[Illustration: _Napoleon._]
It is, no doubt, from the Dresden Conference that we must date
Napoleon’s open hostility towards Russia. After his unsuccessful
endeavour to secure the hand of the Tsar’s sister, it was rumoured in
well-informed French Court circles that Napoleon had made up his mind
once and for all to humble the pride of Russia. It was not, however,
until the Dresden Conference that Napoleon threw off the mask. He then
adopted a distinctly threatening attitude in the face of Alexander’s
refusal to reconsider his decision and humble himself in the eyes of
Europe.
The Russian Emperor firmly refused to submit, and his defiant attitude
was the more offensive to Napoleon inasmuch as it was open and
undisguised. There was no question of concealing it or of receding from
the position already adopted. “The bottle is opened—the wine must be
drunk,” was Napoleon’s own expression.
It was, moreover, at the Dresden Conference that Napoleon attained the
zenith of his power. At Dresden he was indeed a king of kings. The
Emperor of Austria respectfully and repeatedly assured his august cousin
that he might “fully rely upon Austria for the triumph of the common
cause;” while the King of Prussia reassured him of his “unswerving
fidelity.”
The splendour and magnificence of the French Court at the time of the
Dresden Conference, says an eye-witness, gave Napoleon the air of some
legendary Grand Mogul. As at Tilsit, he showered magnificent presents on
all sides. At his _levées_ reigning princes danced attendance for hours
in the hope of being honoured with an audience. This new order of
would-be courtiers was so numerous that the Emperor’s chamberlains and
officials had constantly to give one another warning lest they should
jostle a Royal Highness unawares.
Every country sent its contingent. There were no eyes but for Napoleon.
The populace gathered in crowds outside the palace, following his every
movement, and dogging his progress through the streets, in hourly
expectation of some great event.
Never, probably, were such elaborate arrangements made as for this
campaign. Besides the usual preparations for a war, engagements were
made with tradesmen of all kinds—tin-workers, masons, watchmakers, and
other skilled artisans. There was no word of explanation as to the place
in which their services would be required, so that until the opening of
the campaign the general public had no inkling of the object of all
these preparations. It was even rumoured that Napoleon was about to aid
Russia against the Turks.
The abrupt departure of the Russian military agent Tczernicheff from
Paris, and the court-martial on certain persons who had treasonably
supplied him with various documents, at last revealed the Emperor’s
plans, and it was then positively stated in the _salons_ that the
preparations were directed against Russia. The authorities, however,
refused to confirm these reports, and went so far as to issue an order
to the army, forbidding the officers and men to discuss the rumoured
campaign.
The French army was at that moment in the most flourishing condition. It
consisted of twelve infantry corps of 20,000 men each, three cavalry
corps of the same strength, and with 40,000 men of the Guard, Artillery,
Engineers, and Sappers, amounted to 400,000 men, including 300,000
Frenchmen. This enormous force possessed 1200 guns and more than 100,000
ammunition-wagons and caissons. Such a body of troops, accustomed to
victory, proud of its traditions, full of confidence in its officers,
and led by a commander with the prestige of twenty years’ brilliant
success, might well be deemed invincible.
Every subaltern regarded a campaign in Russia as a pleasant six months’
outing. The whole army, fully assured of speedy success, looked forward
to the war as a means of rapid promotion. All were eager to start. “We
are off to Moscow,” they cried to their friends, “_à bientôt_!”
It was said that Prussia would receive from the expected conquests full
compensation for her former losses. Napoleon himself suggested this in
his proclamation—“At the beginning of July we shall be in St.
Petersburg; I shall be avenged on the Emperor Alexander, and the King of
Prussia will be Emperor of the North.”
There were prophets who declared that “if the Russians do not make their
peace in time, Napoleon will divide their European territories into two
parts—the Dukedom of Smolensk, and the Dukedom of St. Petersburg. The
Emperor Alexander, if Napoleon thinks it worth while to leave him his
throne, will reign only in Asia.”
The Comte de Narbonne, Napoleon’s envoy to Vilna, was obliged to admit
that the Emperor Alexander conducted himself with irreproachable
dignity. He displayed neither fear nor arrogance. The answer with which
Narbonne returned to his Imperial master at Dresden proved that the
Russian Emperor was firmly resolved to offer no other terms than those
which his Ambassador at Paris had already communicated. He had nothing
to subtract from them, and nothing to add. An eye-witness describes the
impression produced in Dresden, where everybody was eagerly waiting to
learn the result of his mission, by the arrival of Comte Narbonne’s
travel-stained carriage, when he returned with the news that “the
Emperor Alexander refused to alter his decision.”
“Although,” Alexander said, “no one tells me so to my face, I am well
aware, and I am not ashamed to own it, that I am not so great a soldier
as Napoleon, and that I have no generals who are a match for his. This
assurance on my part should, I think, serve as the clearest proof of my
sincere desire for the maintenance of peace.”
Alexander was extremely indignant at Napoleon’s subsequent high-handed
proceeding in crossing the frontier without declaring war, for although
the Russians were expecting hostilities, there were some, including
Rumyantsef and other notables, who regarded it to the last as unlikely,
firmly believing that the matter would end in a few threats and a
compromise.
Nine years later, when Napoleon was at St. Helena, the Emperor Alexander
caused him to be asked why he had refused the terms brought by Narbonne
from Vilna. “Because by the terms of the offer,” replied Napoleon, “a
month was required before any definitive treaty could be arrived at, and
such a delay might have involved the loss of the campaign, of all our
stupendous preparations, and of the alliances that had been entered
into, and which there was little prospect of renewing.”
Napoleon loudly proclaimed that “Fate was leading Russia to her doom,”
and took upon himself the duty of executing the decree of destiny, by
which the Russians, as enemies of European civilization, were to be
driven into the wilds of Asia.
Napoleon’s own baggage-train consisted of seventy wagons, each drawn by
eight horses; twenty carriages, open and closed; forty pack-mules; and
two hundred riding-horses. During his drives from place to place the
Emperor was never idle. When darkness fell, a lamp fixed inside the
carriage enabled him to work as comfortably as if he were sitting at
home in his own room. Aides-de-camp and orderlies were always within
call at the door of his carriage, and a number of riding-horses followed
with the body-guard.
In this way Napoleon reached the Niemen on June 11/23, and mounted his
horse at two o’clock at night. It is said that as he approached the bank
of the river, his horse stumbled and threw him, and that some one cried
out, “That’s a bad omen; a Roman would have turned back;” but no one
could distinguish whether it was the Emperor or one of his suite who
uttered the words.
I extract from M. Bertin’s book a characteristic account given by Count
Soltyk, general of the Polish artillery. “On the arrival of the Emperor,
several officers, together with myself and Suchorzewski, the major of
the regiment, ran up. Napoleon quickly approached the major and asked
for the colonel of the regiment. Suchorzewski, in no wise disconcerted
at the absence of the colonel, who was still asleep, answered that he
was filling his place, and was ready to receive any orders. Napoleon
then asked him which was the road to the Niemen, and made inquiries
regarding the outposts and the position of the Russians. Whilst asking
these questions, he ordered a change of uniform, as it had been agreed,
or rather ordered, that no French soldier should be seen by the
Russians. He took off his coat, and the rest of us—the Prince of
Neufchâtel, Suchorzewski, Colonel Pagowski, who had hurried to the spot,
General Bruyères, and myself—followed his example. There were therefore
five or six of us in our shirts in the middle of the bivouac surrounding
the Emperor, each with his uniform in his hand. The Poles offered theirs
to the French. Altogether the scene was most amusing. Of all our
uniforms, Colonel Pagowski’s coat and forage cap best fitted the
Emperor. He had been offered a Lancer’s head-dress, but refused it as
being too heavy. All this took place in a few minutes. Berthier also put
on a Polish uniform. The colonel’s horses were at once led up. Napoleon
mounted one of them; Berthier took the other, and Lieutenant Zrelski,
whose company was on outpost duty, was ordered to accompany the Emperor
as guide.
