[Illustration: _Marshal Ney._]
The lack of discipline in the army must in great measure be ascribed to
the fact that the kings, marshals, princes, and dukes who held the chief
command were wanting in self-restraint and in the virtue of unmurmuring
obedience to the Emperor.
As is well known, at the beginning of the campaign the King of
Westphalia took umbrage at a well-deserved rebuke which his lack of
energy had drawn upon him, and went home, leaving his army corps without
even transferring the command, or communicating to any one the orders he
had received.
The relations between Marshal Berthier, the chief of the staff, and
Marshal Davout, between the latter and Murat, and, indeed, between many
of the other commanders, were so strained that they distinctly hindered
the progress of the campaign. In 1809 Berthier had been for some days
Davout’s superior officer. Disregarding his orders, Davout won a battle
and saved the army from annihilation; but he incurred the bitter hatred
of his chief. When they met again at the opening of the last campaign
they had a fierce altercation in the presence of the Emperor. Davout
went so far as to say that Berthier must be “either a fool or a
traitor,” and they threatened one another with personal violence.
Berthier, as is well known, was incapable of initiative: He merely
served as an echo of Napoleon’s wishes; but he was very docile and
industrious. A firm believer in the Emperor’s maxim—“Never attempt two
things at the same time; concentrate all your efforts on one,” he did
not approve of the war of 1812, but bowed to necessity. He entered upon
the campaign without conviction or enthusiasm, deeply disquieted by the
position of the French armies in Spain.
In the campaign of 1812 the Duke of Neufchâtel displayed, to say the
least, very little foresight. Davout was no doubt the best strategist in
the whole galaxy of Napoleon’s satellites, but he was of a quarrelsome,
envious, and vindictive disposition. The methodical and patient genius
of Davout formed a striking contrast to the impulsiveness of Murat. This
was the cause of many misunderstandings between these two commanders,
old comrades though they were, and almost of the same age, who had risen
side by side through the various grades. They were accustomed to obey
Napoleon, but were wanting in command over themselves. This was
especially the case with Murat. The relations of Murat and Davout throw
so interesting a light on the system of command in the Grande Armée that
they are worthy of some attention.
Davout was put at one time under Murat’s command. He submitted to his
orders, but most unwillingly, and although he swallowed his wrath, he
ceased all direct communication with the Emperor. Napoleon, however,
ordered him to send in his reports as before, for Murat’s despatches
were hopeless. This was just what Davout wanted, and from that time
forth he ceased to recognize the authority of the King of Naples. The
extent of their jealousy may be judged from the fact that in an
engagement one of Davout’s batteries refused to fire on the orders of
Murat. The commander of the battery urged the Marshal’s own orders in
justification of his refusal; he had been told to take orders from no
one but Davout under pain of losing his command.
[Illustration: _Marshal Davout._]
The next day the two rivals had a lively altercation in Napoleon’s
presence. The King accused the Duke of obstinate resistance to his
wishes, and with secret enmity towards himself, an enmity, he averred,
that had its origin in Egypt. He went so far as to propose a settlement
of the quarrel man to man, urging that the army should not be allowed to
suffer through their private differences. Davout, on the other hand,
attacked the King furiously for his wanton recklessness, and painted a
lively picture of the disorder that reigned in the advance-guard of the
army. “I must admit,” said he, according to Ségur, “that the Russians
are effecting their retreat in the most admirable order. They halt
wherever they find it convenient instead of consulting the wishes of our
boastful friend Murat. They select their positions so well, and defend
them so skilfully, with an eye to the forces at their disposal, and the
time they wish to gain, that their tactics must have been carefully
thought out long ago.
“They never abandon a position until it becomes untenable. At night they
turn in early and leave only as many troops under arms as are absolutely
necessary for the defence of their positions and for allowing the rest
of the troops an opportunity for sleep and refreshment.
“But the King, instead of profiting by this excellent example, takes no
account of time or of the position and strength of the enemy. He is
always appearing in the skirmishing line, prancing up and down in front
of the enemy or trying to worry them on the flanks, losing his temper,
yelling himself hoarse with orders, wasting cartridges and ammunition,
men and horses, for no reason whatever, and keeping all the troops under
arms until late into the night.
“It wrings my heart to see the wretched men jostling one another in the
dark, and groping for fodder and water, firewood and eatables, unable to
find their own quarters, and spending the night shouting to one another.
It is not only the advance-guard that suffers by this—the whole of our
cavalry is visibly worn out. Let Murat do what he likes with his own
cavalry, but so long as Davout is in command of the infantry of the Ist
Army Corps, he will not let him worry them to death.”
“The King in reply hit as hard as his opponent. The Emperor heard them
out, rolling a Russian cannon-ball about with his foot. It seemed as if
he enjoyed the differences between his officers,” says Ségur.
