The Camp-fires of Napoleon

Night was again approaching. The glare of the flames became more brilliant as the shades closed round, and he saw the devouring element seizing upon all the bridges, and all the accesses to the fortress which inclosed him, while the wind blew with redoubled violence. At this crisis, Prince Eugene and Murat arrived in breathless haste, most earnestly, and even on their knees, beseeching Napoleon to leave the palace. All their efforts, however, were in vain. Suddenly, a cry was heard,—“The Kremlin is on fire!” The words were echoed from every part of the building. The Emperor left his apartment that he might himself judge of the danger. A Russian soldier of police had been detected in the act. He had received a signal, and given the watchword. The exasperated grenadiers put an end to him with their bayonets. It was evident that there had been an organized plan to burn even the Kremlin. This incident decided Napoleon, and he rapidly descended the northern staircase.

A guide had been called to conduct Napoleon and his attendants through the Kremlin and out of the city. Segur has given a terrific description of the dangers which they had to encounter on their way. According to him, they were besieged in the midst of an ocean of flames, which enveloped all the gates of the citadel.

But the description is simply a piece of imagination. Napoleon proceeded slowly and calmly to the outer circuit of the city, and took up his quarters in the imperial castle of Petrowsky, situated about a league on the road to St. Petersburg. Count Dumas, who remained on duty within the walls until nightfall, says that he and Daru “left Moscow under a real rain of fire;” but he mentions nothing of such perils with regard to the Emperor.

On the following morning, September 17th, the Emperor directed his first glances towards Moscow, hoping to find the fire subdued. It continued with all the violence of the previous night. The whole city now seemed to him “one vast fire-spout, ascending in awful whirls towards the sky.” He was long absorbed in the contemplation of this scene of horror and ruin. Moscow had been the very centre of all his projects—the object of all his hopes in Russia. At length, he broke his melancholy silence merely by observing, “This forbodes us no common calamities.”

The fire raged throughout the 18th and 19th of September, when it slackened for want of fuel. The greater part of the Kremlin, a few palaces, and all the churches built of stone, remained standing. All else was laid in ruins. The destruction of property was enormous. The flight of the nobility had been so sudden, that the French officers on their entrance found even the jewels of the ladies left behind. But there are other consequences of the burning of Moscow which are too horrible to dwell upon. Dumas states, that he found six thousand wounded Russians in the hospitals, which he examined by order of Napoleon, when the French army entered. Their fate cannot be doubtful. Napoleon returned to the Kremlin on the 20th. He passed towards the city through the camps of his army, which exhibited a very singular appearance. “They were situated,” says Segur, “in the midst of fields, in a thick and cold mire; and contained immense camp-fires, fed by rich mahogany furniture, and gilded sashes and doors. Around these fires, with a litter of damp straw, sheltered only by a few miserable planks fastened together, his soldiers, with their officers, were to be seen, splashed with dirt, and stained with smoke, seated upon superb arm-chairs, or reclining on sofas covered with silk. At their feet, carelessly opened or thrown in heaps, lay Cashmere shawls, the finest furs of Siberia, the gold stuffs of Persia, and plates of solid silver, from which they had nothing to eat but a black dough baked in ashes, and half-broiled and bloody steaks of horse-flesh.” The ground between the camps and the city was covered with marauders laden with booty. On his way through the ruined streets, Napoleon had passed heaps of furniture piled up for removal, and stalls where soldiers were exchanging showy and valuable commodities for common necessaries; and the richest wines, liquors, and bales of costly merchandise, for a loaf of bread. He had permitted this license at first; but hearing that the excesses increased, and that the peasantry who had formerly brought provisions were now prevented by fear, he issued severe orders, and commanded his guard to keep close to their quarters. He was obeyed at the first word. The plundering continued, but was conducted regularly, and every effort made to protect the peasants; nevertheless few appeared, and at length not one was to be seen.