“They went as far as Alexota, a village about three miles distant,
opposite Kovno, and within range of its guns. The Emperor alighted in
the courtyard of a house belonging to a doctor, whose windows overlooked
the Niemen, and from which one might easily survey the surrounding
country. I had myself three days previously made a plan of Kovno from
this very spot. From there Napoleon thoroughly reconnoitred the district
without himself being seen. His horses were carefully concealed in the
courtyard. After completing his survey he returned to the bivouac, and
called for details as to the position of the enemy. The colonel having
told him that I knew the neighbourhood thoroughly, he put several
questions to me as to the fords that might be passable, the conformation
and irregularities of the ground, and the position of the enemy. The
Emperor questioned me searchingly as to where the Russians were massed,
whether on the right or left bank of the Vilia. He evidently wished to
ascertain whether the road along the Vilia was free, intending to march
in that direction in heavy columns, so as to seize this centre of
operations, and cut off the enemy’s corps, which were spread along the
whole length of the Niemen.
“When Napoleon returned we noticed a marked change of expression. He
looked happy, even merry, being evidently satisfied with the idea of the
surprise which he was preparing for the Russians on the following
morning, and of which he had calculated the results beforehand. Some
refreshments were brought to him, which he ate in our midst on the
high-road. He seemed amused at his masquerade, and asked us twice if the
Polish uniform suited him. After having breakfasted, he said laughing,
‘Now we must return what does not belong to us.’ He then took off the
garments which he had borrowed, put on his uniform of Chasseur of the
Guard, entered his carriage accompanied by Berthier, and rapidly drove
away. That very day he inspected several other points on the Niemen, and
chose Poniémon as the place of crossing. General Haxo accompanied him on
this tour.”
“This reconnaissance being finished,” adds Ségur, “he issued an order
that on the following evening three bridges should be thrown across the
river.... Then he returned to his quarters, where he passed the day
partly in his tent and partly in a Polish house, vainly seeking rest in
the sultry heat that prevailed.”
When the army began the passage next day, Napoleon took up a position
near the bridge, and encouraged the soldiers by his presence, while they
greeted him with the customary cries. But his impatience would not allow
him to remain long on this spot. He crossed the bridge and galloped
through the forest that stretches along the bank of the stream,
careering along at full speed on his Arab, as though in pursuit of some
invisible foe.
“What is to be said of an Emperor,” remarks an eye-witness, “who dresses
up in an outlandish disguise, rides off to his outposts, orders some one
to bring him some water from the Niemen in a helmet, and tastes it with
the air of a seer waiting for inspiration? It would have been better to
keep these absurd tricks for the banks of the Nile, among the
superstitious nations for whose behoof they were invented, rather than
bring them over to Europe.”
“Napoleon,” says Boutourline, “was preparing to crush the First Army of
the West with his Guards, Davout’s, Oudinot’s, and Ney’s Army Corps, and
Nansouty’s, Montbrun’s, and Grouchy’s cavalry—250,000 men in all—by a
sudden attack on the centre before the Second Army could come to its
support. The King of Westphalia, with the corps of Junot, Poniatowski,
and Renier, and Latour-Maubourg’s cavalry, making a force of 80,000, was
to execute the same manœuvre against the Second Army. The Viceroy of
Italy, with an army of about the same strength, consisting of his own
corps and that of St. Cyr, was to throw himself between the two Russian
armies, and cut off all communication between them. On the left, Major
Macdonald’s division, some 30,000 strong, was to enter Courland and
threaten St. Petersburg and the Russian right. On the right,
Schwarzenberg and the Austrians, also about 30,000 strong, were to hold
Tormasof in check.”
It was a well-conceived plan, and the movements of the French on Vilna
were so swift and decisive that General Dokhturof’s corps and Dorokhof’s
division were almost cut off.
This brilliant beginning was, however, followed by a number of mistakes.
The execution of the plan was marred by the slowness of the King of
Westphalia (who soon afterwards threw up his command and returned home),
and by the Emperor’s own irresolution. Napoleon appears to have lost
sight of the fact that he should have taken the direct road from Vilna
to Smolensk as his principal line of operations. If he had concentrated
the whole weight of his army on this line he would have successfully
outflanked Barclay on the left and Bagration on the right, and might
then have fallen on either of them with the whole strength of his army,
or, indeed, on both simultaneously. It was with the object of taking the
Russians by surprise that Napoleon crossed the frontier without
declaring war, and appeared at Vilna the day after the Emperor Alexander
had left.
Mme. de Choiseul-Gouffier, in her reminiscences of Napoleon’s stay in
Vilna, describes among other events his visit to the church. “A herald
shouted, ‘_L’Empereur!_’ and I saw a short, stout little man in a green
uniform with coat unbuttoned, and displaying a white waistcoat,
surrounded by a crowd of marshals. He flew by like a bullet, and took up
his place behind a _prie-dieu_. When mass was over he departed at the
same lightning speed.” She describes Napoleon’s arrival at a ball—“At
the first signal of his approach the dukes and marshals rushed off to
meet him as quickly as they could hurry; and to tell the truth, their
faces were a most amusing sight. We were hustled down the stairs almost
on all fours. Napoleon’s carriage drove up, with the Master of the
Horse, M. Caulaincourt, galloping behind. They put down a footstool for
the Emperor to alight on, as if the earth were unworthy of the honour of
being trodden by his Imperial foot. He went up-stairs amid shouts of
‘_Vive l’Empereur!_’ When he entered the _salon_ he cried, as if giving
an order, ‘Ladies, be seated!’”
“Napoleon’s face,” says Madame de Choiseul-Gouffier later on, “appeared
to me as severe as an antique bust, and of the colour of yellow marble.”
And further—“Napoleon’s expression when lighted up by his beautiful
smile was pleasant, and even when seen closer his pallor was not
remarkable. What is most noteworthy is that his countenance expresses
more good-nature than genius.... He knew every bit of gossip.”
The distance between the head-quarters of the two armies led Napoleon to
express the belief that “in all probability, they are afraid of
Alexander and myself meeting and coming to terms.” However, when the
opportunity of making terms did present itself, Napoleon let it pass.
Balachef, the Russian general, presented himself at the French outposts
demanding a parley. When they conducted him into Napoleon’s presence at
Vilna, he declared, in Alexander’s name—“If there is war between Russia
and France, it will be a long and bloody war, and before entering upon
it the Russian Emperor solemnly proclaims that it is not he who is
responsible for it. Though the Russian Ambassador has left Paris, war
has not yet been declared; there is still time to come to terms; it is
not yet too late.”
Having been told that the messenger who had been selected for the
embassy was the Minister of Police, the French suspected that the sole
object of his coming was to observe the position of the army and to gain
time. They regarded his visit, therefore, as a sign of weakness in the
Russian Government, and received his overtures with coldness. Besides,
it would have cost Napoleon a great struggle, after refusing to listen
to any explanations at Paris, to adopt a conciliatory tone in Vilna.
What would Europe think of him? What possible explanation could there be
of the enormous preparations, the vast movements of troops and
expenditure of money? It would have been tantamount to a confession of
defeat. Besides, he had gone so far in his utterances before the allies
as to render retreat almost impossible. But this was not all. Napoleon
lost control over himself, and broke out, as usual, into complaints and
reproaches. He used insulting language in speaking of the Emperor
Alexander to the Russian general. “Why did he ever come to Vilna? What
does he want? Does he mean to match his strength with me? He, this
carpet knight? Napoleon’s only counsellor is himself; who will advise
the Tsar? Whom does he mean to look to? Kutuzof is a Russian, he,
therefore, will not be selected; six years ago Benigsen was old and
useless—he is in his dotage now; Barclay, no doubt, is a man of courage
and capacity—but he only displays it by retreating.” Napoleon added
spitefully—“You all imagine that you understand the art of war because
you have read your Jomini, but if Jomini’s book were enough to teach you
generalship, do you think I should have allowed it to be printed?”
It is difficult to understand how, after sending such an insolent answer
to his “friend and brother,” Napoleon could bring himself to assure him
later on of his unswerving devotion. On the other hand, it is easy to
appreciate why his “friend and brother” after this message received all
the French Emperor’s subsequent blandishments in stony silence.
