advance-guard had already occupied the town, and the principal obstacle
to their progress seemed to be successfully surmounted. Napoleon was
taking his _déjeuner_ in the open with Murat, Berthier, and General
Lariboisière, when he suddenly heard artillery fire from the direction
of the advance-guard. Fighting had begun at Malo Jaroslavetz. The
Emperor mounted and galloped in the direction of the cannonade. The
Viceroy’s aide-de-camp, who brought news that all the available forces
had gone into action, received the answer—“Ride back to the Viceroy and
tell him that now he has begun he must drink the cup to the dregs. I
have ordered Davout to support him!”
The battle was a sharp one. Malo Jaroslavetz was captured and
re-captured eleven times. The town was utterly destroyed, and the course
of the streets was indicated only by the piles of corpses with which
they were strewn. The houses were mere heaps of ruins, among which might
be seen the limbs of charred corpses. When the Emperor reached the scene
of action, he was shown redoubts which the Russians, when repulsed, had
hastily constructed. The general opinion of the French was that Kutuzof
would not retire, and that the action would end in a general engagement,
to which the vigour of the French troops and the ammunition of their
artillery were alike unequal.
“At Malo Jaroslavetz,” says Fezensac, “the advantage of the day rested
with the French, but Kutuzof fell back upon a new position and
strengthened it with redoubts. One of his divisions actually began to
make its way round our right along the Medyn road. We were obliged
either to retreat or engage in a serious battle.”
The position was extremely grave. In the village of Goròdnya, on the
road to Malo Jaroslavetz, a Council of War was summoned to consider the
question. Marshal Bessières and the other generals were of opinion that
they must retreat—not that they were doubtful of victory, but they
dreaded the losses that must ensue, and the probable demoralization and
disorganization of the army. The cavalry and the artillery horses were
worn out with work and want of food, and it was impossible to replace
those that were lost. How were they to transport their artillery, their
ammunition, and the wounded, of whom there would certainly be a large
number? Under these circumstances the march to Kaluga seemed a very
risky enterprise, and prudence counselled retreat through Mozjaisk to
Smolensk. Bessières was the first to suggest retreat, and the others
followed suit. Napoleon hesitated for a long time, but at last, after
passing the whole day in inspecting and studying the locality and in
hearing the opinion and advice of his generals, he resolved to retire to
Mozjaisk, and thence to retreat along the devastated route of his
advance.
In Bulletin XXII. Napoleon gave the following account of the important
battle of Malo Jaroslavetz and the subsequent decision to retire—
“At Malo Jaroslavetz the Russians brought two or three armies into
action, but without effect. The enemy retired in such disorder that they
were obliged to throw twenty guns into the river. The Emperor rode into
Malo Jaroslavetz and inspected the enemy’s position. He ordered an
attack, but the enemy escaped in the night. The Emperor then returned by
way of Vereya to Smolensk, i.e. to the road on which he had previously
travelled.... The weather is brilliant and the roads are excellent. The
Italian Guards have distinguished themselves. General Baron Delsome, a
first-rate officer, received three bullet wounds and was killed. The old
Russian infantry was annihilated. It is stated upon good authority that
only the front ranks of the Russians consist of soldiers. The rest are
made up of recruits and militiamen, with whom the Government has broken
faith in keeping them under arms.” And so forth.
Napoleon now increased the rate of march, and reprimanded Davout
continually for the slowness of the rear-guard. What this slowness
really amounted to may be gathered from the report given by Platof,
Hetman of the Cossacks, who followed Davout from Mozjaisk. He stated
that the enemy was in flight—“no army can be said to retire under such
circumstances—they abandon their wounded, their sick, and their heavy
baggage by the way.”
After leaving Mozjaisk the French army passed by the plain of Borodino,
on which more than 30,000 corpses had been left. At the approach of the
troops, flocks of carrion-crows rose with hideous cries from the torn
and mangled bodies of the dead. In spite of the cold, the latter emitted
a most nauseating odour. Napoleon neither turned his head nor uttered a
word, he merely quickened his step—for he was on foot.
It is said that when the Emperor’s column approached Gzhatsk they found
the road strewn with freshly-slain Russians, all with their heads blown
open in the same manner, by a point-blank shot, and their blood and
brains scattered around. They knew that 2000 Russian prisoners had gone
on in front under escort, and they understood that these were the bodies
of those who could not keep up with the rest, and who had been shot to
save further trouble. Some of the suite were filled with indignation,
others held their peace, while yet others justified this cold-blooded
butchery. None of those who were with the Emperor dared to express their
feelings, except Caulaincourt, who exclaimed—“This is the foulest
brutality! And this is the civilization which we have imported into
Russia! The enemy will requite our barbarity; there are numbers of
wounded and captive Frenchmen in their hands, and there is nothing to
prevent them revenging themselves on us.” Napoleon was stern and silent,
but next day the butchery ceased—no doubt he had taken measures to stop
it.
With regard to these prisoners, the testimony of eye-witnesses at
head-quarters is all to the same effect. “There was a column of Russian
prisoners marching in front of us,” says Fain, “guarded by soldiers of
the Rhine Federation. They flung them fragments of horse-flesh for their
food, and their guards had orders to kill those who fainted by the way
and could not proceed. The road was scattered with their dead bodies,
their brains blown out.”
“The Baden Grenadiers,” says Rooss, “who escorted Napoleon’s baggage,
had orders, if any of the Russian prisoners succumbed and were unable to
proceed, to shoot them on the spot. Two of these Grenadiers informed me
that it was Napoleon himself who gave the order.”
“My pen positively refuses,” says M. de B., “to describe our treatment
of the Russian prisoners during the retreat, the cruelty and savagery of
which it has in vain been sought to excuse by the law of necessity, and
by the exceptional circumstances in which the French troops were
placed.”
Labaume describes what he himself saw. “On the road they had no means of
feeding the 3000 Russian prisoners taken in Moscow. They drove them
along like so many cattle, and would not allow them to leave the narrow
space allotted to them under any pretext. Fireless and frozen, they lay
upon snow and ice, and in their unwillingness to die, longing to stay
the pangs of hunger with any nourishment, they ate the bodies of such of
their comrades as succumbed. It must be added that these were not
captives taken with arms in their hands, but a rabble composed of men of
every class who were found in the streets of Moscow.”
Petrofsky, an officer of noble birth, who was kept prisoner in spite of
all the rules of war, gives the following account of this butchery.
“Suddenly, a few paces in our rear we heard a rifle-shot, to which I at
first paid no attention. A non-commissioned officer came and reported to
the officer in command that he had shot one of the prisoners. I could
not believe my ears, and I asked the officer to explain the statement.
‘I have written instructions,’ he replied politely, ‘to shoot all
prisoners who, from fatigue or any other cause, fall more than fifty
paces behind the rear of the column. The escort has received decisive
orders to that effect.’ In the course of the day some six or seven men
were shot, and among them was one of the civil officials. Sometimes we
heard as many as fifteen shots in a day. I once saw a veteran sink upon
the road from fatigue; three times the Frenchman who stopped to shoot
him put the muzzle of his gun to the Russian’s head, three times did he
pull the trigger—the rifle missed fire! At last he left him, and sent a
comrade whose musket proved more effective. Some of the prisoners, when
they saw that their end was approaching, espied a church ahead in the
distance. They strove to drag themselves to the porch, and were there
shot dead with prayers upon their lips.”
The author of this last statement, who afterwards became a count, would
doubtless have shared their fate but for his deliverance by a band of
free-lances under the command of Cheznyshof.
On October 31, Napoleon reached Vyazma. For the first time since leaving
Moscow he wore a sable cap, a green pelisse edged with sable, and
slashed with gold frogs, and fur-lined boots. He continued to wear this
costume during the rest of the retreat, and when the severe frosts
began, and it was impossible to sit in the saddle, he either drove in a
carriage or went on foot. The infantry of the Old Guard camped round his
head-quarters as before in a square, finding shelter, as far as
possible, in such houses as were still standing.
