The Russian Campaign
(1812)
Poland was the point of concentration, and thither the Grand Army
was marching. On the 11th June 1812, the Emperor arrived at Dantzig,
which had been turned into a vast military depôt, and on the following
morning proceeded to Königsberg, where further supplies were stored.
He spent the whole day and night dictating despatches. Having twice
communicated with the Czar to no effect, he was now irrevocably
committed to the campaign. At Vilkowyski Napoleon took the opportunity
to issue a bulletin to his troops couched in the old style which had
proved so effectual in former campaigns. It is as follows:
“Soldiers! The second Polish war is begun. The first terminated at
Friedland and at Tilsit. At Tilsit, Russia vowed an eternal alliance
with France, and war with England. She now breaks her vows, and refuses
to give any explanation of her strange conduct until the French eagles
have repassed the Rhine and left our allies at her mercy.
“Fate drags her on--let her destinies be fulfilled. Does she imagine
we are degenerated? Are we no longer the soldiers who fought at
Austerlitz? We are placed between dishonour and war; our choice cannot
be doubtful. Let us then march forward. Let us cross the Niemen, and
carry the war into her own territory. This second Polish war will be
as glorious for the French arms as the first; but the peace we shall
conclude will carry with it its own guarantee, and will terminate the
fatal influence which Russia, for fifty years past, has exercised in
the affairs of Europe.”
Alexander’s proclamation to his troops, while less forceful than
Napoleon’s, is more dignified and restrained. It was issued from his
headquarters at Vilna, the capital of Lithuania, on the 25th June 1812,
two days later than the one given above.
[Illustration: The Retreat from Moscow
By V. Werestchagin
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W]
“We had long observed,” it runs, “on the part of the Emperor of the
French, the most hostile proceedings towards Russia; but we always
hoped to avert them by conciliatory and pacific measures. At length,
experiencing a continued renewal of direct and evident aggression,
notwithstanding our earnest desire to maintain peace, we were compelled
to complete and to assemble our armies. But even then, we flattered
ourselves that a reconciliation might take place while we remained on
the frontiers of our empire, and, without violating one principle of
peace, were prepared only to act in our own defence.... The Emperor
of the French, by suddenly attacking our army at Kovno, has been the
first to declare war. As nothing, therefore, can inspire him with those
friendly sentiments which possessed our bosoms, we have no choice but
to oppose our forces to those of the enemy, invoking the aid of the
Almighty, the Witness and Defender of the truth. It is unnecessary
for me to remind the generals, officers, and soldiers of their duty,
to excite their valour; the blood of the brave Slavonians flows in
their veins. Warriors! you defend your religion, your country, and
your liberty. I am with you: God is against the aggressor.” Alexander
promised the Governor of St Petersburg that he would not sheath his
sword “so long as a single enemy remains in Russian territory.”
Practically the whole of the Grand Army--an effective force at the
beginning of the campaign of 400,000 troops--crossed the river Niemen
at different points, the troops with the Emperor near Kovno, those of
Eugène and King Jerome at Pilony and Grodno respectively, the remainder
under Macdonald at Tilsit. Prince Schwarzenberg with the Austrians
crossed by the River Bug. Davout’s corps secured the honour of being
first to enter Russian territory, and without much trouble they secured
possession of the little town of Kovno, the point of concentration,
reference to which is made in the Czar’s proclamation.
Alison has painted the scene for us in glowing colours. “The tent of
the Emperor,” he writes, “was placed on an eminence three hundred
paces from the bank, and as the sun rose he beheld the resplendent
mass slowly descending to the bridges. The world had never seen so
magnificent an array as lay before him; horse, foot, and cannon in
the finest order, and in the highest state of equipment, incessantly
issued from the forest, and wound down the paths which led to the
river: the glittering of the arms, the splendour of the dress, the
loud shouts of the men as they passed the Imperial station, inspired
universal enthusiasm and seemed to afford a certain presage of success.
