Murat and Austria, explained!
(aka: How he managed to 'betray' everyone.)
Hey guys!! It’s me! Joachim! (yes thats my name, all my friends call me that)
Now, I know what you’re going to ask — “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you out wooing the ladies of Paris?” And to that I say: I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT JOB TO DO!!
If there’s ONE question I’ve been asked the most out of any question ever asked to anybody ever, it’s always been something along the lines of: “Jojo, what the hell happened with Austria? What in God’s name was THE Joachim ‘King of Naples’ Murat thinking?”
SO!! This is my attempt to TL;DR and sum it all up for you curious souls!!
ALSO!! THANK YOU TO @josefavomjaaga FOR CORRECTIONS!
✦ THE CONTEXT + DILEMMA FIRST ✦
Alright, picture it. The year is 1813, Napoleon’s empire is cracking like an overbaked crème brûlée, and your favorite fashion-forward cavalryman (that’s Murat) is sitting pretty on the Neapolitan throne — which, mind you, only exists because Napoleon put him there.
He took the job seriously (and stylishly!) Problem is, once your brother-in-law starts losing wars, people get ideas. Scary ideas. Like:
“Maybe we don’t need that Murat fellow anymore.”
And Murat, bless his heart, really, REALLY liked being King. (You try on ermine-lined robes and tell me you wouldn’t.)
Napoleon’s disastrous campaign in Russia (1812) had already shaken everyone’s faith, and by the time Napoleon’s defeat at Leipzig (October 1813) rolled around, it basically pulled the rug out from under every one of his satellite kingdoms.
Here’s the catch — Murat’s split from Napoleon had started long before that. Relations had been tense since 1810, when Napoleon kept undercutting his authority in Naples. By mid-1813, while still officially Napoleon’s ally, Murat and Caroline were already feeling him out through secret Austrian channels. They were terrified that the Emperor might sacrifice Naples or replace them outright — and Murat, always impulsive, thought it safer to open a backdoor just in case.
So even before Leipzig, the Murats were hedging: still fighting bravely in Saxony, yes, but already negotiating behind the scenes with Metternich’s people. After all, the Austrians didn’t need to twist his arm — they only had to promise to let him keep his crown.
Murat was stuck in a nightmare: stay loyal to Napoleon and risk losing everything if the Empire fell, or make peace with Austria and hope they’d let him keep his shiny new kingdom.
Here’s where it gets messy. In Naples, Austria was deeply unpopular — years of war and occupation had left bitter memories — But at the same time: Austria had a bit of a chokehold on the situation. Their foreign minister (and famous cuck-creator), Metternich, was quietly gathering allies like rare stamps, planning for a post-Napoleon Europe. Meanwhile, Murat was terrified that Britain and Sicily were already backing Ferdinand IV, the exiled king. So Murat wasn’t just scared of Austria — he was scared of everyone.
So Murat’s sitting there thinking:
“If I back Napoleon and he loses, I’m toast. But if I cozy up to Austria, maybe I get to keep my throne... and my head.”
✦ PRE-BETRAYAL ✦
By the end of 1813, those back-channel talks had deepened. After returning south from Leipzig, Murat was officially Napoleon’s man — but loyalty suddenly looked like a very expensive hobby, and the Treaty of Naples was already in the works.
Murat and Queen Caroline (his beautiful wife and Napoleon’s sister — and the real strategist in the room) started quietly negotiating with Austria. The pitch?
“I’ll help you against France if you promise to recognize me as King of Naples.”
It's just as important to note: Caroline wasn’t just window dressing here — she was the real diplomat. While Murat fretted about uniforms and battle plans, she was writing letters, smoothing egos, and working Metternich like a seasoned stateswoman. She knew the Bonapartes’ days were numbered and wanted a future for her children — even if that meant cutting her brother loose. Without her political instinct, those negotiations probably never would’ve happened.
To the Austrians, this was perfect — turn Napoleon’s flamboyant brother-in-law into a weapon against him. To Murat, it was insurance: if the Empire collapsed, maybe his crown wouldn’t.
And so thus was born the talks preceding the Treaty of Naples with Austria: he’d provide troops to help them drive the French from Italy, and in exchange, they’d conditionally recognize him as King on his fulfilling his military obligations to the Allies (i.e., fighting Napoleon’s forces in Italy). So basically: As long as he was useful.
