our security on the approach of their frightful winter, which was their
natural and most formidable ally, and which they expected every moment:
they pitied us and urged us to fly. In a fortnight," said they, "your
nails will drop off, and your muskets will fall from your benumbed and
half-dead fingers."
The language of some of the Cossack chiefs was also remarkable. They
asked our officers "if they had not, in their own country, corn enough,
air enough, and graves enough: in short, room enough to live and die?
Why, then, did they come so far from home to throw away their lives, and
to fatten a foreign soil with their blood?" They added that "this was a
robbery of their native land, which while living it is our duty to
cultivate, to defend, and to embellish; and to which, after our death,
we owe our bodies, which we received from it, which it has fed, and
which, in their turn, ought to feed it."
The emperor was not ignorant of these warnings, but he would not suffer
his resolution to be shaken by them. The uneasiness which had again
seized him betrayed itself in angry orders. It was then that he caused
the churches of the Kremlin to be stripped of everything that could
serve for a trophy to the Grand Army. These objects, devoted to
destruction by the Russians themselves, belonged, he said, to the
conquerors, by the double right conferred by victory and by the
conflagration.
It required long efforts to remove the gigantic cross from the steeple
of Ivan the Great, to the possession of which the Russians attached the
salvation of their empire. The emperor determined that it should adorn
the dome of the Invalides[159] at Paris. During the work it was remarked
that a great number of ravens kept flying round this cross, and that
Napoleon, weary of their hoarse croaking, exclaimed that "it seemed as
if these flocks of ill-omened birds meant to defend it." We cannot
pretend to tell all that he thought in this critical situation, but it
is well known that he was accessible to every kind of presentiment.
His nights, in particular, became irksome to him. He passed part of them
with Count Daru. It was then only that he admitted the danger of his
situation. "From Wilna to Moscow, what submission, what point of
support, of rest, or of retreat, marked his power? It was a vast, bare,
and desert field of battle, in which his diminished army was
imperceptible, insulated, and, as it were, lost in the horrors of an
immense void. In this country of foreign manners and religion he had not
conquered a single individual: he was, in fact, master only of the
ground on which he stood. That which he had just quitted and left
behind him was no more his than that which he had not reached.
Insufficient for these vast deserts, he was lost, as it were, in their
immense space."
He then reviewed the different resolutions of which he still had the
choice. "People imagined," he said, "that he had nothing to do but
march, without considering that it would take a month to refit his army
and to evacuate his hospitals; that if he relinquished his wounded, the
Cossacks would daily be seen triumphing over his sick and his
stragglers. He would appear to fly. All Europe would resound with the
report! Europe, which envied him, which was seeking a rival under whom
to rally, and would imagine that it had found such a rival in
Alexander."
The letter of which Lauriston was the bearer to the Czar had been
despatched on the 6th of October, and the answer to it could scarcely
arrive before the 20th: still, in spite of so many threatening
demonstrations, the pride, the policy, and perhaps the health of
Napoleon induced him to pursue the worst of all courses, that of waiting
for this answer, and of trusting to time, which was destroying him.
Daru, as well as his other officers, was astonished to find in him no
longer that prompt decision, variable and rapid as the occurrences which
called it forth: they asserted that his genius could no longer
accommodate itself to circumstances; and they placed it to the account
of his natural persistence, which had led to his elevation, and which
seemed destined to cause his downfall.
Sec. 9. Napoleon determines to leave Moscow.
Napoleon, however, was completely aware of his situation. To him
everything seemed lost if he receded in the face of astonished Europe,
and everything saved if he could surpass Alexander in determination. He
appreciated but too well the means that were left him to shake the
constancy of his rival; he knew that the diminishing number of his
effective troops, that his situation, the season, in short, everything,
would become daily more and more unfavorable to him; but he reckoned
upon that magic force which his renown gave him. Hitherto that had lent
to him a real and never failing strength: he endeavored, therefore, to
keep up, by specious arguments, the confidence of his army, and perhaps,
also, the faint hope that was still left to himself.
