Читать книгу 1812 - Adam Zamoyski - Страница 12

On the evening of 25 March 1811, as he was scouring the night sky from his makeshift observatory in Viviers, Honoré Flaugergues discovered a comet in the now defunct constellation of Argo Navis. He saw it again the following day and began to track its progress. The comet was low in the south and was moving northward and brightening. On 11 April it was spotted by Jean Louis Pons in Marseille, and on 12 May by William J. Burchell in Cape Town. The comet soon became visible to the naked eye, and by the late autumn it lit up the night sky from Lisbon to Moscow. People gazed up at it, some with interest, many more with a sense of foreboding.¹

This seemed to increase the further east one went in Europe. ‘As they contemplated the brilliant comet of 1811,’ recalled a parish priest there, ‘the people of Lithuania prepared themselves for some extraordinary event.’ Another inhabitant of the province never forgot how everyone got up from dinner and went out to gaze on the comet and then talk of ‘famine, fire, war and bloodshed’. In Russia, many linked the comet to a plague of fires which swept the land that summer and autumn, and a blind terror gripped them as they looked on it. ‘I remember fixing a long look on it on an autumn moonless night, and I was struck with childlike fear,’ wrote the son of a Russian landowner. ‘Its long, bright tail, which seemed to wave with the movement of the wind and to leap from time to time, filled me with such horror, that in the days that followed I did not look up at the sky at night, until the comet had disappeared.’

In St Petersburg, Tsar Alexander himself became fascinated by the phenomenon, and discussed it with John Quincy Adams, then American ambassador at his court. He claimed to be interested only in the scientific aspects of the comet, and made fun of all those superstitious souls who saw in it a harbinger of catastrophe and war.²

But he was either being disingenuous or he was deluding himself, for the machinery of war had already clanged into gear, and its wheels were by now turning with such momentum that it would have taken a complete climbdown on the part of Napoleon or himself to stop them. Observing events from Vienna, Metternich was in no doubt that ‘the supreme struggle’ between the ancien régime and what he termed Napoleon’s revolutionary designs was now imminent. ‘Whether he triumphs or succumbs, in either case the situation in Europe will never be the same again,’ he wrote to his imperial master on 28 December 1811. ‘This terrible moment has unfortunately been brought on us by the unpardonable conduct of Russia.’³

‘I am far from having lost hope of a peaceful settlement,’ Napoleon wrote to his brother Jérôme on 27 January 1812. ‘But as they have adopted towards me the unfortunate procedure of negotiating at the head of a strong and numerous army, my honour demands that I too negotiate at the head of a strong and numerous army. I do not wish to open the hostilities, but I wish to put myself in a position to repulse them.’⁴ He therefore needed to field an army vast enough to intimidate Alexander or, failing that, to force him into submission with a rapid and shattering blow. There was an element of haste involved, as he had to count with the possibility of a Russian first strike at any moment. Fortunately, he was not starting from scratch.

Following the treaty of Tilsit, a body of French troops remained in the Grand Duchy of Warsaw while the local forces were being organised, along with garrisons in key fortresses in Prussia such as Danzig, Glogau, Stettin and Küstrin. After the 1809 war with Austria, Napoleon left further garrisons at Düsseldorf, Hanau, Fulda, Hanover, Magdeburg, Bayreuth, Salzburg and Ratisbon. In May 1810 he strengthened all the forces on German soil and organised them into the Armée d’Allemagne, under Marshal Davout. In the autumn of 1810, following the Russian troop build-up along the border of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, Napoleon reinforced this further. He also began moving units stationed in France closer to Germany, concentrating his artillery parks at Strasbourg, Metz, Wesel and La Fère, and withdrawing selected units from Spain.

In the spring of 1811, fearing a Russian invasion of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, Napoleon ordered the Poles to mobilise 50,000 men. He had already ordered his stepson Prince Eugène de Beauharnais, Viceroy of Italy, to place the Army of Italy on a war footing. Now he instructed his brother Jérôme and other allied monarchs to mobilise the armies of Westphalia, Württemberg, Bavaria, Baden and the lesser German states. He meant to put together a force of half a million men with which to confront Russia. He began calling up men in France on a massive scale, and gendarmes combed the countryside for the tens of thousands of deserters who regularly sneaked away from the colours and went to ground. They would be rounded up and fed back into the army, along with the new recruits.

The French army was organised in divisions, which were usually made up of four regiments. A regiment of foot normally consisted of about 3800 men, with a hundred officers. It had up to five battalions, one of which was always at the depot, and these battalions consisted of six companies each, of which one would be a company of grenadiers, one of voltigeurs (skirmishers) and four of fusiliers. A company was supposed to number 140 men, including two drummer boys, and was commanded by one captain, one lieutenant, one sub-lieutenant, a sergeant major and a dozen other sergeants and corporals. To accommodate the new influx, Napoleon added a fifth and then a sixth battalion to existing regiments. The recruits were spread through the old battalions as well as the new ones, which were fortified with a sprinkling of veterans.

Napoleon attended personally to every detail. His correspondence in these matters reveals a staggering degree of familiarity with every brigade, regiment and battalion, where they were stationed, where they were due to move to, who commanded them, how many reinforcements they needed, where these could be drawn from, and how soon they could be made available. No detail was too insignificant for him. He attended to lettering on standards and badges, to the quality and calibre of arms and equipment, to numbers of horses and types of supply wagon required. To deal with the many rivers he would need to negotiate, he formed a bridging train equipped with pontoon boats and other necessaries at Danzig.

