Russia Against Napoleon

1813: The Spring Campaign

Alexander I arrived in Vilna on 22 December 1812. This time he brought with him a smaller entourage than the gaggle of bored and squabbling courtiers who had been such a nuisance in the first weeks of the 1812 campaign. Three men whom he summoned to Vilna were to be his closest assistants for the rest of the war. Prince Petr Mikhailovich Volkonsky became Alexander’s right-hand man as regards military operations; Aleksei Arakcheev remained in charge of all matters concerning the mobilization of the home front, the militia and the provision of reinforcements to the field army. Karl Nesselrode became Alexander’s chief diplomatic adviser. In fact if not in name Nesselrode acted as deputy minister of foreign affairs. The true foreign minister was Alexander himself. The emperor intervened frequently in military matters but he lacked the confidence to take over command or play the leading role in military operations himself. Where diplomacy was concerned, however, Alexander was unequivocally in charge and in 1813 on the whole remarkably skilful and effective.

Though Nikolai Rumiantsev remained foreign minister in name, he was completely excluded from the making of foreign policy. Alexander claimed to have left him behind in Petersburg to preserve his health. It was indeed true that Rumiantsev had suffered a minor stroke while on campaign with Alexander in 1812. For the emperor this was just a good excuse to escape from his foreign minister in 1813. The last thing Alexander wanted was an ‘Old Russian’ foreign minister, distrusted by all Russia’s current allies and critical of the emperor’s policy, looking over his shoulder. In Rumiantsev’s opinion Alexander’s crusade against Napoleon was wrong-headed. As he said to John Quincy Adams, Napoleon was by no means the only issue in Russian foreign relations. By concentrating so exclusively on Napoleon’s defeat, Alexander was downgrading Russian policy towards the Ottoman Empire and Persia, and even allowing historical Russian interests to be sacrificed to a desire to placate the Austrians and the British. Rumiantsev on occasion even upbraided Alexander in thinly camouflaged terms for forgetting his ancestors’ proud legacy.

The foreign minister also feared anarchy as a result of the efforts being made to incite mass risings against Napoleon, especially in Germany. In Rumiantsev’s words, this was ‘in essence a return of Jacobinism. Napoleon might be considered the Don Quixote of monarchy. He had, to be sure, overthrown many monarchs, but he had nothing against monarchy. By affecting to make his person the only object of hostility, and by setting the populace to work to run him down, there would be a foundation laid for many future and formidable disorders.’ Alexander could afford to ignore Rumiantsev, both far away and sidelined, though when Metternich made precisely the same points two months later he was forced to pay far more attention.¹

Decorations and fireworks greeted Alexander’s arrival in Vilna. The day after his arrival was his birthday and Kutuzov hosted a great ball in his honour. Captured French standards were thrown down at Alexander’s feet in the ballroom. Further celebrations and parades followed. The price of luxuries in Vilna became exorbitant. Even Lieutenant Chicherin, an aristocratic Guards officer, could not afford to have a new uniform tailored with the appropriate gold braid. The glitter and congratulations could not conceal even from the emperor the terrible suffering in Vilna at that time. Forty thousand frozen corpses lay in the city and its suburbs awaiting the spring thaw when they could be burned or buried. Starving and typhus-ridden scarecrows roamed the streets, collapsing and dying across the doorways of Vilna’s citizens. The Guards artillery was used to transport the corpses to the frozen walls and hillocks of bodies awaiting disposal outside the town. A third of the soldiers involved fell ill with typhus themselves. Worst of all were the scenes in the hospitals. To his credit, Alexander visited the French hospitals, but there was not much the overstretched Russian medical services could do to help. The emperor recalled a visit ‘in the evening. One single lamp lighted the high vaulted room, in which they had heaped up the piles of corpses as high as the walls. I cannot express the horror I felt, when in the midst of these inanimate bodies, I suddenly saw living beings.’²

On the surface all was harmony between a grateful emperor and his devoted commander-in-chief. Alexander awarded Kutuzov the Grand Cross of the Order of St George, the rarest and most prized of honours any Russian monarch could bestow. In reality, however, the emperor was dissatisfied with Kutuzov’s pursuit of Napoleon and determined to assert control over military operations. Petr Konovnitsyn, the army’s chief of staff, went on extended sick leave. In his place Alexander appointed Petr Volkonsky. Kutuzov would continue to command and to play the leading role in strategic planning but he would do so under the close eye of the emperor and his most trusted lieutenant. In terms of administrative efficiency Volkonsky’s arrival was of great benefit. Both Kutuzov and Konovnitsyn were lazy and inefficient administrators. Key documents went unsigned and unattended for days. Serge Maevsky, a staff officer in Kutuzov’s headquarters, commented that

it seemed to me that the field-marshal was extremely unhappy about this appointment because now the tsar’s witness could pass on a true picture of the field-marshal. In addition he worked with us when he felt like it but he was forced to work with Volkonsky even when he didn’t want to. Volkonsky was very hard-working and exhausted the old man by numerous discussions of problems. It is true that our business flew along. That isn’t to be wondered at: in one day Volkonsky would decide matters that before him had piled up for months.³

Kutuzov was determined that his exhausted troops should have some rest before embarking on a new campaign across Russia’s borders. The emperor was very unwilling to heed such advice. In his view, not a moment was to be lost at this crucial time while Napoleon was at his weakest, revolt against his empire was bubbling in Europe, and Russian prestige was sky-high. The army must press forward into Germany in order to control as much territory as possible and encourage Prussia and Austria to join the Russian cause. Just before leaving Petersburg Alexander had told one of his wife’s ladies-in-waiting that the only true and lasting peace would be one signed in Paris. On arriving in Vilna he told his assembled generals that their victories would liberate not just Russia but Europe.⁴

Kutuzov had no enthusiasm for this vision. The tired old commander felt that he had done his duty in liberating Russia. Liberating Europe was not Russia’s concern. Kutuzov was not alone in believing this. How many officers shared his view no one can say: the army did not conduct polls and, on the surface at least, the emperor’s word was law. But particularly towards the end of the spring campaign, as exhaustion grew and fortune turned against the allies, foreign observers commented on the lack of enthusiasm for the war at headquarters and among many of the Russian generals. This was less evident at regimental level, where officers and men were bound up in a culture of discipline, courage and mutual loyalty. Once the summer armistice allowed the army to rest and fortune turned the allies’ way again in the autumn, much less was heard of defeatism and exhaustion among the generals. But the spirit of the 1813 campaign for the Russian officers was always rather different to the defence of their homeland in 1812.⁵

To an extent, this was now a campaign like so many in the past for personal glory, honour and promotion. The presence of the emperor with the army meant that rewards showered down on officers who distinguished themselves, a big incentive in a society where rank, medals and imperial benevolence counted for so much. In the officers’ memoirs about 1813 and 1814 one sometimes gets the sense too that they were ‘military tourists’ as they passed through one exotic foreign territory after another, accumulating adventures and impressions as they went. Seducing first Polish, then German and finally French women was a joyful element in this tourism for some of the officers, particularly the aristocratic young Guardsmen. In a way it seemed as much an affirmation of the officers’ manhood, tactical skill and all-conquering spirit as defeating Napoleon on the battlefield.⁶

Admiral Shishkov was too old and too virtuous for such adventures. He was also a dyed-in-the-wool isolationist. Shortly after returning to Vilna with Alexander, he questioned Kutuzov as to why Russia was advancing into Europe. Both men agreed that after the devastation he had suffered in 1812 Napoleon was unlikely to attack Russia again and, ‘sitting in his Paris what harm can he do us?’ When asked by Shishkov why he had not used all his present prestige to press this view on Alexander, Kutuzov answered that he had done so but ‘in the first place he looks on things from a different perspective whose validity I cannot altogether reject, and in the second place, I tell you frankly and honestly, when he cannot deny my arguments then he embraces and kisses me. At that point I begin to cry and agree with him.’ Shishkov himself suggested that at the most Russia should act as Paul I had done in 1798–9, sending an auxiliary corps to help the Austrians but leaving the main efforts for Europe’s liberation to the Germans themselves, supported by British paymasters. Subsequently Kutuzov was to take up this idea, encouraging Karl von Toll to present a plan in late January 1813 whereby the main burden of the war could be passed on to the Austrians, British and Prussians while Russia, ‘because its home provinces are so very distant, will cease to play the leading military role in this war and will become the auxiliary of a Europe mobilized in its entirety against French tyranny’.⁷

Alexander rejected Shishkov’s and Toll’s arguments for a limited Russian commitment, and was right to do so: in spring 1813 only full-scale Russian participation in the war in Germany could inspire Prussia and Austria to join in, or provide any realistic hope of victory even should they do so. The emperor was also right to doubt Shishkov’s and Kutuzov’s view that Napoleon was no longer a serious threat to Russian security. Given Napoleon’s personality and his record, it was optimistic to imagine that he would simply accept a devastating defeat at Russian hands and seek no revenge. Even leaving personal considerations aside, Napoleon believed that the legitimacy of his new dynasty required military victory and glory. In addition, since France’s war with Britain was continuing, so too was the geopolitical logic that had driven Napoleon to confront Russia in 1812. Getting rid of the last independent continental great power and consolidating French dominion in Europe while Napoleon himself was still an active and inspirational leader remained a credible strategy. Just conceivably, his experience in 1812 might persuade Napoleon to leave Russia in peace. More probably it might teach him to attack it in more intelligent fashion, making full use of the Polish factor and of Russia’s political and financial weaknesses. Of course all predictions about what Napoleon might do in the future were uncertain. What was beyond question was that his empire was much stronger than Russia. In peacetime it would not be possible to sustain for long the level of military expenditure which security against Napoleon would require. For that reason too it made good sense to try to end the Napoleonic threat now, while he was weakened, while Russia’s resources were mobilized, and while there was a strong chance of drawing Austria and Prussia into the struggle.

The best source on Alexander’s policy at this time is provided by a memorandum submitted to him by Karl Nesselrode, his chief diplomatic adviser, early in February 1813. Tactfully, the memorandum started by repeating the emperor’s own words to its author. Alexander had stated that his overriding aim was to create a lasting peace in Europe, and one which would be proof against Napoleon’s power and ambition.

The most complete way in which this goal could be achieved would undoubtedly be for France to be pushed back within its natural borders; that all the territories not situated between the Rhine, the Scheldt, the Pyrenees and the Alps would cease to be either integral parts of the French Empire or its dependants. This is of course the maximum we could want but it could not be achieved without the cooperation of Austria and Prussia.

Nesselrode acknowledged that not even Prussian participation in the war was yet certain and that Austria might possibly remain Napoleon’s ally. If Prussia joined Russia but Austria was hostile, the most the allies could achieve would be to hold the line of the Elbe and make it Prussia’s permanent frontier. Nesselrode was confident that Prussia would ally itself to Russia soon but even if it did not there was every reason for Russia to push on now and occupy the Duchy of Warsaw, which was both vital for its security and no doubt a pawn in any future peace negotiations.⁸

Nesselrode’s memorandum illustrated how very much the nature of Russia’s war had changed. Once the 1812 campaign had begun diplomacy was of secondary importance during the rest of that year. In the spring 1813 campaign, by contrast, Russia’s objectives could not be achieved by military means alone. Success required bringing in Austria and Prussia, and this in turn could only be achieved by a combination of diplomatic and military policies. As was typical of Nesselrode, the tone of his memorandum was coolly realistic. There was, for instance, no mention of pursuing Napoleon to Paris or overthrowing his regime. Such goals would have seemed wholly unrealizable in February 1813 and would have alienated even the Prussians, let alone the Austrians.

