#egyptian campaign

[itz-skyline]

For my time travel fic: what if the French army adjusted their clothes to the climate in egypt

So I was working on my time travel fic and while i was researching about the Egyptian campaign something just took my attention. that is the uniforms of the soldiers now we all know that those uniforms that they wore werent obviously meant for hot climates like these, I even read on the Napoleon.org that in the army alot soldiers suffered from overheating or heatstrokes.

So I decided that Leonard (my oc) in the story will make a suggestion about this issue now I dont know the protocals of uniforms getting adjusted for climate and how serious napoleon and the others would take it but im not really trying to go for a very realistic take with my story and this is more for a fun "what if" Scenario

Here are also murat and kléber in these uniforms now

The basics of these uniforms:

the basics that i use for these uniforms is that they have scarfs to protect their necks from the sun and to also offer more breathing room instead of the tight fabric they wrap around their necks

To protect the eyes i decided to add a cap that you can put over the scarf so that its secure. it is not connected to the bicorne

Also the pants are more wider like most people who live in hot climates usually have these big wide pants that leaves alot of room for the legs to breath and use lighter fabric

The most complaints that were received from soldiers is that they were constantly getting sand in their shoes so added a sort of longer legging or leg wraper that secures the boots so that no sand can come in

So this is kind of what I have at this point i know that this is alot attention to one of the issues this campaign had but im just having fun and imagining scenarios for my tine travel fic ( that i really need to give name to lmao)

Also have a kléber doodle cus why not

[aedesluminis]

Gaspard Monge and Jean-Baptiste Kléber in a fragment of Panorama de l'Histoire du siècle 1788-1889 (1889) by Alfred Stevens and Henri Gervex, Musée des Beaux-Arts de la ville de Paris.

The original title of this piece is Le Panorama du siècle : Kléber et Monge, entourés de personnalités de la Révolution française.

The man behind them is the Admiral François Paul de Brueys d’Aigalliers.

Sources: 1, 2.

References for the characters’ names from Stevens, Gervex, Reinach L'Histoire du Siècle, p. 40-41.

[illustratus]

Bonaparte in Egypt, 1798 by Édouard Detaille

[cedyat]

Was supposed to be more but seems like I can't finish anything for some reason currently. Maybe later. Until then feel free to interpret anything you want into what is going on here.

[miffy-junot]

Junot's duel, or the perils of attachment to a great man

The following extract contains the reminiscences of Father Bonaventure, an elderly veteran living at Versailles who had fought in the Napoleonic wars, which he told the author. The main subject of Bonaventure's memories is his former commander, General Junot:

'Another predilection of Father Bonaventure was his friend General Junot, Duke of Abrantès. When he went to seek the sun or the shade in the park of the great king, which happened to him every day, the old captain opened his notebook; he took a pencil from it and threw on a sheet of paper the silhouette of a soldier with a resolute face; this silhouette was still the one at the bottom of which is the caption, in the Generals' Room of the Historical Museum of the Palace: Andoche Junot, volunteer of the 1st Battalion of the Côte-d'Or; 1792. — One day (it was twenty-four years ago) I carried my indiscretion so far as to ask the invalid how it was that he always drew the same figure.

"Nothing could be simpler," he replied. "Although we were placed in the military hierarchy at a great distance from each other, we loved each other like two brothers. Andoche saved my life twice, and, as for me, I was fortunate enough to save him from a sabre blow which would have sent him prematurely to the other world."

Another day I asked him to tell me a story of his campaigns. It was in the park; we were taking a zig-zag walk. Bonaventure took from a small box of chased silver a pinch of Spanish tobacco. He raised it to his nostrils, shook the strawberries with his crop, and spoke as follows:

"It was during the Egyptian campaign. A large part of the victorious army was encamped at Cairo. One morning, as we came out of a shanty which served us as a barracks, Junot gave me a little pat on the shoulder. "Bonaventure, to-day is a feast, on account of an advantage gained by Desaix: you will accompany me everywhere." How did this day, which was so memorable for me, go? In truth, I cannot remember. All I can say is that we went two leagues from there to visit the general-in-chief in his tent. Obliged to keep at a distance, I could hear nothing of what Bonaparte said to Junot; I was only permitted to stop in passing two or three words which the desert wind carried on its wings. Bonaparte stamped his foot impatiently as he crumpled the dispatches. "Ah! those donkeys of the Directory!" he repeated from minute to minute.

It would not have taken more than me for a more skilful person to guess the Eighteenth of Brumaire; but I was at that time one of the craziest heads in the army. It would never be endless, moreover, if one interfered with trying to penetrate the secrets of the future—and yet the general-in-chief, pale, thin, his head covered with long flat hair, seemed inspired by a prophet when he said: "France will have to emerge from chaos." But I still didn't understand. We know that a soldier must not understand. "Bonaventure, we are returning to Cairo," said Junot. "Let us return to Cairo, General."