Curiously enough, the one thing he paid no attention to, now or at any stage in his military career, was the army’s basic weaponry. The artillery still used the Gribeauval gun and gun carriage, designed fifty years before, while the footsoldier’s weapon was a muzzle-loading flintlock musket of a design that had remained virtually unchanged for a hundred years. It was an extremely primitive instrument. To load it, a soldier would take a cartridge, consisting of a paper cylinder containing a measure of powder and a lead ball. He would bite off the end of the cartridge, keeping the ball in his mouth, sprinkle a little of the powder in the priming pan, and close the flap; he would then pour the remainder of the powder down the barrel, spit the ball in after it, screw up the paper into a wad, and ram the whole lot down to the bottom of the barrel with his ramrod. A trained soldier could reload and be ready to fire in one and a half minutes.

The musket was notoriously inaccurate even at short range and had a number of faults which could be dangerous. The black powder in the cartridges fouled the inside of the barrel, so that after a dozen or so shots it became increasingly difficult to ram anything down it, while the progress of the bullet being fired was also slowed. The powder in the pan might ignite, producing the usual plume of smoke, but the charge in the barrel might not go off – the proverbial ‘flash in the pan’. In the din of battle, the soldier might not register that his charge had not gone off, and set about loading up with another cartridge. If the first one then went off, the barrel was likely to explode in his face. But that was considered just another of the hazards of war. Footsoldiers were expendable, and there were always plenty more where they came from.

The relentless build-up of forces continued through the autumn and winter of 1811 and into the spring of 1812. The twenty-year-old son of a wine-grower in Burgundy presented himself at seven o’clock on the morning of 3 January 1812 at the Préfecture in Lyon, and a couple of days later he was in the barracks of the 17th Light Infantry at Strasbourg. ‘The very morning after our arrival, we were uniformed and armed, and, without giving us time to breathe, the corporals set about inculcating in us the principles of our new trade,’ he remembered. ‘They were in a hurry …’⁵

Raising the troops was only part of the task: the men had to be fed, clothed and armed. On campaign, the French soldier was supposed to receive a daily ration of: 550 grams of biscuit, either thirty grams of rice or sixty grams of dried vegetables, 240 grams of meat or two hundred grams of salt beef and lard, some salt, a quarter of a litre of wine, a sixth of a litre of brandy and, in hot weather, a shot of vinegar. By January 1812 Napoleon had amassed fifty-day supplies of biscuit, flour, salted meat and dried vegetables for 400,000 men and forage for 50,000 horses at Danzig. This was on top of the million rations stored at Stettin and Küstrin.⁶

The enterprise also required the provision of hundreds of thousands of items of clothing, of boots of various kinds, and of small arms. It entailed the purchase of tens of thousands of horses for the cavalry, which had to be trained to carry a heavily armed rider and respond to his intentions as he wielded his sword, lance or carbine. They also had to be habituated to the roar of cannon and the clash of arms, by being led and then ridden, again and again, towards lines of men shouting, banging cooking pots and letting off guns in their direction, and to be rewarded each time with a carrot.

Napoleon prepared massive supplies of ammunition, setting up depots at Magdeburg, Danzig, Küstrin, Glogau and Stettin. By May 1812 he would have amassed 761,801 rounds of ammunition for his field artillery – over a thousand rounds per gun for some calibres of the more than eight hundred cannon he was putting into the field. This did not include the siege train of heavy guns which he had built up there so as to be able to reduce enemy fortresses. Such figures do not compare at all badly with the preparations made by a highly industrialised imperial Germany a hundred years later.

As he was expecting Russia to launch her attack at any moment, his first preoccupation was to secure the line of the Vistula and strengthen the garrisons of the fortresses at Modlin, Torun and Zamosc. This would allow his main forces to concentrate in the first couple of months of 1812. He hoped to have over 400,000 men in the area of northern Germany and Poland by the middle of March, which would allow him to deal with any Russian strike, even if it were accompanied by outbreaks of German national insurrection.⁷

The situation in Germany had been growing increasingly tense for some time, and patriots watched the preparations for war on both sides with mounting excitement. The Russian embassy in Vienna was orchestrating agitation throughout Germany. Colonel Chernyshev was recruiting disaffected Prussian officers and working on a plan to found a German Legion in Russia which, in the event of war, would enlist all prisoners of German nationality taken from Napoleon. He was also investigating the possibility of creating a fifth column of sympathisers all over Germany who would be ready to rise up when a Russian army marched in.⁸

Reports from French military commanders and diplomatic agents in Germany were full of stories of plots by secret societies, and warned Napoleon that the hardships imposed by the Continental System were driving people to desperation. In the autumn of 1811 Prussia appeared to be on the brink of revolt, with the King and his pro-French cabinet barely able to control the nationalists. The Prussian army was surreptitiously mobilising its reserves. In Westphalia, Jérôme was growing nervous. ‘The ferment has reached the highest degree, and the wildest hopes are fostered and cherished with enthusiasm,’ he reported to Napoleon on 5 December 1811. ‘People are quoting the example of Spain, and if it comes to war, all the lands lying between the Rhine and the Oder will be embraced by a vast and active insurrection.’ Napoleon did not believe the Germans had the stomach for popular insurrection and thought the secret societies ridiculous. But he instructed Davout to be ready to march on Berlin at a moment’s notice in order to disarm the Prussian army.⁹

