retreat; and the question to be decided was, through which of them he
should cut his way. As he knew nothing of the Lithuanian forests into
which he was about penetrating, he summoned such of his officers as had
been through them, in order to obtain information.
The emperor began by remarking that "too great familiarity with victory
was often the precursor of great disasters, but that recrimination was
now out of the question." He then mentioned the capture of Minsk, and,
admitting the skilfulness of Kutusoff's persevering manoeuvres on the
right flank, he said that "it was his intention to abandon his line of
operations on Minsk, unite with the Dukes of Belluno and Reggio, cut his
way through Wittgenstein's army, and regain Wilna by turning the sources
of the Berezina." Jomini combated this plan.
Finally Napoleon decided upon Borizoff.[173] But he said, "that it was
cruel to retreat without fighting, to present the appearance of flight.
Had he only a magazine, some point of support which would allow him to
halt, he would prove to Europe that he still knew how to fight and how
to conquer."
All these were mere illusions. At Smolensk, where he arrived first, and
from which he was the first to depart, he had rather been informed of
his disasters than witnessed them himself. At Krasnoe, where our
miseries had been more fully unfolded before him, the peril by which we
were surrounded had diverted his attention from them; but at Orcha he
could contemplate, at one view and leisurely, the whole extent of his
misfortunes.
At Smolensk, thirty-six thousand combatants, one hundred and fifty
cannon, the army-chest, and the hope of life, and of breathing at
liberty on the other side of the Berezina, still remained; here there
were scarcely ten thousand soldiers, almost without clothing or shoes,
entangled amid a crowd of dying men, with but a few cannon, and a
plundered army-chest.
Sec. 19. Arrival of Marshal Ney.
Being at length, on the 20th of November, compelled to quit Orcha, he
left there Eugene, Mortier, and Davoust, and halted after a march of six
miles from that place, still inquiring for Marshal Ney, who was
advancing by a different route, and still expecting him. The same
feeling of grief pervaded the portion of the army remaining at Orcha. As
soon as the most pressing wants allowed a moment's rest, the thoughts
and looks of every one were directed towards the Russian bank. They
listened for any warlike sounds which might announce the arrival of Ney,
or, rather, his last desperate struggle with the foe; but nothing was to
be seen but parties of the enemy, who were already menacing the bridges
of the Borysthenes.
After exhausting all their conjectures, they had relapsed into a gloomy
silence, when suddenly they heard the steps of horses, and then the
joyful cry, "Marshal Ney is safe! here are some Polish cavalry come to
announce his approach!" One of his officers now galloped in, and
informed them that the marshal was advancing on the right bank of the
Borysthenes, and had sent him to ask for assistance.
When the two corps, Eugene's and Ney's, fairly recognized each other,
they could no longer be kept in their ranks. Soldiers, officers,
generals, all rushed forward together. The soldiers of Eugene, eagerly
grasping the hands of those of Ney, held them with a joyful mixture of
astonishment and curiosity, and embraced them with the tenderest
sympathy. They lavished upon them the refreshments and brandy which they
had just received, and overwhelmed them with questions. Then they
proceeded in company towards Orcha, all burning with impatience,
Eugene's soldiers to hear, and Ney's to relate, their story.
The officers of Ney stated that on the 17th of November they had quitted
Smolensk with twelve cannon, six thousand infantry, and three hundred
cavalry, leaving there five thousand sick to the mercy of the enemy; and
that, had it not been for the noise of Platoff's artillery and the
explosion of the mines, their marshal would never have been able to draw
from the ruins of that city seven thousand unarmed stragglers who had
taken shelter among them. They dwelt upon the attentions which their
leader had shown to the wounded, and to the women and their children,
proving upon this occasion that the bravest are also the most humane.
At the gates of the city an unnatural action struck them with a horror
that they still felt in all its force. A mother abandoned her little
son, only five years old: in spite of his cries and tears, she drove him
away from her sledge, which was too heavily laden. She exclaimed, at the
same time, with a distracted air, that "_he_ had never seen France! _he_
would not regret it! but _she_ knew France! _she_ was resolved to see
France once more!" Twice did Ney himself replace the unfortunate child
in the arms of his mother, and twice did she cast him from her on the
frozen snow.