The burning impatience of the conscripts; the calm assurance of the
veteran soldiers; the confident ardour of the younger officers; the
dubious presentiments of the older generals, filled every breast with
thrilling emotion. The former were impatient for the campaign as
the commencement of glory and fortune; the latter dreaded it as the
termination of ease and opulence. None entered on it without anxiety
and interest. No sinister presentiments were now visible on the
countenance of the Emperor; the joy which he felt at the recommencement
of war communicated a universal degree of animation. Two hundred
thousand men, including forty thousand horse, of whom twelve thousand
were cuirassiers, cased in glittering steel, passed the river that day
in presence of the Emperor. Could the eye of prophecy have foreseen the
thin and shattered remains of this immense host, which a few months
afterwards were alone destined to regain the shore of the Niemen,
the change would have appeared too dreadful for any human powers of
destruction to have accomplished.”
The passage of the fourth Army Corps was not made under such happy
auspices, but the men were cheered by the news that on the 28th June
Napoleon had entered Vilna. This enabled them to shake off to some
extent the depressing effects of the wet weather, and the presence
of Eugène, Viceroy of Italy, and the dauntless Junot, both of whom
personally superintended the construction of the bridge, did much
to inspire enthusiasm. There was no enemy to contest them, and the
crossing was effected in good order.
“Scarcely had we reached the opposite shore,” says Captain Eugène
Labaume, who was with the expedition, “when we seemed to breathe a new
air. However, the roads were dreadfully bad, the forests gloomy, and
the villages completely deserted; but imagination, inflamed by a spirit
of conquest, was enchanted with everything, and cherished illusions
which were but too soon destroyed.
“In fact, our short stay at Pilony, in the midst of a tempestuous
rain, was marked by such extraordinary disasters, that any man,
without being superstitious, would have regarded them as the presage
of future misfortunes. In this wretched village, the Viceroy himself
had no house to shelter him; and we were heaped upon one another
under wretched sheds, or else exposed to all the inclemencies of the
weather. An extreme scarcity made us anticipate the horrors of famine.
The rain fell in torrents, and overwhelmed both men and horses; the
former escaped, but the badness of the roads completed the destruction
of the latter. They were seen dropping by hundreds in the environs of
Pilony; the road was covered with dead horses, overturned waggons and
scattered baggage. It was in the month of July that we suffered thus
from cold, and rain, and hunger. So many calamities excited within us
sad forebodings of the future, and everyone began to dread the event
of an enterprise, the commencement of which was so disastrous; but the
sun reappeared on the horizon, the clouds dispersed, our fears were
scattered with them, and at that moment we thought that the fine season
would last for ever.”
The captain’s narrative is replete with similar instances, showing
the almost complete failure of the commissariat on which so much care
and anxiety had been bestowed, the treacherous nature of the weather,
and the impossibility in so barren a country of putting into effect
Napoleon’s maxim that war should support itself. Indeed, the truth was
shown of another of the Emperor’s principles, that “an army marches on
its stomach.” In the paragraph immediately following the one quoted
above, Labaume says that on entering Kroni the soldiers again found
the houses deserted, “which convinced us that the enemy, in order to
ruin the country through which we were to pass, and deprive us of all
the means of subsistence, had carried along with them the inhabitants
and the cattle.” In a march of fifty miles no fewer than 10,000 horses
succumbed.
But a greater difficulty than those we have enumerated soon presented
itself. The Russian army, like a will-o’-the-wisp, enticed the French
further and further from their base by a series of retreats which
made it impossible for Napoleon to fall on the enemy with the fierce
rapidity characteristic of his method of warfare. Alexander was playing
a waiting game. When the ranks of the enemy were thinned by death,
sickness, and desertion, when want and privation stalked hand in hand
with the French armies as they painfully made their way along the
snow-covered ruts--then would be the time to strike. The Czar could
afford to wait, his antagonist could not; one was on the defensive, the
other on the offensive, and many hundreds of miles from the capital
of his unwieldy Empire. There was little or no opportunity for the
soldiers to pay unwelcome attentions to the inhabitants of the villages
through which they passed. The peasants had forsaken their wretched
wooden shanties, the furniture of the houses of many of the nobles had
been removed, making the places almost as cheerless as the frowning
forests where their former owners had sought refuge.