The army Napoleon was assembling would be the largest the world had ever seen.^* It included soldiers from almost every nation of Europe. Its main body was made up of Frenchmen, Belgians, Dutchmen, Italians and Swiss from the areas incorporated into the Empire. This was supplemented by contingents from every vassal or allied state. The presence of such a wide variety of nationalities inevitably raised questions of cohesion, quite apart from motivation or loyalty. But with the exception of the Polish and the Austrian corps, all the contingents were commanded by French generals. And most were imbued with French military culture, and fortified by the reputation of French arms. ‘The belief that they were invincible made them invincible, just as the belief that they were sure to be beaten in the end paralysed the enemy’s spirits and efforts,’ in the words of Karl von Funck, a German officer attached to the French imperial staff.¹⁰

‘Three-quarters of the nations which were about to take part in the struggle had interests diametrically opposed to those which had decided the opening of hostilities,’ wrote Lieutenant Count von Wedel, a German serving in the 9th Polish Lancers. ‘There were many who in their heart of hearts wished the Russians success, and yet at the moment of danger, all fought as though they had been defending their own homes.’¹¹ The urge to emulate was strong, and there was the magic presence of Napoleon.

‘Anyone who was not alive in the time of Napoleon cannot imagine the extent of the moral ascendancy he exerted over the minds of his contemporaries,’ wrote a Russian officer, adding that every soldier, whatever side he was on, instinctively conjured a sense of limitless power at the very mention of his name. Wedel agreed. ‘Whatever their personal feelings towards the Emperor may have been, there was nobody who did not see in him the greatest and most able of all generals, and who did not experience a feeling of confidence in his talents and the value of his judgement … The aura of his greatness subjugated me as well, and, giving way to enthusiasm and admiration, I, like the others, shouted "Vive l’Empereur!"’¹²

The largest non-French contingent were the Poles, who numbered some 95,000. Many of them had been fighting under French colours since the late 1790s and were enthusiastic allies. In 1807 Napoleon created an élite regiment of Polish Chevau-Légers in the Imperial Guard as a token of how much he valued his Polish troops. In the same year the Grand Duchy of Warsaw began recruiting its own army, and raised the Legion of the Vistula, an auxiliary corps which was to fight for the French. These troops had distinguished themselves in various theatres, and had no difficulty in operating alongside the French. The only problem was that Napoleon’s insistence on the Grand Duchy raising more troops than such a small state could support, either in human or economic terms, meant that the barrel had been scraped. Men who were physically unfit had been drafted, uniforms had been skimped on, training was inadequate, and nobody was paid after June 1812. But at least their loyalty to the cause and devotion to Napoleon were never in question.¹³

The next largest contingent were the Italians, grouped in the Army of Italy, commanded by Prince Eugène, and the Neapolitan army of Joachim Murat. The Army of Italy was a fine force of 45,000 – 25,000 Italians organised on French lines, highly disciplined, with a strong esprit de corps, particularly in units such as the Royal Guard, and 20,000 Frenchmen, many of them from Savoy and Provence, stationed in Italy. It was also one of the more motivated contingents, inspired by national pride. As he looked at all the nationalities making up the Grande Armée, one young Italian officer’s mind drifted to the days of ancient Rome, whose legions were equally made up of disparate elements, and he felt a great sense of pride at being part of it.¹⁴

The same could not be said for the Neapolitan contingent. This was a largely worthless force, poorly trained and undermined by the existence of numerous rival secret societies. Whenever the troops were moved out of barracks they deserted in large numbers and formed bands of brigands who would terrorise the surrounding countryside.

Most of the German troops in the Grande Armée were of high quality. The 24,000 Bavarians were Napoleon’s most reliable allies, having fought under his banner several times. The smaller Badenese forces, organised along French lines, had taken part in the campaign of 1805 against Austria and Russia, so they fitted relatively well into the composite army. The 20,000-strong Saxon contingent was disciplined and also marched quite comfortably in the ranks of the Grande Armée, to which it brought some of the best cavalry.¹⁵

The 17,000 men of the Westphalian contingent did not, according to Captain Johann von Borcke from Cassel, contain many Napoleonic enthusiasts. The Principal Minister of Westphalia reported that the men were loyal, but hated the idea of being sent far away more than they feared being killed. ‘An active resistance on their part seems impossible to me,’ he wrote to Maret in January 1812, ‘but the weight of their inertia could, in the first stages, cause trouble, mainly through large-scale desertion.’¹⁶

On the whole, the German contingents were loyal to Napoleon. Many of the troops were fired by the idea of rolling the Russians back out of Europe, and felt a strong urge to prove the valour of German arms. Even if they had no love for the French, they tended to be more antagonistic to Germans from other parts of the country, with most of the troops from the Confederation of the Rhine showing a marked dislike of the Prussians. Finally there was military honour. ‘I know that the war we are fighting is contrary to the interests of Prussia,’ Colonel Ziethen of the Prussian Hussars said to a Polish officer, ‘but I will, if necessary, let myself be hacked to pieces at your side, for military honour commands it.’¹⁷

The Prussians were brought into the Grande Armée under the terms of the treaty signed between Napoleon and Frederick William on 24 February 1812, and made up an auxiliary corps of 20,000 men. There was also an Austrian contingent, under Prince Karl von Schwarzenberg, made up of 35,000 men. Most of them had last seen action against the French and the Poles, and while soldiers fight when and whom they are ordered to, they were not enthusiastic allies. Because of the political stance of their ruler and their commander, they were to play an insignificant part in the campaign.