The troops, who had orders to burn everything, smashed in the doors and
windows of the houses and set fire to them with torches, cartridges, and
even ammunition-boxes. The towns and villages were filled with the smoke
of burning houses and the stench of decomposing corpses. Davout, who
despaired of preserving his men under such circumstances, wrote to
Napoleon saying—“It should be left for the rear-guard to fire such
villages as remain.” The daily losses of the army in men and horses were
greatly increased by this destruction of every dwelling on the road.
The battle of Vyazma was most disastrous to the French. Dorogomilovsky
took a number of prisoners, artillery, and baggage. Napoleon, however,
only informed France of the loss of a few individuals who had been
captured by the Cossacks,—some engineers and topographers who were
taking plans, and a few wounded officers who were marching without
sufficient caution, running into danger instead of marching in their
place with the baggage.
[Illustration: ON THE WAY HOME.]
“On November 6,” says Ségur, “there was a complete change in the
weather, and the blue sky entirely disappeared. The French army had for
some time past been moving through a frosty mist which grew constantly
thicker and thicker; but on that day the mist turned into flakes of
snow—it seemed as if the icy sky had united with the frozen earth.
Everything took on a new and unknown form. The troops marched without
knowing where they were or where they were going to, meeting obstacles
at every step. While the soldiers were struggling forward against the
icy hurricane, the snow, whirled up by the wind, drifted over the
hollows and concealed their depth; the soldiers fell into them and were
buried in the drifts, and many who were already enfeebled lay where they
fell. Those who came behind them tried in vain to turn aside; the wind
blinded their eyes with falling and drifting snow, buffeted and confused
them, and prevented them from advancing. Their wet clothing froze upon
them, and a garment of ice clung to their bodies and numbed their limbs.
The strong bitterly cold wind caught their breath as it issued from
their mouths and turned it into icicles on their beards and coats.
Trembling in every limb they would plod on until the snow, forming balls
under their feet, absolutely prevented all progress; then, stumbling
over a piece of wood or the dead body of a comrade, they would fall and
lie groaning and lamenting while the snow covered them up, leaving on
the surface nothing but an almost invisible hillock—a soldier’s grave.
The whole road was scattered with these tiny eminences, like a
churchyard. There was snow, snow everywhere, as far as the eye could see
nothing but a melancholy vista of snow. The effect on the imagination
was profound; it seemed to be a winding-sheet which Nature was wrapping
around the unfortunate French army! The only objects that stood out were
the fir-trees with their funereal green, standing motionless and huge,
their black boughs outspread, filling the heart with sadness and
foreboding.
“Everything, even their weapons which had been serviceable at Malo
Jaroslavetz, but were now only contemptible, hindered the wretched
soldiers in their progress. They seemed insufferably heavy; when the
miserable men stumbled, their muskets would fall and break or become
buried in the snow. They would rise to their feet without them—not that
they lost them intentionally—hunger and cold had snatched them from
their grasp. Many had their hands frost-bitten, while their fingers
clung stiff and numbed to their muskets.
“Then came the sixteen-hour nights. With the snow everywhere, covering
everything, there was no place to lean against, to stop at, to sit or
rest upon, there was no spot in which they could dig for roots to stay
the pangs of hunger or obtain fuel for fires. The troops did their best
to form a camp, but the wind cared for nobody, and rudely scattered all
their preparations. The fir-wood was covered with hoar-frost and would
not take fire, fresh snow fell from the sky, the old snow melted
beneath, and even when, at infinite pains, the fire was kindled, it
could not be kept alight. At last something like a fire might be
obtained, and officers and soldiers began to prepare their wretched
supper of scraps of lean meat from horses slaughtered or dead of
fatigue, with perhaps a few spoonfuls of oatmeal soaked in melting snow.
Next day a heap of frozen soldiers marked the position of the
camp-fires, and all around lay thousands of dead horses!”
On the day on which winter broke in all its horror on the unfortunate
French army, Count Daru stopped the head-quarters staff on the march and
made a secret communication to the Emperor. It appeared that an
_estafette_, the first that had arrived for a whole week, had reached
the army with news of Malet’s conspiracy. On the march, under the public
gaze, Napoleon received the news with the utmost _sang-froid_, but
afterwards in camp he expressed the greatest wrath.
He was still more angry at Smolensk, where the army, after all its
expectations of rest, found an insufficiency both of quarters and
provisions. The Emperor was simply furious. “I never saw him,” says his
servant Constant, “forget himself to such an extent. He sent for the
Intendant; I could hear his cries from the adjoining room. Napoleon gave
orders that this officer should be shot, and it was only by grovelling
at the Emperor’s feet that the wretched man managed to get off.”
The calamities of this stage of the retreat were accentuated by the fact
that no notice had been received of the return of the army, and
officials at Smolensk and elsewhere, taken by surprise, completely lost
their heads when they saw these crowds of ravenous fugitives storming
and plundering their stores without much advantage to themselves, but to
the ruin of all who came after them.
The army not only obtained no respite in Smolensk, it proceeded on its
march in a worse condition than ever. There is no doubt that the Emperor
hoped to give his disordered flight the air of a dignified and regular
retreat, for, among other things, he directed that the walls of Smolensk
should be razed to the ground, in order, to use his own expression,
“that they might not stand in his way another time;” as if, at this
moment of disaster, he could have dreamt of a new invasion.
As we have already said, Napoleon rode the first part of the way in a
carriage. In this vehicle, which was closed and contained an abundant
supply of furs, the Emperor, who was warmly clad, did not of course feel
the cold himself. Moreover, shut up with Murat in his carriage, he ran
less risk of being subjected to insults from his angry soldiery, nor was
he haunted by the spectacle of their famine and despair, or the sound of
their clamour for bread, bread, bread!
After Smolensk he covered a great part of the distance on foot, and in
the course of the march he of course had ample opportunity of assuring
himself of the terrible plight of his troops, who were suffering
unspeakable hardships.
The Emperor gave orders that the greater part of the ill-starred
trophies, as well as a quantity of cannon and weapons of every
description, should be sunk in the Dnieper and in the Semlefsky Lake.
But, come what might, he wished to convey the cross of Ivan the Great to
Paris, and he seems to have brought it as far as Vilna.
We have already given some description of the sufferings which the army
underwent on its retreat, but the details furnished by eye-witnesses are
so full of character, interest, and instruction, that I may add a few
more extracts.
At every step were to be seen gallant officers, dressed in tatters, and
leaning on sticks of pinewood, with their hair and beards covered with
icicles. Again and again one might hear them imploring assistance.
“Comrades,” cried one in piteous tones, “help me to rise, give me a
hand; I cannot be left behind!” Every one passed on without even
glancing at him. Misery levelled all ranks and abolished all
distinctions. In vain did many of the officers insist upon their right
to command—no one paid any attention to their orders; the starving
colonel had to beg for a scrap of biscuit from the common soldier; he
who had a store of provisions, were he merely a simple officer’s
orderly, was surrounded by a little court of sycophants, who laid aside
rank and distinction, and flattered and fawned upon their more fortunate
comrade. Officers accustomed to command, and unacquainted with want,
were in the most grievous plight of all—every one shunned them to avoid
rendering them any service.