Napoleon began to be alarmed at the proclamations and manifestoes issued
by the St. Petersburg Cabinet. He displayed a naïve astonishment at the
expressions of hatred and anger which were levelled at his own person.
What had happened to the Emperor Alexander, who had up to that time been
so suave and gentle? It is said that Napoleon endeavoured to keep these
vigorous proclamations from the knowledge of his army, and commanded
that the Russians should be represented as disheartened and on the point
of disbanding; the Russian Emperor as having actually left his troops
and fled to St. Petersburg in order to implore assistance and mollify
the wrath of the Senate, which was demanding an explanation of what had
happened; the Russian generals as having lost their heads; and the
people at large as ready to fling themselves in despair at Napoleon’s
feet.
Ségur has preserved to us the order of march of the French troops. The
army advanced in column ready for instant battle, the Emperor on
horseback in the centre. Rivers were crossed by fords which soon,
however, became impassable, and the regiments in the rear crossed
elsewhere, wherever they could; no one troubled his head about them. The
staff neglected these details. No one remained behind to point out the
dangers, if there were any, or the route, where several roads met. Each
_corps d’armée_ was left to shift for itself.
Duverger is yet more categorical—“The retreat has often been described,
but the long and difficult march which preceded our misfortunes has
never been sufficiently mentioned. Worn out by the rays of a tropical
sun, we were reduced to drink foul stagnant water, to eat biscuits
served out with a sparing hand. Famine and dysentery destroyed as many
soldiers as did the war.”
Labaume, another eye-witness, completes this picture—“This immense
gathering of men on one spot increased the confusion and disorder that
reigned on the high-roads. Stray soldiers sought their regiments in
vain; orderlies with urgent despatches were unable to deliver them;
while on the bridges and in the ravines a frightful tumult arose. Our
soldiers, deprived of their rations, had to provide for themselves by
pillage, and the result was the utmost disorder and paralysis of
discipline, the usual forerunners of the approaching decay of an army.”
The disorganization of the French army was thrown into stronger relief
by the excellent order in which Barclay-de-Tolly drew off his men from
position to position. There were no deserted wagons, no dead horses, not
a single straggler or deserter.
The French troops moved, of course, not only along the high-road, but
also by by-roads, and often by hardly perceptible footpaths, destroying
everything they came across on their way, and feeding their horses on
the standing corn. They camped at night in the midst of the crops,
trampling and destroying them without scruple in the hope of getting
some shelter, however slight, from the heat and rain. The soldiers,
according to the account of French eye-witnesses, roamed the
neighbourhood searching for food, ill-treated the inhabitants, and
turned them out of their homes, looted the houses, carried off all the
live stock, and indulged in excesses strangely at variance with their
vaunted mission of civilization.
“The army at last approached Vitebsk,” says de la Fluse, who accompanied
the expedition. “A number of cavalry and infantry regiments were
extended in line, supported by strong bodies of artillery. Four strong
columns of Foot Guards formed a square, in the centre of which were
three tents—one for the Emperor, the other two for his suite. A squad of
twenty Grenadiers, with an officer and a drummer, formed a guard outside
the tents. The camp-fires were lighted, and the various regiments sent
fatigue parties to fetch their rations. These were served out in a
neighbouring field, where all the meat and corn had been collected.
“Around the Emperor’s tent there was a great deal of bustle. Generals
and aides-de-camps were constantly coming and going at full speed—for it
was known that the enemy were not far off, and a decisive battle was
expected.
“The Emperor left his camp two or three times with a telescope in his
hand. Resting it on the shoulder of one of the officers or men, he
inspected Vitebsk and the neighbouring hills. Beyond the town a broad
plain was visible, on which Russian cavalry and infantry were performing
some evolutions.
“Napoleon looked at them—‘To-morrow they will be ours,’ he said. Then he
gave orders to prepare for battle. A proclamation was read before each
regiment—‘Soldiers, the day we have longed for has come at last.
To-morrow we shall fight the battle for which we have waited so long. We
must end the campaign with a single thunder-clap. Remember your
victories at Austerlitz and Friedland; the enemy shall see to-morrow
that we have not degenerated.’
“The proclamation was enthusiastically received; the troops were
confident of victory; all hoped that this battle would end a war of
which they had already had more than enough. Brandy was distributed, and
after supper and the various preparations for the morrow they turned in,
many thinking, no doubt, that this would be their last night.
“Next morning they were up by dawn, dressed in their smartest, as if for
some festival. Every eye was turned to the quarter in which the enemy
had been manœuvring on the previous day; but the plain was empty—as the
sun rose it became clear that the Russian army had disappeared.
“The drum began to beat outside the Emperor’s tent,” continues the same
writer. “This meant that the Grenadiers on guard were being relieved. I
hurried up with my companions in order to ask the officer of the relief
if he had heard any news, for, placed as he was close to the Emperor’s
tent, he might have heard something. He told us that Napoleon flew into
a passion when he heard of the enemy’s retreat. When Prince
Poniatowski—who had instructions to cross the Dvina with the cavalry,
sweep behind the Russians and cut off their retreat—entered the tent,
the officers of the Guard heard what passed. The Prince came to report
that it was absolutely impossible to cross the Dvina, as he could find
no ford, and the water had risen in consequence of the recent storm. His
horses, moreover, had had no fodder. Thereupon high words passed between
the Emperor and Poniatowski, the former rating the Prince roundly for
not carrying out his instructions, Poniatowski for his part being at no
loss for a reply.
“‘So you urge want of fodder as an excuse, Prince?’ said Napoleon. ‘I
may tell you, sir, that when I was in Egypt it was not once nor twice
that I had to make expeditions without fodder.’
“‘Of course, your Majesty,’ replied Poniatowski, unabashed, ‘I do not
know what you fed your horses on out there, but I do know this, that my
horses cannot dispense with their hay, especially when there is no
grazing, which is often the salvation of cavalry. Lacking fodder as I
did, I ran the risk of finding myself in the position your Majesty was
in at St. Jean d’Acre; for want of horses, if you recollect, you were
unable to bring up your guns, and were obliged to raise the siege.’
“Then they both raised their voices and spoke at once. Some of the
generals who were present joined in, and the din was so great that I
could not make out a word of what they were saying. ‘They are still at
it,’ he added; ‘go close up to the tent, you will probably be able to
hear something.’
“I and my companion approached the tent, as if we were just strolling
by. We could indeed hear the voices of Napoleon and Poniatowski, but
could gather nothing distinctly except the latter saying—‘No, your
Majesty. I know this country better than you do, and I assure you that
that is out of the question here, quite out of the question!’ The two
sentries shouldered arms, which meant that the Emperor was just coming
out; so we made off.
“On parade the Emperor turned to the group of officers and
said—‘Gentlemen, you are not maintaining proper discipline in your
corps; there are too many stragglers. Officers seem to stop on the march
whenever they please, in order to spend their time in country-houses.
They are tired of camping out; but true courage does not fear rainy
weather, nor will mud stain a soldier’s honour. The men have no regard
for discipline; under the pretext of foraging for provisions they desert
from their regiments and wander about in disorder. Complaints reach me
from every side of their lawless behaviour. This condition of things
must be put a stop to, gentlemen; and those who absent themselves
without leave shall be severely punished. In the event of an engagement
with the enemy, our regiments would be greatly below their strength. The
efficient force of our army is such as it might naturally have been
after a battle, whereas we have not yet even seen the enemy. Marshals
Oudinot and Macdonald have secured victories because they had their full
complement of troops when they came to the banks of the Dvina and
Drissa.’
“Then the Emperor called for Baron Larrey, but as he was not to be
found, Dr. Paulet, the head of the Ambulance Corps, presented himself
instead. Napoleon asked him—
“‘For how many wounded have you bandages ready?’
“‘Ten thousand,’ replied the doctor.
“‘And about how many days does it take to heal a wound?’
“‘About thirty,’ answered the doctor.
“‘If that is so,’ replied the Emperor, ‘you cannot even give assistance
to four hundred men! We shall want many more than that!’
“There was a low murmur in the crowd, and some one remarked, ‘I wonder
how many he thinks there will be killed?’
