Part 6

Napoleon made great efforts to impress the Lithuanians. In a single audience he would discourse upon religion and the drama, war and the arts. He rode about at all hours of the day or night, giving orders to build a bridge here, and a bastion there, and on the eve of an engagement he would appear at a ball or a concert. He evidently did his best to astonish the natives by his versatility.

As the Russians had left Vilna and it was impossible to overtake them, Napoleon returned to this town on July 28.

According to Ségur, when he entered his head-quarters he took off his sword, threw it on the table, which was covered with maps and plans, and said in a loud voice, “Here I am, and here I shall stay! I shall look about me, complete my army, give it a rest, and organize Poland. The campaign of 1812 is at an end; that of 1813 will do the rest!” Orders were given to provision the army for thirty-six days, and extensive plans were announced. Napoleon did not neglect amusements; actors were to be brought from Paris to Vitebsk for a winter season, and as the town was empty the audience was to be drawn from Warsaw and Vilna.

“Murat,” said the French Emperor, turning to the King of Naples, “the first Russian campaign is over. We will plant our standards here. Two broad rivers outline our position; we will build block-houses along this natural entrenchment, commanded by artillery in every direction. We will form a square with guns at the angles and on each front, and within this square we will build our barracks and magazines. The year 1813 will see us in Moscow; 1814 in St. Petersburg—the war with Russia shall be a three years’ war!”

On the same day he turned to one of the principal civil officials attached to the army and said, “As for you, my dear sir, you must see that we are properly provisioned, for we must not repeat the mistake of Charles XII.”

It was at this very time that Napoleon received news that peace had been concluded between Russia and the Porte. “The Turks,” he said, “will pay dearly for their mistake. It is such a foolish one that I did not even foresee it.”

Recognizing that the advance of the Russian army of Moldavia on his rear had now become both possible and probable, he began to think that perhaps it would be as well to destroy the two Russian armies in front of him, and that the sooner this was effected the better. These and other circumstances caused him to alter his views. He was no longer convinced that his wisest course was to stay at Vitebsk, and he became at once anxious and irresolute.

For a solution of his doubts he would appeal in broken phrases to intimates whom he met as he went about. “_Eh, bien_, what are we to do? eh? Shall we stay where we are, or go on? Is it right to stop half-way?” Then without waiting for an answer, he would go on as if looking for somebody or something that would settle the question for him. Brooding over these questions, not daring to make up his mind, he would fling himself on his bed in nothing but his shirt, overpowered by the heat and his anxiety.

In this way he passed the greater part of his time at Vitebsk. Meanwhile the advantages of a forward movement appealed to him more and more strongly.

“If we stay in Vitebsk,” he argued, “we must make up our minds to die a lingering death of _ennui_ during the seven long winter months! I, who have always been the first to attack, obliged to stand on the defensive! Shame and dishonour await me. All Europe will say, ‘He stayed at Vitebsk because he _dared_ not advance!’ Am I to give Russia time to arm? And how long am I to put up with this uncertainty, which is undermining my reputation for invincibility, already shaken by the resistance of Spain? What will the world think when it learns that, what with the sick and those who have fallen behind or disappeared, I have lost a third of my army? I must dazzle the eyes of the nations with the glamour of a brilliant success—the laurels of victory will cover a multitude of losses.”

Napoleon began to find at last that Vitebsk promised nothing but misfortune and loss, with all the discomforts and anxieties of standing on the defensive; while Moscow on the other hand offered the most signal advantages—provisions, money contributions, glory, and, last but not least, peace!

But the more resolutely the Emperor wished to act, the more obtrusive were the prevailing signs of discouragement and discontent. After two weeks of rest the soldiers began to complain that they had gone too far already, and that the prospects of war were gloomy. They abused everything that tended to prolong the campaign, and approved of everything that might possibly shorten it.

The Emperor, who wished at any cost to secure general approval of his plans, even from those who did not as a rule give expression to their views, called a council of the principal officers of the army, and his colleagues were invited—perhaps for the first time in their lives—to speak their minds freely.

“The more vigour the enemy displays,” he said to the marshals and generals who surrounded him, “the less ought we to slacken in our attack. We must not give these Oriental fanatics time to gather together against us from their remotest wilds. How can we go into winter quarters in July? And what sense is there,” he asked, “in breaking up a campaign like this into several parts?” forgetful of his own recent advocacy of the opposite view. “Be assured, gentlemen, that I have pondered deeply over the question. Our troops are always ready to advance, an offensive war is a war after their own hearts, whereas a long stay in one place is not acceptable to the French temperament. To shelter ourselves behind frozen rivers, sit in mud huts and endure privation and _ennui_ for eight months, with daily manœuvres and never a step in advance—is that the style of warfare we are accustomed to? The winter has other terrors than its frosts. It may bring with it endless diplomatic intrigues. Is it safe, think you, to give all these allies—whom we have successfully won over to our side, but who feel strangely out of place, I doubt not, in our ranks—to give them time, I say, to realize how unnatural is their position?

