War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
General Sorbier to stand ready and, when ordered, to advance with all the guards artillery howitzers deployed against one or other of the enemy entrenchments.
Prince Poniatowski to advance on the village through the wood during the bombardment, and turn the enemy's position.
General Compans to advance through the wood and take the first fortification.
With the battle thus under way further instructions will be issued in response to enemy movements.
Bombardment on the left flank to begin as soon as the cannons on the right are heard firing. Marksmen from the divisions of Morand and the Viceroy to open heavy fire the moment they see the attack on the right wing has begun.
Viceroy to take the village (Borodino) and cross by the three bridges, then keep level with Morand's and Gerard's divisions, all three advancing on the redoubt under his command and coming into line with the rest of our troops.
All this to be carried out in good order, protecting the reserve as far as possible.
Imperial Camp at Mozhaysk,
6th September (25th August Old Style) 1812.
These arrangements, obscure and confused as they are in this written form - if we can take time off from worshipping Napoleon's military genius and look at his actual instructions - boil down to four points, four basic instructions, none of which was carried out, or ever could have been.
In the disposition the first thing said is: Batteries installed in locations chosen by Napoleon, along with cannons of Pernetti and Fouche, coming into line with them, one hundred and two pieces in all, to open fire and bombard the Russian fleches and redoubts. This could never have happened because from the locations set by Napoleon the Russian earthworks were out of range, and these one hundred and two pieces were wasting their fire until the nearest officer ignored Napoleon's instructions and had them moved forward.
The second instruction was: Poniatowski to advance through the wood, take the village and turn the Russian left flank. This was not done, and never could have been, because as Poniatowski advanced through the wood towards the village he found his way blocked by Tuchkov, which meant that he could not and did not turn the Russian position.
The third instruction was: General Compans to advance through the wood and take the first fortification. Compans' division did not take the first fortification; it was forced back because as it emerged from the wood it had to re-form under a hail of grapeshot, which Napoleon knew nothing about.
The fourth instruction was: Viceroy to take the village (Borodino) and cross by the three bridges, then keep level with Morand's and Gerard's divisions (nothing about when and where they were to move), all three advancing on the redoubt under his command and coming into line with the rest of our troops.
As far as we can tell, not from the meanderings of this senseless prose but from the Viceroy's actual attempts to carry out his orders, he was supposed to advance through Borodino and attack the redoubt from the left, while the divisions of Morand and Gerard advanced simultaneously from the front.
All of this, like the other instructions, failed to come about, and never could have come about. The Viceroy did get through Borodino, but was driven back at the Kolocha, and could make no further progress. The divisions under Morand and Gerard failed to take the redoubt; they were driven back, and at the end of the day the redoubt was seized by the cavalry (something almost certainly unforeseen by Napoleon, and never reported to him).
So it turns out that not one of the Emperor's instructions was carried out, and none of them ever could have been. But in the disposition it was stated that with the battle under way further instructions would be issued in response to enemy movements, so you might well imagine that all necessary arrangements were actually made by Napoleon in mid-battle. But this was not the case, and never could have been, because during the battle Napoleon was so far away that (as it later emerged) he could not have known how things were going, and not a single instruction issued by him during the battle could possibly have been carried out.
CHAPTER 28
Many historians tell us that the French failed to win the battle of Borodino because Napoleon had a cold, and if he hadn't had a cold the orders he issued before and during the battle would have marked him out even more clearly as a genius, and Russia would have been destroyed and the face of the world would have been changed. To those historians who maintain that Russia was formed by the will of a single man, Peter the Great, and France was turned from a republic into an empire, and the French army marched into Russia all by the will of a single man, Napoleon, the argument that Russia retained power because Napoleon had a bad cold on the 26th of August must seem highly persuasive.
If it was a matter of Napoleon's will determining whether or not there was to be a battle at Borodino, a matter of his will determining that such-and-such orders were given, then clearly the cold that had an effect on the manifestation of his will might have been the saving of Russia, though that means that the valet who forgot to give Napoleon his waterproof boots on the 24th must have been the saviour of Russia. By that reckoning the conclusion is inescapable, as inescapable as the conclusion arrived at jokingly by Voltaire (without knowing who the joke was on) that the Massacre of St Bartholomew's Night was due to Charles IX suffering a touch of indigestion. But to anyone who cannot accept that Russia was formed by the will of a single man, Peter the Great, and the French empire was created, and the war with Russia set up, by the will of a single man, Napoleon, this kind of argument will seem not just weak and unreasonable, but contrary to all human experience. The question of what causes historical events will call for a very different answer, that the course of worldly events is determined on high and it depends on the complex combined will of all the participants, Napoleon's influence on these particular events being no more than peripheral and fictitious.
