In accordance with these instructions, the Bishop of Metz issued the
following proclamation:—
“Claudius Ignatius Laurent, by the Grace of God, Bishop of Metz,
General Administrator of the District, and Baron of the Empire, to the
clergy and to all true sons of the District of Metz, greeting.
“BELOVED BRETHREN,
“The whole universe now gazes in profound wonder upon new exploits
and new triumphs yet more glorious than those that have hitherto
filled us with astonishment. Napoleon has once more shown himself a
veritable Titan, capable of the most gigantic achievements. His
victorious phalanxes have swept like eagles from the mouth of the
Guadalquivir to the sources of the Volga. No longer shall the Northern
barbarians trample on the blessed valleys of the South; the glorious
warrior of the West is driving the common foe before him to the
ice-bound regions of the Pole.
“For more than a century have the presumptuous dwellers of the
hyperborean shores, relying on a reputation they have ill deserved,
menaced and intimidated the humble and confiding monarchs of civilized
Europe. Long time, too long indeed, have they lent the hireling aid of
their would-be invincible legions, to nations whom it was their aim
thereafter to subdue, and whom they have set in arms one against
another, only to break faith with their kings and lead them astray
into difficulties from which there was no escape. He whom the Creator,
the God of War, hath chosen to root out all manner of crafty cunning,
to break the spells of witchcraft, to humble the proud, to cast down
earthly idols, to triumph over the kings of the nations and subdue
their chief cities, he has seen, beloved brethren, that the time has
come to humble their intolerable pride and arrogance, and to show to
all men that these savage warriors are no more invincible in their
native steppes than in the valleys of Helvetia, or the plains of
Poland and Moldavia.
“What the mind hath conceived, that the hand hath performed. Though
few be the months that have passed, the rapidity of our successes and
the splendour of our victories fill the whole world with astonishment.
“The immortal instrument by whom these wonders have been worked, he
himself marvels, it would seem, at his own successes. He humbly
acknowledges that it is the right hand of God, and not his own, that
triumphs over the enemy who has summoned him to the fight.
“On the field of battle, in the midst of his victories, he is the
first to raise the hymn of thanksgiving, and, from the ends of the
earth, where he is now contending with the foe, he calls upon the
pastors of his realm to summon the people to the churches, and join
him in singing praises unto the Lord, in gratitude for His victories.
Who is so proud that he will not bow down before the Most High when
the victor, who casteth down the thrones of kings, himself falls at
the throne of the Lord who giveth as He will, victory or defeat, life
or death, peace or war?
“Never, my brethren, has Napoleon the Great missed any occasion of
proclaiming these eternal truths whenever he has achieved one of his
wondrous victories. The joyful epistle which his Imperial and Royal
Majesty has graciously vouchsafed to us is a convincing testimony of
the depth of his religious faith.
“Let us give thanks to the Fountain of these great mercies even as our
most gracious Emperor lays his triumphs at the feet of the Almighty,
the Lord of heaven and earth.
“And to this end that the praiseworthy intentions of our most august
Emperor and King may be worthily fulfilled, we, having duly considered
the matter, do hereby order and command....”
It is admitted on all hands that the French losses at Borodino were
quite as great as the Russian, namely, about 50,000. Ségur puts them at
40,000. Dumas says that “the losses were beyond calculation.” At about
nine o’clock in the evening Napoleon summoned Daru and Dumas. His camp
was in the middle of a square formed by the Guards. “He had only just
supped,” says Dumas, “and was sitting all alone. He made one of us sit
on his right, and the other on his left. After questioning us as to the
arrangements made for giving assistance to the wounded, he began to talk
of the result of the battle. Then, after dozing in his chair for about
five minutes, he gave himself a shake, and began talking again. ‘People
are surprised, I dare say,’ he said, ‘that I did not let my reserves be
used in order to secure a more decisive result; but you see I was
obliged to save them for the final blow which we must deal before we can
enter Moscow. The success of the day was certain; I had to think of the
issue of the campaign—that is why I kept the Guards out of action.’”
Napoleon attempted the same night to resume his routine work which had
been interrupted for five days. But his voice failed him, and he could
neither converse nor dictate. He was obliged to have recourse to the
assistance of the pen, writing his orders on scraps of paper. His
secretaries and all the members of his staff who could be of any
assistance copied them out as fast as they could. Count Daru and the
Prince of Neufchâtel set to work with the others; but the Emperor’s
handwriting was extremely difficult to decipher, for he was writing at
the rate of an order a minute. He would frequently rap on the table as a
sign to remove the papers which were accumulating in great piles.
Twelve long hours were spent in this work. Not a sound was to be heard
but the scratching of Napoleon’s pen and the rapping of his hammer.
* * * * *
The French army at last approached Moscow. Napoleon, who had been
previously seated in a carriage, mounted his horse when half-way through
the last march.
In the distance, through a cloud of dust, could be seen the long columns
of Russian cavalry retiring in good order before the French troops. At
last a number of towers came into view, with golden domes glittering in
the sun—a vast city lay before the advancing host, and the van of the
army, in a transport of enthusiasm, cried, “Moscow! Moscow at last!” The
cry was taken up by the whole army; officers and men clambered on to the
heights in order to gaze at the famous city, destined perhaps to be the
new boundary of the French Empire.
Napoleon feasted his eyes upon the spectacle from the Pilgrim’s
Hill—Poklonnaya Gorà. Behind him was a group of delighted marshals.
To the left and right they could see Prince Eugène and Poniatowski
approaching the city. In front, on the high-road, Murat and his scouts
had almost reached the suburbs; but still no deputation of the
inhabitants came out to meet them. It was afternoon, but Moscow gave no
sign of life; it was like a city of the dead. Those officers who had
already been in the city reported that Moscow was deserted! But for a
long time no one dared to communicate these tidings to Napoleon; all
feared an outburst of the Emperor’s fury. When Napoleon was at last
informed of the condition of the city he flatly refused to believe the
report. Then he mounted his horse and rode up to the Dorogomilof gate.
He gave orders that the strictest discipline should be observed,
clinging to the hope that the rumour would prove to be untrue. Perhaps
these people did not know the proper mode of surrendering. The whole
situation was new to them; the French and their ways must be as strange
to the Russians as they and their ways were to the French. But every
fresh report confirmed the alarming news; doubt was no longer possible.
Napoleon summoned Daru—“Moscow is deserted! The thing is preposterous!
Ride into the place and find the boyards.”
Daru, however, was unsuccessful in his mission, for there was not a
boyard in the city. There was no smoke from the chimneys—not a sign of
habitation; unbroken silence brooded over the vast city.
But Napoleon insisted; he still waited and hoped. At last one of the
officers, evidently willing to oblige at any cost, rode in, seized a few
vagrants in the streets and drove them out before him—as a deputation.
Rostopchin says that the deputation consisted of some twelve men clad in
the worst of garments; the civic authorities, nobility, clergy, and
principal merchants were represented on this solemn occasion by a simple
type-setter. Napoleon saw the humorous side of the situation, and turned
away. Convinced at last that Moscow was really deserted, he abandoned
his hopes and projects, shrugged his shoulders, and said with a
contemptuous air—“The Russians do not understand the impression that
will be produced by the occupation of their capital.”
One can well understand Napoleon’s impatience to receive the keys of the
city; for this would have meant the realization of a long-cherished
ambition. An hour before reaching Moscow he summoned Count Durosnel, who
was in charge of the Imperial head-quarters, and said—“Go into the city,
get everything in order, and select a deputation to bring me the keys.”
