28.

(242.) John Stanley, ‘French attitudes toward Poland in the Napoleonic period’, Canadian Slavonic Papers, 49 (2007), 209–27.

(243.) John Lawrence Tone, The Fatal Knot (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1994), p. 3.

(244.) Vittorio Douglas, ‘La guerrilla espagnole dans la guerre contre l’armée napoléonienne’, Annales historiques de la Révolution française, no. 336 (2004), 91–4.

(245.) Tone, The Fatal Knot, p. 71.

(246.) For a detailed judgement see Charles Esdaille, Fighting Napoleon: Guerrillas, Bandits and Adventurers in Spain 1808–1814 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004).

(247.) John Morgan, ‘War feeding war? The impact of logistics on the Napoleonic occupation of Catalonia’, Journal of Military History, 73 (2009), 83–93.

(248.) Pierre Conrad, Napoléon et la Catalogne 1808–1814 (Paris: Alcan, 1910), pp. 113–16.

(249.) Ibid. pp. 124–5.

(250.) Ibid. pp. 191–4.

(251.) Marshal Suchet, Memoirs of the War in Spain, vol. 1 (London: Colburn, 1829), p. 40.

(252.) Ibid. pp. 299–300.

(253.) Jean Louis Reynaud, Contre-Guerrilla en Espagne (1808–1814): Suchet pacifie l’Aragon (Paris: Economica, 1992), pp. 111, 116–17, 121, 137–44.

(254.) Correspondance de Napoléon 1er, vol. 20, pp. 234–5.

(255.) Suchet, Memoirs of the War in Spain, vol. 1, pp. 91–5.

(256.) A. Du Casse (ed.), Mémoires et correspondence politique et militaire du Roi Joseph, vol. 8 (Paris: Perrotin, 1854), pp. 165–80, 249–50; Geoffrey de Grandmaison, L’Espagne et Napoléon, vol. 3 (Paris: Plon, 1931), pp. 55–60. For Napoleon’s logic see The Confidential Correspondence of Napoleon Bonaparte with his Brother Joseph, vol. 2 (London: Murray, 1855), pp. 250–2.

(257.) See Robin Fabel, ‘The laws of war in the 1812 conflict’, Journal of American Studies, 14 (1980), 199–218.

(258.) Mori, ‘The British government and the Bourbon restoration’, p. 706.

(259.) Elisa Carrilo, ‘The Corsican Kingdom of George III’, Journal of Modern History, 34 (1962), 256–7.

(260.) Peter Graf von Kielmansegg, Stein und die Zentralverwaltung 1813/14 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1964), pp. 12–14.

(261.) Ibid. pp. 17–23.

(262.) Walther Hubatsch (ed.), Freiherr vom Stein. Briefe und amtliche Schriften, vol. 4 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1963), p. 301.

(p.103) (263.) Ibid. p. 347.

(264.) Kielmansegg, Stein und die Zentralverwaltung, p. 83.

(265.) Arthur Wellington (ed.), Supplementary Despatches, Correspondence and Memoranda of Field Marshal Arthur Duke of Wellington, vol. 9 (London: Murray, 1862), p. 67.

(266.) Kielmansegg, Stein und die Zentralverwaltung, p. 97.

(267.) See his letter of 25 January 1814 to General Wrede, Hubatsch (ed.), Freiherr vom Stein, vol. 4, p. 476.

(268.) Kielmansegg, Stein und die Zentralverwaltung, p. 107.

(269.) Jacques Hantraye, Les cosaques aux Champs-Élysées (Paris: Belin, 2005), pp. 23–30.

(270.) On the contrast see Roger André, L’occupation de la France par les alliés en 1815 (Paris: Boccard, 1924), pp. 6–29, and Hantraye, Les cosaques aux Champs-Élysées, pp. 152–3.

(271.) John Gurwood (ed.), The Dispatches of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, vol. 12 (London: Murray 1838), p. 558.

(272.) André, L’occupation de la France par les alliés en 1815, pp. 30–43.

