Chapter I: Napoleon (2)

“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.

“The proper way to conduct this war, in my opinion, is to avoid a general engagement and to conform as far as possible to the guerilla tactics adopted against the French troops in Spain, so as to gradually demoralize them, and reduce by starvation the enormous forces they will bring against us.”

The advice given by Marshal Bernadotte, who was at that time King of Sweden, is also interesting:—“In the position in which Russia stands towards France, it is to her advantage to prolong the war, because it is in her power to do so, but not in Napoleon’s. One ought to depend as little as possible upon chance. It is therefore essential to avoid big battles and endeavour to reduce the war to a series of petty skirmishes. You must have plenty of Cossacks. You must capture Napoleon’s baggage and cut off his supplies. Even if you have to retire behind the Dvina, nay, behind the Neva, so long as you continue to offer a stubborn resistance everything will turn out well, and Napoleon will meet at the hands of Alexander with the fate meted out to Charles XII. by Peter the Great.

“Napoleon neglects nothing that can conduce to success; but his means are already exhausted, and he cannot stand a two years’ war. He lacks men, money, and horses for such an undertaking; and the further he advances the worse he will fare. But of course it would be best if such extremities could be avoided, for the provinces will suffer severely, and the reverses that may be expected in the early part of the campaign will produce a bad impression.”

In spite of these prudent counsels, we were all but hoist with our own petard at Drissa. Nevertheless, looking back, we may now say that it was a good thing for Russia that we were obliged to retire behind the Dvina, inasmuch as we should otherwise have had great difficulty in coping with our opponents.

Napoleon marched straight on Moscow. In passing through Viazma he came upon signs of want of discipline that made him furious. He rode into a crowd of soldiers; struck some of them, knocked others down with his horse, and ordered a canteen-keeper to be arrested, tried, and shot. But they allowed the poor wretch to kneel in the road, surrounded by a fictitious family group consisting of a woman and a few borrowed children, when the Emperor was passing by, and this stratagem saved his life. Fezensac mentions it—“In passing through the little town of Viazma, Napoleon came upon some soldiers who had looted a wine-cellar. He flew into an ungovernable passion, charged down upon them, and began abusing them and hitting right and left with his riding-whip. The impossibility of catching up the Russian army, and the devastations they had made on our line of march, angered him so much that he fell foul of everybody he came across.”[4]

* * * * *

Prince Kutuzof had been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Russian army, and Napoleon hastened to gather all possible information as to his new opponent. He was described to him as “an old man who had originally attracted notice by virtue of a most interesting and unusual wound.” From that time he had made the most of his opportunities. Even the defeat which he had suffered at Austerlitz, and which he had foretold, served only to raise his reputation. But it was exalted still higher by the last campaign against the Turks. There was no doubt that he was a man of parts, but he was accused of attending too closely to his own interest, and having an eye to some personal end in all his actions. He was, further, a man of phlegmatic and unforgiving character, and above all of great cunning—in fact a thorough Tartar—rather a courtier than a general, but redoubtable on account of his reputation. To the Russians his person, his conversation, his dress, and, last but not least, his superstitions and even his age, recalled Suvoroff and the Russia of the days of Catharine the Great—a fact that endeared him to his fellow-countrymen. In Moscow the popular enthusiasm aroused by his appointment was so great that the people exchanged congratulatory embraces in the streets. All were confident that the new Commander-in-Chief would, by hook or by crook, prove more than a match for Napoleon.

The arrival of Kutuzof at head-quarters created an excellent impression on the army, especially as the constant succession of retreats had undermined, not to say destroyed, confidence in their commanders. The person chiefly blamed for what was considered the cowardice of our strategy was of course the Commander-in-Chief, a man of great talent and intelligence, who, when once a plan of operations had been definitely adopted, was accustomed to carry it out to the bitter end. He was completely misunderstood by his contemporaries, including the Emperor Alexander, who, yielding to the pressure of his _entourage_, expressed signs of impatience, and demanded offensive tactics and immediate victories. The impulsive Prince Bagration, who was an especially strong advocate of the offensive, so far forgot himself as to make complaints to the Emperor against the Commander-in-Chief. He, however, had not the terrible responsibilities that devolved upon Barclay, and he practically admitted in private that a decisive battle might be disastrous to Russia. The Emperor Alexander’s Council of War might decide upon an attack, but the Commander-in-Chief would inevitably defeat their intentions, although he would at first pretend to share their enthusiasm. This course of action rendered him extremely unpopular.

Kutuzof, the new Commander-in-Chief, was unwilling to endanger his enormous popularity, and decided to accept battle, although, as a prudent man, he was almost as strongly opposed to such a course as was his predecessor. It cannot be denied that the selection of the plain of Borodino for the great defensive battle was creditable both to Kutuzof and to Colonel Tol, the head of his staff.

“On two lines,” says G. de Pimodan, “it is an extremely strong position, and still worthy of a visit from officers of the general staff, who may profitably study the scheme of the defences that were hastily constructed. Their only weakness was on the left flank.”

The French army, which at the passage of the Niemen numbered 400,000 men, after comparatively insignificant losses in battle mustered no more than 160,000 when it reached the plain of Borodino. The question naturally arises: what had become of the 240,000 men who, even on the admission of Bulletin XVII., were missing? Moreover, where did all the Russian troops come from after being incessantly slaughtered by the French, tens of thousands at a time according to Napoleon’s bulletins, for the space of ten weeks, and after the wholesale desertions which he chronicled?