Moscow, empty of inhabitants, no longer furnished him with anything to
lay hold of. "It is no doubt a misfortune," he said, "but this
misfortune is not without its advantage. Had it been otherwise, he would
not have been able to keep order in so large a city, to overawe a
population of three hundred thousand souls, and to sleep in the Kremlin
but at the hazard of assassination. They have left us nothing but ruins,
but at least we are quiet among them. Millions have no doubt slipped
through our hands, but how many thousand millions is Russia losing! Her
commerce is ruined for a century to come. The nation is thrown back
fifty years, which of itself is an important result; and when the first
moment of enthusiasm is passed, this reflection will fill them with
consternation." The conclusion which he drew was, "that so violent a
shock would convulse the throne of Alexander, and force that prince to
sue for peace."
In reviewing his different corps, their reduced battalions now presented
so narrow a front that he was but a moment in traversing it, and this
palpable diminution of their numbers evidently vexed him; either,
therefore, to deceive his enemies or his own soldiers, he declared that
the practice hitherto pursued of ranging the men three deep was wrong,
and that two were sufficient; and he ordered his infantry in future to
be drawn up in two ranks only.
Nay, more: he even insisted that the inflexibility of the regimental
returns should give way to this illusion. He disputed their results; and
the obstinacy of Count Lobau could not overcome his. He was desirous, no
doubt, of making his aid-de-camp[160] understand what he wished others
to believe, and that nothing could shake his resolution.
Meanwhile the attitude of his army seconded his wishes. Most of the
officers persevered in their confidence. The common soldiers, who saw
their whole lives in the present, and expected but little from the
future, were for the most part unconcerned about it, and still retained
their thoughtlessness, the most valuable of their qualities. The
rewards, however, which the emperor bestowed profusely upon them in the
daily reviews, were received at best with a sedate joy, mingled with
some degree of dejection. The vacant places about to be filled up were
yet freshly dyed with blood: these favors were menacing.
On the other hand, when leaving Wilna, many of them had thrown away
their winter garments, that they might load themselves with provisions.
Their shoes were worn out by the length of the march, and the rest of
their apparel by the successive actions in which they had been engaged;
but, in spite of all, their attitude was still lofty. They carefully
concealed their wretched plight from the notice of the emperor, and
appeared before him with their arms bright and in the best order. In
this first court of the palace of the Czars, full sixteen hundred miles
from their resources, and after so many battles and bivouacs, they were
anxious to appear still clean, alert, and prompt, for herein consists
the pride of the soldier; and here they piqued themselves upon it the
more, on account of the difficulty, in order to astonish, and because
man prides himself on whatever requires extraordinary effort.
The emperor complaisantly affected to know no better, catching at
everything to keep up his hopes; when all at once the first snows fell.
With them fell all the illusions with which he had endeavored to
surround himself. From that moment he thought of nothing but retreat,
without, however, pronouncing the word, and yet no positive order for it
could be obtained from him. He merely said that in twenty days the army
must be in winter quarters, and he urged the departure of his wounded.
On this as on other occasions, he would not consent to the voluntary
relinquishment of anything, however trifling: there was a deficiency of
horses for his artillery, now too numerous for an army so reduced; but
it did not signify, and he flew into a passion at the proposal to leave
part of it behind. "No; the enemy would make a trophy of it;" and he
insisted that everything should go along with him.
In this desert country he gave orders for the purchase of 20,000 horses,
and he expected forage for two months to be provided on a tract where
the most distant and dangerous excursions were not sufficient for the
supply of the passing day. Some of his officers were astonished to hear
orders which it was so impossible to execute; but we have already seen
that he sometimes issued such orders to deceive his enemies, and more
frequently to indicate to his own troops the extent of their
necessities, and the exertions they were called on to make in order to
supply them.