An hour later, thanks to good horses, we arrived at the palace of Joachim Murat, who was governor of the city. Everything had taken on the physiognomy of the kingdom of Cocagne. Squads of sharp cooks and squires passed and repassed in the midst of this brilliant staff, from which soon came kings, marshals and so many illustrious soldiers. The table was set in a large dining hall, and Junot, anxious to have me always by his side, obtained that I should appear at this prestigious table. Despite the republican doctrine, it offended a little to see a simple marshal of the lodgings raising his glass beside so many superior officers; but I was placed next to a member of an Institute, a scholar or a poet, - I do not remember which, and the thing no longer seemed so shocking. For soldiers, there was equality. Nine o'clock in the evening struck.

Dinner over, the tablecloth removed, a green carpet was placed on the large table, defrocked by the Caliphs, and the game began. All hyperbole aside, they had all left France as poor as church-rats, and gold swelled their broad leather belts. I leave you to think if I opened my eyes wide! Most certainly I knew that this accumulation of wealth did not come to them from the Republic: there was no longer a penny in the coffers of the State. But I took it into my head, for the first time, to define, apart from myself, what is called "the law of war, the right of conquest," and I was not long in explaining to myself what at first seemed inexplicable to me.It must be said as it happened: our great apprentices had imitated their illustrious predecessors, Alexander the Great, Caesar, Pompey, and Omar: they had plundered Egypt." Here the invalid smiled slyly, and added: "But what do you want? it is the law of war, it is the law of conquest. Let's pass over this detail and return to my story.

You can imagine that, as for me, a mere non-commissioned officer, I had not a sufficiently well-stocked purse to allow me to cast my eyes even on a map. Out of tolerance, and in order not to displease Junot, as I have already told you, the governor of Cairo, Murat, had me placed in front of a little pedestal table, all alone, near a poet. It is fair to add that, to combat the boredom of solitude, a small crystal flask filled with excellent Jamaican rum, a small glass, and tobacco had been placed on the said pedestal table. I was no longer so much to be pitied. I think I've already told you that our heroes are playing a hell of a game. There were all above a large table which seemed to be served by four fallen angels. The flower of the army of Egypt stood there; I saw there Joachim Murat, Bessières, my dear Andoche and General Lanusse, the one whom the soldiers had nicknamed since the first Italian campaign: "l'homme-qui-n'a-pas-froid-aux-yeux".

To return to that devil of a table, the general spared neither his money nor his expressions. If discipline existed in the lower ranks of the army at the time of which I am speaking to you, it is quite certain that, in the higher ranks, a right of criticism was still quite broad. Everyone had his free speech and made use of it willingly. In this respect, "l'homme-qui-n'a-pas-froid-aux-yeux" kept no measure. He was a little of the school of Moreau, who carried into the midst of the camps the oratorical habits of the tribune and the epigrams of the newspaper. For a few moments the general-in-chief, for whose genius he nevertheless professed much esteem, and even admiration, had become the focus of his jokes.  "Come," he cried, "the three of a kind hide themselves from me, just like Bonaparte who lives mysteriously in his tent. It's another two louis that this blow will cost me!" "Pay, then, you talker, and be silent," said Bessières. Junot did not say a word; but I thought I could discern that he was pale, and that from time to time he nibbled at his cards.

"I never have the least thirty-one," replied Lanusse, "and yet my hand is always full of faces, like a harangue of the citizen-general-in-chief." "The general-in-chief again," objected Murat; "you mock him more than an Arab storyteller would or that Sheikh El-Mohdhi. What has he done to you?" "Nothing. More bad cards. Come on, it's up to me to pay." "If you didn't talk so much, you wouldn't lose so often. Why these little pinpricks?" "I don't like the airs of Sesostris II that he gives himself. One would think that we have come here to reconstitute the throne of the Pharaohs for his benefit. Come, another lost shot, and this time it's my everything. I have nothing left." None of the three adversaries answered him. I looked at Junot, who had just won; he was even paler than a few moments before, and I understood that a dull rage was rumbling within him. I said to myself: "This is getting worse."

At last Bessières broke the silence. "Here you are, Lanusse; Are you withdrawing?" "No." He pronounced this word in a formidable voice; then, addressing Andoche: "Junot, lend me ten louis?" he said to him. "I have no money before me," replied the former volunteer. As he had a heap of gold before him on the green carpet, Lanusse looked at him fixedly. "Ah! how am I to take your answer, Junot?" he asked him. "As you please." "I asked you a minute ago if you would lend me ten louis from the big pile of money you have before you." "Well! I tell you that I have a lot of money before me, but there won't be a red farthing for a traitor like you, do you understand?"