When he dismissed them he cautiously remarked to Davout that “no one man
could combine all the virtues; that even if the Duke of
Eckmühl—Davout—knew how to win battles, it did not follow that he could
lead an advance-guard; and that if Murat had been told off to pursue
Bagration in Lithuania he would very likely have prevented his escape.”
Napoleon subsequently advised the two rivals to do their best to pull
better together for the future; but how much they profited by this
recommendation may be gathered from Belliard’s despatch to the Emperor
on the battle of Viazma. “On the far side of the town the enemy appeared
in a convenient position behind a trench, apparently quite prepared for
an engagement. The cavalry at once went into action on either flank; but
when the time came for the infantry, and the King in person was heading
one of Davout’s divisions, the Marshal galloped up and ordered the men
to halt. He then expressed loud disapproval of the intended movement,
and had high words with the King, flatly forbidding the generals to obey
his orders. Murat endeavoured to insist, and reminded Davout of his
position, but his protests were useless. Meanwhile the chance was gone.
The King had to content himself with sending word to the Emperor that it
was absolutely impossible to carry on the command under the
circumstances, and asking him to choose between him and Davout.
“Napoleon was very angry. He sided with Murat against Davout, but the
former could not forget the insult to which his old enemy had given
public expression. The longer he considered the matter the fiercer grew
his indignation. The affront, he determined, was one that his sword
alone could avenge. What mattered the Emperor’s decision, or the
Emperor’s anger? He must wipe out the insult with his own hand!
“He was about to demand satisfaction of Davout, when Belliard stopped
him, and represented the consequences of such an act, and the bad
example it would set.”
On the whole, Davout’s accusations were fully justified. In the course
of the campaign Murat’s precipitation was on more than one occasion the
cause of serious loss to the invading army. The repeated attacks of the
cavalry on the square formed by Neverofsky’s retreating division, when
the Russians coolly and successfully sustained forty charges led by the
King of Naples in person, is an example in point. When he had sacrificed
the whole of his cavalry Murat practically took no further part in the
campaign. He merely drove about in the carriage with Napoleon, or
followed him on foot, with a stick in his hand and a fur-coat buttoned
up to his chin.
The order and discipline of Davout’s own division were not, however,
proof against the miseries of the retreat, and after the battle of
Viazma Napoleon received a very clear report from Ney informing him of
the disastrous result of the battle.
“If better order had been maintained,” said Ney, “the result would
probably have been very different. The most appalling feature of the
whole business was the disorganization of Davout’s division, which
unfortunately spread to the other troops. I feel obliged to tell your
Majesty the whole truth, and however unpleasant it is to have to find
fault with any of my fellow-officers, I am compelled to state that under
the circumstances I cannot answer for the safety of the retreat.”
Napoleon himself had occasion to complain of Davout’s dilatoriness. He
had fallen behind five days’ march when he should, at the most, have
been only three days in the rear. These complaints were repeated in all
quarters, and it was said that his movements against the Cossacks had no
other effect than to detain the army.
“_Mon cousin_,” wrote Napoleon to Berthier, losing all patience, “tell
the Duke of Elchingen—Ney—to take command of the rear-guard and to move
as quickly as possible—the Duke of Eckmühl keeps the Regent and Prince
Poniatowski waiting every time a Cossack shouts ‘Hurrah.’”
Napoleon could not have found a better person than the Duke of Eckmühl
to carry out his plan of taking vengeance on the Russians by burning
everything on the line of march. When he was in charge of the rear-guard
he distinguished himself by the zeal and completeness with which he
burned every manor and village within reach.
When snow and frost appeared Davout was utterly unable to meet the
altered conditions. Thrown out of his ordinary routine, he was driven to
despair by the disorder that prevailed, and was among the first to lose
heart.
“Davout,” says Ségur, “entered Orcha with 4000 men, all that remained of
70,000! The Marshal lost all his personal belongings; he had no linen,
and was literally dying of hunger. When he was offered a piece of bread
he positively leaped upon it; when they gave him a handkerchief and he
wiped his face for the first time for many days, it was covered with
hoar-frost. ‘A man must be made of iron,’ cried the Marshal, ‘to stand
such privations! There are such things as physical impossibilities;
there is a limit to human endurance, and that limit we have long since
passed!’”
Ney was made of very different metal. When Napoleon refused to let him
have the Guards for a final attack in the plains of Borodino, he did not
hesitate to proclaim aloud, that “if the Emperor is tired of fighting,
let him take his d——d way to the Tuileries, and leave us to do what is
necessary.”
