All the world is familiar with the name of the Abbe Geoffroy of satirical
memory, who drove the most popular actors and authors of the time to
desperation. This pitiless Aristarchus must have been most ardently
enamored of this disagreeable profession; for he sometimes endangered
thereby, not his life, which many persons would have desired earnestly
perhaps, but at any rate his health and his repose. It is well,
doubtless, to attack those who can reply with the pen, as then the
consequences of the encounter do not reach beyond the ridicule which is
often the portion of both adversaries. But Abbe Geoffroy fulfilled only
one of the two conditions by virtue of which one can criticise,--he had
much bitterness in his pen, but he was not a man of the sword; and every
one knows that there are persons whom it is necessary to attack with both
these weapons.
An actor whom Geoffroy had not exactly flattered in his criticisms
decided to avenge himself in a piquant style, and one at which he could
laugh long and loud. One evening, foreseeing what would appear in the
journal of the next day, he could think of nothing better than to carry
off Geoffroy as he was returning from the theater, and conduct him with
bandaged eyes to a house where a schoolboy's punishment would be
inflicted on this man who considered himself a master in the art of
writing.
This plan was carried out. Just as the abbe regained his lodging,
rubbing his hands perhaps as he thought of some fine point for tomorrow's
paper, three or four vigorous fellows seized him, and conveyed him
without a word to the place of punishment; and some time later that
evening, the abbe, well flogged, opened his eyes in the middle of the
street, to find himself alone far from his dwelling. The Emperor, when
told of this ludicrous affair, was not at all amused, but, on the
contrary, became very angry, and said that if he knew the authors of this
outrage, he would have them punished. "When a man attacks with the pen,"
he added, "he should be answered with the same weapon." The truth is also
that the Emperor was much attached to M. Geoffroy, whose writings he did
not wish submitted to censure like those of other journalist. It was
said in Paris that this predilection of a great man for a caustic critic
came from the fact that these contributions to the Journal of the Empire,
which attracted much attention at this period, were a useful diversion to
the minds of the capital. I know nothing positively in regard to this;
but when I reflect on the character of the Emperor, who wished no one to
occupy themselves with his political affairs, these opinions seem to me
not devoid of foundation.
Doctor Corvisart was not a courtier, and came rarely to the Emperor,
except on his regular visit each Wednesday and Saturday. He was very
candid with the Emperor, insisted positively that his directions should
be obeyed to the letter, and made full use of the right accorded to
physicians to scold their negligent patient. The Emperor was especially
fond of him, and always detained him, seeming to find much pleasure in
his conversation.
After the journey to Holland in 1811, M. Corvisart came to see the
Emperor one Saturday, and found him in good health. He left him after
the toilet, and immediately went to enjoy the pleasures of the chase, of
which he was exceedingly fond. He was in the habit of not announcing
where he was going, solely in order that he might not be interrupted for
some slight cause, as had happened to him sometimes, for the doctor was
most obliging and considerate. That day after his breakfast, which,
according to custom, he had devoured rapidly, the Emperor was taken
suddenly with a violent colic, and was quite ill. He asked for M.
Corvisart, and a courier was dispatched for him, who, not finding him in
Paris, hastened to his country house; but the doctor was at the chase, no
one knew where, so the courier was obliged to return without him. The
Emperor was deeply vexed, and as he continued to suffer extremely, at
last went to bed, and Marie Louise came and spent a few moments with him;
at last M. Yvan was summoned, and administered remedies which soon
relieved the Emperor.
M. Corvisart, somewhat anxious perhaps, came on Monday instead of
Wednesday; and when he entered Napoleon's room, the latter, who was in
his dressing-gown, ran to him, and taking him by both ears, said, "Well,
Monsieur, it seems that if I were seriously ill, I should have to
dispense with your services." M. Corvisart excused himself, asked the
Emperor how he had been affected, what remedies he had used, and promised
always to leave word where he could be found, in order that he might be
summoned immediately on his Majesty's orders, and the Emperor was soon
appeased. This event was really of advantage to the doctor; for he thus
abandoned a bad habit, at which it is probable his patients rejoiced.