“Why should we remain inactive for eight months when we can attain our end in twenty days? Let us forestall the winter! We run the risk of losing all if we do not strike a swift and decisive blow. If we are not in Moscow in twenty days, it is possible we shall never get there at all. If peace be signed at Moscow, I shall have won the best and most glorious of all my victories!”

It was, however, already too late in the year, and the marshals were of opinion that further advance was out of the question. Berthier, Prince of Neufchâtel, was so bold as to urge this fact upon the Emperor, and to explain his reasons. The Emperor gave him a very warm reception. “Begone!” he said. “I have no need of you, you are only a ——. Go back home! I will keep no one with me against his will.”

Berthier, however, endeavoured to dissuade Napoleon from the decision he had arrived at, not by argument but by an appealing glance; there seemed almost to be tears in his eyes. Lobau and Caulaincourt tried to influence him by more open opposition, which took the form of bluntness with the former and persistence with the latter. The Emperor angrily swept all their opinions and advice on one side, and replied with the remark, aimed more particularly at Caulaincourt and Berthier, that he had made his generals too rich. “They can think of nothing but hunting and driving about Paris in expensive carriages—they are sick of the very name of war.”

To Duroc, who also opposed him, the Emperor replied that he was perfectly well aware that the Russians were trying to lure him on, but he must get to Smolensk at any cost. There he would go into winter quarters, and in the spring of 1813, if Russia did not end the war, he would end Russia. “Smolensk,” he said, “was the key to two roads, the road to St. Petersburg and the road to Moscow; and they must seize it because they would then be able to attack both capitals at once—to destroy the one and preserve the other.” Caulaincourt remarked that peace would be no nearer at Smolensk or Moscow than it was at Vitebsk, and that to advance so far, relying upon the fidelity of the Prussians, was the height of rashness. When the Emperor asked Count Daru for his opinion, he replied that it was not a popular war, and that neither the importation of English goods nor the restoration of Poland was a sufficient justification for so distant a campaign. “Neither we nor our troops can see the necessity or object of it, and everything points to the advisability of stopping where we are.”

“Great heavens!” cried the Emperor; “do they think that I am out of my mind? Do they imagine that this war gives me any pleasure? I have always said that the Spanish and Russian wars are the two sores that are sucking away the life of France, and that they are more than she can bear at once. I wish for peace, but in order to enter upon preliminaries there must be two sides, whereas there is but one at present—for Alexander has not vouchsafed two words as yet. What good can we expect from staying at Vitebsk? True, the position is bounded by two rivers, but in winter there are no rivers in this country; they will be merely imaginary lines. Here we shall want for everything, and shall have to buy whatever we need; whereas in Moscow there is plenty to be had for nothing. I might of course retire to Vilna, but even if provisions could more easily be obtained at Vilna, defence is more difficult, and for real safety we should have to retreat beyond the Niemen, which means the abandonment of Lithuania. On the other hand, if I advance to Smolensk I shall either secure a decisive victory or a strong position on the Dnieper.

“If we were always to wait for the most favourable combination of circumstances no enterprise would ever be undertaken. There can be no end without a beginning—there never was an enterprise in which everything fitted in perfectly, for chance plays a leading part in all the affairs of men. Obedience to rule does not ensure success, but success on the other hand furnishes a canon of conduct, and if this campaign be successful, these new triumphs will doubtless give new guidance for the future.

“No blood has as yet been spilled, but Russia is too great to yield without a struggle. Alexander could not come to terms, even if he would, except after a serious defeat. I will inflict that defeat, cost what it may, and if need be, I will follow it up by advancing to their sacred city. I am confident that peace awaits me at the gates of Moscow. Even if Alexander remains obdurate, I will win over the nobles and the inhabitants of the city to my side. They will know their own individual interest best, they will recognize the value of liberty.” “Moscow,” he added, “hates St. Petersburg, and I intend to avail myself of their rivalry—the consequences of their mutual jealousy may prove incalculable.”

Such, according to Ségur, and others, was the line of reasoning adopted by Napoleon, who inclined more and more strongly to an immediate advance on Moscow. Sebastiani’s disaster at Incova at last furnished him with a definite excuse for advancing. The Russian cavalry utterly routed the opposing French horse, and the dash and daring of the attack compelled the Emperor to seek some opportunity of retrieving the disaster by a decisive victory.

Napoleon’s want of decision at this moment was, however, reflected in the movements of the French army, and the well-conceived plan of separating the two Russian armies and destroying each of them in detail was never carried out.

