Napoleon had just placed
Davoust under the orders of
Murat, who commanded the vanguard of the army, and the two generals had advanced as far as Slawkow; it was the 27th of August. On the 28th,
Murat pushed the enemy beyond the Osna.
He crossed the river with his cavalry and briskly attacked the Russians, who were posted upon a height beyond the stream, and who could, in this position, easily maintain an obstinate conflict; they did so at first with considerable success, and
Murat, whatever is said of him on this subject, wishing to spare his cavalry in a spot where the ground was so difficult, sent orders to a battery of
Davoust to support his operations and to harass the enemy upon the height.
He waited for awhile to observe the success of this new attack — but all was silent; and the Russians, taking advantage of this singular inactivity, descended from their position, and, for the moment, repulsed the cavalry of the
King of
Naples to the banks of the Osna, that flows in the depths of a ravine, into which both men and horses were in danger of being precipitated.
Murat supported his men by his words and his example, and dispatched a second order to the commandant of the battery; but again there was no reply to this order, and word was brought back to the
King of
Naples that the commandant, alleging his instructions, which forbade him, under penalty of being cashiered, to engage without an order from
Davoust, had formally refused to fire.
A momentary anger inflamed the face of the
King of
Naples, but a more urgent peril demanded his attention; the Russians continued to press his cavalry.
He at once placed himself at the head of the fourth of the lancers, spurred against the enemy, and in a moment carried the heights which
Davoust should have swept with his artillery.
On the following day the two lieutenants of
Napoleon met in his presence; the
King of
Naples, strong in the feeling that he had justified his temerity by success — the
Prince of
Eckmuhl, calm in his opinion, based upon a skill that had often been tested.
Murat complained bitterly of the orders given by
Davoust to his subordinate officers.
The Emperor had listened with his hands crossed behind his back, head slightly bent upon his breast, concealing an air of satisfaction, and with his foot playing with a Russian ball, which he rolled forward, and which his eyes followed attentively.--
Davoust, greatly irritated, did not linger with his reply.
"Sire," he said, addressing the
Emperor, "the
King of
Naples must be taught to give over these useless and imprudent attacks, which harass the vanguard of the army.
Never has the blood of men been lavished so heedlessly, and, believe me, sire, they are well worth preserving in a campaign like this."
"And the
Prince of
Eckmuhl has invented an excellent means for that," said
Murat, disdainfully, "that is, to prevent his soldiers from fighting.
I would advise him to reserve this receipt for himself."
The obstinate
Davoust, who had proved sufficiently that he was a man of courage, and who wished, above all, to prove that he was in the right, turned to the
King of
Naples, and said in a tone of irritation:
"And of what benefit has been all your rash attacks against an army which is effecting a retreat, skillfully combined, and decidedly in advance, and against a rear guard, which abandons its positions only when it is upon the point of being beaten!"
"And can you tell me," replied
Murat, almost with a sneer, "when it would abandon them if it is not attacked, and if we did not place it upon the point of being beaten!"
"It would abandon them a few hours later," cried
Davoust, who had formed a correct opinion of the plans of the
Russian general, "for this retreat is a course resolved upon — irrevocably resolved upon — and one which they will effect, with or without fighting, according to our movements.
What do we gain, then, by attacking troops which will retire tomorrow if we do not drive them back to-day!"
"Glory!" replied
Murat.
"And we lose the half of our vanguard," rejoined
Davoust, bitterly; "and we shall reach
Moscow without cavalry, and we shall see if the glory of the
King of
Naples, without a horseman under his command, will be any great assistance to us."
Murat, highly exasperated, violently interrupted him--
"
Marshal Davoust," he said, "you would find nothing useless or imprudent in my conduct if I were under your orders, as you are under mine.
It is well known that the
Prince of
Eckmuhl does not like to obey any one, and that he would be well pleased to be reputed the hero of this expedition, at the expense even of the most exalted; but 1 swear to him that there is a share here for all, let him try to find his."
This reproach was well aimed.
Murat had, intentionally, emphasized the words, "the
Prince of
Eckmuhl does not like to obey any one," and
Napoleon had slightly contracted his brows.
Davoust, who felt that he had been assailed upon a weak point, and for a fault of which he had often been accused even by the
Emperor, hastened to protest that it was his devotion to His Majesty alone which had led him to speak and act as he did.
Murat again violently interrupted him.
"So, then," he said, "it is hatred against me?
Well, then, we must finish with it. It has always been so since the campaign of
Egypt.
I am weary of it; and if the
Prince of
Eckmuhl is willing to remember that he has been a common soldier, as I have — if he is willing to remember that he wears a sabre, and I likewise — I give him."--
At these words
Napoleon, until now indifferent to this quarrel, at once raised his head, measured
Murat with a glance which caused the words to die upon his lips, and with that accent of authority which he could so readily assume, and which was so irresistible, he said to him:
"The
King of
Naples has nought but orders to give to the
Prince of
Eckmuhl."
Murat, satisfied with these words, which, notwithstanding the severity of their tone, established his right of command, retired to his quarters.
The Emperor, left alone with
Davoust, spoke mildly to him. But, better seconded in his eager march, and in his desire to overtake and give battle to the enemy, by the impetuosity of
Murat, than by the prudent caution of
Davoust, he represented to him kindly--
"That one man could not have every kind of merit; that to lead a vanguard was to direct the movements of an army; and that
Murat, with his imprudence, would, perhaps, have overtaken Bagration, whom
Davoust had, by his slowness, suffered to escape."
