Part 17

“The earth was shaken under Mortier’s feet by the force of the explosion. Six leagues off, at Fominskoie, the Emperor heard the report, and, with that ferocity with which he at times addressed Europe, issued, the next morning, a proclamation dated from Borawsk—‘The Kremlin, arsenal, magazines, all are destroyed. This ancient citadel, dating from the beginning of the monarchy, the first palace of the Tsars, is a thing of the past. Henceforth Moscow will be nothing but a pile of rubbish, an impure and unwholesome sink, of no importance political or military. He leaves it to the Russian beggars and pillagers, to march against Kutuzof, outflank the left wing of that general, hurl him back, and then quietly reach the borders of the Dvina, where he will pitch his winter quarters.’... Then, as if he feared to appear to retreat, he adds—‘By this step he will be nearer by eighty leagues to Vilna and St. Petersburg, a double advantage—that is to say, twenty marches nearer to his objective.’

“By this proclamation he sought to give his retreat the appearance of an offensive movement.”

“Moscow,” says Madame Fusil, “had a charm which it will never possess again. It will perhaps become a beautiful city, but it will be like any other, instead of suggesting Pekin, or Ispahan, a typical city of Asia....”

Footnote 10:

“I, the undersigned, swear by Almighty God to be faithful to the Government appointed by his Imperial Majesty the French Emperor and the King of Italy, Napoleon, to fulfil all his orders, and to ensure that these orders be fulfilled by others.”

III

THE COSSACKS

On quitting Moscow, the Grande Armée fell into the hands of the Cossacks, who surrounded and pursued it to the frontier, and even some way beyond. They so harassed the French that the word “Cossack” soon became a synonym for “Terror,” not only in France but all over Europe, representing the height of greed, perfidy, and barbarity. But in pursuing and killing the enemy, the Cossacks were after all doing nothing more than their duty. At times they undoubtedly committed atrocities, but they often gave proof of humanity.

“The Cossacks,” says Constant, the Emperor’s _valet de chambre_, “seem to have been created to be eternally perched on a horse. There is nothing more amusing than to see them try to walk. Their legs, bowed through the habit of gripping the horse’s flanks, resemble the arms of tweezers. When he dismounts, the Cossack seems to be on an element to which he does not properly belong.

“The Emperor, on entering Gjatsk, escorted by two of these barbarians on horseback, ordered that vodka should be served out to them. They swallowed it as if it were water, and held out their glasses with a most amusing calmness for a further allowance. Their horses were small, and had long tails. They appeared to be very docile.”

On the road to Mozjaisk 300 Cossacks attacked at night a convoy of 350 carts, having a guard of four regiments of cavalry and two battalions of infantry. In a few moments the harness of all the carts was so hacked about that it was impossible for the drivers to proceed.

Baron Fain speaks somewhat ironically of the Cossack tactics. “Although Kutuzof is rather weak in a pitched battle, he is at least unrivalled on the high-road. The audacity of these undisciplined hordes knows no limit. We have them in front of us, behind us, on our flanks. They face us at every turn. Perhaps the road to Viazma may free us of them for some days.”

But after the battle of Viazma, the Russian infantry, which had taken a parallel road to cut off the French, disappeared, and Ney’s rear-guard was again beset by Cossacks. Importunate insects, to use Ségur’s expression, mounted on little horses with roughed shoes, trained to gallop on the snow, they gave the retreating army no peace.

“To complete the disorder of our retreat, which was of itself enough to undo us,” says René Bourgeois, “the Cossacks attacked us unceasingly.... As soon as our men caught sight of them, they would scatter in every direction. Some fled hurriedly to the front, while others fell back on the guard, or on some of the companies that were still to be found at intervals.”

Another witness, A. F. de B—— adds this sketch—“The number of stragglers was so great that the Cossacks picked out their prisoners, taking those who seemed best dressed, and whom they imagined to have loot. They allowed the others to pass on, without seeming even to notice them.”