CAMP-FIRE AT MALO-YAROSLAVETZ

Napoleon had left the ruins of Moscow, like a funeral pyre, smouldering, behind him, and taken up the line of march for Kalouga. He had with him a hundred thousand effective men—troops in whom he still could place the deepest confidence. But the first snow had fallen! The ghostly terror of a Russian winter hovered over the army, and vexed the dreams of the Emperor. In a weaver’s hut, where he passed the night of the 24th of October, he heard that Kutusoff had anticipated him, and had taken up a position upon the road to Kalouga, which could not be assailed; that Prince Eugene, with only eighteen thousand troops had fought a bloody battle with fifty thousand Russians, and gained a dear but glorious victory. In the early part of the night, when the faithful troops were shivering round their fires, and the Emperor was seated in a comfortless hovel, divided into two apartments by a tattered cloth, came the intrepid Marshal Bessieres, with the terrible intelligence. The Emperor looked pale and worn with anxiety.

“Did you see rightly?” he exclaimed. “Are you sure? Will you vouch for what you say?”

“All that I have told you, sire, is truth,” replied the marshal, calmly.

Napoleon crossed his arms upon his breast, his head fell, and for a few moments he seemed lost in thought. Bessieres respectfully retired. The Emperor seemed greatly agitated, but nothing except restless actions betrayed his feverish state of mind. He lay down and arose incessantly, called for his attendants, and when they came, had nothing to say to them. About four o’clock in the morning, while the camp-fires were still burning, the Prince D’Aremberg came into the hovel, and informed him that a horde of Cossacks, under cover of the night, and the woods, were gliding between him and the advanced posts. The Emperor, however, seemed to pay no attention to the intelligence, and as soon as the sun was above the horizon, mounted his horse and proceeded towards Malo-Yaroslavetz.

In crossing the plain, a confused clamor startled the imperial party, and suddenly the Cossack Murat, Platoff, led his wild horsemen among the baggage and fires of the army, and overturning every thing in their course, they pressed onward with wild hourras. Rapp seized the Emperor’s bridle, and exclaimed,—

“It is they! turn back!”

Napoleon’s pride would not stoop to a retreat. His hand moved to his sword. Berthier and the grand equerry followed his example, and placing themselves on the left of the wood, the little party awaited the approach of the Cossacks. They came on rapidly, and were within forty paces of the Emperor. Rapp was wounded by one of their spears. About twenty horsemen and chasseurs then attacked the horde, and by their desperate bravery saved the Emperor. The cavalry of the guard then came up, and drove the Cossacks across the plain. The Emperor halted until the plain was cleared, and then rode forward to Malo-Yaroslavetz, in the neighborhood of which the main body of the army encamped. The Emperor occupied the afternoon in reconnoitering the position of Kutusoff, and as the shades of a sombre evening fell, returned to his head-quarters, the wretched hovel of an artisan. There he was joined by Murat, Berthier, Davoust, Bessieres, and the heroic Prince Eugene, who came to give Napoleon an account of the action of the day before. A cheerful fire was kindled on the hearth of the lowly hut, and an emperor, two kings, and three marshals sat down to the rough table. Without, the camp-fires of the soldiers were blazing; but the fierce wind was already blowing the requiem of the army. The Emperor sat, with his head resting in his hands, which concealed his features. Eugene was the first to speak.

“It is to be hoped that we shall not have many such conflicts as that of yesterday, sire, or however glorious the results, we shall only have a miserable remnant of the grand army to lead back to France.”

“But it was a glorious battle, Prince; was it not? Tell me of it yourself,” said the Emperor, without removing his hands from his face.

“Sire, it was briefly thus,” replied Eugene. “On the night of the 23d, Delzons and his division were in possession of this place. At four in the morning, his bivouacs were surprised by Kutusoff. I heard the firing at three leagues distance, and hastened to his relief. As I drew near, a vast amphitheatre rose before me. The river Lonja marked its foot; from the opposite height, a cloud of Russian sharp-shooters and their artillery poured down their fire on Delzons. On the plain beyond, Kutusoff’s whole army advanced rapidly by the Lectazowo road. A severe and desperate conflict ensued. Delzons and his brother were killed. We were enabled to maintain our ground by the wise manœuvres of Guilleminot, who threw a hundred grenadiers into a churchyard, in the walls of which they made holes for their muskets. Five times the Russians attempted to pass, and five times they were thrown into disorder and repulsed by a well-directed and murderous fire. The whole day the struggle wavered, and many times, I thought our troops could not be kept to the ground. But the fourteenth and fifteenth divisions held the Russians at bay, and maintained the bridge which was our road to retreat, against all assault. At length, being reduced to my last reserve, I came into battle myself, and by exerting myself to the utmost, rallied the troops and once more carried them up the heights. The Russians, wearied out, fell back, and concentrated themselves on the Kalouga road, between the woods and this place. We gained the victory, but we have lost many brave men, whom, in our present situation, we cannot with safety spare.”