This solitary crime, amid a thousand instances of the most devoted and
sublime tenderness, they did not leave unpunished. The unnatural parent
was herself abandoned to the snow from which her infant was snatched,
and intrusted to another mother: this little orphan was then in their
ranks; he was afterward seen at the Berezina, then at Wilna, again at
Kowno, and finally escaped from all the horrors of the retreat.
Frustrated in his plans Ney instead of advancing to join Napoleon was
compelled to order his men to return towards Smolensk. At these words
they were struck motionless with astonishment. Even his aid-de-camp
could not believe his ears: he remained silent, like one who does not
comprehend what he hears, and looked at his general in amazement. But
the marshal briefly repeating the same order in a still more imperative
tone, they were no longer at any loss, but all recognized in it
resolution taken, a resource discovered, that self-confidence which
inspires others with the same feeling, and a spirit which rises superior
to its situation, however perilous it may be. They instantly obeyed,
and, without the slightest hesitation, turned their backs on their own
army, on the emperor, and on France. Once more they returned into that
fatal Russia. Their retrograde march had lasted an hour: again they came
to the field of battle marked by the remains of the army of Italy; there
they halted, and the marshal, who had remained with the rear guard, then
joined them.
Their eyes followed all his movements. What did he intend doing? and,
whatever might be his plan, where would he direct his steps, without a
guide, in an unknown country? But, while they were thus perplexing
themselves, he, with his warlike instinct, had halted on the edge of a
ravine of such depth as to make it evident that there was a stream at
the bottom of it. By clearing away the snow and breaking the ice, this
fact was soon established: and then, consulting his map, he exclaimed,
"This is one of the streams which flow into the Dnieper: this must be
our guide, and we must follow it; it will lead us to that river, which
we must cross, and on the other side we shall be safe." Accordingly, he
immediately proceeded in that direction.
A lame peasant was the only inhabitant they could discover; but even
this was an unlooked-for piece of good fortune. He told them that they
were within the distance of a league from the Dnieper, but that it was
not fordable there, and could not yet be frozen over. "It must be so,"
the marshal remarked; but when he was reminded that a thaw had just
commenced, he added, "it does not signify; we must pass, as there is no
other resource."
At last at about eight o'clock, after passing through a village, they
soon came to the termination of the ravine, and the Russian, who walked
before, halted and pointed out to them the river.
Finally, about midnight, the passage began; but the first persons who
ventured on the ice called out that it was bending under them, that it
was sinking, that they were up to their knees in water; and immediately
after that frail support was heard cracking and splitting, as in the
breaking up of a frost. All halted in consternation.
Ney ordered them to pass only one at a time: they proceeded with
caution, not knowing sometimes in the dark whether they were placing
their feet on the ice or into a chasm; for there were places where they
were obliged to clear large fissures, and jump from one piece to
another, at the risk of falling between them and disappearing forever.
The first hesitated, but those who were behind kept calling to them to
make more haste.
When at last, after several of these dreadful panics, they reached the
opposite bank and fancied themselves safe, a perpendicular steep,
slippery as glass, opposed their landing, and many were again thrown
back upon the ice, either bruised by it, or breaking it in their fall.
It would seem, indeed, as though this Russian river and its banks had
contributed with regret, by surprise, and by compulsion, as it were, to
their escape.
But what they spoke of as being the most painful of all, were the
trouble and distraction of the females and of the sick, when it became
necessary for them to abandon, along with the baggage, the remains of
their fortune, their provisions, and, in short, all their resources both
for the present and the future. They were seen stripping themselves,
selecting, throwing away, taking up again, and falling at length through
exhaustion and grief upon the frozen bank of the river. The narrators
appeared to shudder again at the recollection of the horrible sight of
so many men scattered over that abyss, of the continual noise of persons
falling, of the cries of such as sank in, and, above all, of the wailing
and despair of the wounded, who, from their carts, which could not be
trusted to this weak support, stretched out their hands to their
companions, and entreated them not to leave them behind.