M. Corvisart had a very great influence with the Emperor, so much so that
many persons who knew him gave him the soubriquet of doctor of petitions;
and it was very rarely he failed to obtain a favorable answer to his
requests. Nevertheless, I often heard him speak warmly in favor of M. de
Bourrienne, in order to impress upon the Emperor's mind that he was much
attached to his Majesty; but the latter always replied, "No, Bourrienne
is too much of an Englishman; and besides, he is doing very well; I have
located him at Hamburg. He loves money, and he can make it there."
It was during the year 1811 that Cardinal Fesch came most frequently to
the Emperor's apartments, and their discussions seemed to me very
animated. The cardinal maintained his opinions most vehemently, speaking
in a very loud tone and with great volubility. These conversations did
not last more than five moments before they became very bitter, and I
heard the Emperor raise his voice to the same pitch; then followed an
exchange of harsh terms, and each time the cardinal arrived I felt
distressed for the Emperor, who was always much agitated at the close of
these interviews. One day as the cardinal was taking leave of the
Emperor, I heard the latter say to him sharply, "Cardinal, you take
advantage of your position."
A few days before our departure for Russia the Emperor had me summoned
during the day, and ordered me to bring from the treasury the box of
diamonds, and place it in his room, and not to go far away, as he had
some important business for me. About nine o'clock in the evening I was
again summoned, and found M. de Lavalette, director-general of the post,
in the Emperor's room. His Majesty opened the box in my presence, and
examined the contents, saying to me, "Constant, carry this box yourself
to the count's carriage, and remain there till he arrives." The carriage
was standing at the foot of the grand staircase in the court of the
Tuileries; and I opened it, took my seat, and waited until half-past
eleven, when M. de Lavalette arrived, having spent all this time in
conversation with the Emperor. I could not understand these precautions
in delivering the diamonds to M. de Lavalette, but they were certainly
not without a motive.
The box contained the sword, on the pommel of which was mounted the
regent diamond, the handle also set with diamonds of great value; the
grand collar of the Legion of Honor; the ornaments, hatcord, shoulder-
piece, and buttons of the coronation robes, with the shoe-buckles and
garters, all of which were of immense value.
A short time before we set out for the Russian campaign, Josephine sent
for me, and I went at once to Malmaison, where this excellent woman
renewed her earnest recommendations to watch most carefully over the
Emperor's health and safety; and made me promise that if any accident,
however slight, happened to him, I would write to her, as she was
exceedingly anxious to know the real truth concerning him. She wept
much; talked to me constantly about the Emperor, and after a conversation
of more than an hour, in which she gave full vent to her emotions,
presented me with her portrait painted by Saint on a gold snuff-box. I
felt much depressed by this interview; for nothing could be more touching
than to see this woman disgraced, but still loving, entreating my care
over the man who had abandoned her, and manifesting the same affectionate
interest in him which the most beloved wife would have done.
On entering Russia, a thing of which I speak here more according to the
order of my reminiscences than in the order of time, the Emperor sent
out, on three different roads, details of select police to prepare in
advance lodgings, beds, supplies, etc. These officers were Messieurs
Sarrazin, adjutant-lieutenant, Verges, Molene, and Lieutenant Pachot. I
will devote farther on an entire chapter to our itinerary from Paris to
Moscow.
A short time before the battle of La Moskwa, a man was brought to the
camp dressed in the Russian uniform, but speaking French; at least his
language was a singular mixture of French and Russian. This man had
escaped secretly from the enemy's lines; and when he perceived that our
soldiers were only a short distance from him, had thrown his gun on the
ground, crying in a very strong Russian accent, "I am French," and our
soldiers had at once taken him prisoner.