Notwithstanding the mildness of the tone in which the
Emperor spoke to
Davoust, he was offended by these reproaches, and he retired, more irritated than ever against the
King of
Naples.
An hour afterwards a message was brought him, that the first who should attempt to push this quarrel further should be sent back to
France.
On the following day,
Murat and
Davoust, in concert, and by the orders of the
Emperor, took possession of Viasma.
But the day after, their discord was renewed.
Murat finds himself in the presence of the enemy, and suddenly the thought of combatting seizes him. The order to attack is given — his cavalry at once assails that of the Russians.
The infantry of the latter advances to support the horse;
Murat wishes to bring forward his own, that is to say, that which
Davoust commands under his orders; he hurries to Campions division, and puts himself at its head.
But, at the same moment, the
Prince of
Eckmuhl rides up; he bitterly reproaches
Murat for engaging in this new and useless combat, and declares that he will not support him. He forbids Campans to advance;
Murat repeats his orders;
Davoust resists still more violently.
At this insult, the
King of
Naples, furious at first, suddenly calms his anger.
He appeals to his rank — his authority.
Davoust does not heed him, and Campans, after long hesitation, obeys the commands of
Davoust, his immediate chief.
Then, with a calmness unexampled in his character, and with proud dignity,
Murat turns to Beillard, the chief of his staff:
"Beillard," he said, "go to the
Emperor; tell him that he has a general less, and a soldier the more.
As for me, I go to extricate yonder brave fellows from the embarrassment into which I have led them."
Then, turning to
Davoust, he added--
"
Marshal, we shall meet again."
"Certainly, if you return safe," replied the latter, bitterly, pointing to his horsemen, who were almost routed.
"I shall return," replied
Murat, with a glance expressed all his resolution.
As once, while the
Prince of
Eckmuhl retires,
Murat spurs to his cavalry; rallies them with his voice; displays, in the first ranks, his tall plumes and his sparkling decorations, which are ever seen where danger calls — they surround him — they defend him — and as he still pushes onward, he finds himself victorious once again.
"Ah!" cried
Murat, "the glory is still ours alone!"
With these words, he quite the field of battle and retires into his tent.
He enters alone; and, all heated with the combat, his hand still trembling from the blows which he had dealt, he writes a few lines upon a sheet of fine and perfumed paper.--At this moment, Beillard appears.
Murat, without questioning him as to the result of his message, reaches him the billet.
"Beillard," he said, in a calm tone, "carry this billet to
Davoust."
"It is a challenge," said Beillard, without taking the paper.
"It is a challenge," answered the
King of
Naples, coldly.
"I will not carry it!" replied Beillard, in a tone of resolution.
It seemed as if an electric shock thrilled
Murat's frame at this reply.
He turned toward the chief of his staff, with a countenance expressive of astonishment rather than irritation--
"You, likewise!" he said, in a hollow voice, which was checked by anger.
"Sire!
Sire!" cried Beillard, "you shall not make me an accomplice in your ruin.
The Emperor is resolute; and at your first menace he will send you back to
France."
"Well, then, let him send me back!
One can die elsewhere than here!" replied the
King of
Naples furiously. "He forgets his army in
Spain — let him give that to me; let him give me a regiment; let him leave me a common soldier, if he will.
I owe him my blood, my life; but my honor is my own, Beillard.
Do you hear, Beillard!
my honor is mine own, I say, and I was brave before he was an Emperor.
Go, and carry the billet."
"Sire," replied Beillard, warmly, "you are indebted to him for a crown, the dignity of which you should not compromise by a quarrel with an officer of the
Empire."
"A crown!" interrupted
Murat, with increasing exasperation; "has this crown prevented me from being insulted to my face!
These," he added, with stern joy, as he grasped his sabre and his pistols, "these have caused me to be respected all my life, and they will not fail me now. Go, then, Beillard, go!"
"You are a king," replied the chief, "and
Davoust will refuse."
"Then," cried
Murat, "he would be a coward!"
"It is not true," replied Beillard, suddenly; and he gazed proudly at the
King of
Naples.
Murat was holding his sabre and his pistols in his hands.
At these words he glared for a moment with an air of stupor at the chief of his staff, who stood calm and resolute before him. Suddenly the face of the
King of
Naples changed its expression; his anger leaves him; his brow is clouded with grief, and
Murat casts his weapons violently to the ground; he breaks them; he lends his garments; her tears off his sumptuous decorations and tramples them beneath his feet; he tries to speak, but the words are stifled in his throat — he weeps.
"You are right," he cried, at last, to Beillard, "he is not a coward, and he will refuse.
I am a miserable king who can do nothing — a king whom the meanest soldier may insult!"
Big drops fell from the hero's eyes, and he covered his face with his hands.
Beillard took advantage of this moment of weakness to remonstrate calmly with him; he soothed him, he flattered his pride, excited his courage, and ended with these words:
"And if the
Emperor should give the command of the vanguard to
Davoust, he will do all that you would have done."
This thought roused
Murat from his grief; he started up, paced his tent, and his now dry and brilliant eye flashed lightning.
"Yes, yes!" he exclaimed, with ardor, "I will remain.
It is only here that there are battles — only here true glory.
Well, then, I will wrest it from him. All for myself, and nothing for him!
Not a skirmish, Beillard!
I swear to you he shall not see an enemy!"
With these words he left his tent and hastened to an outpost.
We now ask the general historian if many misfortunes must not necessarily have resulted from such feelings in such men?
