Russia Against Napoleon (38 page)

A foolish letter from his sister Catherine attacking his performance drove Alexander over the edge, his reply illustrating just how strained his feelings were at this critical time. After pointing out to Catherine that it hardly made sense to criticize him both for undermining his generals by his presence with the army and for not taking over command and saving Moscow, he wrote that if his abilities were not sufficient for the role which fate had given him, that was not his fault. Nor was the poor quality of so many of his military and civilian lieutenants.

With such poor backing as I have, lacking adequate means in all areas, and guiding such a vast machinery in a time of terrible crisis and against an infernal opponent who combines the most awful evil with the most transcendent talent, and is backed by the whole power of Europe and by a group of talented lieutenants who have been honed by twenty years of war and revolution – in common justice is it surprising if I meet with reverses?

But the sting of Alexander’s letter was in the tail, where he wrote that he had been warned that enemy agents would even seek to turn his family against him, with Catherine herself as their first choice. Even the very self-confident grand duchess was shocked by this response and Alexander subsequently relented by adding, ‘If you find me too touchy, begin by putting yourself in the cruel position where I am.’
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At a time when his own blood relations were proving worse than useless, Alexander did get loyal support from his wife, the sensitive and beautiful Empress Elizabeth. She remained calm and confident throughout these weeks, writing to her mother that ‘in truth we are prepared for everything except negotiations. The further Napoleon advances the less he should believe that any peace is possible. That is the unanimous view of the emperor and all classes of the population…each step he advances in this immense Russia brings him closer to the abyss. Let us see how he copes with the winter.’ She added that peace would be the beginning of Russia’s destruction but fortunately it was impossible: ‘The emperor does not even conceive of the idea and even if he did want to do this, he would not be able to.’
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If Alexander drew comfort from his wife and from walking in the groves on Kamennyi Ostrov, his main solace was religion. The emperor had been brought up in Catherine II’s court on a combination of Enlightenment rationalism and aristocratic hedonism. The Orthodox clergy who tutored him in their religion left little mark. But the sensitive and idealistic sides of his personality increasingly inclined him towards seeking answers to life’s problems in Christianity. He had in fact been reading the Bible for some time before Napoleon’s invasion but amidst the tremendous strains of 1812 his religious sense grew much stronger. Alexander would read the Bible every day, underlining in pencil the parts he found most relevant. To his old friend and fellow-convert to Christian belief, Prince Aleksandr Golitsyn, he wrote even in early July 1812 that ‘in moments such as those in which we find ourselves, I believe that even the most hardened person feels a return towards his creator…I surrender myself to this feeling, which is so habitual for me and I do so with a warmth, an abandon, much greater than in the past! I find there my only consolation, my sole support. It is this sentiment alone that sustains me.’
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It was in this mood that Alexander heard the news of Moscow’s loss and the city’s subsequent destruction by fire. By the time Kutuzov’s own messenger, Colonel Alexandre Michaud de Beauretour, came with this news, the emperor was well prepared to meet him and send a firm message back to his army. Amidst much emotion on both sides, Alexander and Michaud reassured themselves on the points that concerned them most. The emperor was promised by Michaud that the abandonment of Moscow had not undermined the army’s morale or its total commitment to victory. Michaud, and through him the army, in return received the pledge they wanted to hear. Far from undermining the emperor’s confidence or will, the loss of Moscow had hardened his determination to achieve total victory. Alexander ended the conversation with the words:

‘I will make use of every last resource of my empire; it possesses even more than my enemies yet think. But even if Divine Providence decrees that my dynasty should cease to reign on the throne of my ancestors, then after having exhausted all the means in my power I will grow my beard down to here’ (he pointed his hand to his chest) ‘and will go off and eat potatoes with the very last of my peasants rather than sign a peace which would shame my fatherland and that dear nation whose sacrifices for me I know how to appreciate…Napoleon or me, I or him, we cannot both rule at the same time; I have learned to understand him and he will not deceive me.’
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This was fine theatre and fighting words, which in the circumstances was just what was required. But there is no reason to doubt Alexander’s sincerity or commitment when he said them. They spelled the ruin of Napoleon’s strategy and pointed to the destruction of his army.