Never was prisoner more charmed with his change of abode. This poor
fellow, who seemed to have been forced to take arms against his will in
the service of the enemies of his country, arrived at the French camp,
called himself the happiest of men in finding again his fellow-
countrymen, and pressed the hand of all the soldiers with an ardor which
delighted them. He was brought to the Emperor, and appeared much over-
awed at finding himself in the presence of the King of the French, as he
called his Majesty. The Emperor questioned him closely, and in his reply
he declared that the noise of the French cannon had always made his heart
beat; and that he had feared only one thing, which was that he might be
killed by his compatriots. From what he told the Emperor it appeared
that he belonged to that numerous class of men who find themselves
transplanted by their family to a foreign land, without really knowing
the cause of their emigration. His father had pursued at Moscow an
unremunerative industrial profession, and had died leaving him without
resources for the future, and, in order to earn his bread, he had become
a soldier. He said that the Russian military discipline was one of his
strongest incentives to desert, adding that he had strong arms and a
brave heart, and would serve in the French army if the general permitted.
His frankness pleased the Emperor, and he endeavored to obtain from him
some positive information on the state of the public mind at Moscow; and
ascertained from his revelations, more or less intelligent, that there
was much disturbance in that ancient capital.
He said that in the street could be heard cries of, "No more of Barclay!
[Prince Michael Barclay de Tolly, born in Livonia, 1755, of
Scottish extraction; distinguished himself in wars against Sweden,
Turkey, and Poland, 1788 and 1794, and against the French, 1806;
commanded Russian army against Napoleon in 1812, until superseded,
after battle of Smolensk, by Kutusoff, and commanded the right wing
at Borodino; afterwards commanded at Bautzen and Leipsic; died
1818]
Down with the traitor! dismiss him! Long live Kutusoff!" The merchant
class, which possessed great influence on account of its wealth,
complained of a system of temporizing which left men in uncertainty, and
compromised the honor of the Russian arms; and it was thought
unpardonable in the Emperor that he had bestowed his confidence on a
foreigner when old Kutusoff, with the blood and the heart of a Russian,
was given a secondary position. The Emperor Alexander had paid little
attention to these energetic complaints, until at last, frightened by the
symptoms of insurrection which began to be manifest in the army, he had
yielded, and Kutusoff had been named generalissimo, over which important
event there had been rejoicings and illuminations at Moscow. A great
battle with the French was talked of; enthusiasm was at its height in the
Russian army, and every soldier had fastened to his cap a green branch.
The prisoner spoke with awe of Kutusoff, and said that he was an old man,
with white hair and great mustaches, and eyes that struck him with
terror; that he lacked much of dressing like the French generals; that he
wore very ordinary clothes--he who could have such fine ones; that he
roared like a lion when he was angry; that he never started on a march
without saying his prayers; and that he crossed himself frequently at
different hours of the day. "The soldiers love him because they say he
so much resembles Suwarrow. I am afraid he will do the French much
harm," said he. The Emperor, satisfied with this information, dismissed
the prisoner, and gave orders that he should be allowed the freedom of
the camp; and afterwards he fought bravely beside our soldiers. The
Emperor made his entrance into Gjatsk with a most singular escort.
Some Cossacks had been taken in a skirmish; and his Majesty, who was at
this time very eager for information from every quarter, desired to
question these savages, and for this purpose had two or three brought to
his headquarters. These men seemed formed to be always on horseback, and
their appearance when they alighted on the ground was most amusing.
Their legs, which the habit of pressing their horses' sides had driven
far apart, resembled a pair of pincers, and they had a general air of
being out of their element. The Emperor entered Gjatsk, escorted by two
of these barbarians on horseback, who appeared much flattered by this
honor. I remarked that sometimes the Emperor could with difficulty
repress a smile as he witnessed the awkward appearance made by these
cavaliers from the Ukraine, above all when they attempted to put on airs.