“_À moi, mes amis!_ help me to rise, I am a Captain of Engineers,” cried
an officer piteously. A passing grenadier stopped, “What, you are a
Captain of Engineers?”—“Yes, dear friend, I am!”—“Work away at your
plans then!” The road was covered with soldiers who no longer bore the
semblance of humanity, and whom the enemy would not even trouble to take
prisoners. Many were reduced by cold and hunger to idiocy; they cooked
and ate the dead bodies of their fellow-soldiers or gnawed their own
arms. Others were so weak that they could not fetch a log of wood nor
carry a stone to sit upon; they seated themselves on the bodies of their
comrades and turned a dull fixed stare upon the burning embers. Soon the
fire would die out, and these living skeletons, having no strength to
rise, would fall dead beside the bodies on which they sat. Many tried to
warm themselves by thrusting their naked feet into the midst of the
fire.
All the corps were mixed up: the remnants formed a number of little
detachments, or rather groups, of eight or ten men, who kept together
and had everything in common. Each group had a Russian horse—a _conya_
as they called it, under the impression they were speaking Russian—for
their baggage, their cooking apparatus, and provisions; and every member
of the group had also a sack for provisions. Each of these little
communities lived apart from all the rest, repulsing every one who did
not belong to them. The members kept close together and did their utmost
not to get separated in the crowd, and woe betide him who lost sight of
his mates—he would certainly find no one else to take the least interest
in him or give him any assistance.
“We were a gang of ruffians,” says Labaume, “respecting neither person
nor property. Necessity made thieves and rogues of us. Without the
slightest feeling of shame we stole from one another whatever we wanted.
Arson, murder, and destruction of every kind were incidents of everyday
life, and crime became second nature. With the same indifference with
which the soldiers set houses on fire for the sake of a moment’s warmth,
they would deprive a weaker comrade of all his little store for their
own maintenance.”
In spite of the fearful condition of the troops, Napoleon ordered
occasional manœuvres—with what result may be imagined. Such divisions as
could still be made to perform any evolutions, after wandering about
over snow-blocked roads, would end the day by retiring without their
artillery and baggage, which had been abandoned in the ditches.
The staff encampment, according to the testimony of an eye-witness,
presented a sad and pitiable spectacle. “In a wretched outhouse, with a
crazy roof, some twenty officers, sandwiched with as many servants, were
gathered round a little fire. Behind them stood their horses, ranged in
a circle to keep off the wind. The smoke was so thick that one could
hardly discern the forms even of those who were sitting close to the
fire blowing up a flame under the cauldron in which their food was
simmering. The rest, wrapped in cloaks and fur-coats, were lying side by
side almost on the top of one another for the sake of warmth. They did
not stir a limb, but every now and then one might hear the voice of a
man abusing his comrades for moving about and treading on him, or
cursing the neighing of the horses, or the sparks from the fire that
burnt his coat.”
Napoleon, who now travelled for the most part on foot, clearly
recognized the condition of the army, but he saw no need for giving
Europe any inkling of the truth in his bulletins. “The roads are very
slippery,” he says in Bulletin XXVIII., “and are difficult travelling
for the draught-horses—we have lost a considerable number through cold
and fatigue.” From Vyazma he wrote—“Twelve thousand Russian infantry,
under cover of swarms of Cossacks, cut the road between the Duke of
Eckmühl and the Viceroy. The Duke and the Viceroy attacked them, drove
them from the line of march, pursued them into the forest, and took a
number of prisoners, including a general and six guns. Since then we
have heard no more of the Russian infantry; only the Cossacks are to be
seen moving about in the distance.”
Not a word about the number of prisoners, guns, and baggage taken by
Dorogomilovsky in this battle, which proved so disastrous to the French
army, or of the fact that the French had by this time lost some 40,000
prisoners, about 25 generals, 500 guns, 30 flags, and, in addition to a
stupendous quantity of other baggage, all the trophies from Moscow which
they had not yet burnt or destroyed! If to this total we add some 50,000
who had died of their sufferings, or been killed in different
engagements since they left Moscow, we may calculate that the army
contained not more than 70,000 men, and of these, inclusive of the
Imperial Guard, there were only about 10,000 able to carry arms.
Kutuzof strictly enjoined his generals not to drive the enemy to
despair, and for Napoleon and the Old Guard in particular, from which he
expected a most desperate resistance, he ordered them to _faire des
ponts d’or_, reckoning that even if they survived cold and hunger they
would be unable to pass the Beresina, where they would have to deal with
three armies at once. This is the only supposition upon which it is
possible to explain the unnecessary caution displayed by the Russian
Commander-in-Chief whenever his generals showed any intention of
attacking their enfeebled adversary, and making an end of him and the
war at a blow. The French army—or rather the remains of it—was indebted
for its escape, not so much to its prestige, as to Kutuzof and
Chichagof, and especially to the latter.
In consequence of Kutuzof’s plan, the Emperor and his picked troops were
not harassed on the road to Krasnoye, while Marshals Davout and Ney, who
brought up the rear, were exposed to the most determined attacks.
At Krasnoye, Napoleon, after a series of vacillating and contradictory
movements, once more displayed his characteristic skill and audacity. By
a bold manœuvre he held the Russians in check, and gave the remains of
his two divisions an opportunity of escaping.
While he was manœvring with the Guards, an indescribable mass of
broken-down fugitives absolutely incapable of defence filed past him. In
spite of his self-command it was evident that the sight of these
destitute remnants of his once invincible troops affected him deeply.
Throughout the night that followed he was unable to sleep, and
complained that he could not bear to think of the condition of his
troops. “The very sight of them,” he said, “fills my soul with horror.”
“Imagine, if possible,” says René Bourgeois, “60,000 destitutes with
sacks over their shoulders and long sticks in their hands, covered with
rags of the filthiest description stuck together anyhow, swarming with
vermin, and absolutely starving! Add to this picture pale, cadaverous
faces covered with the dirt of camps and blackened by the smoke of
fires, glazed and sunken eyes, dishevelled hair, long filthy beards—and
you will still have but a faint notion of the appearance presented by
the army! No men had brothers, friends, countrymen, or officers. _Sauve
qui peut_ was the order of the day. We were waging a desperate warfare,
each man against his neighbour; and it may truthfully be said, both in
the literal and the figurative sense, that the strong devoured the weak.
Wherever one turned one’s eyes they fell upon scenes of horror and
barbarity. If a man was suspected of concealing provisions his comrades
attacked him furiously, and snatched them from him in spite of all his
struggles and curses. All day and every day one might hear the sound of
dead men’s bones crunching beneath the feet of horses and the wheels of
the wagons, as they were crushed into the ruts.”
In the face of these horrors one cannot but be surprised that any
fraction, however small, of the Grande Armée ever managed to reach the
frontier and the long-wished-for winter quarters, and it will therefore
not be without interest to see how the fugitives lived their daily life.
“Whenever we halted,” says Bourgogne, “to take a mouthful of food, the
soldiers laid eager hands on the horses that had been abandoned, or on
those which were not guarded, cut them up, collected their blood in
saucepans, boiled and ate it.... If it happened that the order to
advance was given before they had time to finish, or the Russians were
seen approaching and they had to make off, they carried their saucepans
with them, and ate the contents on the march. Their hands of course
became smeared with blood.
“They fought on the slightest provocation, and the air was filled with
evil words. The foulest abuse and the vilest epithets were bandied about
on the most frivolous occasion. Every quarrel ended, as a rule, in the
disputants falling upon one another with fists and sticks; the troops
had in fact arrived at such a condition of savagery that they were ready
to tear one another in pieces.
“At the halting-places they rushed like madmen into the houses, sheds,
outhouses, and buildings of whatever kind that were to be found, and in
a few moments packed them so full that it was impossible either to leave
or enter. Those who could not get in settled down outside, as near as
possible to the walls. The first task was to get firewood and straw for
the bivouac, and for this purpose they would climb on to the
neighbouring houses and carry off roofs, rafters, partitions, and
everything combustible, reducing the whole building to ruins, despite
the cries, threats, and resistance of those who were within. The inmates
had to stand a regular siege and drive away their assailants by a
sortie, or rather by a series of sorties, for the place of those who
were repulsed would be taken by other besiegers stronger and more
resolute. They had to yield at last to superior force and escape in
order to avoid being buried in the ruins. When it was impossible to
effect a forcible entry the assailants would fire the building from
outside in order to expel those who were warming themselves within. This
happened as a rule when a building was tenanted by generals who had
expelled its first occupants. The latter would then threaten to set the
house on fire, and actually put their threat into execution. The
unfortunate officers would rush for the door with execrations on their
lips, falling and crushing one another in their eagerness to escape.”