“Napoleon must have heard the remark, but he paid no attention. He
continued his cross-examination of the doctor, and asked him, ‘Where are
the ambulance and medical stores?’
“‘They were left at Vilna for want of means of transport.’
“‘So the army is entirely unprovided with medicine,’ cried Napoleon,
‘and if I wanted physic I should have to go without it?’
“‘Your Majesty has your own private medical stores,’ replied the doctor.
“This made the Emperor very angry. ‘I am the first soldier in the army,’
he said, raising his voice, ‘and I have a right to be attended to in the
army hospital.’ Then he asked where the chief dispenser was. He was told
at Vilna.
“‘What!’ cried Napoleon. ‘One of the chief medical officers absent from
the army! Let him be sent back to Paris to peddle his drugs to the women
of the Rue St. Honoré! Appoint some one else in his place, and let the
whole medical service rejoin the army.’”
The army did not meet with the same enthusiastic reception at Vitebsk as
at Vilna. The inhabitants treated the French not as liberators, but as
conquerors. Evidently Lithuania was not particularly well pleased at the
prospect of re-union with its native Poland, for the disposition of the
inhabitants was by no means friendly.
Napoleon made great efforts to impress the Lithuanians. In a single
audience he would discourse upon religion and the drama, war and the
arts. He rode about at all hours of the day or night, giving orders to
build a bridge here, and a bastion there, and on the eve of an
engagement he would appear at a ball or a concert. He evidently did his
best to astonish the natives by his versatility.
As the Russians had left Vilna and it was impossible to overtake them,
Napoleon returned to this town on July 28.
According to Ségur, when he entered his head-quarters he took off his
sword, threw it on the table, which was covered with maps and plans, and
said in a loud voice, “Here I am, and here I shall stay! I shall look
about me, complete my army, give it a rest, and organize Poland. The
campaign of 1812 is at an end; that of 1813 will do the rest!” Orders
were given to provision the army for thirty-six days, and extensive
plans were announced. Napoleon did not neglect amusements; actors were
to be brought from Paris to Vitebsk for a winter season, and as the town
was empty the audience was to be drawn from Warsaw and Vilna.
“Murat,” said the French Emperor, turning to the King of Naples, “the
first Russian campaign is over. We will plant our standards here. Two
broad rivers outline our position; we will build block-houses along this
natural entrenchment, commanded by artillery in every direction. We will
form a square with guns at the angles and on each front, and within this
square we will build our barracks and magazines. The year 1813 will see
us in Moscow; 1814 in St. Petersburg—the war with Russia shall be a
three years’ war!”
On the same day he turned to one of the principal civil officials
attached to the army and said, “As for you, my dear sir, you must see
that we are properly provisioned, for we must not repeat the mistake of
Charles XII.”
It was at this very time that Napoleon received news that peace had been
concluded between Russia and the Porte. “The Turks,” he said, “will pay
dearly for their mistake. It is such a foolish one that I did not even
foresee it.”
Recognizing that the advance of the Russian army of Moldavia on his rear
had now become both possible and probable, he began to think that
perhaps it would be as well to destroy the two Russian armies in front
of him, and that the sooner this was effected the better. These and
other circumstances caused him to alter his views. He was no longer
convinced that his wisest course was to stay at Vitebsk, and he became
at once anxious and irresolute.
For a solution of his doubts he would appeal in broken phrases to
intimates whom he met as he went about. “_Eh, bien_, what are we to do?
eh? Shall we stay where we are, or go on? Is it right to stop half-way?”
Then without waiting for an answer, he would go on as if looking for
somebody or something that would settle the question for him. Brooding
over these questions, not daring to make up his mind, he would fling
himself on his bed in nothing but his shirt, overpowered by the heat and
his anxiety.
In this way he passed the greater part of his time at Vitebsk. Meanwhile
the advantages of a forward movement appealed to him more and more
strongly.
“If we stay in Vitebsk,” he argued, “we must make up our minds to die a
lingering death of _ennui_ during the seven long winter months! I, who
have always been the first to attack, obliged to stand on the defensive!
Shame and dishonour await me. All Europe will say, ‘He stayed at Vitebsk
because he _dared_ not advance!’ Am I to give Russia time to arm? And
how long am I to put up with this uncertainty, which is undermining my
reputation for invincibility, already shaken by the resistance of Spain?
What will the world think when it learns that, what with the sick and
those who have fallen behind or disappeared, I have lost a third of my
army? I must dazzle the eyes of the nations with the glamour of a
brilliant success—the laurels of victory will cover a multitude of
losses.”
Napoleon began to find at last that Vitebsk promised nothing but
misfortune and loss, with all the discomforts and anxieties of standing
on the defensive; while Moscow on the other hand offered the most signal
advantages—provisions, money contributions, glory, and, last but not
least, peace!
[Illustration: A DISPATCH.]
But the more resolutely the Emperor wished to act, the more obtrusive
were the prevailing signs of discouragement and discontent. After two
weeks of rest the soldiers began to complain that they had gone too far
already, and that the prospects of war were gloomy. They abused
everything that tended to prolong the campaign, and approved of
everything that might possibly shorten it.
The Emperor, who wished at any cost to secure general approval of his
plans, even from those who did not as a rule give expression to their
views, called a council of the principal officers of the army, and his
colleagues were invited—perhaps for the first time in their lives—to
speak their minds freely.
“The more vigour the enemy displays,” he said to the marshals and
generals who surrounded him, “the less ought we to slacken in our
attack. We must not give these Oriental fanatics time to gather together
against us from their remotest wilds. How can we go into winter quarters
in July? And what sense is there,” he asked, “in breaking up a campaign
like this into several parts?” forgetful of his own recent advocacy of
the opposite view. “Be assured, gentlemen, that I have pondered deeply
over the question. Our troops are always ready to advance, an offensive
war is a war after their own hearts, whereas a long stay in one place is
not acceptable to the French temperament. To shelter ourselves behind
frozen rivers, sit in mud huts and endure privation and _ennui_ for
eight months, with daily manœuvres and never a step in advance—is that
the style of warfare we are accustomed to? The winter has other terrors
than its frosts. It may bring with it endless diplomatic intrigues. Is
it safe, think you, to give all these allies—whom we have successfully
won over to our side, but who feel strangely out of place, I doubt not,
in our ranks—to give them time, I say, to realize how unnatural is their
position?
“Why should we remain inactive for eight months when we can attain our
end in twenty days? Let us forestall the winter! We run the risk of
losing all if we do not strike a swift and decisive blow. If we are not
in Moscow in twenty days, it is possible we shall never get there at
all. If peace be signed at Moscow, I shall have won the best and most
glorious of all my victories!”
It was, however, already too late in the year, and the marshals were of
opinion that further advance was out of the question. Berthier, Prince
of Neufchâtel, was so bold as to urge this fact upon the Emperor, and to
explain his reasons. The Emperor gave him a very warm reception.
“Begone!” he said. “I have no need of you, you are only a ——. Go back
home! I will keep no one with me against his will.”
Berthier, however, endeavoured to dissuade Napoleon from the decision he
had arrived at, not by argument but by an appealing glance; there seemed
almost to be tears in his eyes. Lobau and Caulaincourt tried to
influence him by more open opposition, which took the form of bluntness
with the former and persistence with the latter. The Emperor angrily
swept all their opinions and advice on one side, and replied with the
remark, aimed more particularly at Caulaincourt and Berthier, that he
had made his generals too rich. “They can think of nothing but hunting
and driving about Paris in expensive carriages—they are sick of the very
name of war.”
To Duroc, who also opposed him, the Emperor replied that he was
perfectly well aware that the Russians were trying to lure him on, but
he must get to Smolensk at any cost. There he would go into winter
quarters, and in the spring of 1813, if Russia did not end the war, he
would end Russia. “Smolensk,” he said, “was the key to two roads, the
road to St. Petersburg and the road to Moscow; and they must seize it
because they would then be able to attack both capitals at once—to
destroy the one and preserve the other.” Caulaincourt remarked that
peace would be no nearer at Smolensk or Moscow than it was at Vitebsk,
and that to advance so far, relying upon the fidelity of the Prussians,
was the height of rashness. When the Emperor asked Count Daru for his
opinion, he replied that it was not a popular war, and that neither the
importation of English goods nor the restoration of Poland was a
sufficient justification for so distant a campaign. “Neither we nor our
troops can see the necessity or object of it, and everything points to
the advisability of stopping where we are.”