And from Metternich’s point of view, Murat obviously wasn’t a buddy — he was a tool. Austria was happy to recognize him for now, because he gave them a southern anchor against French power in Italy. With Napoleon still holding northern Italy, an allied Naples under Murat was the perfect stopgap to keep French influence at bay. If he helped crush Napoleon, great; if not, they could always toss him aside later. That was Austrian diplomacy in a nutshell.
Austria : 👑 Bark like you want it! Murat : Woof! 🙇♂️
✦ THE BIG SWITCH ✦
And thus, Murat became — drum roll! — both ally and traitor, depending on who you asked!!
So, yes — Murat went from “Vive l’Empereur!” to “Vive l’Austrie!” in about. five minutes flat. But before you boo, remember: This man was trying to stay alive in a political hurricane. He thought he could outwit everyone — Napoleon, Austria, Britain, and probably gravity if given the chance.
For a brief, shining moment, it worked. In January 1814, Murat officially signed a treaty with Austria. The deal was simple: he’d help the Allies push Napoleon out of Italy, and in return, they’d let him stay King of Naples. (Gosh, Metternich, impressive smooth talking!)
With the Austrians were pouring over the Alps, cities like Trieste and Ferrara were falling one by one, and Murat saw the writing on the wall.
So Murat sent Neapolitan troops to fight against cutie Eugène Beauharnais in Italy — yes, with the same French soldiers he’d once led into battle under the Imperial Eagle. Imagine explaining that at family dinner. (“No hard feelings, right, Boney?”)
The whole thing was chaos. His generals were confused, his ministers were horrified, and the Neapolitan people — who, again, hated Austria — felt downright betrayed. Plus, his “offensives” were famously half-hearted: Attacks were “slow,” “careful,” and “accidentally ineffective,” because Murat was dragging his feet due to not really wanting to shoot at Eugène’s Franco-Italians. In any case, Murat convinced he was playing the long game, told himself he’d make it right later!
(Spoiler: he did not make it right later.)
✦ THE COMEDOWN ✦
When Napoleon abdicated in April 1814, Murat probably thought he’d won. His crown was secure, his treaty with Austria looked solid, and his wardrobe remained unassailable. Naples was at peace, and for a brief, glittering moment, he could pretend the world had forgiven his little “misunderstanding” with France.
But Europe never lets a man like Murat rest.
By late 1814, as the Congress of Vienna convened, Britain in particular began whispering about restoring the old Bourbon dynasty — Ferdinand IV — to the Neapolitan throne. (You know, the guy Murat replaced.) This combined with Talleyguys personal vendetta: Suddenly, due to pressure from the other allies, all those promises Austria made? Poof. Gone faster than a French cuirassier in retreat.
Then comes 1815 — Napoleon escapes Elba, marches on Paris, and suddenly, Europe’s entire political landscape catches fire — the whole board flipped again. Murat realized with horror that he’d managed to alienate both sides. If Napoleon returned to power, Murat would be branded a traitor. If Napoleon failed, the Allies would toss him aside anyway. There was no good outcome. Only a choice between two firing squads.
So — naturally — he flipped again.
✦ “VIVE L’EMPEREUR” (AGAIN!) ✦
In March 1815, Murat declares war on Austria — hoping to ride Napoleon’s comeback wave back into favor. He even tries to spark a pan-Italian uprising against Austrian rule, the champion of Italian unity — the man who would drive out the Habsburgs and forge a single nation from Milan to Sicily! Kicking it off with his Rimini Proclamation, where he basically said,
“Italians! Rise up! Throw off your chains! Unite under me — your extremely fashionable savior!”
(Tragically, Italians did not rise up. They just kind of shrugged and kept making pasta.)
Still, Murat marched north with about 45,000 troops, convinced destiny was on his side.
(Spoiler #2: destiny was not on his side.)
At the Battle of Occhiobello, his army got crrruuushed by the Austrians — badly. From there, it was all downhill: retreat, desertion, another defeat at Tolentino in May 1815, and finally, Murat fleeing Naples disguised as a sailor while his wife, Caroline, surrendered to the British.
✦ THE FINAL ACT ✦
And listen — if you really want all the juicy, heartbreaking, “how-the-hell-did-it-come-to-this” details, you have to go read Sarah’s series on it. She tells it better than anyone. Seriously. She even includes the part where he’s out there wandering the French countryside alone like a damp, over-perfumed ghost — chased by royalists, losing his luggage, nearly getting caught in a farmhouse — the whole tragic cabaret!! JUST GO READ IT MAN, half of this stuff is from the dome anyways.