During this recital, Napoleon’s eyes kindled with enthusiasm, and when Eugene had finished, he exclaimed,—

“Then you, Prince, with eighteen thousand men, huddled together in the bottom of a ravine, defeated fifty thousand Russians, posted above your heads, and seconded by every advantage which a town built on a steep acclivity could present! I have been over the ground, and know your difficulties, and appreciate the nature of your triumphs. Prince, the glory of this victory belongs entirely to you.”

The Prince shook his head,—

“Sire, the French troops are brave—courage alone won this field. But leaving that affair, the question is, whether we shall march upon Smolensk by way of Kalouga, Medyn or Mojaisk.”

“That is easily settled,” said Murat, quickly. “The Russians are nothing. Let us pursue the route to Kalouga, and cut our way through them.”

“Tut—tut! King of Naples, you speak rashly!” said Napoleon, quickly. “The course you counsel is the violent impulse of your heart.”

“Entirely unwise!” said Bessieres. “The King of Naples is governed by his all-daring temper.”

“With deference, Sire,” said the stern Davoust, “I would recommend that we proceed to Medwysick. We can reach that point without loss; and permit me to remark, sire, that our present circumstances, every man is of almost indispensable value.”

“But,” interrupted Murat, “it is certain that we shall have to lose men; and it is better to lose them now, in beating the Russians, than to drop them upon a march, without having effected any thing. Marshal Davoust is ever recommending timid, half-way measures.”

A quarrel between Murat and Davoust had occurred some time previous, and it was only by the interposition of the Emperor himself, that bloodshed had been prevented. They were always ready to renew the contest.

“Timid and half-way measures!” exclaimed the harsh voice of Davoust. “I recommend the measures of a general who cares for the safety of his army, as well as victory. The King of Naples counsels like a mere hot-headed, inexperienced conscript.”

Here Napoleon, raising his head, extinguished all this fire by saying that “we had exhibited temerity enough, already; that we had done but too much for glory, and it was now high time to give up thinking of any thing but how to save the rest of the army.”

Bessieres, either because his pride revolted at the idea of being put under the command of the King of Naples, or from a desire to preserve uninjured the cavalry of the guard, which he had formed, and for which he was answerable to Napoleon, and which he exclusively commanded, then ventured to add, that “neither the army nor even the guard had sufficient spirit left for such efforts. It was already said in both, that, as the means of conveyance were wholly inadequate, henceforth the victor, if overtaken, would fall a prey to the vanquished; that of course every wound would be mortal. Murat would therefore be but feebly seconded. And in what a position! its strength had just been but too well demonstrated. Against what enemies! had they not remarked the field of the previous day’s battle, and with what fury the Russian recruits, only just armed and clothed, there fought and fell!” The marshal concluded by giving his opinion in favor of retreat, which the Emperor approved by his silence.

The Prince of Eckmuhl then immediately said that, “as a retreat had been decided upon, he proposed that it should be by Medyn and Smolensk.” But Murat here interrupted him; and, whether from enmity, or from that discouragement which usually succeeds the rejection of a rash measure, he declared himself astonished “that any one should dare propose so imprudent a step to the Emperor. Had Davoust sworn the destruction of the army? Would he have so long and so heavy a column trail along in utter uncertainty, without guides, and on an unknown track, within reach of Kutusoff, presenting its flank to all the attacks of the enemy? Would he, Davoust, defend it? When in our rear Borowsk and Vereria would lead us without danger to Mojaisk, why reject that safe route? There provisions must have been already collected, there everything was known to us, and we could not be misled by any traitor.”

At these words, Davoust, burning with a rage which he could scarcely repress, replied that “he proposed a retreat through a fertile country, by an untouched, plentiful, and well-supplied route, where the villages were still standing, and by the shortest road, that the enemy might not be able to cut us off, as on the route by Mojaisk to Smolensk, recommended by Murat. And what a route! a desert of sand and ashes, where convoys of wounded would increase our embarrassment, where we should meet with nothing but ruins, traces of blood, skeletons, and famine!