“That wretched cavalry, which makes a vast amount of noise, and is incapable of breaking through a square of voltigeurs, has become formidable through force of circumstances.” Such was Napoleon’s opinion of the Cossacks as set forth in one of his bulletins. Platoff, however, almost cut up the whole of the Beauharnais division. He killed 1500 men, and took 3500 prisoners, captured 62 pieces of cannon, several flags, and a large quantity of transport.

“Napoleon did not, and above all would not, understand that the Cossack cavalry was unique of its kind, and in no way resembled regular horse.” It never risked a regular action unless victory was certain. If, however, he had seen the Cossack who, having put on the uniform of Marshal Ney, “the bravest of the brave,” went calmly about his business, he might have appreciated the fearlessness of these simple children of the steppes.

“It is a historical fact,” writes Constant, “that the King of Naples impressed these barbarians greatly. The Emperor was told that they wished to name Murat their Hetman. Napoleon, amused at the proposal, said he would be delighted to second the nomination. It must be admitted that the King of Naples had something theatrical in his bearing calculated to appeal to these barbarians. It was said that by simply flourishing his great sabre he had put an entire horde to flight.”

The author of the _Journal de la Guerre_ relates that in spite of their critical position, the French troops laughed heartily at an incident that occurred during a Cossack attack. One of the enemy seized hold of one end of an enormous roll of fine linen. The other was held fast by a Frenchman, and as the Cossack galloped away, the roll was unwound and continued to extend in a long serpentine strip until “the barbarian” disappeared into a wood close by.

The Cossacks succeeded one day in capturing Napoleon’s baggage. What pleased them most in this haul was the discovery of a number of bottles of old “Château Margaux,” stamped with the letter N surmounted with the Imperial crown.

Napoleon’s camp-beds, taken by the Cossacks, and now exhibited in the Museum of Armour in Moscow, are interesting. They are two in number, one large and the other small. The former was set up when Napoleon intended to make a more or less protracted stay. The covers were of lilac silk, and provided with pockets for the reception of papers, books, and reports to be read during the night.

The relations between the French prisoners and their Cossack captors were at times marked with the utmost cordiality, if we may credit the following statement made by the author of the _Journal de la Guerre_—“Our artillery having been captured, the gunners were disarmed and marched off roped together. In the evening the Cossacks celebrated their victory by a great festivity, in which drinking and dancing played the principal part. In the expansiveness of their hearts they wished every one to participate in their good fortune, and remembering their prisoners, invited them to take part in the general merry-making. The unfortunate artillerymen desired nothing better than rest after their labours, but little by little, restored by the good cheer lavished upon them, they joined in the dances, and took a hearty part in the amusements of their captors. The Cossacks were so much delighted by this display of good-fellowship that they allowed the French to don their tunics and shakos, restored their side-arms, shook hands vigorously with their new friends, who embraced them in turn, and made the best of their way back to their quarters.”

An equally pleasing story is told by a marine of the Guard who was taken prisoner by the Cossacks. “While we were warming ourselves round some pine-logs, a Cossack came up—a tall, lean, wiry man, of such a ferocious countenance that we involuntarily drew back. He approached us with a military salute and began talking; but we were unable to understand a word he said. He was probably questioning us about something. Annoyed at our failure to understand him, he showed signs of his displeasure, which caused us some alarm; but when he saw this he at once assumed a kindly expression, and, noticing that my comrade’s clothes were stained with blood, he indicated a wish to examine his wound, and signed to us to follow him.

“He took us into the nearest hut. A woman appeared, and he told her to spread some straw and bring some warm water. Then he went away, giving us to understand by signs that he was coming back again. The woman threw down a little straw, but forgot all about the water, and we did not like to bother her about it. When he returned he at once signed to us, asking if we had had anything to eat. We shook our heads. He apparently bade the woman give us some supper, and when she refused, he rated her soundly. Then she showed him a basin containing some sort of broth in it, vowing, to all appearance, that that was all she had. The Cossack stormed and threatened, but in vain—she would do nothing but warm some water. The Cossack left us again, and soon returned with a piece of salt bacon; and we at once fell to, although it was quite raw. While we ate, the Cossack looked on with pleasure and signed to us not to eat too much at once.

