Book: History of the Expedition to Russia

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But in this important crisis Rostopchin perceived two great dangers; the
one, which threatened the national honour, was that of a disgraceful
peace dictated at Moscow, and forced upon his sovereign; the other was a
political rather than a military danger, in which he feared the
seductions of the enemy more than his arms, and a revolution more than a
conquest.

Averse, therefore, to any treaty, this governor foresaw that in the
populous capital, which the Russians themselves style the oracle, the
example of the whole empire, Napoleon would have recourse to the weapon
of revolution, the only one that would be left him to accomplish his
purpose. For this reason he resolved to raise a barrier of fire between
that great captain and all weaknesses, from whatever quarter they might
proceed, whether from the throne or from his countrymen, either nobles
or senators; and more especially between a population of serfs and the
soldiers of a free nation; in short, between the latter and that mass of
artisans and tradesmen, who form in Moscow the commencement of an
intermediate class--a class for which the French Revolution was
specially adapted.

All the preparations were made in silence, without the knowledge either
of the people, the proprietors of all classes, or perhaps of their
Emperor. The nation was ignorant that it was sacrificing itself. This is
so strictly true, that, when the moment for execution arrived, we heard
the inhabitants who had fled to the churches, execrating this
destruction. Those who beheld it from a distance, the most opulent of
the nobles, mistaken like their peasants, charged us with it; and in
short, those by whom it was ordered threw the odium of it upon us,
having engaged in the work of destruction in order to render us objects
of detestation, and caring but little about the maledictions of so many
unfortunate creatures, provided they could throw the weight of them upon
us.

The silence of Alexander leaves room to doubt whether he approved this
grand determination or not. What part he took in this catastrophe is
still a mystery to the Russians: either they are ignorant on the
subject, or they make a secret of the matter:--the effect of despotism,
which enjoins ignorance or silence.

Some think that no individual in the whole empire excepting the
sovereign, would have dared to take on himself so heavy a
responsibility. His subsequent conduct has disavowed without
disapproving. Others are of opinion that this was one of the causes of
his absence from the army, and that, not wishing to appear either to
order or to defend, he would not stay to be a witness of the
catastrophe.

As to the general abandonment of the houses, all the way from Smolensk,
it was compulsory, the Russian army defending them till they were
carried sword in hand, and describing us every where as destructive
monsters. The country suffered but little from this emigration. The
peasants residing near the high road escaped through by-ways to other
villages belonging to their lords, where they found accommodation.

The forsaking of their huts made of trunks of trees laid one upon
another, which a hatchet suffices for building, and of which a bench, a
table, and an image, constitute the whole furniture, was scarcely any
sacrifice for serfs, who had nothing of their own, whose persons did not
even belong to themselves, and whose masters were obliged to provide for
them, since they were their property, and the source of all their
income.

These peasants, moreover, in removing their carts, their implements, and
their cattle, carried every thing with them, most of them being able to
supply themselves with habitation, clothing, and all other necessaries:
for these people are still in but the first stage of civilization, and
far from that division of labour which denotes the extension and high
improvement of commerce and society.

But in the towns, and especially in the great capital, how could they be
expected to quit so many establishments, to resign so many conveniencies
and enjoyments, so much wealth, moveable and immoveable? and yet it cost
little or no more to obtain the total abandonment of Moscow than that of
the meanest village. There, as at Vienna, Berlin, and Madrid, the
principal nobles hesitated not to retire on our approach: for with them
to remain would seem to be the same as to betray. But here, tradesmen,
artisans, day-labourers, all thought it their duty to flee like the most
powerful of the grandees. There was no occasion to command: these people
have not yet ideas sufficient to judge for themselves, to distinguish
and to discover differences; the example of the nobles was sufficient.
The few foreigners who remained at Moscow might have enlightened them;
some of these were exiled, and terror drove away the rest.

