Part 15

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.”

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.