Part 14

Napoleon, after barely escaping capture at the hands of the free-lance Seslavin’s Cossacks, and that only by the most remarkable good fortune, arrived at Warsaw. When he had somewhat recovered from the fatigues of his journey, he gave the following explanation of the disastrous issue of the campaign—“When I left Paris it was my intention,” he said, “to carry the war no further than the former confines of Poland. Circumstances drew me on. Perhaps I was guilty of an error in going so far as Moscow, perhaps I was wrong in staying there so long as I did; but from the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step, and posterity shall be my judge! My French soldiers,” he added, “are worthless in the frost, the cold turns them into mere dummies.”

“During the retreat I had no cavalry, and I must admit that when the Cossacks attacked my column I found myself in a dilemma. It was impossible to mass the army together, for that would have retarded the retreat; it was equally impossible to deploy it, for the Cossacks would have broken through our line. We were obliged to continue our retreat, to fill up the gaps, and deceive the enemy. I confess that I needed all my skill and experience to escape.”

He did indeed escape, but with this campaign began the decline of his power.

Footnote 4:

There seems to be no doubt about the incident in question. But though it would appear that the French plundered the houses in Viazma, Napoleon writes in Bulletin XVI.—“The Cossacks pillaged Viazma so completely before their departure that the inhabitants do not think there is much chance of the town ever renewing its allegiance to Russia.”

Footnote 5:

It is stated that for a long time there was only one sapper attached to Dorogomilovsky’s detachment.

Footnote 6:

To be more accurate, it appears that the Russians had already begun to retire in the night.

Footnote 7:

The state of Napoleon’s temper and the keenness with which he felt his position were reflected in his treatment of his servants. “His trusty henchman, Roustan,” says Soltyk, “who happened one day to put Napoleon’s left boot on his right foot, found himself stretched on the broad of his back by a vigorous kick.”

Footnote 8:

The battle would certainly have ended in the capture of the whole of Murat’s force, had not Kutuzof, who disapproved of the engagement, refused to support Benigsen. Kutuzof was of opinion that Napoleon and his troops should be left as long as possible undisturbed in and around Moscow, in order that they might be tempted to stay until the frosts began, and in this he was right; but when once he allowed an attack on his recklessly incautious adversary, it was unpardonable not to send the help which was demanded when the battle was at its height. For the opportunity of escaping, though not without serious losses, the French were entirely indebted to Kutuzof and his chief advisers Tol and Kaissarof. Some say that General O. D. could hardly keep in his saddle that day, and some say... all kinds of things.

Footnote 9:

It is impossible to read without a smile Thiers’ eulogy of Napoleon’s plan—if indeed such an absurd plan could ever have existed—of wintering with the army in _the more temperate climate_ of Kaluga; and of keeping up communication with Smolensk, and with Moscow in the rear. According to this project, Napoleon was to have maintained possession of the Kremlin (?) and entrusted its defence to Marshal Mortier and 4000 dismounted cavalry (?), who would have formed infantry battalions. He was to have left there the more cumbrous part of his _matériel_, together with the wounded, sick, etc., and have provided that experienced soldier, the Marshal, with a garrison 10,000 strong, and with provisions for six months.

II

THE BURNING OF MOSCOW

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.

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.