Amongst the lesser contingents the four Swiss regiments should be singled out as being of very high quality and well tempered by a couple of years’ service in Spain and Portugal. There were two battalions of Spanish volunteers from the Joseph-Napoléon Regiment, in distinctive white uniforms with green facings, which had spent the past year under Davout in Germany. They were commanded by Colonel Doreille, a Provençal who did not speak French. There were also many Spaniards, some three thousand of them, in the ranks of the second and third regiments of General d’Alorna’s Portuguese Legion, which numbered around five thousand men in total, uniformed in brown with red facings and English-style shakos. ‘The men, who are highly motivated, make up a fine unit, on which I believe we can count,’ General Clarke, Napoleon’s Minister of War reported. And finally there were two regiments of Croats, numbering just over 3500 men.¹⁸

The worth of all these troops was hugely enhanced by the presence of Napoleon. Not only because he lent them the value of his reputation as a military genius, but also because he had the gift of drawing the best out of them. He was masterly in his treatment of soldiers, whom he captivated with his bonhomie and his sometimes brusque lack of ceremony. He always knew which regiments had fought where, and when he reviewed them, he would walk up to older rankers and ask them if they remembered the Pyramids, Marengo, Austerlitz, or wherever it was that particular unit had distinguished itself. They would swell with pride, feeling that he had recognised them, and they could feel the envy of the younger men all around them. With the younger soldiers Napoleon adopted a solicitous manner. He would enquire if they were eating enough, whether their equipment was up to scratch, sometimes asking to see the contents of their haversacks and engaging them in conversation. He was well known for tasting the soldiers’ stew and bread whenever he passed a camp kitchen, so they felt his interest was genuine.

During a review shortly before the campaign, Napoleon stopped in front of Lieutenant Calosso, a Piedmontese serving in the 24th Chasseurs à Cheval, and said a few words to him. ‘Before that, I admired Napoleon as the whole army admired him,’ he wrote. ‘From that day on, I devoted my life to him with a fanaticism which time has not weakened. I had only one regret, which was that I only had one life to place at his service.’ Such a level of devotion was by no means rare, and transcended nationality. But Napoleon could not be everywhere, and the larger the army, the more diluted his presence would be.¹⁹

Napoleon’s determination to assemble such a vast force was bound to have a negative effect on its quality. Louis François Lejeune, a senior officer on Berthier’s staff, was detailed to inspect the troops already on the Oder and the Vistula in March 1812, and was bombarded with complaints from the commanders of the units he visited that half of the recruits they were receiving were useless.

He mentioned this to General Dejean, who was organising the cavalry in the area. Dejean told him that up to a third of the horses he had been sent were too weak to carry their burden, while nearly half of the men were too puny to wield a sabre. ‘I was not happy with the way the cavalry was being organised,’ echoed Colonel de Saint-Chamans, commanding the 7th Chasseurs à Cheval. ‘Young recruits who had been sent from depots in France before they had learnt to ride a horse or any of the duties of a horseman on the march or on campaign, were mounted on arrival in Hanover on very fine horses which they were not capable of managing.’ The result was that by the time they reached Berlin, the majority of the horses were suffering from lameness or saddle sores induced by the riders’ bad posture or their failure to take care in saddling up. More than one officer noted that recruits were not taught about checking whether their saddle was rubbing or how to detect the early signs of saddle sores.²⁰

Sergeant Auguste Thirion of the 2nd Cuirassiers had a rosier view. ‘Such fine cavalry has never been seen, never had regiments reached such high complements, and never had horsemen been so well mounted,’ he wrote, adding that their leisurely march through Germany had actually hardened the horses and men. But the cuirassiers were the élite of the French cavalry. And good horses could be a problem in themselves, according to Captain Antoine Augustin Pion des Loches of the Foot Artillery of the Guard. ‘Our teams were of the best, and the equipment left nothing to be desired, but everyone was agreed that the horses were too tall and too strongly built, and unsuited to supporting hardship and lack of abundant nourishment,’ he wrote on leaving the depot at La Fère on 2 March 1812.²¹

Napoleon was not particularly bothered by such a state of affairs. ‘When I put 40,000 men on horseback I know very well that I cannot hope for that number of good horsemen, but I am playing on the morale of the enemy, who learns through his spies, by rumour or through the newspapers that I have 40,000 cavalry,’ he told Dejean when the latter reported his findings. ‘Passing from mouth to mouth, this number and the supposed quality of my regiments, whose reputation is well known, are both rather exaggerated than diminished; and the day I launch my campaign I am preceded by a psychological force which supplements the actual force that I have been able to furnish for myself.’²²

The real strength of the French army was that all the men, even the lower ranks, were free citizens with a strongly patriotic education in the new public schools behind them. They could think as well as fight, and if they showed initiative as well as bravery they could gain promotion and rise very high. But Napoleon’s habit of rewarding mere bravery with promotion eventually led to units being commanded by men who lacked the necessary competence. ‘Among the generals of rapid promotion,’ wrote Karl von Funck, ‘there were only a few who had the gift of leadership; many lacked even the most elementary military knowledge … In the madness of daring they had learnt how to fling their intrepid forces against the foe, but they had no notion of judging a position, of even the first principles of operations, of withdrawing in good order if the first onset should fail …’ There was also a multitude of young officers drawn from the Parisian jeunesse dorée who had obtained promotion through string-pulling, who had mostly joined cavalry regiments because they liked the uniforms or the staff because they wanted to be close to Napoleon. Many were clearly not up to the job.²³

Much of the revolutionary ardour that had fired the French armies of the 1790s and early 1800s had been quenched by 1812. ‘As the uniforms grew more embroidered and gathered decorations the hearts they covered grew less generous,’ as one observer put it. Napoleon himself sensed a lack of enthusiasm for the forthcoming campaign. ‘People have always followed him with excitement; he is surprised that they are not prepared to end their careers with the same dash with which they embarked on them,’ noted his secretary Baron Fain.²⁴ But it was he who had turned his commanders into what they were.

