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The French army melted away at the uniform rate of a mathematical
progression; and that crossing of the Berezina about which so
much has been written was only one intermediate stage in its destruction,
and not at all the decisive episode of the campaign. If so much
has been and still is written about the Berezina, on the French
side this is only because at the broken bridge across that river
the calamities their army had been previously enduring were suddenly
concentrated at one moment into a tragic spectacle that remained
in every memory, and on the Russian side merely because in Petersburg-
far from the seat of war- a plan (again one of Pfuel's) had been
devised to catch Napoleon in a strategic trap at the Berezina
River. Everyone assured himself that all would happen according
to plan, and therefore insisted that it was just the crossing
of the Berezina that destroyed the French army. In reality the
results of the crossing were much less disastrous to the French-
in guns and men lost- than Krasnoe had been, as the figures show.
The sole importance of the crossing of the Berezina lies in
the fact that it plainly and indubitably proved the fallacy of
all the plans for cutting off the enemy's retreat and the soundness
of the only possible line of action- the one Kutuzov and the general
mass of the army demanded- namely, simply to follow the enemy
up. The French crowd fled at a continually increasing speed and
all its energy was directed to reaching its goal. It fled like
a wounded animal and it was impossible to block its path. This
was shown not so much by the arrangements it made for crossing
as by what took place at the bridges. When the bridges broke down,
unarmed soldiers, people from Moscow and women with children who
were with the French transport, all- carried on by vis inertiae-
pressed forward into boats and into the ice-covered water and
did not, surrender.
That impulse was reasonable. The condition of fugitives and
of pursuers was equally bad. As long as they remained with their
own people each might hope for help from his fellows and the definite
place he held among them. But those who surrendered, while remaining
in the same pitiful plight, would be on a lower level to claim
a share in the necessities of life. The French did not need to
be informed of the fact that half the prisoners- with whom the
Russians did not know what to do- perished of cold and hunger
despite their captors' desire to save them; they felt that it
could not be otherwise. The most compassionate Russian commanders,
those favorable to the French- and even the Frenchmen in the Russian
service- could do nothing for the prisoners. The French perished
from the conditions to which the Russian army was itself exposed.
It was impossible to take bread and clothes from our hungry and
indispensable soldiers to give to the French who, though not harmful,
or hated, or guilty, were simply unnecessary. Some Russians even
did that, but they were exceptions.
Certain destruction lay behind the French but in front there
was hope. Their ships had been burned, there was no salvation
save in collective flight, and on that the whole strength of the
French was concentrated.
The farther they fled the more wretched became the plight
of the remnant, especially after the Berezina, on which (in consequence
of the Petersburg plan) special hopes had been placed by the Russians,
and the keener grew the passions of the Russian commanders, blamed
one another and Kutuzov most of all. Anticipation that the failure
of the Petersburg Berezina plan would be attributed to Kutuzov
led to dissatisfaction, contempt, and ridicule, more and more
strongly expressed. The ridicule and contempt were of course expressed
in a respectful form, making it impossible for him to ask wherein
he was to blame. They did not talk seriously to him; when reporting
to him or asking for his sanction they appeared to be fulfilling
a regrettable formality, but they winked behind his back and tried
to mislead him at every turn.
Because they could not understand him all these people assumed
that it was useless to talk to the old man; that he would never
grasp the profundity of their plans, that he would answer with
his phrases (which they thought were mere phrases) about a "golden
bridge," about the impossibility of crossing the frontier
with a crowd of tatterdemalions, and so forth. They had heard
all that before. And all he said- that it was necessary to await
provisions, or that the men had no boots- was so simple, while
what they proposed was so complicated and clever, that it was
evident that he was old and stupid and that they, though not in
power, were commanders of genius.
After the junction with the army of the brilliant admiral
and Petersburg hero Wittgenstein, this mood and the gossip of
the staff reached their maximum. Kutuzov saw this and merely sighed
and shrugged his shoulders. Only once, after the affair of the
Berezina, did he get angry and write to Bennigsen (who reported
separately to the Emperor) the following letter:
"On account of your spells of ill health, will your excellency
please be so good as to set off for Kaluga on receipt of this,
and there await further commands and appointments from His Imperial
Majesty."
But after Bennigsen's departure, the Grand Duke Tsarevich
Constantine Pavlovich joined the army. He had taken part in the
beginning of the campaign but had subsequently been removed from
the army by Kutuzov. Now having come to the army, he informed
Kutuzov of the Emperor's displeasure at the poor success of our
forces and the slowness of their advance. The Emperor intended
to join the army personally in a few days' time.
The old man, experienced in court as well as in military affairs-
this same Kutuzov who in August had been chosen commander in chief
against the sovereign's wishes and who had removed the Grand Duke
and heir- apparent from the army- who on his own authority and
contrary to the Emperor's will had decided on the abandonment
of Moscow, now realized at once that his day was over, that his
part was played, and that the power he was supposed to hold was
no longer his. And he understood this not merely from the attitude
of the court. He saw on the one hand that the military business
in which he had played his part was ended and felt that his mission
was accomplished; and at the same time he began to be conscious
of the physical weariness of his aged body and of the necessity
of physical rest.
