“Who are you?” asked Napoleon.

“A French bookseller.”

“Ah! then you are one of my subjects.”

“Yes; but I have lived for a long time in Moscow.”

“Where is Rostopchin?”

“He has gone.”

“Where are the magistrates—municipal council——?”

“Gone also.”

“Who is left in Moscow?”

“None of the Russians.”

“C’est impossible!”

Riess apparently swore that what he said was true. Napoleon frowned and remained for some time buried in thought; then, as if he had made up his mind to some daring project, he gave the word, “Forward—march!”

One of the Russians says—“They went searching for the keys and for a deputation in the Government offices, the town-hall, the head-quarters of the police, the Governor-General’s house, and, in fact, every place in which there was the least chance of finding an official. After a long but ineffectual search, the zealous Polish general who had undertaken the task returned to Napoleon and reported that there was not a single functionary left in Moscow, and that the town was deserted by all except a few foreigners who had stayed behind. The Emperor accordingly postponed his entry; he thought perhaps that by next day some of the inhabitants would have returned, and that a deputation would arrive after all, or that at any rate his French, Italian, and German subjects would come to the rescue and present themselves to pay him their respects.”

He was again disappointed. He spent the night before the gates in an innkeeper’s house, apparently unable to sleep. “There was such a horrible smell in the house,” says his valet, “that his Majesty kept calling every minute, ‘Are you awake, Constant?’

“‘I am, your Majesty,’

“‘Pray burn some vinegar, mon cher; I cannot stand this awful smell—it is simply torture to me!’

“The house was in such a filthy condition that they found next day specimens of those disgusting insects which are so plentiful in Russia, in the Emperor’s bed, nay, in his clothes as well.” The writer refers to our bugs, which, as is well known, attack new-comers with peculiar virulence.

It was said that Napoleon, “although he intended to establish himself in the Palace of the Kremlin, considered it best to wait a little before entering into possession, owing to a rumour that the ancient dwelling of the Tsars was mined with explosives.”

The two armies moved simultaneously upon Moscow. The King of Naples and Marshal Ney crossed the bridge. The men and officers of the Russian rear-guard and of the French advance-guard met on the bridge, and the King found himself completely surrounded by Russians of General Dorogomilovsky’s detachment. According to Ségur, Murat called out, “Is there any one here who can speak French?”

“There is, your Majesty,” answered a young officer not far off.

“Who is in command of the rear-guard?” The young man pointed to a veteran in Cossack uniform who looked as if he had seen service.

“Please ask him if he knows me?”

“He says that he knows your Majesty well. He has always seen you in the thick of the fight.”

The King hinted in the course of conversation that it was time to make peace—that the war had already lasted too long. He also remarked incidentally that the fur coat which the worthy veteran was wearing must be most useful in camping out. The Cossack general at once pulled it off and offered it to Murat as a memento of the interview. Murat in return gave him a valuable watch which he took from one of the officers of his staff. This unfortunate officer was Napoleon’s aide-de-camp, Gourgot, who afterwards bitterly lamented the loss of his watch, which he valued for its associations.

The narrative of Kerbeletzky, a Russian chinovnik, who was captured on the way to Moscow and brought before Napoleon, is interesting in its naïveté and simplicity—“The Duc d’Istry, Napoleon’s State Secretary de Laurent, and his Polish aide-de-camp Lieutenant-Colonel Welsowicz, questioned me on the morning of September 1, in great detail, not only as to the number and disposition of all our armies, and the movements and performances of each of them, but also as to the intentions entertained by our Government with regard to peace.

“All the officials whom I have named above, according to their own account, which they said was based on the most trustworthy information received by Napoleon, were thoroughly acquainted with the condition of Moscow. They knew that there were no Russian troops in the town, and supposed not only that the Russian army would not give battle before the gates of the city, but more than that, that the Russian Government would certainly sue for peace. Welsowicz further affirmed that on the morrow, namely on September 2, Napoleon, their Emperor, would dine in Moscow; that whatever resistance might be offered by the Russian army which had taken part in the battle of Mozjaisk, he would take the city by force if need be; would raise a good round sum by way of contribution; would restore Poland to her former dignity, and would join White Russia and Smolensk to her territories. He would further provide his troops with clothes and boots, and after spending a while in this capital of Russia would return to Paris. If the Russian Government remained obdurate and refused his terms, he would make over Moscow to Poland, while he himself marched to St. Petersburg and beyond, and subdued the whole of Russia.