Their reports, which the interpreter of the Emperor had some difficulty
in comprehending, seemed a confirmation of all his Majesty had heard
concerning Moscow. These barbarians made the Emperor understand by their
animated gestures, convulsive movements, and warlike postures, that there
would soon be a great battle between the French and the Russians. The
Emperor had brandy given them, which they drank like water, and presented
their glasses anew with a coolness which was very amusing. Their horses
were small, with cropped manes and long tails, such as unfortunately can
be seen without leaving Paris.
It is a matter of history that the King of Naples made a most favorable
impression on these barbarians. When it was announced to the Emperor one
day that they desired to appoint him their hetman, the Emperor was much
amused by this offer, and said jestingly that he was ready to indorse
this choice of a free people. The King of Naples had something
theatrical in his appearance which fascinated these barbarians, for he
always dressed magnificently. When his steed bore him in front of his
column, his beautiful hair disordered by the wind, as he gave those grand
saber strokes which mowed down men like stubble, I can well comprehend
the deep impression he made on the fancy of these warlike people, among
whom exterior qualities alone can be appreciated. It is said that the
King of Naples by simply raising this powerful sword had put to flight a
horde of these barbarians. I do not know how much truth there is in this
statement, but it is at least possible.
The Cossacks, in common with all races still in their infancy, believe in
magicians. A very amusing anecdote was told of the great chief of the
Cossacks, the celebrated Platoff. Pursued by the King of Naples, he was
beating a retreat, when a ball reached one of the officers beside him, on
which event the hetman was so much irritated against his magician that he
had him flogged in presence of all his hordes, reproaching him most
bitterly because he had not turned away the balls by his witchcraft.
This was plain evidence of the fact that he had more faith in his art
than the sorcerer himself possessed.
On the 3d of September, from his headquarters at Gjatsk, the Emperor
ordered his army to prepare for a general engagement. There had been for
some days much laxity in the police of the bivouacs, and he now redoubled
the severity of the regulations in regard to the countersigns. Some
detachments which had been sent for provisions having too greatly
prolonged their expedition, the Emperor charged the colonels to express
to them his dissatisfaction, adding that those who had not returned by
the next day could not take part in the battle. These words needed no
commentary.
The country surrounding Gjatsk was very fertile, and the fields were now
covered with rye ready for the sickle, through which we saw here and
there broad gaps made by the Cossacks in their, flight. I have often
since compared the aspect of these fields in November and September.
What a horrible thing is war! A few days before the battle, Napoleon,
accompanied by two of his marshals, made a visit of inspection on foot in
the outskirts of the city.
On the eve of this great event he discussed everything in the calmest
manner, speaking of this country as he would have done of a beautiful,
fertile province of France. In hearing him one might think that the
granary of the army had here been found, that it would consequently
furnish excellent winter quarters, and the first care of the government
he was about to establish at Gjatsk would be the encouragement of
agriculture. He then pointed out to his marshals the beautiful windings
of the river which gives its name to the village, and appeared delighted
with the landscape spread before his eyes. I have never seen the Emperor
abandon himself to such gentle emotions, nor seen such serenity
manifested both in his countenance and conversation; and at the same time
I was never more deeply impressed with the greatness of his soul.
On the 5th of September the Emperor mounted the heights of Borodino,
hoping to take in at a glance the respective positions of the two armies;
but the sky was overcast. One of those fine, cold rains soon began to
fall, which so often come in the early autumn, and resemble from a
distance a tolerably thick fog. The Emperor tried to use his glasses;
but the kind of veil which covered the whole country prevented his seeing
any distance, by which he was much vexed. The rain, driven by the wind,
fell slanting against his field-glasses, and he had to dry them over and
over again, to his very great annoyance. The atmosphere was so cold and
damp that he ordered his cloak, and wrapped himself in it, saying that as
it was impossible to remain there, he must return to headquarters, which
he did, and throwing himself on the bed slept a short while. On awaking
he said, "Constant, I hear a noise outside; go see what it is." I went
out, and returned to inform him that General Caulaincourt had arrived; at
which news the Emperor rose hastily, and ran to meet the general, asking
him anxiously, "Do you bring any prisoners?" The general replied that
he had not been able to take prisoners, since the Russian soldiers
preferred death to surrender. The Emperor immediately cried, "Let all
the artillery be brought forward." He had decided that in his
preparations to make this war one of extermination, the cannon would
spare his troops the fatigue of discharging their muskets.
