The Triumphal Entry into Moscow--and after
(1812)
Grumbling was not confined to the French army in the campaign of 1812.
The Russian troops said hard things of their generals which were not
always justifiable, and the patriotic sentiments of the nobles suffered
somewhat by the continued retreats, which were taken as evidence
of weakness. As a concession to public opinion the much maligned
Barclay was superseded by Kutusov, the Russian Commander-in-chief at
Austerlitz, an old man approaching seventy years of age who had but
recently returned from the war which his country had been waging with
Turkey. He was to have an opportunity of showing his prowess within a
few days of his joining the army, which now comprised nearly 104,000
men to the 125,000 or so of Napoleon. Severe fighting occurred on the
5th September, a redoubt near the village of Shevardino being taken and
retaken three times by the advance guard before the Russians finally
withdrew. So great was the bloodshed that when the Emperor afterwards
asked where a certain battalion was, he received the reply, “In the
redoubt, sire,” every individual having lost his life in the desperate
assault. Over 1000 men on either side perished in defending or
storming this position.
The enemy had fallen back on Borodino, a name which will be always
associated with one of the most terrible battles ever fought on
European soil. As the sun rose on the 7th September Napoleon exclaimed,
“It is the sun of Austerlitz!” and shortly afterwards issued the
following proclamation, which aroused some of the old enthusiasm
amongst his troops but failed to invoke the plaudits of all. It is
short and shows that the Emperor attached more importance to the
battles of Vitebsk and Smolensk than the facts warranted:
“Soldiers! The battle is at hand which you have so long desired.
Henceforth the victory depends on yourselves. It has become necessary,
and will give you abundance; good winter quarters, and a speedy
return to your country! Conduct yourselves as you did at Austerlitz,
Friedland, Vitebsk, and Smolensk. Let the remotest posterity recount
your actions on this day. Let your countrymen say of you all, ‘He was
in that great battle under the walls of Moscow!’”
Firing began at six o’clock, and continued for twelve anxious hours.
The contestants disputed the ground with such determination, each
carrying and losing positions again and again, that at times it was
difficult to say which army had the advantage. According to Labaume
thirty of the Emperor’s generals were wounded, including Davout and
Rapp, the former by being thrown from his horse as it fell dead, the
latter by a ball which struck him on the hip. General Augustus de
Caulaincourt, brother of the more celebrated Armand de Caulaincourt,
Duke of Vicenza, after performing prodigies of valour in the Russian
entrenchments, where the hardest fighting was done, was killed, as
was General Montbrun but a little time before, while leading a similar
attack. Prince Bagration afterwards died of the injuries he received,
and many other Russian generals were more or less seriously wounded.
The key of the position, the Russian entrenched battery, with its
terrible heap of dead and dying, was at last captured by the French.
The officer commanding it was about to throw himself on his sword
rather than surrender, but was prevented in the nick of time by the
victors, who took him prisoner.
As Napoleon and his staff were surveying the field after the battle
his horse stepped on a wounded man, whose groans attracted the rider’s
attention. “It is only a Russian,” one of his attendants said, probably
to allay Napoleon’s feelings rather than from want of sympathy. “After
victory,” the Emperor retorted, “there are no enemies, but only men.”
He was neither callous nor did he love war for its own sake. It was
the result that pleased him, the humbling of the enemy, the addition
of territory to the Empire, the driving of one more nail in England’s
coffin. The maimed were ever his first care after battle. His besetting
sin was an abnormal, and consequently unhealthy, ambition--the vice at
which he had railed so much in his early days.
Napoleon failed to use his 20,000 Guards at Borodino, why is still a
matter of conjecture. Some writers maintain that it would have been
foolish for him to use up his last reserves, others hold that had he
flung them into the battle he might have annihilated the Russian army
and saved himself the agonies which followed. The reason he gave was,
“At 800 leagues from Paris one must not risk one’s last reserve.”
Mr Hereford B. George, one of our greatest authorities on the invasion
of Russia in 1812, states that Borodino was a butchery which cost the
contestants not less than 70,000 men in killed and wounded. “No battle
of modern times,” he says in summing up, “no encounter since the days
before gunpowder, when the beaten side could be cut down _ad libitum_
by the victors and quarter was seldom given, has witnessed such awful
slaughter.... Whether it can be fairly called useless may be doubted,
except to the nominal conqueror. Napoleon certainly deserves that
title: the enemy had been dislodged from their position, and, as it
proved, left the way open to Moscow. So much he might have attained by
manœuvring; more he could not attain unless the courage of his enemies
gave way. Without the brave men who fell at Borodino Napoleon could not
possibly attempt any further offensive movement, when his occupation
of Moscow led to no overtures for peace. Without them, he was
substantially inferior in force when at length the inevitable retreat
began. The Russian Te Deums, chanted for the victory that Kutusoff
falsely claimed, were in truth only premature.”
Holy Moscow was to be the city of abundance, its entry the herald
of a happier order of things. On the 14th September, as Napoleon
rode forward with his troops, its domes and minarets burst upon his
view. Ségur says that the soldiers shouted “Moscow! Moscow!” with
the eagerness of sailors on sighting land after a long and tedious
voyage. The city looked more like a mirage than the home of a quarter
of a million people, more like the deserted city of an extinct race
than a hive of humanity. General Sebastiani, who led the vanguard,
knew the secret, and so did Murat. The Russians had arranged a hasty
armistice in order to evacuate the place, leaving behind them only the
riff-raff, the wounded, the aged, and the aliens.
