by Leo Tolstoy
The French army went on melting away and disappearing at the same rate from Moscow to Vyazma, Vyazma to Smolensk, Smolensk to the Berezina, from the Berezina to Vilna, regardless of variations in the degree of cold or pursuit, the extent to which they found the way blocked and any other conditions operating individually. After Vyazma the French troops went down from three columns to one great mass, and stayed like that to the end. Allowing for the fact that generals feel able to take liberties with the truth when describing the state of their army, we note that Berthier wrote as follows to the Emperor: I feel obliged to report to your Majesty the state of the various corps as observed by me personally on the march over the last two or three days. They are almost disbanded. Scarcely a quarter of the men still follow the flags of their regiments; the rest wander off on their own in different directions, pursuing their own interests, looking for food and hoping to evade discipline. All of them have only one thing in mind - Smolensk, where they hope to rest and recover. During the last few days many soldiers have been seen throwing away their cartridges and muskets. Given this state of affairs, whatever your long-term plans may be, the interests of your Majesty's service demand a regrouping of the army at Smolensk, which will involve getting rid of all non-combatants, such as cavalrymen without horses, as well as any superfluous baggage and some of the artillery material, which is now disproportionate to our overall troop numbers. As well as a few days' rest the soldiers, worn out by hunger and fatigue, need supplies. In recent days many have died by the roadside or in the bivouacs. This state of affairs is getting steadily worse, and there are grounds for fearing that if immediate steps are not taken there will be no possibility of controlling the troops in any engagement.
9th November. 20 miles from Smolensk.
After staggering into Smolensk, which they had seen as the promised land, the French murdered each other for food, raided their own stores and continued the flight when everything had gone.
On they went, with no idea of where they were going or why. The one who had least idea of all was the great genius, Napoleon, since there was no one to give him any orders. Nevertheless, he and his entourage still went through the motions of writing out various commands, letters, reports and orders of the day, addressing each other as 'Sire', 'My dear Cousin', 'Prince of Eckmuhl', 'King of Naples', and so on. But the orders and reports were just pieces of paper; they were not followed up, because they couldn't have been followed up. And despite the use of terms like Majesty, Highness, and Cousin they all felt themselves to be pathetic, loathsome creatures who had done a huge amount of harm, and now they were having to pay the price. And despite a great show of caring for the army, each man was thinking only of himself, and how quickly he could get away and save his skin.
CHAPTER 17
The behaviour of the Russian and French armies during the retreat from Moscow to the Niemen was like the Russian version of blind man's buff, in which two players are blindfolded and one of them rings a bell now and then to let the other one know where he is. At first the one who is being chased rings his bell with no fear of his opponent, but when things begin to get tricky he runs away from his opponent as quietly as he can, though he often walks straight into his arms when he thinks he is running away.
At first Napoleon's army announced where it was - this was in the early stages of retreat down the Kaluga road - but afterwards, when they were out on the Smolensk road, they ran away holding the bell by its little clapper, though they often ran straight into the Russians when they thought they were running away.
Given the speed of the French retreat, and of the Russians coming on behind, and the consequent exhaustion of the horses, the best method of estimating the enemy's position - the gathering of intelligence on horseback - was out of the question. Besides that, frequent and rapid changes of position on the part of both armies meant that any available intelligence was never up to date. If information came in on the second of the month that the enemy army had been in a certain place on the first of the month, by the time they got to the third of the month, and something could be done about it, the army was two days' march further on, in a totally different position.
One army fled; the other pursued. From Smolensk, the French had the choice of many different roads. You would have thought that, having stayed there for four days, the French might have been able to ascertain where the enemy was, think up something effective and do something new. But no, after a four-day halt they took to the road again in great mobs and instead of turning right or left, instead of planning and manoeuvring their way forward, they plunged off down their own beaten track, their old road - the worst possible - the one through Krasnoye and Orsha.
Expecting the enemy from the rear rather than the front, the French fled in a straggling line, scattering themselves over the distance of a twenty-four-hour march. Out in front went the fleeing Emperor, closely followed by his kings and dukes. The Russian army, assuming Napoleon would turn right and cross the Dnieper, the only sensible course to take, turned right themselves and came out on the high road at Krasnoye. At which point, just as in blind man's buff, the French ran straight into our vanguard. Shocked at the sudden sight of the enemy, the French were thrown into confusion, stopped short in a sudden panic and then resumed their flight, abandoning their colleagues in their rear. For the next three days the different sections of the French army - first Murat's (the viceroy's), then Davout's, then Ney's - ran the gauntlet of the Russian army. Everybody abandoned everybody else. They abandoned the heavy baggage, the artillery and half their men, and took to their heels, circling round to the right at night-time to skirt the Russians.
The reason Ney came along last was that, in spite of their disastrous situation, or maybe because of it, he insisted on beating the floor they had hurt themselves on, and took time out to blow up the unoffending walls of Smolensk. So along came Ney, the last to come through with his corps of ten thousand men, but when he got to Orsha and caught up with Napoleon, he was left with no more than a thousand, having abandoned all the rest along with his cannons, and made his way like a thief in the night through the woods and across the Dnieper.
