Berthier looked relieved, and so did the courier. The latter quickly took advantage of the Emperor’s decision.‘The minister hoped that you would return to Paris, sire. He assumed that there would be some final matters that would require your attention before you left the army behind. In which case, he asked me to request that you issue a despatch stating that the campaign is over and that you are returning to Paris imminently. To allow us to hold our position while we wait for your arrival,’ he explained.
Napoleon looked at him closely. ‘Is it as bad as that?’
The courier looked down and did not reply.
‘Tell me the truth,’ Napoleon said firmly. ‘There is nothing for anyone to gain by sweetening the message.’
‘Very well, sire. It is the minister’s opinion that unless you return to Paris within the month, he cannot guarantee that there will be a throne for you to return to. He needs a despatch from you to prove that you are alive, and also to put an end to the rumours concerning the fate of the army. It will shock the nation, sire, but even bad news is better than no news.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Once the courier had left the room, Napoleon sent Berthier for some paper and a pen. With a weary sigh, he dipped the pen into the ink pot and began to draft the despatch Savary had requested.
29th, Bulletin of the Grand Army. His imperial majesty, Napoleon, Emperor of France, King of Italy, is pleased to inform his people that the campaign in Russia is complete. The valiant men of the Grand Army, the largest gathering of allies ever to set out on such an adventure, has marched across the trackless expanses of Russia to humble the Russian Tsar and prove to him that the will of the Emperor, and all France, will not be denied. Defeated in battle, and having lost his most important city, the Tsar, against all the dictates of justice and humanity, refused to end the war. Accordingly the Emperor, having been refused the victory that all right-thinking men will agree should have been granted him, was obliged to order his army to withdraw to the territory of the Duchy of Warsaw.
Napoleon paused, mentally composing the next section with care.
Due to the deceitful nature of the enemy the army was tricked into remaining in Moscow until the start of the autumn. Within days of setting out, the weather became unusually cold and the lack of sustenance derived from the lands through which the army marched, in concert with the swift onset of winter, has resulted in a considerable loss of men. The Emperor shares the grief of his people at the sacrifice of so many valiant soldiers. He trusts that their families will take some comfort from the knowledge that they died heroes, giving their lives for the glory of their countrymen.
Napoleon continued by giving a casualty figure that was half the true amount. Even this would cause great consternation in France, but the full total must wait until he had returned and could break the news in person. He wrote about the dreadful climate and offered rousing descriptions of the battle at Borodino and the heroic crossing of the Berezina. He described the glorious achievement of Marshal Ney and the band of heroes in his rearguard as it fought its way through the Russian army to re-join the Emperor. Napoleon concluded with a final sentence to allay their fears. His majesty’s health has never been better.
Setting down his pen, he called for Berthier to copy his draft into a legible hand and then signed and sealed the document before giving it to Savary’s courier.
‘Leave at once. Tell the minister I will follow you as soon as I can.’
A fresh blizzard blanketed the Russian landscape over the following days and the army grimly continued its retreat, heads down and leaning into the wind as it buffeted the shambling columns, as well as the civilians who had survived the Berezina crossing and had escaped the attentions of the Cossacks so far. Napoleon had ordered Berthier to make secret preparations for his departure for Paris, and when the foul weather lifted five days later, as the army crept into Smorgoni, he decided the time had come.
The marshals of the army were summoned from their billets into his presence that evening. They had been told that they were required for a briefing on the army’s progress towards the Niemen, and slumped wearily down into the chairs set around a long table in the town’s guild hall. Napoleon had given instructions for his last stocks of wine and brandy to be fetched and the marshals gratefully helped themselves as they waited for the last of their number to arrive. Ney was commanding the rearguard again and had the furthest to travel, and he did not reach the town until late in the evening. He unbuttoned his snow-flecked coat and slung it across a side table as he joined his companions, smiling at the sight of the brandy.
‘Ah! Now there’s a sight for sore eyes.’ He poured a generous glass and downed it in one, then coughed to clear his burned throat.‘Needed that! Nothing like brandy to put fire back into a man’s belly.’
Napoleon waited until Ney was seated and then rapped his glass on the table. ‘Quiet, if you please.’
The marshals settled back into their chairs and looked at him expectantly. Napoleon was too weary to waste time with any preamble praising their efforts and promising rewards when they all returned to France. He drew a deep breath and began in a flat tone.
‘It is my conviction that the army has made good its escape. Though it is hungry, there are more than enough rations at Vilna to feed the men and provide sufficient supplies to reach the Niemen. Therefore, I am no longer required here. I am, however, urgently needed in Paris where our enemies are trying to stir up sedition and revolt against all that we have fought for. With that in mind, I have decided to leave the army. A covered sledge, together with a small escort of Guard cavalry, stands ready to convey me to Warsaw. From there I should be able to continue the journey to Paris by carriage.’ He looked round at them, waiting for a reaction.
‘Bless my bloody soul.’ Ney shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it. You’re abandoning us.’
‘I have no choice.’
‘Really?’ Ney smiled thinly. ‘It seems to me that you do.’
‘Then it is a choice that is forced on me by circumstance. Does that please you better?’
‘Oh, it makes no odds to me, sire. It is you who will have to live with the decision.’
‘I do what I must for France,’ Napoleon replied testily.
‘Who will take command of the army?’ asked Davout.
‘The King of Naples.’ Napoleon nodded at Murat.
‘Me?’ Murat looked surprised, and then could not help smiling that he had been singled out from the other marshals, even if the command was little more than an empty title.
Davout puffed his cheeks. ‘Might I ask your majesty why Murat is chosen for this honour? I would imagine he has enough responsibility already, co-ordinating the army’s cavalry.’
‘What’s left of it!’ Ney barked, then poured himself another glass of brandy. ‘Shouldn’t tax his mind too much, eh?’
Murat scowled at him as Napoleon explained.
‘As King of Naples, Murat is the ranking officer. My decision has been made, Davout. You and the others will accept it.’
‘As your majesty commands.’ Davout bowed his head.
‘That’s right.’ Napoleon looked round the room. ‘Gentlemen, it is vital that you do not breathe a word of this to anyone outside this room. The army’s morale is already as low as it can be. It would be dangerous to let them know that I have left. As far as the men are concerned I have fallen ill, nothing too serious, and am confined to my campaign wagon. The truth can be told only once the army has reached Vilna. By then it should make little difference. The Russians are having to endure the same hard conditions and I doubt they will be in any shape to attempt to bring us to battle. The only danger will come from the Cossacks. But if the men are fed and armed and stick together they will come to no harm. Those are your orders.’