On the day before the battle of Borodino, Napoleon, according to the evidence of his valet, was in a perfectly tranquil state of mind. He spoke of Russia as if it were a smiling province of France. From his conversation it might have been supposed that the neighbourhood was a vast granary ready-stored for the army, and offering all facilities for the establishment of winter quarters. The first step of the new administration which he was about to establish at Gjatsk would be the encouragement of agriculture. He was evidently enchanted by the vistas that opened up before him. Seldom had the Emperor appeared so much at ease or displayed such calmness in his conversation and demeanour.

It should be mentioned that the entrenchments at Borodino were very slight, partly on account of the haste in which they were constructed, and partly owing to the fact that the Second Army, which constituted the left flank, had no entrenching tools. Bayefsky’s battery, therefore, and the entrenchments on the Semyonof heights, were far from formidable. Scarcely anything was done to Tutshkof’s position at Utitsa owing to want of appliances.[5]

Napoleon regarded the left flank as the weakest part of the Russian position, and after a careful survey of the heights of Borodino he decided to concentrate all his efforts on this point, i.e. on an attack with his own right. Marshal Davout then requested the assistance of Poniatowski, whose forces were too weak for independent action, to help in outflanking the enemy. He proposed to move before daybreak with Poniatowski’s troops and his own five divisions, numbering 35,000 men, under cover of the woods on which the Russians were resting, get behind them, along the old Smolensk road, and fall suddenly on the rear of the left flank. He pointed out that while the Emperor was leading the attack from the front, he would move rapidly from redoubt to redoubt and from reserve to reserve, disperse any force he found on the Mozjaisk road, annihilate the Russian army, and finish the war at a single blow.

This proposal furnished one more proof that Davout was the best tactician of all the marshals trained in the school of Napoleon. If his daring project had been carried out, it would most probably have thrown the Russian army into utter confusion. But Napoleon, after listening attentively to what the Marshal had to say, replied after a few minutes of silent deliberation—“No, it is too unheard-of a manœuvre; it will lead me away from my main object, and make me lose a great deal of time.”

The Duke of Eckmühl, confident in the correctness of his views, still persisted. According to Ségur, he undertook to execute the whole manœuvre by six o’clock in the morning. He would answer, he said, for the utter rout of the Russians. But Napoleon, evidently displeased at the Marshal’s persistence, interrupted him with—“Oh, you are always urging these flanking movements; it is too hazardous!” So Marshal Davout said no more, and, fortunately for the Russian army, left without gaining his point.

Kutuzof was not slow to divine the enemy’s intentions. When the battle began, in the face of the enemy’s fire he moved Boggavut’s corps across from the right flank, against which Prince Eugène was making an ineffectual demonstration, to the support of the Second Army, and in his turn alarmed the French by a movement round their left flank with Uvarof’s cavalry and the Cossacks.

Both sides appreciated the fact that the Semyonof heights were the real key to the position.

We must not omit to mention that throughout the night preceding the battle Napoleon was apprehensive lest the Russian army should again retreat. The fear of this prevented him from sleeping; he kept calling to his attendants, asking what the time was, and whether any sound could be heard from the Russian camp, and sending to see whether the enemy was still in the same place. When he was reassured on this score, he began to express anxiety for his hungry and exhausted troops—how would they bear the shock of battle? He sent for Bessières, the Marshal in whom, apparently, he had the greatest confidence, and inquired whether the Guards had everything they needed. He more than once, in fact, made inquiries on this point.

At last, still unsatisfied, he rose and asked the sentinels outside his tent whether they had had their rations served out to them. Receiving an affirmative answer, he lay down again and fell into a troubled sleep.

But he soon called out again. The aide-de-camp who entered found him with his head resting on his hand. He appeared to be musing on the vanity of human glory. Napoleon reviewed the critical situation in which he was placed, and added—“The eventful day draws near. It will be a terrible struggle!” Then he asked Rapp if he was confident of victory. “Certainly,” the latter replied, “but we shall not get it without much bloodshed.”

Once more Napoleon became restless and uneasy. Again he sent to inquire whether the Russians were in the same position, or whether they had slipped away. Receiving a reassuring report, he endeavoured to calm his agitation; but the exhausting journeys he had lately performed and his sleepless nights, together with his many cares and anxieties, had so told upon him that as the temperature fell during the night he grew feverish, and was seized with a dry cough and nervous irritation. During the latter part of the night he suffered from intense thirst. And to add to all this he was troubled by his old complaint, for on the previous day he had had an attack of dysuria, a disease from which he had long suffered.

Five o’clock struck at last. An officer came from Ney to report that the Russians were in front, and requesting leave to begin the attack. Napoleon brightened up, rose from his bed, summoned his attendants, and issued from his tent with the words—“They are in our hands at last! Forward! The gates of Moscow are before us!” Such is Ségur’s account.

The battle of Borodino, famous in the annals of war, had begun. The roar of the guns, borne upon the wind, was heard eighty miles away from the battle-field. The Emperor was seen throughout the whole day sitting or slowly walking up and down near the landslip on the left front of the captured Shevardino redoubt; but he could scarcely view the battle from that place after it had been for some time in progress. He rose now and again, walked a few paces and seated himself once more. Those who attended him regarded him with astonishment. They were accustomed under such circumstances to see him managing affairs with a confident and tranquil air; but instead of this they now saw nothing but feebleness, lethargy, and inertia. Some ascribed his want of energy to fatigue; others thought that he was tired of everything, even of fighting, while some suspected internal sufferings.