On the twenty-ninth of November Kutuzov entered Vilna- his
"dear Vilna" as he called it. Twice during his career
Kutuzov had been governor of Vilna. In that wealthy town, which
had not been injured, he found old friends and associations, besides
the comforts of life of which he had so long been deprived. And
he suddenly turned from the cares of army and state and, as far
as the passions that seethed around him allowed, immersed himself
in the quiet life to which he had formerly been accustomed, as
if all that was taking place and all that had still to be done
in the realm of history did not concern him at all.
Chichagov, one of the most zealous "cutters-off"
and "breakers-up," who had first wanted to effect a
diversion in Greece and then in Warsaw but never wished to go
where he was sent: Chichagov, noted for the boldness with which
he spoke to the Emperor, and who considered Kutuzov to be under
an obligation to him because when he was sent to make peace with
Turkey in 1811 independently of Kutuzov, and found that peace
had already been concluded, he admitted to the Emperor that the
merit of securing that peace was really Kutuzov's; this Chichagov
was the first to meet Kutuzov at the castle where the latter was
to stay. In undress naval uniform, with a dirk, and holding his
cap under his arm, he handed Kutuzov a garrison report and the
keys of the town. The contemptuously respectful attitude of the
younger men to the old man in his dotage was expressed in the
highest degree by the behavior of Chichagov, who knew of the accusations
that were being directed against Kutuzov.
When speaking to Chichagov, Kutuzov incidentally mentioned
that the vehicles packed with china that had been captured from
him at Borisov had been recovered and would be restored to him.
"You mean to imply that I have nothing to eat out of....
On the contrary, I can supply you with everything even if you
want to give dinner parties," warmly replied Chichagov, who
tried by every word he spoke to prove his own rectitude and therefore
imagined Kutuzov to be animated by the same desire.
Kutuzov, shrugging his shoulders, replied with his subtle
penetrating smile: "I meant merely to say what I said."
Contrary to the Emperor's wish Kutuzov detained the greater
part of the army at Vilna. Those about him said that he became
extraordinarily slack and physically feeble during his stay in
that town. He attended to army affairs reluctantly, left everything
to his generals, and while awaiting the Emperor's arrival led
a dissipated life.
Having left Petersburg on the seventh of December with his
suite- Count Tolstoy, Prince Volkonski, Arakcheev, and others-
the Emperor reached Vilna on the eleventh, and in his traveling
sleigh drove straight to the castle. In spite of the severe frost
some hundred generals and staff officers in full parade uniform
stood in front of the castle, as well as a guard of honor of the
Semenov regiment.
A courier who galloped to the castle in advance, in a troyka
with three foam-flecked horses, shouted "Coming!" and
Konovnitsyn rushed into the vestibule to inform Kutuzov, who was
waiting in the hall porter's little lodge.
A minute later the old man's large stout figure in full-dress
uniform, his chest covered with orders and a scarf drawn round
his stomach, waddled out into the porch. He put on his hat with
its peaks to the sides and, holding his gloves in his hand and
walking with an effort sideways down the steps to the level of
the street, took in his hand the report he had prepared for the
Emperor.
There was running to and fro and whispering; another troyka
furiously up, and then all eyes were turned on an approaching
sleigh in which the figures of the Emperor and Volkonski could
already be descried.
From the habit of fifty years all this had a physically agitating
effect on the old general. He carefully and hastily felt himself
all over, readjusted his hat, and pulling himself together drew
himself up and, at the very moment when the Emperor, having alighted
from the sleigh, lifted his eyes to him, handed him the report
and began speaking in his smooth, ingratiating voice.
The Emperor with a rapid glance scanned Kutuzov from head
to foot, frowned for an instant, but immediately mastering himself
went up to the old man, extended his arms and embraced him. And
this embrace too, owing to a long-standing impression related
to his innermost feelings, had its usual effect on Kutuzov and
he gave a sob.
The Emperor greeted the officers and the Semenov guard, and
again pressing the old man's hand went with him into the castle.
When alone with the field marshal the Emperor expressed his
dissatisfaction at the slowness of the pursuit and at the mistakes
made at Krasnoe and the Berezina, and informed him of his intentions
for a future campaign abroad. Kutuzov made no rejoinder or remark.
The same submissive, expressionless look with which he had listened
to the Emperor's commands on the field of Austerlitz seven years
before settled on his face now.
When Kutuzov came out of the study and with lowered head was
crossing the ballroom with his heavy waddling gait, he was arrested
by someone's voice saying:
"Your Serene Highness!"
Kutuzov raised his head and looked for a long while into the
eyes of Count Tolstoy, who stood before him holding a silver salver
on which lay a small object. Kutuzov seemed not to understand
what was expected of him.
Suddenly he seemed to remember; a scarcely perceptible smile
flashed across his puffy face, and bowing low and respectfully
he took the object that lay on the salver. It was the Order of
St. George of the First Class.
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