Work Text:
We cannot foretell
How our word will be answered,
And we are given sympathy,
As we are given grace...
F. I. Tyutchev
On May 12, 1813, the allied forces were defeated in a battle with Napoleon's army near Bautzen. This was the second devastating defeat for the Russian army after the death of its previous commander-in-chief, Field Marshal Kutuzov. Peter Christianovich Wittgenstein, known throughout Russia as the savior of St. Petersburg, was appointed as the new commander-in-chief. At the beginning of the Patriotic War of 1812, he led the 1st Corps and successfully defended the capital from the enemy's advance.
However, his subsequent actions, first as commander of the corps and then as commander-in-chief of the Russian army, were characterized by slowness and indecisiveness, leading to defeat after defeat. The battles of Lützen and Bautzen were won by Napoleon (despite his average casualties being twice as high as those of the Allies). These two consecutive losses prompted Emperor Alexander to consider replacing his commander-in-chief.
While the Tsar was hesitating, General Miloradovich, an infantry general, was struggling to maintain the army's combat readiness and order. It seemed that he had not slept for several days, and he was visibly exhausted. Realizing that the army needed significant changes, the general made his way to the Tsar's headquarters.
"How is the situation of the armies, Mikhail Andreyevich?" the Tsar asked when Miloradovich came to his tent.
"I have the honor to report, Your Imperial Majesty," the general bowed to the Tsar, "that our army is in great disorder. As Your Majesty has noticed, Count Wittgenstein is not up to the task of being Commander-in-Chief."
"Then you believe that he should be replaced?" Alexander asked.
"By all means, Your Majesty," Miloradovich confirmed. "If you allow me..."
"Yes?"
"Why don't Your Majesty personally take command of the army?" Mikhail Andreyevich suggested.
Alexander's face, already stern, became even more so. Then he smiled slightly at the count.
"I have taken over the management of political affairs," he replied. "As for military affairs, I do not take them upon myself."
Since his defeat at Austerlitz, Alexander had vowed never to lead an army as a general. As the Tsar, he had the status of Commander-in-Chief by default. However, the emperor did not take the reins of army management, he handed them over to more competent people than he (as he thought) to people. Even now, the emperor was afraid to take on this burden.
Mikhail Andreevich understood the emperor's mood.
"In that case, entrust the army to Barclay, he is the oldest [meaning seniority in rank]," he said.
"He won't want to command," the emperor replied, shaking his head.
Miloradovich was not at a loss.
"Order him, Your Majesty," he suggested. "The traitor who, in the current circumstances, dares to oppose your will."
Alexander looked intently at the general, and his face, usually inscrutable, expressed a number of conflicting emotions. It was clear that the Tsar was burdened by something, and that something was preventing him from giving the order.
"Would you like to become Commander-in-Chief, Mikhail Andreyevich?" the Tsar suddenly asked, and his face became completely inscrutable again, with just a hint of curiosity. "You have repeatedly demonstrated your exceptional bravery and determination to our country and to me."
Mikhail Andreevich had not expected such a turn of events. At first, he was embarrassed and did not know how to respond. However, after a sober assessment of his abilities, he said:
"It is a great honor for me, Your Majesty, but I am afraid that I am not capable of leading an entire army. If you would allow me to command a battalion or a company, I would be honored to prove to you that I am worthy of being your subject."
He bowed deeply to the emperor and remained in a deep bow for a moment. Then, straightening up, he met the emperor's gaze, waiting for further instructions.
"If that's the case," Alexander mused, "it is well. And yet, think about my proposal, General. You may go."
Miloradovich bowed again and left the Emperor's tent with an unpleasant weight on his heart.
"This is unacceptable," Mikhail Andreevich thought with annoyance as he approached his horse and climbed into the saddle. "How can I command when there are those who are older than me? Wittgenstein failed because he was the youngest."
The only solution was to convince Barclay to take command of the entire Russian-Prussian army. This would make it easier for the emperor to choose a commander-in-chief, and it would prevent confusion in the headquarters. Miloradovich rode off to Barclay's troops.
