[Illustration: _Vassily Blajenni Cathedral._]
The restoration of the kingdom of Poland and the abolition of serfdom
were among the pretexts put forward by Napoleon for his invasion of
Russia. The proposed liberation of the serfs was presumably intended
merely to embarrass his adversary, for Napoleon can scarcely be credited
with any sentimental weakness in favour of liberty for its own sake. He
expected to find in Russia a people ready to throw off its fetters, and
to some extent at least his estimate of the social and political
situation was correct. The masses were ardently longing for freedom, and
the idea of enfranchisement was in the air; but Napoleon failed to
recognize that the means which he employed, instead of encouraging the
people to revolt against their masters, were calculated merely to turn
them into irreconcilable enemies of the invader. There were, it is true,
some disturbances and seditious plots at the beginning of the campaign,
but they were comparatively insignificant; the excesses of the French,
and especially of their allies—Germans, Poles, Italians, and others—soon
provoked a wide-spread revulsion of public opinion. The announcement
that the provinces occupied by the Grande Armée would be retained by
France, and that the nobility and officials would, under no
circumstances, be allowed to return, encouraged the peasantry in some
districts to assist in provisioning the invading army. In many
instances, however, they broke out into open revolt against their
masters, and refused to assist their escape by supplying them with
horses. “Why,” they asked, “should we lend horses to remove our masters’
goods, when Bonaparte is coming to set us free?”
Of the gentry, some, like Engelgard, behaved as true patriots, remaining
on their estates, harassing the French to the utmost of their power, and
frequently meeting death in the service of their country. On the other
hand, we find Prince Bagration tearing the Cross of Honour from the neck
of a certain dignitary, and branding him as a traitor unworthy to serve
his sovereign. Again, in the captured barouche of the French General
Montbrun a note was found, among other papers, giving information as to
the plan of a proposed Russian attack. This note was, in all
probability, delivered to the general by an officer attached to the
Russian head-quarters.
The behaviour of the clergy was, in some cases, extraordinary. The
Bishop of Mogileff and the ecclesiastical dignitaries of Vitebsk in so
far admitted that the conquered provinces no longer belonged to Russia
as to swear allegiance to Napoleon, and issue an order to the priests
directing them to take the same oath, and, in the public prayers in
their churches, to substitute the name of Napoleon for that of
Alexander.[10] Following the example of the Bishop, the priest
Dobrovolsky, and many others, in Holy Mass or the _Te Deums_, omitted to
mention any member of the Russian Imperial Family, while praying for the
health of Napoleon, Emperor of the French and King of Italy.
After the departure of the French many proceedings were instituted in
respect of seditious acts among the ecclesiastical and civil
authorities. Archbishop Theofilakt, who was sent to restore
ecclesiastical order in the provinces, wrote to the Minister:—“In the
civil departments it is necessary to shut one’s eyes, for the civil
governor, Count Tolstoi, knowing full well who the traitors are, is
nevertheless obliged to retain them in the service.”
It is interesting to learn that Marshal Davout entered into a doctrinal
discussion with the Archbishop of Mogileff. He urged upon the Archbishop
that, having accepted the _fait accompli_, he was bound to mention the
name of Napoleon in public prayer, quoting the words of the
Gospel—“Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s.”—“That is exactly
what I am doing,” answered the Archbishop, “mentioning the name of my
own sovereign.”—“By no means,” replied Davout. “By Cæsar we must
understand the stronger, and, at the present moment, the stronger is
certainly not your Emperor Alexander.”
“There is no denying the fact that there was discontent among the
people,” says A. F. de B., an officer in the Russian service, “and the
further the enemy advanced, the more this discontent spread. The
attitude of the people was extremely doubtful, but it was Napoleon
himself, or rather his troops, who contributed most to destroy the
confidence of the peasantry in the sincerity of his promises. Rumours
soon began to spread that the enemy were plundering all along the line
of march; that they were turning the churches into stables, trampling
the holy images under-foot or chopping them up for firewood; that they
were ill-treating the inhabitants, women, girls, and even young
children, suffering at their hands. Small wonder that the peasants
betook themselves to the woods, taking with them everything they could
carry, and burning whatever they were unable to remove.”
The atrocities committed by the French in other countries are
sufficiently notorious, but they were surpassed in this campaign. Many
Frenchmen, eye-witnesses of what they relate, give harrowing details of
the wanton destruction and rapine that marked the advance of the
invading army. Labaume gives some instances of barbarous violation of
private property. “We entered,” he says, “into a large domain, called
Vedenskoye, a charming estate with a mansion beautifully appointed
within and without. In a few minutes everything was broken or torn in
pieces.” “On another occasion,” he says, “we stopped at a large house
with a beautiful garden. Apparently the place had been but recently
furnished, but it was now dismantled in a most painful manner. Broken
furniture was scattered about the passages; fragments of china and
expensive pictures, torn out of their frames, were scattered to the
winds.”
Bourgeois tells us that “the inhabitants, driven by fire out of their
homes, took shelter wherever they could. Sometimes they sought refuge
among the inhuman soldiery, who plundered them to the last extremity....
The women were seized and exposed to every kind of insult.... Even the
dead were disinterred, in the search for hidden treasure. It is not
surprising, therefore, that the Russians themselves set fire to their
homes, and that the French met with nothing but villages in ashes, and
wells filled with carrion.”
We know how nobly the populace of Moscow responded to the appeal of
their Emperor. The gentry provided numerous volunteers, and the
merchants large sums of money. Some of the volunteers, it is true,
arrived too late, and the money was not all collected until 1819, and,
even then, under considerable pressure. But the spirit that animated the
people was none the less heroic. The inhabitants of Moscow resolutely
refused to entertain the idea of making any concessions to the invader,
and, with a few insignificant exceptions, were true to their duty as
patriots.
How was it, then, that the French army found Moscow filled with
provisions, wealth, and merchandise of all descriptions? The explanation
is simple. When Napoleon won the battle of Borodino, Kutuzof saw clearly
that he could do nothing more at the moment, and that he could not
venture to fight another battle under the walls of Moscow. Nevertheless,
he led the Governor-General of the city, Count Rostopchin, to believe
that he was preparing to assist him with his army, and the latter,
trusting in this, and unwilling to alarm the inhabitants, made few
preparations for retreat, sending away only the most precious objects
and the treasures of the Tsars. He did not even touch the arsenal. At
the last moment, when the entry of the enemy was inevitable, and
Rostopchin recognized that the Russian general was concealing his real
plans, he tried to hide what was left; but horses were scarce, and the
whole city, abandoned by its inhabitants, remained with the greater part
of its wealth at the discretion of the enemy.
The dissensions between the two commanders, at first restrained, soon
developed into an open rupture. While Rostopchin made an exhibition of
his patriotism, Kutuzof was compelled to remain silent; but he suffered
keenly nevertheless, for, although he decided to sacrifice the sacred
city, it was only because he saw the impossibility of defending it.
In spite of the field-day opinions of such generals as Beningsen,
Ermolov, and others, the “old fox” Kutuzof thought, with Barclay, that
Moscow should be sacrificed like any other city if the safety of the
Empire demanded such a step. He authorized Dorogomilovsky to make some
show of resistance merely with the object of satisfying the inhabitants,
but he resolutely kept Rostopchin, the old courtier of Paul I., at arm’s
length from his councils. The latter did not hesitate to call Kutuzof
“an old one-eyed Baba” (peasant woman), and wrote to him—“It rests with
you to decide whether I shall act with you before Moscow, or without you
in Moscow.”
