War and Peace
under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt and come into
line with the rest of the forces.
All this must be done in good order (le tout se fera avec ordre et
méthode) as far as possible retaining troops in reserve.
The Imperial Camp near Mozháysk,
September, 6, 1812.
These dispositions, which are very obscure and confused if one allows
oneself to regard the arrangements without religious awe of his genius,
related to Napoleon’s orders to deal with four points—four different
orders. Not one of these was, or could be, carried out.
In the disposition it is said first that the batteries placed on the
spot chosen by Napoleon, with the guns of Pernetti and Fouché; which
were to come in line with them, 102 guns in all, were to open fire and
shower shells on the Russian flèches and redoubts. This could not be
done, as from the spots selected by Napoleon the projectiles did not
carry to the Russian works, and those 102 guns shot into the air until
the nearest commander, contrary to Napoleon’s instructions, moved them
forward.
The second order was that Poniatowski, moving to the village through the
wood, should turn the Russian left flank. This could not be done and
was not done, because Poniatowski, advancing on the village through the
wood, met Túchkov there barring his way, and could not and did not turn
the Russian position.
The third order was: General Campan will move through the wood to seize
the first fortification. General Campan’s division did not seize the
first fortification but was driven back, for on emerging from the wood
it had to reform under grapeshot, of which Napoleon was unaware.
The fourth order was: The vice-King will occupy the village (Borodinó)
and cross by its three bridges, advancing to the same heights as
Morand’s and Gérard’s divisions (for whose movements no directions are
given), which under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt
and come into line with the rest of the forces.
As far as one can make out, not so much from this unintelligible
sentence as from the attempts the vice-King made to execute the orders
given him, he was to advance from the left through Borodinó to the
redoubt while the divisions of Morand and Gérard were to advance
simultaneously from the front.
All this, like the other parts of the disposition, was not and could
not be executed. After passing through Borodinó the vice-King was driven
back to the Kolochá and could get no farther; while the divisions of
Morand and Gérard did not take the redoubt but were driven back, and the
redoubt was only taken at the end of the battle by the cavalry (a thing
probably unforeseen and not heard of by Napoleon). So not one of
the orders in the disposition was, or could be, executed. But in the
disposition it is said that, after the fight has commenced in this
manner, orders will be given in accordance with the enemy’s movements,
and so it might be supposed that all necessary arrangements would be
made by Napoleon during the battle. But this was not and could not be
done, for during the whole battle Napoleon was so far away that, as
appeared later, he could not know the course of the battle and not one
of his orders during the fight could be executed.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Many historians say that the French did not win the battle of Borodinó
because Napoleon had a cold, and that if he had not had a cold the
orders he gave before and during the battle would have been still more
full of genius and Russia would have been lost and the face of the world
have been changed. To historians who believe that Russia was shaped
by the will of one man—Peter the Great—and that France from a republic
became an empire and French armies went to Russia at the will of one
man—Napoleon—to say that Russia remained a power because Napoleon had a
bad cold on the twenty-fourth of August may seem logical and convincing.
If it had depended on Napoleon’s will to fight or not to fight the
battle of Borodinó, and if this or that other arrangement depended on
his will, then evidently a cold affecting the manifestation of his will
might have saved Russia, and consequently the valet who omitted to bring
Napoleon his waterproof boots on the twenty-fourth would have been
the savior of Russia. Along that line of thought such a deduction is
indubitable, as indubitable as the deduction Voltaire made in jest
(without knowing what he was jesting at) when he saw that the Massacre
of St. Bartholomew was due to Charles IX’s stomach being deranged. But
to men who do not admit that Russia was formed by the will of one man,
Peter I, or that the French Empire was formed and the war with Russia
begun by the will of one man, Napoleon, that argument seems not merely
untrue and irrational, but contrary to all human reality. To the
question of what causes historic events another answer presents itself,
namely, that the course of human events is predetermined from on
high—depends on the coincidence of the wills of all who take part in the
events, and that a Napoleon’s influence on the course of these events is
purely external and fictitious.
Strange as at first glance it may seem to suppose that the Massacre of
St. Bartholomew was not due to Charles IX’s will, though he gave the
order for it and thought it was done as a result of that order; and
strange as it may seem to suppose that the slaughter of eighty thousand
men at Borodinó was not due to Napoleon’s will, though he ordered the
commencement and conduct of the battle and thought it was done
because he ordered it; strange as these suppositions appear, yet human
dignity—which tells me that each of us is, if not more at least not less
a man than the great Napoleon—demands the acceptance of that solution of
the question, and historic investigation abundantly confirms it.
At the battle of Borodinó Napoleon shot at no one and killed no one.
That was all done by the soldiers. Therefore it was not he who killed
people.