Strange as it may seem on the face of it, this proposition that the Massacre of St Bartholomew's Night, for which the order was given by Charles IX, was not the result of his will - he only thought he was ordering it to happen - and that the slaughter of eighty thousand men at Borodino was not the result of Napoleon's will (even though he gave the order for battle to commence and other orders for it to continue), and he only thought he was ordering it to happen - strange as this proposition may seem, the same human dignity which tells me that each one of us is neither more nor less of a man than the great Napoleon forces us towards this kind of solution to the problem, and historical research provides abundant justification for it.
At the battle of Borodino Napoleon never fired a shot and didn't kill anyone. All of that was done by the soldiers; hence he did no killing of his own.
The soldiers of the French army set out to slay Russian soldiers at Borodino not because of Napoleon's orders, but because they wanted to. The whole army, Frenchmen, Italians, Germans and Poles, hungry men dressed in rags and weary from the long campaign, took one look at the army that barred the way to Moscow and came to one conclusion: if the wine was uncorked it had to be drunk. If at that point Napoleon had told them not to fight the Russians they would have killed him and gone on to fight the Russians, because by now it had become inevitable.
When they heard Napoleon's proclamation offering consolation for getting themselves maimed or killed in the knowledge that posterity would say they had been at the battle before Moscow, they shouted, 'Long live the Emperor!' in the same way that they had shouted, 'Long live the Emperor!' at the sight of the picture with the little boy skewering the earth on a stick, and would have shouted, 'Long live the Emperor!' at any bit of nonsense he might care to pronounce. They had nothing left to do but shout, 'Long live the Emperor!' and go off to fight in order to get themselves the victor's food and rest in Moscow. It was not as a result of orders from Napoleon, therefore, that they set about the business of killing their fellow men.
And it was not Napoleon who determined the course of the battle, because none of his instructions were carried out, and during the battle he had no knowledge of
Napoleon's health on the 26th of August gains no greater significance from the quite unjustified contention of some writers that his cold rendered his instructions and dispositions on the day less effective than before. The instructions reproduced above are certainly no worse, indeed they are better, than many a similar disposition that had brought him victory in the past. The instructions he is supposed to have issued in mid-battle were certainly no worse than any orders he had given before; they were much the same as usual. But these instructions and dispositions are now seen as inferior, for the simple reason that Borodino was the first battle that Napoleon didn't win. The finest and profoundest of orders and dispositions will seem very weak, and open to criticism with a knowing air by every last student of military history, when the battle they were written for hasn't been won. Conversely, the stupidest of orders and dispositions will seem very shrewd, and serious authors will write volume after volume to demonstrate their virtues, if only the battle they were written for has been won. The dispositions put together by Weierother at Austerlitz have given rise to perfect examples of works like this, and even they have come in for some criticism, if only for their perfectionism, their excess of detail.
At Borodino Napoleon played his part as the representative of authority as well as he had done in previous battles, perhaps even better. He did nothing to impede the progress of the battle, he gave ear to reasonable opinion, he never lost his grip or contradicted himself, he didn't panic or run away; he just used his good sense and military experience to stay calm, behave with dignity and go through the motions of exercising masterful control.
CHAPTER 29
On his return from a second meticulous tour of inspection Napoleon said, 'The board's set up. The game begins tomorrow.'
He ordered some punch, sent for de Bausset and began to talk to him about Paris, and the various changes he had in mind for the Empress's household. His recollection of the tiniest details of court life came as a surprise to the prefect.
He showed interest in all sorts of silly little things, he made jokes about de Bausset's wanderlust and he carried on a casual conversation like some famous surgeon, experienced and self-confident, chatting away as he rolls his sleeves up and dons his apron while the patient is being strapped to the operating-table. 'My hands and my brain have everything under control. When it's time to start I'll do the job better than anyone, but for the moment I can crack a few jokes. The more jokes you hear from me and the calmer I am, the greater your confidence, peace of mind and admiration for my genius should be.'
Napoleon drained a second glass of punch, and then went off to get some rest in anticipation of the serious business that surely awaited them in the morning.
He was so preoccupied with this business that he could not get to sleep, and although he could feel his cold getting worse in the damp night air he got up at three o'clock and walked out into the main section of the tent, sneezing violently. He asked whether the Russians had gone away. No, the enemy camp-fires were still in the same places. He nodded with approval.
The duty adjutant came in.
'Well, Rapp, do you think our business will go well today?' Napoleon asked him.
'Without a shadow of doubt, sire!' answered Rapp.
Napoleon looked at him.
'Sire, do you remember what you were kind enough to say to me at Smolensk?' said Rapp. 'When the wine is uncorked it has to be drunk.'
Napoleon frowned, and sat there in silence for some time with his head propped up on one hand.
'This poor army,' he suddenly burst out. 'It's gone down a lot since Smolensk. Lady Luck is nothing but a whore, Rapp. I've always said so, and now it's coming home to me. But the guards, Rapp, the guards are all still there, aren't they?'
'Yes, sire,' replied Rapp.
