What can a famously controversial Russian field marshal from the era of the Napoleonic wars tell us about Russia’s depraved misadventure in Ukraine today? Quite a bit, once we peel back the layers of how context and political culture can radically shape individual leaders’ priorities and decision-making.
LONDON – Field Marshal Mikhail Illarionovich Golenischev-Kutuzov looms large in our understanding of Russia’s military, owing both to the paunchy, grizzled depictions of him in cinematic versions of War and Peace and to Tolstoy’s own literary portrayal of the man. For Russians themselves, Kutuzov is a mythical giant, a mammoth projection of the national id, as soulful and vulnerable yet solid and ultimately triumphant.
Kutuzov’s name is well known to historians, history buffs, and Tolstoy fans. To many others, particularly outside of Europe, it will mean nothing. But he and his life story are of real global significance today in view of what is happening in Russia and Ukraine. The story of his life provides the layman with many illuminating insights into the origins and nature of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine – and into the disastrous, almost farcical, underperformance of Russian forces in carrying it out.
Two centuries after his death, Kutuzov remains a hugely controversial figure. Though intrepid and brave on the battlefield, he was a cringing courtier who lacked the courage to express his opinion in the presence of superiors, even if it meant accepting the destruction of his army, as happened in 1805 at Austerlitz. He could be extraordinarily active and efficient, yet he was closer in disposition to Oblomov, the famously indolent titular character of Ivan Goncharov’s nineteenth-century novel.
Kutuzov had an abundance of unattractive character traits: total disregard for the truth, sordid greed for money, licentiousness, misogyny, and overwhelming egocentricity. Yet he was a loving husband and father, and a compassionate leader capable of inspiring people by his example, as he showed by being unusually concerned for the living conditions of his soldiers.
The Man, the Enigma
In a remarkable new biography, historian Alexander Mikaberidze draws from an impressive body of archival and secondary sources to deal with all these contradictions in a fair-minded manner. Such an approach is most welcome, given the fierce partisanship of most earlier Kutuzov biographies. Insofar as Kutuzov remains an elusive character, it is no fault of Mikaberidze’s. The old Russian fox knew how to cover his trail from any hound.
Thanks to Mikaberidze, a professor at Louisiana State University, all the available first-hand evidence has been laid out clearly at last, and for this he deserves the gratitude of anyone interested in Russian military history and the history of late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Russia. His book is especially valuable for those seeking to understand the key momentous events of 1812, which led not only to Napoleon’s defeat but also to the reshaping of Europe and the first great intrusion of Russian military power into the heart of the continent.
What is even more unfathomable than Kutuzov’s true character is the part he played in the very events for which he is famous. Kutuzov’s role in Russia’s eighteenth-century wars, particularly those against the Ottoman Empire in the Balkans, is well-known to historians and beyond dispute. But his behavior during his confrontations with Napoleon remains baffling. He was officially in overall command of the allied Austro-Russian forces at Austerlitz in 1805, yet he had no effect on the course of the battle. He might as well have been somewhere else.
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Kutuzov understood that Napoleon was in a hurry, having stretched his lines of communication to the point that they could be cut at any moment if Prussia’s army were to join the allies, as promised. He therefore wanted to draw back and lure Napoleon into stretching his lines even further, while buying time for Prussia to act. But he made no effort to stand up to those proposing a different course of action. These included General Franz von Weyrother, the Austrian chief of staff who had been foisted on him, the inexperienced young bloods lusting for battle who surrounded Czar Alexander I, and Alexander himself, who dreamed of leading his troops to glorious victory.
It is true that a sovereign cannot be disobeyed. But when the czar dismissed Kutuzov’s strategy, the field marshal simply replied, “Your Majesty, henceforth you should command the army as you please.” Kutuzov did not make a stand, threaten to resign, or actually resign his post. He merely looked on as the army under his command was destroyed by Napoleon. His passivity – some said timorous obsequiousness – astonished the more experienced generals in the Russian army, who could not understand his behavior.
Kutuzov would certainly have angered Alexander if he had made a resolute stand or resigned. But, owing to his acquiescence, the battle was a rout for which he was widely blamed. He would spend the next seven years in a kind of disgrace, resented by the czar, who inevitably associated him with his own humiliating defeat.