The “Baba,” who had no great opinion of the armed mob which Rostopchin
offered to place at his disposal, replied only with a demand for
provisions, and did not even invite the commandant of Moscow to attend
the Council of War at which the retreat of the Russian armies was
decided upon.
“When the masters are fighting,” says a proverb of Southern Russia, “the
peasant’s head is aching.” The truth of this adage was now bitterly felt
by the inhabitants of Moscow. It was owing to the quarrels of their
leaders that they were surprised by the French.
Rostopchin had just sufficient time, putting a good face on the trick
played upon him by Kutuzof, to open the gates of the arsenal to the
public, empty the numerous barrels of vodka into the street, and, most
difficult of all, to escape with his wife and family.
The populace which he had armed, and who were excited by his “placards,”
which have become legendary, opposed his departure. They gathered in
front of the governor’s palace, and demanded to be led against Napoleon.
To save himself, Rostopchin hit upon the idea of throwing a victim to
the mob, as to a pack of famished wolves. He promptly found a scapegoat
in the person of Verestchagin, the son of a merchant. The victim was
accused of having translated an article relating to Napoleon, and
Rostopchin handed him over to the mob as “the wretch through whom Moscow
and Russia would perish.” As no hand was raised to execute justice on
this so-called traitor—a pale, delicate young man—the Governor-General
ordered a dragoon to cut him down. At the sight of blood the passions of
the mob broke loose. Verestchagin was fastened to the tail of a horse
and dragged through the streets, while the Governor-General escaped by
the back door and fled the city. The body of the victim, after being
dragged through the market-place, was dropped in front of a small
church, and was buried at the very spot on which it fell. Some time
later, when the Sophiyaka Street was opened, the body was found intact,
and was believed by many to be that of a holy martyr.
Although the Emperor Alexander had, since the battle of Austerlitz, been
prejudiced against Kutuzof (a feeling, by the way, by no means
justified, inasmuch as that general had only carried out the plan drawn
up by the head of the Austrian chief staff, Weinrotter, and approved by
both Emperors) he placed him at the moment of danger in command of his
armies. This appointment was demanded by public opinion.
[Illustration: ARMED PEASANT.]
On taking over the command, Kutuzof did his best to reanimate the
courage of his troops, upon whom the constant retreat before the invader
had necessarily had a depressing effect.
In some quarters, however, he was by no means trusted. The gallant but
irascible Bagration asserted that he regarded Kutuzof as “a scoundrel
ready to sell his country.” As a matter of fact, Kutuzof had but one
idea—to deceive Napoleon, and, by avoiding a pitched battle, cause him
to stay as long as possible in Moscow. If he could be tempted to remain
in the city until the winter time, Kutuzof hoped to be able to block up
the road to the southern provinces, throwing Napoleon back on to the
route which he had already traversed—a devastated line of march.
The plan succeeded, and if Kutuzof subsequently failed to pursue
Napoleon, it was because, as a Russian and a patriot, he thought it
sufficient to drive the invader from the country, and did not care to be
mixed up in the affairs of Europe. This is evident from the reports of
the English military _attaché_, Wilson, which are nothing more than a
long and violent diatribe against the “traitor” Kutuzof.
After the retreat had been decided upon by the Council at Filli, the
Russian troops began to move through the town towards the Kiazan road.
Glinka saw Kutuzof sitting in a _droshky_ near the town gate lost in
deep thought. Colonel Toll approached him and reported that the French
had already entered Moscow. “Thanks be to God,” answered Kutuzof, “this
is their last triumph.” The regiments moved slowly past the general, who
was sitting motionless, his right elbow resting on his knee, apparently
seeing and hearing nothing. The troops were in great disorder;
luggage-carts were colliding; various detachments were seeking their
respective regiments; private soldiers were seizing the opportunity to
plunder. The people surrounded the transport train containing the
wounded, and kind-hearted women threw money into the carts, forgetful
that the copper coins might seriously hurt the sufferers.
If at this time Napoleon had sent a few regiments of cavalry against the
retreating Russians he could easily have destroyed the rear-guard. But
at this time he had other matters to think about. He was standing behind
the Dorogomilovsky gate waiting for a deputation from Moscow. He had
summoned this _canaille_ of a Rostopchin to appear before him, together
with the commandant, the chief of police, and the mayor, but no one
came.
Kutuzof, having enticed him into Moscow, turned aside, and, without
leaving any trace behind, succeeded in completely hoodwinking his enemy.
While Napoleon was announcing to Europe that the Russians were fleeing
in disorder along the Kazan road, Kutuzof suddenly turned off this road
on to the Kaluga road, and placed himself in position to protect the
fertile provinces that had not yet been touched by the invaders. Whose
idea this was is not known, but it was a very happy one, full of results
advantageous to the Russians and ruinous to the French.
Meantime complete confusion reigned in Moscow. Of the well-to-do only
those remained in the city who, relying upon Rostopchin’s proclamations,
had not removed their wealth. In addition to these and others who
remained, perhaps to fish in troubled waters, there was the vast army of
beggars and criminals. The Postmaster-General, Kluchareff, suspected of
being a freethinker, was banished; young Verestchagin, as we have seen,
was murdered, and an ex-student, Uroosoff, who tried to show that
Napoleon’s invasion was a good thing, was first imprisoned and then
banished.
When the order directing the broaching of wine and spirit casks was
issued, the people fell to work at once, and soon became intoxicated.
Wine and spirits literally flowed in the streets, and the mob, lying on
the pavement yelling and fighting, lapped up the liquor from the
gutters.
“My father was an obstinate man,” says the wife of a citizen.
“‘I will not leave the city,’ he said, ‘no, on no account; there is no
reason to be afraid of the French.’
“Arms were distributed in the Kremlin, and he received a gun, but it was
without a hammer.
“‘Never mind,’ he said, ‘although it is out of order, it may prove handy
to frighten a Frenchman with....’
“When we reached the stone bridge there was a crowd of about a hundred
men, and a regiment of the enemy was marching across. Father took it
into his head to threaten them with his gun, but one of the soldiers
snatched it out of his hands, and with the butt-end hit my father a blow
on the back of his head that caused blood to flow.”
“I was sitting at a window knitting a stocking,” says the wife of a
priest, “when suddenly the deacon’s wife came running up. ‘Mother,’ said
she, ‘they say that “Bonaparte has passed through the gates of
Dorogomilovsk and Kaluga.’” I dropped the stocking and called
aloud—‘Dmitry Vlasich, do you hear?’ My husband was sitting in another
room writing. ‘What is the matter?’ he asked. ‘The matter is that the
deacon’s wife tells me that Bonaparte has come,’ I answered. He laughed.
‘What a foolish woman you are to believe the deacon’s wife rather than
the Governor-General. There is the Count’s proclamation, have I not read
it to you? You had better go and order the tea.’