“On the 1st, at ten o’clock in the morning, he proceeded towards Moscow with his huge army, which had passed the night camped round the country-house he had occupied. In the evening he halted at Viazum, a village some twenty-two miles from Moscow, belonging to Prince Galitzyn, and spent the night in the manor-house. That day Napoleon drove the first eight miles in his carriage, with the Prince of Neufchâtel (Berthier). Then, as he could no longer use the carriage, for the bridge on the high-road was burned, and the road that led round by the ravine was impassable, he mounted a horse and rode the rest of the way. On September 2 Napoleon left Viazum at daybreak, and at ten o’clock in the morning he reached a manor-house which lies on the right of the high-road to Smolensk, eight miles from Moscow. There he was met by the King of Naples. He did not enter the house with him, but turned to the left into a close near the church, and there they walked alone for more than an hour, discussing the steps that must be taken for the capture of Moscow.

“Murat then, without taking his dinner, proceeded towards Moscow, and the whole of the French army with its numerous artillery followed him without a halt. Napoleon made a hasty dinner in the house, and with his attendant generals—who took their dinner outside—and a special body-guard, consisting of a squadron of Chasseurs and another of Polish Uhlans, under the guidance of the Russian prisoners, set off post-haste after Murat.

“Napoleon arrived at two o’clock in the afternoon at the Pilgrim’s Hill—Poklonnaya Gorà—distant some two miles from Moscow. He found the vanguard already drawn up in battle array at the foot of the hill by order of the King of Naples. The Emperor, holding in his hand a plan which was given to him, dismounted, and some of the generals who accompanied him did the same. The army was preparing for battle.

“After waiting half-an-hour without any challenge from Moscow, Napoleon gave orders to fire a gun as a signal; then, when five more minutes had elapsed, he and his staff mounted their horses and galloped at full speed towards the city. At the same moment the vanguard and the division which was posted in the rear of the centre advanced with indescribable impetuosity; the cavalry and artillery galloped at full speed, keeping step together, and the infantry charged along as fast as they could double. The thud of horses’ hoofs, the creaking of wheels, and the rattling of guns, added to the noise of running men, made a remarkable uproar. The daylight was dimmed by the dense cloud of dust which they raised! Within twelve minutes they had reached the Dorogomilof gate.

“The unexpected news that Moscow was deserted both by the Russian army and by the inhabitants seemed to astound Napoleon. He was seized with the profoundest amazement, which for the moment wrought in him a kind of ecstasy or self-forgetfulness. His tranquil and measured step at once became quick and feverish. He looked all round and about him, recovered himself, stopped in his walk, shivered, fell into a stupor, scratched his nose, pulled off his glove, and pulled it on again; drew out his handkerchief from his pocket, crumpled it between his hands and put it in another pocket as though by mistake, then took it out again and put it back; then he pulled off his glove once more and pulled it on again, repeating this action many times. He continued thus for a whole hour, and during that time the generals surrounding him stood motionless, like lifeless images of men, not one of them daring to stir. Then Napoleon recovered himself a little, mounted his horse and rode into Moscow, followed by the cavalry, which had hitherto stood without the gates. When he had passed through Dorogomilof Post-boy Ward and come to the edge of the river Moskva, he stopped on the right side of the street on the slope of the bank, dismounted, and began once more to pace up and down; but this time he was more tranquil.

“Napoleon and his escort lay that night in the Dorogomilof suburb in private dwellings. Of the inhabitants of Moscow none were to be seen except four stable-boys.”

The night which Napoleon passed in the suburb was a sad and dreary one. To say nothing of the bugs—and perhaps also other parasites by no means rare in Russia—he was kept awake by the gloomy reports that were continually brought in, warning him, among other things, that the city was about to be burnt. “The Emperor was uneasy and could not lie still; he kept calling his attendants and making them repeat the rumours. Apparently he could not quite bring himself to believe them, but about two o’clock in the morning he received word that the fires had begun.