There is no doubt that he had thought out all the details of his entry
into Moscow; his speech to the nobility, in which he would have availed
himself of the jealousy between the old capital and St. Petersburg, and
the shortcomings of the constitution of the empire, to win these brave
but barbarous people over to his side; his arrangements for a
contribution to be paid in gold, and the issue of the false 100 rouble
notes which he had had printed expressly in Paris, and with which he
hoped to make good the expenses of the war. He had, of course, already
decided whom he would punish, or reward, to whom he would extend his
Imperial clemency; what changes he would make in the administration;
and, last but not least, how he would conduct the negotiations for
peace—whether slowly or quickly, haughtily and sternly, or graciously.
He who had so long been accustomed to apply his genius to every detail
of the subjugation, pacification, and organization of newly-conquered
countries, must of course, now that he had reached the goal of his
ambition, consider and decide everything beforehand. And, after all,—how
aggravating to find that there was nothing, positively nothing, with
which to satisfy the curiosity of the _Moniteur_ and of Europe, which
had been expecting this climax open-mouthed.
A Frenchman, who was an eye-witness of the scene, tells us that he came
upon the Emperor in one of the suburbs, awaiting envoys from the
Russians, and examining their cavalry, which was retiring on the left,
through a field-glass. A few peasants and shopkeepers were marched up.
They presented a pitiable spectacle, and were quaking with terror, under
the impression, apparently, that their last hour had come.
Napoleon dismounted. He was evidently cold; he coughed as he gave his
orders, and he seemed to be undecided as to what course to adopt.
Apparently considering that it would be wisest not to run the risk of
entering the city at that moment, he stationed himself in one of the
neighbouring wooden houses.
This was in the suburb of Dorogomilof. Marshal Mortier was appointed
Military Governor of the town. Napoleon said emphatically—“See to it
that there is no plundering! You will be answerable with your own
head—save me my Moscow from everybody and everything!”
At the Dorogomilof Bridge, Riess, the bookseller, was brought to
Napoleon. Riess afterwards related that he had been compelled to remain
at his shop, but hearing the drums and trumpets in the street he went
out, was taken prisoner and brought before the Emperor.
“Who are you?” asked Napoleon.
“A French bookseller.”
“Ah! then you are one of my subjects.”
“Yes; but I have lived for a long time in Moscow.”
“Where is Rostopchin?”
“He has gone.”
“Where are the magistrates—municipal council——?”
“Gone also.”
“Who is left in Moscow?”
“None of the Russians.”
“_C’est impossible!_”
Riess apparently swore that what he said was true. Napoleon frowned and
remained for some time buried in thought; then, as if he had made up his
mind to some daring project, he gave the word, “Forward—march!”
One of the Russians says—“They went searching for the keys and for a
deputation in the Government offices, the town-hall, the head-quarters
of the police, the Governor-General’s house, and, in fact, every place
in which there was the least chance of finding an official. After a long
but ineffectual search, the zealous Polish general who had undertaken
the task returned to Napoleon and reported that there was not a single
functionary left in Moscow, and that the town was deserted by all except
a few foreigners who had stayed behind. The Emperor accordingly
postponed his entry; he thought perhaps that by next day some of the
inhabitants would have returned, and that a deputation would arrive
after all, or that at any rate his French, Italian, and German subjects
would come to the rescue and present themselves to pay him their
respects.”
He was again disappointed. He spent the night before the gates in an
innkeeper’s house, apparently unable to sleep. “There was such a
horrible smell in the house,” says his valet, “that his Majesty kept
calling every minute, ‘Are you awake, Constant?’
“‘I am, your Majesty,’
“‘Pray burn some vinegar, _mon cher_; I cannot stand this awful smell—it
is simply torture to me!’
“The house was in such a filthy condition that they found next day
specimens of those disgusting insects which are so plentiful in Russia,
in the Emperor’s bed, nay, in his clothes as well.” The writer refers to
our bugs, which, as is well known, attack new-comers with peculiar
virulence.
It was said that Napoleon, “although he intended to establish himself in
the Palace of the Kremlin, considered it best to wait a little before
entering into possession, owing to a rumour that the ancient dwelling of
the Tsars was mined with explosives.”
The two armies moved simultaneously upon Moscow. The King of Naples and
Marshal Ney crossed the bridge. The men and officers of the Russian
rear-guard and of the French advance-guard met on the bridge, and the
King found himself completely surrounded by Russians of General
Dorogomilovsky’s detachment. According to Ségur, Murat called out, “Is
there any one here who can speak French?”
“There is, your Majesty,” answered a young officer not far off.
“Who is in command of the rear-guard?” The young man pointed to a
veteran in Cossack uniform who looked as if he had seen service.
“Please ask him if he knows me?”
“He says that he knows your Majesty well. He has always seen you in the
thick of the fight.”
The King hinted in the course of conversation that it was time to make
peace—that the war had already lasted too long. He also remarked
incidentally that the fur coat which the worthy veteran was wearing must
be most useful in camping out. The Cossack general at once pulled it off
and offered it to Murat as a memento of the interview. Murat in return
gave him a valuable watch which he took from one of the officers of his
staff. This unfortunate officer was Napoleon’s aide-de-camp, Gourgot,
who afterwards bitterly lamented the loss of his watch, which he valued
for its associations.
The narrative of Kerbeletzky, a Russian _chinovnik_, who was captured on
the way to Moscow and brought before Napoleon, is interesting in its
_naïveté_ and simplicity—“The Duc d’Istry, Napoleon’s State Secretary de
Laurent, and his Polish aide-de-camp Lieutenant-Colonel Welsowicz,
questioned me on the morning of September 1, in great detail, not only
as to the number and disposition of all our armies, and the movements
and performances of each of them, but also as to the intentions
entertained by our Government with regard to peace.
“All the officials whom I have named above, according to their own
account, which they said was based on the most trustworthy information
received by Napoleon, were thoroughly acquainted with the condition of
Moscow. They knew that there were no Russian troops in the town, and
supposed not only that the Russian army would not give battle before the
gates of the city, but more than that, that the Russian Government would
certainly sue for peace. Welsowicz further affirmed that on the morrow,
namely on September 2, Napoleon, their Emperor, would dine in Moscow;
that whatever resistance might be offered by the Russian army which had
taken part in the battle of Mozjaisk, he would take the city by force if
need be; would raise a good round sum by way of contribution; would
restore Poland to her former dignity, and would join White Russia and
Smolensk to her territories. He would further provide his troops with
clothes and boots, and after spending a while in this capital of Russia
would return to Paris. If the Russian Government remained obdurate and
refused his terms, he would make over Moscow to Poland, while he himself
marched to St. Petersburg and beyond, and subdued the whole of Russia.
“On the 1st, at ten o’clock in the morning, he proceeded towards Moscow
with his huge army, which had passed the night camped round the
country-house he had occupied. In the evening he halted at Viazum, a
village some twenty-two miles from Moscow, belonging to Prince Galitzyn,
and spent the night in the manor-house. That day Napoleon drove the
first eight miles in his carriage, with the Prince of Neufchâtel
(Berthier). Then, as he could no longer use the carriage, for the bridge
on the high-road was burned, and the road that led round by the ravine
was impassable, he mounted a horse and rode the rest of the way. On
September 2 Napoleon left Viazum at daybreak, and at ten o’clock in the
morning he reached a manor-house which lies on the right of the
high-road to Smolensk, eight miles from Moscow. There he was met by the
King of Naples. He did not enter the house with him, but turned to the
left into a close near the church, and there they walked alone for more
than an hour, discussing the steps that must be taken for the capture of
Moscow.
“Murat then, without taking his dinner, proceeded towards Moscow, and
the whole of the French army with its numerous artillery followed him
without a halt. Napoleon made a hasty dinner in the house, and with his
attendant generals—who took their dinner outside—and a special
body-guard, consisting of a squadron of Chasseurs and another of Polish
Uhlans, under the guidance of the Russian prisoners, set off post-haste
after Murat.