The 3rd Russian Army, commanded by Barclay de Tolly, was in the rearguard and had only recently escaped Napoleon's pursuit. Its camp was slightly separated from the rest of the troops, but Miloradovich had no trouble reaching it. He stopped his horse in front of the central tent, where the commander's quarters were located, and asked for permission to enter. Upon receiving it, Mikhail Andreevich entered, removing his two-cornered hat.
He found Barclay alone, sitting at a table and examining maps. The commander looked up at the newcomer.
"What can I do for you?"
Miloradovich, as required by the regulations, stood at attention in front of Barclay.
“Your Excellency, I have to inform you that the Emperor intends to remove the Commander-in-Chief, General of the Cavalry Count Wittgenstein, from command of the army,” he began his report calmly.
Barclay looked at him with the most indifferent expression.
“I am aware of this, Count.”
“His Imperial Majesty intends to appoint me to this position in place of General Wittgenstein,” Mikhail Andreevich continued, and he felt his voice tremble with emotion, but he did not show it.
Barclay noticed his tone and asked with some curiosity:
“What is your concern?”
He gestured to a chair in front of his desk, inviting the Count to sit. Miloradovich, having relaxed a little, settled down opposite him.
“Let me speak frankly, Mikhail Bogdanovich,” he said.
"That's how I'm used to talking to everyone, Count."
Barclay's icy tone slightly embarrassed Mikhail Andreyevich, but the general's willingness to engage in dialogue encouraged him to continue.
"The fact is, I feel incapable of leading the army, Your Excellency," Miloradovich admitted.
Barclay looked at him with mild bewilderment, but his gaze still remained icy and emotionless.
"Why not?" He was genuinely surprised. "Who better to lead our brave army than the best student of the great Suvorov?"
"You flatter me, Your Excellency," Mikhail Andreevich suddenly became embarrassed, grinning in his rakish manner. He was still trying to control his excitement.
This, however, did not impress Barclay, whose face did not show the slightest emotion. Miloradovich realized that he needed to be more careful with his words, but at the same time, he needed to speak frankly, as the general seemed to appreciate honest conversations rather than courtly flattery. Mikhail Andreevich immediately became serious.
"I am not the best after the late Pyotr Ivanovich. What kind of staff strategist am I?" he said. "Send me into battle, and I will lead my regiments against the enemy, but..."
Barclay interrupted him:
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to take command of the army."
"Why would that be?" Barclay asked coldly, and the frown between his furrowed brows seemed to deepen.
Miloradovich honestly and openly looked into the cold eyes of the general.
"As a soldier, I beg you," he said calmly. "You're the oldest, so you need to be in charge. I asked the emperor to order you... I told him that only a traitor in our time can go against the emperor's will. But the emperor does not want to order."
He realized then that he might have touched a nerve with the general. Barclay's face hardened.
"Unfortunately, Mikhail Andreyevich, I was branded a traitor even when I was carrying out the Tsar's will to the letter," Barclay remarked sarcastically, dryly, and coldly. "What is the difference now?"
"The fact is that you are the only one we can rely on," Miloradovich tried to correct himself. "The Russian army needs a leader like you."
But Barclay's resentment was evident. The general couldn't stop spouting witty remarks, and his face, although trying to appear calm, began to change, revealing his true emotions.
"The same army whose generals publicly threatened to remove their uniforms, claiming they had been tarnished by me? I'm afraid I'm not worthy of this honor," Barclay said.
"I thought that for the sake of the Fatherland, you would want to give the army a chance to prove otherwise."
There was a tense pause. Barclay slowly stood up from the table, resting his hands on it, and looked at his opponent. Miloradovich, emboldened, maintained eye contact and also stood up, as was his right as a junior officer.
"Why doesn't the Emperor order me to take over as Commander-in-Chief?" Barclay asked the general in a gentle tone. "Don't you know, Mikhail Andreyevich?"
"I can't say, Your Excellency," Miloradovich replied after a moment.
Barclay shook his head, looking away from the general, and stood for a moment, staring into space, before slowly getting up from the table to walk over to the window or the center of the tent.
"The Emperor feels guilty for not standing up for a man who was loyal to him, and who was left to the mercy of public opinion," he began calmly and quietly. "Don't think that I hold a grudge against him - how could I hold a grudge against my Emperor, whom I love with all my heart and to whom I am completely devoted?" He walked around the table and stood in front of Miloradovich, who was watching his every move. "But I'm afraid I don't have the strength to lead the army as effectively as I used to," Barclay continued after a brief pause. "It is a true honor for me to serve His Majesty and the Fatherland as a soldier, and I ask for nothing more."