[Illustration:
Napoleon. Berthier. Murat. Rapp.
BIVOUAC.]
Even those highest in command now admitted that Napoleon in leading his
army to Moscow had made the same error as Charles XII. when he invaded
the Ukraine; that from a military point of view the campaign was lost by
irresolution during the critical battle, and from a political point of
view by the burning of Moscow; and that if the army had returned in time
it might have retired in good order. After its entry into Moscow the
Russian Commander-in-Chief and the Russian winter both gave the French
ample grace; the former forty days, the latter fifty, to rest and
retreat. And while they lamented the time wasted in Moscow and the
indecision shown at Malo Jaroslavetz they reviewed the long catalogue of
their own misfortunes. Since leaving Moscow they had lost all their
baggage, half their artillery, thirty flags, some thirty generals,
40,000 prisoners, 60,000 dead. There remained some 50,000 helpless
vagrants, and perhaps 10,000 who were still in a condition to defend
themselves! It was, moreover, a grave mistake to entrust the task of
covering the retreat of the army and all its stores to the Austrians
without leaving some one in authority at Vilna or Minsk to correct their
errors and omissions. The French were unanimous in charging
Schwarzenberg with treachery, though Napoleon himself held his
peace—perhaps out of policy, perhaps because he had not looked for any
greater degree of zeal from his Austrian ally.
Napoleon endeavoured to check the general demoralization and
despondency. In private, as we have already said, he bitterly bewailed
the sufferings of his troops, but in public he assumed a tranquil air,
and gave orders that every one should keep his proper place in the
ranks. Failing obedience, he ordered that “officers be reduced to the
ranks, and soldiers shot.” But this threat proved entirely ineffectual,
for the soldiers were naturally less afraid of death than of the
prolongation of such a state of misery.
At Orcha Napoleon burned his baggage with his own hands in order to
prevent it from falling into the clutches of the enemy. Thus perished
the documents which he had collected for the history of his own life,
with the composition of which he had intended to occupy himself when he
started on this campaign. He then counted upon establishing himself in a
threatening position on the banks of the Dvina or Beresina, and during
the six tedious months of winter devoting his leisure hours to writing
his reminiscences. All these plans and hopes were now scattered to the
winds.
A rumour gained currency that Chichagof had occupied Minsk, and that the
line of retreat was therefore endangered. The Emperor, however, attached
little importance to the report, for he was convinced that he commanded
the passage of the Beresina at Borisof. The bridge at Borisof was
protected by a strong fortress occupied by a Polish regiment. Napoleon
was so confident upon this point that in order to relieve the burdens of
the army, he gave orders at Orcha to burn all his pontoons. It must
indeed have been a blow to learn after this that Chichagof had taken the
town of Borisof, which commanded the passage of the river.
There is an interesting description of the arrival of an officer of the
Young Guard who brought this unwelcome news—“On November 26 we were
marching along the high-road in the direction of Borisof. The town was
not far off. Bonaparte was walking, like the rest of us, with a stick in
his hand. He was dressed in a fur-coat and hat, and was walking along
the middle of the road a few paces from me, behind the Prince of
Neufchâtel (Berthier). On every side reigned a melancholy silence.
Suddenly we saw an officer riding to meet us. It was Colonel de F.,
attached to the staff. He halted in front of the Prince and made a
report of something to him—I only heard the words ‘Beresina’ and
‘Russians.’ We all stopped. Bonaparte also halted; he was about six
paces from the Chief of the Staff and the colonel. I moved a little
closer in order to learn what it was all about. I could hear Bonaparte
asking angrily, ‘What is he talking about? eh? What is he talking about?
What is he talking about?’
“The Prince ordered the colonel to repeat his message to Bonaparte. I
seem to hear them even now.
“_De F._—‘Monsieur le Maréchal has sent me to inform you that the
Russian army of Moldavia has reached the Beresina and occupied all the
crossings.’
“_Bonaparte._—‘It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true!’
“_De F._—‘That two divisions of the enemy have captured the bridge and
occupied the left bank; also that the river is not frozen sufficiently
to cross on the ice.’
“_Bonaparte_ (angrily).—‘You lie, you lie! It’s not true.’
“_De F._ (coldly, in a louder tone).— I was not sent to ascertain the
position of the enemy. Monsieur le Maréchal sent me to bring this
report, and I am performing my duty.’
“Seeing Napoleon beginning to brandish his stick, I thought he meant to
strike the colonel with it; but at that moment he stepped back with his
legs spread wide apart. Leaning his left hand on his stick and grinding
his teeth together, he cast a furious glance at the heavens and shook
his fist! A cry of passionate anger broke from his lips; he repeated his
menacing gesture, and added one short expressive word—a word blasphemous
enough by itself. I assure you that in all my life I never saw a more
fearful expression of face and figure! He was evidently quite forgetful
of the care with which he had striven till then to hide his feelings
from us, and his endeavours to appear cheerful—though, of course, no one
was deceived. We were so attentively engaged in watching his movements,
and were so much surprised at the scene, that we only recollected
ourselves at last when he gave orders to continue the advance.”
“That night,” says Ségur, “Napoleon had no sleep. Duroc and Daru,
thinking he was asleep, began to talk of the desperate position in which
the French were placed, unaware that he could hear all they said. When
they uttered the words ‘royal prisoner’ he could keep silence no longer,
but broke in, ‘Do you think that they would dare?’ Daru, after the first
moment of surprise, replied that if the Emperor was obliged to yield at
last he must be prepared for the worst; that he must not count on the
magnanimity of his adversary, for politics, in the widest sense of the
word, knew nothing of the ethics of everyday life, they have their own
code.”
“‘And France?’ asked Napoleon. ‘What will France say?’
“‘Oh! as for France—one may fit one’s conjectures to one’s fancy, for it
would be hard to say what the result will really be in France. The best
thing,’ added Daru, ‘both for us and for your Majesty, would be if you
could somehow get back into France, through the air, if it may not be
along the road; for you would be more likely to save us by being there,
than by staying here.’
“‘In fact, I am in the way?’ asked Napoleon.
“‘Yes, your Majesty.’
“‘And would not you like to be a royal prisoner?’
“Daru answered in the same jesting strain that ‘he would be satisfied to
be an ordinary prisoner of war.’
“To this the Emperor made no reply; but after a long pause he asked if
all the despatches had been burnt.
“‘Your Majesty did not wish that to be done?’
“‘Go at once and burn everything—our position, to be frank, is not one
to boast of.’”
Marshal St. Cyr received strict orders to drive the Russians over the
river. He performed this task; but the problem how the French army was
to cross under the enemy’s fire without any pontoons still remained
unsolved, and troubled the minds of every soldier from the highest to
the lowest.
There was no longer any hope that the fugitives would be able to slip
through between the Russian armies. Driven on by Kutuzof and
Vittgenstein to the Beresina, they must cross the river without delay in
spite of the threatening position occupied by Chichagof on the further
bank.
On November 23 Napoleon began his preparations for this desperate step.
The remains of the cavalry, under the command of Latour-Maubourg, were
rapidly dwindling in number, and there were now only 150 left. The
Emperor collected all the officers who could still sit in the saddle and
formed them into a body of some 500, which he called his “Holy
Squadron.” Divisional commanders acted in this squadron as captains;
Grouchy and Sebastiani were appointed commanders. Napoleon further
ordered that all superfluous vehicles should be burnt, and that no
officer should have more than one; so that half the vans and wagons in
the various corps were destroyed, and the horses distributed among the
Horse Guards.