On the 6th, at midnight, it was announced to the Emperor that the fires
of the Russians seemed less numerous, and the flames were extinguished at
several points; and some few said they had heard the muffled sound of
drums. The army was in a state of great anxiety. The Emperor sprang
wildly from his bed, repeatedly exclaiming, "It is impossible!"
I tried to hand him his garments, that he might clothe himself warmly, as
the night was so cold; but he was so eager to assure himself personally
of the truth of these statements, that he rushed out of the tent with
only his cloak wrapped around him. It was a fact that the fires of the
bivouac had grown paler, and the Emperor had reason for the gravest
suspicions. Where would the war end if the Russians fell back now? He
re-entered his tent much agitated, and retired to bed again, repeating
many times, "We will know the truth to-morrow morning."
On the 7th of September, the sun rose in a cloudless sky, and the Emperor
exclaimed, "It is the sun of Austerlitz!" These words of the Emperor were
reported to the army, and repeated by them amid great enthusiasm. The
drums were beaten, and the order of the day was read as follows:
SOLDIERS,--Behold the battle you have so long desired! Henceforth
that victory depends on you which is so necessary to us, since it
will furnish us abundant provisions, good winter quarters, and a
prompt return to our native land. Conduct yourselves as at
Austerlitz, at Friedland, at Witepsk, at Smolensk, and let the most
remote posterity refer with pride to your conduct on this day; let
it be said of you, "He took part in the great battle under the walls
of Moscow."
The army replied by reiterated acclamations. The Emperor, a few hours
before the battle, had dictated this proclamation, and it was read in the
morning to the soldiers. Napoleon was then on the heights of Borodino;
and when the enthusiastic cries of the army struck his ear, he was
standing with folded arms, the sun shining full in his eyes, reflected
from the French and Russian bayonets. He smiled, then became more
serious until the affair was terminated.
On that day the portrait of the King of Rome was brought to Napoleon. He
needed some gentle emotion to divert his mind from this state of anxious
suspense. He held this portrait long on his knees, contemplating it with
delight, and said that it was the most agreeable surprise he had ever
received, and repeated several times in a low tone, "My good Louise!
This is a charming attention!" On the Emperor's countenance there rested
an expression of happiness difficult to describe, though the first
emotions excited were calm and even melancholy. "The dear child," was
all that he said. But he experienced all the pride of a father and an
Emperor when by his orders officers, and even soldiers, of the old guard
came to see the King of Rome. The portrait was placed on exhibition in
front of the tent; and it was inexpressibly touching to see these old
soldiers uncover themselves with respect before this image, in which they
sought to find some of the features of Napoleon. The Emperor had at this
moment the expansive joy of a father who knows well that next to him his
son has no better friends than his old companions in endurance and glory.
At four o'clock in the morning, that is to say one hour before the battle
opened, Napoleon felt a great exhaustion in his whole person, and had a
slight chill, without fever, however, and threw himself on his bed.
Nevertheless, he was not as ill as M. de Segur states. He had had for
some time a severe cold that he had somewhat neglected, and which was so
much increased by the fatigue of this memorable day that he lost his
voice almost entirely. He treated this with the soldier's prescription,
and drank light punch during the whole night, which he spent working in
his cabinet without being able to speak. This inconvenience lasted two
days; but on the 9th he was well, and his hoarseness almost gone.
After the battle, of every six corpses found, one would be French and
five Russian. At noon an aide-de-camp came to inform the Emperor that
Count Auguste de Caulaincourt, brother of the Duke of Vicenza, had been
struck by a ball. The Emperor drew a deep sigh, but said not a word; for
he well knew that his heart would most likely be saddened more, than once
that day. After the battle, he expressed his condolences to the Duke of
Vicenza in the most touching manner.