“Napoleon arrived at two o’clock in the afternoon at the Pilgrim’s
Hill—Poklonnaya Gorà—distant some two miles from Moscow. He found the
vanguard already drawn up in battle array at the foot of the hill by
order of the King of Naples. The Emperor, holding in his hand a plan
which was given to him, dismounted, and some of the generals who
accompanied him did the same. The army was preparing for battle.
“After waiting half-an-hour without any challenge from Moscow, Napoleon
gave orders to fire a gun as a signal; then, when five more minutes had
elapsed, he and his staff mounted their horses and galloped at full
speed towards the city. At the same moment the vanguard and the division
which was posted in the rear of the centre advanced with indescribable
impetuosity; the cavalry and artillery galloped at full speed, keeping
step together, and the infantry charged along as fast as they could
double. The thud of horses’ hoofs, the creaking of wheels, and the
rattling of guns, added to the noise of running men, made a remarkable
uproar. The daylight was dimmed by the dense cloud of dust which they
raised! Within twelve minutes they had reached the Dorogomilof gate.
[Illustration: LOOKING TOWARDS MOSCOW.]
“The unexpected news that Moscow was deserted both by the Russian army
and by the inhabitants seemed to astound Napoleon. He was seized with
the profoundest amazement, which for the moment wrought in him a kind of
ecstasy or self-forgetfulness. His tranquil and measured step at once
became quick and feverish. He looked all round and about him, recovered
himself, stopped in his walk, shivered, fell into a stupor, scratched
his nose, pulled off his glove, and pulled it on again; drew out his
handkerchief from his pocket, crumpled it between his hands and put it
in another pocket as though by mistake, then took it out again and put
it back; then he pulled off his glove once more and pulled it on again,
repeating this action many times. He continued thus for a whole hour,
and during that time the generals surrounding him stood motionless, like
lifeless images of men, not one of them daring to stir. Then Napoleon
recovered himself a little, mounted his horse and rode into Moscow,
followed by the cavalry, which had hitherto stood without the gates.
When he had passed through Dorogomilof Post-boy Ward and come to the
edge of the river Moskva, he stopped on the right side of the street on
the slope of the bank, dismounted, and began once more to pace up and
down; but this time he was more tranquil.
“Napoleon and his escort lay that night in the Dorogomilof suburb in
private dwellings. Of the inhabitants of Moscow none were to be seen
except four stable-boys.”
The night which Napoleon passed in the suburb was a sad and dreary one.
To say nothing of the bugs—and perhaps also other parasites by no means
rare in Russia—he was kept awake by the gloomy reports that were
continually brought in, warning him, among other things, that the city
was about to be burnt. “The Emperor was uneasy and could not lie still;
he kept calling his attendants and making them repeat the rumours.
Apparently he could not quite bring himself to believe them, but about
two o’clock in the morning he received word that the fires had begun.
“He entered Moscow on Tuesday, September 3, at half-past ten in the
morning. The Arbat Ward was absolutely empty. He mounted his little
Arab, dressed in his grey overcoat and an ordinary cocked hat, without
any sign of distinction. He was surrounded by a very large suite of
marshals and other officials. The various colours and the richness of
their uniforms, and the many-tinted ribbons of the orders which they
wore, made a most brilliant picture, and gave a certain distinction to
the simplicity of Napoleon’s attire. The conqueror of Moscow rode as far
as the Borovitzky gate without seeing a single inhabitant. His wrath was
visible in every line of his face. He was not, indeed, at any pains to
conceal what was passing in his mind.”
It was at this time that new fires broke out in many parts of the Arbat
Ward, and after Napoleon had entered the Palace of the Kremlin, the
Bazaar and the so-called Carriage Mart, together with a number of
dwelling-houses round the Kremlin, burst into flames. Napoleon hurried
to the scene, issuing orders interspersed with curses and threats
against the troops and Marshal Mortier.
“The sight of the Kremlin, however,” says Ségur, “the majestic dwelling
of the line of Rurik and the Romanofs, the throne still standing in its
accustomed place, the Cross of Ivan the Great, and the beautiful part of
the city commanded by the Palace, restored, in some degree, his peace of
mind. His hopes revived; the conquest was at least flattering to his
pride, and he said with some complacency, “_Me voilà, enfin!_ Here am I
at last in Moscow, in the ancient palace of the Tsars! in the Kremlin
itself!” He examined everything with mingled pride, curiosity, and
pleasure; made inquiries as to the resources of the town, and began to
consider the possibility of making peace.”
The enthusiasm in Paris on receipt of the news that Napoleon had entered
Moscow was indescribable. The only anxiety was lest he should rest
satisfied with his laurels and not march triumphantly into India!
Innumerable sonnets, epistles, odes, and eulogistic rhymes of all kinds
were published in honour of the occasion.
Here are a few specimens in the original, for they would suffer by
translation; we have merely left out a few descriptive passages of a
purely imaginary character—
ODE À SA MAJESTÉ L’EMPEREUR ET ROI, SUR LA PRISE DE MOSCOU, PAR M.
QUAYNAT.
“Elevons nos chants d’allégresse!
Vantons nos triomphes heureux!
Jadis l’Italie et la Grèce
Eurent des soutiens valeureux;
Jusqu’à nos jours, Athène et Rome
Doutaient de voir paraître un homme
Qui pût égaler leurs succès.
Maintenant, elles sont moins fières,
En trouvant les preuves contraires
Dans le monarque des Français.
* * * * * *
Ton vainqueur, témoin de ces crimes,
Moscou, déplore tes malheurs,
Et par des secours magnanimes
S’efforce d’essuyer tes pleurs;
Mais tes maux sont trop innombrables,
Sur ces pertes irréparables,
Moscou, tu gémiras longtemps.
Pleure, vingt siècles sans orages
N’effaceraient pas les ravages
Des brandons de monstres sanglans.”
Another lyric poet, Paul Chanin, anathematizes Russia in a ‘Poem on the
Campaign of Russia by the United Armies of France and Germany.’
“Une nation factieuse
S’oppose au bien que nous voulons;
Son influence désastreuse
Corrompt l’air que nous respirons.
Une île de nous se sépare!
C’est du Scythe, c’est du Tartare
Qu’elle ose appeler le secours!
Le crime de ce pacte impie,
Aux yeux de l’Europe trahie,
La déshonore pour toujours.”
And now M. A. J. B. Barjaud rises to the epic strain, in a poem entitled
‘Conquest of Moscow.’
“Le Russe espère, en vain, par un excès d’audace,
Se soustraire au péril dont ton bras le menace;
Sa bouche ose indiquer le prix du déshonneur
A ce perfide appel, la voix de la Patrie
Répond: qu’il soit marqué du sceau de l’infamie,
Le front du suborneur!
* * * * * *
Tremblant à ton aspect, contre l’airain qui gronde
Il se fait un rempart de la flamme et de l’onde,
De ses propres foyers il est le destructeur;
Mais loin de retarder ta marche triomphale,
C’est la sombre clarté de sa torche fatale
Qui guide son vainqueur.”
Next comes an ‘Ode to His Majesty the Emperor on his Entry into Moscow,’
by A. de la Garancière.
“En vain tes ennemis se flattent dans leur rage
Que leurs climats glacés dompteront ton courage;
Tu dis en contemplant tes valeureux soldats:
‘Si jamais la victoire, en caprices féconde,
Fuyait, pour m’échapper, dans un troisième monde
J’y guiderais leurs pas!’”
