"1812"

It is, no doubt, from the Dresden Conference that we must date Napoleon’s open hostility towards Russia. After his unsuccessful endeavour to secure the hand of the Tsar’s sister, it was rumoured in well-informed French Court circles that Napoleon had made up his mind once and for all to humble the pride of Russia. It was not, however, until the Dresden Conference that Napoleon threw off the mask. He then adopted a distinctly threatening attitude in the face of Alexander’s refusal to reconsider his decision and humble himself in the eyes of Europe.

The Russian Emperor firmly refused to submit, and his defiant attitude was the more offensive to Napoleon inasmuch as it was open and undisguised. There was no question of concealing it or of receding from the position already adopted. “The bottle is opened—the wine must be drunk,” was Napoleon’s own expression.

It was, moreover, at the Dresden Conference that Napoleon attained the zenith of his power. At Dresden he was indeed a king of kings. The Emperor of Austria respectfully and repeatedly assured his august cousin that he might “fully rely upon Austria for the triumph of the common cause;” while the King of Prussia reassured him of his “unswerving fidelity.”

The splendour and magnificence of the French Court at the time of the Dresden Conference, says an eye-witness, gave Napoleon the air of some legendary Grand Mogul. As at Tilsit, he showered magnificent presents on all sides. At his levées reigning princes danced attendance for hours in the hope of being honoured with an audience. This new order of would-be courtiers was so numerous that the Emperor’s chamberlains and officials had constantly to give one another warning lest they should jostle a Royal Highness unawares.

Every country sent its contingent. There were no eyes but for Napoleon. The populace gathered in crowds outside the palace, following his every movement, and dogging his progress through the streets, in hourly expectation of some great event.

Never, probably, were such elaborate arrangements made as for this campaign. Besides the usual preparations for a war, engagements were made with tradesmen of all kinds—tin-workers, masons, watchmakers, and other skilled artisans. There was no word of explanation as to the place in which their services would be required, so that until the opening of the campaign the general public had no inkling of the object of all these preparations. It was even rumoured that Napoleon was about to aid Russia against the Turks.

The abrupt departure of the Russian military agent Tczernicheff from Paris, and the court-martial on certain persons who had treasonably supplied him with various documents, at last revealed the Emperor’s plans, and it was then positively stated in the salons that the preparations were directed against Russia. The authorities, however, refused to confirm these reports, and went so far as to issue an order to the army, forbidding the officers and men to discuss the rumoured campaign.

The French army was at that moment in the most flourishing condition. It consisted of twelve infantry corps of 20,000 men each, three cavalry corps of the same strength, and with 40,000 men of the Guard, Artillery, Engineers, and Sappers, amounted to 400,000 men, including 300,000 Frenchmen. This enormous force possessed 1200 guns

and more than 100,000 ammunition-wagons and caissons. Such a body of troops, accustomed to victory, proud of its traditions, full of confidence in its officers, and led by a commander with the prestige of twenty years’ brilliant success, might well be deemed invincible.

Every subaltern regarded a campaign in Russia as a pleasant six months’ outing. The whole army, fully assured of speedy success, looked forward to the war as a means of rapid promotion. All were eager to start. “We are off to Moscow,” they cried to their friends, “à bientôt!”

It was said that Prussia would receive from the expected conquests full compensation for her former losses. Napoleon himself suggested this in his proclamation—“At the beginning of July we shall be in St. Petersburg; I shall be avenged on the Emperor Alexander, and the King of Prussia will be Emperor of the North.”

There were prophets who declared that “if the Russians do not make their peace in time, Napoleon will divide their European territories into two parts—the Dukedom of Smolensk, and the Dukedom of St. Petersburg. The Emperor Alexander, if Napoleon thinks it worth while to leave him his throne, will reign only in Asia.”

The Comte de Narbonne, Napoleon’s envoy to Vilna, was obliged to admit that the Emperor Alexander conducted himself with irreproachable dignity. He displayed neither fear nor arrogance. The answer with which Narbonne returned to his Imperial master at Dresden proved that the Russian Emperor was firmly resolved to offer no other terms than those which his Ambassador at Paris had already communicated. He had nothing to subtract from them, and nothing to add. An eye-witness describes the impression produced in Dresden, where everybody was eagerly waiting to learn the result of his mission, by the arrival of Comte Narbonne’s travel-stained carriage, when he returned with the news that “the Emperor Alexander refused to alter his decision.”