His distress manifested itself only in paroxysms of ill-humor, and this
most frequently in the morning, at his levee. There, amid his assembled
chiefs, in whose anxious looks he imagined he could read disapprobation,
he seemed desirous to awe them by the severity of his manner, by his
sharp tone, and his abrupt language. From the paleness of his face,
however, it was evident that Truth, whose best time for obtaining a
hearing is in the stillness of night, had annoyed him grievously by her
presence, and oppressed him with her unwelcome light. Sometimes, on
these occasions, his bursting heart would overflow, and pour forth its
sorrows without any restraint. His agitation was manifested at such
times by movements of extreme impatience; but, so far from lightening
his griefs, he only aggravated them by those acts of injustice for which
he reproached himself, and which he was afterwards anxious to repair.
It was only to Count Daru that he unbosomed himself frankly, but without
any weakness. He said "he should march upon Kutusoff, crush or drive him
back, and then turn suddenly towards Smolensk." Daru, who had before
approved this course, replied that "it was now too late; that the
Russian army was re-enforced, his own weakened, and his victory
forgotten; that, the moment his troops turned their faces towards home,
they would slip away from him by degrees; that each soldier, laden with
booty, would try to get the start of the army, for the purpose of
disposing of it in France." "What, then, is to be done?" exclaimed the
emperor. "Remain here," replied Daru; "make one vast intrenched camp of
Moscow, and pass the winter in it. He would answer for it that there
would be no want of bread and salt: the rest foraging on a large scale
would supply. Such of the horses as they could not procure food for
might be salted down. As to lodgings, if there were not houses enough,
the cellars might make up the deficiency. Here we might stay till the
return of spring, when our re-enforcements and all Lithuania in arms
would come to relieve, to join us, and to complete the conquest."
After listening to this proposal the emperor was for some time silent
and thoughtful: he then replied, "This is a lion's counsel! But what
would Paris say? What would they do there? What have they been doing
there for the last three weeks that they have not heard from me? Who
knows what would be the effect of a suspension of communication for six
months? No: France would not accustom itself to my absence, and Prussia
and Austria would take advantage of it."
Still Napoleon could not make up his mind either to stay or to depart.
Though overcome in this struggle of pertinacity, he deferred from day to
day the avowal of his defeat. Amid the threatening storm of men and
elements which was gathering around him, his ministers and aids-de-camp
saw him pass whole days in discussing the merits of some new verses
which he had received, or the regulations for one of the French theatres
at Paris, which he took three evenings to finish. As they were
acquainted with his deep anxiety, they could not but admire the strength
of his genius, and the facility with which he could take off the whole
force of his attention from, or fix it on, whatever subject he pleased.
It was merely remarked that he prolonged his meals, which had hitherto
been so simple and so short. He seemed desirous of stifling thought by
repletion. He would then pass whole hours half reclined, and as if
torpid, awaiting with a novel in his hand the catastrophe of his
terrible history. In contemplating this obstinate and inflexible
character thus struggling with impossibility, his officers would observe
to each other that, having arrived at the summit of his glory, he no
doubt foresaw that from his first retrograde step would date its
decline; that for this reason he continued immovable, clinging to, and
lingering a few moments longer on, his proud elevation.
Kutusoff, meanwhile, was gaining the time which we were losing. His
letters to Alexander described "his army as being in the midst of
plenty; his recruits arriving from all quarters, and being rapidly
trained; his wounded recovering in the bosom of their families; the
whole of the peasantry on foot, some in arms, some on the look-out from
the tops of steeples or in our camp, while others were stealing into our
habitations, and even into the Kremlin. Rostopchin received a daily
report of what was passing at Moscow as regularly as before its capture.
If they undertook to be our guides, it was for the purpose of delivering
us into his hands. His partisans were every day bringing in some
hundreds of prisoners. Everything concurred to destroy the enemy's army
and to strengthen his own; to serve him and to betray us; in a word, the
campaign, which was over for us, was but just about to begin for them."
Kutusoff neglected no advantage. He made his camp ring with the news of
the victory of Salamanca. "The French," said he, "are expelled from
Madrid. The hand of the Most High presses heavily upon Napoleon. Moscow
will be his prison, his grave, and that of the whole of his Grand Army.