The last supposition was probably the correct one. Napoleon’s attendant, Constant, positively asserts that during the whole of the battle of Borodino he was suffering from an attack of his chronic malady. He had contracted, moreover, some time previously a severe cold which he had neglected, and it was rendered still worse by the anxieties of the day. So seriously, in fact, did it affect him that he almost lost his voice.

“Napoleon never once mounted his horse,” says de la Fluse, “during the whole of the battle. He walked about with his officers, pacing up and down upon the same spot. It was said that his indisposition prevented him from riding.

“His aide-de-camp was kept busy in receiving and delivering his orders. Behind Napoleon were the Guards and a few corps in reserve. A regimental band was playing a succession of military airs, recalling the battle-fields of the first Revolution, such as ‘_Allons enfants de la patrie!_’ But at Borodino these strains had no effect on the soldiers, and some of the older officers laughed at the contrast of the two periods. The panorama of a bloody battle was spread before our eyes, but we could see nothing, owing to the smoke of a thousand guns thundering without a pause. I got as close as I could to the Emperor, who kept looking through his glass at the field of battle. He was dressed in his grey overcoat, and spoke but little. When a cannon-ball rolled towards his feet, as sometimes happened, he stepped on one side just like the rest of us.”

By three o’clock in the afternoon the French had captured the redoubt on the Semyonof heights, but the Russian army, far from taking to flight, had no intention even of retiring. Napoleon, aghast at the unprecedented losses of men, officers, and generals, put a stop to any further attack, and, in spite of all representations, refused to allow the reserves to be used for a final decisive assault.

The marshals sent General Belliard for assistance. The general declared that from the position they occupied they could see the whole of the Mozjaisk road, covered with men and wagons in full retreat, that nothing was needed but one vigorous onset to finally crush the Russian army. The Emperor wavered and hesitated; then he bade the general return and report again.

Belliard rode off in some surprise, and soon returned with the news that the enemy was apparently rallying, that the opportunity for the decisive blow was passing, and that if they did not strike at once a second battle would be needed to decide the first. Bessières, however, returned at this moment from the hills to which he had been sent by Napoleon to inspect the Russian position. He insisted that the Russians, far from retreating in disorder, had only retired to their second position, and were actually preparing to attack. Then the Emperor informed Belliar that it was not yet clear what had happened; that before making up his mind to allow his last reserves to be brought into action he wished to be more certain regarding the position of the pieces on his chess-board. He repeated this phrase several times.

Belliard returned completely dumfoundered to Murat and the other Marshals, who were impatiently awaiting reinforcements, and informed them that they were not forthcoming. “He had found the Emperor still at the same spot, evidently in pain, and in a state of despondency; his features were downcast, his eyes dull and heavy, and he gave his orders in a listless way.

“Every one was surprised. Ney, in an access of ungovernable temper, said bluntly, ‘What is the meaning of this? Have we come out here for the pleasure of taking the plain? What is the Emperor doing in the rear? There he can only see the reverses and not the successes. If he does not mean to lead the army himself, if he has ceased to be a general and is playing at Emperor, let him return to the Tuileries, and leave the command in our hands!’”

Daru, in his turn, was instigated by Dumas and Berthier to whisper to the Emperor that the universal cry was, “Now is the time for the Guards to attack!” But Napoleon answered, “And if I have to fight a second battle to-morrow, what troops shall I have to fight it with?”

Napoleon’s sufferings were evidently increasing; it was as much as he could do to mount his horse and ride at a foot pace to the Semyonof hills. He saw that he was far from being master of the field of battle; that it was still disputed by the cannon-balls, and even the rifle-bullets, of the enemy.

Murat declared that he saw none of the genius of Napoleon displayed on this momentous day, and Prince Eugène, the Viceroy, admitted that he could not understand his adopted father’s indecision. When Ney was appealed to for his opinion he was so angry that he recommended retreat.

The whole of the French army was disappointed with the result of the battle, and with the want of energy displayed by Napoleon. Bessières was especially blamed; for, at the critical moment, when the Emperor was on the point of making up his mind to let the reserves be brought into action, the Marshal approached him and whispered in his ear—“Sire, do not forget that you are eight hundred leagues from your capital.”

There are, however, some who take the opposite view. Chambrey, for instance, assures us that “the whole of the French army was astonished at the stubbornness with which this terrible battle was fought,” and Gourgot, in defending Napoleon, goes so far as to say, “If the ranks of the Guards had been thinned at the battle of Borodino, the remains of the French army, of which it was the pillar and pride during the retreat, would hardly have managed to reach the Niemen.”

Of the Russian authorities, some find fault with Napoleon, and others are of opinion that he adopted the only possible course. “Nothing,” says Buturlin, “can justify Napoleon’s course in stopping the fight at three o’clock when a little further effort might have ensured a victory. The last Russian reserves had already gone into action, while on the side of the French neither the Old Guard nor the Young, nor any of their cavalry, amounting to over 20,000 men, had taken any part in the battle. There is no doubt that if Napoleon had made use of the twenty-three battalions and twenty-seven squadrons of which this select force consisted, he would have utterly routed the Russians, and compelled them to spend the remaining four hours of the day in continual retreat instead of preparing for attack.”