"Traitor! There is only a double fucker who can use such a word in speaking of "l'homme-qui-n'a-pas-froid-aux-yeux"!" replied Lanusse, beside himself. You can see this sudden turn of events from here. In an instant Joachim Murat, Bessières, Lanusse were on their feet. - "Junot, calm down!" - "Lanusse, no swear words!" The other generals, seated before the adjoining tables, rose in their turn, and endeavoured to restrain them; for, at the epithet of Lanusse, Andoche had become furious, and showed that lion-like face which he wore on days of battle.

I had risen like everyone else, and in spite of the humility of my position, I had approached Junot. My poor Andoche is still pale and trembling. Suddenly he calms down, he gestures with his hand that he wants to speak. There is a little silence. "Listen, Lanusse, I told you just now that you were a traitor, I don't believe it. You told me that I was a double fucker, you don't believe it either; for we are both good men who cannot be sulked by a blow of a sword. But, you see, we have to fight." "You have never spoken so well." "One of us must fall." "That is how I understand it." "Besides, I hate you because you mock the man whom I love and admire as much as God, if not more. So let's fight, and now."

"Right now, and not so much rhetoric." "Here, Lanusse, I swear not to go to bed to-night until I have cleared this matter." There was no way to avoid a meeting. It was therefore agreed that the duel should take place, by torchlight, in a secluded place. "By the way," asked Andoche, "what weapon shall we take?" "Nice question," replied Lanusse, "the pistol." Everyone looked in amazement at "l'homme-qui-n'a-pas-froid-aux-yeux". Being insulted, he had unquestionably the choice of arms; so everyone was surprised that he should go and take the one which, in Junot's hand, was always a deadly weapon. Andoche approached him, and in a sweet but firm voice: "I won't fight with a pistol with you," he said to Lanusse. You don't know how to shoot, you wouldn't put in a carriage door." "What does it matter to you?" "That makes me everything. The game must be equal between us. We have our sabres, let us march!"

As he spoke, Junot, who saw me at his side, said to me in a low voice: "Bonaventure, pick up the gold that is in my place and put it in your pocket. It belongs to you." I carried out his orders, but said to myself, "I will give it back to him. It will be a pear for the thirst he will find it sooner or later." I did not imagine that my poor Andoche could be killed, and especially killed by a Frenchman, by a brother in arms. There were a hundred louis in his place. I quickly seized it, in order to be able to follow them, for a terrible word had stuck in my ear; it was this: "Let us march!" They marched by the light of two torches, in the company of Lannes, Bessières, Murat, Alexandre Dumas, and a surgeon-major. As for me, I followed them only at a distance of twenty paces. At the end of twenty minutes they stopped in the open desert. "Come, let us get out, Lanusse!" "Let us draw, Junot!"

The result of the fight was that my poor Andoche had his stomach cut open by eight inches."

Here Bonaventure paused again, took another pinch of Spanish tobacco from his silver box, and said:

"Come, my friend, are not these challenges, the harbingers of the fight against the Arabs, really Homeric, and was it not in this way that Diomedes inveighed against the Trojan chiefs? Baron Gros has thrown on an immortal canvas the Plague Victims of Jaffa, which I go to admire every week in the museum. It's a beautiful page of history. But why did the painter not describe this memorable duel in the same way?

Be that as it may, it was on the occasion of the duel between Junot and Lanusse that the general-in-chief said to the surgeon Desgenettes: "Why do these madmen fight? Have I brought so many brave men here to fatten the crocodiles of the Nile? Have we not had enough of the mamelukes and the plague?" Bonaparte was particularly severe towards Andoche, whom he loved so much. He was even for some time unwilling to see him. And it was for him that Junot had just fought! He had had his belly split for him!"

"Ah! "My friend," added the invalid, "never attach yourself to a man, especially to a great man!" "Very well," I replied; "but you, who tell me this, confess that you have never been able to detach yourself from Junot, and I see that you do not pass a day without thinking of him." "Not a single day. You are telling the truth."

[...] Father Bonaventure was buried with all the honours due to an old officer. A will written by his hand was found in his papers, and in this will a paragraph thus conceived:

"At the bottom of my desk, in a bag bearing the name of Andoche Junot, sleep a hundred louis d'or. I bequeath them to the children of the troops of the regiments currently garrisoned at Versailles."

source

[josefavomjaaga]

Eugène about Duroc

I understand there's some interest in Duroc, about whom there is just not enough information out there, period. This is rather random but maybe it will be helpful to somebody. From Eugène's correspondence I already had the impression that he and Duroc had been very close. Eugène mentions Duroc in his memoirs for the first time during the Egyptian campaign.

