Chapter Chapter 314 · 第314章

After the twenty-eighth of October when the frosts began, the flight of

the French assumed a still more tragic character, with men freezing,

or roasting themselves to death at the campfires, while carriages

with people dressed in furs continued to drive past, carrying away the

property that had been stolen by the Emperor, kings, and dukes; but

the process of the flight and disintegration of the French army went on

essentially as before.

From Moscow to Vyázma the French army of seventy-three thousand men not

reckoning the Guards (who did nothing during the whole war but pillage)

was reduced to thirty-six thousand, though not more than five thousand

had fallen in battle. From this beginning the succeeding terms of the

progression could be determined mathematically. The French army melted

away and perished at the same rate from Moscow to Vyázma, from Vyázma

to Smolénsk, from Smolénsk to the Berëzina, and from the Berëzina to

Vílna—independently of the greater or lesser intensity of the cold, the

pursuit, the barring of the way, or any other particular conditions.

Beyond Vyázma the French army instead of moving in three columns huddled

together into one mass, and so went on to the end. Berthier wrote to his

Emperor (we know how far commanding officers allow themselves to diverge

from the truth in describing the condition of an army) and this is what

he said:

I deem it my duty to report to Your Majesty the condition of the various

corps I have had occasion to observe during different stages of the last

two or three days’ march. They are almost disbanded. Scarcely a quarter

of the soldiers remain with the standards of their regiments, the others

go off by themselves in different directions hoping to find food and

escape discipline. In general they regard Smolénsk as the place where

they hope to recover. During the last few days many of the men have been

seen to throw away their cartridges and their arms. In such a state

of affairs, whatever your ultimate plans may be, the interest of Your

Majesty’s service demands that the army should be rallied at Smolénsk

and should first of all be freed from ineffectives, such as dismounted

cavalry, unnecessary baggage, and artillery material that is no longer

in proportion to the present forces. The soldiers, who are worn out with

hunger and fatigue, need these supplies as well as a few days’ rest.

Many have died these last days on the road or at the bivouacs. This

state of things is continually becoming worse and makes one fear that

unless a prompt remedy is applied the troops will no longer be under

control in case of an engagement.

November 9: twenty miles from Smolénsk.

After staggering into Smolénsk which seemed to them a promised land, the

French, searching for food, killed one another, sacked their own stores,

and when everything had been plundered fled farther.

They all went without knowing whither or why they were going. Still less

did that genius, Napoleon, know it, for no one issued any orders to

him. But still he and those about him retained their old habits: wrote

commands, letters, reports, and orders of the day; called one another

sire, mon cousin, prince d’Eckmühl, roi de Naples, and so on. But these

orders and reports were only on paper, nothing in them was acted upon

for they could not be carried out, and though they entitled one

another Majesties, Highnesses, or Cousins, they all felt that they were

miserable wretches who had done much evil for which they had now to

pay. And though they pretended to be concerned about the army, each

was thinking only of himself and of how to get away quickly and save

himself.