Danilevsky asserts that the French, after occupying the redoubt on the Semyonof hills, so far from pressing the Russians, who had fallen back on another position in the immediate neighbourhood, withdrew all along the line for the night; and reminds his readers of the fact, that until eleven o’clock on the following day the French made no attempt to renew the assault, but awaited an attack on the part of the Russians, and only advanced at last when their opponents began to retire.[6] He expresses an opinion that for Napoleon’s refusal to use the Young Guard to support the cavalry in breaking through our left flank, our army was indebted to the movement made on the left by Uvarof’s cavalry,—that is to say, to a movement ordered by Kutuzof himself. We may add that neither Uvarof nor the Cossacks did all that might have been expected from them. Had the latter attacked the French more boldly in the rear, plundered their baggage, and generally caused confusion in that quarter, as they had every opportunity of doing, Napoleon would in all likelihood have had to send his reserves not to the front but to the rear; and the result would probably have been to demoralize, and perhaps to spread panic throughout the whole of the French army.

Many incline to Marshal Davout’s opinion, which we have already mentioned, that Napoleon could have made much more certain of victory if, instead of attacking the Russian left, he had made a strong demonstration there, and sent a large force on to the old Smolensk road to support Poniatowski against Tutshkof. He would certainly have been enabled to fall on the rear of the Russian army, which, being thus cut off from Mozjaisk and cornered between the rivers Kolotsha and Moskva, would have been in a very critical position.

It was at first Prince Kutuzof’s intention to accept battle on the following day in the position which the Russian army then occupied. But the reports sent in at night by the commanders of the various army corps as to the disordered condition of the different divisions, and above all as to the scantiness of ammunition, caused him to change his plans. Grabbe was sent that night to the First Army with orders to retire. Deep silence, he says, reigned at the village of Gorki. When he had found the cottage in which Barclay-de-Tolly was quartered, he obtained a candle with much difficulty and entered the parlour where the general was asleep on the floor, side by side with his aides-de-camps and orderlies. He gently awakened him, gave him the note which he had brought with him, and explained his mission. The general leaped to his feet, and, probably for the first time in his life, there burst from his lips, generally so mild and gentle, a torrent of bitter invective against Benigsen, whom, for some reason or other, he took to be the principal author of the decision to retreat.

The Russian army began once more to retreat, and the French to advance. The French had therefore nominally won the battle.

“Monsieur L’Evêque,” writes Napoleon to the Bishop of Metz, “the passage of the Niemen, of the Dvina and the Dnieper, and the battles of Mohilef, Drissa, Polotsk, Smolensk, and lastly of Moskva [Borodino], call for thanksgiving to the God of Might. We desire that on receipt of this letter you will make the necessary arrangements. Summon my people to the churches and sing praises unto the Almighty according to the forms laid down by the Church for such occasions.

“In sending you this letter, I pray the Lord that, etc.

“_Given in our Imperial Quarters in Mozjaisk, 10th September, 1812._

NAPOLEON.”

In accordance with these instructions, the Bishop of Metz issued the following proclamation:—

“Claudius Ignatius Laurent, by the Grace of God, Bishop of Metz, General Administrator of the District, and Baron of the Empire, to the clergy and to all true sons of the District of Metz, greeting.

“BELOVED BRETHREN,

“The whole universe now gazes in profound wonder upon new exploits and new triumphs yet more glorious than those that have hitherto filled us with astonishment. Napoleon has once more shown himself a veritable Titan, capable of the most gigantic achievements. His victorious phalanxes have swept like eagles from the mouth of the Guadalquivir to the sources of the Volga. No longer shall the Northern barbarians trample on the blessed valleys of the South; the glorious warrior of the West is driving the common foe before him to the ice-bound regions of the Pole.

“For more than a century have the presumptuous dwellers of the hyperborean shores, relying on a reputation they have ill deserved, menaced and intimidated the humble and confiding monarchs of civilized Europe. Long time, too long indeed, have they lent the hireling aid of their would-be invincible legions, to nations whom it was their aim thereafter to subdue, and whom they have set in arms one against another, only to break faith with their kings and lead them astray into difficulties from which there was no escape. He whom the Creator, the God of War, hath chosen to root out all manner of crafty cunning, to break the spells of witchcraft, to humble the proud, to cast down earthly idols, to triumph over the kings of the nations and subdue their chief cities, he has seen, beloved brethren, that the time has come to humble their intolerable pride and arrogance, and to show to all men that these savage warriors are no more invincible in their native steppes than in the valleys of Helvetia, or the plains of Poland and Moldavia.

“What the mind hath conceived, that the hand hath performed. Though few be the months that have passed, the rapidity of our successes and the splendour of our victories fill the whole world with astonishment.

“The immortal instrument by whom these wonders have been worked, he himself marvels, it would seem, at his own successes. He humbly acknowledges that it is the right hand of God, and not his own, that triumphs over the enemy who has summoned him to the fight.

“On the field of battle, in the midst of his victories, he is the first to raise the hymn of thanksgiving, and, from the ends of the earth, where he is now contending with the foe, he calls upon the pastors of his realm to summon the people to the churches, and join him in singing praises unto the Lord, in gratitude for His victories. Who is so proud that he will not bow down before the Most High when the victor, who casteth down the thrones of kings, himself falls at the throne of the Lord who giveth as He will, victory or defeat, life or death, peace or war?