“Great heavens!” cried the Emperor; “do they think that I am out of my
mind? Do they imagine that this war gives me any pleasure? I have always
said that the Spanish and Russian wars are the two sores that are
sucking away the life of France, and that they are more than she can
bear at once. I wish for peace, but in order to enter upon preliminaries
there must be two sides, whereas there is but one at present—for
Alexander has not vouchsafed two words as yet. What good can we expect
from staying at Vitebsk? True, the position is bounded by two rivers,
but in winter there are no rivers in this country; they will be merely
imaginary lines. Here we shall want for everything, and shall have to
buy whatever we need; whereas in Moscow there is plenty to be had for
nothing. I might of course retire to Vilna, but even if provisions could
more easily be obtained at Vilna, defence is more difficult, and for
real safety we should have to retreat beyond the Niemen, which means the
abandonment of Lithuania. On the other hand, if I advance to Smolensk I
shall either secure a decisive victory or a strong position on the
Dnieper.
“If we were always to wait for the most favourable combination of
circumstances no enterprise would ever be undertaken. There can be no
end without a beginning—there never was an enterprise in which
everything fitted in perfectly, for chance plays a leading part in all
the affairs of men. Obedience to rule does not ensure success, but
success on the other hand furnishes a canon of conduct, and if this
campaign be successful, these new triumphs will doubtless give new
guidance for the future.
“No blood has as yet been spilled, but Russia is too great to yield
without a struggle. Alexander could not come to terms, even if he would,
except after a serious defeat. I will inflict that defeat, cost what it
may, and if need be, I will follow it up by advancing to their sacred
city. I am confident that peace awaits me at the gates of Moscow. Even
if Alexander remains obdurate, I will win over the nobles and the
inhabitants of the city to my side. They will know their own individual
interest best, they will recognize the value of liberty.” “Moscow,” he
added, “hates St. Petersburg, and I intend to avail myself of their
rivalry—the consequences of their mutual jealousy may prove
incalculable.”
Such, according to Ségur, and others, was the line of reasoning adopted
by Napoleon, who inclined more and more strongly to an immediate advance
on Moscow. Sebastiani’s disaster at Incova at last furnished him with a
definite excuse for advancing. The Russian cavalry utterly routed the
opposing French horse, and the dash and daring of the attack compelled
the Emperor to seek some opportunity of retrieving the disaster by a
decisive victory.
Napoleon’s want of decision at this moment was, however, reflected in
the movements of the French army, and the well-conceived plan of
separating the two Russian armies and destroying each of them in detail
was never carried out.
The great efforts of the Russians to effect a speedy junction helped to
upset the invader’s plans. Every man in Russia, from the Emperor to the
last recruit, believed that if the armies were once united, not only
would they cease their retrograde movement, but they would be able to
fall upon the enemy, who had already over-reached himself by penetrating
too far into the country. As a matter of fact the Russian
Commander-in-chief had no intention of assuming the offensive against
such overwhelming forces.
The account given by Dumas, General-Intendant of the French army, throws
valuable light upon this point. He says that one of the officers spent
three months in Memel on terms of intimacy with Barclay-de-Tolly, who
was brought there after receiving a terrible wound at Eylau. The officer
in question clearly recollected the details of the plan of “successive
retreats” “by which the Russian general hoped to lure the formidable
French army into the very heart of Russia, if possible beyond the
Moskva; to wear it out, separate it as far as possible from its base of
operations, and tempt it to waste its ammunition and provisions. At the
same time he proposed carefully to nurse the Russian forces until the
frosts came to their aid and the time was ripe for commencing offensive
operations, and subjecting Napoleon to a second Pultava on the banks of
the Volga. This grim programme was but too faithfully executed.”
Napoleon was aware that he was being “lured on,” as he called it; but,
as we have already seen, he could not refrain from advancing, if not to
Moscow, at any rate to Smolensk. He moved on, therefore, to the latter
town, still adding to the list of so-called “victories” chronicled in
his bulletins.
These bulletins were the more credible, inasmuch as the Russian plan of
retreat lent them a sort of colour. The French were always advancing and
the Russians always retreating; the inference was of course that the
former were gaining a series of victories. Even Neverofsky’s exploit is
described in Bulletin XVII. as an “engagement in which the advantage
rested with the French.” The “engagement” really amounted to
this—Neverofsky’s division, while hurriedly withdrawing towards
Smolensk, was overtaken by Murat and surrounded by thirty regiments of
cavalry, together with Nansouty’s and Grouchy’s army corps and the Light
Brigade. Finding himself in this dangerous position, the Russian general
formed square, and continued his retreat in that order. The French
cavalry, though they fell upon the little detachment on every side,
found it impossible to break through, even after forty attacks.
The French surrounded the Russians so closely that they were able to
exchange words with them, and Murat more than once called upon
Neverofsky to surrender. He only managed, however, to capture seven
Russian guns, and Napoleon greeted him with the remark, not unmerited,
that he should have brought back “not only those wretched guns, but a
whole Russian division as well.”
[Illustration: RUSSIAN GRENADIERS.]
At Smolensk Napoleon spent an evening in personally questioning
prisoners, and in congratulating himself on the fact that he had at last
come up with the Russian army. He attacked it, however, in front,
instead of outflanking it and falling on its rear. He might have made a
demonstration before the city with a strong detachment, and meanwhile
sent the main body of the army to the right over the Dnieper to attack
the left flank of the Russians defending the town, for Napoleon’s army
was so numerous that he could well afford to divide his forces. It is
said that he did in fact intend to cut off Prince Bagration, but could
not find the ford over the river.
The French censure Marshal Davout for the fearful losses sustained at
Smolensk, holding that these sacrifices were due to his want of
foresight. They blame Napoleon, moreover, almost unanimously, for
failing to surround the Russians. “In storming the fortifications of
Smolensk,” says the author of the _Letters on the Russian Campaign of
1812_, “when he might have contented himself with surrounding the city
and cannonading it, he committed a mistake. In allowing the Polish
infantry to be cut to pieces so near their own country, he made a second
mistake. In advancing into a huge and resourceless country at the
beginning of winter, he fell into a third and far more serious error.”
After the battle of Smolensk Napoleon was seen riding over the field and
rubbing his hands with an air of glee. “Five Russians,” he said, “for
every Frenchman!” This, however, was not the fact, for the French lost
not 8000 as they said, but nearer 20,000. Bourgeois admits a loss,
besides 6000 killed, of 10,000 wounded, though according to the usual
ratio the number of wounded would be still greater. He puts the Russian
loss at the same number, not more. This is not surprising, in view of
the fact that the Russians were fighting under cover, while the French
were attacking in the open, and were several times repulsed.
Russian authorities, on the other hand, admit that our losses at
Smolensk filled many of our countrymen with dismay, although they had
hitherto looked upon the invasion with the utmost indifference. The
scenes of terror and desolation presented by the interior of the town
were fearful in the extreme. Some of the streets were literally burned
to cinders, and the roadway filled with dead and dying, many of whom
were half-consumed by the flames.
When Napoleon, from the old tower on the city walls, surveyed the
position that had been occupied by the Russian army on the previous day,
he perceived that Barclay-de-Tolly was no longer there—he had again
escaped! Napoleon had failed in his endeavour to annihilate the Russian
army, and the capture of a city in ashes did not represent the final
paralyzing blow which could justify his losses in the eyes of Europe.
The French Emperor already appreciated the necessity of lowering his
haughty Dresden tone, and took every opportunity of throwing oil on the
troubled waters that threatened to engulf him. The letter sent by
Marshal Berthier to Barclay-de-Tolly under the specious pretext of
offering his sympathy and condolence, but serving as a matter of fact to
cloak an attempt to open indirect overtures, contained the following
passage—“The Emperor, to whom I have communicated the contents of this
letter, desires me, Monsieur le Baron, to beg you to convey the
assurance of his respect to the Emperor Alexander if he is still with
the army. Pray tell him that the sentiment of esteem and friendship
which the Emperor Napoleon entertains towards him will be impaired
neither by the vicissitudes of warfare nor by any other circumstances.”
