War And Peace

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 afterwards, 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.