“Later,” says the same authority, “we sent the cook to the bazaar to do
her marketing, and she took with her my cousin, Sidor Karpowitch. The
latter was carrying a pot and a good wooden spoon. ‘I have a great
mind,’ he said, ‘to lay in my stock of honey, as I know there are
several casks of it.’ They found the bazaar empty, but from time to time
a Russian, or one of the enemy, passed by. The cook went for her sugar
and tea, and he for his honey. ‘When you are ready,’ he said, ‘wait for
me, I shall soon find what I want.’ She put tea and sugar into her
napkin and waited for her companion, but for some time no one appeared.
So she took refuge in a shop and said her prayers. Suddenly she heard
Sidor call, ‘Anicioushka, my pigeon, where are you?’ She stept outside
and stood spell-bound with fear; all the shops were empty, but coming
towards her was a man—no, not a man—a monster. She could not make out
what it was. When, however, it came closer, and she discovered what it
was, she thought she must have died with laughter. There stood Sidor
dripping with honey from head to foot. On his head one might have
thought he wore a hood; of the face there was not a trace.
“The victim explained that when he began to fill his pot with honey,
three men came up and said, ‘Give up your pot!’ He refused. ‘Why,’ he
said, ‘did you come empty-handed?’ ‘Give up the pot!’ they repeated.
Sidor Karpowitch clutched his pot tightly, and made off, but he was soon
overtaken. His pursuers snatched the pot out of his hands, and threw him
into the cask, head downwards. ‘I saw nothing; I was stifled; I began to
wriggle and managed to raise my head. But then my feet sank in; my nose,
eyes, mouth, were all covered with honey. I do not know how long my
martyrdom lasted, but at last I felt that I was growing giddy. Then I
summoned up all my courage, caught hold of the edge of the cask, and
pulled myself out!’ Later, many years later,” adds the Matouschka, “we
could never think of this incident without laughing. The wife of the
sexton, who is fond of her joke, says, whenever she sees my cousin,
‘Will you not take some honey, Sidor Karpowitch, you are so very fond of
it, are you not?’”
Long processions of the citizens of Moscow, carrying the sacred _ikons_
and the vessels of the Mass, left by all the gates of the city,
lamenting and singing plaintive songs.
A legend states that on that terrible day a sword of fire was seen in
the heavens at Moscow—a miracle that helped to complete the terror of
the few thousands who remained behind, out of a population of nearly a
third of a million.
Meantime the French were occupying Moscow, spreading, as Kutuzof said,
like a sponge in water. Some of them only passed through the streets and
bivouacked in the suburbs and adjoining villages; others, belonging to
the Guard, took up their quarters in the Kremlin itself.
Labaume writes—“We were greatly impressed by our first view of Moscow,
and our vanguard saluted the town with transports of enthusiasm, crying,
‘Moscow! Moscow!’ All ran to the hills and vied with each other in
discovering and pointing out the beauties of the sight. Houses painted
in various colours, domes covered with iron, silver, and gold; the
balconies and terraces of the palaces, the monuments, and especially the
belfries, combined to realize one of those beautiful cities of Asia
which we had hitherto supposed to exist only in the imagination of the
Arabian poets.”
Dorogomilovsky, who commanded the Russian rear-guard, warned Murat
against pressing forward too hastily, threatening that if the Russian
troops were not allowed to retire in peace, he would set fire to the
city. The King of Naples, with the consent of Napoleon, agreed not to
harass the Russian retreat, and the French troops marching in mingled
with the rear-guard of the Russians marching out. This gave Murat an
opportunity of making a display of the splendour of his attire before
the “barbarians.”
The longer the French troops remained in the vast city the more they
were amazed at the death-like quiet and desolation that reigned on all
sides. The strange stillness caused them involuntarily to keep silence,
nervously listening to the rumbling clatter of the horses’ hoofs on the
pavements. Even the bravest were depressed, owing to the length of the
streets. It was sometimes impossible to distinguish the uniforms of
troops marching at some distance from one another along the same
thoroughfare, and in some instances detachments fled in panic from their
own comrades.
The soldier Bourgogne naïvely expresses his astonishment at the aspect
of the deserted city. “We were greatly surprised at seeing no one in the
streets, not a single young woman listening to our regimental band
playing ‘Ours is the Victory!’ We could not account for this complete
desolation; such a glorious city, but now so mute, so gloomy, and so
empty! Nothing was to be heard but the sound of our own footsteps,
drums, and music. Nor, of course, were we ourselves in very talkative
humour. We kept looking at one another, wondering whether the
inhabitants, not daring to show themselves in the streets, were spying
at us through the chinks of the shutters. It was impossible to imagine
that such magnificent palaces and such beautiful buildings were
abandoned by their owners.... An hour after our entry into the city the
fires began. We, of course, thought that some of our own people, in
plundering, had set fire to the buildings through carelessness.... We
could not believe that the inhabitants were so barbarous as to burn
their own property, and destroy one of the finest cities of the world.”
Labaume writes—“In all these richly-furnished houses and palaces we
found only children, old men, and Russian officers who had been wounded
in previous battles. In the churches all the altars were decorated as on
holy-days; and, judging from the number of candles and burning lamps
before the holy images, it was evident that just before leaving the city
the pious Muscovites had been at prayer. These striking testimonies of
the citizens’ piety and love of religion raised this conquered people in
our estimation, and made us feel ashamed of the injustice we had done
them. Sometimes, in an involuntary feeling of fear, we found ourselves
listening eagerly, and our imagination, nervously strained in this huge
conquered city, caused us to fear ambuscades on every side, and to
imagine that we heard the clash and sound of arms or the cries of
combatants.
“A humble officer found himself sole occupant of a beautifully-furnished
suite of apartments, for no one was present but the porter who, with
trembling hands, presented him with the keys of the place.”
Madame Fusil, an actress at the French theatre at Moscow, tells us—“I
left my lodgings on August 25 (September 6). Passing through the city, I
was strongly impressed by the melancholy of the scene. The streets were
empty, but now and then I met a passer-by, one of the common people.
Suddenly I heard in the distance the sounds of mournful singing, and,
coming nearer, I saw a large crowd of men, women, and children carrying
holy images and following the priests, who were singing sacred hymns. It
was impossible to witness such a sight without tears—the people leaving
the city and carrying away with them the treasures of their faith.
Suddenly I was called away. ‘Come and look on this wonderful phenomenon
in the sky, it is like a fiery sword. Surely some great calamity must be
about to happen!’ And I really saw something quite out of the common, a
sign indeed....”
The strength of the French army that entered Moscow may be estimated at
about 110,000 men. With the exception of the Guard, the French left the
city the next day and encamped in the suburbs; the Spaniards,
Portuguese, Swiss, Bavarians, Wurtembergers, and Saxons remaining in the
city. The presence in Moscow of the “alien element” probably accounts
for the extraordinary cruelties perpetrated in the city. Numerous
Russian stragglers roamed about the streets. Fezensac says that he alone
stopped about fifty, and sent them to head-quarters. “The general to
whom I reported this, expressed his regret that I had not shot them all,
and instructed me to dispose of them in this way in future.”
Meantime the fires, far from subsiding, began to spread with
ever-increasing fury.
“It was horrible,” relates the daughter of a merchant. “The Russians
themselves were burning Moscow.”—“We were struck with terror at seeing
fires all round us,” says another witness.—“Moscow,” says yet another,
“was burned to drive out Bonaparte. I do not know how it happened, but
one thing is certain, that our house was set on fire.”