The French soldiers went to kill and be killed at the battle of Borodinó
not because of Napoleon’s orders but by their own volition. The whole
army—French, Italian, German, Polish, and Dutch—hungry, ragged, and
weary of the campaign, felt at the sight of an army blocking their road
to Moscow that the wine was drawn and must be drunk. Had Napoleon then
forbidden them to fight the Russians, they would have killed him and
have proceeded to fight the Russians because it was inevitable.
When they heard Napoleon’s proclamation offering them, as compensation
for mutilation and death, the words of posterity about their having been
in the battle before Moscow, they cried “Vive l’Empereur!” just as they
had cried “Vive l’Empereur!” at the sight of the portrait of the boy
piercing the terrestrial globe with a toy stick, and just as they would
have cried “Vive l’Empereur!” at any nonsense that might be told them.
There was nothing left for them to do but cry “Vive l’Empereur!” and go
to fight, in order to get food and rest as conquerors in Moscow. So it
was not because of Napoleon’s commands that they killed their fellow
men.
And it was not Napoleon who directed the course of the battle, for none
of his orders were executed and during the battle he did not know what
was going on before him. So the way in which these people killed one
another was not decided by Napoleon’s will but occurred independently of
him, in accord with the will of hundreds of thousands of people who took
part in the common action. It only seemed to Napoleon that it all took
place by his will. And so the question whether he had or had not a
cold has no more historic interest than the cold of the least of the
transport soldiers.
Moreover, the assertion made by various writers that his cold was
the cause of his dispositions not being as well-planned as on former
occasions, and of his orders during the battle not being as good as
previously, is quite baseless, which again shows that Napoleon’s cold on
the twenty-sixth of August was unimportant.
The dispositions cited above are not at all worse, but are even
better, than previous dispositions by which he had won victories. His
pseudo-orders during the battle were also no worse than formerly, but
much the same as usual. These dispositions and orders only seem worse
than previous ones because the battle of Borodinó was the first Napoleon
did not win. The profoundest and most excellent dispositions and orders
seem very bad, and every learned militarist criticizes them with looks
of importance, when they relate to a battle that has been lost, and the
very worst dispositions and orders seem very good, and serious people
fill whole volumes to demonstrate their merits, when they relate to a
battle that has been won.
The dispositions drawn up by Weyrother for the battle of Austerlitz were
a model of perfection for that kind of composition, but still they were
criticized—criticized for their very perfection, for their excessive
minuteness.
Napoleon at the battle of Borodinó fulfilled his office as
representative of authority as well as, and even better than, at other
battles. He did nothing harmful to the progress of the battle; he
inclined to the most reasonable opinions, he made no confusion, did not
contradict himself, did not get frightened or run away from the field of
battle, but with his great tact and military experience carried out his
role of appearing to command, calmly and with dignity.
CHAPTER XXIX
On returning from a second inspection of the lines, Napoleon remarked:
“The chessmen are set up, the game will begin tomorrow!”
Having ordered punch and summoned de Beausset, he began to talk to him
about Paris and about some changes he meant to make in the Empress’
household, surprising the prefect by his memory of minute details
relating to the court.
He showed an interest in trifles, joked about de Beausset’s love of
travel, and chatted carelessly, as a famous, self-confident surgeon who
knows his job does when turning up his sleeves and putting on his apron
while a patient is being strapped to the operating table. “The matter is
in my hands and is clear and definite in my head. When the time comes to
set to work I shall do it as no one else could, but now I can jest, and
the more I jest and the calmer I am the more tranquil and confident you
ought to be, and the more amazed at my genius.”
Having finished his second glass of punch, Napoleon went to rest before
the serious business which, he considered, awaited him next day. He
was so much interested in that task that he was unable to sleep, and
in spite of his cold which had grown worse from the dampness of the
evening, he went into the large division of the tent at three o’clock in
the morning, loudly blowing his nose. He asked whether the Russians had
not withdrawn, and was told that the enemy’s fires were still in the
same places. He nodded approval.
The adjutant in attendance came into the tent.
“Well, Rapp, do you think we shall do good business today?” Napoleon
asked him.
“Without doubt, sire,” replied Rapp.
Napoleon looked at him.
“Do you remember, sire, what you did me the honor to say at Smolénsk?”
continued Rapp. “The wine is drawn and must be drunk.”
Napoleon frowned and sat silent for a long time leaning his head on his
hand.
“This poor army!” he suddenly remarked. “It has diminished greatly since
Smolénsk. Fortune is frankly a courtesan, Rapp. I have always said so
and I am beginning to experience it. But the Guards, Rapp, the Guards
are intact?” he remarked interrogatively.
“Yes, sire,” replied Rapp.
Napoleon took a lozenge, put it in his mouth, and glanced at his watch.
He was not sleepy and it was still not nearly morning. It was impossible
to give further orders for the sake of killing time, for the orders had