Also realistic was Nesselrode’s understanding of power. Some of Alexander’s advisers dreamed of instigating a European – and in particular German – revolt against Napoleonic tyranny. The leader of this group was Baron Heinrich vom Stein, the former Prussian chief minister who had joined Alexander’s entourage in 1812. On the contrary, Nesselrode’s memorandum said nothing about popular revolts or public opinion. For him, it was states and governments which counted. On the whole the events of 1813–14 bore him out. However much public opinion in the Confederation of the Rhine had turned against Napoleon, the princes stuck by him and the great majority of their soldiers fought loyally on his behalf until very near the end. In 1813 Napoleon was defeated, not by rebellions or nationalist movements, but because for the first time Russia, Prussia and Austria fought together and because, unlike in 1805 and 1806, Russian armies were already in central Europe when the campaign began.

But Nesselrode argued that only states and governments really mattered in international relations, partly because he strongly believed that this ought to be the case. Like Metternich, whom he admired, Nesselrode longed for stability and order amidst the never-ending turbulence of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic eras. Both men feared that any form of autonomous politics ‘from below’ – whether led by Jacobin demagogues or by patriotic Prussian generals – would throw Europe into further chaos. Ironically, however, in the winter of 1812–13 it was to be a Prussian general acting without his king’s sanction who was to begin the process which culminated in the Russo-Prussian alliance against Napoleon, thereby achieving Nesselrode and Alexander’s first great diplomatic triumph in 1813.

Lieutenant-General Hans David von Yorck, the commander of the Prussian corps on the left flank of Napoleon’s forces, was a very difficult man even by comparison with senior Russian generals of the era. Arrogant, prickly and hypercritical, he was a nightmare as a subordinate. The other Prussian corps commander in the east, Lieutenant-General Friedrich Wilhelm von Bülow, in fact told the Russians that Yorck’s actions sprang less from patriotism than from personal enmity towards his French commander, Marshal MacDonald.⁹

This was unfair because there was no reason to doubt Yorck’s commitment to restoring Prussian independence, pride and status. In November and December 1812 the governor-general of Riga, Marquis Philippe Paulucci, attempted to win over Yorck to the Russian side by playing on these themes. The fact that Yorck responded to his letters raised Paulucci’s hopes. Initially he ascribed the Prussian general’s caution to Yorck’s need to seek guidance from his king. By late December, however, Paulucci was beginning to fear that Yorck was just playing for time. The collapse of the Grande Armée had left Napoleon’s forces in southern Latvia isolated. Orders for their retreat came very late. Paulucci began to fear that Yorck was merely hoodwinking the Russians in order to get his corps back to Prussia in one piece. A threatening note had entered Paulucci’s communications to Yorck by 22 December.¹⁰

Russian threats only became meaningful, however, when Wittgenstein’s advance guard under Major-General Johann von Diebitsch cut across Yorck’s line of retreat near Kotliniani. Even then Yorck could have fought his way through Diebitsch’s weak force had he so wished. The thought of shedding Prussian and Russian blood on behalf of Napoleon’s fading cause must have been a deterrent to Yorck. More importantly, Diebitsch’s presence gave Yorck the excuse he needed to pretend that his hand had been forced. He sat down to discuss terms with Diebitsch, using as a basis the offer made by Paulucci for the neutralization of the Prussian corps. No doubt it helped negotiations that Diebitsch himself was a German and the son of a former Prussian officer.

On 30 December 1812 Yorck and Diebitsch signed the so-called convention of Tauroggen. The Prussian corps was declared neutral and deployed out of the way of Russian operations. If the King of Prussia denounced the agreement, the Prussian troops could retire behind the French lines but could not take up arms against Russia again for two months.¹¹ In military terms the convention resulted in East Prussia and all the other Prussian territory east of the Vistula falling immediately to the Russians. The number of soldiers actually present in Yorck’s corps by December 1812 was barely 20,000, but the enormous losses sustained by the main French and Russian forces meant that this number of combat-ready troops could make a substantial difference in the winter of 1812–13. If Yorck’s corps had remained with MacDonald and resisted the Russian advance it would have been difficult for Wittgenstein’s exhausted and overstretched corps to force its way past them into East Prussia. Once Murat heard of Yorck’s defection, however, he quickly retired behind the Vistula, leaving the well-garrisoned fortress-port of Danzig as France’s only remaining outpost in Prussia’s eastern lands.¹²

The business of mobilizing all East Prussia’s resources for war got under way immediately. A Russian governor-general would have trodden on many toes, as Paulucci did to a truly crass degree in Russian-occupied Memel, by absolving local officials of their oath to the king and talking about possible Russian annexation.¹³ Alexander therefore appointed Baron vom Stein, who had been his chief adviser on German affairs since June 1812. The Russians needed to mobilize East Prussia’s resources immediately but they also had to avoid alienating the Prussians by disorderly requisitioning or by seeming to covet Prussian territory. As Russian forces began to cross the Prussian border, Kutuzov issued a proclamation declaring that Alexander’s only aim in advancing across the Russian frontier was ‘peace and independence’ for all the European nations, which he invited to join him in the task of liberation. He added: ‘This invitation is directed firstly and above all to Prussia. The emperor intends to end the misfortunes which shackle her, to bear witness to the friendship which he still preserves for the king, and to restore to the monarchy of Frederick its territory and prestige.’¹⁴

Feeding the advancing Russians was not too great a problem because their numbers were not huge, they did not need to concentrate for battle, and the local population and officials in East Prussia loathed the French even more than was the case elsewhere in Prussia and greeted the Russian forces as an army of liberation.¹⁵ Kutuzov demanded excellent behaviour from his troops towards the civilian population and, despite their exhaustion, the Russian soldiers responded well and retained their discipline.¹⁶

Politically much more delicate was the decision to summon the provincial estates without the king’s consent, and to call up 33,000 men for the army and militia. Fortunately, while this was in train Stein received a coded message from the Prussian chancellor, Prince Karl August von Hardenberg which had been slipped through the French lines. This conveyed Frederick William’s support and announced that a treaty of alliance with Russia would soon be signed. This was the crucial breakthrough. For all the enthusiasm of the East Prussian estates, the province had less than a million inhabitants. To have any chance of defeating Napoleon the resources of the whole kingdom needed to be mobilized. Only Frederick William could do this.¹⁷

The king received the news of the convention of Tauroggen on 2 January 1813 while taking his afternoon walk in his garden in Potsdam. Frederick William detested Napoleon and feared that the French emperor intended to carve up Prussia. He liked and admired Alexander, and he distrusted Russian ambitions much less than those of Napoleon. On the other hand Frederick William was a great pessimist: as Stein put it, ‘he lacks confidence both in himself and in his people. He believes that Russia will draw him into the abyss.’ The king also quite simply hated having to make decisions. His natural inclination was to ask for advice and to vacillate. In particular, he thoroughly disliked the idea of further wars. This was partly out of honourable concern for his people’s welfare, but it also reflected his own entirely disastrous experience of defeat and frustration in 1792–4 and 1806–7.¹⁸

To do the king justice, he had good reason for nervousness and equivocation in January 1813. When he heard the news of Tauroggen the Russian armies were still hundreds of kilometres away in Poland and Lithuania. French garrisons on the contrary were scattered across Prussia, including a large one in Berlin. This dictated that Frederick William’s first public reaction must be to denounce the convention and to send messages to Napoleon pledging his continued loyalty. The king took advantage of Napoleon’s request to contribute more troops to the Grande Armée by levying extra recruits and expanding his army. On 22 January he himself, his family and the Guards regiments decamped from Potsdam and Berlin to the Silesian capital, Breslau. By so doing he achieved independence from the French and secured himself against kidnap. Since Breslau was right in the path of Russian armies advancing through Poland the king could put forward the half-plausible excuse that he was preparing Silesia’s defence.

Ideally Frederick William would have preferred an alliance with Austria to secure Germany as a neutral zone and stop the French and Russians fighting on his territory. A Prusso-Austrian alliance could also attempt to mediate a continental peace settlement which would restore to Vienna and Berlin much of the territory they had lost in 1805–9. With this goal in mind, the king’s trusted military adviser, Colonel Karl von dem Knesebeck, was sent to Vienna. He arrived on 12 January and stayed for no less than eighteen days.

At one level Knesebeck’s mission was a failure. The Austrians made it clear that they could not abandon the French alliance overnight and attempt immediately to impose mediation on the warring sides. The emperor’s honour and the completely unready state of their armies dictated a longer period of disengagement from the alliance with Paris. The basic point was that the Austrians had much more time for manoeuvre than the Prussians: Russian troops were not crossing the Austrian border, nor were Austrian generals threatening disobedience unless their sovereign changed his foreign policy.

On another level, however, Knesebeck’s mission was of great service. Both Metternich and Francis II promised categorically that they would reject Napoleon’s efforts to buy Austrian support against Prussia by offering her Silesia. They stressed that the two Germanic great powers must on the contrary both be restored to their pre-1805 dimensions in order to hold their own against France and Russia, thereby securing the independence of central Europe and the overall European balance of power. Far from opposing the Russo-Prussian alliance, the Austrians hinted that it seemed Prussia’s best option in the circumstances. Meanwhile, once ready, Vienna would put forward its own ideas for peace. Knesebeck concluded optimistically, and in a sense that went to the core of Russo-Prussian strategy in the spring and summer of 1813, ‘sooner or later Austria will go to war with France because the peace terms which she wants to achieve by mediation are unobtainable without war’.¹⁹

After reporting to Frederick William at Breslau, Knesebeck was sent on to Alexander’s headquarters. Before he would commit himself to Russia, the king needed reassurance on a number of points. Most basically, the Russians had to commit themselves to an advance which would liberate all of Prussian territory and allow the mobilization of its resources. Unless this was achieved it would be useless and suicidal for Frederick William to fight on Russia’s side since victory would be impossible and Prussia would become the inevitable target of Napoleon’s wrath. The king also sought confirmation that Russia would guarantee Prussian territory and her status as a great power.

Inevitably these complicated diplomatic manoeuvres took time and in the winter of 1812–13 time was of the essence. To some extent the spring 1813 campaign was a race between Napoleon and his enemies as to who could mobilize reinforcements and get them to the German theatre of operations most quickly. In this competition Napoleon had all the advantages. He arrived back in Paris on 18 December 1812 and began immediately to form a new Grande Armée. Even the mobilization of East Prussian manpower could not begin before early February 1813 and it was to be yet another month before Berlin and the heart of the Prussian kingdom fell to the allies. The Russian situation was of course different. There the levy of new recruits was already under way in the late autumn. But Russia’s immense size meant that it would take far longer to concentrate recruits in depots and deployment areas than was the case in France. Even after they had gathered in their training camps in the Russian interior they still faced marches of 2,000 kilometres or more to reach the Saxon and Silesian battlefields. There was never any doubt that Napoleon was going to win the race to get reinforcements to the field armies. The only issues were how wide the gap was going to be and whether Napoleon would be able to use it to achieve a decisive victory.