“He entered Moscow on Tuesday, September 3, at half-past ten in the morning. The Arbat Ward was absolutely empty. He mounted his little Arab, dressed in his grey overcoat and an ordinary cocked hat, without any sign of distinction. He was surrounded by a very large suite of marshals and other officials. The various colours and the richness of their uniforms, and the many-tinted ribbons of the orders which they wore, made a most brilliant picture, and gave a certain distinction to the simplicity of Napoleon’s attire. The conqueror of Moscow rode as far as the Borovitzky gate without seeing a single inhabitant. His wrath was visible in every line of his face. He was not, indeed, at any pains to conceal what was passing in his mind.”

It was at this time that new fires broke out in many parts of the Arbat Ward, and after Napoleon had entered the Palace of the Kremlin, the Bazaar and the so-called Carriage Mart, together with a number of dwelling-houses round the Kremlin, burst into flames. Napoleon hurried to the scene, issuing orders interspersed with curses and threats against the troops and Marshal Mortier.

“The sight of the Kremlin, however,” says Ségur, “the majestic dwelling of the line of Rurik and the Romanofs, the throne still standing in its accustomed place, the Cross of Ivan the Great, and the beautiful part of the city commanded by the Palace, restored, in some degree, his peace of mind. His hopes revived; the conquest was at least flattering to his pride, and he said with some complacency, “Me voilà, enfin! Here am I at last in Moscow, in the ancient palace of the Tsars! in the Kremlin itself!” He examined everything with mingled pride, curiosity, and pleasure; made inquiries as to the resources of the town, and began to consider the possibility of making peace.”

The enthusiasm in Paris on receipt of the news that Napoleon had entered Moscow was indescribable. The only anxiety was lest he should rest satisfied with his laurels and not march triumphantly into India! Innumerable sonnets, epistles, odes, and eulogistic rhymes of all kinds were published in honour of the occasion.

Here are a few specimens in the original, for they would suffer by translation; we have merely left out a few descriptive passages of a purely imaginary character—

Another lyric poet, Paul Chanin, anathematizes Russia in a ‘Poem on the Campaign of Russia by the United Armies of France and Germany.’

And now M. A. J. B. Barjaud rises to the epic strain, in a poem entitled ‘Conquest of Moscow.’

Next comes an ‘Ode to His Majesty the Emperor on his Entry into Moscow,’ by A. de la Garancière.

And M. Mazarie, in his turn, celebrates ‘The Taking of Moscow’ in “fiery stanzas.”

I bring these citations to a close with a verse from an anonymous ode on ‘The Campaign of His Imperial and Royal Majesty in Russia and his Entry into Moscow.’

“Let us see what the Russians mean to do now,” said the Emperor. “If they still refuse to enter into negotiations, we shall have to take our own course. We are provided with winter quarters now. We will show the world that our army can winter comfortably in the midst of a hostile nation—like an ice-bound ship in Arctic seas. In the spring we can continue the war—though Alexander will not compel me to do that—we shall come to terms and peace will be signed.”

Apparently Napoleon had provided for almost every contingency. One thing, however, he had not foreseen—the terrible fires that spread so rapidly in the gusty wind that prevailed on the night of his entry into the Kremlin. There was nothing to be seen on any side of the fortress but flames rising high into the air, almost, as it seemed, into the clouds.

Numbers of the inhabitants who had remained in Moscow, and who now fled from house to house in terror of the fire and of marauding soldiers, were arrested and shot, under suspicion of incendiarism.

Napoleon spent his first night in the Kremlin in a state of great excitement; abusing his soldiers, his officers, and Marshal Mortier, stamping his feet, and demanding that the fires should be stopped.

When he was told that the Kremlin was surrounded with flames, he sent Berthier on to an elevated terrace of the Palace to see if this was really the case, but the force of the wind and the draught created by the fires was so great that the Prince and his officers had considerable difficulty in preventing themselves from being carried away.

The Emperor was stupefied at times by the strength of his emotions; his face was red and streaming with perspiration. The King of Naples, Prince Eugène, and the Prince of Neufchâtel begged him to leave the Palace, but he could not make up his mind to retreat. “These ruffians,” he said to his servant Constant, in his indignation against the incendiaries, “will not leave one stone upon another in Moscow.”

