When news came through of defeat at Austerlitz all Moscow was nonplussed. This was a time when the Russians had become so used to victories that news of a defeat was rejected as unbelievable by some people, while others said there must be some special reason behind such a strange event. At the English Club, a forum for anyone of substance, anyone in the know, anyone who carried any weight, during December, when the news began to filter through, there was virtually a conspiracy of silence – not a word was spoken about the war and the latest defeat. The men who dominated club conversation, such as Count Rostopchin, Prince Yury Dolgoruky, Valuyev, Count Markov and Prince Vyazemsky, kept away from the building but continued to meet in private circles in their various houses.
Those people in Moscow who couldn’t think for themselves (and that included Count Rostov) were stuck for some time without anyone to lead them and without any clear views on how the war was going. Moscow society sensed that things were going wrong, but bad news was painful to dwell on, so they kept quiet. But it wasn’t long before the bigwigs re-emerged like jurymen from a jury room to voice an opinion in the club, and a clear-cut stance was adopted. Causes had been discovered to account for such an incredible, unprecedented impossibility as defeat for the Russians; suddenly all was clear and the same version of events swept Moscow from one end to the other. The causes were as follows: Austrian treachery; poor logistical support; two treacherous foreigners, the Pole Przebyszewski and the Frenchman Langeron; Kutuzov’s incompetence (mentioned only in whispers); the youth and inexperience of the Emperor, who had put his trust in stupid nonentities. But the army, the Russian army, everyone agreed, had been extraordinary, performing miracles of valour. The soldiers, officers and generals – they were heroes to a man. And the hero of heroes was Prince Bagration, who had distinguished himself at Schöngrabern and during the retreat from Austerlitz, where he alone had kept his column in good order and had spent a whole day fighting off an enemy twice as strong. Bagration’s rise to heroic status in Moscow had much to do with his being a non-Muscovite with no connections in the city. In his person they were paying tribute to the common Russian soldier who knew nothing about influence or intrigue and was still nostalgically associated with General Suvorov and the Italian campaign. Besides which, the honours bestowed on him were the most effective demonstration of their dislike and disapproval of Kutuzov.
‘If there had been no Bagration, they would have had to invent him,’ said one wit, Shinshin, parodying the words of Voltaire.
Kutuzov’s name was never mentioned except to disparage him in malicious whispers by calling him a courtier who blew with the wind, or an old goat.
All Moscow was repeating Prince Dolgorukov’s saying, ‘If you keep playing with fire you’re sure to get burnt’ – his way of finding consolation for defeat in the memory of former victories. Equally popular was Rostopchin’s assertion that Frenchmen have to be inspired to fight by fine phrases, Germans need to see a logical argument that it’s more dangerous to run away than go forward, whereas all you have to do with a Russian soldier is tell him to hold back and say, ‘Steady!’ More and more stories emerged on every side, of individual acts of courage performed by our officers and men at Austerlitz. One man had saved a flag, another had killed five Frenchmen, another had done all the loading for five cannons. There was even a story told about Berg – by people who didn’t know him – that when wounded in his right hand he had held his sword in his left hand and battled on. There were no stories about Bolkonsky. Only those close to him said how sorry they were that he had died so young, leaving a pregnant wife in the hands of his eccentric old father.
CHAPTER 3