Frederick William’s diplomacy also delayed Russian military operations. Until the king allied himself with Russia the 40,000 men of Yorck and Bülow’s corps could not go into action against the French. In their absence, in January 1813 the Russian forces in the northern theatre were too weak to advance into the Prussian heartland. The two main Russian concentrations were Wittgenstein’s corps in East Prussia and the much-diminished core of Chichagov’s army near Thorn and Bromberg in north-west Poland. Both these Russian forces had been greatly weakened by months of ceaseless campaigning. In addition, very many of their troops had to be detached to besiege or blockade French fortresses. In Wittgenstein’s case this above all meant Danzig, to which he had to send 13,000 good troops under Lieutenant-General von Loewis. Since Loewis’s men were much outnumbered by the French garrison and had to beat off a number of sorties this was not a man too many, but without Loewis Wittgenstein had only 25,000 soldiers at his disposal.

Meanwhile on 4 February Mikhail Barclay de Tolly re-emerged to replace Chichagov as commander of the army besieging Thorn. Almost all Barclay’s troops were committed to the siege since Thorn was a major fortress commanding a key crossing of the Vistula and blocking all use of the river for transporting supplies. The only men Barclay could spare in the short run for an advance were Mikhail Vorontsov’s 5,000-strong detachment. Napoleon is often condemned for leaving so many good troops behind as garrisons for the Polish and Prussian fortresses, and, later in 1813 when these fortresses were blockaded by Russian militia and recruits this mistake became clear. In January and February 1813, however, matters were not so obvious. The detachment of so many front-line Russian troops to watch French fortresses offered the new French commander in the east, Eugène de Beauharnais, an opportunity to block the Russian advance into the Prussian heartland.

On 22 January 1813 Aleksandr Chernyshev wrote to Kutuzov suggesting the formation of three ‘flying detachments’ which would raid deep into the French rear up to and beyond the river Oder. These raiding parties ‘will both have an impact on the indecisive Berlin cabinet and cover the main army in its quarters, since the latter after its glorious but difficult campaign absolutely must get some rest having reached the Vistula’. Chernyshev told Kutuzov that reconnaissance showed that many routes to the Oder and Berlin were open. The French losses, especially of cavalry, had been huge and the garrisons in their rear were too small and too immobile to cope with Russian raiders. He added that ‘all the information I have received’ argued that only when Russian troops reached the Oder ‘will this force Prussia to declare itself decisively in our favour’. There was not a moment to be lost: the French must be harried while they were still shaken and bewildered; they must not be given the opportunity to regain their senses, reinforce or reorganize themselves.²⁰

Kutuzov and Wittgenstein took up Chernyshev’s suggestion and three flying columns were dispatched. The most northerly column was commanded by Colonel Friedrich von Tettenborn, a former Austrian officer and a German patriot who dreamed of raising the population of northwest Germany against Napoleon. Shortly after Tettenborn had crossed the Oder north of Kustrin, a second raiding party under Alexander Benckendorff got across south of that town. Both then carried out a number of attacks on French units and supplies in the Berlin region. Meanwhile Chernyshev himself began his operations further to the east, in the rear of Eugène’s headquarters in Posen, in the hope of causing such chaos that the viceroy would abandon this key position and fall back on the Oder. Together the three raiding parties numbered fewer than 6,000 men. Most were Cossacks but they included some squadrons of regular cavalry since, in Chernyshev’s opinion, ‘however good Cossack units are, they act with much more confidence if they see regular cavalry in support behind them’. None of the three parties contained infantry and only Chernyshev had horse artillery, though even in his case this only amounted to two guns.²¹

The Russians were greatly helped by the small numbers, low quality and poor morale of the enemy cavalry. Whatever enemy horsemen they encountered they destroyed. Chernyshev annihilated 2,000 Lithuanian lancers near Zirche on the river Warthe behind Posen, whom he bamboozled and attacked simultaneously from front and rear. A few days later Wittgenstein reported to Kutuzov that Benckendorff, operating along the road from Frankfurt on the Oder to Berlin, had ambushed and ‘destroyed almost the last unit of enemy cavalry, which even without this was very weak’. The Russian cavalry caused confusion along the French lines of communication, attacking infantry and recruit parties, destroying supplies, and intercepting correspondence. Inevitably this increased the already existing fear and confusion among French commanders. The extraordinary mobility of the Russian horsemen meant that their numbers were greatly exaggerated. Because they captured so many French couriers, the Russians on the other hand were very well informed about French deployments, numbers, morale and plans.²² Eugène decided to pull back and defend the line of the river Oder, a decision for which he was castigated by Napoleon at the time and by a number of subsequent historians.²³ They were correct to suggest that it made no sense to string troops along the line of the Oder, especially at a time when vastly superior Russian cavalry could so effectively impede communication and cooperation between them. Eugène believed that the ice on the rivers was now melting, which would make the Oder defensible. In fact, however, even Chernyshev, well informed about where the ice remained strongest, just succeeded in getting across the Oder in time. He commented that the ice was very thin and the operation extremely risky but his troops’ morale by this time was so high that they were convinced that they could achieve wonders.²⁴

Once all three raiding parties were across the river they harassed Marshal Pierre Augereau’s garrison in Berlin ceaselessly, at one point actually breaking right into the city centre. By now the Russians had captured so many French couriers that the enemy’s intentions were an open book to them. Wittgenstein was told that the French would abandon Berlin and retire behind the Elbe the moment any body of Russian infantry approached. Armed with this information, Wittgenstein hurried forward his corps’s advance guard – only 5,000 strong – under Prince Repnin-Volkonsky. Benckendorff rebuilt a bridge over the Oder for Repnin’s men and the Russian forces entered Berlin on 4 March to a tremendous reception. Wittgenstein reported to Kutuzov in triumphant mood that very day: ‘The victorious standards of His Imperial Majesty are flying over Berlin.’²⁵

The liberation of Berlin and the retreat of the French behind the Elbe were very important. The capital’s recapture raised morale and the resources of all of Prussia could now be mobilized for the allied cause. Large French forces were being gathered by Napoleon and had Eugène been able to hang on for just a few more weeks the 1813 campaign would have started on the Oder, within range of rebellious Poland and Napoleon’s fortresses on the Vistula. That in itself would have reduced the chances of Austrian intervention. Instead the campaign began well to the west of the Elbe, gaining for the allies a number of precious weeks in which Russian reinforcements could approach and Austria could gird itself for battle.

A number of factors explain the French retreat. Among them should not be forgotten the outstanding performance of the Russian light cavalry and Cossacks. In his journal Chernyshev commented that in previous wars ‘partisan’ units had raided behind enemy lines to capture supply trains and take prisoners in order to gather intelligence. They had also attacked small enemy units. He added that in the 1813 campaign his own partisans did much more than this. For considerable periods they had cut enemy operational lines and stopped all movement and communication. Operating sometimes hundreds of kilometres ahead of the main Russian forces, they had created a complete fog around enemy commanders and in some cases had actually forced fundamental changes in enemy plans. With typical modesty, Chernyshev concluded that the commander of a ‘flying detachment’ needed great energy, presence of mind, prudence and ability to grasp situations quickly. Chernyshev had a penchant for self-advertisement and self-promotion worthy of Nelson. To do him justice, he also had Nelson’s boldness, tactical skill, strategic insight and capacity for leadership.²⁶

Just five days before the fall of Berlin Frederick William finally buried his doubts and consented to the treaty of alliance with Russia. An officer on Kutuzov’s staff wrote that ‘in our negotiations with them [i.e. the Prussians] the news we often received about the successes of our advance guards which were already approaching the Elbe gave us great weight’. Nevertheless, negotiations were difficult almost to the end. The main reason for this was disagreement on the fate of Poland. Prussia had been a key beneficiary of the Polish partitions. It wanted back the Polish lands which Napoleon had forced it to concede at Tilsit, and argued that without this territory Prussia could not possess the strength or security essential for a great power. On the other hand, the events of 1812 had further confirmed Alexander in his belief that the only way to square the demands of Polish nationhood and Russian security was to unite as many Poles as possible in an autonomous kingdom whose ruler would also be the Russian monarch. At a time when Russia was expending huge amounts of blood and money to restore large territories to Austria and Prussia, and when Britain had made a clean sweep of the French and Dutch colonial empires, the emperor no doubt also felt that his empire should have some reward for his efforts.²⁷

Baron vom Stein helped to smooth over the difficulties by travelling to Breslau to win over Frederick William. Stein himself disliked Alexander’s plans for Poland, which he thought were dangerous for Russian internal stability and a threat to Austrian and Prussian security. He also wondered whether the Poles, ‘with their serfs and their Jews’, were capable of self-government. But Stein knew that on this issue Alexander was adamant and he helped to broker a Russo-Prussian compromise.

Russia would guarantee all existing Prussian possessions and it would ensure that East Prussia and Silesia were linked by a substantial and strategically defensible band of territory taken from the Duchy of Warsaw. The Russians also promised that they would commit all their strength to the war in Germany and would not make peace until Prussia was restored to the same level of power, territory and population as it had possessed before 1806. Article I of the Treaty of Kalicz’s secret clauses promised that Prussia would be fully compensated in northern Germany for any Polish territory it lost to Russia in the east. Unlike Napoleon, the Russians could not bribe the Prussians with Hanoverian territory, since this belonged to their ally, the British king. The only likely source of compensation was therefore Saxony, whose weakening or dismemberment would go down badly in Vienna. The Treaty of Kalicz therefore in part remained strictly secret and was storing up problems for the future.

For the moment, however, it was a satisfactory basis for Russo-Prussian cooperation. The main thrust of the treaty was its commitment to restoring Prussia as a great power, above all so it could check France but also perhaps in order to balance Austrian power in Germany. On this all-important issue the Russians were just as committed as the Prussians. In addition, although the preamble to the treaty contained its share of sanctimonious hypocrisy, its call for ‘the repose and well-being of peoples exhausted by so many disturbances and so many sacrifices’ was genuine and heartfelt. Add this to the friendship which existed between Alexander and Frederick William and there are the ingredients of a strong and lasting bond between the two states. Indeed in one form or another the Russo-Prussian alliance of February 1813 was to survive until the 1890s, forming one of the most stable and enduring elements in European diplomacy.²⁸

Article VII of the treaty bound both Prussia and Russia to give top priority to bringing Austria into their alliance. This priority was to dominate not just allied diplomacy but even to some extent military strategy in the next three months. Austria, however, was intent on playing hard to get, and with good reason. The Austrians believed that they had borne the biggest share of fighting the French since 1793 and that they had been let down by the Prussians and Russians on a number of occasions and taken for granted by the British. This time they would exploit all the potential leverage of their position and not be rushed into anything.