At Vilna, which the Russians had evacuated, Napoleon experienced none
of these troubles. The Poles, longing to restore the independence of
their beloved country, regarded him as their potential liberator,
delivering to him the keys of the town, donning their national
costumes, and indulging in merry-making. The ancient capital of
Lithuania awoke from her long sleep. Deputation after deputation waited
on the Emperor, hungering to hear the words which would give them back
their lost freedom. They were never uttered; he dare not break faith
with his allies at this juncture. He made vague promises in order to
stimulate their enthusiasm, set up a provisional government, and began
to reorganise the provinces with his usual insight, but further than
this he would not go. The Poles repaid him well by immediately ordering
some 12,000 men to be placed at the Emperor’s disposal, and from
first to last they furnished no fewer than 85,000 troops. To the Diet
(Parliament) of Warsaw he admitted that he could sanction no movement
which might endanger the peaceable possession of Austria’s Polish
provinces, but he issued a fiery proclamation to those who were serving
with the Russian colours. It runs:
“Poles! You are under Russian banners. It was permitted you to serve
that Power while you had no longer a country of your own; but all that
is now changed; Poland is created anew. You must fight for her complete
re-establishment, and compel the Russians to acknowledge those rights
of which you have been despoiled by injustice and usurpation. The
General Confederation of Poland and Lithuania recalls every Pole from
the Russian service. Generals of Poland, officers and soldiers, listen
to the voice of your country; abandon the standard of your oppressors;
hasten to range yourselves under the eagles of the Jagellons, the
Casimirs, and the Sobieskis![4] Your country requires it of you; honour
and religion equally command it.”
[4] Former Kings of Poland.
Note the subtle phrase, “Poland is created anew.” It is delightfully
vague, meaning little, yet conveying much, and probably understood by
many to promise the longed-for restoration.
Napoleon did not leave Vilna, where he had stopped much too long,
until the 16th July, but the troops under King Jerome and Davout had
been busy in an endeavour to cut off Prince Bagration from the main
army under Barclay de Tolly. This measure was far from successful.
Jerome was too slow in his movements, two combats ensued in which
the Russians were successful, and Bagration made good his retreat to
Bobruisk, Barclay falling back on Drissa, where a strongly entrenched
camp was in course of construction, and later to Vitebsk. Napoleon was
furious at his brother’s failure, saying, “It is impossible to manœuvre
worse than he has done,” and superseding him by the more energetic
Davout. With the intention of fighting Barclay, Napoleon pushed on to
Glubokoie, only to find that the enemy had proceeded to Vitebsk, which
in turn had been evacuated for Smolensk, where Bagration joined hands
with Barclay on the 2nd August. Some advantages had been gained by
Murat, Macdonald, and Oudinot, but the great opportunity of defeating
the two armies separately had been lost, and the combined forces now
numbered some 120,000 troops. The Emperor had again wasted time from
various causes at Vitebsk, which centre several of his officers wished
to make the winter-quarters of the army. He had already lost 100,000
men without accomplishing anything of importance, and as he himself
admitted, “Russia is too powerful to yield without fighting: Alexander
will not treat till a great battle has been fought.” The Emperor was
for pushing on, and would brook no interference. “Why should we remain
here eight months,” he asked his generals when the subject was under
discussion, “when twenty days are sufficient to accomplish our purpose?