From Orsha they ran on down the road to Vilna, still playing blind man's buff with the pursuing army. At the Berezina there was more confusion, many were drowned and many surrendered, and those who managed to cross the river ran on.
Their commander-in-chief wrapped himself up in his fur-coat, got into his sledge and galloped off alone, deserting his colleagues. Those who could ran away too; those who couldn't surrendered or died.
CHAPTER 18
Considering the French did their utmost during this period of the campaign to bring about their own downfall, and not a step taken by that rabble, from their turning off down the Kaluga road to the flight of the commander from his army, made the slightest bit of sense, you might imagine that the historians who attribute the behaviour of the masses to the will of one man would have found it impossible to make the French retreat fit their theory.
But no. Mountains of books have been written by historians about this campaign, and everywhere we find accounts of Napoleon's judicious decision-making and careful planning, the tactical skill with which the soldiers were led and the military genius showed by the marshals.
The retreat from Maloyaroslavets at a time when there was nothing to stop Napoleon moving into a richly supplied region and he had access to the parallel road down which Kutuzov would later pursue him, the totally unnecessary retreat through devastated countryside - these eventualities are explained away by other contributing factors of great profundity. Likewise, other contributing factors of great profundity are brought forward to explain Napoleon's retreat from Smolensk to Orsha. Then we read of his heroic stance at Krasnoye, when ostensibly he was preparing to go into battle and take personal command. The story goes that he walked about holding a birch-stick and said, 'Enough of being the Emperor - I must now be the general!'
Despite which he turns tail and runs away immediately afterw
ards, leaving his divided army behind him to the workings of fate.
Then we read descriptions of the greatness displayed by some of the marshals, especially Ney, whose greatness consisted in sneaking away through the forest at night, crossing the Dnieper without his flags, his artillery and nine-tenths of his men, and scuttling away to Orsha.
And last of all, the final departure of the great Emperor from his heroic army is depicted by these historians as a great event performed by a genius. Even this final act of desertion, which everyday language would describe as the lowest of the low, a lesson in shame for every youngster, even this action finds justification in the language of the historians.
When the elastic of historical argument is stretched to breaking point, when an action flagrantly infringes anything humanity can agree to call by the name of goodness and justice, these historians take refuge in the concept of greatness. 'Greatness' seems to exclude all quantification of right and wrong. A great man knows no wrong. There is no atrocity that could be laid at the door of a great man.
'This is great!' say the historians, and at a stroke good and bad have ceased to exist; there is only 'greatness' and 'non-greatness'. 'Great' means good; 'not great' means bad. Greatness is, by their standards, a quality enjoyed by certain exceptional creatures that go by the name of 'hero'. And Napoleon, as he wraps himself up in his warm fur-coat and scurries home, leaving behind dying men who were not only his comrades, but (by his own admission) people he brought there himself, feels 'he's a great man' and his soul is at peace.
'There is only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous,' he says (and he sees something of the sublime in himself). And for fifty years the whole world has parroted the words, 'Sublime! Great! Napoleon the Great!'
'There is only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.'
And it never enters anybody's head that to acknowledge greatness as something existing beyond the rule of right and wrong is to acknowledge one's own nothingness and infinite smallness.
For us, with Jesus Christ's rule of right and wrong to go by, there is nothing that cannot be measured by it. And greatness cannot exist without simplicity, goodness and truth.
CHAPTER 19
What Russian reader has not experienced a depressing feeling of annoyance, frustration and bewilderment on reading accounts of the last phase of the 1812 campaign? Who has not asked himself questions about it? How could they have failed to capture the French or finish them off, when they had all three Russian armies surrounding them in superior numbers, when the French were a disorderly rabble starving and freezing to death, and the one aim of the Russians (according to history) was to stop them in their tracks, cut them off from each other and capture them all?
How did it come about that the same Russian army that had fought the battle of Borodino with a numerical disadvantage failed to achieve its avowed aim of capturing the French when the French were surrounded on three sides? Can it be that the French are so superior that we couldn't beat them even when we had them surrounded by numerically stronger forces? How could that have happened?
History (or what passes for history) answers these questions by saying that it all came about because Kutuzov, Tormasov, Chichagov, this general and that general, failed to execute this or that manoeuvre.
But why did they fail to execute these manoeuvres? And if they really were responsible for the aim not being achieved why were they not tried and punished? But even if we admit that Kutuzov and Chichagov and the others were responsible for the Russian 'failure', it is still not clear why, given the situation of the Russian troops at Krasnoye and the Berezina (numerical superiority in both cases), the French army and marshals were not taken prisoner, when that was the ostensible aim of the Russians.
The explanation of this strange phenomenon provided by Russian military historians - that Kutuzov stopped them attacking - won't wash, because we know Kutuzov couldn't stop the troops going on the attack at Vyazma or Tarutino. Why was it that an under-strength Russian army won the battle of Borodino against a full-strength enemy, whereas they lost at Krasnoye and the Berezina when they had greater numbers and the French were an undisciplined rabble?