Fire broke out at last within the very walls of the Kremlin; the arsenal was found to be in flames. They found a Russian in the fortress. He was brought before Napoleon, who questioned him narrowly and ordered the soldiers to despatch him with their bayonets. He was the custodian of the arsenal!

“There is no such word as cannot in my dictionary,” was one of Napoleon’s favourite sayings. But the time had apparently arrived for incorporating the unwelcome expression, especially when Berthier represented that if he did not leave the Kremlin and Kutuzof delivered an attack, he would find himself cut off from his troops.

Napoleon resolved to abandon the Kremlin and remove to Peter’s Palace—Petrofsky Dvoretz—but the change of quarters was by no means an easy undertaking. Around the fortress swirled an eddying sea of fire closing every exit. At last the fugitives discovered a path to the river Moskva; and the Emperor with his suite and his guards sallied forth across the stream, only to find themselves in a veritable inferno. The officers of Napoleon’s suite wished to wrap him in a cloak and carry him through the flames in their arms; but he refused, and solved the question of the means of escape by dashing boldly forward. They had to fight their way through an avenue of fire, scorching their faces and burning their hands, which they put up to ward off the sparks and cinders that fell in a shower around them. It was fortunate for the Emperor that some soldiers, who were marauding in the vicinity, recognized him and showed him a way of escape. His hair was singed, his clothes were burnt into holes, his hands blistered, and his boots scorched.

The Prince of Eckmühl, it is said, though still suffering from the wound he had received at Borodino, as soon as he heard of the danger to which Napoleon was exposed, hurried to meet him, intending to rescue him or perish in the attempt. It is said that when Napoleon and the Marshal met they fell into each other’s arms.

The principal officers accompanied Napoleon to the Petrofsky Palace. Dumas, the Intendant-General, gives the following account of his escape—“It was night when I left the house I was proceeding to occupy. We issued from Moscow under a perfect hail of fire; the wind was so strong that it tore the red-hot iron from the roofs and hurled it down into the streets. All our horses had their legs burnt. It is impossible to describe the confusion of our headlong flight. The roar of the flames can be likened to nothing but the noise of the waves of the ocean—it was indeed a storm raging over a sea of fire. The whole length of the road to the Petrofsky Palace was littered with odds and ends of all kinds, especially with broken bottles thrown away by the soldiers. We bivouacked at the edge of the forest in full view of this image of the infernal regions. The whole of the huge city was a vast sheet of flame, and the heavens themselves seemed to be on fire. At a distance of two miles from the conflagration I was able to read the orders which were brought to me from the major-general.”

After a five days’ stay in the Petrofsky Palace, a period of the most intense anxiety, Napoleon returned to Moscow. It should be mentioned that from the time he entered the Kremlin, and throughout his stay at the Petrofsky Palace, he made no military arrangements of any kind. It is evident that he was so overwhelmed by the fire that he was unable to determine upon any course of action.

When Napoleon re-entered Moscow a fearful sight met his eyes. Of all the huge city there remained nothing but heaps of ruins surmounted at intervals with stacks of chimneys. A heavy stifling atmosphere hung over the fallen Colossus. Heaps of cinders and ashes, with here and there the fragments of half-ruined walls or pillars, alone marked the course of the streets.

The Emperor saw his troops scattered over all parts of the town. His own progress was hindered by the multitude of plunderers, searching for booty or dragging it away in noisy crowds. Soldiers were grouped at the entrance of every cellar, before every large house, and before the shops and churches towards which the fire was making its way. Before the flames reached these buildings the doors were broken open by impatient pillagers. The Emperor’s path was impeded at every turn by remnants of broken furniture flung from windows, and various articles thrown away by the plunderers to make room for more delicate or costly booty. Napoleon rode on in silence.

But disorder soon reached a climax. Even the Old Guard joined in the pillage, and Napoleon resolved upon stern measures, which had a certain good effect. After returning to Moscow, the Emperor’s mood became somewhat more cheerful, and the change was reflected in his entourage. When, however, he looked out of the window upon the scene of desolation that met his view on every side, he was once more oppressed with gloomy thoughts, and his bitterness was vented on those who had the ill-fortune to present themselves at such moments. But he no longer displayed such constant signs of impatience, nor did he give rein to such furious outbursts of anger, as had marked his previous demeanour. It need scarcely be said that Rostopchin—who was, fortunately for himself, at a safe distance—and the incendiaries were the principal objects of his wrath.

