The oppressive continental policy of Napoleon caused the rupture of the peace of Tilsit, and led to the grand, but disastrous invasion of Russia. Alexander gave the first offence by not fulfilling the condition of his treaty with Napoleon. The French Emperor then began to see the error of that treaty. It should have secured the independence of Poland. The czar pressed Napoleon for a declaration that Poland should never be re-established, but the Emperor refused to make this concession. Both rulers then prepared for a struggle on a gigantic scale. Napoleon determined to invade, and Alexander was resolved to make a resolute defence.

Napoleon determined to concentrate an army of four hundred thousand men upon the banks of the Niemen. He was thoroughly informed of the vast resources of France and of the condition of the country through which he would be compelled to march. As far as human calculation could reach, his views were clear and accurate.

It was from the bosom of that France, of which he had made a “citadel,” which appeared impregnable, and across that Germany whose sovereigns were at his feet, that Napoleon wended his way towards the frontier of the Russian empire, in order to place himself at the head of the most formidable army which the genius of conquest had ever led. Fouche, Cardinal Fesch, and other noted councillors strove to dissuade Napoleon from the impending war; but the Emperor was confident, and seems to have entertained no doubt of his success. “The war,” he said, “is a wise measure, called for by the true interests of France and the general welfare. The great power I have already attained, compels me to assume an universal dictatorship. My views are not ambitious. I desire to obtain no further acquisition; and reserve to myself only the glory of doing good, and the blessings of posterity. There must be but one European code; one court of appeal; one system of money, weights and measures; equal justice and uniform laws throughout the continent. Europe must constitute but one great nation, and Paris must be the capital of the world.” Grand but premature conception!

The signal for the advance of the Grand Army was now sounded. It moved forward in thirteen divisions, besides the Imperial Guard, and certain chosen troops. The first division was headed by the stern and intrepid Davoust; the second, by Oudinot; the third, by the indomitable Ney; the fourth, by the skilful Prince Eugene; the fifth, by the devoted Poniatowski; the sixth, by that cool and skilful general, Gouvion St. Cyr; the seventh, by the veteran Regnier; the eighth, by the brave but reckless Jerome Bonaparte; the ninth, by the resolute Victor; the tenth, by the hero of Wagram, Macdonald; the eleventh, by the old veteran of Italy, Augereau; the twelfth, by the bold and brilliant Murat; and the thirteenth by Prince Schwartzenberg. The Old Guard—that solid and impenetrable phalanx—was commanded by Bessieres, Le Febre and Mortier.

Long before daybreak, on the 23d of June, the French army approached the Niemen. It was only two o’clock in the morning, when the Emperor, accompanied only by General Hays, rode forward to reconnoitre. He wore a Polish dress and bonnet, and thus escaped observation. After a close scrutiny, he discovered a spot near the village of Poineven, above Kowno, favorable to the passage of the troops, and gave orders for three bridges to be thrown across, at nightfall. The whole day was occupied in preparing facilities for the passage of the river, the line which separated them from the Russian soil.

The first who crossed the river were a few sappers in a boat. The day had been very warm, and the night was welcomed by the weary soldiers, who knew they had yet a difficult task to perform. Napoleon, who had been somewhat depressed all day, now seemed to regain his cheerful spirits. He posted himself upon a slight eminence, where he could superintend operations. The sappers found all silent on the Russian soil, and no enemy appeared to oppose them, with the exception of a single Cossack officer on patrole, who asked, with an air of surprise, who they were, and what they wanted. The sappers quickly replied, “Frenchmen!” and one of them briskly added, “Come to make war upon you; to take Wilna, and deliver Poland.” The Cossack fled into the wood, and three French soldiers discharged their pieces at him without effect. These three shots were the signals for the opening of this ever-memorable campaign. Their echoes roused Napoleon from the lethargy into which he had fallen, and he immediately planned the most active measures.

Three hundred voltigeurs were sent across to protect the erection of the bridges. At the same time, the dark masses of the French columns began to issue from the valleys and forests, and to approach the river, in order to cross it at dawn of day.