If the aim of the Russians was to isolate Napoleon and his marshals and take them prisoner, and if that aim was not only frustrated, but all attempts to achieve it were defeated time after time in the most shameful way, then the French are quite right to claim the last phase of the campaign as a series of victories, and Russian historians are wrong to claim it as a success story.
Russian military historians, whenever they are forced to think logically, are bound to admit the validity of this conclusion; for all their lyrical outpourings on the subject of Russian courage, loyalty and so forth, they are bound to admit that the retreat of the French from Moscow was a series of victories for Napoleon and defeats for Kutuzov.
But disregarding all questions of national self-esteem one is left with the feeling that this conclusion contains an inherent contradiction, in that the series of French victories led to nothing less than total destruction, and the series of Russian defeats led to the complete destruction of the enemy and the deliverance of their country.
This contradiction arises from the fact that historians, studying events in the light of letters penned by sovereigns and generals, memoirs, reports, projects and so on, have jumped to the wrong conclusion based on a non-existent Russian aim during that last phase of the 1812 campaign, the aim of isolating and capturing Napoleon and his marshals and his army. There never was any such aim, because it didn't make sense and it would have been impossible to achieve.
It didn't make sense because, first, Napoleon's army was in disarray and fleeing from Russia at all possible speed, in other words doing exactly what was wanted by every last Russian. What purpose would have been served by conducting all sorts of operations against the French when they were already running away as fast as they could?
Second, it would have made no sense to stand in the way of men who were putting all their energy into running away.
Third, it made no sense to risk losing men just to destroy the French army when that army was busy destroying itself without any help from outside, and at such a rate that, without any blocking of the road, all the French were able to take back across the frontier in December was a small number of men, scarcely a hundredth of the original army.
Fourth, it would have made no sense to capture the Emperor, the kings and the dukes, since their imprisonment would have made life difficult for the Russians, as was acknowledged by the more sensitive diplomats of the day (Joseph de Maistre among others). It would have made even less sense to capture the French army when half of our own strength had dwindled away before Krasnoye, and we would have needed a whole division to guard several corps of prisoners, at a time when our own soldiers were often under-provisioned, and the prisoners they did take were dying of starvation.
Any carefully considered plan to isolate Napoleon and capture him along with his army would have been like a gardener devising a plan to drive away a herd of cattle that had been trampling his beds, and then run after them, catch them at the gate and bash them over the head. The best that could be said of the gardener would be that he had lost his temper on a grand scale. But that wouldn't apply to the authors of the plan, since it wasn't their garden that had been trampled.
Anyway, the idea of isolating Napoleon along with his army not only made no sense; it was also quite impossible.
Impossible, first because we know from experience that the movement of columns over a three-mile area on a given battlefield never coincides with any planning, so the possibility of Chichagov, Kutuzov and Wittgenstein arriving together at an appointed spot was so remote as to be virtually impossible. Kutuzov knew this even as he received planning instructions from afar, and he went on record as saying that long-distance manoeuvres never work out according to plan.
Second, it was impossible because the numbers of troops needed to paralyse the force of inertia propellin
g Napoleon's army back the way it had come would have been far greater than anything the Russians had at their disposal.
Third, it was impossible, because the military word for the isolating process - 'to cut off' - is meaningless. You can cut off a slice of bread, but not an army. To cut off an army - to block its way forward - is quite impossible, because there are always plenty of possible detours that can be made, and there is always night-time, when things go on unseen, which students of military history ought to recognize from the examples of Krasnoye and the Berezina. You can never capture anybody unless he is willing to be captured, just as you can never catch a swallow, though you might be able to if it settles on your hand. You can only capture prisoners who are willing to surrender, as the Germans did, following set rules of strategy and tactics. But the French soldiers saw this as inexpedient, and they were quite right to do so since a similar death from cold and starvation awaited them if they fled or were taken prisoner.
The fourth and main reason why it was impossible was that never since the world had begun had a war been fought under such terrible conditions as in 1812, and the Russian troops pursuing the French were at the end of their tether, incapable of doing anything more without dying in the attempt.
In the distance between Tarutino and Krasnoye the Russian army lost fifty thousand men sick or fallen by the wayside - a total equivalent to the population of a decent-sized provincial town. Half of them quit without seeing any action.
During this phase of the campaign soldiers went without boots or fur-lined coats, they were on depleted rations with no vodka, they camped out every night in the snow month after month when the temperature stood at fifteen below, there were only seven or eight hours of daylight, and the rest was night-time, when discipline goes by the board, and men went in fear of death (which again put them beyond discipline) not for a few hours, as in battle, but for months on end, struggling every moment against cold and starvation. And it is this phase of the campaign, when half the army perished in a single month, that historians refer to when they claim that Miloradovich ought to have executed a flanking manoeuvre in one direction, and Tormasov in another, while Chichagov ought to have transferred his forces to such-and-such a place (knee-deep in snow, of course), and so-and-so 'destroyed the French opposition', somebody else 'cut them off', and so on and so forth.
