At length Moscow, with its domes and towers and palaces, appeared
insight of the French army; and Napoleon, who had joined the advanced
guard, gazed long and thoughtfully on that goal of his wishes. Marshal
Murat went forward, and entered the gates with his splendid cavalry; but
as he passed through the streets, he was struck by the solitude that
surrounded him. Nothing was heard but the heavy tramp of his squadrons
as he passed along, for a deserted and abandoned city was the meagre
prize for which such unparalleled efforts had been made.
As night drew its curtain over the splendid capital, Napoleon entered
the gates, and immediately appointed Marshal Mortier governor. In his
directions he commanded him to abstain from all pillage. “For this,”
said he, “you shall be answerable with your life. Defend Moscow against
all, whether friend or foe.” The bright moon rose over the mighty city,
tipping with silver the domes of more than two hundred churches, and
pouring a flood of light over a thousand palaces and the dwellings of
three hundred thousand inhabitants. The weary soldiers sank to rest, but
there was no sleep for Mortier’s eyes.
Not the palaces and their rich ornaments, nor the parks and gardens and
the magnificence that everywhere surrounded him, kept him wakeful, but
the foreboding that some calamity was hanging over the silent capital.
When he entered it, scarcely a living soul met his gaze as he looked
down the long streets; and when he broke open the buildings, he found
parlors and bedrooms and chambers all furnished and in order, but no
occupants. This sudden abandonment of their homes betokened some secret
purpose yet to be fulfilled. The midnight moon was setting over the
city, when the cry of “Fire!” reached the ears of Mortier; and the first
light over Napoleon’s faltering empire was kindled, and that most
wondrous scene of modern times commenced,--the Burning of Moscow.
Mortier, as governor of the city, immediately issued his orders, and was
putting forth every exertion, when at daylight Napoleon hastened to him.
Affecting to disbelieve the reports that the inhabitants were firing
their own city, he put more rigid commands on Mortier, to keep the
soldiers from the work of destruction. The Marshal simply pointed to
some iron-covered houses that had not yet been opened, from every
crevice of which smoke was issuing like steam from the sides of a
pent-up volcano. Sad and thoughtful, Napoleon turned towards the
Kremlin, the ancient palace of the Czars, whose huge structure rose high
above the surrounding edifices.
In the morning, Mortier, by great exertions, was enabled to subdue the
fire; but the next night, September 15th, at midnight, the sentinels on
watch upon the lofty Kremlin saw below them the flames bursting through
the houses and palaces, and the cry of “Fire! fire!” passed through the
city. The dread scene was now fairly opened. Fiery balloons were seen
dropping from the air and lighting on the houses; dull explosions were
heard on every side from the shut-up dwellings; and the next moment
light burst forth, and the flames were raging through the apartments.
All was uproar and confusion. The serene air and moonlight of the night
before had given way to driving clouds and a wild tempest, that swept
like the roar of the sea over the city. Flames arose on every side,
blazing and crackling in the storm; while clouds of smoke and sparks, in
an incessant shower, went driving towards the Kremlin. The clouds
themselves seemed turned into fire, rolling wrath over devoted Moscow.
Mortier, crushed with the responsibility thrown upon his shoulders,
moved with his Young Guard amid this desolation, blowing up the houses
and facing the tempest and the flames, struggling nobly to arrest the
conflagration.
He hastened from place to place amid the ruins, his face blackened with
smoke, and his hair and eyebrows singed with the fierce heat. At length
the day dawned,--a day of tempest and of flame,--and Mortier, who had
strained every nerve for thirty-six hours, entered a palace and dropped
down from fatigue. The manly form and stalwart arm that had so often
carried death into the ranks of the enemy, at length gave way, and the
gloomy Marshal lay and panted in utter exhaustion. But the night of
tempest had been succeeded by a day of tempest; and when night again
enveloped the city, it was one broad flame, waving to and fro in the
blast.
The wind had increased to a perfect hurricane, and shifted from quarter
to quarter, as if on purpose to swell the sea of fire and extinguish the
last hope. The fire was approaching the Kremlin; and already the roar of
the flames and crash of falling houses, and the crackling of burning
timbers, were borne to the ears of the startled Emperor. He arose and
walked to and fro, stopping convulsively and gazing on the terrific
scene. His Marshals rushed into his presence, and on their knees
besought him to flee; but he still clung to that haughty palace as if it
were his empire.