(273.) Gurwood (ed.), The Dispatches of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, vol. 12, p. 599.

(274.) Michael Hurst (ed.), Key Treaties of the Great Powers 1814–1914, vol. 1 (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1972), p. 132.

(275.) Robin, Des occupations militaires, p. 152–3.

(276.) Thomas Veve, The Duke of Wellington and the British Army of Occupation in France, 1815–1818 (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1992), pp. 150–1.

(277.) Philippe-Antoine Merlin, Recueil alphabétique de questions de droit, vol 7 (Brussels: Tarlier, 1828), p. 42. On the details of the case see Conrad, Napoléon et la Catalogne, pp. 389–403.

(278.) Merlin, Recueil alphabétique de questions de droit, vol. 7, p. 42.

(279.) As noted above Napoleon made this point to Joachim Murat when Murat was King of Naples. See also the same point in Napoleon’s proclamation of his brother Louis as King of Holland, Correspondance de Napoléon 1 er, vol. 12 (Paris: Plon, 1858), p. 434.

(280.) Recueil général des lois et des arrêts, vol. 4 (1812–14), 90.

(281.) Recueil général des lois et des arrêts, vol. 18, part 1 (1818), 179.

(282.) Recueil général des lois et des arrêts, vol. 41, part 1 (1841), 507–9.

Notes:

(1.) For an early example of this see A. H. L. Heeren, A Manual of the History of the Political System of Europe and its Colonies (London: Bohn, 1874). The first German edition appeared in 1809.

(2.) For the Declaration of Pillnitz and the declaration of war see John Hall Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution (Toronto: Macmillan, 1951), pp. 223–4 and 286–8; for Brissot’s speech see Archives parlementaires, 34 (1890), 309–17.

(3.) The image of the Holy Alliance enjoyed an influence that exceeded the actual power of the Alliance.

(4.) Albert Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 1 (Paris: Plon, 1887), p. 3.

(5.) See the judgement of T. C. W. Blanning, The Origins of the French Revolutionary Wars (London: Longman, 1986), p. 123.

(6.) Quoted in André Fugier, Histoire des relations internationales: La Révolution Française et l’Empire Napoléonien (Paris: Hachette, 1954), p. 25.

(7.) Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 1, pp. 9–11. For a somewhat different, more recent version see James R. Sofka, ‘The eighteenth century international system: parity or primacy’, Review of International Studies, 27 (2001), 147–63. For an evaluation see David Armstrong, Revolution and World Order: The Revolutionary State in International Society (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), pp. 79–84.

(8.) Marc Belissa, ‘Garran de Coulon, la conquête de la Belgique et l’elaboration d’un nouveau droit public’, Revue du Nord, 81 (1999), 553.

(9.) Hervé Leuwers, ‘République et relations entre les peuples’, Annales historiques de la Révolution française, no. 318 (1999), 2–4.

(10.) David A. Bell, The First Total War: Napoleon’s Europe and the Birth of Modern Warfare (London: Bloomsbury, 2007), p. 126.

(11.) For an assessment of the debate on natural frontiers see Peter Sahlins, (p.92) ‘Natural frontiers revisited: France’s boundaries since the seventeenth century’, American Historical Review, 95 (1990), 1423–51. T. C. W. Blanning points out that even the natural frontiers doctrine was not as clear a guide as the name might suggest, The French Revolutionary Wars 1787–1802 (London: Arnold, 1996), p. 92.

(12.) For the parlous state of French armies during the first winter see Albert Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 4 (Paris: Plon, 1891), pp. 245–7.

(13.) Jacques Godechot, La Grande Nation: L’expansion révolutionnaire de la France dans le monde de 1789 à 1799, 2nd edn (Paris: Montaigne, 1983), pp. 128–9. As Godechot notes, not all generals shared these expansionist ambitions, ibid. p. 128, citing General Jean-Baptiste Kléber.

(14.) Thus General Mortier in respect of Hanover on 12 Novemer 1806, Frignet Despréaux, Le Maréchal Mortier, vol. 3 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1920), p. 292.