The retreating host soon came up with Marshal Victor’s army, which was
awaiting Napoleon’s arrival.
“Still in good condition, having suffered but little, it welcomed the
Emperor with the usual enthusiastic cries, which had long been unheard
among the fugitives from Moscow,” says Ségur. “These troops knew nothing
of the sufferings of the main army, so that they were perfectly
astounded when, in the place of the well-appointed columns of the
victors of Moscow, they saw Napoleon followed by this rabble of
skeletons, clad in tatters, in women’s jackets, in fragments of old
carpets or filthy remnants of rusty cloaks, burnt into holes, with their
legs wrapped in all manner of scraps and rags. The real soldiers gazed
in horror on these unfortunate warriors, their sunken cheeks, the earthy
colour of their countenances, their straggling beards; defenceless,
weaponless, jostling one another like a herd of cattle, their heads
hanging down and their eyes cast upon the ground. What astonished them
more than anything was the number of generals and colonels, marching by
themselves, in solitary dejection, with no soldiers to command. Busied
only with themselves, their persons, or their goods, they marched
unnoticed and uncared for among the common soldiers—soldiers from whom
they no longer looked for obedience, for every tie was broken and every
rank levelled by misfortune. Victor’s and Oudinot’s troops could not
believe their eyes. The impression produced by this fearful _débâcle_
had an immediate effect upon the discipline of the 2nd and 9th
corps—disorder soon showed itself in their ranks; the soldiers threw
away their muskets and laid hands on valuable walking-sticks.”
The Grande Armée reached the river, and it was decided to make the
crossing at Studyanka. The only chance of success lay in deceiving the
Russians as to the place in which the passage was to be attempted, for
it was evidently impossible to effect a crossing by force. On the 24th,
therefore, three hundred soldiers and a few hundred fugitives were sent
down the river to Ukholda with orders to prepare materials for the
construction of a bridge, and to make as much noise as possible over it.
The remains of the Cuirassiers were sent to the same place by a road
that was well within sight of the Russians. In addition—and this was the
most cunning stroke of all—the Chief of the Staff summoned some Jews of
the neighbourhood and questioned them with the greatest show of secrecy
as to the fords and roads leading to Minsk. Then, as if delighted with
the result of his examination, and allowing them to imagine that in his
opinion this was the only way out of his difficulties, he retained some
of the rogues as guides and dismissed the rest beyond his outposts. In
order to make certain that they would repeat all they knew, the general
forced them to take an oath that they would meet the French lower down
the Beresina and inform them of the enemy’s movements.
While endeavouring in this way to hoodwink Chichagof, they made all
necessary preparations for the passage of the river at Studyanka. The
presence, however, of a division of the enemy on the far side of the
river caused them to doubt seriously whether the Russians would fall
into the trap. They expected every minute that the Russian guns would
open fire on the workmen engaged in building the bridge. Even if the
enemy had delayed until dawn the work would not have been sufficiently
far advanced, and the opposite bank, which was low and marshy, was only
too well adapted for opposing the passage.
Napoleon was aware of this, and when he left Borisof at ten o’clock in
the evening he prepared for the last desperate stroke. He halted with
the 6000 Guards which remained to him at Staro-Borisof in a house
belonging to Radziwill. He did not go to bed that night, but was
continuously on the alert, listening and making inquiries as to the
movements of the enemy. In his anxiety he was haunted by the idea that
the night was drawing to a close and dawn about to break. His attendants
had great difficulty in assuring him that this was not the case. He went
out to wait in a little hut on the banks of the river.
“Well, Berthier, how shall we get out of this?” he said to the Chief of
the Staff, who was continually with him. In a quiet moment, when
Napoleon was sitting in a room of the hut, they saw the tears rise to
his eyes and course down his pale cheeks, paler now than ever.
The King of Naples openly expressed his doubts as to the possibility of
effecting a crossing, and in the name of the army begged the Emperor to
think of his own safety.
“There are brave Poles ready to escort the Emperor; they will take him
up along the banks of the Beresina and will get him to Vilna within five
days.” Napoleon hung his head in sign of refusal, but said nothing.
[Illustration: DESPAIR.]
Hardly had the first piles of the bridge been driven when Marshal Ney
and the King of Naples came running out of breath to the Emperor, crying
that the enemy had abandoned their position on the other bank. Napoleon,
beside himself with delight, and unable to believe his ears, ran to the
river—it was indeed true! In an ecstasy of joy, he cried breathlessly,
“Then I have deceived the Admiral!” And the Russians were indeed in the
fullest sense of the word deceived. Their officers did not consider the
work that had been going on at Studyanka for forty-eight hours as worthy
of any attention. The carelessness and incautiousness of the French
served to convince Admiral Chichagof that they meant to cross lower down
the river, and he accordingly moved the whole of Chapletz’s corps, which
was stationed opposite the bridge then in course of construction at
Studyanka, and which could of course see and hear the work that was
proceeding.
Admiral Chichagof was an excellent type of the crafty courtier. He had
gained his promotion by the accident of interest and favour; he was
proud, bold, and overbearing. Most aptly did Krylof characterize him in
the fable of the pike that went mouse-hunting. The Jews sent out by the
French, and the demonstration at Ukholda, firmly convinced him that the
crossing was to be effected below Studyanka, and in spite of all reports
of the progress of the works at that point, he drew off the whole
division to the very last man.
Napoleon, however firmly he might believe in his lucky star, could
scarcely have counted on such simplicity, and the French are right in
saying that the historian will have to solve an interesting problem; how
was it that a demoralized and exhausted army, hemmed in on every side by
an enemy incomparably superior in numbers, who literally had only to put
out their hand to seize their prey, found the way left open before them?
The Russians retired—there were no obstacles, and the French army was
allowed to retreat in peace along a route that was neither burnt nor
devastated. Whatever the cause may have been—whether carelessness,
misunderstanding, or indolence—the retreating army owed thanks to Heaven
that among its enemies there was at least one stupendous fool.
Ségur graphically describes his own impressions and Napoleon’s feelings
at this time. “Every stroke of our sappers’ axes which had been ringing
in the adjacent woods for a whole day must have been heard by the enemy.
We expected that at the first rays of dawn we should see the Russian
battalions and guns drawn up before the frail construction which General
Ebler had erected, while eight hours’ work were still wanting to
complete the bridge. No doubt, we thought, the enemy is waiting for
daylight in order to train his guns with more effect. Day broke, and our
eyes beheld the camp-fires abandoned, the river-bank deserted, and in
the distance, on the heights, thirty guns—moving away.
“A single cannon-ball would have sufficed to demolish our only hope of
safety. But their artillery was retiring before our very eyes, moving
further and further into the distance, while ours was at the same time
being brought into position.
“Far away we could see the end of the long Russian column retiring to
Borisof—they had but to look round. An infantry regiment of twelve guns
remained, but scattered about, and evidently with no intention of
interfering with us; while at the edge of the forest we could see a
detachment of Cossacks—the rear-guard of Chapletz’s division, 6000
strong—withdrawing so as to leave the road open to us.
“The French simply could not believe their eyes. At last, delirious with
joy, they began cheering and clapping their hands. Rapp and Oudinot ran
in to the Emperor—‘Your Majesty, the enemy have struck their tents and
abandoned the position!’—‘Impossible!’ answered the Emperor; but Ney and
Murat in their turn came running up to confirm the news. Napoleon rushed
out of his hut, looked, and saw the extreme end of Chapletz’s column in
full retreat just disappearing into the woods.”