Let us anticipate Winter and its reflections. We must strike soon and
strongly, or we shall be in danger. We must be in Moscow in a month,
or we shall never be there. Peace awaits us under its walls. Should
Alexander still persist, I will treat with his nobles: Moscow hates St
Petersburg; the effects of that jealousy are incalculable.”
Spurred on by the defeat of the advanced guard under Murat, the
Emperor now decided to attack Smolensk with practically his entire
army. According to Chambray this was now reduced, excluding various
detachments, to some 194,000 men. On the 16th August Ney, with all his
old fire and vigour, attempted to storm the citadel and was repulsed.
Following their former plan, and fearing to be cut off from Moscow,
part of the Russian army under Bagration began to retreat in the
early hours of the following morning, Barclay remaining to defend the
town with about 30,000 troops. After much heavy fighting the Emperor
was in possession of the suburbs, but the losses on either side had
been severe. Very soon the dense masses of smoke which arose from the
walled city made it evident that to the terrors of shot and shell
had been added that of fire. Flames burst out in all directions, the
wooden roofs of the smaller houses quickly fell in, larger buildings
caught alight and blazed away, fanned by the breeze. Within a few
hours Smolensk was little more than a smouldering charnel-house. The
conclusion of this dreadful incident is best told by an eye-witness, an
officer in the French army.
“At one o’clock the ruins of the town were abandoned,” he says. “Our
first grenadiers prepared to mount the breach at two o’clock in the
morning, when, approaching without opposition, they discovered that the
place was entirely evacuated. We took possession of it, and found on
the walls many pieces of cannon, which the enemy could not take away.
“Never,” the narrator adds, “can you form an adequate idea of the
dreadful scene which the interior of Smolensk presented to my view, and
never during the whole course of my life can I forget it. Every street,
every square, was covered with the bodies of the Russians, dead and
dying, while the flames shed over them a horrible glare.”
Labaume thus continues the dreadful story begun by his friend:--
“The next day (August 19th) we entered Smolensk by the suburb built
along the river. In every direction we marched over scattered ruins
and dead bodies. Palaces yet burning offered to our sight only walls
half destroyed by the flames, and, thick among the fragments were
the blackened carcases of the wretched inhabitants whom the fire had
consumed. The few houses that remained were completely filled by the
soldiery, while at the doors stood the miserable proprietors without an
asylum, deploring the death of their children, and the loss of their
property. The churches alone afforded some consolation to the unhappy
victims who had no other shelter. The cathedral, celebrated through
Europe, and held in great veneration by the Russians, became the refuge
of the unfortunate beings who had escaped the flames. In this church
and round its altars, were to be seen whole families extended on the
ground; in one place was an old man just expiring, and casting a look
on the image of the saint whom he had all his life invoked; in another
an infant whose feeble cry the mother, worn down with grief, was
endeavouring to hush.... In the midst of this desolation, the passage
of the army into the interior of the town formed a striking contrast.
On one side was seen the abject submission of the conquered--on the
other, the pride attendant upon victory; the former had lost their
all--the latter, rich with spoil, and ignorant of defeat, marched
proudly to the sound of warlike music, inspiring the unhappy remains of
a vanquished population with mingled fear and admiration.”
Again the Emperor pondered, apparently undecided as to his next
movement. Should he take up his winter quarters at Smolensk, as he had
originally intended, or push on to Moscow? A great battle had been
fought and yet the situation remained unchanged. He had merely taken a
ruined city! Ney, Grouchy, and Murat, who had followed the retreating
Russians, had but sorry tales to tell on the 19th, and the action near
Valutino on that day was indecisive largely owing to the hesitation of
Junot in coming to the aid of Ney. Defeat and disaster alone seemed to
attend the efforts of the Grand Army. Still Napoleon hesitated. How
could he, the virtual Master of Europe, the Conqueror who never failed,
quietly lay aside his sword and by so doing tacitly admit failure? No,
ten thousand times no; he would push towards Moscow though the heavens
fall!