A drunken man, dressed in a peasant’s smock, was seen leaving the house
of Prince Kourakin, the steward and four footmen driving him out with
blows. He uttered a shout of triumph, exclaiming, “How well it burns!”
Kourakin’s servants declared that he was an incendiary, and that they
were about to give him up to the French. He was at once shot.
It is impossible to attribute the burning of Moscow to a concerted
plan. It was due in great measure to the fact that a large proportion
of the houses were built of wood, and to the determination of the
Russians not to allow their property to fall into the hands of the
enemy. At first the responsibility was thrown on Rostopchin, who
assured Bagration that if the worst came to the worst he was resolved
to reduce the city to ashes. The fact that the Governor caused all
fire-extinguishing appliances to be removed may suggest the theory
that the destruction of the city was due to the action of the
Governor-General. But subsequent inquiries demonstrated that the
conflagration was, in the main, accidental, and Rostopchin himself
confirms this idea. “It is a trait in the Russian character,” he says
in his _Explanation_, “to destroy rather than to suffer anything to
fall into the hands of the enemy. Let everything perish!” After
Napoleon and his army occupied the city, several generals and officers
visited the principal carriage-manufactories. Each selected a carriage
and wrote his name upon it. The merchants, of one accord, set fire to
their shops that they might not become “purveyors” to the enemy.
On the other hand, the French officers seem to have suspected their own
men, and this suspicion was a source of no little vexation. Ségur states
that a number of officers took refuge in the halls of the Palace. Other
generals, among them Mortier, who had been fighting the flames for
thirty-six hours, arrived in a state of exhaustion. Some were taciturn.
Others charged their companions with responsibility for the outbreak.
All believed that drunkenness and want of discipline among the soldiers
had helped to spread the conflagration. They looked at each other with
dismay. What would Europe say? They spoke with downcast eyes, as if
awestruck by so terrible a catastrophe, which tarnished their glory,
destroyed the fruits of their victory, and endangered their lives. Would
not Providence—the whole civilized world—punish such criminals?
These sad thoughts were at last mitigated by the news that the Russians
themselves were setting fire to the city. It was impossible to doubt it.
Officers who came in from all sides agreed on this point. A hurricane
had sprung up, and the fire was raging with unheard-of fury. In less
than an hour it had engulfed ten different parts of the city, and an
enormous district on the far side of the river was transformed into a
sea of flame, spreading terror and destruction far and wide. A cupola of
fire hung over the whole city, the air was alive with sparks and burning
embers.
“At night-time,” says Labaume, “the city was set on fire in various
places, and the conflagration soon reached the finest portions. In a
moment, the palaces which we had admired for their architecture and the
taste of their fittings were wrapped in a sheet of flame. Their superb
pediments, adorned with statues and bas-reliefs, fell with a crash on
the ruins of the columns. The churches, although covered with sheet-iron
and lead, also fell in, and with them the gorgeous domes of gold and
silver, which we had seen the day before glittering in the sun. The
hospitals, containing over 20,000 wounded, were not long in catching
fire, and the scene which then presented itself was revolting and
horrible to the last degree. Nearly all the inmates perished. A few of
the survivors might be seen dragging themselves half burnt through the
smoking ruins; others lay groaning under piles of corpses, convulsively
endeavouring to lift the ghastly weight above them in their efforts to
escape.”
[Illustration: IN A RUSSIAN CHURCH.]
What must have been at this time the thoughts of Napoleon, who was in
Peter’s Palace? Probably, like other witnesses of this awful night, he
did not close his eyes, for about six in the morning one of his
aides-de-camp was despatched to the next camp to command the attendance
of Madame O——, who had taken refuge there. The two were met at the
Palace gate by Marshal Mortier, who showed the visitor into the large
hall. Napoleon was waiting for her in the recess of a window.
“I was told that you were very unhappy, Madame; is it so?” asked
Napoleon, and for a full hour he plied her with questions on various
matters.
Great must have been the difficulties of the conqueror if he had to seek
counsel from this lady in matters of politics and administration. Among
other things, Napoleon asked what she thought about the liberation of
the serfs. “I think, your Imperial Majesty,” she answered, “that they
would scarcely understand what you mean by it.”
This lady was not alone in having the honour of advising the Emperor.
Several others ventured to give their advice. Napoleon, indeed, invited
their opinions, for advice costs nothing.
“How shall I describe the scenes that took place in the city?” says an
eye-witness. “Soldiers, sutlers, convicts let loose from prison, and
prostitutes, were roaming the streets, breaking into deserted houses and
seizing all that attracted their cupidity. Some clothed themselves in
silken dresses embroidered with gold, others piled upon their shoulders
as many furs as they could carry. Soldiers, and the rabble in general,
attired themselves in court dresses. Crowds broke open the doors of the
cellars, drank to intoxication, and reeled about the streets laden with
plunder. It was not only deserted buildings that were pillaged in this
way. The soldiers forcibly entered inhabited houses, and abused every
woman they met. When the generals received orders to abandon Moscow,
licentiousness reached its culminating point. Unrestrained by the
presence of their leaders, the troops gave themselves up to the most
monstrous excesses. Nothing was sacred to their unbridled licence.”
One eye-witness tells us—“Nothing so inflamed the greed of the
plunderers as the Archangel Cathedral in the Kremlin, in the royal tombs
of which they hoped to find enormous treasures. In this expectation the
Grenadiers descended with torches into the vaults, and without
compunction disturbed even the bones of the dead....
“We hoped that night would put a stop to these horrors, but the darkness
merely served to render the conflagration more terrible. The flames,
spreading from north to south, shot up into the heavens, illuminating
the pall of smoke that hung like a thick fog over the city. Our blood
chilled as we listened to the babel of cries, growing louder and ever
louder in the darkness; the moans of the unfortunate wretches who were
being tortured and slain; the screams of maidens vainly seeking refuge
in the arms of their mothers; the howling of the dogs which, in the
Moscow custom, were chained to the gates of the houses, and were thus
slowly burned alive.
“Through the thick smoke long files of wagons were to be seen loaded
with booty. These were continually stopping, and above the din rose the
shouts of the drivers, who, fearful of being burned to death, spurred on
their horses and forced a way to an accompaniment of recrimination and
abuse.”
“We met a Jew,” says Bourgogne, “who was tearing his hair and beard at
the sight of a burning synagogue of which he had been the Rabbi. As he
was able to speak a little German we learned that, together with other
Jews, he had brought to his place of worship all his valuables.
“We went with him into the Jewish quarter. There we found that
everything was burned to the ground. Our friend, on seeing the ruins of
his house, uttered a cry and fainted.
“Whenever the troops discovered a house still intact, they broke in the
door as if fearful of missing any chance of plunder. If they found
anything more valuable than what they already possessed, they threw away
the treasures previously collected to make room for the new booty, and
when their carts could hold no more they brought away loads of plunder
upon their shoulders.
“Sometimes when their road was barred by fire, they were forced to turn
back and roam about the strange city, seeking an outlet from the
labyrinth of flame. Notwithstanding their danger, the greed of the
plunderers conquered their dread of the flames. Covered with blood, they
made their way over dead bodies to any spot where they expected to find
treasure, heedless of the burning ruins which were falling about them.
Nothing but the unbearable heat eventually drove them away, and
compelled them to seek shelter in the camp.”