Even more enigmatic is Kutuzov’s role in the episode that made him world famous: Napoleon’s invasion of, and disastrous retreat from, Russia in 1812. The received version of the story holds that Alexander and all the Russian commanders had adopted a strategy of drawing Napoleon ever deeper into Russia by continuous retreat, knowing that the French Emperor’s Grande Armée would be progressively weakened to the point at which it could easily be destroyed. According to this account, it was Kutuzov’s plan all along to let “General Winter” do the job for him.
But nothing could be further from the truth. Alexander had originally intended to march into Poland, engage the Poles to support him, ally with Prussia, and then sweep into Germany, where he expected Austria and all the minor German states to come together under his aegis to overthrow Napoleon’s hegemony over the continent. Then, after it had become apparent that this was unfeasible, Alexander and his generals planned to confront the invading forces in Lithuania. But Napoleon’s rapid advance and the lack of communication among the Russian commanders forced them to abandon Lithuania, leaving huge stocks of supplies in Vilna (Vilnius) as they fled. Repeated efforts to organize for battle were foiled by the rapidity of Napoleon’s advance.
Only at this point was Kutuzov brought out of retirement, in response to demands from a public that had been shocked by the Russian forces’ continuous retreat. And what was the first thing Kutuzov did after rejoining the army? He looked for a place to make a stand against the invading forces who were marching on Moscow.
Inglorious Victory
However one looks at it, Kutuzov’s behavior during the Battle of Borodino (September 7, 1812) was highly questionable, from the curious layout and fortification of parts of his positions – particularly the Shevardino redoubt – to the disposition of his troops, which had to be moved about by subordinates without much coordination in the course of the battle. Particularly inexplicable was his failure to bring to bear most of his artillery, which was superior in quality to Napoleon’s.
Kutuzov spent the day of the battle at a spot from which he could not see the battlefield, shocking many members of his entourage with his apathy. Had Napoleon not held back his Imperial Guard, the Russian army would have been annihilated; and had he not allowed his cavalry to be cut to pieces by grapeshot for hours on end, the Russian retreat would have ended in disaster.
The Prussian officer and later military theorist Carl von Clausewitz, who was present at Borodino, described Kutuzov’s role as entirely passive and his subsequent claims of victory as the behavior of a mountebank. Yet Clausewitz also appreciated that it was precisely this “mountebankism” that saved the defeated army from disintegration. Kutuzov’s bald-faced lies about having won a great victory gave public opinion something to hang on to as an undefended Moscow loomed in the French emperor’s sights.
Indeed, Kutuzov’s greatest contribution to Napoleon’s defeat was his decision to retreat through Moscow. He rightly foresaw that if the French forces reached the city, it would absorb them like a sponge, giving him time to rest and reinforce his own troops. There was nothing glorious about his subsequent operations against Napoleon, and – intentionally or not – he did allow the French to escape.
Czardom, Then and Now
Although Mikaberidze tries a little too hard to present Kutuzov’s behavior during the 1812 campaign in a positive light, he is even-handed overall, giving us a warts-and-all picture of the man. He does not spare the negative evidence or indulge in special pleading. Rather, he convincingly places Kutuzov in historical and political context.
Even with a leader as well-disposed and liberally educated as Alexander I, the very nature of the Russian autocracy bred a culture of obsequious rivalry that permeated Russian society. Like every other institution, the army was bedeviled by petty political struggles in which public opinion and the favor of highly placed courtiers played an overwhelming role. Kutuzov’s great talent was to surf these murky waters in a way that Barclay de Tolly, his predecessor and the czar’s personal choice, could not, because he was not Russian born. That fact goes a long way toward explaining behavior that appears inexplicable to those living in a more open society.
Finally, Mikaberidze’s endnotes warrant praise, though they can make the book more difficult to read, adding almost another half to the weight of the volume. Not only has he scoured a wide range of archival sources, but he also quotes the relevant passages, rather than just giving page references. This will be of particular value to scholars who may not have the opportunity to access the originals.
All in all, this study is a mine of information, full of insights into a profoundly contradictory man, into the Russian army and society of his time, and into how imperial systems work. This last theme is particularly relevant today, and readers will find much in Mikaberidze’s book that will give them a deeper understanding of the history that has been playing out in Russia and Ukraine since February 24, 2022.