Napoleon was very satirical in chronicling the fact that the Russians had celebrated Borodino as the first victorious encounter of their forces with the invader. He says in one of his despatches—“The Russians have offered up a Te Deum in thanksgiving for the battles of Ostrovnaya and Smolensk—and of course the army entered Moscow to the strains of hymns of thanksgiving.”

“At the ruffian Rostopchin’s house,” he continues, “they found rifles, papers, and a letter which he had begun—he ran away without having time to finish it. Moscow, one of the wealthiest cities in the world, is no more. This is an incalculable misfortune for the Russians, both for their merchants and for their nobility; the loss must amount to milliards. Some hundred incendiaries have been taken and shot. Thirty thousand Russian sick and wounded were burnt alive. The richest commercial houses of Russia are ruined. They were unable to take anything away with them; and when they saw that everything had fallen into the hands of the French, they set fire to their own ancient capital, their holy city, the centre of the empire. Rostopchin is the author of this crime. We did what we could to subdue the fire, but the ruffianly Governor had taken his precautions only too well—he had carried off or destroyed all the fire-engines and apparatus.”

As an answer to this bulletin he learned that the surprise, terror, and indignation produced in Paris by the news of the burning of Moscow defied description. It was easy to see that a despatch announcing that the soldiers were provided with shelter, food, and clothing would have reassured the Parisians far more than any news of victories.

Napoleon, however, after bewailing the treacherous welcome he had received from the city, declared—“The army is doing well; there is plenty of corn, potatoes, cabbages, and other vegetables, beef, salt meat, wine, brandy, sugar, coffee, etc., etc. The men have secured a quantity of furs and coats for the winter. One advance-guard is posted on the road to Kazan, the other on the road to St. Petersburg.”

He referred in carefully-chosen terms to the Emperor Alexander, who, in his opinion, would not have hesitated to make peace if he had but received any one of the letters sent to him—letters, by the way, of a most gloomy, melancholy character.

Napoleon expounded his magnanimous intentions to Yakovlef, a Russian nobleman who was captured when about to leave Moscow, robbed by the soldiers, and brought to the Emperor dressed in the coat of his valet. After various complaints and reproaches, Napoleon, adopting a much gentler tone, asked—“If I write a letter, will you consent to deliver it? Will you promise that it shall come into Alexander’s own hands? If you can promise me this, I will let you go—but are you certain that you have access to your Emperor, and can you assure me that he will get my letter?”

Yakovlef of course promised.

Napoleon got up at night on purpose to write the letter—“I have fought your Majesty without ill-feeling. A word from you before or after the last battle, and I would have stopped, and abandoned my right to enter Moscow. If your Majesty yet cherishes any kind feeling towards me, you will consider my appeal to you. Common humanity, your Majesty’s own interest and the interests of this great city, should have induced you to trust to my hands the capital which your troops had left.”

At three o’clock in the morning he despatched the letter to his prisoner, who passed with it through the French lines, delighted that his carelessness in allowing himself to be taken prisoner had had no graver consequences.

Tutolmin, the Governor of the Foundling Hospital, also had the honour of a conversation with Napoleon, of hearing from his own Imperial lips of the respect and brotherly tenderness with which he regarded the Emperor Alexander, and of his readiness to make peace. “I have never adopted this method of warfare,” said Napoleon to Tutolmin; “my troops can fight, but not burn. All the way from Smolensk I have seen nothing but ashes. Some limit must be put to this bloodshed; it is time for peace. I have no business here in Russia.”

As Tutolmin’s official duties prevented him from leaving Moscow, Napoleon begged him in his next report to the Empress—to be sent through the outposts—not to omit to mention Napoleon’s peaceful inclinations and his readiness to enter into negotiations.