Anyway! The short version: This story goes full Shakespearean after Waterloo. Picture this: he’s technically still a king (never abdicated, mind you), but now France wants him dead, Austria wants him imprisoned, and England is busy drinking tea about it.
So there he is — hiding out in the south of France, a fugitive. His clothes, his money, his goddamn boat — all gone. He was hiding in barns, pretending to be a lost officer, praying his hair wouldn’t give him away while the poor man STARVED like a STREET CAT. His aides are like, “Sire, please. Let’s just accept Metternich’s offer of asylum in Austria. You’ll get a cozy estate, maybe a pseudonym — Count Something-or-Other, very chic!”
And he said, something something like:
“Absolutely not. I am Joachim Murat, King of Naples! You think I’m going to die in a manor?! The King of Naples? Reduced to a — Count of Lipona? Never! I’d rather die trying to take back my crown than live politely under Metternich’s thumb! You hear me? I’m going to die on a horse!”
(Reader, Spoiler #3: he did not, in fact, have a horse.)
Eventually, he made it to Corsica, where the people still remembered him, and for one shining moment he thought,
“Ah! They love me! They’ll follow me anywhere!”
So, against every shred of reason, he did what any self-respecting man of action would do: He wrote his last proclamation, gathered less than a merry band of 300 loyal men, shouted “to Naples!”, and sailed off to liberate Naples again — convinced the people would rise for him like they had for Napoleon.
Little did he know he set sail into a storm. Literally and metaphorically.
Like actually literally.
Storms hit. They got lost. Half his ships scattered. He landed in Pizzo with his little band, shouting “Vive le roi Joachim!” to fields of very unamused and uncooperative citizens. The Neapolitan army surrounded them almost immediately.
Hey, Psssttt..
Guess what happens.
(He was captured, court-martialed, and shot by firing squad October 13, 1815.)
✦ THE TAKEAWAY ✦
Murat wasn’t a villain — just a man spectacularly allergic to losing power. Too brave to hide, too vain to quit, and too impulsive to survive the politics of 1815. And honestly? You kind of have to respect the commitment to the bit!
But if you look a little deeper, it’s not just vanity or ego — it’s identity. Murat built himself out of nothing: a peasant’s son (the youngest btw) who clawed his way up through the ranks with sheer charisma, courage, and the best hair in Europe. Every promotion, every medal, every victory on horseback — that was him. So when the Empire fell apart, it wasn’t just his career dying — it was his entire sense of self.
He wasn’t scheming in some cold political way like a certain somebody (thank you Talleyrand! We love you Talleyrand!) He was improvising — always. Acting on gut, on emotion, on whatever he thought would keep him moving forward. To Murat, action was existence. As long as he was doing something — fighting, riding, negotiating, dazzling — he was alive. Standing still meant being no one again.
Plus, unlike what many people assume, the choice to break with Napoleon clearly tore him in half: on one side, loyalty to the brother-in-law who had sometimes humiliated him but made him great; on the other, the duty to protect a kingdom he and Caroline had built out of nothing. When he finally took that step, both he and his Queen meant to keep their word to the Allies — until they realized the Allies were playing them, too.
That’s why he kept switching sides, making doomed proclamations, launching impossible comebacks. It wasn’t really pure opportunism as much as it was survival in the only language he knew: Spectacle! The same instinct that made him charge headlong into enemy fire at Eylau made him charge headlong into political disaster in 1815.
So yes, he “betrayed” Napoleon — then betrayed Austria (but the Allies paid him the blackest ingratitude in return. He’d risked everything to prove his worth to them, and they tossed him aside the moment it was convenient.) But more than anyone, he betrayed himself — because he couldn’t stop playing the role he’d written for himself: And that’s what broke him. Murat was never built for the slow death of irrelevance. He wasn’t like Joseph Bonaparte, who could sip wine in American exile and call it a day. Murat needed movement, noise, applause. Exile or irrelevance after the glory he had tasted would’ve been torture — a silk-lined coffin. So instead of fading away, he reached for the only script he knew: one last, glorious charge!
In the end, he died exactly the way he lived: fearless, dramatic, and dressed to the nines.