Their leader at length determined to attempt the passage of several
wagons, loaded with these poor creatures; but in the middle of the
stream the ice sank down and separated. Then were heard proceeding from
the gulf, first cries of anguish long and piercing, then stifled and
feeble groans, quickly succeeded by an awful silence. All had
disappeared!
But at length Ney had succeeded in reaching Orcha; from this time
forward he was the hero of the retreat.
When Napoleon, who was two leagues farther on, heard that Ney had again
made his appearance, he leaped and shouted for joy, exclaiming, "Then I
have saved my honor! I would have given three hundred millions from my
exchequer sooner than have lost such a man."
Sec. 20. Capture of Minsk by the Russians.
The army had thus for the third and last time repassed the Dnieper, a
river half Russian and half Polish, but having its source in Russia. It
runs from east to west as far as Orcha, where it appears as if it would
penetrate into Poland; but there the high lands of Lithuania oppose its
farther progress, and compel it to turn abruptly towards the south, and
to become the frontier of the two countries.
Kutusoff and his eighty thousand Russians halted before this feeble
obstacle. Hitherto they had been rather the spectators than the authors
of our calamities; but from this time we saw them no more, and were at
last delivered from the punishment of their joy.
On the 22d of November the army had a disagreeable march from Orcha to
Borizoff, on a wide road skirted by a double row of large birch-trees,
the snow having melted, and the mud being very deep. The weakest here
found their graves; and those of our wounded who, in expectation of a
continuance of the frost, had exchanged their wagons for sleighs, were
left behind, and fell into the hands of the Cossacks.
It was during the early part of the march to Borizoff that the news of
the fall of Minsk[174] became generally known in the army. The leaders
themselves now began to look around them with consternation; and, after
witnessing such a succession of frightful spectacles their imagination
depicted a still more fatal futurity. In their private conversation they
did not hesitate to say that, "like Charles XII. in Russia, Napoleon had
carried his army to Moscow only to destroy it."
Deploring, then, the rash obstinacy of the stay at Moscow, and the fatal
hesitation at Malo-jaroslavetz, they proceeded to reckon up their
losses. Since their departure from Moscow they had lost all their
baggage, five hundred cannon, thirty-one standards, twenty-seven
generals, forty thousand prisoners, and sixty thousand dead: all that
remained were forty thousand unarmed stragglers and eight thousand
effective soldiers.
With respect to the loss of Minsk the governor of that place had been
negligently chosen. He was, it was said, one of those men who undertake
everything, who promise everything, and who do nothing. On the 16th of
November he lost that capital, and with it four thousand seven hundred
sick, the warlike stores, and two million rations of provisions. It was
five days since the news of this loss had reached Dombrowna, and the
news of a still greater calamity came on the heels of it.
This same governor had retreated towards Borizoff. There he neglected to
inform Oudinot, who was only at the distance of two marches, to come to
his assistance; and failed to support Dombrowski, who made a hasty march
thither: the result was that the latter was overpowered by the fire of
the Russian artillery, which took him in flank, and, attacked by a force
more than double his own, he was driven across the river, and out of the
town as far as the Moscow road.
This disaster was wholly unexpected by Napoleon. Finally, when the
emperor learned at Dombrowna the loss of Minsk, he had no suspicion that
Borizoff was in such imminent danger, as when he passed the next day
through Orcha he had the whole of his bridge-equipage burned.
It was on the day immediately subsequent to that fatal catastrophe, at
the distance of three marches from Borizoff, and upon the high road,
that an officer arrived and announced to Napoleon this fresh disaster.
The emperor, striking the ground with his stick, and casting a furious
look to heaven, pronounced these words: "Is it, then, written above that
we shall now commit nothing but faults?"
Meanwhile Marshal Oudinot, who was already marching towards Minsk,
totally ignorant of what had happened, halted on the 21st. In the middle
of the night General Brownkowski arrived to announce to him his own
defeat, as well as that of General Dombrowski;[175] that Borizoff was
taken, and that the Russians were following close at his heels.