‘From the moment that Napoleon came to power, military mores changed rapidly, the union of hearts disappeared along with poverty and the taste for material well-being and the comforts of life crept into our camps, which filled up with unnecessary mouths and with numerous carriages,’ in the words of General Berthézène. ‘Forgetting the fortunate experiences of his immortal campaigns in Italy, of the immense superiority gained by habituation to privation and contempt for superfluity, the Emperor believed it to be to his advantage to encourage this corruption.’²⁵ He gave his marshals and his generals titles, lands and pensions on the civil list. He demanded of them that they keep palaces in Paris in which they were to entertain at the appropriate level. As members of his court, they must maintain a glittering entourage, as he increasingly did himself. This high living softened them up, and they became less and less willing to give up their warm beds and fine palaces in fashionable parts of Paris, not to mention their wives and mistresses, for the rigours of the bivouac and the uncertainties of war. This was particularly true of the marshals.

‘They were most of them between the ages of thirty-five and forty-five when, after a stormy youth, a man begins to look for a settled domesticity,’ wrote von Funck. ‘They could hardly expect to win a higher degree of fame, but might well jeopardise the reputations they had made.’ A good example was Napoleon’s chief of staff Marshal Berthier, Prince de Neuchâtel, a plump man of settled tastes in his mid-fifties with a magnificent apanage and an adored and adoring mistress in Paris.²⁶

At the same time the lavish rewards given to those who distinguished themselves in battle were an irresistible incentive to soldiers and officers right up to the rank of general, who all saw in war the possibility of making their fortune. A simple soldier might obtain promotion, which would give him a higher salary and status, or the Légion d’Honneur, which meant pension rights. A general might obtain the coveted marshal’s baton, which signified fame and fortune, and a ducal title to boot.

There was also the opportunity of making some money on the side through the more or less legitimate acquisition of precious items. Looting as such was not countenanced, but in the course of campaigns in distant lands it was possible to purchase things at knockdown prices and bring them home without paying any duties. Valuables found on the field of battle or in the enemy camp were fair game, as was anything that might be left masterless through the fortunes of war. As this great campaign to end all campaigns was being prepared, a good many felt that it would be their last opportunity to get rich.

There were also a great many for whom war furnished the prospect of adventure, the opportunity to distinguish themselves or a last chance to share in the glory. ‘At last I was going to find myself at some of those battles which are destined to change the course of history; I was going to fight under the eyes of so many of the illustrious warriors who filled the world with their renown, Murat, Ney, Davout, Prince Eugène, and so many others, and under the eyes of the greatest of them all, under the eyes of Napoleon!’ remembered a Creole from Saint-Domingue. ‘There I would have my chance to distinguish myself, there I would be able to obtain decorations and promotion of which I would be proud and which I could hold up to the world! Before a year was out I would be chef de bataillon; I would be colonel by the end of the campaign, and after that …’²⁷

Most of Napoleon’s entourage, beginning with Caulaincourt and including close friends and collaborators such as General Duroc, repeatedly beseeched him not to go down the road of war. Many of them warned that Russia could not be defeated in conventional ways. Napoleon had read the accounts of Charles XII’s disastrous foray into Russia almost exactly a hundred years before, beginning with the famous one by Voltaire, who wrote that ‘there is no ruler who, in reading the life of Charles XII, should not be cured of the folly of conquest’. Napoleon dismissed such arguments with annoyance. ‘His capitals are as accessible as any others, and when I have the capitals, I hold everything,’ he snapped at one of his diplomats who had been pointing out the perils of going to war with Alexander. But he had a habit of making statements he did not believe in, as though he were trying to convince himself by convincing others. And the special nature of the forthcoming campaign was not lost on him. ‘If people think that I am going to make war in the old way, they are very much mistaken,’ he is alleged to have declared.²⁸

He certainly prepared himself for the forthcoming campaign as he had prepared for no other. For one thing, realising that he would be operating in detached corps at some distance from each other, he decided to make an example of General Dupont, whose capitulation at Bailén had been such a humiliation. Before setting off for Russia, Napoleon had him retried and given a harsher sentence.²⁹

He had officers who spoke German and Polish or Russian attached to every unit, while others were made to take Russian lessons so they could interrogate prisoners and gather intelligence, and he set up a network of intelligence agents fanning out from Poland into Russia’s western provinces. He ordered his librarian to supply him with books on the Russian army, and on the topography of Lithuania and Russia, which he studied, paying particular attention to roads, rivers, bogs and forests. As early as April 1811 he commissioned the Dépot de la Guerre to engrave a series of large-scale maps of western Russia.³⁰

Not the least daunting aspect of this campaign was that the enemy frontier, on the river Niemen, lay about 1500 kilometres from Paris. Thus a length of time and a huge effort were required to move up men and supplies before the campaign could begin. And the Russian capital cities of St Petersburg and Moscow lay another 650 and 950 kilometres respectively beyond that. An army marching from Paris to Moscow without fighting would take up to six months to cover the distance. To make matters worse, the last three hundred of the 1500 kilometres up to the Niemen lay through poor, infertile areas of Prussia and Poland, while the first five hundred of the next 950 kilometres were in even less abundant country. It was, moreover, criss-crossed by rivers, mottled with bogs and forests, and contained large areas of wilderness.