(15.) On these terms see Stuart Woolf, Napoleon’s Integration of Europe (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 109–10, 166–7, 195–6, and Michael Rowe, ‘Between empire and home town: Napoleonic rule on the Rhine’, Historical Journal, 42 (1999), 649.

(16.) See his letter of 13 April 1801 to Talleyrand, Correspondence de Napoléon Ier, vol. 7 (Paris: Plon, 1861), p. 121.

(17.) Quoted in Herbert A. L. Fisher, Studies in Napoleonic Statesmanship: Germany (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903), p. 191.

(18.) Geoffrey Bruun, Europe and the French Imperium 1799–1814 (New York: Harper & Row, 1938), p. 110.

(19.) J.-E. Driault, Napoléon en Italie (1800–1812) (Paris: Alcan, 1906), p. 53.

(20.) Correspondance de Napoléon 1 e, vol. 20 (Paris: Plon, 1866), pp. 453–4.

(21.) Frédéric Camp, ‘Des Catalans et de Napoléon’, Revue des etudes napoléoniennes, 33 (1931), 37.

(23.) See Edmund Burke, Select Works of Edmund Burke, vol. 3: Letters on a Regicide Peace (Indianapolis: Liberty, 1999). For the equivocation see Jennifer Mori, ‘The British government and the Bourbon restoration: the occupation of Toulon, 1793’, Historical Journal, 40 (1997), 669–719.

(24.) See Paul Schroeder, The Transformation of European Politics 1763–1848 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994).

(25.) Quoted in ibid. p. 460.

(p.93) (28.) For the declaration see Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution, pp. 398–401. The French declaration of war on Spain followed on 7 March 1793.

(29.) Hansgeorg Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1980), pp. 18–19.

(30.) Alfred Rambaud, Les Français sur le Rhin (1792–1804) (Paris: Perrin, 1891), p. 267.

(31.) For the hesitations see Simon Schama, Patriots and Liberators: Revolution in the Netherlands 1780–1813 (London: Collins, 1977), pp. 174–5.

(32.) Ibid. pp. 188–91.

(33.) Quoted in ibid. p. 201.

(35.) The hesitation lay in the fact that these territories formed part of the Holy Roman Empire whose integrity the Prussian kingwas reluctant to openly violate. Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, p. 28. According to the Prussian king, publication of such an agreement would be pointless and would undermine confidence in him by his fellow members of the Empire. Joseph Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes im Zeitalter der Französischen Revolution 1780–1801, vol. 3 (Bonn: Hanstein, 1935), pp. 472–3.

(36.) M. R. Thielemans, ‘Deux institutions centrales sous le régime français en Belgique’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 44 (1966), 518–28.

(37.) For the details of the manoeuvring see Raymond Guyot, Le Directoire et la paix de l’Europe (Paris: Alcan, 1911), pp. 356–64.

(38.) Ibid. pp. 366–7.

(41.) The debate leading to the model of the sister republics had begun in relation to Belgium: Sophie Wahnich, ‘Les républiques-soeurs, débat théorique et réalité historique, conquêtes et reconquêtes d’identité républicaine’, Annales historique de la Révolution française, no. 296 (1994), 165–77.

(42.) Filberto Agostini, ‘L’installation des municipalités républicaines et des gouvernements centraux dans la Terre Ferme vénitienne (1797)’, Annales historique de la Révolution française, no. 313 (1998), 567–92.

(44.) Alexander Grab, Napoleon and the Transformation of Europe (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), pp. 114–15.

(p.94) (46.) Schroeder, The Transformation of European Politics, pp. 213–16. According to Schroeder the prospect of French domination of Europe emerged only after the settlements at Lunéville and Amiens, p. 213.

(47.) Charles J. Esdaille, The Wars of Napoleon (London: Longman, 1995), p. 22.

(48.) E. Chevalley, Essai sur la droit des gens napoléonien (Paris: Delagrave, 1912), p. 30.