“Moreover, though he deemed it his duty to give his opinion when it was asked, he was ready to obey orders contrary to it, with the same zeal as if they were consonant with his suggestions; but that the Emperor alone had a right to impose silence on him, and not Murat, who was not his sovereign, and never should be!”

The quarrel growing warm, Bessieres and Berthier interposed. As for the Emperor, still absorbed and in the same attitude, he appeared insensible to what was passing. At length he broke up the council with the words, “Well, gentlemen, I will decide.”

“Enough, it is well, sirs. I will decide,” said Napoleon calmly, and the King of Naples resumed his seat, biting his lips from the effects of passion. “Sirs,” continued the Emperor, “I decide to retreat.” Here he paused, as if such a decision was costing him a dreadful effort. “I decide to retreat by way of Mojaisk. We cannot afford to fight, and that is the road which will lead us most speedily from the enemy.” This decision was extremely distasteful to Murat; but not more so than it was to the Emperor, who, after he had announced it, looked as though he wished that it had not been uttered. However, the resolution, fatal as it proved, was taken, and nothing could induce the Emperor to revoke it. Had he but known, that at the moment when this decision was made, Kutusoff, stunned by the defeat at Malo-Yaroslavetz, was retiring with his forces by the bridge over the Oka, offering a fair mark for the French, he might have changed his design, and delivered such a crushing blow to the enemy, as would have secured his retreat unmolested. But this knowledge came not to the Emperor’s mind; and as he stretched himself for repose amid his faithful generals, and by the side of the blazing fire, he had nothing to relieve the prospect of a disastrous retreat.

THE CAMP-FIRE IN THE SNOW

The pen has no colors to depict the horrors of the grand army’s retreat amid the fierce storms of a Russian winter. Though “horrors upon horror’s head” accumulate, there is always lacking something which shall picture to the heart the full truth of that disastrous march.

The Emperor reached Wiazma in two days’ march from Gjatz. Here he halted for the arrival of Prince Eugene and Davoust; and to reconnoitre the road from Medyn and Juknof. Hearing no tidings of the Russians, he set off after thirty-six hours’ stay, leaving Ney at Wiazma to relieve Davoust, who was accused of dilatoriness; but he said that the artillery and wagons were constantly precipitated into deep ravines which crossed the road, and that it was nearly impossible to drag them up the opposite icy slope, the horses’ shoes not having been turned. Nevertheless, both he and the Viceroy arrived within two leagues of Wiazma on the 2d of November, and might have passed through it; but neglecting to do so, the Russian advanced-guard under Miloradowich (called the Russian Murat) turned their bivouacs in the night, and posted themselves along the left bank of the road, between the French generals and Wiazma. On the 3d of November, Prince Eugene was preparing to take the road to that town, when the first dawn of day showed him his situation, his rear-guard cut off, and Ney, who was to have come to his assistance, fighting in his own defence in the direction of Wiazma. He immediately took his resolution. He stopped, faced about, formed in line along the main-road, and kept the foremost of the enemy’s troops in check, till Ney marched up one of his regiments, and attacking them in the rear, compelled them to retire. At the same time, Compans, one of Davoust’s generals, joined his division to the Italian guard; and while they fought together, Davoust passed, and got between Wiazma and the Russians. The battle was not over, but begun. The French amounted to thirty thousand, but were in great disorder. The Russian artillery, superior in number, advanced at a gallop, and mowed down their lines. Davoust and his generals were still surrounded with many of their bravest men. Several of the officers who had been wounded at the Mosqua were still seen, one with his arm in a sling, another with his head covered with bandages, encouraging the soldiers, keeping them together, throwing themselves upon the enemy’s field-pieces and seizing them, and thus preventing the effects of bad example by good. Miloradowich saw that his prey would escape him, and sent the Englishman Wilson to summon Kutusoff to his aid; but the old general laughed at him. The fight had already lasted seven hours; when night approached, the French began to retire. This retrogade movement encouraged the enemy; and had it not been for a signal effort of the 25th, 57th, and 85th regiments, Davoust’s corps would have been turned, broken, and destroyed. Prince Eugene made good his retreat to Wiazma; Davoust followed, but Morand’s division, which entered first, found a number of Russians there before them, and had to cut their way through them. Compans, who brought up the rear, put an end to the affair by facing about, and making a furious assault upon Miloradowich. The bivouacs were set up by the light of the burning of Wiazma, and amidst repeated discharges of artillery. During the night the alarm continued. Several times the troops thought they were attacked, and groped about for their arms. On the following morning, when they returned to their ranks, they were astonished at the smallness of their numbers.