By one o’clock the Cossacks had completely abandoned the bank, and the
bridge for the passage of the infantry was finished. Legrand’s division
immediately crossed with its artillery before Napoleon’s eyes, to loud
cries of “_Vive l’Empereur_!” Napoleon had been hurrying on the work,
and he now assisted the passage of the artillery by his encouraging
words and example of cheerfulness. When the foremost troops at last
reached the further bank, he could not forbear from crying out—“My lucky
star, again my star!”
Chichagof to his first mistake added yet another, into which no
intelligent sergeant-major would have fallen, and which is really beyond
forgiveness. Zemlin lies on the far side of the river in the middle of
an extensive marsh, over which passes the Vilna road. The latter is
constructed on a causeway of twenty-two wooden bridges, which the
Russian general could and ought to have burnt before he retired.
Combustible materials had indeed been put under them for this very
purpose, but no one took the trouble to set fire to them. If Chichagof
had been less self-confident he would at least, in withdrawing to
Ukholda, have ensured the impossibility of the passage of the river at
Studyanka by ordering the Vilna road to be destroyed. The French army
would have been irretrievably lost, and all their labours and sacrifices
at the passage of the Beresina would have availed them nothing, for the
deep marshes which surround Zemlin would inevitably have stopped them.
The crowding, jostling, confusion, fighting, and killing which took
place at the passage of the Beresina, according to the testimony of
those who witnessed the scene, defy description. All rushed like madmen
for the bridges; no one was master of himself, a universal frenzy
possessed the whole army. They hewed a passage with their swords or
whatever weapon they possessed, and hurled down every obstacle in their
way. The word “Emperor,” which a month before had been one to conjure
with, had lost its magic. Caulaincourt, the great Master of the Horse,
was hustled and jostled, almost knocked from the saddle, before he
managed with infinite difficulty to get the Emperor’s horses and
carriages over.
By the evening the Russian guns (of Witgenstein’s army) were in
position, and opened fire on the masses of soldiers who covered the
banks and the bridges. It is difficult, nay impossible, to paint the
scenes of horror, of butchery, which were enacted under the fire of the
Russian batteries. The terrified troops were so closely huddled and
packed together that every shot told with fearful effect. With the cries
of despair which rang out on every side, with the groans of men and the
neighing of horses as they fell and were trampled under-foot, mingled
the ceaseless shrieking of the cannon-balls, the booming of the guns,
the rain of lead upon wagons, carriages and caissons, broken, shattered
and dispersed, their flying splinters still further adding to the
slaughter. It was a scene of horror beyond the power of words to paint.
At last night put an end to the massacre. Some portion of the 9th Army
Corps managed to cross the river, but the greater part was destroyed.
The whole of General Portuneau’s division laid down its arms; it had
lost its way, blundered among the Russians, and been surrounded. Marbot
declares, but it seems improbable, that the general was accompanied by a
guide from Borisof, who endeavoured to explain with all the
expressiveness at his command that the camp in front of them was a
Russian camp; but, having no interpreter, they did not understand him.
The result was that the French lost from 7000 to 8000 men. There is no
proof of Napoleon’s grave accusation that, to judge by report, “the
commander lost his division because he took an independent line.”
By eight o’clock the next morning the bridge destined for the horses and
wagons was broken, and the baggage and artillery proceeded to occupy the
other bridge. This was the signal for a regular battle, in the truest
sense of the word, between the infantry and cavalry. Many fell in this
struggle, and still more at the beginning of the bridge, where the path
was so blocked with the bodies of men and horses that the troops had
literally to pass over heaps of dead.
“The last to cross was Gérard’s division, who made their way at the
point of the sword, after clambering over the pile of corpses which
cumbered the road. They had hardly reached the further shore when the
Russians charged down after them; and the French immediately set the
bridge on fire, thus sacrificing all that remained on the left bank, in
order to prevent the Russians from crossing.”
Those who had not succeeded in getting across were mad with terror. Many
endeavoured to dash over the burning bridge, and to avoid being roasted
alive were forced to leap into the river, where they were drowned.
Thousands of fires lined the heights occupied by the Russians, while in
the valley beneath, by the bank of the river, tens of thousands of
wretched men were dying or preparing to die, without food or shelter.
There was nothing but the sound of their moaning to tell that these
hosts of men lay there, still breathing, in the darkness.
“Much has been said,” writes Marbot, “of the disasters of the Beresina;
but no one has yet said that most of them might have been avoided if the
staff had better understood its duties and availed itself of the night
of the 27th and 28th for the transport of the baggage and of all those
thousands of men who next day blocked the way across the river. That
night the bridges were empty; not a soul crossed them, though within a
hundred paces one might have seen by the light of the moon a rabble of
more than 50,000 men of all sorts, stragglers from their own regiments,
who went by the name of ‘broilers.’ These men sat calmly by their
enormous fires cooking their supper of horse-flesh, unconscious that the
passage of the river must cost many of them their lives on the following
day, while at that very moment they might be crossing at their leisure
and could cook their supper in safety on the other side. Their conduct
is not to be wondered at, for no officer came from the Emperor, no
aide-de-camp from the staff, nor from any one of the marshals, to warn
these poor wretches, or, if necessary, to drive them by force to the
bridges.
“Had the authorities borrowed a few battalions from Oudinot’s corps, or
from the Guards, who still maintained discipline, they might easily have
forced all these masses to cross the bridge. In vain did I urge, as I
passed the Head-quarters Staff and that of Marshal Oudinot, that the
bridges were lying idle, and that all these unarmed troops should be
made to cross while the enemy remained quiet. I received only evasive
replies, and found myself referred from one to another.”
The battle of the Beresina may be regarded as having decided the fate of
the Grande Armée—the magnificent force that had once caused Europe to
tremble.
It has often been said that the destruction of the French army was due
to the cold; but, as we have seen, many other causes were at work. The
2nd and 9th Army Corps kept perfect order, though they had to endure
much the same cold as the main army. The chief cause of the _débâcle_
was hunger, followed by rapid and ceaseless marches and bivouacs without
sleep or rest; and lastly, the cold when it became very intense. We must
not, however, forget the steadiness and endurance of the Russian troops.
Napoleon and the whole of the French army were astonished by the fact
that at “the great battle,” though there were hosts of Russians slain
there were no prisoners. As for the horses, they sustained the cold very
well so long as they were fed; and they too perished chiefly of hunger
and fatigue.
Kutuzof, as has been said, was not alone responsible for Napoleon’s
escape from Russia. The Russian Commander-in-Chief took a thoroughly
sound view of the position of the French Emperor; and in this connection
his conversations with one of his prisoners, a man occupying a high rank
in the administrative branch of the French army, are full of interest.
Kutuzof told him that he had thoroughly studied Napoleon’s character,
and was sure that when once he had crossed the Niemen he would be
tempted to extend his conquests indefinitely. “We have given him plenty
of space to exhaust and dissipate his army, to give strategy, famine,
and frost free play. What blindness is it that has prevented Napoleon
alone from recognizing the trap that was so evident to everybody else?”
The Field-Marshal expressed astonishment at the ease with which Napoleon
had been induced to stay in Moscow and encouraged in his absurd hopes of
concluding an honourable peace, when he was helplessly caught in the
toils.
“Napoleon’s intelligence,” he remarked, “has deteriorated—the whole
campaign shows that. It is a pity he did not think of going further than
Moscow, we would have given him another 5000 versts to conquer.”
He admitted that it would have been hard to imagine anything more
dangerous for Russia than Napoleon’s original plan of remaining in
Smolensk, covering Poland, and renewing the war in the spring. But he
was convinced that the plan did not originate with Napoleon himself, for
he was too much accustomed to short campaigns to devote two whole years
to the conquest of a single empire. “One must know but little of
Napoleon,” said Kutuzof, “to imagine him capable of the patient
execution of an enterprise demanding time, caution, and tedious
elaboration of detail.”