“Although,” Alexander said, “no one tells me so to my face, I am well aware, and I am not ashamed to own it, that I am not so great a soldier as Napoleon, and that I have no generals who are a match for his. This assurance on my part should, I think, serve as the clearest proof of my sincere desire for the maintenance of peace.”

Alexander was extremely indignant at Napoleon’s subsequent high-handed proceeding in crossing the frontier without declaring war, for although the Russians were expecting hostilities, there were some, including Rumyantsef and other notables, who regarded it to the last as unlikely, firmly believing that the matter would end in a few threats and a compromise.

Nine years later, when Napoleon was at St. Helena, the Emperor Alexander caused him to be asked why he had refused the terms brought by Narbonne from Vilna. “Because by the terms of the offer,” replied Napoleon, “a month was required before any definitive treaty could be arrived at, and such a delay might have involved the loss of the campaign, of all our stupendous preparations, and of the alliances that had been entered into, and which there was little prospect of renewing.”

Napoleon loudly proclaimed that “Fate was leading Russia to her doom,” and took upon himself the duty of executing the decree of destiny, by which the Russians, as enemies of European civilization, were to be driven into the wilds of Asia.

Napoleon’s own baggage-train consisted of seventy wagons, each drawn by eight horses; twenty carriages, open and closed; forty pack-mules; and two hundred riding-horses. During his drives from place to place the Emperor was never idle. When darkness fell, a lamp fixed inside the carriage enabled him to work as comfortably as if he were sitting at home in his own room. Aides-de-camp and orderlies were always within call at the door of his carriage, and a number of riding-horses followed with the body-guard.

In this way Napoleon reached the Niemen on June 11/23, and mounted his horse at two o’clock at night. It is said that as he approached the bank of the river, his horse stumbled and threw him, and that some one cried out, “That’s a bad omen; a Roman would have turned back;” but no one could distinguish whether it was the Emperor or one of his suite who uttered the words.

I extract from M. Bertin’s book a characteristic account given by Count Soltyk, general of the Polish artillery. “On the arrival of the Emperor, several officers, together with myself and Suchorzewski, the major of the regiment, ran up. Napoleon quickly approached the major and asked for the colonel of the regiment. Suchorzewski, in no wise disconcerted at the absence of the colonel, who was still asleep, answered that he was filling his place, and was ready to receive any orders. Napoleon then asked him which was the road to the Niemen, and made inquiries regarding the outposts and the position of the Russians. Whilst asking these questions, he ordered a change of uniform, as it had been agreed, or rather ordered, that no French soldier should be seen by the Russians. He took off his coat, and the rest of us—the Prince of Neufchâtel, Suchorzewski, Colonel Pagowski, who had hurried to the spot, General Bruyères, and myself—followed his example.

There were therefore five or six of us in our shirts in the middle of the bivouac surrounding the Emperor, each with his uniform in his hand. The Poles offered theirs to the French. Altogether the scene was most amusing. Of all our uniforms, Colonel Pagowski’s coat and forage cap best fitted the Emperor. He had been offered a Lancer’s head-dress, but refused it as being too heavy. All this took place in a few minutes. Berthier also put on a Polish uniform. The colonel’s horses were at once led up. Napoleon mounted one of them; Berthier took the other, and Lieutenant Zrelski, whose company was on outpost duty, was ordered to accompany the Emperor as guide.

“They went as far as Alexota, a village about three miles distant, opposite Kovno, and within range of its guns. The Emperor alighted in the courtyard of a house belonging to a doctor, whose windows overlooked the Niemen, and from which one might easily survey the surrounding country. I had myself three days previously made a plan of Kovno from this very spot. From there Napoleon thoroughly reconnoitred the district without himself being seen. His horses were carefully concealed in the courtyard. After completing his survey he returned to the bivouac, and called for details as to the position of the enemy. The colonel having told him that I knew the neighbourhood thoroughly, he put several questions to me as to the fords that might be passable, the conformation and irregularities of the ground, and the position of the enemy. The Emperor questioned me searchingly as to where the Russians were massed, whether on the right or left bank of the Vilia. He evidently wished to ascertain whether the road along the Vilia was free, intending to march in that direction in heavy columns, so as to seize this centre of operations, and cut off the enemy’s corps, which were spread along the whole length of the Niemen.