“When we had satisfied our hunger, he again spoke to the woman—apparently about bandages for our wounds. He asked her for some rags, but she refused to give him any, and tried to put him off with the answer—‘_Nyema_—I have none.’ Then the gallant soldier took hold of her by the arm and made her turn out every corner of the hut, but he found nothing. At last, irritated by her obstinacy, he drew his sword; she began to scream, and we threw ourselves at his feet, thinking that he was going to kill her. He smiled at us, as much as to say—‘You don’t know me, I only want to frighten her.’

“The woman trembled in every limb, but still refused to give him anything. So he threw away his coat and pulled off his shirt, which he proceeded to cut in strips with his sword, and set to work to re-bandage our wounds. He talked the whole time he was engaged in this task, using a number of Polish and German words in the course of his remarks; but, however unintelligible this running accompaniment was, his actions clearly showed the nobility of his heart. I believe he was trying to make us understand that he had been accustomed to warfare for more than twenty years—he was about forty—that he had been in a number of great battles, and knew that one must learn after victory to be generous to the unfortunate. He pointed to his medals, as much as to say that such tokens of courage imposed upon him certain obligations. We were delighted at his magnanimity, and he could no doubt read in our faces the expression of our gratitude. I should have liked to say to him—‘Friend, rest assured that your kindness will never fade from our memory. There are but two witnesses of your humanity, for this woman is incapable of appreciating it. Only tell us your name, that we in turn may tell it to our comrades.’ At first he knelt down, but afterwards becoming tired of that attitude he sat on the floor with a leg on either side of my comrade. He washed the wound in his shoulder and dressed it with the utmost care. Then, looking towards me, as if for advice, he showed me that he intended, if possible, to extract the ball with a rude knife which he now produced. He tried to probe the wound, but my friend screamed so loudly in his agony that he stopped. Laying his cheek on my comrade’s head, he seemed to ask pardon for the pain he had caused. At the sight of so much tenderness I could not forbear from seizing his hands and pressing them warmly. Summoning all the resources of my Polish, Russian, and German vocabulary, I tried to speak, but could not—my heart was full, and my eyes were wet with tears.

“‘My dear, dear camarade!’ said he, making haste to get the wound dressed, for he seemed to fear there would not be time enough.

“When my turn came, the kindly Cossack, having examined my wound, gave me by signs to understand that it was not deep, and would heal up of its own accord. The force of the lance-thrust must have been broken by my clothing.

“He was still attending to our wants when one of his comrades called to him from the street—‘Pavlovski’—so that at last I learned his name—and he left us at once, followed by our blessing.

“We thought we should probably never see our gallant Cossack again, but he returned very early the next day and examined the dressing of our wounds. He also brought us a couple of Russian biscuits apiece, and expressed his regret that he could do no more.”

IV

THE GRANDE ARMÉE

The Russian general Grabbe, who, during the invasion, visited the French camp, was astonished at the disorganized state of the cavalry.

This impression is emphasized by Fezensac.

“From the very first, I was struck by the exhaustion and numerical weakness of the troops. At head-quarters they only judged by results, without weighing the cost, and thus they had no idea of the condition of the army.

“Four regiments of cavalry were reduced to 900 men out of 2800 who had crossed the Rhine. All articles of clothing, but especially boots, were in a wretched condition. We had at first enough flour, and a few herds and flocks, but these resources were soon exhausted, and to renew them we were obliged to move constantly from place to place, for in twenty-four hours we cleared out any locality through which we passed.”

In a conversation with M. de Narbonne at Vitebsk, the Emperor estimated the two combined Russian armies before Smolensk at 130,000 men; with the Guard, the 1st, 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 8th Corps, he calculated his own strength at 170,000 men. If no battle were fought he did not intend to pass Smolensk; if he won a complete victory, he would perhaps march straight to Moscow; but in any case, a battle, even if undecided, seemed to him likely to pave the way for peace.