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LONDON – Field Marshal Mikhail Illarionovich Golenischev-Kutuzov looms large in our understanding of Russia’s military, owing both to the paunchy, grizzled depictions of him in cinematic versions of War and Peace and to Tolstoy’s own literary portrayal of the man. For Russians themselves, Kutuzov is a mythical giant, a mammoth projection of the national id, as soulful and vulnerable yet solid and ultimately triumphant.
Kutuzov’s name is well known to historians, history buffs, and Tolstoy fans. To many others, particularly outside of Europe, it will mean nothing. But he and his life story are of real global significance today in view of what is happening in Russia and Ukraine. The story of his life provides the layman with many illuminating insights into the origins and nature of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine – and into the disastrous, almost farcical, underperformance of Russian forces in carrying it out.
Two centuries after his death, Kutuzov remains a hugely controversial figure. Though intrepid and brave on the battlefield, he was a cringing courtier who lacked the courage to express his opinion in the presence of superiors, even if it meant accepting the destruction of his army, as happened in 1805 at Austerlitz. He could be extraordinarily active and efficient, yet he was closer in disposition to Oblomov, the famously indolent titular character of Ivan Goncharov’s nineteenth-century novel.
Kutuzov had an abundance of unattractive character traits: total disregard for the truth, sordid greed for money, licentiousness, misogyny, and overwhelming egocentricity. Yet he was a loving husband and father, and a compassionate leader capable of inspiring people by his example, as he showed by being unusually concerned for the living conditions of his soldiers.
The Man, the Enigma
In a remarkable new biography, historian Alexander Mikaberidze draws from an impressive body of archival and secondary sources to deal with all these contradictions in a fair-minded manner. Such an approach is most welcome, given the fierce partisanship of most earlier Kutuzov biographies. Insofar as Kutuzov remains an elusive character, it is no fault of Mikaberidze’s. The old Russian fox knew how to cover his trail from any hound.
Thanks to Mikaberidze, a professor at Louisiana State University, all the available first-hand evidence has been laid out clearly at last, and for this he deserves the gratitude of anyone interested in Russian military history and the history of late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Russia. His book is especially valuable for those seeking to understand the key momentous events of 1812, which led not only to Napoleon’s defeat but also to the reshaping of Europe and the first great intrusion of Russian military power into the heart of the continent.
What is even more unfathomable than Kutuzov’s true character is the part he played in the very events for which he is famous. Kutuzov’s role in Russia’s eighteenth-century wars, particularly those against the Ottoman Empire in the Balkans, is well-known to historians and beyond dispute. But his behavior during his confrontations with Napoleon remains baffling. He was officially in overall command of the allied Austro-Russian forces at Austerlitz in 1805, yet he had no effect on the course of the battle. He might as well have been somewhere else.
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Kutuzov understood that Napoleon was in a hurry, having stretched his lines of communication to the point that they could be cut at any moment if Prussia’s army were to join the allies, as promised. He therefore wanted to draw back and lure Napoleon into stretching his lines even further, while buying time for Prussia to act. But he made no effort to stand up to those proposing a different course of action. These included General Franz von Weyrother, the Austrian chief of staff who had been foisted on him, the inexperienced young bloods lusting for battle who surrounded Czar Alexander I, and Alexander himself, who dreamed of leading his troops to glorious victory.
It is true that a sovereign cannot be disobeyed. But when the czar dismissed Kutuzov’s strategy, the field marshal simply replied, “Your Majesty, henceforth you should command the army as you please.” Kutuzov did not make a stand, threaten to resign, or actually resign his post. He merely looked on as the army under his command was destroyed by Napoleon. His passivity – some said timorous obsequiousness – astonished the more experienced generals in the Russian army, who could not understand his behavior.
Kutuzov would certainly have angered Alexander if he had made a resolute stand or resigned. But, owing to his acquiescence, the battle was a rout for which he was widely blamed. He would spend the next seven years in a kind of disgrace, resented by the czar, who inevitably associated him with his own humiliating defeat.