(50.) See Esdaille: ‘beset by popular resistance, the operations of Spanish and Anglo-Portuguese regular armies, the intransigence of military commanders whom Napoleon purposely allowed to operate outside Joseph’s authority, and growing bankruptcy, the administration of el rey intruso was reduced to impotent irrelevance. In consequence, Spain is perhaps better regarded as an occupied territory rather than a satellite’, The Wars of Napoleon, p. 73. See also Stuart Woolf’s reference to Napoleon’s ‘ultimate inability to find a definitive solution to the mechanics of occupation’, and to Spain as the ‘simplified, exasperated and appropriately belligerent means of resolving the issue’, Napoleon’s Integration of Europe, p. 53.

(52.) Archives parlementaires, 15 (1883), 510–11, 515–19.

(53.) Ibid. p. 609.

(54.) Ibid. p. 667.

(56.) Blanning, The Origins of the French Revolutionary Wars, p. 75; Albert Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 2 (Paris: Plon, 1887), pp. 195–203, 293–4.

(57.) Quoted by Jules Basdevant, La revolution française et la droit de la guerre continentale (Paris: Larose and Forcel, 1901), p. 191.

(58.) Archives parlementaires, 52 (1897), 189.

(59.) Ibid. pp. 180, 191.

(60.) Ibid. p. 190.

(61.) Ibid. pp. 653–4.

(62.) Archives parlementaires, 53 (1898), 146–7.

(63.) Stewart (ed.), A Documentary Survey of the French Revolution, p. 381. For Custine’s request see Joseph Hansen (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte des Rheinlandes im Zeitalter der Französischen Revolution 1780–1801, vol. 2 (Bonn: Hanstein, 1933), pp. 601–2.

(64.) Franz Dumont, Die Mainzer Republik von 1792/93 (Alzey: RDW, 1982), p. 93.

(65.) Archives parlementaires, 55 (1899), 71.

(p.95) (67.) Ibid. p. 382.

(68.) Ibid. p. 383.

(69.) Archives parlementaires, 55 (1899), 74. The record notes that the protest against the violation of sovereignty was made ‘with fervency’.

(71.) Ibid. pp. 820–1.

(73.) F.-A. Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 3 (1890), pp. 536–7.

(74.) F.-A. Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 4 (1891), pp. 25–7. Their powers would be continually expanded until the fall of Robespierre on 27 July 1794, Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, p. 34.

(76.) Ibid. p. 906.

(77.) F.-A. Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 15 (1903), p. 261.

(78.) A. V. Daniels (ed.), Handbuch der für die Königl. Preuss. Rheinprovinzen verküngikten Gestetze, Verordnungnen und Regierungs-bechlüsse aus der Zeit der Fremdherrschaft, vol. 6 (Cologne: Bachem, 1841), pp. 4–5.

(79.) Ibid. p. 10.

(80.) Ibid. p. 7.

(82.) Quoted in T. C. W. Blanning, Reform and Revolution in Mainz 1743–1803 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), p. 276.

(84.) Henri Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, vol. 6 (Brussels: Maurice Lamertin, 1926), p. 23.

(87.) Ibid. pp. 510–11.

(88.) As pointed out by Hansen, ibid. p. 511.

(89.) ibid. pp. 469, 510.

(90.) Archives parlementaires, 53 (1898), 103.

(91.) Arthur Chuquet, Jemappes et la conquête de la Belgique 1792–1793 (Paris: Chailley, 1890), p. 181.

(93.) As noted by Ernst Fraenkel, Military Occupation and the Rule of Law: Occupation Government in the Rhineland, 1918–1923 (Oxford: (p.96) Oxford University Press, 1944), pp. 31–2.

(96.) See the case of General Moreton in Brussels whose agitation induced so much trouble he had to be replaced, ibid. pp. 215–16.

(97.) Ibid. pp. 185–90.

(98.) Ibid. pp. 190–1.

(99.) Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, pp. 30–1; Chuquet, Jemappes at la conquête de la Belgigue, p. 191.