Numerous defeats bred pessimism and aversion to risk among some Austrians, above all in Francis II, on whom in the last resort all decisions on war and peace depended. Suspicion of Russia ran deep, with traditional fears of Russian power and unpredictability exacerbated by the fact that the Austrians had intercepted part of Alexander’s correspondence with Prince Adam Czartoryski, his chief confidant on Polish affairs, and were aware of the gist of his plans for Poland. Russian and Prussian appeals to German nationalism, on occasion calling for the overthrow of princes who supported Napoleon, infuriated the Austrians, partly for fear of chaos and partly because they alienated the Confederation of the Rhine monarchs whom Vienna was trying to woo. Baron vom Stein, Alexander’s chief adviser on German affairs, was a particular Austrian bugbear.

From March 1813, however, Alexander increasingly bowed to Austrian wishes in this matter, stopping inflammatory proclamations by his generals and conceding to Austria the lead in all matters to do with Bavaria, Württemberg and southern Germany. Most importantly, the great majority of the Austrian political and military elite deeply resented the manner in which Napoleon had reduced Austria to the status of a second-rate power, annexing her territory and removing her influence from Germany and Italy. Given a good opportunity to reverse this process and restore a genuine European balance of power, most members of the Austrian elite would take it, by peaceful means if possible but running the risks inherent in war if necessary. The Austrian foreign minister, Count Clemens von Metternich, shared this mainstream viewpoint.²⁹

In January 1813 Metternich’s immediate priority was to free Austria from the French alliance and take up the role of neutral mediator without provoking Napoleon more than necessary in doing so. One aspect of this policy was to remove Schwarzenberg’s corps from the Grande Armée and get it back safely over the Austrian border. Another was to work out peace terms on the basis of which Austria could mediate. Austria’s goal was a European system in which Russia and France balanced each other, with Austria and Prussia restored to their previous strength and able to guarantee the independence of Germany. The Austrians also deeply wanted and needed a long and stable peace.³⁰ To have any chance of success in its mediation, Metternich realized that Austria would need to rebuild its army so that it could threaten decisive intervention in the war. The problem here was that military expenditure had been cut savagely after the defeat of 1809 and the state bankruptcy of 1811. Many infantry battalions were mere skeletons; horses and equipment were in very short supply; most of the arms works had been closed. The finance ministry conducted a stubborn rearguard action on military expenditure in 1813, with money being disbursed very slowly even after budgets had been agreed. In addition, arms and uniforms workshops could not be re-created overnight and no sane manufacturer would give the Austrian government credit. Metternich also miscalculated how much time he had at his disposal. In early February he was convinced that Napoleon could not possibly have a large army in the field before the end of June. On 30 May he confessed his astonishment at ‘the incredible speed with which Napoleon had re-created an army’. For all his great diplomatic skill, the speed and violence of Napoleonic warfare was alien to Metternich and could easily upset all his calculations. As with Prussia in 1805, Austria in 1813 dragged out negotiations with both warring camps before finally committing itself to the allies. Prussian policy had then been totally confounded by the disaster at Austerlitz. The same came near to happening to the Austrians in May 1813.³¹

Amidst all the tensions and uncertainties of Russo-Austrian relations in the spring and summer of 1813 it helped enormously that Nesselrode was in frequent and secret correspondence with Friedrich von Gentz, one of the leading intellectuals of the counter-revolution in Vienna and Metternich’s closest confidant. Gentz was exceptionally well informed about Metternich’s own thinking and about the opinions and conflicts within Austrian ruling circles. Nesselrode had known Gentz for years and rightly trusted his deep commitment to the allied cause. Gentz could put in a good word for the allies in Metternich’s ear. More importantly, he could explain to Nesselrode the severe constraints within which the foreign minister was operating, shackled as he was not just by the caution of Francis II and some of his advisers, but also by the deep and genuine difficulties facing Austrian rearmament.³²

In comparison to the tortuous diplomacy conducted by Metternich in the first half of 1813, the movements of Schwarzenberg’s observation corps are relatively easy to follow. In January 1813 Schwarzenberg’s men stood directly in the path of a Russian advance through Warsaw and central Poland. As was the case with Yorck’s corps at the other end of Napoleon’s line, the 25,000 relatively fresh Austrian troops would have been a major obstacle to Kutuzov’s overstretched army had it chosen to bar his way. But the Austrians had no interest in defending the Duchy of Warsaw and actually welcomed the Russian advance towards central Europe as a means of weakening and balancing Napoleon’s power. They also had no wish to see their best troops sacrificed in battles with the Russian forces.

Ignoring French orders to cover Warsaw and retreat westwards, Schwarzenberg, on his government’s instructions, concluded a secret agreement with the Russians to retreat south-westwards towards Cracow and Austrian Galicia. An elaborate charade was maintained with the Russians so that Vienna could claim that its troops’ retreat had been necessitated by enemy outflanking movements. The only major force which now remained to cover central Poland was General Reynier’s Saxon corps. This was overtaken and heavily defeated by Kutuzov’s advance guard at Kalicz on 13 February 1813. The result of the Austrian retreat to the south-west was that by the end of February the whole of the Duchy of Warsaw had fallen into Russian hands with the exception of a handful of French fortresses and a small strip of land around Cracow.³³

In the first week of March, with Berlin and all Prussia liberated, and with Miloradovich’s and Wintzengerode’s corps of Kutuzov’s army positioned on the Polish border with Prussian Silesia, the first phase of the spring 1813 campaign was over. For the remainder of the month most of the Russian army was in quarters, resting after the winter campaign and attempting to feed itself and its horses, and to get its uniforms, muskets and equipment into some kind of order. Kutuzov issued detailed instructions to commanding officers about how to utilize this rest-period and they did their best to comply. While quartered near Kalicz, for example, the Lithuania (Litovsky) Guards Regiment trained every morning. All its muskets were repaired by skilled private craftsmen under the eagle eyes of the regiment’s NCOs. Its battered wagons were also repaired. A fifteen-day supply of flour was baked into bread and biscuit against future emergencies. The regiment could not replenish its ammunition because the ammunition parks were still stuck along the army’s line of communication, but each company built a Russian bath-house for itself. Material arrived for new uniforms and tailors’ shops were immediately set up to turn this into uniforms.³⁴

Although the Lithuania Guards Regiment enjoyed a rest in these weeks it received almost no reinforcements. This was true of almost all units in Kutuzov’s and Wittgenstein’s armies. The new reserve forces which had formed in Russia over the winter had been summoned to the front but they would not arrive until late May at the earliest. A handful of men dribbled back to the ranks from hospital or detached duties but they merely filled the gaps left by men falling out through sickness or dispatched from the regiments on essential tasks. At Kalicz, the Lithuania Guards had 38 officers and 810 men in the ranks but the Guards were usually far stronger than the bulk of the army. The Kexholm Regiment, for example, was down to just 408 men in mid-March.³⁵

As was typical of Osten-Sacken’s corps operating in south-west Poland, the Iaroslavl Regiment of Johann Lieven’s 10th Infantry Division was much stronger than most of the units in Kutuzov’s army. Even it, however, in mid-March had 5 officers and 170 men in hospital, and 14 officers and 129 men on detached duties. The latter included guarding the regimental baggage, helping the formation of reserves, escorting prisoners of war, collecting uniforms and equipment from the rear, and supervising the collection and dispatch of convalescents from hospitals. These detachments always required a disproportionate number of officers and were the inevitable consequence of a year’s campaigning which had now resulted in lines of communication stretching back for hundreds of kilometres. But they meant that when the campaign’s second phase began in April and the Russian forces advanced to meet Napoleon’s main army they would do so in a thoroughly reduced, even in some cases skeletal, condition.³⁶

While much of the Russian army was resting in March 1813 its light forces were gaining new laurels. Among their new exploits was a brilliant little victory near Lüneburg on 2 April where Chernyshev’s and Dornberg’s Russian ‘flying columns’ united to annihilate a French division under General Morand.

The most spectacular exploit of the light forces in March and April was, however, Tettenborn’s seizure of Hamburg and Lübeck, amidst a popular insurrection against the French. In this region, whose prosperity depended on overseas trade, the Continental System and Napoleon’s empire were deeply hated. The arrival of Tettenborn’s cavalry and Cossacks was greeted with ecstasy by the population. Already on 31 January Tettenborn had written to Alexander to say that French rule was detested in north-west Germany and ‘I am firmly convinced that we could quickly create a huge army there’. Now his predictions appeared to be coming true and his reports to Wittgenstein bubbled over with excitement and enthusiasm. On 21 March, for example, he reported that he expected to be able to form a large infantry force from local volunteers. Two days later he added that the formation of volunteer units was progressing ‘with astonishing success’.³⁷

In time unpleasant realities began to undermine the enthusiasm of this German patriot. The good burghers of Hamburg were not, as he had hoped, the German equivalents of the Spanish population of Saragossa, willing to see their houses destroyed over their heads and to fight in the ruins against French attempts to take their city. After initial enthusiasm, volunteering fell away sharply. Greatly outnumbered in Saxony by Napoleon, allied headquarters could spare no regular Russian or Prussian forces to support Tettenborn. The last hope of saving Hamburg from Marshal Davout’s counter-offensive rested with Bernadotte’s Swedish corps, whose first units began to disembark in Stralsund from 18 March. When Bernadotte refused to come to Hamburg’s rescue, however, the city’s cause was lost and Tettenborn evacuated his great prize on 30 May.

The circumstances in which Hamburg fell were the first act in the ‘Black Legend’ created by German nationalists against Bernadotte. Many further acts followed in 1813. It was whispered against him that he had no intention of fighting the French seriously since he wished to win their sympathy and replace Napoleon on France’s throne. More realistically, Bernadotte was accused of caring nothing for the allied cause and of preserving his Swedish troops for the only war that mattered to him, which was the conquest of Norway from the Danes. The latter accusation had some force and Bernadotte, who infuriated both French and German nationalists, traditionally had a very bad press. But even one of his greatest critics, Sir Charles Stewart, who was the British envoy to Prussia, wrote in his memoirs that Bernadotte was correct not to commit Swedish forces to Hamburg.³⁸

Bernadotte himself explained his actions to Alexander’s envoys, generals Peter van Suchtelen and Charles-André Pozzo di Borgo. He stated that half of his troops and much of his baggage had not arrived due to contrary winds when the appeal from Hamburg came. His outnumbered men would have faced Davout to their front with hostile Danish forces in their rear. Acknowledging the seriousness of Hamburg’s loss, Bernadotte argued that

despite all the misfortunes which this loss can bring, the defeat of the Swedish army would be a thousand times worse, and Hamburg would in that event be occupied for certain and the Danes would reunite with the French. Instead of this, I am concentrating my forces, I am organizing my troops and am receiving reinforcements from Sweden every day – and thereby I am making the French feel my presence and will stop them crossing the Elbe unless they do this in too great force.³⁹

