by Alan Palmer
Such a possibility had been out of the question at the end of April; but by early June it seemed not unlikely. Alexander withdrew from the exposed area around Bartenstein and established himself in the town of Tilsit, on the river Niemen, where communications with St Petersburg and the interior of the Empire were easier than in the eastern Prussian salient.45 He was joined by his brother Constantine and by General Budberg. Alexander hoped for news of a military diversion by the British or even of a threat of intervention against the French by the Austrians. But all the information Budberg brought to him was gloomy. It was clear that no help, military or diplomatic, was forthcoming. Budberg himself was by no means despondent: he believed Russia possessed greater resources than the Napoleonic Empire and was therefore better prepared for a war of attrition, irrespective of what happened in front of Königsberg. But no one else in Alexander’s circle shared this opinion. Some were strongly in favour of an immediate approach to Napoleon, so as to prevent waste of lives in a battle which, at best, could in their eyes only benefit the Prusians. Among Budberg’s strongest critics was Prince Kurakin, long a favosurite of the Dowager Empress, with whom he kept in contact by letters from Tilsit.46 Alexander was thus under considerable pressure to authorize negotiations: he knew that, despite attempts to magnify Bennigsen’s successes, most of the army command lacked zest; and he was painfully aware that not even the thunder of the Church had roused the interest of his subjects in the war. He hesitated, offsetting in his mind the commitments he had made at Bartenstein against the weight of feeling around him; and once more Budberg pressed him to continue the struggle. On 14 June, while Alexander was still undecided between peace and war, the opposing armies clashed at last in the small town of Friedland, on the banks of the Alle seventy miles west of Alexander’s headquarters. After initial success against one of the columns on Napoleon’s flank, the Russians were caught by converging attacks from the whole of the Grand Army in the late evening of a long day. By ten o’clock that night, as summer twilight hung over the smouldering remains of the town, Bennigsen began to fall back towards the Niemen with a mere five thousand men still capable of offering effective resistance. The major battle for which all Russia waited throughout the spring had come in the end; but victory rested once more with Napoleon.47
* After the Second World War the Eylau region was annexed to the Soviet Union. Thereupon Preussich-Eylau, a frontier post on the road from Königsberg (Kaliningrad) to Warsaw, was re-named Bagrationovsk in patriotic association with the corps commander of the Russian rearguard in 1806.
Tilsit
Alexander and Napoleon Meet in Midstream
Friedland was a more decisive engagement for the Russians than Austerlitz eighteen months before. Although a greater number of men perished in the earlier battle, the defeat was never accepted in St Petersburg or Moscow as a conclusive verdict on the whole war; and, in those winter months of 1806, many Russians in authority were ready to prepare, with reasonable confidence, for a resumption of the struggle against Napoleon in the following spring. But after Friedland there could be no such comforting pretence: the war was lost. The finest regiments in the Tsar’s service were trundling back, exhausted and demoralized, to the frontiers of the Empire; and the last Prussian strongholds were falling into the hands of the French. There was no promise of help from Russia’s British or Swedish allies, and no patriotic response from the heart of Alexander’s Empire. The levy of serfs, which should have raised a reserve army of over half a million men, had as yet yielded a militia of little more than 30,000 raw recruits. The choice facing Alexander was starkly clear to all around him: either he allowed the campaign to drag on across the great estates of Russian Poland and Russian Lithuania; or he sought an immediate armistice. Apart from Budberg, there were by now few fire-eaters in the Russian camp.1
Alexander was still on the Prussian side of the river Niemen, at Tilsit, when he heard details of Bennigsen’s defeat. He perceived at once the terrible finality of what had taken place that summer evening along the banks of the Alle. Naturally he was bitterly depressed by the catastrophe, but since it was not a personal humiliation – as Austerlitz had been – he kept a tight grip on his nerves and took rapid decisions of policy without awaiting the advice of his ministers. With Bennigsen’s army beaten, Alexander hesitated no longer between peace and war. He began immediately to draft proposals for an armistice and only when he had committed his first thoughts to paper did he notify Budberg of the sad state of the army. The Foreign Minister was to be given no opportunity of presenting his case. ‘Here, General, is the fatal news I have just received’, the Tsar wrote. ‘It is useless to dwell on the arguments to be made. You can conceive all the difficulty of my position.’2 An emissary would be sent to Napoleon to sue for an armistice. Meanwhile, since Bennigsen feared an enveloping movement on Tilsit by the Grand Army, the Russians evacuated the left bank of the Niemen and set fire to the wooden bridge across the river. Alexander withdrew a few miles to the east, and at the village of Olitcha established field headquarters almost on the borders of his own Empire.