Napoleon was very uneasy during the first few days after his entry into Moscow regarding the movements of the Russian army, which had been completely lost sight of in the confusion of the fire, the looting, and all his other troubles. He spoke very sharply to General Sebastiani, losing his temper and abusing him roundly, for not keeping an eye on Kutuzof. Imagining that frequent communication with the Russian outposts was the cause of the disorders that had occurred, he ordered Marshal Berthier to instruct Murat to forbid all communication with the enemy on pain of death. “It is his Majesty’s wish,” said Berthier, “that the only communication with the enemy should be through the medium of powder and ball.” Napoleon, however, was not the only person who was uneasy at the disappearance of the Russians. The marshals were apprehensive at one time lest Kutuzof should cut their communications.

“On the 11th September,” according to Kerbeletzky, “Napoleon, preceded by two pages and accompanied by his generals, Court officials, three Russian prisoners and a body-guard consisting of a squadron of Chasseurs and some Polish Uhlans, left the Kremlin for the first time to gaze upon the ruins of Moscow, and, also for the first time, doffed his light-grey overcoat and appeared in uniform. It might have been expected that, as his marshals and all his generals were in uniforms, richly embroidered back and front with gold, the Emperor would be distinguished by the peculiar brilliance of his attire. On the contrary, he was dressed in a plain military uniform of dark-green cloth, with a red collar, without embroidery, but with epaulettes, the star of the Legion of Honour on the left breast, and a crimson ribbon round the tunic. He wore a low cocked hat and a small cockade. His charger was an ordinary Polish horse, while his generals and Court officials had English horses, in a very famished condition. When Napoleon came out, many of the inhabitants of Moscow, who had drunk deep of the cup of suffering, ran away as soon as they caught sight of his numerous suite. Others, of a more daring disposition, ventured to peep stealthily from behind ruined walls. And lastly, in a street near the poultry market, a group of small burgesses, numbering about forty, whose clothes were in tatters, and whose faces, through the combined effects of fear, hunger, and cold, retained scarcely any semblance of humanity, waited till the suite approached the end of the street, then fell on their knees, stretching out their arms to the Emperor, bewailing what they had suffered, lamenting their utter ruin, and begging for mercy and bread!

“But this inhuman creature turned his horse away to the right, and merely bade his secretary learn what they wanted.

“From end to end Moscow was a scene of indescribable horror and utter desolation. The houses which had survived the fire were plundered, and the churches looted. All the pavements and side-walks were littered with fragments of chandeliers, mirrors, furniture, pictures, books, church-plate, and even the sacred ikons of the saints.”

As we have already said, when the plundering began, even the severest prohibitions scarcely availed to check the reign of lawlessness. Sebastiani, for instance, when complaints were made, was obliged to declare that he was unable to restrain his men. In the orders of September 22, Napoleon says—“In spite of all orders, the patrols neglect their duty; at night the sentinels fail to challenge those who pass.” On September 24 he says—“To-day the officers omitted to salute the Emperor with their swords on parade.”

“At the Kremlin,” says Constant, “the days were long and tedious.” Napoleon was waiting for the answer from Alexander that never came. Among other things his spirits were depressed by the flocks of crows and jackdaws that appeared in the city. “Mon Dieu!” he cried, “do they mean to follow us everywhere?”

Napoleon rode daily through the city, mounted on a little white Arab, and accompanied by a few generals and aides-de-camp and fifty Uhlans. He spoke to nobody while in the street. A theatre was opened for the men and officers of the army in one of the houses which were still left, but Napoleon did not visit it himself. Sometimes in the evening he would play a game of cards with Duroc. A few concerts were given at the Palace; the Italian Tarquinio, who had lately come from Milan, sang, and Martini played the piano; but the Emperor listened with a heavy heart. “Music,” observes Constant, “had lost its power over his disordered spirit.” Evidently these distractions and the rides through the streets were insufficient to counteract his gloomy meditations on the solution of the insoluble problem, how to present the utter failure of the campaign to Europe as a gigantic success, and by what stratagem to evade the inevitable.

Napoleon paraded and reviewed the Guards and the garrison in all weathers, distributing rewards and crosses of the Legion of Honour. The latter ceremony is described as follows by an eye-witness—“A fat little man marched down the steps of the Palace, surrounded by a numerous suite of marshals and generals. The band struck up, and he advanced to within some fifty paces of the front of the line. He wore a green uniform, and his hat was pulled right down over his evil, penetrating eyes. The ribbon of the Legion of Honour which he wore was so hidden under his uniform that it was not always visible. He sometimes made speeches on these occasions. At the announcement of the names of the newly-appointed chevaliers the band gave a flourish. To judge by Napoleon’s haughty look, he was quite conscious of his own power.”