He looked away from the general and, with his hands clasped behind his back, walked towards the tent wall, where a window had been cut. Miloradovich watched him go.
"Nevertheless, I ask you to accept this offer," he said softly but firmly. "Your military experience and achievements as Commander-in-Chief will greatly benefit the fatherland."
Mikhail Andreevich couldn't see Barclay's face from his position, but even from behind, he could see Barclay's sad smile.
"You can't imagine, Count, what it cost me to command the army during the past year, which was disastrous for our country," Barclay said, his voice tinged with steel. "Despite my, as you say, achievements, I have nothing but grief to show for my conscientious service."
Miloradovich nodded his head and sighed in agreement with the general.
"You are right, Your Excellency, it is difficult for me to imagine this, for I was not with the armies before Kutuzov's arrival," he replied honestly. "But I remember you at the Battle of Borodino, where you displayed exceptional courage and earned the respect of even your detractors..."
He abruptly fell silent as Barclay turned to him from the window with such a fierce expression that it was clear that the general's patience was running thin.
"In the Battle of Borodino, I sought death!" Barclay said in an unusually harsh tone.
After these words, there was a moment of silence. Perhaps the general realized that this was the first time he had let his emotions out in front of a fellow officer, and this realization calmed his temper. After taking a deep breath, he continued in a more composed tone:
"Yes, I sought death to wash away the shame that had been placed upon me without my consent. However, fate had other plans, and I survived, prolonging my suffering."
Miloradovich held the general's gaze.
"Providence saved you then, because the army and Russia still need you," he said. "It has kept you for great deeds."
"Greatness is the domain of the ambitious," Barclay said, turning back to the window. "Justice is what matters to me."
Barclay's stubbornness was beginning to irritate Mikhail Andreyevich.
"Then help me restore the justice that has been absent from Europe for the past fifteen years," he said with feeling, and Barclay turned to him, and Miloradovich met his gaze with an open and bold expression. "The enslavement of nations is not justice. We are here to liberate these nations, but the army needs someone to lead this significant campaign."
Barclay's stern features softened, and the general slowly walked towards his companion in the center of the tent.
"I am as well acquainted with the object of this campaign as you are, Count," he said in a voice as cold as ice. "And it is precisely because the war is to be an offensive one, that it is necessary that a general like yourself, Your Excellency, should lead our troops to victory by his ardor."
Miloradovich was no longer embarrassed by Barclay's tone.
"Wittgenstein has already advanced so much that we are retreating behind the Elbe," he said with annoyance. "No, Mikhail Bogdanovich, no one knows better than you how to fight Bonaparte. The 1812 campaign showed that no one can lead their troops to Paris better than you."
"However, the savior of the Fatherland is Kutuzov, not Barclay, although he only reaped what I sowed," Barclay retorted, stopping in front of the general and still glaring at him. "But it doesn't matter – I thank God that the late Field Marshal continued what he started and liberated Russia from the French invasion."
He turned away from Miloradovich and walked back to his desk. Mikhail Andreevich watched as the general sat down on a chair and did not look up at his companion, instead staring thoughtfully at the map on the table.
"However, Russia is still in danger, Mikhail Bogdanovich, and Kutuzov is no longer with us," Miloradovich tried to persuade the general. "Only you can preserve our army and stop Napoleon," he said, approaching the table. "With the chaos that Wittgenstein has caused in the army, we will soon be forced to retreat back across the Neman River to Moscow. If we are defeated or pushed back to our borders, Bonaparte will soon return, as you well know."
"Then get the army in order, General."
"I must admit that I'm not very good at the quartermaster's department," Miloradovich sighed. "And how can I command those who are older than me, including Your Excellency?" He sat down in the chair opposite Barclay. "I sincerely ask you to become the commander-in-chief, and I would be honored to serve under your command."
Barclay, who had been avoiding the general's gaze, finally looked at him for a long time. Eventually, he said:
"Very well. Tell His Imperial Majesty that I agree."