As peace emissary Alexander selected a soldierly diplomat, Prince Dmitri Lobanov-Rostovsky, a member of a distinguished Muscovite family who was serving as a Lieutenant-General under Bennigsen’s command. The last military spokesman sent by Alexander to the French during a campaign had been the egregious Dolgoruky, whose attitude had so displeased Napoleon on the eve of Austerlitz. But Lobanov was a totally different type of man, tactful and courteous where Dolgoruky was arrogant. He arrived at the French outposts on the evening of 18 June and was escorted to Berthier, Napoleon’s chief-of-staff, who sounded him out for almost an hour in order to be sure his mission was sincere.3 It was only on the following afternoon that Napoleon himself reached Tilsit, and he sent for Lobanov as soon as he had established himself in the town. Napoleon, too, wanted peace in eastern Europe so as to concentrate his efforts against Britain and complete his re-organization of the German lands and Italy. He welcomed Lobanov’s proposals for putting an end to the fighting and, on the following day, he sent General Duroc to Bennigsen’s headquarters to agree on final terms. An armistice of a month’s duration was concluded on 21 June, the two armies facing each other along the winding course of the Niemen as far as Grodno and thence down the old Russo-Prussian frontier to the river Bug. If the armistice broke down Napoleon knew that, within a few days, his troops could occupy Vilna, which was at the time the third largest city in Alexander’s dominions.
But Napoleon did not want to send his army into Russian Poland and Lithuania. ‘It is essential that all this ends with a system of close alliance,’ he declared to Talleyrand, who was still his Foreign Minister.4 A reliable ally on the east of the continent would prevent French resources from being over-stretched. Talleyrand himself preferred an Austrian alliance; but Napoleon had always favoured a Russian connection, if only because the vastness of the Tsar’s dominions threatened the interests of his archenemy, Britain, in so many different parts of the world. Now at last there was a prospect of dictating the peace settlement he desired and of concluding an understanding with Russia on his own terms. On 22 June Napoleon invited Lobanov to dine with him in Tilsit, proposed a toast to the Tsar’s health, and assured the Prince he had never taken a hostile attitude towards Russia. ‘The reciprocal interest of the two empires calls for an alliance between them’, he declared; and, to make his views even clearer he pointed to the line of the Vistula on a map and said, ‘Here is the boundary of our two empires. Your master must dominate one side and I the other.’5
Alexander was intrigued by Lobanov’s reports of his reception. If Napoleon showed such expansive generosity it might yet be possible to emerge from the war with credit, Russian diplomacy winning the triumph which had eluded Russian arms. Moreover, here was an opportunity for the Tsar himself to shine as a master-statesman, settling the affairs of Europe personally with Napoleon as Emperor to Emperor. On the afternoon of June 24 Lobanov arrived back at Tilsit with a message
from his sovereign to Napoleon. ‘Alliance between France and Russia has always been a particular wish of mine [l’objet de mes desirs] and I am convinced that this alone can guarantee the welfare and peace of the world’, Alexander declared; and he proposed a personal meeting of the two rulers who, he believed, would reach an understanding without difficulty.6 Hopefully Alexander left Olitcha and found new quarters in the village of Amt-Blauben, only a couple of miles from the banks of the Niemen.