And M. Mazarie, in his turn, celebrates ‘The Taking of Moscow’ in “fiery
stanzas.”
“Les fils aînés de la Victoire
Suivent ce héros que la gloire
A ceint du laurier des Césars;
Par lui les destins s’accomplissent,
Et dans la tombe, au loin gémissent
Les mânes effrayés des Tzars.”
I bring these citations to a close with a verse from an anonymous ode on
‘The Campaign of His Imperial and Royal Majesty in Russia and his Entry
into Moscow.’
“Lâches, où courez-vous? Quels seront vos asiles?
Ne lancez-vous les feux que sur vos propres villes?
Ah! tournez contre nous ce salpêtre éclatant.
Des coups de vos ayeux, élancés du Bosphore,
L’Europe fume encore;
Et les Parthes, du moins, fuyaient en combattant!”
“Let us see what the Russians mean to do now,” said the Emperor. “If
they still refuse to enter into negotiations, we shall have to take our
own course. We are provided with winter quarters now. We will show the
world that our army can winter comfortably in the midst of a hostile
nation—like an ice-bound ship in Arctic seas. In the spring we can
continue the war—though Alexander will not compel me to do that—we shall
come to terms and peace will be signed.”
Apparently Napoleon had provided for almost every contingency. One
thing, however, he had not foreseen—the terrible fires that spread so
rapidly in the gusty wind that prevailed on the night of his entry into
the Kremlin. There was nothing to be seen on any side of the fortress
but flames rising high into the air, almost, as it seemed, into the
clouds.
Numbers of the inhabitants who had remained in Moscow, and who now fled
from house to house in terror of the fire and of marauding soldiers,
were arrested and shot, under suspicion of incendiarism.
Napoleon spent his first night in the Kremlin in a state of great
excitement; abusing his soldiers, his officers, and Marshal Mortier,
stamping his feet, and demanding that the fires should be stopped.
When he was told that the Kremlin was surrounded with flames, he sent
Berthier on to an elevated terrace of the Palace to see if this was
really the case, but the force of the wind and the draught created by
the fires was so great that the Prince and his officers had considerable
difficulty in preventing themselves from being carried away.
The Emperor was stupefied at times by the strength of his emotions; his
face was red and streaming with perspiration. The King of Naples, Prince
Eugène, and the Prince of Neufchâtel begged him to leave the Palace, but
he could not make up his mind to retreat. “These ruffians,” he said to
his servant Constant, in his indignation against the incendiaries, “will
not leave one stone upon another in Moscow.”
Fire broke out at last within the very walls of the Kremlin; the arsenal
was found to be in flames. They found a Russian in the fortress. He was
brought before Napoleon, who questioned him narrowly and ordered the
soldiers to despatch him with their bayonets. He was the custodian of
the arsenal!
“There is no such word as _cannot_ in my dictionary,” was one of
Napoleon’s favourite sayings. But the time had apparently arrived for
incorporating the unwelcome expression, especially when Berthier
represented that if he did not leave the Kremlin and Kutuzof delivered
an attack, he would find himself cut off from his troops.
Napoleon resolved to abandon the Kremlin and remove to Peter’s
Palace—Petrofsky Dvoretz—but the change of quarters was by no means an
easy undertaking. Around the fortress swirled an eddying sea of fire
closing every exit. At last the fugitives discovered a path to the river
Moskva; and the Emperor with his suite and his guards sallied forth
across the stream, only to find themselves in a veritable inferno. The
officers of Napoleon’s suite wished to wrap him in a cloak and carry him
through the flames in their arms; but he refused, and solved the
question of the means of escape by dashing boldly forward. They had to
fight their way through an avenue of fire, scorching their faces and
burning their hands, which they put up to ward off the sparks and
cinders that fell in a shower around them. It was fortunate for the
Emperor that some soldiers, who were marauding in the vicinity,
recognized him and showed him a way of escape. His hair was singed, his
clothes were burnt into holes, his hands blistered, and his boots
scorched.
The Prince of Eckmühl, it is said, though still suffering from the wound
he had received at Borodino, as soon as he heard of the danger to which
Napoleon was exposed, hurried to meet him, intending to rescue him or
perish in the attempt. It is said that when Napoleon and the Marshal met
they fell into each other’s arms.
The principal officers accompanied Napoleon to the Petrofsky Palace.
Dumas, the Intendant-General, gives the following account of his
escape—“It was night when I left the house I was proceeding to occupy.
We issued from Moscow under a perfect hail of fire; the wind was so
strong that it tore the red-hot iron from the roofs and hurled it down
into the streets. All our horses had their legs burnt. It is impossible
to describe the confusion of our headlong flight. The roar of the flames
can be likened to nothing but the noise of the waves of the ocean—it was
indeed a storm raging over a sea of fire. The whole length of the road
to the Petrofsky Palace was littered with odds and ends of all kinds,
especially with broken bottles thrown away by the soldiers. We
bivouacked at the edge of the forest in full view of this image of the
infernal regions. The whole of the huge city was a vast sheet of flame,
and the heavens themselves seemed to be on fire. At a distance of two
miles from the conflagration I was able to read the orders which were
brought to me from the major-general.”
After a five days’ stay in the Petrofsky Palace, a period of the most
intense anxiety, Napoleon returned to Moscow. It should be mentioned
that from the time he entered the Kremlin, and throughout his stay at
the Petrofsky Palace, he made no military arrangements of any kind. It
is evident that he was so overwhelmed by the fire that he was unable to
determine upon any course of action.
When Napoleon re-entered Moscow a fearful sight met his eyes. Of all the
huge city there remained nothing but heaps of ruins surmounted at
intervals with stacks of chimneys. A heavy stifling atmosphere hung over
the fallen Colossus. Heaps of cinders and ashes, with here and there the
fragments of half-ruined walls or pillars, alone marked the course of
the streets.
The Emperor saw his troops scattered over all parts of the town. His own
progress was hindered by the multitude of plunderers, searching for
booty or dragging it away in noisy crowds. Soldiers were grouped at the
entrance of every cellar, before every large house, and before the shops
and churches towards which the fire was making its way. Before the
flames reached these buildings the doors were broken open by impatient
pillagers. The Emperor’s path was impeded at every turn by remnants of
broken furniture flung from windows, and various articles thrown away by
the plunderers to make room for more delicate or costly booty. Napoleon
rode on in silence.
But disorder soon reached a climax. Even the Old Guard joined in the
pillage, and Napoleon resolved upon stern measures, which had a certain
good effect. After returning to Moscow, the Emperor’s mood became
somewhat more cheerful, and the change was reflected in his _entourage_.
When, however, he looked out of the window upon the scene of desolation
that met his view on every side, he was once more oppressed with gloomy
thoughts, and his bitterness was vented on those who had the ill-fortune
to present themselves at such moments. But he no longer displayed such
constant signs of impatience, nor did he give rein to such furious
outbursts of anger, as had marked his previous demeanour. It need
scarcely be said that Rostopchin—who was, fortunately for himself, at a
safe distance—and the incendiaries were the principal objects of his
wrath.
Napoleon was very satirical in chronicling the fact that the Russians
had celebrated Borodino as the first victorious encounter of their
forces with the invader. He says in one of his despatches—“The Russians
have offered up a _Te Deum_ in thanksgiving for the battles of
Ostrovnaya and Smolensk—and of course the army entered Moscow to the
strains of hymns of thanksgiving.”