Nevertheless, the example of the chiefs and the hope of finding rest at Smolensk kept up the men’s spirits. Besides, so far they had been cheered by the sight of the sun; but on the 6th of November, the snow came on, and every thing underwent a total change. The consequences were most disastrous. The troops marched on without knowing where, and without distinguishing any object; and while they strove to force their way through the whirlwinds of sleet, the snow drifted in the cavities where they fell, and the weakest rose no more. The wind drove in their faces not only the falling snow, but that which it raised in furious eddies from the earth. The Muscovite winter attacked them in every part, penetrated through their thin dress and ragged shoes. Their wet clothes froze upon them; this covering of ice chilled their bodies, and stiffened all their limbs. A cutting and violent wind stopped their breath or seized upon it as it was exhaled, and converted it into icicles, which hung from their beards. The unhappy men crawled on with trembling limbs and chattering teeth till the snow, collecting round their feet in hard lumps, like stones, some scattered fragment, a branch of a tree, or the body of one of their companions, made them stagger and fall. Their cries and groans were vain; soon the snow covered them, and small hillocks marked where they lay. Such was their sepulture. The road was filled with these undulations, like a burying-place. A number of them froze as they stood still, and looked like posts, covered with snow. The most intrepid or obdurate were affected; they hurried past with averted eyes. But before them, around them, all was snow; the horizon seemed one vast winding-sheet, in which nature was enveloping the whole army. The only objects which came out from the bleak expanse were a few gloomy pines skirting the plain, and adding to the horror of the scene with their funeral green and the motionless erectness of their black trunks! Even the weapons of the soldiers were a weight almost insupportable to their benumbed limbs. In their frequent falls they slipped out of their hands and were broken or lost in the snow. Many others had their fingers frozen on the musket they still grasped. Some broke up into parties; others wandered on alone. If they dispersed themselves in the fields, or by the cross-paths, in search of bread or a shelter for the night, they met nothing but Cossacks and an armed population, who surrounded, wounded, and stripped them, and left them with ferocious laughter to expire naked upon the snow. Then came the night of sixteen hours. But on this universal covering of snow, they knew not where to stop, where to sit, where to lie, where to find a few roots for food, or dry sticks to light their fires. At length fatigue, darkness, and repeated orders induced a pause, and they tried to establish themselves for the night; but the storm scattered the preparations for the bivouacs, and the branches of the pines covered with ice and snow only melted away, and resisted the attempts of the soldiers to kindle them into a blaze. When at length the fire got the better, officers and soldiers gathered round it, to cook their wretched meal of horse-flesh, and a few spoonfuls of rye mixed with snow-water. Next morning, circles of stiffened corpses marked the situation of the bivouacs, and the carcasses of thousands of horses were strewed round them. From this time disorder and distrust began to prevail. A few resisted the strong contagion of insubordination and despondency. These were the officers, the subalterns, and some of the soldiers, whom nothing could detach from their duty. They kept up each other’s spirits by repeating the name of Smolensk, which they were approaching, and looked forward to as the end of their sufferings.

At the lake of Semlewo, it was found necessary to sacrifice the spoils of Moscow. Cannon, armor, the ornaments of the Kremlin, and the cross of the Great Iwan, all sunk at once in the waters of the lake. On the 6th of November, just as the snow was beginning to fall, Napoleon had reached Mikalewska. There he took up his quarters in a palisaded house. He had scarcely arrived, before news of Mallet’s conspiracy in Paris reached him, and added new trouble to his already perturbed spirit. Under all the gloomy circumstances of the time, when the fabric of his power, which he had reared with so much skill, and maintained with such vast energy, seemed to “totter to its fall,” the fortitude of the Emperor was remarkable. He preserved a firm countenance, and strove to induce those around him to believe that his star had not yet begun to decline.