It was, besides, an easy task to excite apprehensions of profanation,
pillage, and devastation in the minds of people so cut off from other
nations, and in the inhabitants of a city which had been so often
plundered and burnt by the Tartars. With these examples before their
eyes, they could not await an impious and ferocious enemy but for the
purpose of fighting him: the rest must necessarily shun his approach
with horror, if they would save themselves in this life and in the next:
obedience, honour, religion, fear, every thing in short enjoined them to
flee, with all that they could carry off.

A fortnight before our arrival, the departure of the archives, the
public chests and treasure, and that of the nobles and the principal
merchants, together with their most valuable effects, indicated to the
rest of the inhabitants what course to pursue. The governor, already
impatient to see the city evacuated, appointed superintendants to
expedite the emigration.

On the 3d of September, a Frenchwoman, at the risk of being torn in
pieces by the furious Muscovites, ventured to leave her hiding-place.
She wandered a long time through extensive quarters, the solitude of
which astonished her, when a distant and doleful sound thrilled her with
terror. It was like the funeral dirge of this vast city; fixed in
motionless suspense, she beheld an immense multitude of persons of both
sexes in deep affliction, carrying their effects and their sacred
images, and leading their children along with them. Their priests, laden
with the sacred symbols of religion, headed the procession. They were
invoking heaven in hymns of lamentation, in which all of them joined
with tears.

On reaching the gates of the city, this crowd of unfortunate creatures
passed through them with painful hesitation: turned their eyes once more
towards Moscow, they seemed to be bidding a last farewell to their holy
city: but by degrees their sobs and the doleful tones of their hymns
died away in the vast plains by which it is surrounded.




CHAP. III.


Thus was this population dispersed in detail or in masses. The roads to
Cazan, Wladimir, and Yaroslaf were covered to the distance of forty
leagues by fugitives on foot, and several unbroken files of vehicles of
every kind. At the same time the measures of Rostopchin to prevent
dejection and to preserve order, detained many of these unfortunate
people till the very last moment.

To this must be added the appointment of Kutusoff, which had revived
their hopes, the false intelligence of a victory at Borodino, and for
the less affluent, the hesitation natural at the moment of abandoning
the only home which they possessed; lastly, the inadequacy of the means
of transport, notwithstanding the quantity of vehicles, which is
peculiarly great in Russia; either because heavy requisitions for the
exigencies of the army had reduced their number; or because they were
too small, as it is customary to make them very light, on account of the
sandy soil and the roads, which may be said to be rather marked out than
constructed.

It was just then that Kutusoff, though defeated at Borodino, sent
letters to all quarters announcing that he was victorious. He deceived
Moscow, Petersburg, and even the commanders of the other Russian armies.
Alexander communicated this false intelligence to his allies. In the
first transports of his joy he hastened to the altars, loaded the army
and the family of his general with honours and money, gave directions
for rejoicings, returned thanks to heaven, and appointed Kutusoff
field-marshal for this defeat.

Most of the Russians affirm that their emperor was grossly imposed upon
by this report. They are still unacquainted with the motives of such a
deception, which at first procured Kutusoff unbounded favours, that were
not withdrawn from him, and afterwards, it is said, dreadful menaces,
that were not put in execution.

If we may credit several of his countrymen, who were perhaps his
enemies, it would appear that he had two motives. In the first place, he
wished not to shake, by disastrous intelligence, the little firmness
which, in Russia, Alexander was generally, but erroneously thought to
possess. In the second, as he was anxious that his despatch should
arrive on the very name-day of his Sovereign, it is added that his
object was to obtain the rewards for which this kind of anniversaries
furnishes occasion.

But at Moscow the erroneous impression was of short continuance. The
rumour of the destruction of half his army was almost immediately
propagated in that city, from the singular commotion of extraordinary
events, which has been known to spread almost instantaneously to
prodigious distances. Still, however, the language of the chiefs, the
only persons who durst speak, continued haughty and threatening: many of
the inhabitants, trusting to it, remained; but they were every day more
and more tormented by a painful anxiety. Nearly at one and the same
moment, they were transported with rage, elevated with hope, and
overwhelmed with fear.