These tentative approaches did not elicit any reply. Napoleon then
availed himself of the first convenient opportunity that occurred to
mention his peaceful inclinations and intentions to his prisoner,
General Tutshkof, begging him to communicate them to his brother,
another general in the Russian army. “It was not I that began the war,”
he said. “Why do the Russians retreat? Why have they abandoned Smolensk
to me? There is nothing I desire so heartily as peace.” He also begged
Tutshkof to mention that the Commander-in-Chief was wrong in carrying
all the civic functionaries away with him. He invited Tutshkof to
constitute a sort of tribunal of arbitration to decide which of the
contending parties had more chance of victory, and if that question was
decided in favour of the Russians, to appoint a rendezvous for a battle;
if for the French, then why shed blood in vain, and why not discuss
terms and conclude peace? It was also through Berthier that he called
upon the Emperor Alexander to instruct the governors not to leave their
posts.
Such overtures could not of course be expected to have any result; their
only justification is to be sought in the pitiable frame of mind to
which Napoleon was then reduced. He began to realize how gigantic was
the enterprise he had undertaken—an enterprise that grew in magnitude
the further he advanced. He was now dealing with a nation in arms—with a
second Spain, but more powerful, more remote, vaster in extent, and more
unproductive.... The name of Charles XII., we are told, was at this time
always on his lips.
Murat was once heard to say to Napoleon, “If the Russians refuse to give
battle it is not worth while to pursue them; it is time to stop.” The
Emperor answered him with some warmth; though what he said is not known.
It was, however, subsequently understood from the King of Naples’ own
lips that he went on his knees to his brother-in-law, and implored him
to stop. Napoleon, however, would hear of no halt short of Moscow, which
held everything that was dear to him—honour, glory, and repose. “Every
one remarked,” says Ségur, “that when Murat left Napoleon after his
interview his face wore an expression of deep affliction, and his
gestures were excited and abrupt—he repeatedly uttered the words, ‘Oh,
ce Moscou!’”
So soon as he made up his mind to advance, Napoleon again acquired
complete command over himself. He became cheerful and tranquil, as was
usual when he had definitely settled upon any project. After the battle
of Zabolotye—or Valutina, as the French called it—he said: “We have come
too far to retire; if I thought of glory alone I should return to
Smolensk, plant my standard there, and treat the town as my own. The
campaign would be ended, although not the war. Peace lies before us—we
are only eight days’ march from it. Shall we hesitate now that we are so
near our goal? _En avant!_ to Moscow!”
The best answer to this resolve was given in one of the Emperor
Alexander’s proclamations—“He threatens to march on Moscow—let him do
so. Even if he is victorious he will still share the fate of Charles
XII.”
Napoleon himself was far from feeling the confidence which he
endeavoured to inspire into others. For instance, in writing to Marshal
Victor from Smolensk he said—“It may be that I shall not find peace
where I seek it; in that case I shall be able to retire under cover of
your reserves steadily and without precipitation.”
If one compare the words of Napoleon at the beginning of the campaign,
when his intention was to remain at Vitebsk, or even at Smolensk, with
what he said when his decision to march on Moscow was irrevocable, one
is struck with wonderment at the total change of ideas, and at the
irresistible impulse of which he was the victim.
We have already mentioned the plan sketched out by Barclay-de-Tolly as
to the best method of carrying on the war in Russia. Barclay was not the
only person to recognize the weak spot in Napoleon’s genius.
When the storm first began to gather, Tczernicheff, the military agent,
pointed out with remarkable penetration both the French Emperor’s
probable course of procedure and the best way of replying to his
intended moves.
“The preparations for the war are complete,” he wrote to the Minister of
War at St. Petersburg in 1811. “The Emperor Napoleon’s animosity against
us increases day by day, and if this autumn does not see us at war it
will only be because the season is late, and Napoleon, taking a lesson
from the Pultusk campaign, will perhaps be afraid of the marshes of
Poland. They would of course hinder him in his plans, which are no doubt
to end the campaign in one lightning stroke, as he has done in all
preceding wars.
“Accepting the conclusion that hostilities are unavoidable, we must make
every preparation, not only for withstanding the first shock, but for
prolonging the war as much as possible. Experience tells us that this is
the only method by which we can hope for success against Napoleon; and
it also tells us that he has always been embarrassed and led into
mistakes of strategy when he has met with prolonged resistance. This is
the course which our Government should adopt, in this difficult and
critical situation. It is the only course that offers any hope of final
triumph over the world’s oppressor.
“The proper way to conduct this war, in my opinion, is to avoid a
general engagement and to conform as far as possible to the guerilla
tactics adopted against the French troops in Spain, so as to gradually
demoralize them, and reduce by starvation the enormous forces they will
bring against us.”
The advice given by Marshal Bernadotte, who was at that time King of
Sweden, is also interesting:—“In the position in which Russia stands
towards France, it is to her advantage to prolong the war, because it is
in her power to do so, but not in Napoleon’s. One ought to depend as
little as possible upon chance. It is therefore essential to avoid big
battles and endeavour to reduce the war to a series of petty skirmishes.
You must have plenty of Cossacks. You must capture Napoleon’s baggage
and cut off his supplies. Even if you have to retire behind the Dvina,
nay, behind the Neva, so long as you continue to offer a stubborn
resistance everything will turn out well, and Napoleon will meet at the
hands of Alexander with the fate meted out to Charles XII. by Peter the
Great.
“Napoleon neglects nothing that can conduce to success; but his means
are already exhausted, and he cannot stand a two years’ war. He lacks
men, money, and horses for such an undertaking; and the further he
advances the worse he will fare. But of course it would be best if such
extremities could be avoided, for the provinces will suffer severely,
and the reverses that may be expected in the early part of the campaign
will produce a bad impression.”
In spite of these prudent counsels, we were all but hoist with our own
petard at Drissa. Nevertheless, looking back, we may now say that it was
a good thing for Russia that we were obliged to retire behind the Dvina,
inasmuch as we should otherwise have had great difficulty in coping with
our opponents.
Napoleon marched straight on Moscow. In passing through Viazma he came
upon signs of want of discipline that made him furious. He rode into a
crowd of soldiers; struck some of them, knocked others down with his
horse, and ordered a canteen-keeper to be arrested, tried, and shot. But
they allowed the poor wretch to kneel in the road, surrounded by a
fictitious family group consisting of a woman and a few borrowed
children, when the Emperor was passing by, and this stratagem saved his
life. Fezensac mentions it—“In passing through the little town of
Viazma, Napoleon came upon some soldiers who had looted a wine-cellar.
He flew into an ungovernable passion, charged down upon them, and began
abusing them and hitting right and left with his riding-whip. The
impossibility of catching up the Russian army, and the devastations they
had made on our line of march, angered him so much that he fell foul of
everybody he came across.”[4]
* * * * *
Prince Kutuzof had been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Russian
army, and Napoleon hastened to gather all possible information as to his
new opponent. He was described to him as “an old man who had originally
attracted notice by virtue of a most interesting and unusual wound.”
From that time he had made the most of his opportunities. Even the
defeat which he had suffered at Austerlitz, and which he had foretold,
served only to raise his reputation. But it was exalted still higher by
the last campaign against the Turks. There was no doubt that he was a
man of parts, but he was accused of attending too closely to his own
interest, and having an eye to some personal end in all his actions. He
was, further, a man of phlegmatic and unforgiving character, and above
all of great cunning—in fact a thorough Tartar—rather a courtier than a
general, but redoubtable on account of his reputation. To the Russians
his person, his conversation, his dress, and, last but not least, his
superstitions and even his age, recalled Suvoroff and the Russia of the
days of Catharine the Great—a fact that endeared him to his
fellow-countrymen. In Moscow the popular enthusiasm aroused by his
appointment was so great that the people exchanged congratulatory
embraces in the streets. All were confident that the new
Commander-in-Chief would, by hook or by crook, prove more than a match
for Napoleon.