We shall soon subdue France in Russia!" It was in such language that
the Russian general addressed his troops and his emperor; and still he
kept up appearances with Murat. At once bold and crafty, he contrived
gradually to prepare a sudden and impetuous warfare, and to cover his
plans for our destruction with demonstrations of kindness and honeyed
words.
But at length, after so many days of illusion, the charm was all at once
dispelled. A single Cossack dissolved it. This barbarian fired at Murat,
at the moment when that prince came as usual to show himself at the
advanced posts. Highly exasperated, the king immediately declared to
Miloradovitch that an armistice which had been incessantly violated was
now at an end, and that thenceforward each party must look only to
itself.
At the same time he apprised the emperor that the woody country on his
left might favor the enemy's attempts against his flank and rear; that
his first line, being backed against a ravine, might be precipitated
into it; that, in short, the position which he then occupied, in advance
of a defile, was dangerous, and rendered a retrograde movement
absolutely necessary. But Napoleon would not consent to this step,
though he had at first pointed out Woronowo as a more secure position.
In this war, still in his view rather political than military, he
dreaded above all things the appearance of receding. He preferred
risking everything rather than acknowledge to his enemies the slightest
irresolution.
Amid these preparations, and at the moment when Napoleon was reviewing
Ney's divisions in the first court of the Kremlin, a report was all at
once circulated that the sound of cannon was heard towards Vinkowo. It
was some time before any one dared to apprise him of the circumstance;
some from incredulity or uncertainty, and dreading the first movement of
his impatience; others from weakness, hesitating to provoke a terrible
explosion or apprehensive of being sent to verify the assertion, and
exposed to a fatiguing excursion.
Duroc at length took courage to inform him. The emperor was at first
agitated; but, quickly recovering himself, he continued the review. An
aid-de-camp, young Beranger, arrived shortly after with intelligence
that Murat's first line had been surprised and overthrown, his left
turned by favor of the woods, his flank attacked, and his retreat cut
off: that twelve pieces of cannon, twenty ammunition wagons, and thirty
wagons belonging to the train were taken, two generals killed, three or
four thousand men lost, as well as the baggage; and, lastly, that the
king himself was wounded. He had not been able to rescue the relics of
his advanced guard from the enemy but by repeatedly charging their
numerous troops, which already occupied the high road in his rear, his
only retreat.
Our honor, however, had been saved. The attack in front, directed by
Kutusoff, was feeble; Poniatowski, at some leagues' distance on the
right, made a glorious resistance; Murat and his resolute men, by almost
superhuman exertions, checked Bagawout, who was ready to penetrate our
left flank, and restored the fortunes of the day; while Claparede and
Latour-Maubourg cleared the defile of Spaskapli, two leagues in the rear
of our line, which was already occupied by Platoff. Two Russian generals
were killed, and others wounded: the loss of the enemy was considerable,
but the advantage of the attack, our cannon, our position, the victory,
in short, was theirs.
As for Murat, he had no longer an advanced guard. The armistice had
destroyed half the remnant of his cavalry. This engagement had finished
it; the survivors, emaciated with hunger, were so few as scarcely to
furnish a charge. Thus had the war in earnest recommenced; and it was
now the 18th of October.
At these tidings Napoleon recovered the fire of his youth. A thousand
orders, general and particular, all differing, yet all in unison and all
necessary, burst at once from his impetuous genius. Night had not yet
arrived, and the whole army was already in motion. The emperor himself
quitted Moscow before daylight on the 19th of October. "Let us march
upon Kaluga," said he, "and woe be to those whom I meet with by the
way!"
Sec. 10. Departure from Moscow; the first battle.
On the southern side of Moscow, near one of its gates, is an extensive
suburb, divided by two high roads; both run to Kaluga: that on the right
is the more ancient, the other is quite new. It was on the first that
Kutusoff had just beaten Murat. By the same road Napoleon left Moscow on
the 19th of October, announcing to his officers his intention to return
to the frontiers of Poland. One of them, Rapp, observed that "it was
late, and that winter might overtake them by the way." The emperor
replied "that he had been obliged to allow time to the soldiers to
recruit themselves, and to the wounded collected at Moscow, and at other
places, to move off towards Smolensk." Then, pointing to a still serene
sky, he asked "if in that brilliant sun they did not recognize his
star." But this appeal to his fortune, and the sinister expression of
his looks, belied the security which he affected.