“When Napoleon returned we noticed a marked change of expression. He looked happy, even merry, being evidently satisfied with the idea of the surprise which he was preparing for the Russians on the following morning, and of which he had calculated the results beforehand. Some refreshments were brought to him, which he ate in our midst on the high-road. He seemed amused at his masquerade, and asked us twice if the Polish uniform suited him. After having breakfasted, he said laughing, ‘Now we must return what does not belong to us.’ He then took off the garments which he had borrowed, put on his uniform of Chasseur of the Guard, entered his carriage

accompanied by Berthier, and rapidly drove away. That very day he inspected several other points on the Niemen, and chose Poniémon as the place of crossing. General Haxo accompanied him on this tour.”

“This reconnaissance being finished,” adds Ségur, “he issued an order that on the following evening three bridges should be thrown across the river.... Then he returned to his quarters, where he passed the day partly in his tent and partly in a Polish house, vainly seeking rest in the sultry heat that prevailed.”

When the army began the passage next day, Napoleon took up a position near the bridge, and encouraged the soldiers by his presence, while they greeted him with the customary cries. But his impatience would not allow him to remain long on this spot. He crossed the bridge and galloped through the forest that stretches along the bank of the stream, careering along at full speed on his Arab, as though in pursuit of some invisible foe.

“What is to be said of an Emperor,” remarks an eye-witness, “who dresses up in an outlandish disguise, rides off to his outposts, orders some one to bring him some water from the Niemen in a helmet, and tastes it with the air of a seer waiting for inspiration? It would have been better to keep these absurd tricks for the banks of the Nile, among the superstitious nations for whose behoof they were invented, rather than bring them over to Europe.”

“Napoleon,” says Boutourline, “was preparing to crush the First Army of the West with his Guards, Davout’s, Oudinot’s, and Ney’s Army Corps, and Nansouty’s, Montbrun’s, and Grouchy’s cavalry—250,000 men in all—by a sudden attack on the centre before the Second Army could come to its support. The King of Westphalia, with the corps of Junot, Poniatowski, and Renier, and Latour-Maubourg’s cavalry, making a force of 80,000, was to execute the same manœuvre against the Second Army. The Viceroy of Italy, with an army of about the same strength, consisting of his own corps and that of St. Cyr, was to throw himself between the two Russian armies, and cut off all communication between them. On the left, Major Macdonald’s division, some 30,000 strong, was to enter Courland and threaten St. Petersburg and the Russian right. On the right, Schwarzenberg and the Austrians, also about 30,000 strong, were to hold Tormasof in check.”

It was a well-conceived plan, and the movements of the French on Vilna were so swift and decisive that General Dokhturof’s corps and Dorokhof’s division were almost cut off.

This brilliant beginning was, however, followed by a number of mistakes. The execution of the plan was marred by the slowness of the King of Westphalia (who soon afterwards threw up his command and returned home), and by the Emperor’s own irresolution. Napoleon appears to have lost sight of the fact that he should have taken the direct road from Vilna to Smolensk as his principal line of operations. If he had concentrated the whole weight of his army on this line he would have successfully outflanked Barclay on the left and Bagration on the right, and might then have fallen on either of them with the whole strength of his army, or, indeed, on both simultaneously. It was with the object of taking the Russians by surprise that Napoleon crossed the frontier without declaring war, and appeared at Vilna the day after the Emperor Alexander had left.