The great efforts of the Russians to effect a speedy junction helped to upset the invader’s plans. Every man in Russia, from the Emperor to the last recruit, believed that if the armies were once united, not only would they cease their retrograde movement, but they would be able to fall upon the enemy, who had already over-reached himself by penetrating too far into the country. As a matter of fact the Russian Commander-in-chief had no intention of assuming the offensive against such overwhelming forces.

The account given by Dumas, General-Intendant of the French army, throws valuable light upon this point. He says that one of the officers spent three months in Memel on terms of intimacy with Barclay-de-Tolly, who was brought there after receiving a terrible wound at Eylau. The officer in question clearly recollected the details of the plan of “successive retreats” “by which the Russian general hoped to lure the formidable French army into the very heart of Russia, if possible beyond the Moskva; to wear it out, separate it as far as possible from its base of operations, and tempt it to waste its ammunition and provisions. At the same time he proposed carefully to nurse the Russian forces until the frosts came to their aid and the time was ripe for commencing offensive operations, and subjecting Napoleon to a second Pultava on the banks of the Volga. This grim programme was but too faithfully executed.”

Napoleon was aware that he was being “lured on,” as he called it; but, as we have already seen, he could not refrain from advancing, if not to Moscow, at any rate to Smolensk. He moved on, therefore, to the latter town, still adding to the list of so-called “victories” chronicled in his bulletins.

These bulletins were the more credible, inasmuch as the Russian plan of retreat lent them a sort of colour. The French were always advancing and the Russians always retreating; the inference was of course that the former were gaining a series of victories. Even Neverofsky’s exploit is described in Bulletin XVII. as an “engagement in which the advantage rested with the French.” The “engagement” really amounted to this—Neverofsky’s division, while hurriedly withdrawing towards Smolensk, was overtaken by Murat and surrounded by thirty regiments of cavalry, together with Nansouty’s and Grouchy’s army corps and the Light Brigade. Finding himself in this dangerous position, the Russian general formed square, and continued his retreat in that order. The French cavalry, though they fell upon the little detachment on every side, found it impossible to break through, even after forty attacks.

The French surrounded the Russians so closely that they were able to exchange words with them, and Murat more than once called upon Neverofsky to surrender. He only managed, however, to capture seven Russian guns, and Napoleon greeted him with the remark, not unmerited, that he should have brought back “not only those wretched guns, but a whole Russian division as well.”

At Smolensk Napoleon spent an evening in personally questioning prisoners, and in congratulating himself on the fact that he had at last come up with the Russian army. He attacked it, however, in front, instead of outflanking it and falling on its rear. He might have made a demonstration before the city with a strong detachment, and meanwhile sent the main body of the army to the right over the Dnieper to attack the left flank of the Russians defending the town, for Napoleon’s army was so numerous that he could well afford to divide his forces. It is said that he did in fact intend to cut off Prince Bagration, but could not find the ford over the river.

The French censure Marshal Davout for the fearful losses sustained at Smolensk, holding that these sacrifices were due to his want of foresight. They blame Napoleon, moreover, almost unanimously, for failing to surround the Russians. “In storming the fortifications of Smolensk,” says the author of the _Letters on the Russian Campaign of 1812_, “when he might have contented himself with surrounding the city and cannonading it, he committed a mistake. In allowing the Polish infantry to be cut to pieces so near their own country, he made a second mistake. In advancing into a huge and resourceless country at the beginning of winter, he fell into a third and far more serious error.”

After the battle of Smolensk Napoleon was seen riding over the field and rubbing his hands with an air of glee. “Five Russians,” he said, “for every Frenchman!” This, however, was not the fact, for the French lost not 8000 as they said, but nearer 20,000. Bourgeois admits a loss, besides 6000 killed, of 10,000 wounded, though according to the usual ratio the number of wounded would be still greater. He puts the Russian loss at the same number, not more. This is not surprising, in view of the fact that the Russians were fighting under cover, while the French were attacking in the open, and were several times repulsed.

Russian authorities, on the other hand, admit that our losses at Smolensk filled many of our countrymen with dismay, although they had hitherto looked upon the invasion with the utmost indifference. The scenes of terror and desolation presented by the interior of the town were fearful in the extreme. Some of the streets were literally burned to cinders, and the roadway filled with dead and dying, many of whom were half-consumed by the flames.

When Napoleon, from the old tower on the city walls, surveyed the position that had been occupied by the Russian army on the previous day, he perceived that Barclay-de-Tolly was no longer there—he had again escaped! Napoleon had failed in his endeavour to annihilate the Russian army, and the capture of a city in ashes did not represent the final paralyzing blow which could justify his losses in the eyes of Europe.