At one of those moments when, either prostrate before the altars, or in
their own houses before the images of their saints, they had no hope but
in heaven, shouts of joy suddenly resounded: the people instantly
thronged the streets and public places to learn the cause. Intoxicated
with joy, their eyes were fixed on the cross of the principal church. A
vulture had entangled himself in the chains which supported it and was
held suspended by them. This was a certain presage to minds whose
natural superstition was heightened by extraordinary anxiety; it was
thus that their God would seize and deliver Napoleon into their power.

Rostopchin took advantage of all these movements, which he excited or
checked according as they were favourable to him or otherwise. He caused
the most diminutive to be selected from the prisoners taken from the
enemy, and exhibited to the people, that the latter might derive courage
from the sight of their weakness: and yet he emptied Moscow of every
kind of supplies, in order to feed the vanquished, and to famish the
conquerors. This measure was easily carried into effect, as Moscow was
provisioned in spring and autumn by water only, and in winter by
sledges.

He was still preserving with a remnant of hope the order that was
necessary, especially in such a flight, when the effects of the disaster
at Borodino appeared. The long train of wounded, their groans, their
garments and linen dyed with gore; their most powerful nobles struck and
overthrown like the others--all this was a novel and alarming sight to a
city which had for such a length of time been exempt from the horrors of
war. The police redoubled its activity; but the terror which it excited
could not long make head against a still greater terror.

Rostopchin once more addressed the people. He declared that "he would
defend Moscow to the last extremity; that the tribunals were already
closed, but that was of no consequence; that there was no occasion for
tribunals to try the guilty." He added, that "in two days he would give
the signal." He recommended to the people to "arm themselves with
hatchets, and especially with three-pronged forks, as the French were
not heavier than a sheaf of corn." As for the wounded, he said he should
cause "masses to be said and the water to be blessed in order to their
speedy recovery. Next day," he added, "he should repair to Kutusoff, to
take final measures for exterminating the enemy. And then," said he, "we
will send these guests to the devil; we will despatch the perfidious
wretches, and fall to work to reduce them to powder."

Kutusoff had in fact never despaired of the salvation of the country.
After employing the militia during the battle of Borodino to carry
ammunition and to assist the wounded, he had just formed with them the
third rank of his army. At Mojaisk, the good face which he had kept up
had enabled him to gain sufficient time to make an orderly retreat, to
pick his wounded, to abandon such as were incurable, and to embarrass
the enemy's army with them. Subsequently at Zelkowo, a check had stopped
the impetuous advance of Murat. At length, on the 13th of September,
Moscow beheld the fires of the Russian bivouacs.

There the national pride, an advantageous position, and the works with
which it was strengthened, all induced a belief that the general had
determined to save the capital or to perish with it. He hesitated,
however, and whether from policy or prudence, he at length abandoned the
governor of Moscow to his full responsibility.

The Russian army in this position of Fili, in front of Moscow, numbered
ninety-one thousand men, six thousand of whom were cossacks, sixty-five
thousand veteran troops, (the relics of one hundred and twenty-one
thousand engaged at the Moskwa,) and twenty thousand recruits, armed
half with muskets and half with pikes.

The French army, one hundred and thirty thousand strong the day before
the great battle, had lost about forty thousand men at Borodino, and
still consisted of ninety thousand. Some regiments on the march and the
divisions of Laborde and Pino had just rejoined it: so that on its
arrival before Moscow it still amounted to nearly one hundred thousand
men. Its march was retarded by six hundred and seven pieces of cannon,
two thousand five hundred artillery carriages, and five thousand baggage
waggons; it had no more ammunition than would suffice for one
engagement. Kutusoff perhaps calculated the disproportion between his
effective force and ours. On this point, however, nothing but conjecture
can be advanced, or he assigned purely military motives for his retreat.