“At the ruffian Rostopchin’s house,” he continues, “they found rifles,
papers, and a letter which he had begun—he ran away without having time
to finish it. Moscow, one of the wealthiest cities in the world, is no
more. This is an incalculable misfortune for the Russians, both for
their merchants and for their nobility; the loss must amount to
milliards. Some hundred incendiaries have been taken and shot. Thirty
thousand Russian sick and wounded were burnt alive. The richest
commercial houses of Russia are ruined. They were unable to take
anything away with them; and when they saw that everything had fallen
into the hands of the French, they set fire to their own ancient
capital, their holy city, the centre of the empire. Rostopchin is the
author of this crime. We did what we could to subdue the fire, but the
ruffianly Governor had taken his precautions only too well—he had
carried off or destroyed all the fire-engines and apparatus.”
As an answer to this bulletin he learned that the surprise, terror, and
indignation produced in Paris by the news of the burning of Moscow
defied description. It was easy to see that a despatch announcing that
the soldiers were provided with shelter, food, and clothing would have
reassured the Parisians far more than any news of victories.
Napoleon, however, after bewailing the treacherous welcome he had
received from the city, declared—“The army is doing well; there is
plenty of corn, potatoes, cabbages, and other vegetables, beef, salt
meat, wine, brandy, sugar, coffee, etc., etc. The men have secured a
quantity of furs and coats for the winter. One advance-guard is posted
on the road to Kazan, the other on the road to St. Petersburg.”
He referred in carefully-chosen terms to the Emperor Alexander, who, in
his opinion, would not have hesitated to make peace if he had but
received any one of the letters sent to him—letters, by the way, of a
most gloomy, melancholy character.
Napoleon expounded his magnanimous intentions to Yakovlef, a Russian
nobleman who was captured when about to leave Moscow, robbed by the
soldiers, and brought to the Emperor dressed in the coat of his valet.
After various complaints and reproaches, Napoleon, adopting a much
gentler tone, asked—“If I write a letter, will you consent to deliver
it? Will you promise that it shall come into Alexander’s own hands? If
you can promise me this, I will let you go—but are you certain that you
have access to your Emperor, and can you assure me that he will get my
letter?”
Yakovlef of course promised.
Napoleon got up at night on purpose to write the letter—“I have fought
your Majesty without ill-feeling. A word from you before or after the
last battle, and I would have stopped, and abandoned my right to enter
Moscow. If your Majesty yet cherishes any kind feeling towards me, you
will consider my appeal to you. Common humanity, your Majesty’s own
interest and the interests of this great city, should have induced you
to trust to my hands the capital which your troops had left.”
At three o’clock in the morning he despatched the letter to his
prisoner, who passed with it through the French lines, delighted that
his carelessness in allowing himself to be taken prisoner had had no
graver consequences.
Tutolmin, the Governor of the Foundling Hospital, also had the honour of
a conversation with Napoleon, of hearing from his own Imperial lips of
the respect and brotherly tenderness with which he regarded the Emperor
Alexander, and of his readiness to make peace. “I have never adopted
this method of warfare,” said Napoleon to Tutolmin; “my troops can
fight, but not burn. All the way from Smolensk I have seen nothing but
ashes. Some limit must be put to this bloodshed; it is time for peace. I
have no business here in Russia.”
As Tutolmin’s official duties prevented him from leaving Moscow,
Napoleon begged him in his next report to the Empress—to be sent through
the outposts—not to omit to mention Napoleon’s peaceful inclinations and
his readiness to enter into negotiations.
Napoleon was very uneasy during the first few days after his entry into
Moscow regarding the movements of the Russian army, which had been
completely lost sight of in the confusion of the fire, the looting, and
all his other troubles. He spoke very sharply to General Sebastiani,
losing his temper and abusing him roundly, for not keeping an eye on
Kutuzof. Imagining that frequent communication with the Russian outposts
was the cause of the disorders that had occurred, he ordered Marshal
Berthier to instruct Murat to forbid all communication with the enemy on
pain of death. “It is his Majesty’s wish,” said Berthier, “that the only
communication with the enemy should be through the medium of powder and
ball.” Napoleon, however, was not the only person who was uneasy at the
disappearance of the Russians. The marshals were apprehensive at one
time lest Kutuzof should cut their communications.
“On the 11th September,” according to Kerbeletzky, “Napoleon, preceded
by two pages and accompanied by his generals, Court officials, three
Russian prisoners and a body-guard consisting of a squadron of Chasseurs
and some Polish Uhlans, left the Kremlin for the first time to gaze upon
the ruins of Moscow, and, also for the first time, doffed his light-grey
overcoat and appeared in uniform. It might have been expected that, as
his marshals and all his generals were in uniforms, richly embroidered
back and front with gold, the Emperor would be distinguished by the
peculiar brilliance of his attire. On the contrary, he was dressed in a
plain military uniform of dark-green cloth, with a red collar, without
embroidery, but with epaulettes, the star of the Legion of Honour on the
left breast, and a crimson ribbon round the tunic. He wore a low cocked
hat and a small cockade. His charger was an ordinary Polish horse, while
his generals and Court officials had English horses, in a very famished
condition. When Napoleon came out, many of the inhabitants of Moscow,
who had drunk deep of the cup of suffering, ran away as soon as they
caught sight of his numerous suite. Others, of a more daring
disposition, ventured to peep stealthily from behind ruined walls. And
lastly, in a street near the poultry market, a group of small burgesses,
numbering about forty, whose clothes were in tatters, and whose faces,
through the combined effects of fear, hunger, and cold, retained
scarcely any semblance of humanity, waited till the suite approached the
end of the street, then fell on their knees, stretching out their arms
to the Emperor, bewailing what they had suffered, lamenting their utter
ruin, and begging for mercy and bread!
“But this inhuman creature turned his horse away to the right, and
merely bade his secretary learn what they wanted.
“From end to end Moscow was a scene of indescribable horror and utter
desolation. The houses which had survived the fire were plundered, and
the churches looted. All the pavements and side-walks were littered with
fragments of chandeliers, mirrors, furniture, pictures, books,
church-plate, and even the sacred _ikons_ of the saints.”
As we have already said, when the plundering began, even the severest
prohibitions scarcely availed to check the reign of lawlessness.
Sebastiani, for instance, when complaints were made, was obliged to
declare that he was unable to restrain his men. In the orders of
September 22, Napoleon says—“In spite of all orders, the patrols neglect
their duty; at night the sentinels fail to challenge those who pass.” On
September 24 he says—“To-day the officers omitted to salute the Emperor
with their swords on parade.”
“At the Kremlin,” says Constant, “the days were long and tedious.”
Napoleon was waiting for the answer from Alexander that never came.
Among other things his spirits were depressed by the flocks of crows and
jackdaws that appeared in the city. “_Mon Dieu!_” he cried, “do they
mean to follow us everywhere?”
Napoleon rode daily through the city, mounted on a little white Arab,
and accompanied by a few generals and aides-de-camp and fifty Uhlans. He
spoke to nobody while in the street. A theatre was opened for the men
and officers of the army in one of the houses which were still left, but
Napoleon did not visit it himself. Sometimes in the evening he would
play a game of cards with Duroc. A few concerts were given at the
Palace; the Italian Tarquinio, who had lately come from Milan, sang, and
Martini played the piano; but the Emperor listened with a heavy heart.
“Music,” observes Constant, “had lost its power over his disordered
spirit.” Evidently these distractions and the rides through the streets
were insufficient to counteract his gloomy meditations on the solution
of the insoluble problem, how to present the utter failure of the
campaign to Europe as a gigantic success, and by what stratagem to evade
the inevitable.