[Illustration: After Moscow: “Advance or Retreat?”
By V. Werestchagin
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W]
No clang of bells greeted the Conqueror as he made his triumphal entry,
no crowds of men and women craned their necks to get a glimpse of
the mighty Emperor. Only undesirables welcomed him, the unrepentant
prodigal son and the convict, released from prison by the governor
before the last inhabitants fled in the wake of the retreating Russian
army. There stood the mammoth Kremlin, the Acropolis of the ancient
capital, surrounded by its massive walls; the gorgeous Cathedral of the
Assumption in which the Czars were crowned; the Great Palace begun but
six years before, and churches innumerable. Ikons but no worshippers,
palaces but no courtiers! The Emperor took up his quarters in the
Kremlin, appointing Mortier governor with strict instructions to
prevent the troops from plundering. We shall see how the orders were
obeyed later. Suddenly tongues of flame shot up from different quarters
of the city, to be extinguished by the troops with great difficulty.
Then a large public building was discovered to be alight. The flames
began to spread with alarming and all-devouring rapidity. Soon a
portion of the Kremlin itself was in imminent danger, and as there was
much gunpowder stored in the fortress-palace the Emperor was forced to
retire to a château some distance away, to return two days later when
the work of destruction had somewhat abated. Labaume witnessed many
terrible scenes, which he thus records with his usual vivacity:
“As I advanced towards the fire, the avenues were more obstructed
by soldiers and beggars carrying off goods of every kind. The less
precious articles were despised, and soon thrown away, and the streets
were covered with merchandise of every description. I penetrated at
length into the interior of the Exchange; but, alas! it was no more
the building so renowned for its magnificence; it was rather a vast
furnace, from every side of which the burning rafters were continually
falling, and threatening us with instant destruction. I could still,
however, proceed with some degree of safety under piazzas lined with
warehouses which the soldiers had broken open; every chest was rifled,
and the spoil exceeded their most sanguine expectations. No cry, no
tumult was heard in this scene of horror; everyone found enough to
satisfy his most ardent thirst for plunder. Nothing was heard but the
crackling of flames, the noise of doors that were broken open, and
occasionally a dreadful crash caused by the falling in of some vault.
Cottons, muslins, and all the most costly productions of Europe and of
Asia, were a prey to the flames. The cellars were filled with sugar,
oil, and vitriol; these burning all at once in the subterraneous
warehouses, sent forth torrents of flame through thick iron grates,
and presented a dreadful spectacle. It was terrible and affecting;
even the most hardened minds acknowledged the conviction that so great
a calamity would, on some future day, call forth the vengeance of the
Almighty upon the authors of such crimes.”
The fire began on the 14th September, and on the 16th it was raging
worse than ever. “The most heart-rending scene which my imagination
had ever conceived,” adds the narrator, “now presented itself to my
eyes. A great part of the population of Moscow, terrified at our
arrival, had concealed themselves in cellars or secret recesses of
their houses. As the fire spread around, we saw them rushing in despair
from their various asylums. They uttered no imprecation, they breathed
no complaint; fear had rendered them dumb: and hastily snatching
up their precious effects, they fled before the flames. Others, of
greater sensibility, and actuated by the genuine feelings of nature,
saved only their parents, or their infants, who were closely clasped
in their arms. They were followed by their other children, running as
fast as their little strength would permit, and with all the wildness
of childish terror, vociferating the beloved name of mother. The old
people, borne down by grief more than by age, had not sufficient power
to follow their families, but expired near the houses in which they
were born. The streets, the public places, and the churches were filled
with these unhappy people, who, lying on the remains of their property,
suffered even without a murmur. No cry, no complaint was heard. Both
the conqueror and the conquered were equally hardened; the one by
excess of fortune, the other by excess of misery.”
Many contemporary writers, including Labaume, assert that the
conflagration was the deliberate work of patriotic citizens headed
by Count Rostopchin, governor of Moscow. The latter certainly spoke
of such a project, and according to the twenty-fifth bulletin of the
Grand Army three hundred incendiaries provided with appliances for
setting fire to the wooden houses were arrested and shot. As the
Count afterwards denied the story it is difficult to say whether he
actually carried into practice what he preached; it is quite possible
that some of those who were left behind had actually more to do with
the affair than the supposed prime mover. Professor Eugen Stschepkin,
of the Imperial University of Odessa, says that “Moscow was burnt
neither by Napoleon nor by Count Rostopchin. Probably, the fire was
in part accidental, and due to plunderers, both Russian and French;
in part the deliberate work of patriotically-minded inhabitants.” The
conclusions of Mr Hereford B. George are: “On the face of the undoubted
facts there is no adequate evidence that the burning of Moscow was
deliberate, though there is of course no evidence that it was not.”
Napoleon now hoped that Alexander would negotiate with him for
peace. The unexpected happened; the Czar showed the most determined
resolution. He realised that the entry into Moscow would have smaller
effects upon the final results of the campaign than the twin evils of
winter and famine which must necessarily follow unless what remained
of the Grand Army beat a speedy retreat. As for his own troops, they
were constantly reinforced, and had the additional advantage of being
hardened to the severe climate and the peculiar nature of the country.
Moreover many of the peasants, following the example of the Tyrolese
and the Spaniards, waged a savage guerrilla warfare whenever they had
an opportunity.