Amid the universal despair and confusion of the retreat, Ney proved
himself not only the “bravest of the brave,” as he had always been, but
an obedient and efficient officer—he was the true hero of the retreat of
the Grande Armée. Of a remarkably strong constitution, Ney was a man of
action, not of sentiment. Highly characteristic was his answer to a
wounded man who besought him to save him. “What would you have me do?”
said he. “You are but one of the victims of the war—_voilà tout_!” When
Ney was told of the death of the young de Noailles, he answered, without
moving a muscle—“Well, well, his turn has come; it is better that we
should lament his death than that he should lament ours.” The following
incident is equally characteristic of the man. At Smolensk Ney was
abandoned by Marshal Davout, and lost almost all his troops, artillery,
and baggage. When, by circuitous roads, through bogs and forests, he
overtook Napoleon with a handful of men, and the Duke of Eckmühl began
to excuse his conduct, Ney merely replied—“I have not accused your Grace
of anything. God sees us, and He is your Judge.”
“Ney saw,” says Ségur, “that some one must bear the brunt of the
retreat, and of his own free will he accepted the post of danger,
undertaking to cover the rear of the army.”
“The Russians were advancing,” says an eye-witness of one engagement,
“under cover of the forest and of the wagons we had abandoned, and
firing on Ney’s troops with great effect. The latter were on the point
of taking to flight when the Marshal seized a rifle, rushed up, and led
them into action. He replied to the Russian fire with as little concern
for his own safety as if he did not know what it was to be a father and
a husband, wealthy, noble, and respected. Although playing the part of a
private soldier he did not cease to be a general. Taking advantage of
the ground, he made full use of the cover afforded by hills and houses.
In this way he secured for the army a respite of twenty-four hours. On
the two following days he displayed the same heroism; from Viazma to
Smolensk he was fighting for ten days without a break.”
Military history probably furnishes few instances in which a commander
has extricated himself from so difficult a position as that in which Ney
found himself when, as we have already said, he was abandoned by Davout
on the road from Smolensk to Krasnoye. The rear-guard of the Grande
Armée was caught in a trap; Dorogomilovsky’s forces lay across the road
and on either flank, so that it was absolutely impossible to pass. Ney,
however, could not bring himself to yield, and did his best to cut his
way through. Again and again he led his exhausted troops against the
enemy’s bayonets; but musketry volleys and the fire of 40 guns at a
range of 250 paces could not fail of their effect. At last the greater
portion of the French division, consisting of 12,000 men, surrendered,
and all their artillery, 27 guns, baggage, etc., passed into the hands
of the enemy. Marshal Ney, however, was not one of the prisoners. He
took advantage of the darkness to escape with 3000 men, who readily
followed him.
The means which he employed to effect his escape were perhaps not quite
legitimate. The Marshal detained the officer who came from General
Dorogomilovsky with an offer of surrender, and while he was awaiting a
final answer, slipped away, first in the direction of Smolensk, and then
by a circuitous flank march to Orcha.
The details of this retreat and final escape have an air rather of
romance than of stern fact. The boldness with which the operation was
conceived and executed is nothing less than astounding. “The eyes of
every man in the little detachment that slipped so quietly out of the
hands of the Russians,” says Fezensac, “were turned towards the Marshal.
He showed no trace of anxiety or irresolution, but no one dared to
question him. Ney said to one of his staff-officers who was standing by—
“_Nous ne sommes pas bien._”
“_Qu’allez vous faire?_” asked the officer.
“_Passer le Dniéper._”
“_Où est le chemin?_”
“_Nous le trouverons._”
“_Et s’il n’est pas gelé?_”
“_Il le sera._”
It was as he said. The fugitives came upon a lame peasant who served
them as a guide. The ice was only just strong enough to bear.
Nevertheless, most of the troops got across safely after abandoning all
their baggage. The Cossacks started in pursuit the following day, but in
forty-eight hours Ney made his way by river and forest, after much
fighting, to the town of Orcha.
It is said that when Napoleon heard of Ney’s arrival, he exclaimed with
delight—“I have 200,000,000 francs stored in the cellars of the
Tuileries. I would willingly give them all to save such a man as Ney.”
However brilliant Ney’s movements at the battle of Krasnoye may have
been, it is impossible to read Napoleon’s account of the engagement, in
Despatch XXIX., without a smile. With the most ludicrous perversity
Napoleon represents the Marshal as victorious.
General Dumas says that after crossing the frontier, he was one day
taking coffee at an hotel in Gumbinen, when a stranger entered. He was
dressed in a dark overcoat, and wore a long beard. His face was
blackened as if it had been burned, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Here I
am at last!” he said. “Why, General Dumas, don’t you know me?”
“No. Who are you?”
“I am the rear-guard of the Grande Armée—Marshal Ney.”
----------------------------
_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s note:
Silently corrected typographical errors and inconsistencies; retained
non-standard spelling.
Small captionless hand sketches were not retained.