Napoleon paraded and reviewed the Guards and the garrison in all
weathers, distributing rewards and crosses of the Legion of Honour. The
latter ceremony is described as follows by an eye-witness—“A fat little
man marched down the steps of the Palace, surrounded by a numerous suite
of marshals and generals. The band struck up, and he advanced to within
some fifty paces of the front of the line. He wore a green uniform, and
his hat was pulled right down over his evil, penetrating eyes. The
ribbon of the Legion of Honour which he wore was so hidden under his
uniform that it was not always visible. He sometimes made speeches on
these occasions. At the announcement of the names of the newly-appointed
chevaliers the band gave a flourish. To judge by Napoleon’s haughty
look, he was quite conscious of his own power.”
It had meanwhile become plain that Alexander would not condescend to
reply. This was a terrible insult, and Napoleon was correspondingly
enraged.
“On October 3,” says Constant, “after passing a sleepless night, he
summoned his marshals. As soon as they appeared, he said—‘Come in! Come
in! Listen to the new plan I have thought of. Prince Eugène, read it!
Burn the remains of Moscow; and march through Tver to St. Petersburg,
where Macdonald is to join us, Murat and Davout to command the
rear-guard.’ He gazed at his generals in a state of great excitement;
but they remained impassive and silent, apparently only surprised. He
tried to kindle some enthusiasm in them, and cried out—‘What! Are you
not delighted at the notion? Was there ever a more glorious feat of
arms? What glory we shall reap! What will the world say when it hears
that we have subdued the two great capitals of the North in three
months?’”
Davout and Daru tried to damp his enthusiasm by pointing out the
lateness of the season, the scarcity of provisions, the bare and exposed
nature of the road from Tver to St. Petersburg, a track through marshes
which three hundred peasants could render impassable within a few hours!
Why, they urged, go north to meet the winter so eagerly, when it was
even then at their very doors? And what of the 6000 wounded in Moscow?
Must they be given up to Kutuzof? The latter would certainly pursue, and
the army would then have to act simultaneously on the offensive and
defensive. The time, they added, had come to end the campaign, not to
prolong it. The question was not that of securing a superfluous victory,
but of getting as quickly as possible into winter quarters. They must
abandon all thoughts of Kutuzof and of fighting, and retire.
Napoleon had not only to listen to this advice, he had to follow it. The
time had passed when he could say of his marshals—“These people think
that they are indispensable; they do not understand that I have a
hundred brigade-commanders who could amply fill their places.”
The marshals clearly saw not merely the dangers of the approach of
winter, but also the precarious condition of the army. From the moment
of Napoleon’s arrival at Moscow, his pride kept him in a state of
absolute ignorance upon this subject. He always took the army to be in
the condition in which he wished to see it, and he boldly adapted his
orders to this view, refusing to listen to his generals when they
endeavoured to disabuse him of his error. He was resolved, indeed, to
make no serious arrangements until their absolute necessity became
apparent; until, in fact, it was too late.
Seeing the stubbornness of his marshals, and Russia’s unwillingness to
take the hand which he had proffered too late, Napoleon showed
remarkable consideration for the happiness of the two contending
nations, and resolved to secure peace at any price. In vain did
Caulaincourt, whom he wished at first to send as an envoy to St.
Petersburg, represent that at this season of the year Russia must feel
her own strength and superiority, and that any such attempt would do
more harm than good, inasmuch as it would betray the difficulty of his
position. Napoleon, whose chief fear was lest he should have to utter
the word “Retreat,” resolved once more to try the charm of his own
personality. He could not admit, with Tilsit and Erfurt in his mind,
that this charm would be less effective in Moscow than in Paris, and
resolved to send General Lauriston to Kutuzof’s head-quarters. Lauriston
also ventured to submit that at this season of the year it was time, not
to be negotiating from Moscow, but to be retiring to Kaluga, and that as
quickly as might be. Napoleon answered bitterly that he himself was in
favour of the simplest plan, and the straightest road—the high-road—and
in the present case the road by which they had come; but he would not
travel along it until peace had been concluded. He then showed to
Lauriston, as he had showed to Caulaincourt, his letter to Alexander,
bade him approach Kutuzof and request a pass to St. Petersburg. The
hopelessness of Napoleon’s position was expressed at this interview in
his last words to Lauriston—“I desire peace; you hear my words. Get me
peace, _coûte que coûte_! But save my honour by any means you can!”
The “old fox,” Kutuzof, fully appreciated the necessity of keeping
Napoleon in Moscow, and humoured Lauriston so cleverly that the poor
envoy flattered himself with the most extravagant hopes of a speedy
peace, and, what is more, inspired his Emperor with the same delusion.
The position of the French army, however, began in the meanwhile to
assume a critical aspect. A desultory guerilla warfare broke out, and in
order to procure forage it was necessary to send large detachments with
a powerful escort of cavalry and artillery. Every measure of oats and
every truss of hay was obtained by hard fighting. Then the peasants
began to take part in the war. These men whom Napoleon had taught his
troops to look upon as hereditary helots and barbarians, exhibited an
unlooked-for independence, and refused to accept the favours which the
foreigner endeavoured to foist upon them.
Recognizing the danger of his position, and feeling that he was being
hoodwinked, yet not daring to break off his overtures to the Russian
Government, Napoleon cast around for some means of making peace
necessary to his adversary. He began to collect information regarding
Pugachof’s rebellion, and endeavoured to procure a copy of one of the
Pretender’s latest manifestoes, expecting to find in it a guide to the
families that could lay claim to the Russian throne. In the course of
his inquiry he was ready to turn for advice to any one whom he chanced
to meet. He soon saw, however, that it would be difficult to effect
anything by this means, and abandoned the idea of using Pugachof.
The Tartars were invited to go to Kazan and summon their brethren to
declare their independence. They were promised support as soon as they
should rise; but nothing came of this proposal. False reports of all
kinds were then circulated. It was pretended that Riga had been taken by
assault, that the whole length of the road from Vilna to Smolensk was
covered with a train of wagons bearing winter clothing to the army, that
Marshal Victor was bringing up large reinforcements, that next spring
the army would be as strong and well-equipped as when it crossed the
frontier; in short, that if the Russians did not make peace that winter
the Emperor would adopt stern measures.
None of these reports and projects, however, came to anything. No reply
was received from St. Petersburg, and the war assumed a more and more
serious aspect. An armed band, with a priest at its head, captured the
town of Vereya, near Moscow, under the very nose of the Grande Armée.
Others seized two immense convoys on the high-road to Smolensk, the only
route by which Napoleon was able to communicate with Europe, and with
France. It was becoming clear that the great invasion was a fiasco, and
Napoleon was obliged to reconsider his opinion as to the system by which
the Russians should defend their country. When they were attacked in the
centre they directed all their forces on the flanks, and seemed almost
as if they would overpower them.
Worst of all, winter was now approaching. Napoleon at last realized the
fact. He grew uneasy, and began to make unobtrusive preparations for
departure.
Poor Moscow bore the brunt of his resentment. He gave orders to strip
the covers from the _ikons_ and fling them, with the censers, crosses,
and plates, into the melting-pot. Two and a quarter hundred-weight of
gold and six tons of silver were converted into bullion for transmission
to France. In addition to this Napoleon took a number of so-called
“trophies”—the arms of Moscow from the Senate House, the eagle from the
gates of St. Nicholas, the cross from the belfry of John the Great. The
removal of this gigantic cross cost no little time and labour. The
Emperor wished to use it as an adornment for the Church of the Hôtel des
Invalides. While personally superintending its removal he lost all
patience with the clouds of “accursed jackdaws which hovered over the
belfry as if they had a mind to defend the cross!” It is said that
Berthier, the Duke of Wagram, who was standing with General Dumas on a
balcony outside the Empress’ apartments while the work of removing the
cross was in progress, unable to restrain his anger, exclaimed—“To think
of a man doing a thing like this when he as good as has peace in his
pocket!”[7]
Shortly before the departure from Moscow a very curious order was
issued. The Commanders of Army Corps were directed to present tables
showing the number of sick who could recover, (1) within a week; (2)
within a fortnight; (3) within a month; and secondly, the number who
would probably die, (1) within a fortnight; (2) within three weeks.