Napoleon’s tactic had always been to move fast, concentrate large numbers of men at the right point before the enemy knew what was happening, knock out their army with a decisive blow and force them to make peace on his terms. But he would have to work hard to achieve it in this theatre of operations.

His armies had in the past been able to move fast because they travelled light, a tradition originally forged of necessity. The French revolutionary armies of the 1790s had been hurriedly improvised and had not possessed a proper commissariat. Since they regarded enemy territory as belonging to tyrants and enemies of the revolution, they lived by looting. With time, they began to buy what they needed, but as they paid with largely worthless paper assignats, it amounted to the same thing. Napoleon disapproved of looting, and brought in administrators who would provide for the army’s needs in a more methodical way. They bought what was needed, paying in real money or receipts that were generally honoured, when peace had been signed, by the government of the defeated country. But the fact remained that French armies lived off the fat of the land they moved through. And as they moved fast, they did not stay long enough to exhaust its resources.

Whenever the administrative machine broke down or failed to provide the necessities, the French reverted to the old system of ‘la maraude’. Every so often a company or similar unit would send out eight or ten men under a corporal into the areas alongside the line of march. These little bands would fan out through local villages and farms, paying for what they took, and rejoin their company a few days later, their carts laden with grain, eggs, chickens, vegetables and other victuals, driving before them a small herd of cattle. From time to time the main force would halt in order to allow the foraging parties to catch up.

As the French armies were conscripted, a company usually contained a baker, a cobbler, a tailor’s apprentice, a cooper, a blacksmith and a wheelwright, so not only could they bake their own bread, but also, given an occasional purchase of cloth, leather, iron and other raw materials, they could mend their uniforms, boots, equipment and wagons.

For everything else, there was the cantinière or suttler-woman, something of an institution, unique to the French army. ‘These ladies usually started out by following a soldier who had inspired tender feelings in them,’ explained Lieutenant Blaze de Bury. ‘You would see them first walking along with a cask of eau-de-vie slung round their neck. A week later, they would be comfortably seated on a horse someone had found, draped, to the right, to the left, in front, behind, with casks, saveloys, cheeses and sausages in precarious equilibrium. A month would not pass that a cart harnessed with a couple of horses and filled with provisions of every kind would not be testifying to the growing prosperity of their enterprise.’³¹

In camp, the tent of the cantinière became the company café, where officers would come to sit around and play cards or gossip. It was also a bank, lending money and giving credit. On campaign, the cantiniére went to untold lengths to stock up on all the little necessities which could transform a soldier’s life by guaranteeing survival or just relief. She always had a little something for a soldier who had money or whom she trusted to pay her when he got some. She usually had a protector, sometimes a husband but mostly just a temporary mate who was able to provide her with security and help in return for being supplied with victuals, and sometimes a change of protector would entail a financial transaction between the two men involved.

These ladies saw themselves as part of the army, and despised anyone not in uniform. They viewed the dangers of war as part and parcel of their trade. If they fell prey to enemy marauders and lost everything, they would shrug it off as hard luck and start again. Some would even take kegs of brandy onto the battlefield and give free slugs to the men, and not a few were wounded in this act.

When a regiment moved out on campaign, it was followed by the cantinière and her small gang of purveyors, the servants of the officers, a dozen washerwomen and a horse thief or two. As it went, it picked up petty criminals for whom things had got too hot in the locality, young men looking for adventure, stray dogs and the odd whore. ‘While the regiment marched along the road in good order, or wherever it was sent, this mounted rabble – or to give it its proper name, this robber band – swarmed round it to left and to right, in front and behind, and used the regiment as a base,’ wrote Lieutenant von Wedel. ‘They all carried large and small haversacks and bottles in which to hide their plunder, and they were armed with swords, pistols, even carbines if they could lay hands on such a weapon. These bands often roamed far and boldly on the flank, and if they ever got back again, brought supplies for the troops. The work was dangerous and many lost their lives – in agony if they fell into the clutches of the infuriated peasants … This swarm of plunderers also formed a sort of flank patrol for the army, because if ever they bumped into enemy detachments they came flying back with great haste and loud shouts.’³²

Such tactics liberated French commanders from the necessity of hauling heavy stores along with them, which gave them the edge of speed over their more traditionally organised enemies. They worked well in the rich, densely populated, fertile and commercially developed areas of northern Italy and southern Germany, where small distances, good roads, frequent towns and an abundance of every kind of resource meant that a comparatively large army could indeed move fast and provision itself as it went. It even worked in the less populous and more arid expanses of Spain. It could not work in Russia, where the distances were huge, the roads primitive, towns few and far between, the countryside thinly populated and poor in resources. Nobody saw this more clearly than Napoleon. ‘One can expect nothing of the country, and we shall have to carry everything with us,’ he warned Davout.³³

The commissariat he had founded, under the command of General Matthieu Dumas, was methodically stockpiling arms, munitions, uniforms, shoes, saddles, as well as food rations on a vast scale. But the problem of how to move these supplies about represented a logistical nightmare. ‘The Polish war does not resemble the war in Austria at all; without means of transport, everything becomes worthless,’ Napoleon wrote to Prince Eugène in December.³⁴

The French army’s supply system, such as it was, was in the hands of a transport corps, a military formation called le train, founded in 1807. In the course of 1811 and 1812 Napoleon gradually expanded the size of the train to twenty-six battalions, with 9336 wagons drawn by some 32,500 horses, with six thousand spare horses. He put in hand the construction of heavy ox-drawn wagons which could be used to haul flour to the front line, where the oxen would be consumed along with the flour. He realised that these heavy wagons, capable of carrying one and a half tons, would have difficulty in negotiating all but the best roads. He therefore equipped eight of the battalions with lighter wagons, but he was reluctant to increase the number of these, as that would only increase the number of horses needed: four horses could draw a heavy wagon laden with one and a half tons, but two horses could not manage a lighter wagon laden with three-quarters of a ton. And horses needed to be fed.