Count Auguste de Caulaincourt was a young man full of courage, who had
left his young wife a few hours after his marriage to follow the French
army, and to find a glorious death at the battle of La Moskwa. He was
governor of the pages of the Emperor, and had married the sister of one
of his charges. This charming person was so young that her parents
preferred that the marriage should not take place until he returned from
the campaign, being influenced in this decision by the fate of Prince
Aldobrandini after his marriage with Mademoiselle de la Rochefoucault
before the campaign of Wagram. General Auguste de Caulaincourt was
killed in a redoubt to which he had led the cuirassiers of General
Montbrun, who had just been fatally wounded by a cannon-ball in the
attack on this same redoubt.
The Emperor often said, in speaking of generals killed in the army,
"Such an one is happy in having died on the field of honor, while I shall
perhaps be so unfortunate as to die in my bed." He was less
philosophical on the occasion of Marshal Lannes's death, when I saw him,
while at breakfast, weeping such large tears that they rolled over his
cheeks, and fell into his plate. He mourned deeply for Desaix,
Poniatowski, and Bessieres, but most of all for Lannes, and next to him
Duroc.
During the whole of the battle of the Moskwa the Emperor had attacks
resembling stone in the bladder. He had been often threatened with this
disease unless he was more prudent in his diet, and suffered much,
although he complained little, and only when attacked by violent pain
uttered stifled groans. Now, nothing causes more anxiety than to hear
those complain who are unaccustomed to do so; for then one imagines the
suffering most intense, since it is stronger than a strong man. At
Austerlitz the Emperor said, "Ordener is worn out. There is only one
time for military achievement in a man's life. I shall be good for six
years longer, and after that I shall retire."
The Emperor rode over the field of battle, which presented a horrible
spectacle, nearly all the dead being covered with wounds; which proved
with what bitterness the battle had been waged. The weather was very
inclement, and rain was falling, accompanied by a very high wind. Poor
wounded creatures, who had not yet been removed to the ambulances, half
rose from the ground in their desire not to be overlooked and to receive
aid; while some among them still cried, "Vive l'Empereur!" in spite of
their suffering and exhaustion. Those of our soldiers who had been
killed by Russian balls showed on their corpses deep and broad wounds,
for the Russian balls were much larger than ours. We saw a color-bearer,
wrapped in his banner as a winding-sheet, who seemed to give signs of
life, but he expired in the shock of being raised. The Emperor walked
on and said nothing, though many times when he passed by the most
mutilated, he put his hand over his eyes to avoid the sight. This calm
lasted only a short while; for there was a place on the battlefield where
French and Russians had fallen pell-mell, almost all of whom were wounded
more or less grievously. And when the Emperor heard their cries, he
became enraged, and shouted at those who had charge of removing the
wounded, much irritated by the slowness with which this was done. It was
difficult to prevent the horses from trampling on the corpses, so thickly
did they lie. A wounded soldier was struck by the shoe of a horse in the
Emperor's suite, and uttered a heartrending cry, upon which the Emperor
quickly turned, and inquired in a most vehement manner who was the
awkward person by whom the man was hurt. He was told, thinking that it
would calm his anger, that the man was nothing but a Russian. "Russian
or French," he exclaimed, "I wish every one removed!"
Poor young fellows who were making their first campaign, being wounded to
the death, lost courage, and wept like children crying for their mothers.
The terrible picture will be forever engraven on my memory.
The Emperor urgently repeated his orders for removing the wounded
quickly, then turned his horse in silence, and returned to his
headquarters, the evening being now far advanced. I passed the night
near him, and his sleep was much disturbed; or, rather, he did not sleep
at all, and repeated over and over, restlessly turning on his pillow,
"Poor Caulaincourt! What a day! What a day!"