“Never, my brethren, has Napoleon the Great missed any occasion of proclaiming these eternal truths whenever he has achieved one of his wondrous victories. The joyful epistle which his Imperial and Royal Majesty has graciously vouchsafed to us is a convincing testimony of the depth of his religious faith.

“Let us give thanks to the Fountain of these great mercies even as our most gracious Emperor lays his triumphs at the feet of the Almighty, the Lord of heaven and earth.

“And to this end that the praiseworthy intentions of our most august Emperor and King may be worthily fulfilled, we, having duly considered the matter, do hereby order and command....”

It is admitted on all hands that the French losses at Borodino were quite as great as the Russian, namely, about 50,000. Ségur puts them at 40,000. Dumas says that “the losses were beyond calculation.” At about nine o’clock in the evening Napoleon summoned Daru and Dumas. His camp was in the middle of a square formed by the Guards. “He had only just supped,” says Dumas, “and was sitting all alone. He made one of us sit on his right, and the other on his left. After questioning us as to the arrangements made for giving assistance to the wounded, he began to talk of the result of the battle. Then, after dozing in his chair for about five minutes, he gave himself a shake, and began talking again. ‘People are surprised, I dare say,’ he said, ‘that I did not let my reserves be used in order to secure a more decisive result; but you see I was obliged to save them for the final blow which we must deal before we can enter Moscow. The success of the day was certain; I had to think of the issue of the campaign—that is why I kept the Guards out of action.’”

Napoleon attempted the same night to resume his routine work which had been interrupted for five days. But his voice failed him, and he could neither converse nor dictate. He was obliged to have recourse to the assistance of the pen, writing his orders on scraps of paper. His secretaries and all the members of his staff who could be of any assistance copied them out as fast as they could. Count Daru and the Prince of Neufchâtel set to work with the others; but the Emperor’s handwriting was extremely difficult to decipher, for he was writing at the rate of an order a minute. He would frequently rap on the table as a sign to remove the papers which were accumulating in great piles.

Twelve long hours were spent in this work. Not a sound was to be heard but the scratching of Napoleon’s pen and the rapping of his hammer.

* * * * *

The French army at last approached Moscow. Napoleon, who had been previously seated in a carriage, mounted his horse when half-way through the last march.

In the distance, through a cloud of dust, could be seen the long columns of Russian cavalry retiring in good order before the French troops. At last a number of towers came into view, with golden domes glittering in the sun—a vast city lay before the advancing host, and the van of the army, in a transport of enthusiasm, cried, “Moscow! Moscow at last!” The cry was taken up by the whole army; officers and men clambered on to the heights in order to gaze at the famous city, destined perhaps to be the new boundary of the French Empire.

Napoleon feasted his eyes upon the spectacle from the Pilgrim’s Hill—Poklonnaya Gorà. Behind him was a group of delighted marshals.

To the left and right they could see Prince Eugène and Poniatowski approaching the city. In front, on the high-road, Murat and his scouts had almost reached the suburbs; but still no deputation of the inhabitants came out to meet them. It was afternoon, but Moscow gave no sign of life; it was like a city of the dead. Those officers who had already been in the city reported that Moscow was deserted! But for a long time no one dared to communicate these tidings to Napoleon; all feared an outburst of the Emperor’s fury. When Napoleon was at last informed of the condition of the city he flatly refused to believe the report. Then he mounted his horse and rode up to the Dorogomilof gate. He gave orders that the strictest discipline should be observed, clinging to the hope that the rumour would prove to be untrue. Perhaps these people did not know the proper mode of surrendering. The whole situation was new to them; the French and their ways must be as strange to the Russians as they and their ways were to the French. But every fresh report confirmed the alarming news; doubt was no longer possible.

Napoleon summoned Daru—“Moscow is deserted! The thing is preposterous! Ride into the place and find the boyards.”

Daru, however, was unsuccessful in his mission, for there was not a boyard in the city. There was no smoke from the chimneys—not a sign of habitation; unbroken silence brooded over the vast city.

But Napoleon insisted; he still waited and hoped. At last one of the officers, evidently willing to oblige at any cost, rode in, seized a few vagrants in the streets and drove them out before him—as a deputation.

Rostopchin says that the deputation consisted of some twelve men clad in the worst of garments; the civic authorities, nobility, clergy, and principal merchants were represented on this solemn occasion by a simple type-setter. Napoleon saw the humorous side of the situation, and turned away. Convinced at last that Moscow was really deserted, he abandoned his hopes and projects, shrugged his shoulders, and said with a contemptuous air—“The Russians do not understand the impression that will be produced by the occupation of their capital.”

One can well understand Napoleon’s impatience to receive the keys of the city; for this would have meant the realization of a long-cherished ambition. An hour before reaching Moscow he summoned Count Durosnel, who was in charge of the Imperial head-quarters, and said—“Go into the city, get everything in order, and select a deputation to bring me the keys.” There is no doubt that he had thought out all the details of his entry into Moscow; his speech to the nobility, in which he would have availed himself of the jealousy between the old capital and St. Petersburg, and the shortcomings of the constitution of the empire, to win these brave but barbarous people over to his side; his arrangements for a contribution to be paid in gold, and the issue of the false 100 rouble notes which he had had printed expressly in Paris, and with which he hoped to make good the expenses of the war. He had, of course, already decided whom he would punish, or reward, to whom he would extend his Imperial clemency; what changes he would make in the administration; and, last but not least, how he would conduct the negotiations for peace—whether slowly or quickly, haughtily and sternly, or graciously. He who had so long been accustomed to apply his genius to every detail of the subjugation, pacification, and organization of newly-conquered countries, must of course, now that he had reached the goal of his ambition, consider and decide everything beforehand. And, after all,—how aggravating to find that there was nothing, positively nothing, with which to satisfy the curiosity of the _Moniteur_ and of Europe, which had been expecting this climax open-mouthed.