‘The Emperor of Russia has come a league from here and I am told he wants an interview’, Napoleon wrote to Talleyrand after seeing Lobanov, ‘I care only middlingly for the idea [Je m’en soucie mediocrement] but I cannot turn it down.’7 Elaborate arrangements were made for the meeting, despite Napoleon’s lack of enthusiasm, and General Duroc was sent to Amt-Blauben in order to assure Alexander of the Emperor’s good wishes. Since there was no neutral territory where the two sovereigns could come together Napoleon proposed the interview should take place in midstream. There is little darkness on the Niemen in the last week of June and throughout the night hours the French were able to work on the construction of a raft, bearing on it two pavilions made of wood draped with canvas and white linen. During the morning of 25 June the raft was towed into midstream and secured to the piles of the ruined bridge, an operation directed rather unexpectedly by General La Riboisière, commander of the Guard Artillery. Spectacular improvisation decorated the larger pavilion with the two Imperial monograms, elegantly curved and painted green because there was no other colour available in the artillery stores. The letter N faced the left bank, the letter A the right: over such details the Guard was always meticulously tidy.8
Alexander arrived on his bank of the river at eleven o’clock, far too soon for the French.9 He had set out from Amt-Blauben accompanied by his brother Constantine as well as by Bennigsen, Lobanov, and his principal aide-de-camp Count Paul Lieven. They attended, however, as curious observers rather than as participants in the meeting since it was clearly understood that no one would join the Emperors during their first exchange of views. Hovering in the background and uncertain of his status was the unfortunate Frederick William, titular sovereign of Tilsit. By now all his kingdom, except the city of Memel and its hinterland was occupied by the French; and he counted for little in Napoleon’s eyes. If anything were saved from the wreck of Prussia, it would be by the grace of his powerful neighbours. Riboisière’s artists had not bothered to paint the King’s monogram on the side of the pavilion.
For nearly two hours Alexander waited, with growing impatience, at an inn by the water’s edge in the village of Picktupöhnen. Across the river the Russian party could clearly observe all the bustle in Tilsit itself. Shortly before one o’clock Lieven spotted Napoleon riding down to the boat which would carry him out to the raft. The sound of cheering was borne across the Niemen (which, as Napoleon himself was to write, ‘is here as wide as the Seine’). Alexander and his retinue at once went aboard their ferry and were rowed slowly across the water. Napoleon, who was accompanied by Berthier, Duroc and General Armand de Caulaincourt, reached the raft first and welcomed Alexander as host to guest when the Tsar’s boat pulled alongside. From the bank observers saw the two men shake hands, Alexander’s six-foot frame towering over Napoleon who was some six or seven inches shorter and who still retained the lithe figure of an active man. Then, alone, the two Emperors entered the larger pavilion. They remained in conversation for an hour and three-quarters while their attendants sheltered from the sunshine (and later from the rain) in cramped discomfort on the far side of the raft. Along opposite banks men who had fought each other at Friedland eleven days ago watched the strange meeting-place of their sovereigns rising and falling gently on the gleaming waters and speculated on what they were saying.
Nobody knows the precise words they used; and the general drift of their conversation was soon distorted by embellishment, much of it added in all sincerity when memory began to rationalize what was, at the time, a highly emotional occasion for both participants.10 For, though Napoleon had met Francis of Austria briefly after Austerlitz, he had never before mounted a grand ceremony for a foreign Head of State prepared to accept him as a brother sovereign; and he became to some extent a captive of his own grandeur. Alexander, too, was overwhelmed by the drama of the moment, inspired by that consciousness of mission which always served him as a substitute for logical analysis. Even at this first encounter Alexander, so often unsure of himself, was fascinated by the magnetism of Napoleon’s decisiveness.