Mme. de Choiseul-Gouffier, in her reminiscences of Napoleon’s stay in Vilna, describes among other events his visit to the church. “A herald shouted, ‘L’Empereur!’ and I saw a short, stout little man in a green uniform with coat unbuttoned, and displaying a white waistcoat, surrounded by a crowd of marshals. He flew by like a bullet, and took up his place behind a prie-dieu. When mass was over he departed at the same lightning speed.” She describes Napoleon’s arrival at a ball—“At the first signal of his approach the dukes and marshals rushed off to meet him as quickly as they could hurry; and to tell the truth, their faces were a most amusing sight. We were hustled down the stairs almost on all fours. Napoleon’s carriage drove up, with the Master of the Horse, M. Caulaincourt, galloping behind. They put down a footstool for the Emperor to alight on, as if the earth were unworthy of the honour of being trodden by his Imperial foot. He went up-stairs amid shouts of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ When he entered the salon he cried, as if giving an order, ‘Ladies, be seated!’”

“Napoleon’s face,” says Madame de Choiseul-Gouffier later on, “appeared to me as severe as an antique bust, and of the colour of yellow marble.” And further—“Napoleon’s expression when lighted up by his beautiful smile was pleasant, and even when seen closer his pallor was not remarkable. What is most noteworthy is that his countenance expresses more good-nature than genius.... He knew every bit of gossip.”

The distance between the head-quarters of the two armies led Napoleon to express the belief that “in all probability, they are afraid of Alexander and myself meeting and coming to terms.” However, when the opportunity of making terms did present itself, Napoleon let it pass. Balachef, the Russian general, presented himself at the French outposts demanding a parley. When they conducted him into Napoleon’s presence at Vilna, he declared, in Alexander’s name—“If there is war between Russia and France, it will be a long and bloody war, and before entering upon it the Russian Emperor solemnly proclaims that it is not he who is responsible for it. Though the Russian Ambassador has left Paris, war has not yet been declared; there is still time to come to terms; it is not yet too late.”

Having been told that the messenger who had been selected for the embassy was the Minister of Police, the French suspected that the sole object of his coming was to observe the position of the army and to gain time. They regarded his visit, therefore, as a sign of weakness in the Russian Government, and received his overtures with coldness. Besides, it would have cost Napoleon a great struggle, after refusing to listen to any explanations at Paris, to adopt a conciliatory tone in Vilna. What would Europe think of him? What possible explanation could there be of the enormous preparations, the vast movements of troops and expenditure of money? It would have been

tantamount to a confession of defeat. Besides, he had gone so far in his utterances before the allies as to render retreat almost impossible. But this was not all. Napoleon lost control over himself, and broke out, as usual, into complaints and reproaches. He used insulting language in speaking of the Emperor Alexander to the Russian general. “Why did he ever come to Vilna? What does he want? Does he mean to match his strength with me? He, this carpet knight? Napoleon’s only counsellor is himself; who will advise the Tsar? Whom does he mean to look to? Kutuzof is a Russian, he, therefore, will not be selected; six years ago Benigsen was old and useless—he is in his dotage now; Barclay, no doubt, is a man of courage and capacity—but he only displays it by retreating.” Napoleon added spitefully—“You all imagine that you understand the art of war because you have read your Jomini, but if Jomini’s book were enough to teach you generalship, do you think I should have allowed it to be printed?”

It is difficult to understand how, after sending such an insolent answer to his “friend and brother,” Napoleon could bring himself to assure him later on of his unswerving devotion. On the other hand, it is easy to appreciate why his “friend and brother” after this message received all the French Emperor’s subsequent blandishments in stony silence.

Napoleon began to be alarmed at the proclamations and manifestoes issued by the St. Petersburg Cabinet. He displayed a naïve astonishment at the expressions of hatred and anger which were levelled at his own person. What had happened to the Emperor Alexander, who had up to that time been so suave and gentle? It is said that Napoleon endeavoured to keep these vigorous proclamations from the knowledge of his army, and commanded that the Russians should be represented as disheartened and on the point of disbanding; the Russian Emperor as having actually left his troops and fled to St. Petersburg in order to implore assistance and mollify the wrath of the Senate, which was demanding an explanation of what had happened; the Russian generals as having lost their heads; and the people at large as ready to fling themselves in despair at Napoleon’s feet.