Though a big disappointment to German patriots, the Hamburg operation actually remained a great success from the point of view of allied headquarters. At the cost of a relative handful of Cossacks and cavalry, Napoleon’s best marshal, Davout, and roughly 40,000 French troops were occupied in what was a strategic backwater at a time when their presence on the Saxon battlefields could have made a decisive difference. In addition, the chaos encouraged in north-western Germany by Tettenborn, Chernyshev and other ‘partisan’ leaders totally disrupted the horse-fairs which traditionally occurred in the region at this time. For the French this was a serious matter. The biggest headache faced by Napoleon as he strove to re-create the Grande Armée was the shortage of cavalry; 175,000 horses had been lost in Russia and this proved to be a more serious matter than the lost manpower. In 1813 ‘France was so poor in horses’ (according to a nineteenth-century French expert) that even requisitioning private horses for the cavalry and other emergency measures ‘could only provide 29,000 horses and even they were not in a state to enter military service immediately’. The Polish and north-east German studs were lost to Napoleon, and efforts to buy from the Austrians were rejected. The wrecking of the horse-fairs in north-western Germany was an additional blow, which further delayed the mounting and training of the French cavalry. Many thousands of French cavalrymen remained without horses in the spring 1813 campaign, and lack of cavalry very seriously undermined Napoleon’s operations.⁴⁰

Apart from the cavalry, however, Napoleon’s efforts rapidly to rebuild his armies in the winter of 1812–13 were a triumphant success. The nature of this new Grande Armée is sometimes misunderstood. Contrary to legend, it was in reality by no means just a mélange of the 25,000 men who had crawled back across the Neman in December 1812 and a horde of ‘Marie Louises’, in other words young conscripts from the classes of 1813 and 1814. Even as early as January 1813 some fresh troops were available to reinforce Eugène’s remnant of the old Grande Armée: above all, these were the 27,000 men of Grenier and Lagrange’s divisions, which had never been committed to the Russian campaign. In addition, we have already encountered the French garrisons in Prussia which frightened Frederick William III in the winter of 1812–13.

Armies on campaign usually leave behind some sort of cadre in depots or along the lines of communication, from which their regiments can if necessary be reconstituted. For example, Napoleon’s Guards in theory numbered 56,000 men on the eve of the 1812 campaign. The Guards units which entered Russia nominally comprised 38,000 men and had 27,000 actually present in the ranks when they crossed the Neman. The Young Guard regiments which invaded Russia were almost wiped out but two Young Guard battalions had remained in Paris in 1812, and two more in Germany. Around them and the four full Young Guard regiments in Spain a formidable new force could be created.⁴¹

Within France there were the reserve battalions of the regiments serving in Spain and in the farther-flung areas of the empire. In his study of the Grande Armée in 1813, Camille Rousset mentions them but gives no figure for the men they sent to it. The Prussian general staff history of the campaign reckons perhaps 10,000. French and Prussian sources also differ as to how many men were withdrawn from Spain. The smallest figure is 20,000 but all sources agree that the men from Spain were the elite of the troops deployed there. On top of this there were 12,000 good soldiers of the naval artillery stationed in France’s ports and now incorporated into the new Grande Armée. Even the first wave of recruits, the 75,000 so-called cohorts, had already been under arms for nine months by the beginning of 1813. It was around this relatively large cadre that the true ‘Marie Louises’ were formed. These young men usually lacked neither courage nor loyalty: their great problem was endurance when faced by the gruelling demands of Napoleonic campaigning. Nevertheless, as it concentrated near the river Main Napoleon’s new army was an impressive force. Initially, its more than 200,000 men faced barely 110,000 allied soldiers. If the Russians and Prussians had considerably more veterans, the French had Napoleon to even this balance.⁴²

While Napoleon was mobilizing and concentrating his new armies Kutuzov was at headquarters in Kalicz, contemplating competing strategic options. Immediately after the signing of the Russo-Prussian alliance on 28 February Lieutenant-General Gerhard von Scharnhorst arrived at Russian headquarters in Kalicz to coordinate planning for the forthcoming campaign. There was no doubt, however, either that Russia was the senior partner in the alliance or that Kutuzov, field-marshal and commander-in-chief, would have the decisive say in strategy. Both at the time and subsequently Kutuzov was criticized from two diametrically opposed points of view.

One school of thought argued that the allied forces ought to have advanced decisively across Germany in March and early April 1813. Some of the Prussian generals and some later German historians took the lead here but Wittgenstein was also anxious to pursue Viceroy Eugène over the Elbe. Both those like Wittgenstein, who wished to attack Eugène at Magdeburg, and those who wanted to strike further south to disrupt Napoleon’s planned offensive, believed this would allow the allies to mobilize powerful support from the German peoples and perhaps German princes. The opposite school of thought, almost exclusively Russian, sometimes blamed Kutuzov for having advanced so far from his base in Russia, and opposed any plan to cross the Elbe into the Saxon heartland until Russian reinforcements arrived.⁴³

In an important letter written to his cousin, Admiral Login Golenishchev-Kutuzov, the commander-in-chief explained why the Russians had been forced to advance so deep into Germany.

Our movement away from our borders and so from our resources may seem ill-considered, particularly if you reckon the distance from the Neman to the Elbe and then the distance from the Elbe to the Rhine. Large enemy forces can reach us before we can be strengthened by reserves coming from Russia…But if you go into the circumstances of our activities in more detail, then you will see that we are operating beyond the Elbe only with light forces, of which (given the quality of our light forces) none will be lost. It was necessary to occupy Berlin and having taken Berlin how can you abandon Saxony, both because of its abundant resources and because it interdicts the enemy’s communications with Poland. Mecklenburg and the Hanseatic towns add to our resources. I agree that our removal far from our borders also distances us from our reinforcements but if we had remained behind the Vistula then we would have had to wage a war like in 1807. There would have been no alliance with Prussia and all of Germany, including Austria, with its people and all its resources, would have served Napoleon.⁴⁴

Kutuzov’s response to those who urged a rapid advance across Germany is contained in the many letters he wrote to his subordinate generals, Winzengerode and Wittgenstein. The commander-in-chief admitted the advantages in occupying as much as possible of Germany in order to mobilize its resources, raise German morale and pre-empt Napoleon’s plans. But the further the allies advanced the weaker their forces would become and the more vulnerable to a devastating counter-strike from the far larger army that Napoleon was building up in southwestern Germany. Defeat would have more than merely military consequences: ‘You must understand that any reverse will be a big blow to Russia’s prestige in Germany.’⁴⁵

Aleksandr Mikhailovsky-Danilevsky, who was serving at the time on Kutuzov’s staff, recalled that there was constant tension between headquarters and Wittgenstein in March and April 1813, as Kutuzov tried to draw his subordinate’s attention southwards to where Napoleon’s main army was concentrating, and in particular to the line from Erfurt through Leipzig to Dresden along which the enemy was expected to advance. On the contrary, Wittgenstein was above all concerned to protect Berlin and the Prussian heartland which his corps had liberated and on whose borders it was mostly deployed in March 1813. Kutuzov and his chief of staff, Petr Volkonsky, were extremely concerned that unless Wittgenstein advanced to the south-west into Saxony there was every chance that Napoleon’s advance would drive a wedge between him and the main allied forces and thereby enable the enemy to isolate and overwhelm first one allied army and then the other.⁴⁶

In the circumstances Kutuzov and Volkonsky were basically correct. Given their acute shortage of troops, the allies had to concentrate their forces in the Dresden–Leipzig area in order to stop Napoleon driving eastwards along the Austrian border towards Poland. But the worries of Wittgenstein and his chief of staff d’Auvray about defending Berlin and Brandenburg were also legitimate and were shared by most senior Prussian commanders. If Napoleon reconquered these areas, Prussian mobilization of men and matériel would suffer a big setback. The basic problem of the allies in the spring of 1813 was that they needed to defend both the Prussian heartland around Berlin and southern Saxony. Unfortunately they lacked the resources to do this. The tension caused by conflicting strategic priorities and inadequate manpower to defend them continued throughout the spring campaign.

Clausewitz provides a realistic view on the allied situation which goes a long way towards justifying the strategy ultimately agreed by Kutuzov and Scharnhorst, and ratified by the Russian and Prussian monarchs. In his view Wittgenstein’s wish to attack Eugène at Magdeburg made no sense: the viceroy would merely retreat if faced by superior numbers and would draw the allies away from the crucial Leipzig–Dresden operational line on which their links to Austria and to the Russian supplies and reinforcements in Poland depended. Mounting a pre-emptive strike into Thuringia, as some Prussian generals were urging, also made no sense. The advancing allied troops would face far superior numbers close to Napoleon’s bases by April.

Unfortunately, however, the purely defensive strategy based on defence of the Elbe which some Russians advocated was also unlikely to work, given Napoleon’s superiority in numbers and the fact that he held almost all the fortified crossing points over the river. By standing on the Elbe rather than further west, the allies would merely gift Napoleon extra time which they dearly needed to win over the Austrians and bring up Russian reinforcements. Though Clausewitz therefore approved of the allied strategy of advancing over the Elbe and seeking to delay Napoleon by offering battle near Leipzig, he was clear-eyed about the allied chances in this battle, given the French advantage in numbers. Surprise, added to the superiority of the allied veteran troops and of their cavalry, gave them some hope of victory but no more than that.⁴⁷

On 16 March 1813 Blücher’s Prussian corps crossed the Silesian border into Saxony. The next day Prussia declared war on France. Blücher was followed by the advance guard of Kutuzov’s army, commanded by Winzengerode, who was subordinated to the Prussian general’s command. Dresden, the Saxon capital, fell to Winzengerode on 27 March, after which the Russian and Prussian troops fanned out across Saxony towards Leipzig. Apart from the strategic reasons for occupying western Saxony, logistics also came into play. Silesia and the Lausitz (i.e. eastern Saxony) were largely manufacturing areas which depended even in normal circumstances on imported Polish grain. These provinces could sustain troops crossing them but the long-term deployment of the allied armies east of the Elbe was bound to be difficult and to impede efforts to mobilize resources in Silesia for the Prussian war effort.

The ever-aggressive Blücher dreamed of heading into Thuringia and Franconia to attack Napoleon’s main army before it was ready. He knew that he could not do this on his own but his attempts to persuade Wittgenstein to join the offensive were unavailing. In fact even Blücher began to have his doubts about the wisdom of such a move. Like all the allied leaders, Blücher had his eyes on Austria, and in particular on Francis II. Like them too, memories of 1805 were burned into his consciousness: in that year probable Prussian intervention in the war had been wrecked by the premature allied attack at Austerlitz. He commented to Wittgenstein that everyone was warning him of the possible present-day parallels and that maybe on this occasion it was better to postpone the decision for as long as possible.⁴⁸

Meanwhile Kutuzov and his army’s main body remained in Kalicz, much to the Prussians’ annoyance. The field-marshal saw no reason to disturb his men’s rest. Having occupied Saxony he had no wish to advance further and his intelligence reports in March rightly concluded that Napoleon was not yet ready to attack him. On 2 April Frederick William arrived in Kalicz and inspected the Russian troops. The Guards, all in new uniforms, looked splendid but the king was dismayed by the small size of the Russian forces. The Prussians were beginning to realize how much the past year’s campaigning had cost the Russians and how very great an effort Prussia would need to make for victory. Five days after the parade Alexander, Kutuzov and the Guards at last set off for Saxony.