Even more enigmatic is Kutuzov’s role in the episode that made him world famous: Napoleon’s invasion of, and disastrous retreat from, Russia in 1812. The received version of the story holds that Alexander and all the Russian commanders had adopted a strategy of drawing Napoleon ever deeper into Russia by continuous retreat, knowing that the French Emperor’s Grande Armée would be progressively weakened to the point at which it could easily be destroyed. According to this account, it was Kutuzov’s plan all along to let “General Winter” do the job for him.
But nothing could be further from the truth. Alexander had originally intended to march into Poland, engage the Poles to support him, ally with Prussia, and then sweep into Germany, where he expected Austria and all the minor German states to come together under his aegis to overthrow Napoleon’s hegemony over the continent. Then, after it had become apparent that this was unfeasible, Alexander and his generals planned to confront the invading forces in Lithuania. But Napoleon’s rapid advance and the lack of communication among the Russian commanders forced them to abandon Lithuania, leaving huge stocks of supplies in Vilna (Vilnius) as they fled. Repeated efforts to organize for battle were foiled by the rapidity of Napoleon’s advance.
Only at this point was Kutuzov brought out of retirement, in response to demands from a public that had been shocked by the Russian forces’ continuous retreat. And what was the first thing Kutuzov did after rejoining the army? He looked for a place to make a stand against the invading forces who were marching on Moscow.
Inglorious Victory
However one looks at it, Kutuzov’s behavior during the Battle of Borodino (September 7, 1812) was highly questionable, from the curious layout and fortification of parts of his positions – particularly the Shevardino redoubt – to the disposition of his troops, which had to be moved about by subordinates without much coordination in the course of the battle. Particularly inexplicable was his failure to bring to bear most of his artillery, which was superior in quality to Napoleon’s.
Kutuzov spent the day of the battle at a spot from which he could not see the battlefield, shocking many members of his entourage with his apathy. Had Napoleon not held back his Imperial Guard, the Russian army would have been annihilated; and had he not allowed his cavalry to be cut to pieces by grapeshot for hours on end, the Russian retreat would have ended in disaster.
The Prussian officer and later military theorist Carl von Clausewitz, who was present at Borodino, described Kutuzov’s role as entirely passive and his subsequent claims of victory as the behavior of a mountebank. Yet Clausewitz also appreciated that it was precisely this “mountebankism” that saved the defeated army from disintegration. Kutuzov’s bald-faced lies about having won a great victory gave public opinion something to hang on to as an undefended Moscow loomed in the French emperor’s sights.
Indeed, Kutuzov’s greatest contribution to Napoleon’s defeat was his decision to retreat through Moscow. He rightly foresaw that if the French forces reached the city, it would absorb them like a sponge, giving him time to rest and reinforce his own troops. There was nothing glorious about his subsequent operations against Napoleon, and – intentionally or not – he did allow the French to escape.
Czardom, Then and Now
Although Mikaberidze tries a little too hard to present Kutuzov’s behavior during the 1812 campaign in a positive light, he is even-handed overall, giving us a warts-and-all picture of the man. He does not spare the negative evidence or indulge in special pleading. Rather, he convincingly places Kutuzov in historical and political context.
Even with a leader as well-disposed and liberally educated as Alexander I, the very nature of the Russian autocracy bred a culture of obsequious rivalry that permeated Russian society. Like every other institution, the army was bedeviled by petty political struggles in which public opinion and the favor of highly placed courtiers played an overwhelming role. Kutuzov’s great talent was to surf these murky waters in a way that Barclay de Tolly, his predecessor and the czar’s personal choice, could not, because he was not Russian born. That fact goes a long way toward explaining behavior that appears inexplicable to those living in a more open society.
Finally, Mikaberidze’s endnotes warrant praise, though they can make the book more difficult to read, adding almost another half to the weight of the volume. Not only has he scoured a wide range of archival sources, but he also quotes the relevant passages, rather than just giving page references. This will be of particular value to scholars who may not have the opportunity to access the originals.
All in all, this study is a mine of information, full of insights into a profoundly contradictory man, into the Russian army and society of his time, and into how imperial systems work. This last theme is particularly relevant today, and readers will find much in Mikaberidze’s book that will give them a deeper understanding of the history that has been playing out in Russia and Ukraine since February 24, 2022.