(101.) Klaus R. Scherpe, ‘Der “allgemeine Freund: Das Vaterland”: Patriotismus in der Literatur der Mainzer Republik 1792/93’, Monatshefte, 81 (1989), 19–26.

(103.) Dumont emphasises that administrative authority was more effective in driving forward the revolutionary programme, ibid. p. 130.

(105.) Ibid. pp. 200, 203–5, 207.

(106.) A. D. Borgnet, Histoire des Belges a la fin du XVIIIe siècle, vol. 2 (Brussels: Lacroix, 1861), pp. 180–1.

(108.) For the description of the Representatives as ‘dictateurs ambulants’ see Chuquet, ibid. p. 229, and Pirenne, Histoire de Belgique, p. 38. For the remit of the national commissars see Chuquet, Jemappes et la conquête de la Belgique, p. 234.

(110.) Athur Chuquet, Mayence (1792–1793) (Paris: Plon, 1892), p. 161.

(112.) Arthur Chuquet, L’expedition de Custine (Paris: Plon, 1892), p. 168.

(113.) On the dispute see Suzanne Tassier, Histoire de la Belgique sous l’occupation française en 1792 et 1793 (Brussels: Falk, 1934), pp. 154–61.

(114.) Percy Bordwell, The Law of War Between Belligerents (Chicago: Callaghan, 1908), p. 114.

(117.) Ibid. pp. 474–5.

(118.) Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 15 (1903), p. 640.

(119.) Robert Devleeshouwer, ‘La cas de la Belgique’, in Colloque de Bruxelles (ed.), Occupants-occupés 1792–1815 (Brussels: Universite Libre (p.97) de Bruxelles, 1968), pp. 51–2.

(120.) Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 16 (1904), pp. 549–50.

(121.) Ibid. p. 674.

(122.) M. R. Thielemans, ‘Deux institutions centrales sous le régime français en Belgique’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 41 (1963), 1102–6.

(123.) Xavier Rousseaux, ‘De la justice révolutionnaire à la justice républicaine: le tribunal criminal de Bruxelles (1794–1795)’, in Michel Vovelle (ed.), La Révolution et l’ordre juridique privé, vol. 2 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1988), pp. 530–1.

(125.) Michael Rapport, ‘Belgium under French occupation: between collaboration and resistance, July 1794 to October 1795’, French History, 16 (2002), 66.

(126.) Ibid. p. 61.

(128.) Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 16 (1904), p. 276.

(129.) Aulard (ed.) Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 20 (1910), p. 590.

(130.) Molitor, Vom Untertan zum Administré, points out that this is typical of regimes of occupation, p. 38.

(131.) A. V. Daniels (ed.), Handbuch der für die Königl. Preuss. Rheinprovinzen verkündigkten Gestetze, Verordnungnen und Regierungs-bechlüsse aus der Zeit der Fremdherrschaft, vol. 7 (Cologne: Bachem, 1842), pp. 352–3.

(132.) Ibid. pp. 354–5.

(137.) Albert Sorel, ‘L’Autriche et le Comité de Salut Public, Avril 1795’, Revue historique, 17 (1881), 35.

(138.) L. Hennequin, La justice militaire et la discipline à l’Armée du Rhin et à l’Armée de Rhin-et-Moselle (1792–1798) (Paris: Chapelot, 1909), pp. 17–19.

(139.) T. C. W. Blanning, The French Revolution in Germany: Occupation and Resistance in the Rhineland 1792–1802 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983), p. 94.

(140.) M. R. Thielemans, ‘Deux institutions centrales sous le régime français en Belgique’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 42 (1964), 417–18.

(142.) M. R. Thielemans, ‘Deux institutions centrales sous le régime français en Belgique’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 42 (1964), 427.

(143.) Ibid. pp. 403–4.

(144.) Ibid. pp. 404–5.

(145.) Ibid. pp. 518–28.

(147.) Ibid. p. 188.