A Frenchman, who was an eye-witness of the scene, tells us that he came upon the Emperor in one of the suburbs, awaiting envoys from the Russians, and examining their cavalry, which was retiring on the left, through a field-glass. A few peasants and shopkeepers were marched up. They presented a pitiable spectacle, and were quaking with terror, under the impression, apparently, that their last hour had come.

Napoleon dismounted. He was evidently cold; he coughed as he gave his orders, and he seemed to be undecided as to what course to adopt. Apparently considering that it would be wisest not to run the risk of entering the city at that moment, he stationed himself in one of the neighbouring wooden houses.

This was in the suburb of Dorogomilof. Marshal Mortier was appointed Military Governor of the town. Napoleon said emphatically—“See to it that there is no plundering! You will be answerable with your own head—save me my Moscow from everybody and everything!”

At the Dorogomilof Bridge, Riess, the bookseller, was brought to Napoleon. Riess afterwards related that he had been compelled to remain at his shop, but hearing the drums and trumpets in the street he went out, was taken prisoner and brought before the Emperor.

“Who are you?” asked Napoleon.

“A French bookseller.”

“Ah! then you are one of my subjects.”

“Yes; but I have lived for a long time in Moscow.”

“Where is Rostopchin?”

“He has gone.”

“Where are the magistrates—municipal council——?”

“Gone also.”

“Who is left in Moscow?”

“None of the Russians.”

“_C’est impossible!_”

Riess apparently swore that what he said was true. Napoleon frowned and remained for some time buried in thought; then, as if he had made up his mind to some daring project, he gave the word, “Forward—march!”

One of the Russians says—“They went searching for the keys and for a deputation in the Government offices, the town-hall, the head-quarters of the police, the Governor-General’s house, and, in fact, every place in which there was the least chance of finding an official. After a long but ineffectual search, the zealous Polish general who had undertaken the task returned to Napoleon and reported that there was not a single functionary left in Moscow, and that the town was deserted by all except a few foreigners who had stayed behind. The Emperor accordingly postponed his entry; he thought perhaps that by next day some of the inhabitants would have returned, and that a deputation would arrive after all, or that at any rate his French, Italian, and German subjects would come to the rescue and present themselves to pay him their respects.”

He was again disappointed. He spent the night before the gates in an innkeeper’s house, apparently unable to sleep. “There was such a horrible smell in the house,” says his valet, “that his Majesty kept calling every minute, ‘Are you awake, Constant?’

“‘I am, your Majesty,’

“‘Pray burn some vinegar, _mon cher_; I cannot stand this awful smell—it is simply torture to me!’

“The house was in such a filthy condition that they found next day specimens of those disgusting insects which are so plentiful in Russia, in the Emperor’s bed, nay, in his clothes as well.” The writer refers to our bugs, which, as is well known, attack new-comers with peculiar virulence.

It was said that Napoleon, “although he intended to establish himself in the Palace of the Kremlin, considered it best to wait a little before entering into possession, owing to a rumour that the ancient dwelling of the Tsars was mined with explosives.”

The two armies moved simultaneously upon Moscow. The King of Naples and Marshal Ney crossed the bridge. The men and officers of the Russian rear-guard and of the French advance-guard met on the bridge, and the King found himself completely surrounded by Russians of General Dorogomilovsky’s detachment. According to Ségur, Murat called out, “Is there any one here who can speak French?”

“There is, your Majesty,” answered a young officer not far off.

“Who is in command of the rear-guard?” The young man pointed to a veteran in Cossack uniform who looked as if he had seen service.

“Please ask him if he knows me?”

“He says that he knows your Majesty well. He has always seen you in the thick of the fight.”

The King hinted in the course of conversation that it was time to make peace—that the war had already lasted too long. He also remarked incidentally that the fur coat which the worthy veteran was wearing must be most useful in camping out. The Cossack general at once pulled it off and offered it to Murat as a memento of the interview. Murat in return gave him a valuable watch which he took from one of the officers of his staff. This unfortunate officer was Napoleon’s aide-de-camp, Gourgot, who afterwards bitterly lamented the loss of his watch, which he valued for its associations.

The narrative of Kerbeletzky, a Russian _chinovnik_, who was captured on the way to Moscow and brought before Napoleon, is interesting in its _naïveté_ and simplicity—“The Duc d’Istry, Napoleon’s State Secretary de Laurent, and his Polish aide-de-camp Lieutenant-Colonel Welsowicz, questioned me on the morning of September 1, in great detail, not only as to the number and disposition of all our armies, and the movements and performances of each of them, but also as to the intentions entertained by our Government with regard to peace.