In fact, every disaster which Napoleon could anticipate had occurred;
the melancholy conformity, therefore, of his situation with that of the
Swedish conqueror, threw his mind into such a state of agitation that
his health became still more seriously affected than it had been at
Malo-jaroslavetz. Among the expressions he made use of, loud enough to
be overheard, was this: "See what happens when we heap faults on
faults!"
His orders, however, displayed decision. Oudinot had just sent to inform
him of his determination to overthrow Lambert: this he approved of, and
he also urged him to make himself master of a passage across the
Berezina, either above or below Borizoff. He was desirous that by the
24th the place for this passage should be fixed on and the preparations
begun, and that he should be apprised of it, in order to make his march
correspond. Far from thinking of making his escape through the midst of
these three hostile armies, his only idea now was to beat Tchitchakoff
and retake Minsk.
It is true that, eight hours afterward, in a second letter to the Duke
of Reggio, he resigned himself to crossing the Berezina near Veselowo,
and by retreating directly upon Wilna, by Vileika, to avoid the Russian
admiral.
But on the 24th he learned that the passage could only be attempted near
Studzianka; that at that spot the river was only fifty-four fathoms
wide, and six feet deep; and that they would land on the opposite side
in a marsh, under the fire of a commanding position strongly occupied by
the enemy.
Sec. 21. March through the forest of Minsk; passage of the Berezina.
All hope of passing between the Russian armies was thus lost: driven by
the armies of Kutusoff and Wittgenstein upon the Berezina, there was no
alternative but to cross that river in the teeth of the army of
Tchitchakoff, which lined its banks.
After having made his preparations, Napoleon plunged into the gloomy and
immense forest of Minsk, in which there was only here and there an open
spot surrounding some wretched hamlet or single habitation. The noise of
Wittgenstein's artillery filled it with its echoes. The Russian general
came rushing from the north upon the right flank of our expiring column,
and he brought back with him the winter which had quitted us at the
same time with Kutusoff. The news of his threatening march accelerated
our steps, and our motley array of from forty to fifty thousand men,
women, and children hurried through the forest as rapidly as their
weakness and the slipperiness of the ground, from the frost again
setting in, would allow.
These forced marches, commenced before daylight, and not terminating
until after its close, dispersed all who had previously been together.
They lost themselves in the double darkness of the forest and of the
night. They halted in the evening, and resumed their march in the
morning, in obscurity, at random, and without hearing the signal: the
dissolution of the remains of the corps was now completed; all were
mixed and confounded together.
In this last stage of helplessness and confusion, as we were approaching
Borizoff, we heard loud cries before us. Some rushed forward, fancying
it was an attack. It was Victor's army, which had been feebly driven
back by Wittgenstein to the right side of our road, where it remained
waiting for us. Still, quite complete and full of animation, it received
the emperor, as soon as he made his appearance, with the customary but
now long-forgotten acclamations.
Of our disasters it had heard nothing: they had been carefully concealed
even from its leaders. When, therefore, instead of that grand column
which had conquered Moscow, its soldiers perceived behind Napoleon only
a train of spectres covered with tattered vestments of every kind,
women's pelisses, pieces of carpet, or dirty cloaks, half burned and
riddled by the fires, and with nothing but rags on their feet, their
consternation was extreme. They seemed terrified at the sight of those
unfortunate soldiers, as they defiled before them, with emaciated
frames, faces black with dirt, and hideous bristly beards, unarmed,
shameless, marching confusedly, with their heads bent, and their eyes
fixed on the ground and silent, like a troop of captives.
But what astonished them more than all was to see the number of generals
and officers of every grade, scattered about and insulated, seemingly
only occupied about themselves, and thinking of nothing but to save the
wrecks of their property or their persons: they were marching pell-mell
with the soldiers, who did not notice them, to whom they had no longer
any commands to give, and of whom they had nothing to expect, all ties
between them being dissolved, and all distinctions of rank obliterated
by the common misery.