(148.) H. T. Colenbrander (ed.), Gedenkstukken der Algemeene Geschiedenis van Nederland van 1795 tot 1840, vol. 1 (’s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff, 1905), p. 590.

(149.) Ibid. p. 591.

(150.) Aulard (ed.), Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 20 (1910), p. 349.

(152.) Ibid. p. 616.

(153.) Ibid. p. 606.

(154.) Aulard (ed.), Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 20 (1910), p. 355.

(156.) Aulard (ed.), Recueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public, vol. 20 (1910), p. 185.

(157.) Ibid. p. 321.

(160.) Alexandre De Clercq (ed.), Recueil des traités de la France, vol. 1 (Paris: Pedone-Lauriel, 1880), p. 236.

(161.) Ibid. p. 238.

(162.) Ibid. p. 238. On this wider purpose see Raymond Robin, Des occupations militaires en dehors des occupations de guerre (Paris: Larose, 1913), pp. 75–6.

(164.) Ibid. p. 249.

(165.) Ibid. p. 264.

(166.) Ibid. p. 250.

(167.) Ibid. pp. 249–50.

(168.) Ibid. p. 233.

(170.) R. R. Palmer, The Age of the Democratic Revolution, vol. 2 (Princeton: (p.99) Princeton University Press, 1964), pp. 272–3.

(171.) Paul Gaffarel, Bonaparte et les républiques italiennes (1796–1799) (Paris: Alcan, 1895), p. 8.

(172.) For his Proclamation and Decrees of 19 May 1796 see Correspondance de Napoléon 1 er, vol. 1 (Paris: Plon, 1858), pp. 297–301.

(174.) Correspondance de Napoléon 1 er, vol. 2 (Paris: Plon, 1859), p. 50.

(175.) Jacques Godechot, Les commissaires aux armées sous le Directoire, vol. 1 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1941), pp. 371–85, and Palmer, The Age of the Democratic Revolution, vol. 2, pp. 300–1.

(177.) For reassertion of the principle see Jacques Godechot, Les commissaires aux armées sous le Directoire, vol. 2 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1941), pp. 195–203, Guyot, Le Directoire et la paix de l’Europe, pp. 882–3.

(179.) Ibid. pp. 45–6.

(180.) Quoted in Bernard Nabonne, La diplomatie du directoire et Bonaparte: D’après les papiers inédits de Reubell (Paris: La nouvelle edition, 1951), p. 175.

(186.) Ibid. p. 324.

(187.) Ibid. p. 351.

(190.) Albert Dufourcq, Le régime Jacobin en Italie: Étude sur la République Romaine 1798–1799 (Paris: Perrin, 1900), pp. 127–8.

(191.) Ludovic Sciout, ‘Le Directoire et la République Romaine’, Revue de questions historiques, 39 (1886), 158–61.

(192.) Ibid. pp. 155–6.

(197.) Eugenio di Rienzo, ‘Néo-jacobinisme et question italienne à travers les manuscrits de Marc-Antoine Jullien de Paris’, Annales historiques de la Révolution française, no. 313 (1998), 493–514.

(199.) For his proclamation see Henry Zschokke, The History of the Invasion of Switzerland (London: Longman, 1803), pp. 205–6.

(200.) Ludovic Sciout, ‘Le Directoire et la République de Berne (1797–1799)’, Revue des questions historiques, 51 (1892), 535.

(201.) See Reubells comments in Emile Dunant, Les relations diplomatiques de la France et de la République Helvétique 1798–1803 (Basel: Basler Buch- und Antiquariatshandlung, 1901), pp. 81–3.

(205.) Wilhelm Steffens, ‘Die linksrheinischen Provinzen Preussens unter französischer Herrschaft 1794–1802’, Rheinische Vierteljahrsblätter, 19 (1954), 445–6.

(207.) Ibid. pp. 103–4.

(208.) Albert Pingaud, Bonaparte: Président de la République Italienne, vol. 2 (Paris: Perrin, 1914), p. 139.

(209.) Albert Sorel, L’Europe et la Révolution Française, vol. 7 (Paris: Plon, 1904), p. 546.