Napoleon took a lozenge, put it in his mouth, and looked at his watch. He didn't feel sleepy, morning was still a long way away, and he could not kill time by giving any orders because they had all been given and were now being carried out.
'Have the guards regiments been issued with biscuits and rice?' Napoleon asked sternly.
'Yes, sire.'
'Are you sure about the rice?'
Rapp responded by saying that he had passed on the Emperor's orders about the rice, but Napoleon shook his head unhappily, as if he could not trust them to have carried out his order. A servant came in with punch. Napoleon called for another glass for Rapp, and stood there sipping at his own in silence. 'I can't taste anything or smell anything,' he said, sniffing at the glass. 'I'm fed up with this cold. They go on and on about medicine. What good is medicine when they can't cure a cold? Corvisart gave me these lozenges, but they're not doing me any good. What can they cure? They can't cure anything. Our body is a machine for living. That's the way it's organized, and that's its nature. The life inside should be left alone. Let the life inside defend itself. It will get on better like that, instead of paralysing it and clogging it with remedies. Our body is like a perfect watch with only a fixed time to run. The watchmaker has no power to get inside it, he can only fumble with it blindfold. Our body is a machine for living, and that's all there is to it.' And once launched into defining things - Napoleon had a weakness for coming out with definitions - he seemed suddenly impelled to produce a new one. 'Do you know, Rapp, what the military art is?' he asked. 'It's the art of being stronger than the enemy at a given moment. That's all it is.'
Rapp made no reply.
'Tomorrow we shall have Kutuzov to deal with,' said Napoleon. 'Let's see what happens! You remember - he was in command at Braunau, and not once in three weeks did he get on a horse and go round his entrenchments! Let's see what happens!'
He looked at his watch. It was still only four o'clock. He didn't feel sleepy, the punch was finished, and there was still nothing to do. He got to his feet, paced up and down, put on a warm overcoat and hat and walked out of his tent. The night was dark and clammy; you could almost feel the dampness seeping down from on high. Near by, the French guards' camp-fires had burned down, but far away you could see the Russian fires burning smokily all down their line. The air was still, but there was a faint stirring and a clear rumble of early-morning movement as the French troops began the business of taking up their positions.
Napoleon paced up and down outside his tent, glanced across at the fires, listened to the sounds of movement, and as he was walking past he stopped in front of a tall guardsman in a shaggy cap on sentry-go outside his tent, who drew himself up like a big black post when he saw the Emperor.
'Been long in the service?' he asked, with that mixture of a military man's straight talk and forced camaraderie that he always affected when talking to soldiers. This soldier gave his answer.
'Ah! An old campaigner! Has your regiment had any rice?'
'Yes, your Majesty.'
Napoleon nodded and walked away.
By half-past five Napoleon was on his way over to the village of Shevardino.
It was getting light, and the sky had cleared. A solitary stormcloud lay in the eastern sky. The deserted camp-fires were going out in the pale light of morning.
A single deep cannon-shot roared out on the right. The boom whooshed past and died away in the stillness. Several minutes passed. A second shot rang out, then a third, and the air shook. Then came the solemn boom of the fourth and a fifth, not far away on the right.
The first shots had barely died away when another one came, then another and another, more and more, some blending into a single sound, others bursting in alone
Napoleon and his entourage continued their way to the Shevardino redoubt, where he got down from his horse. The game had begun.
CHAPTER 30
When he got back to Gorki from visiting Prince Andrey, Pierre told his groom to get the horses ready and call him early the following morning, and then he fell fast asleep behind a screen in a corner made available by Boris.
By the time Pierre was properly awake next morning the hut was empty. The little window-panes were rattling in their frames. His groom was there at his side, giving him a good shake. 'Your Excellency! Your Excellency! Your Excellency! . . .' the groom kept repeating over and over again as he shook him by the shoulder without looking at him, with little apparent hope of ever waking him up.
'Eh? Have they started? Is it time?' said Pierre, coming round.
'Hark at the guns, sir,' said the groom, himself an old soldier. 'All the gentlemen have gone, and his Serene Highness went past ages ago.'
Pierre threw on some clothes and ran out on to the porch. It was a bright, fresh, dewy, cheerful morning. The sun had just broken through a covering of cloud, and its half-filtered rays poured down through the gaps, streaming over the rooftops opposite to light up the dew-sodden dust on the road, the walls of the houses, the fence-palings and Pierre's horses standing in front of their hut. Outside, the cannons boomed louder. An adjutant and his Cossack passed by at a sharp trot.
'Come on, Count, it's time!' cried the adjutant.
Telling his groom to come on behind with a horse, Pierre walked down the street and over towards the mound which had given him such a good view of the battlefield yesterday. There on top stood a crowd of military men. Pierre could hear staff-officers speaking French, and he soon saw Kutuzov, with his grey head, topped with a red and white cap, hunched down into his shoulders. Kutuzov was looking through a telescope down the main road that stretched before him.