Provision was to be made only for the departure of Class 1—all the rest
were to be left behind. Not less extraordinary, considering the
depopulated and devastated state of the country, was the order to
purchase exactly 20,000 horses, neither more nor less; and to procure
fodder for two months—and that in a position where even the most distant
and dangerous expeditions were insufficient to procure enough forage for
daily needs.
During the latter half of his stay in Moscow Napoleon’s anxieties once
more gave rise to constant outbursts of temper. At his morning _levées_,
for instance, when he was surrounded by his chief officers, he would
challenge their inquiring looks, which seemed to him to be full of
reproach, with his stern impassive glance; but his hard abrupt way of
speaking and the pallor of his countenance showed that he knew the
truth, and that it gave him no peace. He would vent his wrath at times
in harsh, even cruel, reproaches, which afforded him no relief, but
rather added to the tension of his feelings by the consciousness of his
injustice.
[Illustration: DISILLUSION.]
It was only, according to Ségur, in his conversations with Count Daru
during his sleepless nights, that he entirely unburdened his mind. “He
wished,” he said, “to attack Kutuzof and either annihilate or drive him
from before him, and then to fall rapidly back upon Smolensk.” But Daru
answered that though this might have been done before, it was now no
longer feasible. The Russian army, he pointed out, was stronger than
ever, and his own weaker; the victory of Mozjaisk was already forgotten;
and as soon as his army turned back towards France it would slip like
water through his fingers, for every soldier was loaded with booty, and
would hurry forward into France to dispose of it.
“Then what am I to do?”
“Stay here,” said Daru; “turn Moscow into a great fortified camp, and so
pass the winter. There is plenty of ‘bread and salt’—I can answer for
that. For all else, great foraging expeditions can provide. I will salt
down all the horses for which there is no forage. As for quarters, if
there are not houses enough, there are plenty of cellars. This will help
us to last out till the spring, when our reinforcements, backed by all
Lithuania in arms, will come to the rescue and help us to complete our
conquest.”
At this suggestion, the Emperor was silent a while, evidently buried in
thought; then he answered, “_Conseil de lion!_ but what will Paris say?
What will they do? What have they been doing these past three weeks? No
one can foresee the impression which six months of uncertainty may have
upon the Parisians. No; France is not accustomed to my absence. Prussia
and Austria will take advantage of it.”
Napoleon was already engaged in imparting an artificial warmth to the
zeal of his allies. In confirming the instructions he had before given
to Schwarzenberg, and adding new ones, he did not forget to allow him
“12,000 francs per month for secret expenses; and ordered 500,000 to be
paid to the account of the future;” nor did he refuse any of the rewards
solicited by Schwarzenberg for his nominees. He even begged the Emperor
of Austria to confer upon him the dignity of Field-Marshal, and
suggested various distinctions for his army.
Schwarzenberg, requiting one good turn with another, secretly informed
Berthier that the Emperor could count on him personally, but that he
must not rely upon Austria.
Napoleon, however, was still reluctant to announce his intention of
retreating. Already half defeated, he deferred from day to day a public
avowal of the disaster that had overtaken his arms. Amid the gathering
clouds of military and political disaster, Napoleon, who had always
shown a morbid activity, was absolutely inert. He spent his days in
discussing the merits of various odes and sonnets that had lately
arrived from France, specimens of which we have given above, or in
revising the regulations for the Comédie Française—a task on which he
spent three evenings.
It was generally remarked that his dinners and suppers, usually simple
and short, were now prolonged, and that he began to sustain his flagging
energies with spirits. He grew heavy and sluggish, and would pass whole
hours half-sitting, half-lying, with a novel in his hand, his eyes fixed
upon vacancy, awaiting the _dénouement_ of this terrible drama. The
letter to Alexander at St. Petersburg, which he sent by Lauriston under
the escort of Volkonsky, should have arrived on September 24. A reply
could not be expected until October 20, and Napoleon was evidently
awaiting that date. According to Constant, “the last days spent at
Moscow, preceding October 18, were terribly gloomy; his Majesty seemed
deliberately cold and uncommunicative; for whole hours together no one
who was with him would dare to begin a conversation.”
Throughout this period the official sources of information, the
despatches and the _Moniteur_, carefully concealed the truth. Thus we
read—“On October 3 winter began to make itself felt in Moscow. Our
troops are in quarters, and preserve the most excellent discipline. We
found in Moscow all the Turkish standards taken during the last hundred
years and more.”
Murat at this time sent a despairing report from the advance-guard
regarding the scarcity from which they were suffering and the rapid
disappearance of the remains of the cavalry. Berthier was alarmed at
this information. Napoleon summoned the officer who brought the report,
and so questioned and cross-questioned him that in the end he began to
doubt his own information. Napoleon at once availed himself of this
hesitation to support Berthier’s flagging hopes, and assure him that
they were still in a position to wait, and finally sent the officer back
to Murat with the full conviction that he would spread the notion in the
advance-guard that the Emperor had his plans fully thought out and
decided upon.
It is impossible to believe that Napoleon had entire confidence in his
own optimism, for his every action was stamped with the mark of
indecision. All who came into contact with him were astounded by the
entire absence of his former promptitude and audacity, which had always
been equal to the necessities of the moment. They recognized that his
genius was no longer able to adapt itself to circumstances, as in the
days when his star was in the ascendant. He was now obstinate and
rebellious, and could not reconcile himself to the shipwreck of his
plans. Not only his military projects, but all his other schemes—which
the world regards as strokes of genius if they are sanctified by
success, and dishonourable cunning if they fail—missed their aim and
vanished in smoke. To the list of these abortive plans—besides the
endeavours of which we have spoken to raise the peasants and the
Tartars—we must add the miserable fiasco of the bank-notes, which he had
forged to the extent of 100,000,000 roubles. It is impossible to refuse
to credit the existence of these hundred-rouble notes of Parisian
manufacture. Berthier, in one of his letters, laments the loss of his
last carriage which contained “the most secret papers.” In this carriage
was found a _pièce de conviction_ of the most damning character—a plate
for printing Russian hundred-rouble notes.
Every precaution was taken before the war to prevent the Parisian
artists, who were engaged to engrave the plates, from learning the true
character of the nefarious task upon which they were employed. The
forgery was carried on very slowly, to Napoleon’s great annoyance; he
more than once insisted upon the work being advanced more quickly. The
campaign had already begun when they brought him twenty-eight cases of
forged notes, and if he did not succeed in uttering them, it was only
because there were no inhabitants on his road—there was no one to pay
and no one to reward.
In the spring of 1812 the Duke of Bassano handed over to Frenckel, a
banker of Warsaw, forged notes to the amount of 20,000,000 roubles, with
instructions to circulate them beyond the Russian frontier as the French
advanced. In order to facilitate this operation, a rumour was spread
that when the French occupied Vilna they seized notes to the amount of
many millions, but the report proved ineffectual. The merchant
Nakhodkin, who was acting as Mayor of Moscow, received 100,000 roubles
for his services. Pozdnykof, Kolchúgin, and others were rewarded in the
same way, but they could not bring themselves to put the notes into
circulation. Tutolmin, the honourable director of the Foundling, refused
outright to accept any bribe. “It was mere maliciousness on their part,”
he wrote in his report to the Emperor, “that led them to offer me forged
notes, of which they had brought a great quantity, and with which they
even paid the troops at Napoleon’s own order.” It was with great
reluctance that the Guards accepted these notes in payment, though the
forgeries were cleverly executed, and afterwards accepted in error even
by the Russian banks.