(211.) Manfred Peter Heimers, Die Trikolore über München (Munich: Buchendorfer, 2000), pp. 60–1.

(212.) Mathieu Dumas, Précis des événements militaires, vol. 9 (Paris: Treuttell, 1820), p. 392. This convention was not ratified but is indicative of understanding of occupation.

(213.) Ibid. p. 394.

(214.) Friedrich Thimme, Die inneren Zustände des Kurfürstentums Hannover unter der französisch-westfälischen Herrschaft 1806–1813 (Hanover: Hhn’sche, 1893), p. 61.

(215.) Ibid. pp. 70–1, 73, 82–3.

(216.) Ibid. pp. 136–8.

(217.) Leopold von Ranke (ed.), Denkwürdigkeiten des Staatskanzlers Fürsten von Hardenberg, vol. 2 (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1877), p. 526.

(p.101) (219.) Ibid. p. 177.

(220.) Anton Pfalz, Die Franzosen in Wien im Jahre 1805 (Vienna: Deutsch-Wagram, 1905), pp. 20–1.

(222.) Ibid. p. 292.

(223.) Helmut Stubbe da Luz, Okkupanten und Okkupierte, vol. 2 (Munich: Meidenbauer, 2005), pp. 18–19; Johann Hermann Duntze, Geschichte der freien Stadt Bremen (Bremen: Heyse, 1851), pp. 686–8.

(224.) Alfred Rambaud, L’Allemagne sous Napoléon 1er (Paris: Didier, 1897), pp. 188–95.

(225.) Katherine Aalestad, ‘Paying for war: experiences of Napoleonic rule in the Hanseatic cities’, Central European History, 39 (2006), 649–53.

(227.) Ibid. p. 377.

(229.) Ibid. p. 51.

(231.) Frank Bauer, Napoleon in Berlin (Berlin: Berlin Story Verlag, 2006), pp. 143–4.

(232.) Ibid. p. 103. See also Robert Ouvrard, 1809: Les Français à Vienne (Paris: Nouveau Monde, 2009), p. 109.

(233.) Ibid. pp. 174–5.

(234.) To the disgust of the Prussian officer Ludwig von Marwitz, Aus dem Nachlasse Friedrich August Ludwig von der Marwitz (Berlin: Mittler, 1852), p. 192.

(235.) De Clercq (ed.), Recueil des traités de la France, vol. 2 (Paris: Pedone-Lauriel, 1880), p. 272.

(236.) See C. de Mazade, Correspondance du Maréchal Davout, vol. 3 (Paris: Plon, 1885), pp. 198–9.

(237.) Karl Obermann, ‘La situation de la Prusse sous l’occupation française 1807–1813’, in Colloque de Bruxelles (ed.), Occupants-occupés, pp. 281–2.

(238.) Marcel Handelsman, Napoléon et la Pologne 1806–1807 (Paris: Alcan, 1909), pp. 70–6.

(239.) Marcel Handelsman, ‘Rapport du Baron Serra sur la mission à Varsovie’, Revue des etudes napoléoniennes, 3 (1913), 413.

(240.) John Stanley, ‘The French Residents in the Duchy of Warsaw’, Canadian Slavonic Papers, 27 (1985), 55.

(241.) Marcel Handelsman (ed.), Instructions et dépêches des Résidents de France à Varsovie 1807–1813, vol. 1 (Cracow: L’Academie des (p.102) Sciences de Cracovie, 1914), p. 28.

(242.) John Stanley, ‘French attitudes toward Poland in the Napoleonic period’, Canadian Slavonic Papers, 49 (2007), 209–27.

(243.) John Lawrence Tone, The Fatal Knot (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1994), p. 3.

(244.) Vittorio Douglas, ‘La guerrilla espagnole dans la guerre contre l’armée napoléonienne’, Annales historiques de la Révolution française, no. 336 (2004), 91–4.