This detail was to be the crucial element in the forthcoming campaign. It even decided the timing of its start: as there could be no question of hauling fodder for the horses as well as supplies for the men along with the army, the horses would have to be fed on the new harvest of hay and oats (cavalrymen were issued with sickles for this purpose), and none of these crops would be ripe for harvesting before the end of June at the very earliest. This meant that while he had to begin moving up his troops in the inclement marching conditions of the winter and early spring, Napoleon could not open his campaign until the middle of the summer, which left him with very little time in which to achieve his victory.

On 1 January 1812 François Dumonceau, a Belgian officer in the Lancers of Berg, was on parade in the courtyard of the Tuileries. ‘The Imperial Guard, the Young and the Old, appeared more numerous and imposing than ever,’ he recalled. The band of the Polish Chevau-Légers played, led by a kettle drummer magnificently mounted, caparisoned, uniformed and plumed. There were also two Illyrian infantry regiments, ‘whose fine and robust bearing drew admiring looks’. They had just marched up from the Balkans so that they could see their Emperor before they joined the Grande Armée in Germany, and they were hosted and shown around Paris by the Grenadiers of the Old Guard. A few days later Dumonceau and his men set off from their regimental depot in Versailles, marching through Brussels, Maastricht, Osnabrück, Hanover, Brunswick, Magdeburg and Stettin to Danzig.³⁵

Soon the whole of Germany was covered in troops marching eastwards and northwards. There were files of cavalry: cuirassiers in helmets and breastplates, chasseurs in green uniforms and bearskin kolpaks, lancers in blue and crimson with four-cornered Polish caps, dragoons in helmets and uniforms of every hue. There were long convoys of artillery, in lighter blue with black shakos. And above all, endless columns of infantry.

The French footsoldier wore a standard cutaway blue coat, white breeches or trousers, white or black gaiters and a shako or a bearskin bonnet. It was not a uniform designed for convenience, let alone comfort. ‘I have never understood why under Napoleon, when we were constantly at war, the soldier should have been forced to wear the ghastly breeches, which, by pressing in on the hams at the back of the knee, prevented him from walking easily,’ wrote Lieutenant Blaze de Bury. ‘On top of that, the knee, which was covered by a long buttoned-up gaiter, was further strangled by another garter which pressed on the garter of the breeches. Underneath, the long undergarment, held in place with a cord, further restricted the movement of the knee. It was, all in all, a conspiracy by three thicknesses of cloth, two rows of buttons one on top of the other, and three garters to paralyse the efforts of the bravest of marchers.’ He wore shoes with unfashionably square toes – to prevent theft or the resale of military shoes to civilians. These shoes were supposed to last for a thousand kilometres of march, but usually fell apart far sooner.³⁶

Every footsoldier carried a heavy musket 1.54 metres long without its bayonet – taller than Napoleon. On a bandolier slung across his shoulder he carried his giberne, a stiff leather case containing two packets of cartridges, a phial of oil, a screwdriver and other gun-cleaning implements. On his back he carried a pack made of stiffened cowhide, in which he carried a couple of shirts, collars, kerchiefs, canvas gaiters, cotton stockings, a spare pair of shoes, a sewing kit, clothes brush, pipeclay and bootwax, as well as a supply of hard tack, flour and bread. His rolled-up overcoat and other items of kit were strapped to the top of the backpack.

Most of the ornamental features of the uniform were absent on the march. Shakos and bearskins disappeared into oilcloth covers and strapped to the backpack or hung off it, plumes were put away in waxed canvas containers which were strapped to the swordbelt or bandolier. In their place the men donned the bonnet de police, a flat forage cap with a tasselled bob hanging down the side. Breeches and gaiters were replaced by baggy canvas trousers, and the Old Guard wore long blue tunics instead of their white-faced uniforms.

The men marched at the pas ordinaire, of seventy-six steps a minute, or the pas accéléré, of a hundred steps a minute. A usual day’s march was between fifteen and thirty-five kilometres, but in a forced march they could cover anything up to fifty-five kilometres. Every unit, every horse, every man had a route prescribed for them, was instructed where to stop for the night and provided with food and accommodation. On arrival at a given stop, the unit’s farrier or some other non-commissioned officer would go to the local military commander or commissaire des guerres and collect a visa from him. He would then take this to the town hall, where he would be given a full list of billets for the men, and chits for forage and victuals. These chits were then taken to the appointed provisioning merchants, and the unit would collect its supplies for that evening and the next day. The system worked like clockwork in France and Germany, with the required supplies ready and waiting for the tired men when they reached their prescribed halt.³⁷

There were nevertheless jams of horses, cannon and wagons of every description, of straggling men and single platoons as well as large units snaking along over several miles of road, of officers in private carriages hurrying to join their units, and couriers trying to gallop in both directions, particularly at the crossings over the Rhine, at Wesel, Cologne, Bonn, Coblenz and Mainz.

