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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“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.

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.