(246.) For a detailed judgement see Charles Esdaille, Fighting Napoleon: Guerrillas, Bandits and Adventurers in Spain 1808–1814 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004).

(247.) John Morgan, ‘War feeding war? The impact of logistics on the Napoleonic occupation of Catalonia’, Journal of Military History, 73 (2009), 83–93.

(248.) Pierre Conrad, Napoléon et la Catalogne 1808–1814 (Paris: Alcan, 1910), pp. 113–16.

(249.) Ibid. pp. 124–5.

(250.) Ibid. pp. 191–4.

(251.) Marshal Suchet, Memoirs of the War in Spain, vol. 1 (London: Colburn, 1829), p. 40.

(252.) Ibid. pp. 299–300.

(253.) Jean Louis Reynaud, Contre-Guerrilla en Espagne (1808–1814): Suchet pacifie l’Aragon (Paris: Economica, 1992), pp. 111, 116–17, 121, 137–44.

(256.) A. Du Casse (ed.), Mémoires et correspondence politique et militaire du Roi Joseph, vol. 8 (Paris: Perrotin, 1854), pp. 165–80, 249–50; Geoffrey de Grandmaison, L’Espagne et Napoléon, vol. 3 (Paris: Plon, 1931), pp. 55–60. For Napoleon’s logic see The Confidential Correspondence of Napoleon Bonaparte with his Brother Joseph, vol. 2 (London: Murray, 1855), pp. 250–2.

(257.) See Robin Fabel, ‘The laws of war in the 1812 conflict’, Journal of American Studies, 14 (1980), 199–218.

(259.) Elisa Carrilo, ‘The Corsican Kingdom of George III’, Journal of Modern History, 34 (1962), 256–7.

(260.) Peter Graf von Kielmansegg, Stein und die Zentralverwaltung 1813/14 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1964), pp. 12–14.

(261.) Ibid. pp. 17–23.

(262.) Walther Hubatsch (ed.), Freiherr vom Stein. Briefe und amtliche Schriften, vol. 4 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1963), p. 301.

(p.103) (263.) Ibid. p. 347.

(265.) Arthur Wellington (ed.), Supplementary Despatches, Correspondence and Memoranda of Field Marshal Arthur Duke of Wellington, vol. 9 (London: Murray, 1862), p. 67.

(267.) See his letter of 25 January 1814 to General Wrede, Hubatsch (ed.), Freiherr vom Stein, vol. 4, p. 476.

(269.) Jacques Hantraye, Les cosaques aux Champs-Élysées (Paris: Belin, 2005), pp. 23–30.

(270.) On the contrast see Roger André, L’occupation de la France par les alliés en 1815 (Paris: Boccard, 1924), pp. 6–29, and Hantraye, Les cosaques aux Champs-Élysées, pp. 152–3.

(271.) John Gurwood (ed.), The Dispatches of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, vol. 12 (London: Murray 1838), p. 558.

(273.) Gurwood (ed.), The Dispatches of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, vol. 12, p. 599.

(274.) Michael Hurst (ed.), Key Treaties of the Great Powers 1814–1914, vol. 1 (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1972), p. 132.

(276.) Thomas Veve, The Duke of Wellington and the British Army of Occupation in France, 1815–1818 (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1992), pp. 150–1.

(277.) Philippe-Antoine Merlin, Recueil alphabétique de questions de droit, vol 7 (Brussels: Tarlier, 1828), p. 42. On the details of the case see Conrad, Napoléon et la Catalogne, pp. 389–403.

(279.) As noted above Napoleon made this point to Joachim Murat when Murat was King of Naples. See also the same point in Napoleon’s proclamation of his brother Louis as King of Holland, Correspondance de Napoléon 1 er, vol. 12 (Paris: Plon, 1858), p. 434.

(280.) Recueil général des lois et des arrêts, vol. 4 (1812–14), 90.

(281.) Recueil général des lois et des arrêts, vol. 18, part 1 (1818), 179.

(282.) Recueil général des lois et des arrêts, vol. 41, part 1 (1841), 507–9.