The earth was so hot that it was impossible to touch it. Boots were no
protection; the ground scorched the feet even through leather soles.
Eye-witnesses assert that molten lead and copper were flowing in streams
along the streets. Strangers were astonished to observe that the
inhabitants looked upon their burning houses without a trace of emotion.
Their religious faith must undoubtedly have sustained them, for they
placed _ikons_ before the houses they abandoned, after quietly making
the sign of the cross, without lamentation, or weeping, or wringing of
hands.
A lady who determined to leave Moscow with her friends, called upon one
of her acquaintances, an old woman named Poliakoff, to urge her to
accompany them.
“I found her,” she said, “near the _ikons_, lighting her lamp. She was
dressed as if for a holiday, all in white, with a white kerchief about
her head. ‘What is the matter, Babouchka (granny)?’ I asked. ‘Do you not
know that your house is on fire? Let us pack up your traps and clothes
as quickly as possible, and with God’s help we may escape; we came to
take you with us.’ But she only replied—‘Thank you, my pigeons, for
remembering me. For my part, I have spent all my life in this house, and
I will not leave it alive. When it was set on fire I put on my wedding
chemise and my burial garment. I shall begin to pray. And it is thus
that death will find me.’ We tried to reason with her; why should she
become a martyr when the good God pointed out a way of escape? ‘I shall
not burn,’ she rejoined, ‘I shall be suffocated before the flames can
reach me. Go; there is still time. The smoke is already filling the
room, and I have my prayers to make. Let us say good-bye, and then go.
God bless you.’
“Weeping, we embraced her. With tears in her eyes, she blessed us all.
‘Forgive me,’ she said, ‘a wretched sinner, if ever I have done you any
injury, and when you see any of my family, give them my last greeting.’
We bowed before her as before one who was dead. The room was already
full of smoke.”
The small property of the Convent of St. Alexis, hidden in the
store-room, was plundered. The soldiers dressed themselves in the long
habits of the nuns; several took up their quarters in the cell of the
Lady Superior, and caroused there for two whole days, inviting the young
nuns to join them. One of them—her name is known—willingly submitted to
this disgrace.
“The young ones among us,” relates one of the nuns, “were dying of
curiosity to find out what was taking place in the cell. We had gathered
together in a room, and gently opened the door to steal out one by one.
An old nun ran up to us. ‘Where are you going?’ she exclaimed. ‘Go back
at once. You wish to look at the soldiers, shameless women that you are.
See how you blush. If you had been modest girls you had been pale with
fear.’ One of the elder nuns insulted the French whenever she met them,
but they made no reply. She went to the well to draw water. A Frenchman
ran up and offered to help her draw up the bucket. Then she gave reins
to her indignation. ‘What, drink water drawn by your impious hand? Be
off, accursed one, or I will throw it over you.’ A man of another nation
would have been angry; he merely laughed and withdrew.
“At the Convent of the Nativity the older nuns hit upon the device of
rubbing soot over the faces of the novices. In passing through the
courtyard they encountered a number of soldiers, who surrounded them.
The old women spat on the ground, pretending, by their gestures, that
the novices were black and ugly. Near at hand was a bucket of water. One
of the soldiers picked it up, advising the nuns to wash their faces.
Then they became frightened and tried to escape, but the Frenchmen
caught them and commenced to scrub them. All the nuns, young and old,
then began to shriek, while the soldiers laughed heartily,
saying—‘_Jolies filles_.’”
If the testimony of numerous eye-witnesses is to be credited, the French
soldiers were less cruel than their allies, and, according to private
reports, much more polite, and even obliging. Although their name is
associated with all the monstrosities and cruelties committed during the
invasion, this is merely because the Russians made no distinction
between them and the Germans, Wurtembergers, Saxons, Bavarians, Poles,
Italians, and others, and only spoke of the “Frenchman,” on whom they
placed all responsibility.
An old neighbour of mine, of whom I made inquiries on this point,
knowing that his village had been occupied by Frenchmen only, informed
me that—“They did us no harm. They only fed at our expense.”
In one case the troops stole all the sacramental vessels of a village
church. The priest sought out Murat, who encamped within a short
distance of the village, and, with tears in his eyes, besought the King
to restore the vessels necessary for divine service. They were found and
given back, and this act of grace is attested by an inscription on one
of the silver vessels. The priest of the church of Kolominskoë told me
that his father-in-law, who was a child at the time of the invasion, was
so much afraid of the French that he hid himself in the stove, until,
being hungry and impatient, he began to cry. The soldiers pulled him
out, petted him, and solaced him with sugar.
From the beginning, according to Ségur, the conflagration might have had
terrible consequences for the invaders, whose want of foresight and
carelessness were incredible. “Not only did the Kremlin contain, unknown
to us, a powder-magazine, but at night the worn-out and badly-placed
sentries allowed a battery of artillery to enter and take up position
under the windows of Napoleon.... The pick of the army, and the Emperor
himself, would have been blown to pieces if but one of the burning
cinders which flew over our heads had alighted on a powder-chest. For
several hours, therefore, the fate of the whole army hung upon that of
every spark scattered abroad by the conflagration.”
The courage of the people of Moscow excited the admiration of their
foes. “Although,” says Labaume, “we suffered so terribly by the fire, we
could not but admire the generous self-sacrifice of the inhabitants of
the city, who, by their courage and steadfastness, have attained to that
high degree of true glory that marks the greatness of a nation....”
The same writer admires the firmness of the Russians who were condemned
to be shot. “At the moment of death, each stepped forward to be, if
possible, the first to receive the fatal bullet. With a demeanour that
bore eloquent witness to their calmness and courage, they made the sign
of the cross, and fell riddled with bullets....”
The Abbé Surrugues, a Catholic priest, and an eye-witness, says—“The
soldiers did not respect the modesty of women, the innocence of
children, nor the grey hairs of age.... The wretched inhabitants of
Sloboda, pursued from place to place by the flames, were obliged to take
refuge in the cemeteries.... The unfortunate beings, with terror stamped
on their faces, seen fitfully by the light of the burning dwellings
flitting among the tombs, might have been taken for so many ghosts that
had left their graves.... The sacramental vases, the images, all the
monuments consecrated by the piety of the faithful, were pillaged or
dragged ignominiously about the streets. The churches were turned into
guard-houses, slaughter-houses, or stables.”
No town taken by assault ever witnessed such excesses. An officer
asserted that since the Revolution in France he had never seen such
insubordination in an army. All the streets were strewn with bodies of
the dead, lying side by side with the carcases of horses and other
animals that had perished by fire or famine.
The author of the _Journal de la Guerre_ confirms these details—“In one
quarter,” he relates, “cries of ‘Murder!’ were heard, dying away into
sighs and groans; in another, the inhabitants were besieged in their
houses, defending their already pillaged and devastated hearths against
a soldiery infuriated by drunkenness and exasperated by resistance. In
yet another quarter one saw men and women, scarcely clothed, dragged
through the streets and threatened with death if they did not reveal the
spot in which their supposed wealth was concealed.... The shops were
wide open, the shopmen had left, and the goods were scattered about in
every direction.”
