Part 16

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....