Napoleon entered Moscow with ninety thousand fighting men, and twenty
thousand sick and wounded, and quitted it with more than a hundred
thousand combatants. He left there with only twelve hundred sick. His
stay, therefore, notwithstanding daily losses, had served to rest his
infantry, to complete his stores, to augment his force by ten thousand
men, and to protect the recovery or the retreat of a great part of his
wounded. But on this very first day he could perceive that his cavalry
and artillery might be said rather to crawl than to march.
A melancholy spectacle added to the gloomy presentiments of our chief.
The army had, ever since the preceding day, been pouring out of Moscow
without intermission. In this column of one hundred and forty thousand
men and about fifty thousand horses of all kinds, the hundred thousand
combatants marching at its head with their knapsacks and their arms,
upward of five hundred and fifty pieces of cannon, and two thousand
artillery wagons, still exhibited a formidable appearance, worthy of
soldiers who had conquered the world. But the rest, whose numbers were
in an alarming proportion, resembled a horde of Tartars after a
successful invasion. They formed three or four files of almost infinite
length, in which there was a confused mixture of chaises, ammunition
wagons, handsome carriages, and, in short, vehicles of every kind. Here
trophies of Russian, Turkish, and Persian colors, and the gigantic cross
of Ivan the Great; there, long-bearded Russian peasants carrying or
driving along our booty, of which they constituted a part; and some
dragging even wheelbarrows filled with whatever they could remove. The
fools were not likely to proceed in this manner till the conclusion of
the first day, and yet their senseless avidity made them think nothing
of battles and a march of two hundred leagues.
Among these followers of the army were particularly remarked a multitude
of men of all nations, without uniform and without arms, and servants
swearing in every language, and urging by dint of shouts and blows the
progress of elegant carriages, drawn by pigmy horses harnessed with
ropes. These were filled with provisions, or with booty saved from the
flames. They carried, also, many French women with their children.
Formerly these females had been happy inhabitants of Moscow; but they
now fled from the hatred of the Muscovites, which the invasion had drawn
upon their heads, and the army was their only asylum.
A few Russian girls, voluntary captives, also followed. It looked like a
caravan, a wandering nation, or, rather, one of those armies of
antiquity returning loaded with slaves and with spoils after a great
devastation. It was inconceivable how the head of this column could draw
and protect such a prodigious mass of equipages in so long a route.
Notwithstanding the width of the road and the shouts of his escort,
Napoleon had great difficulty in obtaining a passage through this
immense throng. No doubt the obstruction of a defile, a few forced
marches, or a handful of Cossacks would have been sufficient to rid us
all of this encumbrance; but fortune or the enemy had alone a right to
lighten us in this manner. As for the emperor, he was fully sensible
that he could neither deprive his soldiers of this fruit of so many
toils, nor reproach them for securing it. Besides, provisions concealed
the booty; and was it for him, who could not give his troops the
subsistence he should have done, to forbid their carrying it along with
them? Lastly, in case of the failure of military conveyances, these
vehicles would be the only means of preservation for the sick and
wounded.
Napoleon therefore extricated himself in silence from the immense train
which he drew after him, and advanced on the old road leading to Kaluga.
He pushed on in this direction for some hours, declaring that he would
go and beat Kutusoff on the very field of his victory. But all at once,
about midday, opposite to the castle of Krasnopachra, where he halted,
he suddenly turned to the right with his army, and in three marches
across the country gained the new road to Kaluga.
The rain, which overtook him in the midst of this manoeuvre, spoiled the
cross-roads, and obliged him to halt in them. This was a most
unfortunate circumstance. It was with difficulty that our cannon were
drawn out of the sloughs.