“When I left the Field-Marshal,” says this French officer, “he expressed
the conviction that Bonaparte would inevitably be crushed at the passage
of the Beresina.”
* * * * *
Beyond the Beresina, the retreat became more disastrous than ever. It
was a headlong flight in which there was no longer any pretence of
order. The fugitives behaved, in the most literal sense, like wild
beasts. Muravyof, Fenschaw, Chichagof, and many others affirm that they
saw the French devouring their dead comrades. They often found them in
outhouses seated round a fire on the bodies of the dead, cutting out the
best portions to roast and eat. When, on one occasion, a Russian officer
expressed his horror and disgust, one of these cannibals replied with
perfect equanimity, “Of course this stuff isn’t very nice, but at any
rate it’s better than beastly horse-flesh.”
In the hospital at Minsk the French convalescents, for want of tables,
played cards on the dead and stiffened bodies of their comrades, and the
walls of the room were ornamented with the bodies of the dead dressed in
fantastic costumes and with their faces daubed, by way of jest, with
coal and brick-dust.
Fuel was so scarce that even the Viceroy Eugène, for instance, had to
make shift without a fire. It is said that on one occasion, in order to
scrape together a few billets of wood, his attendants had to remind the
Bavarians that Prince Eugène was married to their king’s daughter, and
consequently had a right to command them!
To make matters worse, on the far side of the Beresina, and during the
first stages of the retreat, the arrival of the fugitives came as a
complete surprise to the towns and halting-places along the road. At
Vilna, for instance, there was a supply of flour for 100,000 men for
forty days, exclusive of the corn in the granaries; there was meat for
100,000 men for thirty-six days, unkilled; beer and brandy in still
larger proportions; 30,000 pairs of boots; 27,000 rifles, and an immense
quantity of clothing, ammunition, saddlery, harness, and equipments of
every kind. The officials, however, having received no instructions, did
not dare to make an immediate distribution of these stores. They waited
so long that the greater part of the supplies fell into the hands of the
Russians, who followed close upon the heels of the French.
Vilna was, like Smolensk, a sort of Promised Land in the eyes of the
soldiers. Here, they thought, they would be able to eat their fill at
last and enjoy at least some rest from their flight. But they were
disappointed in their hopes, and forced to continue their flight without
a pause. The town was nothing but a plague-stricken cesspool. Thousands
of corpses lay unburied, simply flung out of the houses into the yards,
where the invalids also lay, forming a confused mass of sick and dead.
Most of the houses in the town were turned into hospitals, crammed full
of sick and wounded. As soon as the French left Vilna the house-owners,
who were Jews, stripped the sick of all their money and clothes and
turned them, stark naked, into the streets. The Russian authorities,
including the Emperor Alexander himself, were obliged to take stern and
vigorous measures for housing the wounded and relieving their
sufferings.
A few miles beyond Vilna is a steep hill, which was at that time covered
with ice. It gave the French baggage as much trouble as the Beresina. In
vain did the horses put forth every effort to surmount it—the French
saved hardly a gun or private carriage. At the foot of the hill they
were forced to abandon the whole of the artillery of the Guard, the
Emperor’s baggage, and the army treasure-chest.
As the troops went by they smashed open the carriages and took the most
valuable of their contents—clothes, furs, and money. Many poor wretches
dying of hunger were to be seen covered with gold; articles of luxury of
all kinds were strewn upon the snow. The plundering was only stopped by
the appearance of the Cossacks, who swooped down and seized all the
booty that remained. One of the officers gives us an account of the
retreat from Vilna and of this last disaster—which, if we may trust
eye-witnesses of the scene, might have been avoided, inasmuch as there
was an easy road round the hill. “We passed out in silence, leaving the
streets covered from end to end with soldiers, some asleep, some dead.
The courtyards, the galleries, and the steps of the buildings were
covered with them, but none were willing to rise and follow us, nor even
to stir at the summons of their officers.
“We arrived at the foot of a hill, the ascent of which was rendered
quite impracticable by reason of its steepness and the ice with which it
was covered. All around lay Napoleon’s carriages and baggage, which were
abandoned at Vilna, together with the army treasure-chest.
“It was decided to entrust the salvage of the Imperial treasure to the
escort. As there was about five million francs, principally in silver
écus, they had to distribute them at random among the soldiers. Many,
seeing that they could not possibly keep up with us, made free with what
had been entrusted to them. The flags which had been taken from the
enemy, and which had no further interest for the troops, were shamefully
thrown away at the bottom of the hill, as well as the famous cross of
Ivan the Great—a trophy which we had set our hearts upon carrying away!
The Russians, who are generally regarded as barbarians, subsequently
afforded a most noble example of moderation such as is rarely displayed
after victory.
“New-comers kept increasing the number of the plunderers, and it was
indeed an edifying spectacle to see these men dying of hunger, and at
the same time loaded with such quantities of treasure that they could
move only with difficulty. On every side lay open trunks and broken
chests. Gorgeous gold-embroidered court dresses and rich furs were
donned by persons of the most repulsive exterior. Sixty francs were
offered for a Napoleon d’or, and ten crowns was the price of a glass of
brandy. One of the Grenadiers in my presence offered a cask of silver
coin for sale; it was finally bought by one of the principal officers,
who took it away in his sledge.
“All the soldiers, turned second-hand dealers, were selling their
plunder to those who had looted the treasure-chests. Their conversation
turned exclusively on bullion and jewellery; every one had plenty of
silver, and no one a rifle. Is it surprising that the mere appearance of
the Cossacks was enough to inspire the fugitives with terror? Nor were
they long in coming upon the scene.” An eye-witness tells us that on
this occasion the lust for gold abolished all distinction between the
bold and the timorous, between friend and foe, and that the Cossacks set
to plundering side by side with the French!
At this point the most terrible frosts overtook the fugitives. Even the
discipline of the Guards was destroyed; and when the drum summoned them
to march, this brave army of tried veterans, the last hope of the army,
refused to leave the camp-fires and fall in. Reproaches, entreaties, and
menaces sufficed to persuade some; others did not stir—they were
frost-bitten, for even the fires were not enough to save them from the
cold.
Even for so high an officer as Murat the Grenadiers refused to fetch
firewood or snow for water, lest, as they expressed it, they should be
“nipped on the way.”
On one occasion the whole of the 4th Army Corps refused to move, and it
was only by the most vigorous persuasion that the Duke of Neufchâtel
induced them to stir out of the room,—for one roomful constituted the
whole of this corps of the Grande Armée!
As for the rear-guard, it was no longer in existence. The result of the
campaign was the complete annihilation of an army of nearly half a
million men. The whole of the artillery, consisting of 1200 guns and
caissons, fell into the hands of the enemy, together with many thousands
of wagons and officers’ carriages, and an enormous quantity of warlike
stores and provisions. According to official accounts, 253,000 bodies
were burnt in the provinces of Moscow, Vitebsk, and Mohilef, and 53,000
in Vilna and its immediate neighbourhood. More than 100,000 men were
taken prisoners. Within historical memory, from the time of Cambyses to
the present day, there is no parallel to such a disaster affecting so
great a host.
To return once more to Napoleon—it should be said that after the passage
of the Beresina he had but one thought—how best to return to France,
collect a fresh army, and if he could not induce his allies to keep
faith with him, at any rate prevent them from immediately joining forces
against him. His intention of leaving the army and proceeding direct to
Paris was kept a profound secret, although some of those nearest to him
knew, and for the most part approved, the plan. They saw, in fact, no
hope of rescue except in the organization of a new army of half a
million men.