It had meanwhile become plain that Alexander would not condescend to reply. This was a terrible insult, and Napoleon was correspondingly enraged.

“On October 3,” says Constant, “after passing a sleepless night, he summoned his marshals. As soon as they appeared, he said—‘Come in! Come in! Listen to the new plan I have thought of. Prince Eugène, read it! Burn the remains of Moscow; and march through Tver to St. Petersburg, where Macdonald is to join us, Murat and Davout to command the rear-guard.’ He gazed at his generals in a state of great excitement; but they remained impassive and silent, apparently only surprised. He tried to kindle some enthusiasm in them, and cried out—‘What! Are you not delighted at the notion? Was there ever a more glorious feat of arms? What glory we shall reap! What will the world say when it hears that we have subdued the two great capitals of the North in three months?’”

Davout and Daru tried to damp his enthusiasm by pointing out the lateness of the season, the scarcity of provisions, the bare and exposed nature of the road from Tver to St. Petersburg, a track through marshes which three hundred peasants could render impassable within a few hours! Why, they urged, go north to meet the winter so eagerly, when it was even then at their very doors? And what of the 6000 wounded in Moscow? Must they be given up to Kutuzof? The latter would certainly pursue, and the army would then have to act simultaneously on the offensive and defensive. The time, they added, had come to end the campaign, not to prolong it. The question was not that of securing a superfluous victory, but of getting as quickly as possible into winter quarters. They must abandon all thoughts of Kutuzof and of fighting, and retire.

Napoleon had not only to listen to this advice, he had to follow it. The time had passed when he could say of his marshals—“These people think that they are indispensable; they do not understand that I have a hundred brigade-commanders who could amply fill their places.”

The marshals clearly saw not merely the dangers of the approach of winter, but also the precarious condition of the army. From the moment of Napoleon’s arrival at Moscow, his pride kept him in a state of absolute ignorance upon this subject. He always took the army to be in the condition in which he wished to see it, and he boldly adapted his orders to this view, refusing to listen to his generals when they endeavoured to disabuse him of his error. He was resolved, indeed, to make no serious arrangements until their absolute necessity became apparent; until, in fact, it was too late.

Seeing the stubbornness of his marshals, and Russia’s unwillingness to take the hand which he had proffered too late, Napoleon showed remarkable consideration for the happiness of the two contending nations, and resolved to secure peace at any price. In vain did Caulaincourt, whom he wished at first to send as an envoy to St. Petersburg, represent that at this season of the year Russia must feel her own strength and superiority, and that any such attempt would do more harm than good, inasmuch as it would betray the difficulty of his position. Napoleon, whose chief fear was lest he should have to utter the word “Retreat,” resolved once more to try the charm of his own personality. He could not admit, with Tilsit and Erfurt in his mind, that this charm would be less effective in Moscow than in Paris, and resolved to send General Lauriston to Kutuzof’s head-quarters. Lauriston also ventured to submit that at this season of the year it was time, not to be negotiating from Moscow, but to be retiring to Kaluga, and that as quickly as might be. Napoleon answered bitterly that he himself was in favour of the simplest plan, and the straightest road—the high-road—and in the present case the road by which they had come; but he would not travel along it until peace had been concluded. He then showed to Lauriston, as he had showed to Caulaincourt, his letter to Alexander, bade him approach Kutuzof and request a pass to St. Petersburg. The hopelessness of Napoleon’s position was expressed at this interview in his last words to Lauriston—“I desire peace; you hear my words. Get me peace, coûte que coûte! But save my honour by any means you can!”

The “old fox,” Kutuzof, fully appreciated the necessity of keeping Napoleon in Moscow, and humoured Lauriston so cleverly that the poor envoy flattered himself with the most extravagant hopes of a speedy peace, and, what is more, inspired his Emperor with the same delusion.