“All the officials whom I have named above, according to their own account, which they said was based on the most trustworthy information received by Napoleon, were thoroughly acquainted with the condition of Moscow. They knew that there were no Russian troops in the town, and supposed not only that the Russian army would not give battle before the gates of the city, but more than that, that the Russian Government would certainly sue for peace. Welsowicz further affirmed that on the morrow, namely on September 2, Napoleon, their Emperor, would dine in Moscow; that whatever resistance might be offered by the Russian army which had taken part in the battle of Mozjaisk, he would take the city by force if need be; would raise a good round sum by way of contribution; would restore Poland to her former dignity, and would join White Russia and Smolensk to her territories. He would further provide his troops with clothes and boots, and after spending a while in this capital of Russia would return to Paris. If the Russian Government remained obdurate and refused his terms, he would make over Moscow to Poland, while he himself marched to St. Petersburg and beyond, and subdued the whole of Russia.

“On the 1st, at ten o’clock in the morning, he proceeded towards Moscow with his huge army, which had passed the night camped round the country-house he had occupied. In the evening he halted at Viazum, a village some twenty-two miles from Moscow, belonging to Prince Galitzyn, and spent the night in the manor-house. That day Napoleon drove the first eight miles in his carriage, with the Prince of Neufchâtel (Berthier). Then, as he could no longer use the carriage, for the bridge on the high-road was burned, and the road that led round by the ravine was impassable, he mounted a horse and rode the rest of the way. On September 2 Napoleon left Viazum at daybreak, and at ten o’clock in the morning he reached a manor-house which lies on the right of the high-road to Smolensk, eight miles from Moscow. There he was met by the King of Naples. He did not enter the house with him, but turned to the left into a close near the church, and there they walked alone for more than an hour, discussing the steps that must be taken for the capture of Moscow.

“Murat then, without taking his dinner, proceeded towards Moscow, and the whole of the French army with its numerous artillery followed him without a halt. Napoleon made a hasty dinner in the house, and with his attendant generals—who took their dinner outside—and a special body-guard, consisting of a squadron of Chasseurs and another of Polish Uhlans, under the guidance of the Russian prisoners, set off post-haste after Murat.

“Napoleon arrived at two o’clock in the afternoon at the Pilgrim’s Hill—Poklonnaya Gorà—distant some two miles from Moscow. He found the vanguard already drawn up in battle array at the foot of the hill by order of the King of Naples. The Emperor, holding in his hand a plan which was given to him, dismounted, and some of the generals who accompanied him did the same. The army was preparing for battle.

“After waiting half-an-hour without any challenge from Moscow, Napoleon gave orders to fire a gun as a signal; then, when five more minutes had elapsed, he and his staff mounted their horses and galloped at full speed towards the city. At the same moment the vanguard and the division which was posted in the rear of the centre advanced with indescribable impetuosity; the cavalry and artillery galloped at full speed, keeping step together, and the infantry charged along as fast as they could double. The thud of horses’ hoofs, the creaking of wheels, and the rattling of guns, added to the noise of running men, made a remarkable uproar. The daylight was dimmed by the dense cloud of dust which they raised! Within twelve minutes they had reached the Dorogomilof gate.

“The unexpected news that Moscow was deserted both by the Russian army and by the inhabitants seemed to astound Napoleon. He was seized with the profoundest amazement, which for the moment wrought in him a kind of ecstasy or self-forgetfulness. His tranquil and measured step at once became quick and feverish. He looked all round and about him, recovered himself, stopped in his walk, shivered, fell into a stupor, scratched his nose, pulled off his glove, and pulled it on again; drew out his handkerchief from his pocket, crumpled it between his hands and put it in another pocket as though by mistake, then took it out again and put it back; then he pulled off his glove once more and pulled it on again, repeating this action many times. He continued thus for a whole hour, and during that time the generals surrounding him stood motionless, like lifeless images of men, not one of them daring to stir. Then Napoleon recovered himself a little, mounted his horse and rode into Moscow, followed by the cavalry, which had hitherto stood without the gates. When he had passed through Dorogomilof Post-boy Ward and come to the edge of the river Moskva, he stopped on the right side of the street on the slope of the bank, dismounted, and began once more to pace up and down; but this time he was more tranquil.

“Napoleon and his escort lay that night in the Dorogomilof suburb in private dwellings. Of the inhabitants of Moscow none were to be seen except four stable-boys.”

The night which Napoleon passed in the suburb was a sad and dreary one. To say nothing of the bugs—and perhaps also other parasites by no means rare in Russia—he was kept awake by the gloomy reports that were continually brought in, warning him, among other things, that the city was about to be burnt. “The Emperor was uneasy and could not lie still; he kept calling his attendants and making them repeat the rumours. Apparently he could not quite bring himself to believe them, but about two o’clock in the morning he received word that the fires had begun.

“He entered Moscow on Tuesday, September 3, at half-past ten in the morning. The Arbat Ward was absolutely empty. He mounted his little Arab, dressed in his grey overcoat and an ordinary cocked hat, without any sign of distinction. He was surrounded by a very large suite of marshals and other officials. The various colours and the richness of their uniforms, and the many-tinted ribbons of the orders which they wore, made a most brilliant picture, and gave a certain distinction to the simplicity of Napoleon’s attire. The conqueror of Moscow rode as far as the Borovitzky gate without seeing a single inhabitant. His wrath was visible in every line of his face. He was not, indeed, at any pains to conceal what was passing in his mind.”