En route, Captain Zhirkevich’s battery of the Russian Guards artillery experienced another rather different inspection by Frederick William while passing through Liegnitz. The news that the king was in the city and wished to greet the Russian troops only reached Zhirkevich at very short notice. The Russian commander’s preparations were then thrown into total confusion when the modest Frederick William suddenly emerged onto the insignificant steps of the first small house they passed on entering the city. A volley of commands more or less got the column into some variant of parade order in the narrow street but the excitement also stirred up the menagerie of ducks, geese and hens stacked on top of the gun caissons, who added their own cacophony to the military music. Behind the gun carriages and caissons followed a herd of sheep, calves and cows. They added to the confusion not just by their cries but also by attempting to array themselves into their own version of parade order too. Zhirkevich’s embarrassment was increased by the fact that these animals had all been ‘acquired’ from the king’s own province of Silesia, but Frederick William just smiled and told the Russian commander that it was good to see the troops looking so well and cheerful. The king could be morose, cold and ungracious but at heart he was a decent and well-meaning man. He also spoke and read Russian, albeit imperfectly, and he liked the Russians. It was lucky for Zhirkevich that his men’s antics had been performed before Frederick William rather than Alexander or the Grand Duke Constantine. The latter would have taken a very dim view of the Guards’ informality when on parade before an allied sovereign.⁴⁹

For the Russian troops the march across Silesia and Saxony was something of a picnic. The weather was superb and, especially in Silesia, the Russian soldiers were greeted everywhere as allies and liberators. Though usually treated correctly by the Poles, the latter were seldom fully trusted by Russian officers. Much of Poland was poor at the best of times, and not improved by the passage of armies in 1812–13. By contrast, Silesia was rich and Saxony even richer. The Russian officers marvelled at the wealth, houses and lifestyles of Saxon peasant farmers. The blonde and buxom German young women were a joy to behold, though German ‘vodka’ seemed miserably thin and weak. Meanwhile, as they approached the Elbe, they could see on their left the romantic wooded slopes of the mountains dividing Saxony from Habsburg Bohemia.⁵⁰

On 24 April Alexander and the Russian Guards entered Dresden, where they were to spend the Russian Easter. For the overwhelming majority of the Russian soldiers, both in Dresden and elsewhere in Saxony, the Easter services were a moving and uplifting experience. Serge Volkonsky, Prince Repnin-Volkonsky’s brother and Petr Mikhailovich Volkonsky’s brother-in-law, was an excellently educated, French-speaking officer of the Chevaliers Gardes. Nevertheless he recalls how the priests emerged from the church to greet the massed regiments with the Easter cry, ‘Christ is risen’, ‘the prayer…dear to the heart of all Christians and for us Russians all the more strongly felt because our prayers are both religious and national. On account of both sentiments, for all the Russians present this was a moment of exaltation.’ The time for prayers and picnics was drawing to a close, however. The same day that Alexander entered Dresden, Napoleon moved his headquarters forward from Mainz to Erfurt in preparation for his advance into Saxony.⁵¹

Meanwhile illness had forced Kutuzov to drop out en route to Dresden. The old field-marshal died in Bunzlau on 28 April. Kutuzov’s death had no impact on allied strategy, which remained committed to stopping Napoleon’s advance through Saxony. Alexander appointed Wittgenstein to be the new commander-in-chief. In many ways he was the most suitable candidate. No other general had won so many victories in 1812 and his reputation had been enhanced by the victorious campaign to liberate Prussia in 1813. Wittgenstein spoke German and French and could therefore communicate easily with Russia’s allies. In addition, his concern for the defence of Berlin and the Prussian heartland endeared him to the Prussians and enabled him to empathize with their worries. One problem with Wittgenstein’s appointment was that he was junior to Miloradovich, Tormasov and Barclay. The latter was still absent from the main army at the siege of Thorn but the other two full generals were deeply insulted. Tormasov departed for Russia and was no great loss. Miloradovich remained and was assuaged by daily messages of support and benevolence from Alexander.

None of this would have mattered too much had Wittgenstein chalked up a victory over Napoleon. Failure at the battle of Lutzen brought out the knives. Already prone to intervene in military operations, Alexander became even more inclined to do so as criticisms mounted of the new commander-in-chief. Unfortunately, these criticisms were often justified. Wittgenstein was out of his depth as commander-in-chief. Brave, bold, generous and even chivalrous, Wittgenstein was an inspirational corps commander but he could not master the much more complex requirements of army headquarters where authority could not always be exercised in face-to-face manner and painstaking administration and staff work were required to keep a large force operational. According to Mikhailovsky-Danilevsky, Wittgenstein’s headquarters was chaotic, with little discipline or even elementary military security being exercised over the many hangers-on who came to infest it.⁵²

In the last days of April, as Napoleon advanced from Erfurt towards Leipzig, the allies deployed just to the south of his line of march near the town of Lutzen. Either they must try to ambush Napoleon or they must retreat rapidly so that he could not reach Dresden before them and cut off their retreat over the Elbe. The choice was not difficult since to retreat without a battle when first encountering Napoleon would damage the troops’ morale and the allies’ prestige in Germany and Austria. A surprise attack which caught the enemy on the march might defeat him, or at the very least slow down his advance.

The allied plan was devised by Diebitsch. He aimed to catch part of the enemy army while it was strung out on the march and to destroy it before the rest of Napoleon’s corps could come to its aid. The consensus is that the plan was good but its execution very flawed. This is not surprising. Wittgenstein brought with him his own staff. Almost all top positions at headquarters changed on the eve of the battle. To take but one example: Ermolov was replaced as chief of artillery by Prince Iashvili, who had previously headed the artillery of Wittgenstein’s corps. Ermolov was already in some disfavour because of his failure to bring up the artillery parks with ammunition supplies at sufficient speed, but the sudden transfer of responsibility to Iashvili resulted in the new artillery chief not knowing the whereabouts even of all the ammunition that was to hand. Further confusion occurred because this was the first time that large Russian and Prussian forces had fought side-by-side.

Diebitsch’s plan included columns moving at night to take up positions for attack by 6 a.m. on 2 May. Predictably, confusion occurred, columns bumped into each other and even the first allied line was not deployed until five hours later. Matters were not helped by the fact that the plans often arrived very late and were detailed but not always precise. To some extent the delay may even have worked in the allies’ favour, however. During the five hours that elapsed, Napoleon and the bulk of his army was marching away from the battlefield and towards Leipzig, convinced that no battle would occur that day. In addition, had the battle of Lutzen commenced at dawn, Napoleon would have had a full summer’s day to concentrate all his forces on the battlefield, with possibly dire results for the outnumbered allies.

The allies’ initial target was Ney’s isolated corps deployed near the villages of Grossgörschen and Starsiedel. It helped Wittgenstein that Ney had dispersed the five divisions of his corps and failed to take proper precautions. The initial attack by Blücher’s Prussians took the enemy by surprise. The allied high command found itself equally surprised, however, by the fact that Marmont’s corps was positioned in support of Ney and by the nature of the ground over which the battle was fought. This suggests that, despite their superiority in cavalry, allied reconnaissance was less than perfect. George Cathcart, the son of the British ambassador to Russia, was with Wittgenstein’s headquarters. He commented that because of the undulating, cultivated terrain it was impossible to see from allied headquarters what lay beyond the first high ground where the enemy was positioned. The initial Prussian attack on Grossgörschen succeeded ‘but Grossgörschen is only one of a cluster of nearly contiguous villages, interspersed with tanks, mill ponds, gardens etc., which furnished strong holding ground’. The villages on the battlefield were of ‘stone houses with narrow, cobbled lanes and stone-walled gardens’.⁵³

For the first time the allied troops encountered a fundamental difference between Saxon and Russian battlefields. On the latter, wooden villages offered no help to defenders. Solid Saxon stone walls and buildings were a very different matter and could sometimes be turned into small fortresses. Ney’s troops were inexperienced but they were courageous and, in the nature of such soldiers, they drew strength from being able in part to fight behind fixed, stone defences. The Prussian infantry also showed extraordinary courage, urged on by officers desperate to wipe away the shame of Jena. The result was a ferocious battle that swung from side to side as villages were lost and then regained by fresh, well-ordered reserves whose swift counter-attacks caught the enemy before it had regained its breath and organized itself to defend its recent gains. The brunt of the fighting was borne by the Prussian infantry, with the Russians only entering the battle in their support well into the afternoon. From this moment Eugen of Württemberg’s corps in particular was heavily engaged and suffered many casualties first in recapturing the villages and subsequently in holding off the growing threat to the allies’ right flank.

The key to the battle was, however, that Ney’s and Marmont’s men were just able to hold the allied attacks long enough for first Napoleon himself and then other corps to arrive on the battlefield. It did not help the allied cause that faulty planning and reconnaissance meant that Miloradovich’s corps remained inactive only a few kilometres from the battle. Even had Miloradovich’s men been present, however, it would not have altered the outcome. Given the greatly superior French numbers of infantry and Napoleon’s skill in using them, once the whole French army was concentrated on the battlefield victory was certain. By the late afternoon, with MacDonald threatening to turn the allies’ right and Bertrand their left, Wittgenstein was being forced to commit his reserves at a time when Napoleon would soon have many fresh troops to hand.

Clausewitz argued that Lutzen was more a drawn battle than an allied defeat. At the end of the day the allies still stood on the battlefield and had inflicted more casualties than they had suffered. Their retreat was forced, not by defeat, but by the presence of overwhelming enemy numbers. According to Clausewitz, had they not fought at Lutzen this numerical inferiority would have forced the allies to retreat anyway without even slowing down the French advance to the degree achieved by the battle of Lutzen. There is something in this argument but also a touch of special pleading. It is true that Lutzen was not a serious defeat but it could well have become one with just two more hours of daylight.⁵⁴

After the battle the allies made an orderly retreat across Saxony, recrossing the Elbe and reaching Bautzen in eastern Saxony on 12 May. For most of the way Miloradovich commanded the rearguard and did so with great skill. This allowed the rest of the army to move back in a calm and unhurried manner. At Bautzen the allies enjoyed almost a week’s rest before Napoleon’s troops fully caught up with them. The Russians by now had no equals in Europe when it came to rearguard actions and withdrawals. It would have taken far better cavalry than anything Napoleon possessed in 1813 to shake them. As a result of Lutzen, however, the King of Saxony, who had sat on the fence for two months, swung back into Napoleon’s camp. The Saxon garrison of Torgau, the last fortified crossing of the Elbe not in French hands, was ordered to open its gates to Napoleon. Its commander, Lieutenant-General von Thielemann, delayed as long as possible and then fled with his chief of staff to the allied camp. Uncertainty as to whether Saxony would join the allies had constrained requisitioning in April. By the time King Frederick Augustus’s position became clear it was too late for the retreating allies to milk the kingdom, whose rich resources were to sustain Napoleon’s war effort for the next six months.⁵⁵

The narrative of military operations in April and May 1813 at most tells only half of the story, however. Intensive diplomatic negotiations were going on simultaneously between the Austrians and the warring sides. This had a big impact on Russian strategy. In a letter to Bernadotte, Alexander claimed that all the battles which had occurred in Saxony in April and May had been fought in order to delay Napoleon and gain time for Austria to intervene, as it had promised repeatedly to do. At precisely the moment that Napoleon started his advance across Saxony the Austrians had launched their own diplomatic offensive. Having declared to both sides Austria’s intention to mediate, Metternich sent Count Bubna to Napoleon and Count Philipp Stadion to allied headquarters to discover the terms which the warring sides were willing to offer. Meanwhile Austria built up its army in Bohemia to add the threat of military intervention as an inducement to compromise.⁵⁶

By this time Austria was tilting strongly towards the allies. Three months of negotiations with France and Russia had shown beyond doubt that Napoleon remained the enemy of the key Austrian objectives of regaining their lost territories and restoring some kind of balance of power in Europe. On these most fundamental issues the Russians and Prussians quite genuinely supported the Austrian position. If Vienna truly wanted to end France’s dominion in Europe this could only be done in alliance with Petersburg and Berlin, and probably only by war. Just possibly the mere threat of Austrian intervention on the allies’ side would induce Napoleon to make enough concessions to satisfy Vienna. Some Austrians hoped for this and the Russians and Prussians feared it. Around this key issue revolved the diplomatic negotiations between Austria, France and the allies in the late spring and summer of 1813.