The French Emperor already appreciated the necessity of lowering his haughty Dresden tone, and took every opportunity of throwing oil on the troubled waters that threatened to engulf him. The letter sent by Marshal Berthier to Barclay-de-Tolly under the specious pretext of offering his sympathy and condolence, but serving as a matter of fact to cloak an attempt to open indirect overtures, contained the following passage—“The Emperor, to whom I have communicated the contents of this letter, desires me, Monsieur le Baron, to beg you to convey the assurance of his respect to the Emperor Alexander if he is still with the army. Pray tell him that the sentiment of esteem and friendship which the Emperor Napoleon entertains towards him will be impaired neither by the vicissitudes of warfare nor by any other circumstances.”

These tentative approaches did not elicit any reply. Napoleon then availed himself of the first convenient opportunity that occurred to mention his peaceful inclinations and intentions to his prisoner, General Tutshkof, begging him to communicate them to his brother, another general in the Russian army. “It was not I that began the war,” he said. “Why do the Russians retreat? Why have they abandoned Smolensk to me? There is nothing I desire so heartily as peace.” He also begged Tutshkof to mention that the Commander-in-Chief was wrong in carrying all the civic functionaries away with him. He invited Tutshkof to constitute a sort of tribunal of arbitration to decide which of the contending parties had more chance of victory, and if that question was decided in favour of the Russians, to appoint a rendezvous for a battle; if for the French, then why shed blood in vain, and why not discuss terms and conclude peace? It was also through Berthier that he called upon the Emperor Alexander to instruct the governors not to leave their posts.

Such overtures could not of course be expected to have any result; their only justification is to be sought in the pitiable frame of mind to which Napoleon was then reduced. He began to realize how gigantic was the enterprise he had undertaken—an enterprise that grew in magnitude the further he advanced. He was now dealing with a nation in arms—with a second Spain, but more powerful, more remote, vaster in extent, and more unproductive.... The name of Charles XII., we are told, was at this time always on his lips.

Murat was once heard to say to Napoleon, “If the Russians refuse to give battle it is not worth while to pursue them; it is time to stop.” The Emperor answered him with some warmth; though what he said is not known. It was, however, subsequently understood from the King of Naples’ own lips that he went on his knees to his brother-in-law, and implored him to stop. Napoleon, however, would hear of no halt short of Moscow, which held everything that was dear to him—honour, glory, and repose. “Every one remarked,” says Ségur, “that when Murat left Napoleon after his interview his face wore an expression of deep affliction, and his gestures were excited and abrupt—he repeatedly uttered the words, ‘Oh, ce Moscou!’”

So soon as he made up his mind to advance, Napoleon again acquired complete command over himself. He became cheerful and tranquil, as was usual when he had definitely settled upon any project. After the battle of Zabolotye—or Valutina, as the French called it—he said: “We have come too far to retire; if I thought of glory alone I should return to Smolensk, plant my standard there, and treat the town as my own. The campaign would be ended, although not the war. Peace lies before us—we are only eight days’ march from it. Shall we hesitate now that we are so near our goal? _En avant!_ to Moscow!”

The best answer to this resolve was given in one of the Emperor Alexander’s proclamations—“He threatens to march on Moscow—let him do so. Even if he is victorious he will still share the fate of Charles XII.”

Napoleon himself was far from feeling the confidence which he endeavoured to inspire into others. For instance, in writing to Marshal Victor from Smolensk he said—“It may be that I shall not find peace where I seek it; in that case I shall be able to retire under cover of your reserves steadily and without precipitation.”

If one compare the words of Napoleon at the beginning of the campaign, when his intention was to remain at Vitebsk, or even at Smolensk, with what he said when his decision to march on Moscow was irrevocable, one is struck with wonderment at the total change of ideas, and at the irresistible impulse of which he was the victim.

We have already mentioned the plan sketched out by Barclay-de-Tolly as to the best method of carrying on the war in Russia. Barclay was not the only person to recognize the weak spot in Napoleon’s genius.

When the storm first began to gather, Tczernicheff, the military agent, pointed out with remarkable penetration both the French Emperor’s probable course of procedure and the best way of replying to his intended moves.

“The preparations for the war are complete,” he wrote to the Minister of War at St. Petersburg in 1811. “The Emperor Napoleon’s animosity against us increases day by day, and if this autumn does not see us at war it will only be because the season is late, and Napoleon, taking a lesson from the Pultusk campaign, will perhaps be afraid of the marshes of Poland. They would of course hinder him in his plans, which are no doubt to end the campaign in one lightning stroke, as he has done in all preceding wars.

“Accepting the conclusion that hostilities are unavoidable, we must make every preparation, not only for withstanding the first shock, but for prolonging the war as much as possible. Experience tells us that this is the only method by which we can hope for success against Napoleon; and it also tells us that he has always been embarrassed and led into mistakes of strategy when he has met with prolonged resistance. This is the course which our Government should adopt, in this difficult and critical situation. It is the only course that offers any hope of final triumph over the world’s oppressor.