Much has been said about the alleged plan of Russia to lure Napoleon into the country and to destroy him by starvation. The fact seems to be that the Russians retreated because they could not help it. They fought often and desperately. The Czar himself came to the army for the express purpose of inspiring it to fight. Outnumbered and beaten, it fell back, desolating the country as it went; but the plain facts show that the Russians did all that was in their power to put a stop to the invasion. The alleged campaign policy of “luring Napoleon to his doom” is fiction.
At Smolensk, Napoleon was no more willing to stop than he had been at Vitebsk. Peace was at Moscow; he must press on; he must beat the enemy in a great pitched battle, and give his friend, the Czar, the excuse to his people without which he would not dare to come to terms. Again there were hot words between the Emperor and his marshals. Murat, in great anger, predicted that if the army was forced on to Moscow, it would be lost. But the order was imperative: “On to Moscow!”—and the army marched.
The Czar, or those who controlled him, were dissatisfied with the manner in which their side of the campaign had been conducted. There had been too much retreat, and not enough fight. Kutusoff was put in command with the understanding that he must give battle—a fact which, of itself, would seem to dispose of the theory that Napoleon was “lured” into the interior as a matter of policy.
At Borodino the Russians barred the road to “Mother Moscow”: and here the pitched battle was fought. With a cannonade that was heard for eighty miles, a quarter of a million men here butchered each other all day long on September 7, until seventy thousand lay dead or wounded. Night ended the carnage, and next morning the Russians were again in retreat.
During this famous battle, Napoleon remained sitting, or slowly walking up and down at one place, where he received reports and sent orders. He spoke but little, and seemed ill. In fact, he was a sick man, suffering with a severe cold and with his bladder complaint. He showed no activity, and left the battle to his marshals. At three in the afternoon the Russians had put in their last reserves, and were in distress everywhere—driven from their intrenchment, and threatened with ruin should the French reserves now attack. Ney, Murat, Davoust, all clamored for the Guard, the Emperor’s reserve. He hesitated. They sent again, and still he wavered. “Sire!” said Bessières, commander of the Guard, “remember that you are eight hundred leagues from your capital.” Napoleon refused the Guard. Ney was amazed, furious: “What does this mean? What is the Emperor doing in the rear? If he is tired of fighting, let him go back to his d—d Tuileries, and leave us to do what is necessary!”
Thus the Guard never fired a shot, the battle remained unfinished, and the Russians retired in good order, when they might have been destroyed. Military critics say that the Emperor made two capital blunders at Borodino: first, in vetoing Davoust’s offer to turn the Russian flank and come upon their rear; and, second, in not using his reserves.
That night the Emperor tried to dictate orders, but could not. He was too hoarse to talk. He was obliged to write; and he fell to it, writing rapidly, and throwing the scraps of paper on the table. Secretaries deciphered these scrawls slowly, and copied them, as fast as they could. As the papers accumulated, Napoleon would rap on his table for the secretaries to remove them. For twelve hours he labored, not a sound to be heard save the scratching of Napoleon’s pen and the rapping of his hammer.
The French continued their march onward, and at last neared Moscow. Napoleon left his carriage, mounted his horse, and rode forward. “In the distance could be seen the long columns of Russian cavalry retiring in good order before the French troops.” The French marched on, and at last Moscow was in sight. It was a proud moment for Napoleon when he stood on Pilgrim’s Hill, surrounded by a brilliant staff, and gazed upon the towers, the golden domes of the vast city, while his lieutenants and his troops shouted, in wild enthusiasm, “Moscow! Moscow!”
The Emperor was heard to mutter, “It was time.” Apparently his greatest enterprise had been crowned with success. His long triumphant march toward Asia would rank with Alexander’s. Russia would now sue for peace, terms would be easily arranged, Continental unity would follow, and England would find herself an island once more—not an empire.
But it was soon apparent that Moscow was not like Berlin or Vienna. Here were no crowds of spectators to gaze upon the victors. The streets were silent, empty. The houses were deserted. Here was a vast city without citizens. The French were dumfounded. Napoleon refused at first to believe: “the thing was preposterous.” The conquerors marched through the streets, the military bands playing, “To us is the victory,” but the vast solitude awed them as they marched.