Vilna had been abandoned, and the cobbled streets which had rung for two months with footsteps and laughter were silent. The Vilia ran fast and swollen, carrying away all trace of the bridge which the Russian sappers had destroyed after the last carts had crossed it. Only the Lithuanian residents who could not leave had remained, waiting for the French to arrive, part hopeful, part resentful. They had not loved their Russian conquerors; but would French masters be any better? Napoleon had half-promised Lithuania independence – but he had promised many things to Poland which had never been fulfilled.
On the 28th, as the Russian army tramped briskly away on the road to Drissa, following in the wake of the Court, General Balashov and his Excellency Count Kirov waited in the path of the advancing French General Murat and his cavalry, with a personal letter from the Emperor to Napoleon. They were conducted into Vilna, to the archbishop’s palace, which had been Alexander’s headquarters and was now Napoleon’s.
The Emperor of the French received them after a long delay. Kirov thought he looked ill. He had put on a great deal of weight since he last saw him; the pale face was puffy, the eyes blue-shadowed, and the dark hair, which he had taken to wearing brushed straight forward à la césar, was noticeably thinning. Behind him stood Caulaincourt, who greeted both Russians courteously, but whose eyes sought Kirov’s with some message of sorrow and apology. Kirov knew that he had constantly advised Napoleon against the invasion, and was probably still trying to persuade him to give it up; and that he had no hope of succeeding.
‘So!’ said Napoleon, with a flash of scorn, waving the letter at them, ‘my brother Alexander, who was so high and mighty with the Comte de Narbonne, would now like to negotiate! He asks the reasons for this war – as if he didn’t know them! – and graciously condescends to offer negotiation once my troops have withdrawn behind the Nieman!’
‘Your Highness knows–’ Balashov began, but Napoleon cut him short.
‘I know that my manoeuvres have already frightened you, and that within a month I shall bring you to your knees! I have not come this far to negotiate! The sword is now drawn, it cannot be sheathed. Does your Emperor take me for a fool?’
‘No, Sire,’ Kirov answered. ‘But this is a war you cannot win. His Majesty wishes to avoid pointless loss of life, which will be very heavy if your highness continues on this venture.’
Napoleon slammed his fist down into his palm. ‘Very heavy? On your side perhaps! Count, my friend, count up the numbers! Your infantry numbers a hundred and twenty thousand men, and your cavalry sixty thousand – yes, you see, I know everything about you! But I have three times as many. How can I lose?’
‘Numbers are not everything, Sire,’ said Kirov. ‘How can you feed such a great army? You will be marching through barren, wasted land, and you have no supply depots, as we have.’
‘I’ve seen what remained of one here in Vilna! What’s the point of building up supply depots, if you simply burn them and run away, instead of using them for the purpose of battle?’ He whipped round on Balashov. ‘Aren’t you ashamed, you Russians? Since the time of Peter the Great, your country has never been invaded, yet here I am at Vilna, having captured an entire province without firing a single shot.’
Balashov’s face was immobile as ever. ‘I can assure your highness that Russians will fight like tigers to defend their own homeland. Patriotic fervour runs in our soldiers’ veins, and they will have more urgency in the fight to protect their homes, than your men in trying to take them.’
Napoleon shrugged that away and changed the subject. ‘Your Emperor is a novice in war and he conducts his campaign through a council. Now when I have an idea, at any time of the day or night, it is put into execution within half an hour. But with you, Armfelt proposes, Bennigsen examines, Tolly deliberates, Phull opposes, and nothing is done at all. You simply waste your time. That’s no way to conduct a war!’
For an hour Napoleon talked to them, alternately cajoling and threatening; then he dismissed them, but ordered them to remain at headquarters. Later he invited them to take dinner with him and his chiefs of staff, and continued in the same vein to assure them that they were outnumbered, that they could not possibly win, and that they had better yield now and ask for his forgiveness.
At one point his banter descended into a kind of primitive rage, and he shouted insults at them, only stopping when he saw the look of disapproval on Caulaincourt’s stem face. Napoleon’s brow cleared and he put on a smile instead. ‘Emperor Alexander treats his ambassadors well, charming them and treating them like his own countrymen. Here before you is one of his principal chevaliers – he has made a Russian of Caulaincourt!’
There was a heartbeat of silence, and Kirov saw with acute sympathy the pain and anger in the grave courtier’s eyes. For a moment Caulaincourt could not answer; and when he spoke, his resentment was clear in his voice. ‘It is doubtless because my frankness has too often proved that I am a good Frenchman, that Your Majesty now seems inclined to doubt it. The marks of kindness with which I was so often honoured by Emperor Alexander were intended for Your Majesty. As your faithful subject, Sire, I shall never forget it.’
There was an embarrassed silence, and Napoleon shrugged and changed the subject. Later, however, when the Russians’ horses were called for, the Emperor showed his spite again, saying to Caulaincourt, ‘You had better escort your friends to their carriage, had you not, you old St Petersburg courtier?’ Kirov felt for him acutely. To be insulted before foreigners, to have his loyalty called into question in the presence of the enemy, was too much to bear. Caulaincourt held his temper, and walked out of the room with Balashov and Kirov. On the stairs, however, he murmured to Nikolai, ‘I’m not ashamed of having declared myself against this war. In doing so I prove myself more a Frenchman than those who encourage him, just to please him.’
‘I know it, old friend,’ Kirov replied.
‘I wish he did,’ Caulaincourt said with some heat. ‘Since he doesn’t appreciate me, I’d better ask for a transfer to some other duty. In Spain, perhaps – the further away, the better.’
Kirov touched his shoulder. ‘I’m sure he does appreciate you,’ he said. ‘Why else would he keep you by him?’
Caulaincourt met his eyes sadly. ‘Why did it have to come to this?’ he said.
Balashov was waiting at the foot of the stairs, eyeing them with interest. All three shook hands courteously.
‘Please convey my respectful homage to your master,’ Caulaincourt said.
The Russians turned away to mount into the carriage, but Kirov turned back. They had been friends, and who knew if they would ever meet again?
‘Armand–’ he said. Caulaincourt looked at him enquiringly. ‘This is not between us. I wish you well, old friend, and safe.’
‘And I you, Nikolai. Adieu!’
Anne stood at the window of the inn in Sventsiany watching the Russian cavalry divisions trotting through the town on their way to Drissa. It was the 30th of June, and still the rain poured down, smoking on the paved street like mist. The horses were rat-tailed, their coats were sleek and dark with it, and their riders huddled under their cloaks while the relentless water dripped off their cap brims and collar points and noses. The infantry were still somewhere behind them – it would be slow marching in this weather.
Many of the local gentry had fled when the first refugees from Vilna came through, packing their treasures on to carts: furniture, pictures, carpets, everything. Napoleon’s soldiers had a reputation all through Europe for stripping everything in their path like locusts. But the town was calmer now, resigned, waiting for more news. Maybe Napoleon wouldn’t come at all, said those who remained; and if he did, if they welcomed him, maybe he would be a good master to them. There was a certain amount of scorn thrown on the Russian army, which had retreated the first moment without offering a fight. Anne had to listen to some pungent comments, but there was no real hostility towards her. She was generous in the matter of paying for what was provided, and innkeepers are much the same the world over.