Around this time, I began to form a friendship with Duroc which continued to grow right up to the time of his death. At that time he did me a service that I shall never forget. The day after we entered Gaza, and after a most exhausting journey, General Bonaparte gave me the order to leave at midnight to bring movement orders to General Kléber, who was a few leagues ahead, in the direction of Ramleh. In such a case, the brigadier of the post, whose duty kept him on his feet at all hours of the night, had orders to wake the aide-de-camp who was due to leave. He did so, but no sooner had he left than I fell back asleep. Those who have served at an early age know how powerful sleep can be at the age I was at the time [...].

That age being 17.

[...], it is irresistible and capable of making us forget both danger and duty. Duroc, who was older and more experienced than I, realising that I had not left, shook me forcefully and urged me to get up. I resisted, telling him that I couldn't take it any more and that it was impossible for me to move. But he only redoubled his entreaties, adding in the end, with a sort of anger, that this was not the way to serve and that I was going to dishonour myself. This word made me blush and shook me out of my grogginess. I left without an escort, as no one dared to take one unless expressly ordered to do so by the general-in-chief, and, after meandering for nearly five or six hours, I arrived at the very moment set for General Kléber to set his division in motion.

Kléber: Yeah, sorry for being late, Bonaparte. But your aide was asleep in the saddle, and it took his horse a while to find the way...

I love Eugène in this a) because he admits his own weakness and b) because he reminds me a lot of my brother who, at the same age, managed to sleep through an alarm that woke me up in my room on another floor...

[microcosme11]

[usergreenpixel]

Guys, Extra History series about Napoleon in Egypt has dropped!

[joachimnapoleon]

This highlighted line from General Reynier’s State of Egypt after the Battle of Heliopolis was enough to enrage General Destaing (spelled D’Estin here) to the point of challenging Reynier to a duel, during which Reynier shot Destaing dead.

Napoleon banished Reynier to Italy for a while but he later ended up commanding corps in Austria, Spain, and Russia.

[phantom-mp3]

He was so beautiful

[microcosme11]

I love this guy. Glad you noticed and posted him.

This Napoleon was pretty cute

[illustratus]

Napoleon in Egypt by Georges Scott

[cedyat]

A young Napoleon getting acquainted with the Egyptian widlife.

[miffy-junot]

A popular poem on the battle of Nazareth

When the news of Junot's victory at the battle of Nazareth reached France, the following poem was widely repeated.

In this poem a comparison is drawn to the battle of Thermopylae, where the Spartan king Leonidas and 300 Spartans fought against the entire might of the Xerxes' Persian army - although the Persians won the battle, the heroism of the Spartans won eternal glory.

At the battle of Nazareth, Junot was in a similar position: he led a small force of 300-500 men (sources vary) against roughly 3,000 Ottoman soldiers and, despite being vastly outnumbered, won the battle and killed the leader of the enemy.

'Children of Sparta, born soldiers, Companions of Leonidas, Your mute grave is the voice of history. See, in Nazareth, three hundred brave Frenchmen, By the brave Junot led to victory, To challenge a new Xerxes, And be jealous of their glory.'

source

[josefavomjaaga]

Eugène about Kléber

This is for @gabrielferaud, translated once again from Eugène's memoirs. The passage continues right where we left off in this post. Timeline: Egyptian campaign, during the campaign into Syria 1799, siege of Acre. (I've broken the text up in two paragraphs for besser readability.)

General Kléber, as impatient as the rest of the army with the length and futility of the siege of Saint-Jean d'Acre, said one day that he did not understand why we insisted on staying in front of this shanty and that, if he were in the place of the general-in-chief, he would have left the camp a long time ago. Somebody suggested that it was a question of the glory of General Bonaparte: "Bah! bah!" he said in his German accent, "it's a nice suit with a spot of dust on it: with a flick of the wrist you can make it go away". This comment, although in essence an honourable one for the General-in-Chief, was distorted and aggravated, as were others like it, in the reports made to him, with the result that he was effectively irritated with General Kléber. But it is impossible to imagine that he was jealous of this general. His rank and military reputation placed him so far above him that this reason alone was enough to prevent him from feeling any jealousy. It is more natural to think that Kléber felt this way about a general younger than himself and whose superiority offended him. It is also fair to say that General Kléber did not lack good reasons for criticising the siege of Saint-Jean d'Acre, which was undertaken rather sloppily and without having assembled the means necessary to push it forward vigorously. Neither the engineers nor the artillery were up to the task, with the result that the bravery and talents of the officers of these two arms were spent in vain.

Now look who’s critisizing his stepdad 😋. But i feel like Eugène tries to understand both sides here. He defends Napoleon against the accusations that had been made against him, yet admits that Kléber’s criticisms were warranted.

[microcosme11]

I don't know the title, but it looks like Napoleon walking past an Egyptian slave market. By Maurice Orange, who also painted Napoleon looking at a mummy.

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