The Russian author, A. F. de B——, gives the following details—“So soon
as one troop of marauders left the house, another took its place, so
that not even a shirt or a shoe was left.... People no longer dared to
go out into the streets. Even the soldiers placed on guard began to
loot, imposing silence on the wretched inhabitants by threats and
blows.... Some, having lost all their wardrobe, were obliged to wear
female apparel. Men were to be seen wearing elegant bonnets trimmed with
feathers or flowers... on their shoulders were fur tippets, and their
feet were squeezed into ladies’ boots....”
Even the French officers took part in this absurd masquerade. The
weather was becoming cold, and satin pelisses trimmed with fur were for
this reason worn over military uniforms and accoutrements.
What concealment could be effectual against men who had made war and
plundered in every corner of Europe? Hearths and ovens were broken to
pieces in the search for treasure. The earth was turned up with sword
and bayonet; even the cemeteries were visited, the resting-places of the
dead violated, new graves opened, and coffins ransacked.... The sick
were thrown out of their beds in order that the plunderers might search
the mattresses.... The tubs in which orange-trees were planted, the
flower-pots in hot-houses, were emptied of their contents in the same
frenzied hunt for loot.
An Englishman living in Moscow succeeded in outwitting the pillagers. He
dug a deep hole, put into it all his coffers, and, without quite filling
up the cavity, interred the body of a French soldier, which he then
covered over with a slight layer of earth. The French, feeling certain
that there must be something hidden, began to dig, but immediately
desisted when they recognized their dead comrade.
“It is impossible,” remarks Perovski, “to imagine the state of Moscow.
The streets are encumbered with furniture and other wares; on all sides
one hears the songs of drunken soldiers and the shouts of the pillagers
fighting among themselves. Here a bearded grenadier is to be seen
clothed in priestly vestments, with the three-cornered hat on his head.
Another is wearing a woman’s tippet, with a stole round his neck. A
third appears in a mantilla, wide trousers, and a helmet; while a fourth
is decked out in a white cloak and wears red _kakochniks_ as a
head-dress. An elderly warrior, again, is strutting about in the
surplice of a deacon; a cavalryman is masquerading as a monk, with his
shako adorned with a red plume; a soldier of the line is promenading in
a woman’s skirt. When the soldiers returned into camp in their various
disguises, they could only be identified by their side-arms. To make
matters worse, many of the officers, following the example of their men,
went looting from house to house. The less bold among them contented
themselves with pillaging houses in which they were quartered. Even the
generals, under pretence of investigation, made house to house visits,
and ordered any objects that pleased them to be laid aside.”
Madame Fusi has left an interesting account of these lugubrious days.
“In my house,” she relates, “were two officers of the Gendarmerie of the
Guard. Everything was upside down; my papers were scattered over the
floor. I returned by the light of the burning houses; the glare was
horrible, and the fire was spreading with inconceivable rapidity. A
violent wind was blowing, and everything seemed to have conspired to
assist the destruction of the doomed city.... Grandly horrible was the
sight. For four nights we did not require a lamp, the light was more
brilliant than at mid-day.... On one occasion we wished to take the
usual road to the boulevards, but we found it impossible to pass, the
way being blocked by a sheet of flame. We stood in the middle of the
street, and the flames, fanned by the wind, formed an arch of fire over
the thoroughfare. This may seem to be an exaggeration, but it is
literally true. We could neither advance nor make a _détour_. Putting
our horses to the gallop, we managed to regain the boulevard.... The
house to which we intended to return was burning. We went from street to
street, from house to house. All bore the marks of devastation.... We
had scarcely eaten anything since the previous day. A table and some
chairs were still intact. These were carried down into the street, and a
sort of dinner was prepared and dished up in the middle of the road.
Imagine a table in the middle of the street, houses in flames or smoking
ruins on all sides, the wind driving dust and smoke into our faces,
incendiaries shot down near us, drunken soldiers carrying away the booty
which they had just pillaged.”
In the midst of these horrors they had the heart to open a theatre.
Those actors who were left in the city were called together, some being
ordered to sing in the Kremlin, others to assist in a play. A theatre
was hurriedly run up in the house of Pozniakoff, and pieces were chosen.
The curtain and the costumes were of rich materials willingly supplied
by the soldiers, and a huge lustre, stolen from one of the churches,
gave the necessary light. The orchestra was selected from the bands of
the various regiments, and two Russians are said to have given their
services. Neither the Emperor nor the marshals attended, but many
generals and officers were among the soldiers who filled the hall.
The wax candles taken from the cathedrals were used to illuminate some
houses spared by the conflagration, in which balls were arranged. The
French, obliged to dance with one another, were unceasing in their
questions as to the whereabouts of the Russian women. “Where,” they
asked, “are the _barinas_, your daughters?”—naïvely expressing deep
regret at their absence.
Thus the invaders led at times a jovial life in Moscow. Bourgogne,
referring to this period, says—“As we thought we should remain some time
in the city, we stored up for the winter seven large cases of champagne,
and several of sherry and port. We were the happy possessors of five
hundred bottles of Jamaica rum, and over a hundred large loaves of sugar
to be divided among six sergeants, a cook, and two women. Meat was
scarce, but we had a cow.... We had also several hams, which had been
found in large quantities, a good supply of salt fish, some sacks of
flour, two large barrels of tallow, which we had taken for butter, and
some beer.... We slept in a billiard-room on sables, lions’ skins, fox
and bear hides, each with his head wrapped in a rich shawl, forming an
immense turban.”
Those who did not attend the roll-call would come back laden with the
richest and most valuable booty. The loot included silver plates with
designs in relief; a bar of the same metal, as large as a brick;
ornaments, Indian shawls, and silk stuffs woven in gold or silver....
“We, the non-commissioned officers, levied a tax of at least twenty per
cent. on all the loot brought in by the soldiers.”
Bourgogne then gives an account of an improvised ball. “We began,” he
says, “by dressing our Russian women as French marchionesses, and as
they knew nothing about the dress, Flamand and I were told off to
superintend their toilette. Our two Russian tailors were disguised as
Chinese; I as a boyard (Russian nobleman), Flamand as a marquis; in
short, we all assumed a different dress. Our _cantinière_, Mother
Dubois, who turned up at that moment, donned the rich national dress of
a Russian lady. As we had no wigs for our _marquises_, the company
haircutter dressed their hair, using tallow in place of pomatum, and
flour instead of powder,—their toilette was indeed a marvel.
“When everybody was ready, dancing began. I must admit that during the
preparations for the ball we drank somewhat freely of punch, with which
Mellet, an old dragoon, took care to supply us, and which got into the
heads of our _marquises_, and also affected the old _cantinière_.
“Our band consisted of a flute, played by the sergeant-major, while the
company drummer tapped the time.
“They began with the tune ‘_On va leur percer le flanc... ran, ran,
tan plan, tire lire, ran plan_.’ But when the band struck up and
Mother Dubois was advancing towards her _vis-à-vis_, the
quartermaster-sergeant, our _marquises_, evidently delighted by our
stirring music, began to jump about in Tartar fashion, bounding from
side to side, and cutting all sorts of capers, so that one might have
thought them possessed. This would not have been remarkable had they
been dressed in their national costume, but the sight of French
_marquises_, usually so decorous, jumping about as if possessed, was
so irresistibly comic that we were convulsed with laughter, and the
flute-player was unable to continue. The drummer, however, stuck to
his post, beating the advance, at the sound of which our _marquises_
began anew until they could hold out no longer, and fell down on the
floor through sheer fatigue. We picked them up and applauded, and then
continued dancing and drinking till four in the morning.”