Those still in Paris tried to make the most of what was a particularly glittering carnival, and the Comte de Lignières, Lieutenant in the Chasseurs of the Guard, found his order to march out when he returned to barracks at four in the morning after a ball. The notaries of Paris were kept busy writing wills, and some followed the departing troops, along with wives and lovers who wanted to see their dear ones for a few days longer.³⁸

The Army of Italy came over the Brenner pass and down into the valley of the Danube, where it met up with the contingent from Bavaria. ‘Our march was like a brilliant and agreeable military promenade,’ noted Cesare de Laugier, a native of Elba. Lieutenant von Meerheimb found leavetaking from his native Saxony gloomy and tearful, but the mood changed as soon as they were on the march. ‘From the very first stage, every face reflected universal gaiety, and good humour reigned along the whole length of the snaking column,’ he wrote. They were warmly greeted as they trudged through southern Germany, and had many an amorous adventure along the way.³⁹

‘The ancients had a great advantage over us in that their armies were not tailed by a second army of penpushers,’ Napoleon frequently complained in conversation.⁴⁰ He was not referring to the vastly expanded commissariat he had organised for this campaign.

From the moment he became ruler of France, he had begun to take elements of government as well as a military staff off to war with him. And when he became Emperor, he began to take a skeleton court. For this campaign, whose scope and duration were both so imponderable, he decided to take his whole life-support system, the means to exercise government, and everything that was necessary to make a grand show wherever he went and whatever he might decide to do – be it enthroning a King of Poland or having himself crowned Emperor of India. Napoleon’s equipage, under the command of the Master of the Horse Caulaincourt, consisted of some four hundred horses and forty mules carrying or drawing tents, camp beds, office, wardrobe, pharmacy, silver plate, kitchen, cellar and forges as well as an assortment of secretaries, officials, servants, cooks and grooms; and 130 saddle horses for the Emperor and his aides-de-camp. His baggage included a great many tents that would never be pitched and equipment that would never be unpacked. There was also a force of a hundred postillions attached to him. These would be posted along the road of the advance to supervise the rapid movement of mail between Paris and Napoleon’s headquarters by passing over the locked boxes containing his state correspondence from one courier or estafette to another.⁴¹

The exigencies of administrating the army, its support services and the Emperor’s entourage had exponentially inflated the numbers. Thousands of commissaires and lesser administrators, each with his servants, followed in the wake of the army. ‘The military administration was full of people who had never seen war and who said out loud that they had come on this campaign in order to make their fortune,’ complained Colonel de Saint-Chamans. Colonel Henri-Joseph Paixhans ranted against these people, ‘penetrated with the importance of their little persons’, who together with their minions made up ‘a cloaca of ineptitude, baseness and rapacity’.⁴²

Every officer had at least one carriage, in which he kept spare uniforms, arms, maps, books and personal effects, driven by his own coachman and attended by at least one servant. General Compans, commanding the 5th Division in Davout’s 1st Corps, was by no means a sybarite; if anything, he was one of the plainer-living officers. Yet his establishment at the outset of the campaign consisted of his maitre d’hôtel Louis; his valet de chambre Duval; his coachman Vaud; two valets, Simon and Louis; his gendarme Trouillet; three other servants, Pierre, Valentin and Janvier; five carriage horses, half a dozen saddle horses and some thirty draught horses; one carriage and several wagons.⁴³

The unknown object of the campaign, the uncertainty as to where it might take them and the likelihood of great distances to be covered made many an officer stock up against all eventualities, and more than one had new uniforms made for himself and new liveries for his servants. Faced with the possibility of a long absence from home, many, particularly among the Italians, appear to have defied Napoleon’s strict instructions and brought their wives along.⁴⁴

As they marched across Germany and Poland, they had no clear vision of the aims of the campaign, and this dampened the ardour of some. ‘The future was vague, and its fortunes very distant; there was no inkling, nothing to exercise the imagination, nothing to awaken the enthusiasm,’ wrote Colonel Boulart of the artillery of the Guard. This did not stop them from speculating wildly. Jakob Walter of Stuttgart thought they were being marched up to some Baltic port, from which they would be shipped to Spain. But most looked eastwards. ‘We thought that, together with the Russians, we would cross the deserts of that great empire in order to go and attack England in her possessions in India,’ wrote General Pouget. One soldier wrote home saying they were marching to England, overland through Russia.⁴⁵

‘Some said that Napoleon had made a secret alliance with Alexander, and that a combined Franco-Russian army was going to march against Turkey and take hold of its possessions in Europe and Asia; others said that the war would take us to the Great Indies, to chase out the English,’ remembered one volunteer.^* ‘All of this concerned me very little: whether we were going to go to the right, to the left or straight ahead was a matter of indifference to me, as long as I could enter into the real world,’ wrote another. ‘My friends, my childhood companions were almost all in the army; they were already storing up glory. Was I, useless burden on this earth, to remain with my hands crossed to shamefully await their return? I was eighteen years old.’ Another, a fusilier in the 6th Regiment of the Guard, wrote to his parents telling them he was off to the ‘the Great Indies’ or possibly ‘Egippe’. ‘As for me, I don’t care either way; I would like us to go the ends of the earth.’ He spoke for many.⁴⁶

* The term ‘grande armée’ in French military parlance designated the main operational force in any given campaign, but in the popular imagination the two words are above all associated with the great force that marched on Moscow.

* Curiously enough, Alexander’s secret information services had also reported to him that Napoleon’s plan was to knock out Russia with a quick blow, force peace on her and then, using 100,000 Russian auxiliaries, march on Constantinople, thence to Egypt, and then to Bengal.⁴⁷