Even as Kutuzov was preparing to fight Napoleon at Borodino, Alexander I was concocting a plan for a counter-offensive which would drive the French out of Russia and destroy the
Grande Armée
. Kutuzov’s initial report to the emperor on the battle of Borodino had stated that ‘despite their superior forces, nowhere had the enemy gained a single yard of land’. Immediately after receiving this report, Alexander dispatched Aleksandr Chernyshev to the field-marshal’s headquarters with detailed plans for a coordinated counter-offensive by all the Russian armies. Alexander wrote to Kutuzov that he hoped that the field-marshal’s skill and his troops’ courage at Borodino had now put a final stop to the French advance into Russia. He also encouraged Kutuzov to discuss all details about the operation with Chernyshev, who was fully informed about Alexander’s aims and in whom he had full confidence. The emperor was careful to state that it was up to the commander-in-chief whether to accept the plan or to make alternative proposals of his own but no Russian general was likely openly to flout the monarch’s wishes.
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The gist of Alexander’s plan was that the Russian armies in the north (Wittgenstein and Steinhel) and the south (Chichagov) should simultaneously advance deep into Napoleon’s rear in Belorussia. They must defeat and drive off the enemy forces guarding Napoleon’s communications. In Chichagov’s case this meant Prince’s Schwarzenberg’s Austrians and General Reynier’s Saxon corps, which were to be thrust back into the Duchy of Warsaw. Alexander wrote to Kutuzov that ‘as you will see from this plan, it is proposed that the main operations will be carried out by Admiral Chichagov’s army’, which would be reinforced both by Tormasov’s Third Army and by a small corps commanded by Lieutenant-General Friedrich Oertel, currently guarding the supply base at Mozyr.

Nevertheless, Peter Wittgenstein’s role was also crucial. Aided by Count Steinhel, he was to advance southwards, take Polotsk, and drive the defeated corps of Oudinot and Saint-Cyr north-westwards into Lithuania and away from Napoleon’s line of retreat across Belorussia. As a result, the combined forces of Chichagov and Wittgenstein would control the whole area through which Napoleon’s main army would have to retreat, with Kutuzov’s forces in close pursuit. The enemy was already ‘exhausted’, having been drawn deep into Russia and having suffered heavy losses. It now faced still heavier losses and a very difficult retreat. If the plan was properly executed, ‘not even the smallest part of the main enemy army…can escape over our borders without defeat and ultimately total annihilation’.
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The key figure behind the plan was Alexander himself, though no doubt he discussed it with young Colonel Chernyshev and other more senior military figures in his entourage, including Petr Mikhailovich Volkonsky. To some extent this new plan inherited aspects of pre-war thinking about military operations. Drawn forward deep into Russia and then blocked by the main Russian army, Napoleon was to be defeated by other Russian armies thrusting far into his flanks and rear. In broad outline Alexander’s plan made sense and was the best way to deploy Russian forces in this theatre of operations and exploit Napoleon’s mistakes.

The emperor’s plan was, however, very ambitious. A number of armies initially hundreds of kilometres apart were expected to coordinate their operations and arrive simultaneously in central Belorussia. Communications between these armies would be difficult. To the mud, snow and cold which impeded all movements in a Russian autumn and winter one needed to add the fact that Wittgenstein and Chichagov were separated by a swath of land in which no less than five full enemy corps and a number of smaller detachments were operating. At the very moment when Alexander was sending Chernyshev to Kutuzov, an additional 36,000 French reinforcements under Marshal Victor were entering Belorussia from the west. They reached Minsk on 15 September and Smolensk twelve days later.

Alexander’s plan assumed that his armies would defeat all these enemy forces and drive them out of Belorussia, though at the time he was concocting his plan the Russians were not yet numerically superior to their foes. Advancing into Belorussia in the middle of winter the Russian columns would certainly suffer heavy losses from sickness and exhaustion. Alexander instructed Wittgenstein and Chichagov to fortify the defiles and obstacles through which Napoleon’s army would have to retreat, but would they have the time or the manpower to do this? As the emperor himself acknowledged, the enemy could head for Minsk or Vilna and had the choice of at least three highways down which to make his escape. In the event, Alexander’s plan about two-thirds succeeded, which was more than one might have expected in the circumstances. In the second half of November, however, as Napoleon approached the river Berezina it appeared briefly as if the plan might succeed completely and might result in the total destruction of the French army and even in the capture of Napoleon himself. Because this did not happen, Russian accounts of the autumn campaign have always tended to combine triumph at the French debacle with regret that it was not even more complete.