It was at this time that new fires broke out in many parts of the Arbat Ward, and after Napoleon had entered the Palace of the Kremlin, the Bazaar and the so-called Carriage Mart, together with a number of dwelling-houses round the Kremlin, burst into flames. Napoleon hurried to the scene, issuing orders interspersed with curses and threats against the troops and Marshal Mortier.

“The sight of the Kremlin, however,” says Ségur, “the majestic dwelling of the line of Rurik and the Romanofs, the throne still standing in its accustomed place, the Cross of Ivan the Great, and the beautiful part of the city commanded by the Palace, restored, in some degree, his peace of mind. His hopes revived; the conquest was at least flattering to his pride, and he said with some complacency, “_Me voilà, enfin!_ Here am I at last in Moscow, in the ancient palace of the Tsars! in the Kremlin itself!” He examined everything with mingled pride, curiosity, and pleasure; made inquiries as to the resources of the town, and began to consider the possibility of making peace.”

The enthusiasm in Paris on receipt of the news that Napoleon had entered Moscow was indescribable. The only anxiety was lest he should rest satisfied with his laurels and not march triumphantly into India! Innumerable sonnets, epistles, odes, and eulogistic rhymes of all kinds were published in honour of the occasion.

Here are a few specimens in the original, for they would suffer by translation; we have merely left out a few descriptive passages of a purely imaginary character—

ODE À SA MAJESTÉ L’EMPEREUR ET ROI, SUR LA PRISE DE MOSCOU, PAR M.
QUAYNAT.

“Elevons nos chants d’allégresse!
Vantons nos triomphes heureux!
Jadis l’Italie et la Grèce
Eurent des soutiens valeureux;
Jusqu’à nos jours, Athène et Rome
Doutaient de voir paraître un homme
Qui pût égaler leurs succès.
Maintenant, elles sont moins fières,
En trouvant les preuves contraires
Dans le monarque des Français.
* * * * * *
Ton vainqueur, témoin de ces crimes,
Moscou, déplore tes malheurs,
Et par des secours magnanimes
S’efforce d’essuyer tes pleurs;
Mais tes maux sont trop innombrables,
Sur ces pertes irréparables,
Moscou, tu gémiras longtemps.
Pleure, vingt siècles sans orages
N’effaceraient pas les ravages
Des brandons de monstres sanglans.”

Another lyric poet, Paul Chanin, anathematizes Russia in a ‘Poem on the Campaign of Russia by the United Armies of France and Germany.’

“Une nation factieuse
S’oppose au bien que nous voulons;
Son influence désastreuse
Corrompt l’air que nous respirons.
Une île de nous se sépare!
C’est du Scythe, c’est du Tartare
Qu’elle ose appeler le secours!
Le crime de ce pacte impie,
Aux yeux de l’Europe trahie,
La déshonore pour toujours.”

And now M. A. J. B. Barjaud rises to the epic strain, in a poem entitled ‘Conquest of Moscow.’

“Le Russe espère, en vain, par un excès d’audace,
Se soustraire au péril dont ton bras le menace;
Sa bouche ose indiquer le prix du déshonneur
A ce perfide appel, la voix de la Patrie
Répond: qu’il soit marqué du sceau de l’infamie,
Le front du suborneur!
* * * * * *
Tremblant à ton aspect, contre l’airain qui gronde
Il se fait un rempart de la flamme et de l’onde,
De ses propres foyers il est le destructeur;
Mais loin de retarder ta marche triomphale,
C’est la sombre clarté de sa torche fatale
Qui guide son vainqueur.”

Next comes an ‘Ode to His Majesty the Emperor on his Entry into Moscow,’ by A. de la Garancière.

“En vain tes ennemis se flattent dans leur rage
Que leurs climats glacés dompteront ton courage;
Tu dis en contemplant tes valeureux soldats:
‘Si jamais la victoire, en caprices féconde,
Fuyait, pour m’échapper, dans un troisième monde
J’y guiderais leurs pas!’”

And M. Mazarie, in his turn, celebrates ‘The Taking of Moscow’ in “fiery stanzas.”

“Les fils aînés de la Victoire
Suivent ce héros que la gloire
A ceint du laurier des Césars;
Par lui les destins s’accomplissent,
Et dans la tombe, au loin gémissent
Les mânes effrayés des Tzars.”

I bring these citations to a close with a verse from an anonymous ode on ‘The Campaign of His Imperial and Royal Majesty in Russia and his Entry into Moscow.’

“Lâches, où courez-vous? Quels seront vos asiles?
Ne lancez-vous les feux que sur vos propres villes?
Ah! tournez contre nous ce salpêtre éclatant.
Des coups de vos ayeux, élancés du Bosphore,
L’Europe fume encore;
Et les Parthes, du moins, fuyaient en combattant!”

“Let us see what the Russians mean to do now,” said the Emperor. “If they still refuse to enter into negotiations, we shall have to take our own course. We are provided with winter quarters now. We will show the world that our army can winter comfortably in the midst of a hostile nation—like an ice-bound ship in Arctic seas. In the spring we can continue the war—though Alexander will not compel me to do that—we shall come to terms and peace will be signed.”

Apparently Napoleon had provided for almost every contingency. One thing, however, he had not foreseen—the terrible fires that spread so rapidly in the gusty wind that prevailed on the night of his entry into the Kremlin. There was nothing to be seen on any side of the fortress but flames rising high into the air, almost, as it seemed, into the clouds.