All fires were forbidden, and perfect silence was enjoined. The men slept with their arms in their hands, on the green corn, heavily moistened with dew, which served them for beds, and their horses for provender. Those on watch, passed the hours in reading over the Emperor’s proclamation, and speculating on the prospect which the daylight would disclose. The night was keen, and pitch dark. The silence maintained amidst such a prodigious mass of life—felt to be there, whilst nothing could be seen—rendered the hours unspeakably solemn.

Before dawn, the whole array was under arms; but the first beams of the sun shewed no opposing enemy; nothing but dry and desert sand, and dark silent forests. On their own side of the river, men and horses, and glittering arms, covered every spot of ground within the range of the eye, and the Emperor’s tent in the midst of them stood on an elevation. At a given signal, the immense mass began to defile in three columns towards the bridges. Two divisions of the advanced guard, in their ardor for the precedence, nearly came to blows. Napoleon crossed among the first, and stationed himself near the bridges to encourage the men by his presence. They saluted him with their usual acclamations. He seemed depressed, for a time, partly owing to his previous exertions and want of rest, partly from the excessive heat of the day, but no doubt still more from the passive desolation which met his forces, when he had expected a mortal enemy to contend with him in arms. This latter feeling was presently manifested in its reaction, and with a fierce impatience he set spurs to his horse, dashed into the country, and penetrated the forest which bordered the river; “as if,” says Segur, “he were on fire to come in contact with the enemy alone.” He rode more than a league in the same direction, surrounded throughout by the same solitude. He then returned to the vicinity of the bridges, and led the army into the country, while a menacing sky hung black and heavy over the moving host. The distant thunder began to roar and swell, and the storm soon descended. The lightning flamed across the whole expanse above their heads; they were drenched with torrents of rain; the roads were all inundated; and the recently oppressive heat of the atmosphere was suddenly changed to a bitter chilliness. Some thousands of horses perished on the march, and in the bivouacs which followed: many equipages were abandoned on the sands; and many men fell sick and died.

The Emperor found shelter in a convent, from the first fury of the tempest, but shortly departed for Kowno, where the greatest disorder prevailed. The passage of Oudinot had been impeded by the bridge across the Vilia having been broken down by the Cossacks. Napoleon treated this circumstance with contempt, and ordered a squadron of the Polish guard to spur into the flood, and swim across. This fine picked troop instantly obeyed. They proceeded at first in good order, and soon reached the centre of the river; but here the current was too strong, and their ranks were broken. They redoubled their exertions, but the horses became frightened and unmanageable. Both men and horses were soon exhausted. They no longer swam, but floated about in scattered groups, rising and sinking, while some among them went down. At length, the men, finding destruction inevitable, ceased their struggles, but as they were sinking, they turned their faces towards Napoleon, and cried out, “Vive l’Empereur!” Three of these noble-spirited patriots uttered this cry, while only a part of their faces were above the waters. The army was struck with a mixture of horror and admiration. Napoleon watched the scene apparently unmoved, but gave every order he could devise for the purpose of saving as many of them as possible, though with little effect. It is probable that his strongest feeling, even at the time, was a presentiment that this disastrous event was but the beginning of others, at once tremendous and extensive.

Marshal Oudinot with the second corps crossed the Vilia, by a bridge at Keydani. Meanwhile the rest of the army was still crossing the Niemen, in which operation three entire days were consumed.

After the first night of the arrival upon the Niemen, camp-fires were permitted, and their vast line illumined the sky to a great distance. The troops suffered severely from the sudden changes of the weather—from oppressive heat to piercing cold. But when we learn their sufferings in the rest of the campaign, we forget this first taste of misery. Before the army had entirely crossed the Niemen, Napoleon reached the plain of Wilna, which he found the Russians had deserted. However, he was received by the inhabitants of Wilna as a deliverer, and the restorer of the nationality of Poland. Still the steady movement of retreat, laying waste the country—the plan which the Russian generals had adopted—caused the Emperor to be gloomy, and it seemed as if the cloud of adversity had already begun to obscure his star.