It was, allegedly, Alexander who opened the conversation. ‘Sire,’ he declared, ‘I hate the English no less than you do and I am ready to assist you in any enterprise against them.’ ‘In that case’, Napoleon is said to have replied, ‘everything can be speedily settled between us and peace is made.’11 These phrases, however, do not ring true; for the Tsar was never so direct in his conversational habits. Nevertheless, whatever words were used, their talk convinced Napoleon that Alexander had little love for his former ally and was willing to work with the French in forcing a settlement upon the English; and that, for Napoleon, was quite enough. His plans ranged over the whole of Europe’s affairs and into other continents as well. The magnificent sweep of his vision excited the romantic idealism in Alexander. When the two men emerged from the pavilion each had on his face a smile of contentment. They agreed that half of Tilsit would be neutralized and that the Tsar and the Russian Imperial Guard would cross the river and occupy part of the town; for it was clear that there would belong conversations between the two rulers and their advisers in the days ahead. Meanwhile, each Emperor presented members of his suite to the other before crossing to his respective bank of the river. It was a memorable day, as neo-classical in form as one of David’s canvases.
The Fine Phrases of Tilsit
The Tsar landed at Picktupöhnen dazed and subdued but by the time he arrived back in Amt-Blauben he was intoxicated with enthusiasm. No superlatives were too strong for Napoleon. ‘If only I had seen him sooner!’ he mused and added, with a stylistic echo from across the Niemen, ‘The veil is torn aside and the time of error past.’12 Alexander, declared Constantine later, was in a seventh heaven of delight. Napoleon, too, was pleased though less exuberant. That evening he dictated a hurried note to the Empress Josephine, grand in condescension: ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘I have just seen the Emperor Alexander. I am well pleased with him: he is quite a handsome and good young Emperor. There is more spirit in him than one usually imagines. Tomorrow he is coming to lodge in the town of Tilsit.’13 And he sent an urgent message to Talleyrand, who was on his way from Warsaw to Königsberg, to come immediately and help draft treaties of peace and friendship.14
Next day (Friday, 26 June) there was one more meeting on the raft before it was dismantled.15 Alexander, belatedly remembering that Frederick William, too, had some self-respect, presented the King to the Emperor of the French (who treated him with scant sympathy). For the sake of convenience it was agreed he might be fitted in at some spare house in Tilsit, though there was little chance of making room for him for a couple of days. No such delay was allowed to hamper Alexander’s movements. On the Friday evening he crossed the Niemen and was received with full military honours. That night he dined with Napoleon at French headquarters. The password issued by Napoleon to his Guard was ‘Alexander, Russia, Greatness’. On the Saturday evening Alexander repaid the courtesy and Russian Guards responded to the improbable – and slightly ambiguous – challenge of ‘Napoleon, France, Courage’. Yet apart from Alexander himself, who was childishly flattered by the attentions lavished on him, the quality of friendship between the rival army commanders showed a dignified constraint.
For over a week the two Emperors followed a regular pattern of dinners, military parades and inspections, with frequent excursions on horseback into the countryside around Tilsit. Generally they would meet in the middle of the day, at one or other of their lodgings, and talk at length over world affairs, sometimes pacing the salon
s deep in thought and sometimes standing in front of maps on which Napoleon would outline the new Europe of his vision. The prospect of remote horizons and distant perspectives stirred Alexander almost as much as a grand parade. It was encouraging, after the bitterness of a lost war, to find a triumphant soldier who shared his delight in ranging over such splendid vistas. They would talk again, long into the night, with no one to record what they said (‘the fine phrases I dropped around at Tilsit’, as Napoleon remarked a year later, half laughing at himself). ‘In one hour’, Napoleon had boasted at an early meeting, ‘we shall achieve more than our spokesmen in several days. I shall be your secretary and you mine.’16 If it was a confidence trick, Alexander enjoyed every minute of it. He even exchanged cravats and decorated handkerchiefs with Napoleon.