The position of the French army, however, began in the meanwhile to assume a critical aspect. A desultory guerilla warfare broke out, and in order to procure forage it was necessary to send large detachments with a powerful escort of cavalry and artillery. Every measure of oats and every truss of hay was obtained by hard fighting. Then the peasants began to take part in the war. These men whom Napoleon had taught his troops to look upon as hereditary helots and barbarians, exhibited an unlooked-for independence, and refused to accept the favours which the foreigner endeavoured to foist upon them.

Recognizing the danger of his position, and feeling that he was being hoodwinked, yet not daring to break off his overtures to the Russian Government, Napoleon cast around for some means of making peace necessary to his adversary. He began to collect information regarding Pugachof’s rebellion, and endeavoured to procure a copy of one of the Pretender’s latest manifestoes, expecting to find in it a guide to the families that could lay claim to the Russian throne. In the course of his inquiry he was ready to turn for advice to any one whom he chanced to meet. He soon saw, however, that it would be difficult to effect anything by this means, and abandoned the idea of using Pugachof.

The Tartars were invited to go to Kazan and summon their brethren to declare their independence. They were promised support as soon as they should rise; but nothing came of this proposal. False reports of all kinds were then circulated. It was pretended that Riga had been taken by assault, that the whole length of the road from Vilna to Smolensk was covered with a train of wagons bearing winter clothing to the army, that Marshal Victor was bringing up large reinforcements, that next spring the army would be as strong and well-equipped as when it crossed the frontier; in short, that if the Russians did not make peace that winter the Emperor would adopt stern measures.

None of these reports and projects, however, came to anything. No reply was received from St. Petersburg, and the war assumed a more and more serious aspect. An armed band, with a priest at its head, captured the town of Vereya, near Moscow, under the very nose of the Grande Armée. Others seized two immense convoys on the high-road to Smolensk, the only route by which Napoleon was able to communicate with Europe, and with France. It was becoming clear that the great invasion was a fiasco, and Napoleon was obliged to reconsider his opinion as to the system by which the Russians should defend their country. When they were attacked in the centre they directed all their forces on the flanks, and seemed almost as if they would overpower them.

Worst of all, winter was now approaching. Napoleon at last realized the fact. He grew uneasy, and began to make unobtrusive preparations for departure.

Poor Moscow bore the brunt of his resentment. He gave orders to strip the covers from the ikons and fling them, with the censers, crosses, and plates, into the melting-pot. Two and a quarter hundred-weight of gold and six tons of silver were converted into bullion for transmission to France. In addition to this Napoleon took a number of so-called “trophies”—the arms of Moscow from the Senate House, the eagle from the gates of St. Nicholas, the cross from the belfry of John the Great. The removal of this gigantic cross cost no little time and labour. The Emperor wished to use it as an adornment for the Church of the Hôtel des Invalides. While personally superintending its removal he lost all patience with the clouds of “accursed jackdaws which hovered over the belfry as if they had a mind to defend the cross!” It is said that Berthier, the Duke of Wagram, who was standing with General Dumas on a balcony outside the Empress’ apartments while the work of removing the cross was in progress, unable to restrain his anger, exclaimed—“To think of a man doing a thing like this when he as good as has peace in his pocket!”^[7]

Shortly before the departure from Moscow a very curious order was issued. The Commanders of Army Corps were directed to present tables showing the number of sick who could recover, (1) within a week; (2) within a fortnight; (3) within a month; and secondly, the number who would probably die, (1) within a fortnight; (2) within three weeks. Provision was to be made only for the departure of Class 1—all the rest were to be left behind. Not less extraordinary, considering the depopulated and devastated state of the country, was the order to purchase exactly 20,000 horses, neither more nor less; and to procure fodder for two months—and that in a position where even the most distant and dangerous expeditions were insufficient to procure enough forage for daily needs.

During the latter half of his stay in Moscow Napoleon’s anxieties once more gave rise to constant outbursts of temper. At his morning levées, for instance, when he was surrounded by his chief officers, he would challenge their inquiring looks, which seemed to him to be full of reproach, with his stern impassive glance; but his hard abrupt way of speaking and the pallor of his countenance showed that he knew the truth, and that it gave him no peace. He would vent his wrath at times in harsh, even cruel, reproaches, which afforded him no relief, but rather added to the tension of his feelings by the consciousness of his injustice.