The troops were drawn off as night came on, and Napoleon retired to his tent. Count Lobau, having obtained possession of the ditch, ordered some shells to be thrown into the city, to dislodge the enemy. Almost immediately were seen rising thick and black columns of smoke, with occasional gleams of light; then sparks and burning flakes; and at length pyramids of flame, which ascended from every part. These distinct and distant fires soon became united in one vast conflagration, which rose in whirling and destructive grandeur,—hung over nearly the whole of Smolensko, and consumed it amidst ominous and awful crashes. This disaster, which Count Lobau very naturally attributed to his shells, though it was the work of the Russians, threw him into great consternation. Napoleon, seated in front of his tent, viewed the terrific spectacle in silence. Neither the cause nor the result could as yet be ascertained, and the night was passed under arms. About three in the morning, a subaltern officer, belonging to Davoust, had ventured to the foot of the wall, and scaled it, without giving the least alarm. Emboldened by the silence which reigned around him, he made his way into the city, when suddenly hearing a number of voices speaking with the Sclavonian accent, he gave himself up for lost. But at this instant, the level rays of the sun discovered these supposed enemies to be the Poles of Poniatowski. They had been the first to penetrate the city, which Barclay had just abandoned to the flames. Smolensko having been reconnoitred, the army entered within its walls. The remarks of Segur on this occasion are very fine:—“They passed over the smoking and bloody ruins in martial order, and with all the pomp of military music and displayed banners; triumphant over deserted ruins, and the solitary witness of their own glory. A spectacle without spectators; a victory scarcely better than fruitless; a glory steeped in blood; and of which the smoke that surrounded them, and that seemed indeed to be the only conquest, was the best and most characteristic emblem.”
Here Napoleon found, as at the Niemen, at Wilna, and at Witepsk, that phantom of victory which had decoyed him onward, had again eluded his grasp; and with mute and gloomy rage he walked along the city over heaps of smoking ruins and the naked bodies of the slain. He sat down in front of the citadel, on a mat at the door of a cottage, and here he held forth for an hour on the cowardice of Barclay, while bullets from the citadel walls were whizzing about his head. He dwelt upon the fine field for action he had offered him, the disgrace it was to have delivered up the keys of Old Russia without a struggle; the advantages he had given him in a strong city to support his efforts or to receive him in case of need. Without taking the slightest notice of the bullets from the Russian riflemen in the citadel, he thus continued to sit and vent his passionate disappointment, uttering the most bitter sarcasms upon the Russian general and army. “He was not yet in the secret,” laconically observes Hazlitt, “of the new Scythian tactics of defending a country by burning its capitals.” At length, he remounted his horse. One of his marshals remarked, as soon as he was out of hearing, that “if Barclay had been so very wrong in refusing battle, the Emperor would not have taken so much time to convince us of it.” The truth was, he had no patience with the Russians for not staying—to be beaten.
The Russians still retained the suburbs of Smolensko, on the right bank of the Dnieper. During the night, Napoleon caused the bridges to be repaired, and a heavy cannonade to be kept up; and by the morning, the suburb had been deserted after being first set on fire. Ney and Junot immediately pressed forward through the burning labyrinth, and halted on the spot at which the roads to Petersburg and Moscow diverge, uncertain in which direction to continue the pursuit. At length, the French scouts brought information that Barclay had retreated in the direction of Moscow, taking at first a circuitous route through marshy and woody defiles. Ney came up with the rear guard at Stubna, where he dislodged them from a strong position, without difficulty; and next at Valoutina, where a desperate conflict took place, in which thirty thousand men were successively engaged on either side. Encumbered as he was by a long line of artillery and baggage, and hard pressed by Ney, Barclay was in extreme danger of losing his whole army, but he was saved by the unaccountable remissness of Junot, who had absolutely got into his rear, yet suspended his attack. Junot was a favorite with Napoleon, but he lost his command for this indecision. It was transferred to Rapp, who had just joined the army. The action had been sanguinary, and among other severe losses, the French general Gudin was mortally wounded. Napoleon visited the field of battle, which would probably have been a decisive one had he been present to direct the manœuvres. The soldiers were ranged round the dead bodies of French and Russians which covered the ground; the ghastly nature of their wounds, and the wrenched and twisted bayonets scattered about, bearing witness to the violence of the conflict. Napoleon felt that the time was come when his men required the support both of praise and rewards. Accordingly, he suppressed his chagrin at the indecisive result of the victory. His looks were never more impressive and affectionate. He declared this battle was the most brilliant exploit in their military history. In his rewards, he was munificent. The division of Gudin alone received eighty-seven decorations and promotions. He watched over and secured the care of the wounded, and left the field amidst the enthusiastic acclamations of his soldiers. He then returned to Smolensko. His carriage jolted over the grisly ruins of the fight, and his eyes were met on every side by all that is odious and horrible in fields of battle. Long lines of wounded were dragging themselves, or being borne along, and retarded his progress; when he entered the ruined city, carts were conveying out of sight the streaming heap of amputated limbs. Smolensko seemed one vast hospital, and its groans of anguish prevailed over and obliterated the glories and acclamations of Valoutina.
The situation of the French army had now become grave and critical. There could no longer be a doubt of the plan which Barclay was pursuing, and disastrous apprehensions crowded upon Napoleon’s mind. The burning of Smolensko was evidently one result of a deep laid design; it could not be attributed to accident.
What must have been his reflections on the evening of this disastrous day, when, with a burning city for a camp-fire, he at length discovered the settled policy of his enemy—the policy, namely, by which Robert Bruce, in his last will, directed his countrymen how to conquer the ever-invading English—the policy by which Francis the First baffled his great rival, Charles the Fifth, in his attempt to conquer France—the policy of laying waste the country, burning the cities, retreating without a pitched battle and leaving famine, cold and disease to destroy the invading force?
Whatever misfortune awaited him, the Emperor was resolved to meet it without delay. He really dared fate to do its worst.
NAPOLEON AT WIAZMA. Page 317.