Chernyshev himself had to do a big detour to the east of Moscow before finally reaching Kutuzov’s headquarters south of the city on 20 September. There he had discussions with Kutuzov and Bennigsen which showed his intimate knowledge of Alexander’s thinking and filled in many of the gaps in the emperor’s written proposals. On 22 September Chernyshev reported to Alexander that he had shown the necessary tact in urging the emperor’s ideas on the commander-in-chief and that both Kutuzov and Bennigsen had warmly endorsed the plan. He added that the fall of Moscow had not fundamentally changed ‘the enemy’s poor situation’ and that Napoleon would not be able to sustain himself in the Moscow region for long. There was every chance of destroying him ‘so long as the people here don’t again make serious mistakes before our armies have united in his rear’.
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Immediately afterwards Chernyshev set off for Chichagov’s headquarters in north-west Ukraine in order to inform the admiral of Alexander’s plan. In the autumn and winter of 1812 the dashing young colonel was to add to the laurels he had won in Paris and fully to justify Alexander’s confidence. In mid-October he led a large partisan raiding party of seven regular light cavalry squadrons, three Cossack regiments and one Kalmyk unit deep into the Duchy of Warsaw, destroying magazines, disrupting conscription and forcing Schwarzenberg to divert much of the Austrian cavalry back to the Duchy in order to track him down. Subsequently, Chernyshev took a Cossack regiment right through the French rear and linked up with Wittgenstein, bringing the latter his first clear sense of Chichagov’s movements and intentions. By happy accident, during this journey Chernyshev liberated Ferdinand Winzengerode and his aide-de-camp, Captain Lev Naryshkin, who had been captured in Moscow and were en route back to France. Since Winzengerode was one of Alexander’s favourite generals and Naryshkin was the son of the emperor’s mistress this was a great coup for Chernyshev. Wittgenstein praised Chernyshev’s achievements in glowing terms and Alexander promoted his 26-year-old aide-de-camp to the rank of major-general.
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While Chernyshev was carrying Alexander’s plans for a counter-offensive first to Kutuzov and then to Chichagov, a vicious ‘people’s war’, reminiscent of events in Spain, had spread across the Moscow region. Eugen of Württemberg wrote that the Russian peasants, usually so friendly, hospitable and patient, had been turned into ‘veritable tigers’ by the depredations of French foraging parties and marauders. Sir Robert Wilson recalls that enemy soldiers who fell into the peasants’ hands suffered ‘every imaginable previous mode of torture’. The narratives of torture, mutilation and burial alive might be put down to foreign prejudice, were they not confirmed by many Russian sources too. In military terms the main significance of this ‘people’s war’ was that it made it even more difficult for the French to forage. Any large and static army had trouble feeding its horses in this era. Napoleon’s cavalry had suffered badly at Borodino, but it was the weeks spent in Moscow with ever-diminishing supplies of forage that destroyed most of his mounted regiments and devastated his artillery horses. Foraging expeditions had to travel ever greater distances with larger and larger escorts. Even so they often returned empty-handed, having lost men to ambushes and exhausted their horses without reward.
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In the classic style of guerrilla war, the peasants and the army’s partisan units helped each other. The partisan commanders often distributed arms to the peasantry and came to their assistance when large enemy requisition parties were spotted. The peasants in turn provided the intelligence, local guides and extra manpower which enabled the cavalry to track down and ambush enemy detachments and to evade capture by superior forces. Partisan units operated along all the roads leading out from Moscow. Already by mid-October they were willing to take on quite large enemy detachments. On 20 October, for example, Denis Davydov’s partisans attacked an enemy transport column near Viazma which was escorted by no less than three regiments, capturing most of the wagons and five hundred men. During the weeks that Napoleon spent in Moscow his communications with Smolensk and Paris were harried but never cut. Had he chosen to spend the winter in the city, however, it would have been a very different matter.
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Denis Davydov was one of the first partisans, having persuaded a doubtful Kutuzov on the eve of Borodino to detach him with a small band of cavalry and Cossacks to raid enemy communications. Davydov’s success in the following weeks won him reinforcements and helped to legitimize the whole idea of partisan warfare, which was new to Russian generals. Karl von Toll in particular urged this new form of war on Kutuzov and the commander-in-chief quickly grasped its potential. Davydov captured or destroyed enemy supply columns, routed detachments sent to gather food, liberated many hundreds of Russian prisoners of war and gathered useful intelligence. He also punished traitors and collaborators, whom he describes as a very small minority. Davydov’s weapons were speed, surprise, daring and excellent local sources of information. His bands struck out of nowhere, dispersed and then regrouped secretly for further attacks.