On 29 April, three days before the battle of Lutzen, Metternich sent two important letters to Baron Lebzeltern, his representative at allied headquarters. The Austrian foreign minister noted continuing allied distrust of Vienna and set out to explain why the years of financial crisis since 1809 had so retarded military preparations. Metternich wrote that recent Austrian statements to Napoleon should leave him in no doubt about Vienna’s position. When Stadion arrived at allied headquarters he would explain the peace terms Vienna was putting to Napoleon and leave the Russians and Prussians confident as to Austria’s firm intention to act on them once its army was ready. In his first letter the Austrian foreign minister wrote that ‘by the twenty-fourth of May we will have more than 60,000 men in the Bohemian border districts; in total we will have two field armies mobilized of between 125,000 and 130,000 men and a reserve of at least 50,000’. In his second letter, seeking to ease allied fears that their advance into Saxony was too risky, he added that

if Napoleon wins a battle it will be useless for most certainly the Austrian armies will not permit him to pursue his success: if he loses his fate is decided…the emperor desires nevertheless that their Russian and Prussian majesties should have no doubt about the intervention of our Bohemian army which, I repeat, will stop any advance that the French armies might attempt against the allies in the case of victory; under no circumstances should this worry them.⁵⁷

Stadion’s instructions were issued on 7 May. They stated that even the minimal conditions which Austria would offer to Napoleon included the return of most Austrian and Prussian lost territories, the extinction of the Duchy of Warsaw and of all French territory in Germany east of the Rhine, and the abolition or at least modification of the Confederation of the Rhine. Austria bound itself to discover before the end of May whether Napoleon would accept these terms and listen to the voice of compromise. Metternich argued that the Austrian demands had deliberately been kept moderate because she sought a lasting European peace which could only be built on the consent of all the great powers. Stadion must reassure the allied monarchs that Austria’s position would be changed neither by Napoleon’s victories nor by his defeats on the battlefield. He must discover allied terms for peace but also create the basis for military cooperation in the event that Austrian armed mediation failed to sway Napoleon.⁵⁸

Philipp Stadion reached allied headquarters at nine in the morning on 13 May, eleven days after the battle of Lutzen and one week before the battle of Bautzen. He met Nesselrode twice that day. In a report to Alexander written on 13 May Nesselrode summarized the Austrian position as explained by Stadion. Vienna would insist on the restoration of the territories lost by it in 1805 and 1809. It would support whatever restoration of Prussian territory was stipulated in the Russo-Prussian treaty of alliance. It would demand the extinction of the Duchy of Warsaw, of all French territory east of the Rhine, and of the Confederation of the Rhine itself. If Napoleon did not accept these conditions by 1 June Austria would enter the war, regardless of what had happened on the battlefield between then and now. Stadion would agree with the allies the principles of a plan for joint military operations. Nesselrode commented correctly that ‘without doubt the conditions set out will never be accepted by France’. He added that ‘Count Stadion promises formally in the name of his court that no evasive or dilatory response by Napoleon will hold her back beyond the end of this period from executing the plan of operations which will have been agreed between her and the allied courts’.⁵⁹

Nesselrode was a very calm and experienced diplomat. It is inconceivable that he misinterpreted Stadion, deliberately or otherwise, on so crucial a matter. Stadion himself was a former Austrian foreign minister. For all his hatred for Napoleon and the French Empire in Germany, he would never deliberately have misled the Russians. To do so would have been hugely risky both in military terms and in its impact on Austro-Russian relations. Perhaps Stadion allowed his enthusiasm too free a rein in interpreting his instructions, though it is impossible to know what was said between him and Metternich before his departure to allied headquarters. Whoever was to blame, however, there is no doubt that what Stadion told Nesselrode did not represent the true state of affairs in Vienna.

In the first place it was by no means certain that Francis II would take the uncompromising line suggested by Stadion in the event of Napoleon rejecting any of the Austrian minimal conditions, seeking delay, or winning victories over the allies on the battlefield. In addition, when Nesselrode three weeks later finally got to meet Field-Marshal Schwarzenberg and General Radetsky, the two key officers of the Army of Bohemia, they assured him that it had never been conceivable for the Austrian army to cross the Bohemian frontier before 20 June. Russian bafflement and suspicion was inevitable. Did Stadion speak for Metternich? What were the slippery foreign minister’s true views and did he speak for Francis II? Did any Austrian statesman understand, let alone control, what the army was doing to prepare for war?⁶⁰

Categorical Austrian assurances of support were a powerful additional reason for the allies to risk another battle against Napoleon by stopping their retreat at Bautzen. Nevertheless, though there were excellent reasons for trying to gain time and delay Napoleon, the decision was a very risky one. At the battle of Bautzen on 20–21 May the allies could muster only 96,000 men: Napoleon had double that number present by the end of the battle and his superiority was even greater as regards infantry, which would be the decisive arm on the battlefield. On the map the terrain at Bautzen seemed to favour a stout defence. When they arrived on the scene, as was their habit, the Russian troops immediately began to dig entrenchments and fortifications. Although individual strong points were formidable, however, the position was divided up into a number of sectors by streams and ravines. It would be very difficult to coordinate the defence or move reserves from one sector to another. Above all, the allied position was too extended for such a relatively small force. The Russians had four times fewer men per kilometre than had been the case at Borodino.

Count Langeron arrived at Bautzen with Barclay de Tolly’s detachment just four days before the battle. After the fall of Thorn they had marched at speed to the rescue of the main army. At the battle of Bautzen Langeron’s corps, under Barclay’s overall command, stood on the far right flank of the allied line, against which Napoleon’s decisive stroke – as it turned out – was to be directed, under the command of Marshal Ney. In his memoirs Langeron commented that the ground offered many advantages to its defenders but 25,000 men were needed to hold it; he had only 8,000. Eugen of Württemberg’s corps was on the allied left flank. Like Langeron, he recognized that the decision to stand at Bautzen had been taken above all for political reasons. In his view, ‘given how much we were outnumbered and given the very extended position we were holding we could not expect victory in the battle but just to inflict losses on the enemy and to conduct an orderly retreat protected by our numerous cavalry’.⁶¹

Fighting the leading general of the day at a two-to-one disadvantage, the danger was that they would be routed. Even another Friedland, let alone an Austerlitz, would probably have destroyed this allied coalition, as had happened to so many before it. A victory equal to Friedland was actually within Napoleon’s grasp on 21 May and would probably have occurred but for the mistakes of Marshal Ney.

Napoleon’s plan was simple and potentially devastating. On 20 May his limited attacks and feints would pin the allied main body along the whole defensive line which ran from the foothills of the Bohemian mountains on their left to the Kreckwitz heights on their right. These attacks would continue on 21 May. Given French numbers, it was easy to make these attacks very convincing and even to force the allies to commit part of their reserve to stop them. But the crucial stroke would be made on 21 May by Ney and Lauriston’s corps on Barclay’s position on the far right of the allied position near Gleina. In overwhelmingly superior numbers they would drive through Barclay and into the allied rear, cutting across the only roads which would allow the allies to make an orderly retreat eastwards to Reichenbach and Görlitz, and threatening to push the enemy in disorderly rout southwards over the Austrian frontier. This plan was fully viable and was indeed helped by Alexander’s obsession that the main threat would come on his left, with Napoleon attempting to lever the allies away from the Bohemian frontier and thereby wreck the chances of coordinating operations with the Austrians. In contrast, Wittgenstein correctly understood that the main danger would come in the north. By now Alexander had lost confidence in Wittgenstein, however, and was almost acting himself as de facto commander-in-chief. Moreover, Wittgenstein did not help matters by telling the emperor that Barclay commanded 15,000 men whereas in reality he had barely half that many.⁶²

On 20 May the battle went according to Napoleon’s plan. Fierce fighting raged down the whole allied front as far north as the Kreckwitz heights and Alexander committed part of his reserves to drive back what he saw as the French threat on his left. Meanwhile Barclay’s men were bothered by nothing more than a few skirmishers. On the next morning battle was renewed from the Bohemian foothills to Kreckwitz, but Ney and Lauriston also entered the fray.

The battle on the far right began at about nine in the morning. Barclay quickly realized that there was no hope of stopping the overwhelming numbers with which he was faced. All he could hope to do was fight a delaying action on the heights near Gleina and protect the key lines of retreat as long as possible. Langeron commented that in particular his 28th and 32nd Jaeger regiments showed both skill and heroism that morning, holding off the French until the last minute and allowing the Russian artillery to escape after inflicting heavy casualties. Barclay himself went forward among his jaegers, inspiring them by his quiet courage in extreme danger. For all the Russians’ coolness and the temporary respite won by a counter-attack by Kleist’s Prussians, the situation became increasingly desperate as Ney’s pressure built up and part of Lauriston’s corps threatened to envelop Barclay’s right flank. When the village of Preititz finally fell to the French at three in the afternoon it would have been easy for Lauriston to move forward to cut the vital allied line of retreat down the road to Weissenburg.

Instead, providentially, Ney allowed himself to become over-excited by the ferocious struggle occurring to his right on the Kreckwitz heights, where Blücher was holding out against an attack by Soult, whose force included Bertrand’s corps and Napoleon’s Guards. Instead of pushing south-east towards the allied line of retreat, Ney not only directed his own corps south-westwards against Blücher but also ordered Lauriston to support him. Faced by these overwhelming numbers, old Blücher, still haranguing his men to fight like the Spartans at Thermopylae, was persuaded, very unwillingly and just in time, to retreat down the road which Barclay’s men were still keeping open. The Russian Guards and heavy cavalry were ordered up to cover the retreat.