But at length the shout, “The Kremlin is on fire!” was heard above the
roar of the conflagration, and Napoleon reluctantly consented to leave.
He descended into the streets with his staff, and looked about for a way
of egress, but the flames blocked every passage. At length they
discovered a postern gate, leading to the Moskwa, and entered it; but
they had passed still further into the danger. As Napoleon cast his eye
round the open space, girdled and arched with fire, smoke, and cinders,
he saw one single street yet open, but all on fire. Into this he rushed,
and amid the crash of falling houses and the raging of the flames, over
burning ruins, through clouds of rolling smoke, and between walls of
fire, he pressed on. At length, half suffocated, he emerged in safety
from the blazing city, and took up his quarters in a palace nearly three
miles distant.
Mortier, relieved from his anxiety for the Emperor, redoubled his
efforts to arrest the conflagration. His men cheerfully rushed into
every danger. Breathing nothing but smoke and ashes; canopied by flame
and smoke and cinders; surrounded by walls of fire, that rocked to and
fro, and fell, with a crash, amid the blazing ruins, carrying down with
them red-hot roofs of iron,--he struggled against an enemy that no
boldness could awe or courage overcome.
Those brave troops had often heard without fear the tramp of thousands
of cavalry sweeping to battle; but now they stood in still terror before
the march of the conflagration, under whose burning footsteps was heard
the incessant crash of falling houses, palaces, and churches. The roar
of the hurricane, mingled with that of the flames, was more terrible
than the thunder of artillery; and before this new foe, in the midst of
this battle of the elements, the awe-struck army stood affrighted and
powerless.
When night again descended on the city, it presented a spectacle, the
like of which was never seen before, and which baffles all description.
The streets were streets of fire, the heavens a canopy of fire, and the
entire body of the city a mass of fire, fed by a hurricane that sped the
blazing fragments in a constant stream through the air. Incessant
explosions, from the blowing up of stores of oil, tar, and spirits,
shook the very foundations of the city, and sent vast volumes of smoke
rolling furiously towards the sky.
Huge sheets of canvas on fire came floating like messengers of death
through the flames; the towers and domes of the churches and palaces,
glowing with a red heat over the wild sea below, then tottering a moment
on their bases, were hurled by the tempest into the common ruin.
Thousands of wretches, before unseen, were driven by the heat from the
cellars and hovels, and streamed in an incessant throng through the
streets.
Children were seen carrying their parents; the strong, the weak; while
thousands more were staggering under the loads of plunder which they had
snatched from the flames. This, too, would frequently take fire in the
falling shower; and the miserable creatures would be compelled to drop
it and flee for their lives. It was a scene of woe and fear
inconceivable and indescribable! A mighty and closely packed city of
houses, churches, and palaces, wrapped from limit to limit in flames,
which are fed by a whirling hurricane, is a sight this world will seldom
see.
But this was within the city. To Napoleon, without, the spectacle was
still more sublime and terrific. When the flames had overcome all
obstacles, and had wrapped everything in their red mantle, that great
city looked like a sea of rolling fire, swept by a tempest that drove it
into billows. Huge domes and towers, throwing off sparks like blazing
firebrands, now disappeared in their maddening flow, as they rushed and
broke high over their tops, scattering their spray of fire against the
clouds. The heavens themselves seemed to have caught the conflagration,
and the angry masses that swept it rolled over a bosom of fire.
Napoleon stood and gazed on the scene in silent awe. Though nearly three
miles distant, the windows and walls of his apartment were so hot that
he could scarcely bear his hand against them. Said he, years
afterwards, “It was the spectacle of a sea and billows of fire, a sky
and clouds of flame; mountains of red rolling flames, like immense waves
of the sea, alternately bursting forth and elevating themselves to skies
of fire, and then sinking into the flame below. O, it was the most
grand, the most sublime, and the most terrific sight the world ever
beheld!”
--JAMES T. HEADLEY.