At Smolensk and at the battle of Valoutina, René Bourgeois and Fezensac agree in estimating the French losses at 6000 to 8000 killed, and over 10,000 wounded. The Russian loss was equal, if not greater. Together with prisoners and stragglers, the Grande Armée lost in these engagements about 20,000 combatants.

The Emperor, however, does not scruple to assert, in Bulletin XIII., that for every dead Frenchman on the field of battle there were eight Russians, and that the soldiers of the Tsar, encouraged by the proximity of their villages, seized every opportunity to desert. He acknowledges that General Sebastiani was beaten and obliged to fall back, but he estimates his loss at only 100 men. As, however, this retreat of one of his best generals might be looked upon as a serious check, and produce a painful impression on the whole army, the Emperor decided to march on Moscow.

Labaume sketches the situation at that moment in a few strokes—“To describe our distress in the midst of our apparent victory, it is sufficient to say that we were utterly worn out by the persistent and systematic retreat of the Russians. Our cavalry was totally disorganized, and the half-starved artillery horses could no longer draw the guns.”

All this took place at the beginning of the campaign; but far from showing alarm, Napoleon merely laughed at the Russians, whether sincerely or not it is difficult to say. “In the midst of all the defeats which they look upon as victories,” he writes in Bulletin XIX., “the Russians sing _Te Deums_ of thanks. In spite of their ignorance and want of culture, this behaviour begins to strike one as unnatural and hideous.”

At Borodino the Russian redoubts turned out to be mere sketches of fortifications, and the trenches shallow and unprotected; yet the Russians defended them so obstinately that, according to Labaume’s description, the centre of the Great Redoubt presented an inexpressibly terrible picture. The dead were piled upon one another several deep. The Russians were falling on all sides, but they refused to retire; in the space of one square league there was not a spot that was not covered with dead or wounded. Further on were heaps of dead among scattered fragments of guns, lances, helmets, cuirasses, or cannon-balls covering the ground like hailstones after a violent storm. The most awful spectacle of all was to be seen in the trenches—poor wounded wretches, who had fallen one on the top of the other, lay weltering in their blood, groaning in the most heart-rending manner and praying for death. “Not only,” says Fezensac, “had the French army never before suffered such losses as at Borodino, but, what was worse, never before had the spirit of the soldiery been so utterly broken as after that battle. The irrepressible gaiety of the French soldiers vanished, and instead of the songs and jokes in which it had been their wont to forget the fatigues of their long marches, a death-like silence reigned in the camp. Even the officers, it appears, utterly lost heart. Such depression is intelligible when it follows defeat, but it was certainly not to be expected after a victory which had thrown open the gates of Moscow.”

According to Russian authorities, whose accounts are completely at variance with Napoleon’s own assertions, the Emperor lost more than 50,000 men in the attack, including 1200 officers and 49 generals; while the Russian losses, dead and wounded, amounted to 40,000, including 1732 officers and 18 generals. The enemy’s losses must have been increased by the fact that during the three days in which they were engaged on the field of battle they had nothing to eat and drink but roots and water. Ségur admits a loss of 40,000 men, and says that the army which entered Moscow numbered 90,000. The division of Cuirassiers, which had comprised 3600 horses all told, numbered but 800 on that day.

The situation in which the French army found itself within the walls of Moscow was not by any means an enviable one. It had neither bread nor meat, although the tables were spread with sweetmeats and syrups. Valuable wine was readily exchanged for blankets; and a fur-coat could be bartered for any quantity of sugar and coffee.

The camp presented the appearance not of a military bivouac, but rather of a market where every soldier, turned tradesman, was busy selling the most valuable articles at the most moderate prices; where all the men, though living in the open field exposed to rain and storm, ate from porcelain plates, drank out of silver goblets, and were surrounded with the costliest luxuries of the period.