Davydov was not only one of the most successful of the partisans but also the most famous and romantic. A well-known poet, he was immortalized by his friend Aleksandr Pushkin thus: ‘Hussar-poet, you’ve sung of bivouacs / Of the licence of devil-may-care carousals / Of the fearful charm of battle / And of the curls of your moustache.’ Well after his death, Davydov became more famous than ever as the figure on whom Tolstoy based his character Denisov, the charming and generous hussar who loses his heart to Natasha Rostov and in whose band of partisans her brother Petia loses his life in the autumn of 1812.
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The most notorious partisan commander was Captain Alexander Figner, who commanded an artillery battery at the battle of Borodino. The fall of Moscow left Figner lost in gloom and determined to revenge himself on the French for his country’s humiliation. The battery’s second-in-command described him as ‘good-looking, of medium height: he was a true son of the North, muscular, round-faced, pale and with light-brown hair. His big, bright eyes were full of liveliness and he had a powerful voice. Figner was eloquent, full of common sense, tireless in all his enterprises and with a fiery imagination. He despised danger, never lost his head and was totally fearless.’ Speaking German, French, Italian and a number of other foreign languages fluently, Figner was also an excellent actor. On a number of occasions he went into enemy camps in and around Moscow to gather intelligence, easily passing himself off as an officer of Napoleon’s multi-national army.
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Like many guerrilla commanders in history, however, there was a dark side to the brilliant, cunning and ruthless Figner. In September and October 1812 even Davydov was sometimes disinclined to take prisoners, since these put an intolerable strain on small and fast-moving partisan bands.
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Alexander Figner, however, twisted even this practice. One fellow-officer recalls that ‘his favourite and most frequent amusement was first to inspire captured officers’ trust and cheerfulness by his reassuring conversation, and then suddenly to shoot them with his pistol and watch their agonies before they died. He did this well away from the army, which only heard dark rumours which it either disbelieved or forgot amidst the pressures of military operations.’ In the midst of the awful cruelties and extreme emotions of autumn 1812 senior officers were sometimes willing to turn a blind eye to the nastier side of partisan warfare. By 1813, however, with the war no longer on Russian soil, few officers still harboured any great hatred for their enemy. When Figner drowned in the river Elbe trying to escape from the French few of his fellow-officers shed any tears.
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The many partisan units operating around Moscow overlapped with larger detachments watching the main roads leading out of the city. Some of these detachments also waged partisan war. Their main role, however, was to defend the provinces around Moscow from enemy raiding parties and to provide early warning should Napoleon make any major move out of the city. Of these detachments, the most important was commanded by Major-General Baron Ferdinand von Winzengerode, whose task it was to watch the highroad leading to Tver and thence to Petersburg. Most of Winzengerode’s troops were Cossacks and militia but some regular cavalry were cut off from Kutuzov’s army during the retreat through Moscow and escaped out of the city to the north, joining Winzengerode’s men. Of these reinforcements, the best were the excellent soldiers of the Cossack Life Guard Regiment.

Ferdinand von Winzengerode could best be described as a full-time anti-Bonapartist. His father had been aide-de-camp to the Duke of Brunswick, of all the German dynasties the one most noted for its unwavering hatred of Napoleon. Winzengerode himself transferred on a number of occasions between the Russian and Austrian armies, depending on which service offered the better opportunity to fight the French. Logically enough, having fought with the Austrians in 1809, he moved back to the Russian army early in 1812. In 1812 he was one of a number of political refugees whom hatred of Napoleon had washed up on Russia’s shores. Had circumstances turned out just a little differently, he could easily have been serving alongside many of his compatriots in the King’s German Legion in Spain, under Wellington’s command.