At the Kremlin, too, they were not without amusement. “At each gate of
this fortress-palace,” says the author of the _Journal de la Guerre_,
“were posted sentries of the Grenadiers of the Guard. They had wrapped
themselves in Russian furs, fastened round the waist with cashmere
shawls, and close to them were vases of opal crystal, two or three feet
high, filled with preserved fruits of the most expensive kind, in which
were stuck large wooden soup-ladles. Around these vases were piled
enormous quantities of flagons and bottles, the necks of which were
broken—to save time. Some of these men had donned Russian head-dresses
in place of their shakos. They were all more or less drunk, had dropped
their muskets, and literally did sentry with their wooden spoons.”
Although officially forbidden, pillaging continued. Very strict orders,
threatening the execution of all mutineers, were necessary to produce
any effect. But the harm done was immense and irreparable. Thirteen
thousand eight hundred houses, to say nothing of palaces, had been
reduced to ashes. The shops of six thousand tradesmen, forming in
themselves a small town, had disappeared. Huge warehouses had also been
burned. When the inhabitants ventured to leave their cellars, they
failed to recognize the city. They only found isolated houses standing
in the midst of ruins. Piles of burned rubbish marked where the streets
had stood, and the ruins were encumbered with the bodies of men and
animals. Several men were to be seen still hanging; these were the
incendiaries, real or suspected, who had first been shot and then strung
up. The soldiers passed by these ghastly trophies with complete
indifference.
The army had wine and sugar in abundance, but neither bread nor meat. In
vain were detachments sent into the forests where the peasantry were
concealed with their cattle:—the men returned empty-handed.
“If, from the beginning,” says the Abbé Surrugues, whom I have already
quoted, “the authorities had seized the store-houses containing flour,
wine, and brandy, and established a certain order in the distribution of
the provisions, there is no doubt that Moscow might have been preserved
from want during the whole winter.... The result of the pillaging was
that at the approach of the frost, the prime necessaries of life were
wanting.”
The peasants of the village of Ostankino came indeed to Moscow with
thirty cart-loads of oats and flour which were duly bought and paid for.
Having received their money they left, with the injunction to come again
as soon as possible. But scarcely had they left Moscow than they were
assaulted, beaten, and compelled to return to the city, where they were
put to forced labour. Two other peasants who had sold their wares to the
French were robbed, and one of them was killed. From that time forth no
one had any desire to deal with the soldiers or the army, and, in spite
of all their efforts, de Lesseps, the former Consul-General, who had
been appointed Civil Governor of Moscow, and his Russian assistants,
could not succeed in establishing an open and well-supplied market.
But in Moscow itself the inhabitants, less timid and more greedy for
gain, did not hesitate to enter into relations with their invaders. A
large quantity of copper money, found at the Mint in bags, containing
twenty-five roubles each, was used to pay all arrears due to the
soldiers. When the populace heard that the Imperial Guard wished to sell
these sacks, large numbers hastened, like a flock of birds of prey, to
the Nikolskäia, the principal centre of trade. For fifty copecks, or a
silver rouble each, they could buy as many sacks as they wished. It is
said that several of the great business houses of Moscow date the
beginning of their prosperity from that time. The most difficult part
was to force a way, when laden with sacks, through the crowd. Even the
women hoisted them on their shoulders, but some strong hand would snatch
them away, and the thief would manage to escape in spite of cries and
blows. Great was the competition to obtain a sack. There were cries of
“Monsieur! monsieur make me a present of it.”—“What will you give for
it?”—“Be off, be off!”—“Give it to me, monsieur.” Then would follow
blows from the flat end of the sword, rained down on the outstretched
hand, but this treatment was borne with patience, when fortune was so
close at hand.
The next morning some soldiers took their stand at the windows of the
Courts of Justice, and set up an office for the exchange of money. After
receiving the money for a sack of twenty-five roubles, they would throw
the bag out of the window. The crowd would then surround the buyers and
make a rush for the sacks, facing even musket-shots in their delirium of
greed.
During these days, three wine-shops were opened in Moscow by Frenchmen,
the waiters being Russian. From these places were heard the sounds of
quarrelling, fighting, and even fire-arms. Many French soldiers were
murdered in the cellars, in the neighbourhood of the city, and bodies
were found in the gardens, in the orchards, at the bottom of deep wells.
A pupil of a seminary was told off as servant to a squad of Hussars
quartered at the extreme end of the city. He noticed, one evening, an
individual who was looking through the lighted windows, watching all
that went on inside the house. “What are you doing there?” he cried. The
stranger stepped back quickly, then approached and questioned the young
man, after taking him into the garden, and showing him the Cossack
uniform under his caftan of coarse cloth. He wished to find out whether
the Hussars were numerous, whether they all slept in the same room,
where they deposited their arms and horses, and enjoined the most
absolute secrecy. Two days afterwards the seminarist was awakened by an
extraordinary commotion; all the Hussars had been killed.
There were many similar cases, the French recognizing in all, and with
good cause, the handiwork of “the cursed Cossacks.”
The situation of the troops in Moscow was, indeed, not without danger.
Proclamations, in which the wisdom, charity, and magnanimity of Napoleon
were vaunted, inviting the inhabitants to return home, and follow their
various occupations in peace, produced no effect whatever.
Relations between the French army and the inhabitants of Moscow were
never re-established. Those who passed over to the enemy, especially in
the higher classes, were very few. But a very small number can be
mentioned, among them being the riding-master Zagrïajski, who purposely
remained in Moscow to please his friend Caulaincourt, and Samsonoff, who
entered the service of Davout.
The clergy behaved with great dignity. They rose superior to the
weakness that had been shown in Western Russia. Some priests attempted
to hold divine service once more, and to celebrate the Mass; they caused
the churches to be cleaned, and locked up. But the soldiers smashed the
locks, broke in the doors, and cut up the sacred books. A priest of the
Convent of Novinski, named Pilaeff, offered, if Napoleon so desired, to
say mass in the Cathedral of the Assumption. By order of the Emperor, he
celebrated divine service pontifically, wearing, that is to say, the
robes of a bishop.
Many were only too glad to take advantage of Napoleons difficult
situation. A Pole, who seemed to be a person of position, came to the
Kremlin, declaring that he was sent with a secret mission by the
Commander-in-Chief of the Russian army. Napoleon dictated in person the
answers which this spy should deliver to the Russian general, paid him
well, and never saw him again.
A handsome woman, and a skilful musician, calling herself a German
baroness, who offered her services, received several thousand francs—and
disappeared.
But the largest number of persons ready to enter into the service of
Napoleon was found among the merchants of the three Guilds, and among
officials, doctors, and aliens.
The greater part of the notables had been compelled to enter into the
service of the municipality. The members wore round their arm a badge of
red and white ribbon, and had the right to call out the soldiery in case
of necessity.