During their stay at Moscow, the battalions quartered outside the walls knew no peace. There existed, as Ségur says, a kind of tacit, informal armistice between the opposing armies, but only in the front. On the flanks and in the rear, not a wagon could pass, not an ounce of forage could be brought in unopposed, so that in reality the war still continued.

During the first few days Murat delighted in showing himself to the outposts of the enemy. He was flattered by the respect paid to his appearance, his reputation for courage, and his rank. The Russian officers took good care not to undeceive him. They loaded him with all the tokens of deference calculated to keep up this illusion. He was allowed to order their vedettes about as if they were Frenchmen. If any part of the ground they occupied pleased him, they hastened to surrender it to him.

Cossack chiefs went so far as to pretend enthusiasm, and to say that they only recognized as Emperor the Emperor who reigned in Moscow. Murat even believed for a time that they would not fight against him.

The Emperor, who was not deceived by these professions, complained bitterly of the exasperating guerilla warfare to which he was constantly exposed. “Had not a hundred and fifty dragoons of the Old Guard met, been attacked, and routed by a horde of these barbarians? And this took place but two days after the armistice on the road to Mozjaisk, his principal line of communications, which connected him with his stores, his reserves, his depots, with Europe itself.”

“Every morning,” adds Ségur, “our soldiers, especially the cavalry, had to travel great distances to obtain the necessaries of life. And as the environs of Moscow and Winkovo became more and more denuded, they were obliged to range further and further afield. Men and horses returned worn out, some did not return at all. Each measure of oats, each bundle of straw, had to be fought for, dragged out of the enemy. Nothing but surprises, fights, losses. Even the peasantry began to be troublesome.

“We had war on all sides—in front, on our flanks, in our rear. The army was growing weaker and weaker; the enemy becoming daily more venturesome.... At last Murat himself grew anxious. He saw half the remnant of his cavalry melt away in these daily skirmishes.”

In Bulletin XXII. Napoleon only says—“The Cossacks attack our scouts.... The Turkish flags, as well as some curiosities taken from the Kremlin, and the image of the Holy Virgin studded with diamonds, have been forwarded to Paris.... Rostopchin is said to have gone mad.... He has set his country-house on fire.... The sun is more brilliant and hotter than in Paris, one might fancy oneself in the south.... The Russian army does not approve of the burning of Moscow.... The Russians look on Rostopchin as a Marat consoling himself in the society of Wilson, the English _attaché_.”

Napoleon says not a word about his endeavours to conclude peace.

Winter was advancing. Ségur continues—“The Russians openly expressed their astonishment that we should appear so indifferent to the approach of their terrible winter. It was their natural ally; they grieved for us, and urged us to retreat. ‘In another fortnight,’ they said, ‘your nails will drop off, your weapons will fall out of your stiffened and half-frozen hands.’”

Fain confirms these details—“The cold seems to be the only cause of future anxiety. But the veterans of the army, who have already learned, in the bogs of Pultusk and the ice-fields of Eylau, to brave the climate, hope to escape this time with the same good luck. Moreover, no calculation has been neglected in this matter, and all the probabilities are reassuring. It is usually only in December or January that the Russian winter displays all its severity. During November the thermometer seldom marks six degrees of frost, in a normal year. Observations made during the preceding twenty years confirm this statement.”

On October 13 the Emperor saw the first fall of snow. “Let us hurry,” he said, “for in twenty days we must be in our winter quarters.” Napoleon repeats this sentence in Bulletin XXIV.

Labaume is very emphatic in his remarks—“It is past all comprehension,” he says, “that Napoleon could be so blind and so obstinate as to remain in Russia when he saw that the capital on which he had relied was in ruins, and that winter was approaching.... Providence no doubt, in punishment of his pride, must have dulled his wits. Could he otherwise have imagined that the very men who had had the courage to destroy their homes would be weak enough to accept his onerous terms, and sign a peace on the flaming ruins of their cities?”