The arrival of Kutuzof at head-quarters created an excellent impression
on the army, especially as the constant succession of retreats had
undermined, not to say destroyed, confidence in their commanders. The
person chiefly blamed for what was considered the cowardice of our
strategy was of course the Commander-in-Chief, a man of great talent and
intelligence, who, when once a plan of operations had been definitely
adopted, was accustomed to carry it out to the bitter end. He was
completely misunderstood by his contemporaries, including the Emperor
Alexander, who, yielding to the pressure of his _entourage_, expressed
signs of impatience, and demanded offensive tactics and immediate
victories. The impulsive Prince Bagration, who was an especially strong
advocate of the offensive, so far forgot himself as to make complaints
to the Emperor against the Commander-in-Chief. He, however, had not the
terrible responsibilities that devolved upon Barclay, and he practically
admitted in private that a decisive battle might be disastrous to
Russia. The Emperor Alexander’s Council of War might decide upon an
attack, but the Commander-in-Chief would inevitably defeat their
intentions, although he would at first pretend to share their
enthusiasm. This course of action rendered him extremely unpopular.
Kutuzof, the new Commander-in-Chief, was unwilling to endanger his
enormous popularity, and decided to accept battle, although, as a
prudent man, he was almost as strongly opposed to such a course as was
his predecessor. It cannot be denied that the selection of the plain of
Borodino for the great defensive battle was creditable both to Kutuzof
and to Colonel Tol, the head of his staff.
“On two lines,” says G. de Pimodan, “it is an extremely strong position,
and still worthy of a visit from officers of the general staff, who may
profitably study the scheme of the defences that were hastily
constructed. Their only weakness was on the left flank.”
The French army, which at the passage of the Niemen numbered 400,000
men, after comparatively insignificant losses in battle mustered no more
than 160,000 when it reached the plain of Borodino. The question
naturally arises: what had become of the 240,000 men who, even on the
admission of Bulletin XVII., were missing? Moreover, where did all the
Russian troops come from after being incessantly slaughtered by the
French, tens of thousands at a time according to Napoleon’s bulletins,
for the space of ten weeks, and after the wholesale desertions which he
chronicled?
On the day before the battle of Borodino, Napoleon, according to the
evidence of his valet, was in a perfectly tranquil state of mind. He
spoke of Russia as if it were a smiling province of France. From his
conversation it might have been supposed that the neighbourhood was a
vast granary ready-stored for the army, and offering all facilities for
the establishment of winter quarters. The first step of the new
administration which he was about to establish at Gjatsk would be the
encouragement of agriculture. He was evidently enchanted by the vistas
that opened up before him. Seldom had the Emperor appeared so much at
ease or displayed such calmness in his conversation and demeanour.
It should be mentioned that the entrenchments at Borodino were very
slight, partly on account of the haste in which they were constructed,
and partly owing to the fact that the Second Army, which constituted the
left flank, had no entrenching tools. Bayefsky’s battery, therefore, and
the entrenchments on the Semyonof heights, were far from formidable.
Scarcely anything was done to Tutshkof’s position at Utitsa owing to
want of appliances.[5]
Napoleon regarded the left flank as the weakest part of the Russian
position, and after a careful survey of the heights of Borodino he
decided to concentrate all his efforts on this point, i.e. on an attack
with his own right. Marshal Davout then requested the assistance of
Poniatowski, whose forces were too weak for independent action, to help
in outflanking the enemy. He proposed to move before daybreak with
Poniatowski’s troops and his own five divisions, numbering 35,000 men,
under cover of the woods on which the Russians were resting, get behind
them, along the old Smolensk road, and fall suddenly on the rear of the
left flank. He pointed out that while the Emperor was leading the attack
from the front, he would move rapidly from redoubt to redoubt and from
reserve to reserve, disperse any force he found on the Mozjaisk road,
annihilate the Russian army, and finish the war at a single blow.
This proposal furnished one more proof that Davout was the best
tactician of all the marshals trained in the school of Napoleon. If his
daring project had been carried out, it would most probably have thrown
the Russian army into utter confusion. But Napoleon, after listening
attentively to what the Marshal had to say, replied after a few minutes
of silent deliberation—“No, it is too unheard-of a manœuvre; it will
lead me away from my main object, and make me lose a great deal of
time.”
The Duke of Eckmühl, confident in the correctness of his views, still
persisted. According to Ségur, he undertook to execute the whole
manœuvre by six o’clock in the morning. He would answer, he said, for
the utter rout of the Russians. But Napoleon, evidently displeased at
the Marshal’s persistence, interrupted him with—“Oh, you are always
urging these flanking movements; it is too hazardous!” So Marshal Davout
said no more, and, fortunately for the Russian army, left without
gaining his point.
Kutuzof was not slow to divine the enemy’s intentions. When the battle
began, in the face of the enemy’s fire he moved Boggavut’s corps across
from the right flank, against which Prince Eugène was making an
ineffectual demonstration, to the support of the Second Army, and in his
turn alarmed the French by a movement round their left flank with
Uvarof’s cavalry and the Cossacks.
Both sides appreciated the fact that the Semyonof heights were the real
key to the position.
We must not omit to mention that throughout the night preceding the
battle Napoleon was apprehensive lest the Russian army should again
retreat. The fear of this prevented him from sleeping; he kept calling
to his attendants, asking what the time was, and whether any sound could
be heard from the Russian camp, and sending to see whether the enemy was
still in the same place. When he was reassured on this score, he began
to express anxiety for his hungry and exhausted troops—how would they
bear the shock of battle? He sent for Bessières, the Marshal in whom,
apparently, he had the greatest confidence, and inquired whether the
Guards had everything they needed. He more than once, in fact, made
inquiries on this point.
At last, still unsatisfied, he rose and asked the sentinels outside his
tent whether they had had their rations served out to them. Receiving an
affirmative answer, he lay down again and fell into a troubled sleep.
But he soon called out again. The aide-de-camp who entered found him
with his head resting on his hand. He appeared to be musing on the
vanity of human glory. Napoleon reviewed the critical situation in which
he was placed, and added—“The eventful day draws near. It will be a
terrible struggle!” Then he asked Rapp if he was confident of victory.
“Certainly,” the latter replied, “but we shall not get it without much
bloodshed.”
Once more Napoleon became restless and uneasy. Again he sent to inquire
whether the Russians were in the same position, or whether they had
slipped away. Receiving a reassuring report, he endeavoured to calm his
agitation; but the exhausting journeys he had lately performed and his
sleepless nights, together with his many cares and anxieties, had so
told upon him that as the temperature fell during the night he grew
feverish, and was seized with a dry cough and nervous irritation. During
the latter part of the night he suffered from intense thirst. And to add
to all this he was troubled by his old complaint, for on the previous
day he had had an attack of dysuria, a disease from which he had long
suffered.
Five o’clock struck at last. An officer came from Ney to report that the
Russians were in front, and requesting leave to begin the attack.
Napoleon brightened up, rose from his bed, summoned his attendants, and
issued from his tent with the words—“They are in our hands at last!
Forward! The gates of Moscow are before us!” Such is Ségur’s account.
The battle of Borodino, famous in the annals of war, had begun. The roar
of the guns, borne upon the wind, was heard eighty miles away from the
battle-field. The Emperor was seen throughout the whole day sitting or
slowly walking up and down near the landslip on the left front of the
captured Shevardino redoubt; but he could scarcely view the battle from
that place after it had been for some time in progress. He rose now and
again, walked a few paces and seated himself once more. Those who
attended him regarded him with astonishment. They were accustomed under
such circumstances to see him managing affairs with a confident and
tranquil air; but instead of this they now saw nothing but feebleness,
lethargy, and inertia. Some ascribed his want of energy to fatigue;
others thought that he was tired of everything, even of fighting, while
some suspected internal sufferings.
The last supposition was probably the correct one. Napoleon’s attendant,
Constant, positively asserts that during the whole of the battle of
Borodino he was suffering from an attack of his chronic malady. He had
contracted, moreover, some time previously a severe cold which he had
neglected, and it was rendered still worse by the anxieties of the day.