It was, indeed, merely the shadow of an army, but it was the shadow of
the Grand Army. It felt conscious that nature alone had vanquished it.
The presence of Napoleon animated it. To him it had long been accustomed
to look, not for its means of support, but to lead it to victory. This
was its first unfortunate campaign, and it had had so many fortunate
ones: it only required to be able to follow him. He alone who had
elevated his soldiers so high, and now sunk them so low, was yet able to
save them. He was still, therefore, cherished in the heart of his army,
like hope in the heart of man.
Thus, amid so many beings who might have reproached him with their
misfortunes, he marched on without the least fear, speaking to one and
all without affectation, certain of being respected as long as glory
could command respect. Knowing perfectly that he belonged to us as much
as we to him, his renown being, as it were, common national property,
we should have sooner turned our arms against ourselves (which was the
case with many), as being a minor suicide, than against him.
Some of the men fell and died at his feet; and, though they were in the
most frightful delirium, their sufferings never gave its wanderings the
turn of reproach, but of entreaty. And in fact, did not he share the
common danger? Who of them all risked so much as he? Who had suffered
the greatest loss in this disaster?
If any imprecations were ever uttered, it was not in his presence; for
it seemed that, of all misfortunes, that of incurring his displeasure
was still the greatest: so rooted was their confidence in, and their
submission to, that man who had subjected the world to them; whose
genius, hitherto uniformly victorious and invincible, had assumed the
place of their free-will; and who, having had so long in his hands the
book of pensions, of rank, and of history, had found wherewithal to
satisfy not only covetous spirits, but also every generous heart.
At the close of the night of the 25th of November, Napoleon made them
sink the first trestle in the muddy bed of the Berezina River. But to
crown our misfortunes, the rising of the waters had made the traces of
the ford entirely disappear. It required the most incredible efforts on
the part of our unfortunate engineers, who were plunged in the water up
to their mouths, and had to contend with the floating pieces of ice
which were carried along by the stream. Many of them perished from the
cold, or were drowned by the cakes of ice being violently driven against
them by the current and wind.
On the 27th, Napoleon, with about five thousand guards, and Ney's corps,
now reduced to six hundred men, crossed the Berezina about two o'clock
in the afternoon: he posted himself in reserve to Oudinot, and secured
the outlet from the bridges against the efforts of the Russians.
He had been preceded by a crowd of baggage and stragglers, and numbers
of them continued to cross the river after him as long as daylight
lasted.
But Partouneaux with his division was not so fortunate. At every point
where he attempted to pass, he encountered the enemy's fires, and was
obliged to turn back: in this way he wandered about for several hours
altogether at random, in plains covered with snow, in the midst of a
violent tempest. At every step he saw his soldiers pierced through by
the cold, and exhausted with hunger and fatigue, falling half dead into
the hands of the Russian cavalry, who pursued him without intermission.
This unfortunate general was still struggling with the heavens, with
men, and with his own despair, when he felt even the ground giving way
under his feet. In fact, deceived by the snow, he was marching upon a
lake, which not being frozen sufficiently hard to bear him, he had
fallen in and was on the point of being drowned, and then only did he
yield and give up his arms.
While this catastrophe was accomplishing, his other three brigades,
being more and more hemmed in upon the road, lost all power of movement.
They delayed their surrender, however, till the next morning, first by
fighting, and then by parleying: at length they all fell, one after the
other, and a common misfortune again united them with their general.
Of the whole division, a single battalion only escaped.
During the whole of that day, the 28th, the situation of the ninth corps
under General Victor, was so much the more critical, as a weak and
narrow bridge was its only means of retreat; in addition to which its
avenues were obstructed by the baggage and the stragglers. By degrees,
as the action became warmer, the terror of these poor wretches increased
their disorder. First of all they had been alarmed by the rumors of a
serious engagement; then their terror was increased by seeing the
wounded returning from it; and, last of all, they were thrown into the
utmost consternation by the batteries of the Russian left wing, some
shot from which began to fall among them.