Napoleon’s inactivity was infectious. It was not until October 7 that
leather was distributed, by the orders of Berthier, the head of the
staff, to repair the soldiers’ boots, and then it was too late. It was
also too late when the slightly wounded and the convalescent, together
with the trophies that had been captured, were despatched to Mozjaisk.
The rest of the sick and wounded were moved into the Foundling, and
French doctors were told off to attend them, in the hope that the
Russian wounded who were among them would serve as a kind of protection.
Napoleon concentrated the various army corps that were stationed outside
the city on the Moskva, and reviewed them even more frequently than
before. The obvious weakness of the battalions was a constant source of
annoyance to him, and he ordered the troops to be drawn up two instead
of three deep. It is difficult to find a reason for this change, unless
we assume that Napoleon was endeavouring to deceive himself and others
by lengthening the lines.
During one of these reviews in the courtyard of the Kremlin, a rumour
was circulated among his suite that artillery fire was to be heard in
the direction of the advance-guard. At first no one dared to call
Napoleon’s attention to the fact; but Duroc summoned up courage to
inform him of the news, and all observed that the Emperor was seriously
disturbed. He soon recovered himself and was about to continue the
review, when an aide-de-camp from Murat came galloping up with the
information that the King’s first line had been taken by surprise and
routed; that his left flank had been surrounded under cover of the
woods, his right attacked, and his communications cut. Twelve guns,
twenty caissons, and a number of baggage-wagons had been captured, two
generals killed, and three to four thousand men lost. He added that the
King himself had been wounded, but he had saved the remnants of his
command by means of repeated attacks on the overwhelming forces of the
enemy, who had just begun to occupy the only road by which he could
retreat. Murat’s report was that “the advance-guard no longer exists,
for the exhausted remnant of it could certainly not survive more than
one more battle with the enemy, who have become bolder than ever.”
This was on October 18. The war was being renewed, said the French—it
was just beginning, said Kutuzof.
At the news of this attack, Napoleon recovered all his former energy. He
issued a thousand orders, embracing the most important movements and the
most trivial details, and before nightfall the whole army was in motion.
At dawn on the 19th, the Emperor himself left Moscow, with a bold
declaration that he was moving on Kaluga—“And woe to him who tries to
bar my way.”
He left Moscow by the old Kaluga road, meaning to reach the frontier of
Poland by way of Kaluga, Medyn, Yelnya, and Smolensk. Rapp, who
accompanied him, observed that it was getting late in the year and
winter would overtake them on the way; but the Emperor replied that the
soldiers must be given time to rest and recover, and the sick must be
moved from Mozjaisk, Moscow, and the Kolotzky monastery to Smolensk.
Then he pointed to the clear blue sky, and asked if they did not see the
star of his fortune in the sun above them and in the continued fine
weather. “The sinister expression of his countenance,” says an
eye-witness, “gave the lie direct to these words of hope and simulated
confidence.”
In this instance, as in every other, it was hard even for those who were
brought most closely into contact with him to decide whether he spoke
from conviction or not. Considering the explicit nature of the reports
that were sent in to him, it is impossible to suppose, for instance,
that it was through ignorance that he so entirely misrepresented the
truth as to the engagement of the advance-guard under Murat. This was
the celebrated battle of Tarutina, the real beginning of the _débâcle_
of the French army. About 50,000 were engaged and utterly routed, losing
some 4000 killed and wounded, thirty-eight guns, one flag, and the whole
of the baggage.[8]
Napoleon in his despatches gives the following account of the
engagement—“A number of Cossacks have begun to make their appearance,
and given our cavalry some trouble. The cavalry advance-guard, which was
stationed by Vinkovo, was surprised by a mob of these Cossacks, who made
their way into the camp before our men had time to mount, captured
General Sebastiani’s baggage, consisting of 100 wagons, and made about
100 prisoners. The King of Naples placed himself at the head of his
Cuirassiers and Carabineers and attacked a column of the enemy’s light
infantry, consisting of four battalions, which had been sent to support
the Cossacks, with such success that he routed and annihilated it.
General Desi, the King’s adjutant, and a brave officer, was killed in
this skirmish. The Carabineers distinguished themselves.”
When Napoleon learned from a new envoy to the Russian camp that Kutuzof
had made no forward movement, he started for Kaluga, making a circuit
round the Russian troops with the object of avoiding an engagement. We
are forced to the conclusion that he only spoke of dashing Kutuzof to
pieces, and opening the road before his troops, with a view to rousing
the drooping spirits of his men, and distracting the attention of
Europe. He must have seen that though his troops could fight in defence
of the enormous booty they had taken, they could no longer win
victories.[9]
The retreating French army covered a vast extent of ground. Of the
column—which consisted of nearly 150,000 men, with 50,000 horses—the
100,000 who formed the vanguard, with haversacks and rifles, 550 guns,
and 2000 artillery-wagons, still recalled the warriors who had conquered
Europe. The rest resembled a Tartar horde returning from a successful
raid. Along three or four endless lines of march there was a hopeless
tangle of carriages and caissons, of smart barouches mixed up with
wagons of every description. In one place were trophies of Russian,
Turkish, and Persian flags, and the huge cross of Ivan the Great; in
another were bearded Russian peasants dragging along French booty of
which they themselves formed part. Others were drawing wagons laden with
everything on which they had been able to lay hands. They had no chance
of reaching even the first _étape_, but their greed made nothing of 2000
miles or more. Elegant carriages passed along drawn by undersized horses
harnessed with ropes. These carriages were filled with plunder and with
French women, former inhabitants of Moscow, flying before the
anticipated vengeance of the Muscovites. Many Russian women were also to
be seen, some following the army of necessity, and some of their own
free will. One might have fancied, say those who witnessed the scene,
that this was some caravan of nomads, or some army of early days
returning from a foray with women, slaves, and all kinds of spoil.
In spite of the breadth of the road and the cries of his body-guard,
Napoleon could scarcely manage to make his way through this endless
host—they no longer paid much attention to him. He pushed forward in
silence, and proceeded along the old Kaluga road. For some hours he
pursued this direction, but at mid-day, on the heights of Krasnaya
Pakhra, he turned the line of march suddenly to the right and reached
the new road to Kaluga in three marches across country, the movement
being covered by Ney’s corps and the remains of Murat’s cavalry.
Berthier’s letter to Kutuzof, received on the day of the evacuation of
Moscow, descanting upon the theme of humanity and love of one’s fellows,
was a military stratagem intended to throw dust in the eyes of the
Russians and gain a day of undisturbed retreat.
This ruse very nearly achieved its end; but it so happened that the
Russian free-lance, Figner, detected the retreat of the army and carried
the news to Kutuzof, who was lying without precaution at Letashefka. The
Russian general immediately moved parallel to Napoleon upon Kaluga.
There can be no doubt that if Napoleon had cared less for the
preservation of his plunder and more for speed he would have arrived
before the Russians; but moving as he did without haste, no faster than
circumstances conveniently permitted, he made the irretrievable mistake
of arriving too late.
“Never,” says Fezensac, “did the French army carry such a quantity of
baggage. Every squadron was provided with a wagon for its provisions,
and burnt what it could not carry without the formality of asking
permission from the battalion commander.”
“The troops,” says René Bourgeois, “and especially the Guards, were
laden with gold, silver, and precious things, stuffed into every
possible place, regardless of the provisions. The result was that they
had not got far from Moscow before the army began to want for the first
necessaries of life. There were few of the officers who were not
provided with furs, but the majority of the soldiers had no clothing
beyond their uniforms and great-coats, while their boots were in a most
lamentable plight.”