So seriously, in fact, did it affect him that he almost lost his voice.
“Napoleon never once mounted his horse,” says de la Fluse, “during the
whole of the battle. He walked about with his officers, pacing up and
down upon the same spot. It was said that his indisposition prevented
him from riding.
“His aide-de-camp was kept busy in receiving and delivering his orders.
Behind Napoleon were the Guards and a few corps in reserve. A regimental
band was playing a succession of military airs, recalling the
battle-fields of the first Revolution, such as ‘_Allons enfants de la
patrie!_’ But at Borodino these strains had no effect on the soldiers,
and some of the older officers laughed at the contrast of the two
periods. The panorama of a bloody battle was spread before our eyes, but
we could see nothing, owing to the smoke of a thousand guns thundering
without a pause. I got as close as I could to the Emperor, who kept
looking through his glass at the field of battle. He was dressed in his
grey overcoat, and spoke but little. When a cannon-ball rolled towards
his feet, as sometimes happened, he stepped on one side just like the
rest of us.”
By three o’clock in the afternoon the French had captured the redoubt on
the Semyonof heights, but the Russian army, far from taking to flight,
had no intention even of retiring. Napoleon, aghast at the unprecedented
losses of men, officers, and generals, put a stop to any further attack,
and, in spite of all representations, refused to allow the reserves to
be used for a final decisive assault.
[Illustration: AT BORODINO.]
The marshals sent General Belliard for assistance. The general declared
that from the position they occupied they could see the whole of the
Mozjaisk road, covered with men and wagons in full retreat, that nothing
was needed but one vigorous onset to finally crush the Russian army. The
Emperor wavered and hesitated; then he bade the general return and
report again.
Belliard rode off in some surprise, and soon returned with the news that
the enemy was apparently rallying, that the opportunity for the decisive
blow was passing, and that if they did not strike at once a second
battle would be needed to decide the first. Bessières, however, returned
at this moment from the hills to which he had been sent by Napoleon to
inspect the Russian position. He insisted that the Russians, far from
retreating in disorder, had only retired to their second position, and
were actually preparing to attack. Then the Emperor informed Belliar
that it was not yet clear what had happened; that before making up his
mind to allow his last reserves to be brought into action he wished to
be more certain regarding the position of the pieces on his chess-board.
He repeated this phrase several times.
Belliard returned completely dumfoundered to Murat and the other
Marshals, who were impatiently awaiting reinforcements, and informed
them that they were not forthcoming. “He had found the Emperor still at
the same spot, evidently in pain, and in a state of despondency; his
features were downcast, his eyes dull and heavy, and he gave his orders
in a listless way.
“Every one was surprised. Ney, in an access of ungovernable temper, said
bluntly, ‘What is the meaning of this? Have we come out here for the
pleasure of taking the plain? What is the Emperor doing in the rear?
There he can only see the reverses and not the successes. If he does not
mean to lead the army himself, if he has ceased to be a general and is
playing at Emperor, let him return to the Tuileries, and leave the
command in our hands!’”
Daru, in his turn, was instigated by Dumas and Berthier to whisper to
the Emperor that the universal cry was, “Now is the time for the Guards
to attack!” But Napoleon answered, “And if I have to fight a second
battle to-morrow, what troops shall I have to fight it with?”
Napoleon’s sufferings were evidently increasing; it was as much as he
could do to mount his horse and ride at a foot pace to the Semyonof
hills. He saw that he was far from being master of the field of battle;
that it was still disputed by the cannon-balls, and even the
rifle-bullets, of the enemy.
Murat declared that he saw none of the genius of Napoleon displayed on
this momentous day, and Prince Eugène, the Viceroy, admitted that he
could not understand his adopted father’s indecision. When Ney was
appealed to for his opinion he was so angry that he recommended retreat.
The whole of the French army was disappointed with the result of the
battle, and with the want of energy displayed by Napoleon. Bessières was
especially blamed; for, at the critical moment, when the Emperor was on
the point of making up his mind to let the reserves be brought into
action, the Marshal approached him and whispered in his ear—“Sire, do
not forget that you are eight hundred leagues from your capital.”
There are, however, some who take the opposite view. Chambrey, for
instance, assures us that “the whole of the French army was astonished
at the stubbornness with which this terrible battle was fought,” and
Gourgot, in defending Napoleon, goes so far as to say, “If the ranks of
the Guards had been thinned at the battle of Borodino, the remains of
the French army, of which it was the pillar and pride during the
retreat, would hardly have managed to reach the Niemen.”
Of the Russian authorities, some find fault with Napoleon, and others
are of opinion that he adopted the only possible course. “Nothing,” says
Buturlin, “can justify Napoleon’s course in stopping the fight at three
o’clock when a little further effort might have ensured a victory. The
last Russian reserves had already gone into action, while on the side of
the French neither the Old Guard nor the Young, nor any of their
cavalry, amounting to over 20,000 men, had taken any part in the battle.
There is no doubt that if Napoleon had made use of the twenty-three
battalions and twenty-seven squadrons of which this select force
consisted, he would have utterly routed the Russians, and compelled them
to spend the remaining four hours of the day in continual retreat
instead of preparing for attack.”
Danilevsky asserts that the French, after occupying the redoubt on the
Semyonof hills, so far from pressing the Russians, who had fallen back
on another position in the immediate neighbourhood, withdrew all along
the line for the night; and reminds his readers of the fact, that until
eleven o’clock on the following day the French made no attempt to renew
the assault, but awaited an attack on the part of the Russians, and only
advanced at last when their opponents began to retire.[6] He expresses
an opinion that for Napoleon’s refusal to use the Young Guard to support
the cavalry in breaking through our left flank, our army was indebted to
the movement made on the left by Uvarof’s cavalry,—that is to say, to a
movement ordered by Kutuzof himself. We may add that neither Uvarof nor
the Cossacks did all that might have been expected from them. Had the
latter attacked the French more boldly in the rear, plundered their
baggage, and generally caused confusion in that quarter, as they had
every opportunity of doing, Napoleon would in all likelihood have had to
send his reserves not to the front but to the rear; and the result would
probably have been to demoralize, and perhaps to spread panic throughout
the whole of the French army.
Many incline to Marshal Davout’s opinion, which we have already
mentioned, that Napoleon could have made much more certain of victory
if, instead of attacking the Russian left, he had made a strong
demonstration there, and sent a large force on to the old Smolensk road
to support Poniatowski against Tutshkof. He would certainly have been
enabled to fall on the rear of the Russian army, which, being thus cut
off from Mozjaisk and cornered between the rivers Kolotsha and Moskva,
would have been in a very critical position.
It was at first Prince Kutuzof’s intention to accept battle on the
following day in the position which the Russian army then occupied. But
the reports sent in at night by the commanders of the various army corps
as to the disordered condition of the different divisions, and above all
as to the scantiness of ammunition, caused him to change his plans.
Grabbe was sent that night to the First Army with orders to retire. Deep
silence, he says, reigned at the village of Gorki. When he had found the
cottage in which Barclay-de-Tolly was quartered, he obtained a candle
with much difficulty and entered the parlour where the general was
asleep on the floor, side by side with his aides-de-camps and orderlies.
He gently awakened him, gave him the note which he had brought with him,
and explained his mission. The general leaped to his feet, and, probably
for the first time in his life, there burst from his lips, generally so
mild and gentle, a torrent of bitter invective against Benigsen, whom,
for some reason or other, he took to be the principal author of the
decision to retreat.
The Russian army began once more to retreat, and the French to advance.
The French had therefore nominally won the battle.
“Monsieur L’Evêque,” writes Napoleon to the Bishop of Metz, “the passage
of the Niemen, of the Dvina and the Dnieper, and the battles of Mohilef,
Drissa, Polotsk, Smolensk, and lastly of Moskva [Borodino], call for
thanksgiving to the God of Might. We desire that on receipt of this
letter you will make the necessary arrangements. Summon my people to the
churches and sing praises unto the Almighty according to the forms laid
down by the Church for such occasions.
“In sending you this letter, I pray the Lord that, etc.
“_Given in our Imperial Quarters in Mozjaisk, 10th September, 1812._