Ségur has preserved to us the order of march of the French troops. The army advanced in column ready for instant battle, the Emperor on horseback in the centre. Rivers were crossed by fords which soon, however, became impassable, and the regiments in the rear crossed elsewhere, wherever they could; no one troubled his head about them. The staff neglected these details. No one remained behind to point out the dangers, if there were any, or the route, where several roads met. Each corps d’armée was left to shift for itself.

Duverger is yet more categorical—“The retreat has often been described, but the long and difficult march which preceded our misfortunes has never been sufficiently mentioned. Worn out by the rays of a tropical sun, we were reduced to drink foul stagnant water, to eat biscuits served out with a sparing hand. Famine and dysentery destroyed as many soldiers as did the war.”

Labaume, another eye-witness, completes this picture—“This immense gathering of men on one spot increased the confusion and disorder that reigned on the high-roads. Stray soldiers sought their regiments in vain; orderlies with urgent despatches were unable to deliver them; while on the bridges and in the ravines a frightful tumult arose. Our soldiers, deprived of their rations, had to provide for themselves by pillage, and the result was the utmost disorder and paralysis of discipline, the usual forerunners of the approaching decay of an army.”

The disorganization of the French army was thrown into stronger relief by the excellent order in which Barclay-de-Tolly drew off his men from position to position. There were no deserted wagons, no dead horses, not a single straggler or deserter.

The French troops moved, of course, not only along the high-road, but also by by-roads, and often by hardly perceptible footpaths, destroying everything they came across on their way, and feeding their horses on the standing corn. They camped at night in the midst of the crops, trampling and destroying them without scruple in the hope of getting some shelter, however slight, from the heat and rain. The soldiers, according to the account of French eye-witnesses, roamed the neighbourhood searching for food, ill-treated the inhabitants, and turned them out of their homes, looted the houses, carried off all the live stock, and indulged in excesses strangely at variance with their vaunted mission of civilization.

“The army at last approached Vitebsk,” says de la Fluse, who accompanied the expedition. “A number of cavalry and infantry regiments were extended in line, supported by strong bodies of artillery. Four strong columns of Foot Guards formed a square, in the centre of which were

three tents—one for the Emperor, the other two for his suite. A squad of twenty Grenadiers, with an officer and a drummer, formed a guard outside the tents. The camp-fires were lighted, and the various regiments sent fatigue parties to fetch their rations. These were served out in a neighbouring field, where all the meat and corn had been collected.

“Around the Emperor’s tent there was a great deal of bustle. Generals and aides-de-camps were constantly coming and going at full speed—for it was known that the enemy were not far off, and a decisive battle was expected.

“The Emperor left his camp two or three times with a telescope in his hand. Resting it on the shoulder of one of the officers or men, he inspected Vitebsk and the neighbouring hills. Beyond the town a broad plain was visible, on which Russian cavalry and infantry were performing some evolutions.

“Napoleon looked at them—‘To-morrow they will be ours,’ he said. Then he gave orders to prepare for battle. A proclamation was read before each regiment—‘Soldiers, the day we have longed for has come at last. To-morrow we shall fight the battle for which we have waited so long. We must end the campaign with a single thunder-clap. Remember your victories at Austerlitz and Friedland; the enemy shall see to-morrow that we have not degenerated.’

“The proclamation was enthusiastically received; the troops were confident of victory; all hoped that this battle would end a war of which they had already had more than enough. Brandy was distributed, and after supper and the various preparations for the morrow they turned in, many thinking, no doubt, that this would be their last night.

“Next morning they were up by dawn, dressed in their smartest, as if for some festival. Every eye was turned to the quarter in which the enemy had been manœuvring on the previous day; but the plain was empty—as the sun rose it became clear that the Russian army had disappeared.

“The drum began to beat outside the Emperor’s tent,” continues the same writer. “This meant that the Grenadiers on guard were being relieved. I hurried up with my companions in order to ask the officer of the relief if he had heard any news, for, placed as he was close to the Emperor’s tent, he might have heard something. He told us that Napoleon flew into a passion when he heard of the enemy’s retreat. When Prince Poniatowski—who had instructions to cross the Dvina with the cavalry, sweep behind the Russians and cut off their retreat—entered the tent, the officers of the Guard heard what passed. The Prince came to report that it was absolutely impossible to cross the Dvina, as he could find no ford, and the water had risen in consequence of the recent storm. His horses, moreover, had had no fodder. Thereupon high words passed between the Emperor and Poniatowski, the former rating the Prince roundly for not carrying out his instructions, Poniatowski for his part being at no loss for a reply.