For some time previous to the Emperor’s departure from the army he, too,
suffered extreme discomfort and even privation. The soldiers occupied
filthy, foul-smelling huts close to his head-quarters, and it was
necessary to use force to repel them. The bread baked for Napoleon at
this time consisted of black rye loaves; the meal was badly ground, the
dough had hardly risen, in addition to which it had a disagreeable musty
smell.
In the little town of Zanifka the head-quarters were established in a
small, two-roomed hut. The back room was occupied by Napoleon, the front
apartment by his suite, who disposed themselves for sleep packed side by
side so closely that the Emperor’s valet could not avoid treading on
their legs and arms. At Smorgoni the Emperor was stationed at
head-quarters for the last time. He there made his final arrangements,
and wrote his last bulletin, No. XXIX., filled, as usual, with
half-truths and glaring falsehoods. In this bulletin he attributed his
disasters to fortuitous circumstances, explaining that they might soon
be repaired by vigorous action.
“More than 30,000 horses,” he says, “fell within a few days. Our cavalry
had no mounts, our artillery and transport had no beasts of draught. We
had to abandon or destroy a large number of our guns with their
appurtenances. The enemy, coming upon these traces of the French army,
were encouraged to surround our columns with Cossacks, who cut off all
straggling baggage and wagons like Arabs in the desert. This wretched
(_méprisable_) cavalry, whose strength lies in noise alone, and which
could not seriously attack a company of riflemen, was rendered
formidable by circumstances. However, we caused the enemy to regret
every serious attempt they made against us.”... “Horses and necessaries
of every sort,” he continues, “are beginning to pour in. General
Boursier has more than 20,000 horses in various depôts. The artillery
has already repaired all its losses.”
Every precaution was taken to prevent any knowledge of Napoleon’s
intention of leaving the army from leaking out until the last moment.
But the presentiment of the coming disaster was in the minds of every
member of his suite—every one wished to accompany him and escape from
this living hell as quickly as possible.
“In the evening the chief officers of the army were summoned together,”
says Ségur. “The marshals appeared. As they entered Napoleon took each
of them aside and revealed his project, sparing neither arguments nor
expressions of confidence and affection.
[Illustration: AT A COUNCIL OF WAR.]
“When he caught sight of Davout he went to meet him, and asked whether
he was vexed with him. Why did he not see more of him? To the Marshal’s
reply that he seemed to have fallen under his displeasure, Napoleon,
accepting all his explanations, expounded in detail his intention of
departing, and indicated the direction of his route. He was genial and
affectionate to all. At table he praised all for their admirable conduct
in the course of the campaign. ‘As for himself,’ he said, ‘it would have
been easier, no doubt, to avoid mistakes, had I been a Bourbon.’
“When dinner was over Napoleon told Prince Eugène to read out Despatch
XXIX., and explained publicly what he had before spoken of in
confidence. That night he would leave with Duroc, Caulaincourt, and
Lobau for Paris, where his presence was essential both for France and
for the remains of the army. Only from Paris could he keep his thumb on
the Austrians and Prussians, who would no doubt hesitate to declare war
against him if they saw that he was once more at the head of the French
nation, and an army of a million soldiers!
“He stated that he was handing over the chief command to the King of
Naples. ‘I hope,’ he added, ‘that you will obey him as myself, and that
there will be no differences among you.’”
Nobody, of course, raised any opposition. Marshal Berthier, without
endeavouring to dissuade Napoleon, merely announced that he must be
included in the number of those who were going. This request drew upon
him a very severe rebuke. Napoleon loaded him with reproaches for
preferring such a claim; reminded him of all the kindnesses and benefits
he had received at his hands, and finally called upon him to change his
mind and submit, or return at once to his estate in France and await the
announcement of his punishment for rebelling against the will of the
Emperor.
At ten o’clock that evening he shook hands with them, kissed them all in
turn, and issued at the front door between two lines formed by the
officers of his suite, smiling pitiful forced smiles to the right and
left.
Napoleon and Caulaincourt got into a covered sledge, on the box of which
sat Roustan, the Mameluke, and a Polish officer, who was to be his
driver. Duroc and Lobau followed in open sledges.
As soon as the news of the Emperor’s departure spread through the army,
the last traces of discipline disappeared. Groups of armed soldiers had
till now been gathered round the colours; but even they dispersed at
last, hiding the eagles in their valises. Napoleon alone was able to
maintain any semblance of order; with his disappearance, Murat and the
other officers lost all authority.
“An hour after the Emperor’s departure,” says an eye-witness, “one of
the senior officers turned to another with the words, ‘Well, has the
ruffian gone?’
“‘Yes,’ replied the other; ‘he has played us the same trick as in
Egypt.’”
Napoleon, after barely escaping capture at the hands of the free-lance
Seslavin’s Cossacks, and that only by the most remarkable good fortune,
arrived at Warsaw. When he had somewhat recovered from the fatigues of
his journey, he gave the following explanation of the disastrous issue
of the campaign—“When I left Paris it was my intention,” he said, “to
carry the war no further than the former confines of Poland.
Circumstances drew me on. Perhaps I was guilty of an error in going so
far as Moscow, perhaps I was wrong in staying there so long as I did;
but from the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step, and posterity
shall be my judge! My French soldiers,” he added, “are worthless in the
frost, the cold turns them into mere dummies.”
“During the retreat I had no cavalry, and I must admit that when the
Cossacks attacked my column I found myself in a dilemma. It was
impossible to mass the army together, for that would have retarded the
retreat; it was equally impossible to deploy it, for the Cossacks would
have broken through our line. We were obliged to continue our retreat,
to fill up the gaps, and deceive the enemy. I confess that I needed all
my skill and experience to escape.”
He did indeed escape, but with this campaign began the decline of his
power.
[Illustration: Printer's decoration]
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Footnote 4:
There seems to be no doubt about the incident in question. But though
it would appear that the French plundered the houses in Viazma,
Napoleon writes in Bulletin XVI.—“The Cossacks pillaged Viazma so
completely before their departure that the inhabitants do not think
there is much chance of the town ever renewing its allegiance to
Russia.”
Footnote 5:
It is stated that for a long time there was only one sapper attached
to Dorogomilovsky’s detachment.
Footnote 6:
To be more accurate, it appears that the Russians had already begun to
retire in the night.
Footnote 7:
The state of Napoleon’s temper and the keenness with which he felt his
position were reflected in his treatment of his servants. “His trusty
henchman, Roustan,” says Soltyk, “who happened one day to put
Napoleon’s left boot on his right foot, found himself stretched on the
broad of his back by a vigorous kick.”
Footnote 8:
The battle would certainly have ended in the capture of the whole of
Murat’s force, had not Kutuzof, who disapproved of the engagement,
refused to support Benigsen. Kutuzof was of opinion that Napoleon and
his troops should be left as long as possible undisturbed in and
around Moscow, in order that they might be tempted to stay until the
frosts began, and in this he was right; but when once he allowed an
attack on his recklessly incautious adversary, it was unpardonable not
to send the help which was demanded when the battle was at its height.
For the opportunity of escaping, though not without serious losses,
the French were entirely indebted to Kutuzof and his chief advisers
Tol and Kaissarof. Some say that General O. D. could hardly keep in
his saddle that day, and some say... all kinds of things.
Footnote 9:
It is impossible to read without a smile Thiers’ eulogy of Napoleon’s
plan—if indeed such an absurd plan could ever have existed—of
wintering with the army in _the more temperate climate_ of Kaluga; and
of keeping up communication with Smolensk, and with Moscow in the
rear. According to this project, Napoleon was to have maintained
possession of the Kremlin (?) and entrusted its defence to Marshal
Mortier and 4000 dismounted cavalry (?), who would have formed
infantry battalions. He was to have left there the more cumbrous part
of his _matériel_, together with the wounded, sick, etc., and have
provided that experienced soldier, the Marshal, with a garrison 10,000
strong, and with provisions for six months.
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