The merchant Koltchouguine, for example, gave three reasons for not
leaving Moscow; first, because the Governor-General had asserted that
the city would not voluntarily be evacuated; secondly, because passports
were given only to women and children; and, thirdly, on account of
family and business matters. Of course the majority of the people might
have put forward the same excuses. All the merchants who remained,
including Koroboff, Bakinine, Leschakoff, and, above all, Nahodkin, who
had been obliged to act as mayor, declared that they refused to do
anything against their faith, or the Emperor Alexander. To this the
French Governor, de Lesseps, replied that the differences between the
two Emperors were outside their province; their only duty was to watch
over the security and prosperity of the city. The merchant Ossipov
offered Napoleon bread-and-salt on a silver platter. This gift was
sufficient to cause his house to be spared, and he himself was appointed
provider to the army. But when he asked for carts for the transport
service, the Emperor told him that he would hang him if he raised any
difficulties.
The Mayor of Moscow, Nahodkin, whom we have already mentioned, received
a hundred thousand roubles for his services, but the bank-notes were
false. After the evacuation of Moscow, Rostopchin compelled these
gentlemen to sweep the snow off the streets, wearing their white and
blue badges, and guarded by soldiers.
The conduct of the merchant Jdanov was very different. On the
recommendation of Samsonoff, cited above as an adherent of Davout, the
latter made him a proposal to visit Kaluga, find out the movements of
the Russian army, inform himself about its officers, discover whether
the regiments had been brought up to their full strength since the
battle of Borodino, and learn what was being said about the prospects of
peace. He was directed to spread the rumour that there was no want of
bread in Moscow, and that Napoleon intended to remain there during the
winter. If the Russian army was at Smolensk he was to return as quickly
as possible without going to Kaluga.
All precautions were taken, and his family in Moscow guaranteed the
faithful performance of his mission. On his return he was to receive a
thousand ducats, and the freehold of a house. Jdanov did not hesitate.
He went directly to Dorogomilovsky, the head of the Russian
advance-guard, and told him his reasons for leaving Moscow, as well as
the services which the French expected from him. He remained with his
countrymen, and his family was not molested.
Rostopchin is open to severe censure for his inactivity during the stay
of the French army in Moscow, and for not having used his influence to
organize volunteer corps. He must also be blamed for his ridiculous
attempt to save the city by arming a band of ruffians at the last
moment, and for the pompous phrases and dubious meanings with which he
filled his reports to the Tsar. In a word, he was emphatically not the
man for the place.
But in spite of all, the French army was obliged to abandon Moscow. The
situation could no longer be disguised. The three hundred pieces of
cannon mounted on the walls of the Kremlin with much labour had proved
absolutely useless; but the Kremlin itself must be made to suffer, if
only because it could not be carried away with other trophies, such as
the cross of Ivan Veliki. An order was issued to blow up the towers, the
walls, the cathedrals, and the palaces that constituted the celebrated
fortress of former Tsars. The destruction of the Kremlin was merely the
expression of Napoleon’s vengeance, as cruel as it was useless. It
cannot be excused on grounds of policy, for, inasmuch as the Kremlin was
merely surrounded by a wall, it was of no use as a fortress.
When the evacuation was decided upon, Marshal Mortier was directed to
remain behind in Moscow with the Young Guard. He was ordered to deny any
rumours relating to the evacuation, and to pretend that Napoleon would
return after defeating the Russian troops whom he had gone out to meet.
Nobody believed these assertions, and all who had compromised
themselves, from French merchants down to Russian girls of loose
character, made ready to follow in the wake of the army.
With the exception of the Imperial Guard, the troops left Moscow
helter-skelter, got up in ridiculous and wretched garments, giving them
the appearance of scarecrows rather than soldiers. It was arranged that
the immense quantity of powder stored up in the cellars of the Kremlin
should not be fired until the departure of Mortier and the troops under
his command. All that they could not carry away was to be given to the
flames; and the mines were so laid that the fire should not reach them
until the garrison was at a considerable distance from the city.
“It was an excessively dark night,” says A. F. de B——. “At midnight the
fire caught the arsenal of the Kremlin, and the first explosion was
heard, followed at short intervals by six others. Nothing could be more
terrible; immense stones were hurled to a distance of five hundred
paces. Not a single pane of glass remained, and the broken pieces were
driven into the surrounding walls. The towers and a portion of the walls
were blown down. The arsenal was almost destroyed. The steeple of Ivan
Veliki shook and cracked, but resisted the shock.”
The effect of the explosion was, however, insignificant as compared with
what had been intended. A cold rain was falling. The first shock had all
the effect of an earthquake. Buildings were shaken to their foundations,
walls divided, roofs cracked, and threatened to crush all below them,
and all furniture was broken or displaced.
“A great number of the wretched inhabitants were wounded by fragments of
glass, or the fall of heavy timber.... This awful night caused the death
of many persons.”
Madame Fusi states that the explosion was so tremendous that many women
miscarried through fear; others went mad, and children died of fright
and excitement.... The French wished to blow up the rest of the town,
but happily they had not the time to do so.
“On the day the French left,” says a Russian woman, “we were awakened in
our cellar by a terrific report. The earth shook under our feet, and it
seemed to me as if the walls of the cellar must fall in and bury us
alive. At the second explosion a hailstorm of stones flew about in all
directions; at the third the church was so shaken that it split from top
to bottom. The walls of the Kremlin were destroyed, and a pile of ruins
and bricks marked the spot where once the palace had stood. Not only the
ground of the Kremlin, but the Polianka, and the far side of the river,
were covered with plaster, bricks, and sheets of metal torn away from
the roofs.”
I copy from Ségur’s _Mémoires_ a description of the catastrophe—“On
October 23, at half-past one in the morning, the air was shaken by a
terrific explosion.... Mortier had obeyed his orders, the Kremlin
existed no longer. Barrels of gunpowder had been placed in all the rooms
of the Imperial palace, and one hundred and eighty-three thousand
kilogrammes under the vaults that held them up. The Marshal, with three
thousand men, remained on this volcano, that might have been exploded by
any stray Russian shell. He covered the march of our army on Kaluga, and
the retreat of our various convoys towards Mozjaisk....
“He had been ordered to defend the Kremlin, and when retiring, to blow
it up, and set fire to the remainder of the town....
“The earth was shaken under Mortier’s feet by the force of the
explosion. Six leagues off, at Fominskoie, the Emperor heard the report,
and, with that ferocity with which he at times addressed Europe, issued,
the next morning, a proclamation dated from Borawsk—‘The Kremlin,
arsenal, magazines, all are destroyed. This ancient citadel, dating from
the beginning of the monarchy, the first palace of the Tsars, is a thing
of the past. Henceforth Moscow will be nothing but a pile of rubbish, an
impure and unwholesome sink, of no importance political or military. He
leaves it to the Russian beggars and pillagers, to march against
Kutuzof, outflank the left wing of that general, hurl him back, and then
quietly reach the borders of the Dvina, where he will pitch his winter
quarters.’... Then, as if he feared to appear to retreat, he adds—‘By
this step he will be nearer by eighty leagues to Vilna and St.
Petersburg, a double advantage—that is to say, twenty marches nearer to
his objective.’
“By this proclamation he sought to give his retreat the appearance of an
offensive movement.”
“Moscow,” says Madame Fusil, “had a charm which it will never possess
again. It will perhaps become a beautiful city, but it will be like any
other, instead of suggesting Pekin, or Ispahan, a typical city of
Asia....”
-----
Footnote 10:
“I, the undersigned, swear by Almighty God to be faithful to the
Government appointed by his Imperial Majesty the French Emperor and
the King of Italy, Napoleon, to fulfil all his orders, and to ensure
that these orders be fulfilled by others.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------