“‘So you urge want of fodder as an excuse, Prince?’ said Napoleon. ‘I may tell you, sir, that when I was in Egypt it was not once nor twice that I had to make expeditions without fodder.’

“‘Of course, your Majesty,’ replied Poniatowski, unabashed, ‘I do not know what you fed your horses on out there, but I do know this, that my horses cannot dispense with their hay, especially when there is no grazing, which is often the salvation of cavalry. Lacking fodder as I did, I ran the risk of finding myself in the position your Majesty was in at St. Jean d’Acre; for want of horses, if you recollect, you were unable to bring up your guns, and were obliged to raise the siege.’

“Then they both raised their voices and spoke at once. Some of the generals who were present joined in, and the din was so great that I could not make out a word of what they were saying. ‘They are still at it,’ he added; ‘go close up to the tent, you will probably be able to hear something.’

“I and my companion approached the tent, as if we were just strolling by. We could indeed hear the voices of Napoleon and Poniatowski, but could gather nothing distinctly except the latter saying—‘No, your Majesty. I know this country better than you do, and I assure you that that is out of the question here, quite out of the question!’ The two sentries shouldered arms, which meant that the Emperor was just coming out; so we made off.

“On parade the Emperor turned to the group of officers and said—‘Gentlemen, you are not maintaining proper discipline in your corps; there are too many stragglers. Officers seem to stop on the march whenever they please, in order to spend their time in country-houses. They are tired of camping out; but true courage does not fear rainy weather, nor will mud stain a soldier’s honour. The men have no regard for discipline; under the pretext of foraging for provisions they desert from their regiments and wander about in disorder. Complaints reach me from every side of their lawless behaviour. This condition of things must be put a stop to, gentlemen; and those who absent themselves without leave shall be severely punished. In the event of an engagement with the enemy, our regiments would be greatly below their strength. The efficient force of our army is such as it might naturally have been after a battle, whereas we have not yet even seen the enemy. Marshals Oudinot and Macdonald have secured victories because they had their full complement of troops when they came to the banks of the Dvina and Drissa.’

“Then the Emperor called for Baron Larrey, but as he was not to be found, Dr. Paulet, the head of the Ambulance Corps, presented himself instead. Napoleon asked him—

“‘For how many wounded have you bandages ready?’

“‘Ten thousand,’ replied the doctor.

“‘And about how many days does it take to heal a wound?’

“‘About thirty,’ answered the doctor.

“‘If that is so,’ replied the Emperor, ‘you cannot even give assistance to four hundred men! We shall want many more than that!’

“There was a low murmur in the crowd, and some one remarked, ‘I wonder how many he thinks there will be killed?’

“Napoleon must have heard the remark, but he paid no attention. He continued his cross-examination of the doctor, and asked him, ‘Where are the ambulance and medical stores?’

“‘They were left at Vilna for want of means of transport.’

“‘So the army is entirely unprovided with medicine,’ cried Napoleon, ‘and if I wanted physic I should have to go without it?’

“‘Your Majesty has your own private medical stores,’ replied the doctor.

“This made the Emperor very angry. ‘I am the first soldier in the army,’ he said, raising his voice, ‘and I have a right to be attended to in the army hospital.’ Then he asked where the chief dispenser was. He was told at Vilna.

“‘What!’ cried Napoleon. ‘One of the chief medical officers absent from the army! Let him be sent back to Paris to peddle his drugs to the women of the Rue St. Honoré! Appoint some one else in his place, and let the whole medical service rejoin the army.’”

The army did not meet with the same enthusiastic reception at Vitebsk as at Vilna. The inhabitants treated the French not as liberators, but as conquerors. Evidently Lithuania was not particularly well pleased at the prospect of re-union with its native Poland, for the disposition of the inhabitants was by no means friendly.

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.”