The allied right and centre moved down the road to Reichenbach and Weissenburg, the left down the parallel road through Loebau to Hochkirch. This retreat was essentially a flank march across the front of much more numerous enemy forces after two days of exhausting battle. Langeron comments that ‘it was nevertheless achieved in the greatest order and without suffering the slightest loss, just like all the other retreats that this admirable Russian army made during the war, thanks to its perfect discipline, its obedience and to the innate courage of the Russian officers and soldiers’. No doubt Langeron was a biased witness but Baron von Odeleben, a Saxon officer on Napoleon’s staff, watched the Russian rearguard on 21 May and recorded that ‘the Russians retired in the greatest order’ and ‘made a retreat, which may be considered as a chef d’œuvre of tactics…although the lines of the allies had been, as it were, thrown on the centre, the French could not succeed, either in cutting off a part of their army, or capturing their artillery’.⁶³

For Napoleon, the outcome of Bautzen was a great disappointment. Instead of a decisive victory he had merely pushed the allies back along their line of retreat after losing 25,000 men as against 10,850 Russian and Prussian casualties. His pursuit of the retreating allies brought him no more joy. The day after Bautzen, on 22 May, the French caught up with the Russian rearguard at Reichenbach. Its retreat was blocked by a traffic jam in the streets of the town but this did not fluster its commanders, Miloradovich and Eugen of Württemberg. Once again Odeleben was watching:

The dispositions made for the defence of the height in question confer the highest honour on the commander of the Russian rearguard. The road to Reichenbach, which comes out opposite the hill, turns where it leaves the town. The Russian general took advantage of the position until the last moment, and his troops did not withdraw until the French came up in such strong numbers that resistance became totally impossible. Directly after, he was seen defending another height between Reichenbach and Markersdorf, where he again arrested the march of the French.⁶⁴

This was Eugen’s ‘retreat in echelon’ in action and the snail-like progress it imposed on the French infuriated Napoleon and inspired him to such impatient rage that he took over the command of the advance guard himself. That evening the Russian rearguard took up yet another defensive position behind the village of Markersdorf. When Napoleon pressed on through the village the first shot of the Russian artillery mortally wounded his Marshal of the Court and closest friend, Géraud Duroc. Four days later at Hainau the Prussian cavalry ambushed and routed an incautious French advance guard under General Maison. As usual, these exploits of the allied rearguards bought their comrades the time to make an orderly retreat, but in the last ten days of the spring 1813 campaign they actually achieved much more than this. What Napoleon saw of the allies was a far superior enemy cavalry and imperturbable Russian rearguards like those whom he had pursued all the way to Moscow in the previous year without achieving anything. He would have been less than human had he not shuddered at renewing the same game with the very inferior cavalry he possessed in May 1813. What the allied rearguard hid totally from him were the deep dissensions and potential confusion affecting allied headquarters at this time.

The dissension above all stemmed from the fact that the allies were facing very difficult strategic dilemmas. If Austrian intervention was indeed imminent the priority should probably be to hug the Silesian border with Bohemia and prepare to link up with the invading Habsburg forces. If Austrian help was delayed or failed altogether, however, such a move could be fatal. The Prusso-Russian army could easily find itself outflanked from the east and trapped against a neutral border by Napoleon. At a minimum, attempting to remain near the Silesian–Bohemian border would make it difficult to feed the army for any length of time and would risk its communications back to Poland from where its supplies and reinforcements were coming.

This was anathema to Barclay de Tolly, who replaced Wittgenstein as commander-in-chief on 29 May. Months of campaigning, added to Wittgenstein’s inept administration, had reduced the Russian army to a degree of confusion with corps, divisions and even regiments disordered and mutilated by detachments and special assignments. Wittgenstein did not even know where all his units were, let alone their numbers. By late May the men were also beginning to go hungry. Barclay’s solution to these problems was to retreat across the Oder into Poland in order to reorganize his army. He promised that this reorganization would be completed within six weeks. By retreating to their own supply bases the Russians’ problem of feeding the army and restoring its structure could quickly be solved. In addition, scores of thousands of reinforcements were now arriving in the theatre of operations. These included Fabian Osten-Sacken’s formidable divisions, packed with more veterans than any other corps apart from the Guards; Dmitrii Neverovsky’s excellent 27th division; Peter Pahlen’s cavalry; and tens of thousands of reserves formed in Russia over the winter of 1812–13. Thousands of men were about to return from hospital and needed a breathing space to be fitted back into their regiments.

If Barclay’s solution made good sense in narrowly Russian military terms, however, it was political dynamite. For the Prussians it would have meant abandoning Silesia and allowing Napoleon to detach a number of corps to reconquer Berlin and Brandenburg. It would probably also have doomed Austrian intervention, certainly in the short run and perhaps for ever. On 31 May, after the news of Bautzen had reached Vienna, the Hanoverian envoy wrote that

the fears of the emperor [i.e. Francis II] of a French invasion grow from day to day. Perhaps they are increased by anxiety lest the Russian emperor abandon the cause. People go as far as to fear that if the allies are pushed back to the Vistula, in a few months Bonaparte will be reinforced by the class of 1814 and will just leave an observation corps of 100,000 opposite the allies and will fall on Austria with the rest of his forces. To avoid this misfortune people are saying that Austria must move at top speed to get peace negotiations underway.

For all Metternich’s fine words about Austrian policy not being affected by military events, Stadion was terrified by the impact on Austrian behaviour of the allied army retreating into Poland and he was entirely correct to be so.⁶⁵

Initially Alexander deferred to the Prussians and to the need to hug the Bohemian border and keep in close touch with the Austrians. The army was ordered to swing south, off the line of retreat to Poland, and to take up position near Schweidnitz and the old fortified position at Bunzelwitz where Frederick II had defied the Austrians in the Seven Years War. On the Prussians’ advice Alexander believed that, if necessary, the allies could fight Napoleon there on favourable ground. On arrival, however, it quickly became clear that the local authorities had done nothing to execute Frederick William’s orders to rebuild the old defences and that the only favourable ground in the neighbourhood could not be held by a force of 100,000 men. The Silesian Landwehr, which was supposed to be present in force to reinforce the army, was nowhere to be found. In addition, difficulties in feeding the troops soon became acute.⁶⁶

The basic reason for this was, as already noted, that Upper Silesia depended even in peacetime for food supplies from Poland and could not suddenly accommodate the entire allied army, concentrated as it had to be with the enemy in the offing. Although Kutuzov, back in April, had begged Stein to create food magazines in eastern Saxony nothing had been done: this was just one part of Stein’s overall failure efficiently to mobilize Saxon resources while the allies occupied the kingdom. Barclay partly blamed Wittgenstein, pointedly noting in a letter to him that ‘when first taking over the supreme command of the armies and looking into the question of victualling, it became clear to me that no preparatory measures had been taken to secure food. While the troops were in the Duchy of Warsaw and Saxony earlier they were fed exclusively by requisitioning in the area where they were deployed or through which they were marching, and the requisitioning lasted only so long as they were there. Almost no reserve supplies were created anywhere in the rear for the army.’ Inevitably too, the intendant-general, Georg Kankrin, came in for criticism as the army began to go hungry. On 4 June he responded plaintively to Barclay by stating that the Prussians were providing almost nothing and on Prussian territory he could not requisition food or ‘exert any authority and no one asked me about the possibility of feeding the troops when the route to Schweidnitz was chosen’.⁶⁷

With the army going hungry, and the Austrian timetable for intervention visibly receding, a Russo-Prussian conference on 2 June backed a retreat towards the river Oder. Petr Volkonsky had already ordered the army’s treasury to be escorted back to Kalicz and for preparations to be made to destroy the bridges over the Oder once the army had passed. Meanwhile the Prussian leaders were in uproar as their campaign to liberate their country reached its nadir.

General L’Estocq, the fierce military governor of Berlin, reported to Chancellor Hardenburg on 30 May that the French were heading for the Oder crossings ‘in order to push on towards Poland and set off an insurrection there. The inconceivable level of tolerance shown in Warsaw has prepared the ground for this rather well.’ The attempt to turn Silesia into a new Spain and launch a mass insurrection against the invading French had proved a damp squib. Had it mobilized against the French, l’Estoq believed that the Landsturm (i.e. the ‘home guard’) might have absorbed the efforts of thousands of enemy soldiers. In fact it had done nothing. He commented that ‘the Silesian nobility want nothing to do with the Landsturm which easily explains why such miserable departures from duty and obedience happen’, adding that the commander of the Landsturm ‘must be charged as a traitor to the Fatherland and must immediately be shot’. Meanwhile at the conference of 2 June Blücher and Yorck argued that if the Russians retreated over the Oder the Prussian army must detach itself from them in order to defend what was left of Prussian territory.⁶⁸

In this week of supreme crisis, as his whole strategy threatened to fall apart, Alexander showed outstanding leadership. Amidst Austrian prevarication, Prussian hysteria and the griping of his own generals he remained admirably calm, reasonable and optimistic about final victory. As in September 1812 his calm courage was partly sustained by faith in God’s will and mercy. In late April he had taken a day out of the war to make an unannounced visit to the community of the Moravian brothers at Herrnhut, where he remained in deep conversation with the brothers for two hours and without an escort. His spirit had also been buoyed by the Easter services at Dresden, after which he wrote to Aleksandr Golitsyn that ‘it would be hard for me to express to you the emotion which I felt in thinking over everything that has happened during the past year and where Divine Providence has led us’.⁶⁹

Miraculously, Alexander’s optimism was to be rewarded, as Napoleon bowed to Austrian pleas and agreed to an armistice which would last until 20 July and be accompanied by peace negotiations. Faced with this option, Napoleon’s initial ploy had been to try to enter into negotiations directly with the Russians. Only when Alexander rejected this approach did Napoleon accept Austrian mediation and order his envoys to sign the armistice on 4 June. Subsequently he was to write that this was one of the worst decisions of his life.

The reasons Napoleon gave at the time for his decision were the need to get his cavalry in order and to take preparations against possible Austrian intervention. He might have added other good reasons too. His troops were exhausted, sick lists were mounting alarmingly and would undoubtedly rise further if he plunged forward into Poland. As his communications lengthened, so too would their vulnerability to allied raiding parties. In fact on the eve of the armistice a large force under Aleksandr Chernyshev and Mikhail Vorontsov was on the point of seizing Leipzig, far in Napoleon’s rear, with its garrison and its vast stores. This was a reminder of the need to create fortified, secure bases for his future campaign. Nevertheless, good though all these reasons were, they did not outweigh the enormous advantages Napoleon would have gained by pressing on into Poland, dividing the Russians and Prussians, and terrifying the Austrians away from intervention. Napoleon’s subsequent self-criticism was correct. In all probability had he continued the spring 1813 campaign for just a few more weeks he could have secured a very favourable peace.

Barclay could not believe his luck. He had asked for six weeks to restore his army and Napoleon had given it to him, without the need to risk a break with the Prussians or the Austrians, or indeed even to reorganize his corps in the midst of military operations. When Langeron heard the news of the armistice he ‘went to Barclay’s headquarters and he received me with a great burst of laughter: this explosion of happiness was by no means normal with Barclay. He was always cold, serious and severe in spirit and in his manner. The two of us laughed together at Napoleon’s expense. Barclay, all the generals and our monarchs were drunk with joy and they were right to be so.’⁷⁰