So much is certain, that the old general deceived the governor to the
very last moment. He even swore to him "by his grey hair that he would
perish with him before Moscow," when all at once the governor was
informed, that in a council of war held at night in the camp, it had
been determined to abandon the capital without a battle.

Rostopchin was incensed, but not daunted by this intelligence. There was
now no time to be lost, no farther pains were taken to conceal from
Moscow the fate that was destined for it; indeed it was not worth while
to dissemble for the sake of the few inhabitants who were left; and
besides it was necessary to induce them to seek their safety in flight.

At night, therefore, emissaries went round, knocking at every door and
announcing the conflagration. Fusees were introduced at every favourable
aperture, and especially into the shops covered with iron of the
tradesmen's quarter. The fire engines were carried off: the desolation
attained its highest pitch, and each individual, according to his
disposition, was either overwhelmed with distress or urged to a
decision. Most of those who were left formed groups in the public
places; they crowded together, questioned each other, and reciprocally
asked advice: many wandered about at random, some depressed with terror,
others in a frightful state of exasperation. At length the army, the
last hope of the people, deserted them: the troops began to traverse the
city, and in their retreat they hurried along with them the still
considerable remnant of its population.

They departed by the gate of Kolomna, surrounded by a multitude of
women, children, and aged persons in deep affliction. The fields were
covered with them. They fled in all directions, by every path across the
country, without provisions, and laden with such of their effects as in
their agitation they had first laid their hands on. Some, for want of
horses, had harnessed themselves to carts, and thus dragged along their
infant children, a sick wife, or an infirm father, in short, whatever
they held most dear. The woods afforded them shelter, and they subsisted
on the charity of their countrymen.

On that day, a terrific scene terminated this melancholy drama. This,
the last day of Moscow, having arrived, Rostopchin collected together
all whom he had been able to retain and arm. The prisons were thrown
open. A squalid and disgusting crew tumultuously issued from them. These
wretches rushed into the streets with a ferocious joy. Two men, a
Russian and a Frenchman, the one accused of treason, the other of
political indiscretion, were selected from among this horde, and dragged
before Rostopchin, who reproached the Russian with his crime. The latter
was the son of a tradesman: he had been apprehended while exciting the
people to insurrection. A circumstance which occasioned alarm was the
discovery that he belonged to a sect of German illuminati, called
Martinists, a society of superstitious independents. His audacity had
never failed him in prison. It was imagined for a moment that the spirit
of equality had penetrated into Russia. At any rate he did not impeach
any accomplices.

At this crisis his father arrived. It was expected that he would
intercede for his son: on the contrary, he insisted on his death. The
governor granted him a few moments, that he might once more speak to and
bless him. "What, I! I bless a traitor:" exclaimed the enraged
Russian, and turning to his son, he, with a horrid voice and gesture,
pronounced a curse upon him.

This was the signal for his execution. The poor wretch was struck down
by an ill-directed blow of a sabre. He fell, but wounded only, and
perhaps the arrival of the French might have saved him, had not the
people perceived that he was yet alive. They forced the barriers, fell
upon him, and tore him to pieces.

The Frenchman during this scene was petrified with terror. "As for
thee," said Rostopchin, turning towards him, "being a Frenchman, thou
canst not but wish for the arrival of the French army: be free, then,
but go and tell thy countrymen, that Russia had but a single traitor,
and that he is punished." Then addressing himself to the wretches who
surrounded him, he called them sons of Russia, and exhorted them to make
atonement for their crimes by serving their country. He was the last to
quit that unfortunate city, and he then rejoined the Russian army.

From that moment the mighty Moscow belonged neither to the Russians nor
to the French, but to that guilty horde, whose fury was directed by a
few officers and soldiers of the police. They were organized, and each
had his post allotted to him, in order that pillage, fire, and
devastation might commence every where at once.




CHAP. IV.


That very day (September the 14th), Napoleon, being at length persuaded
that Kutusoff had not thrown himself on his right flank, rejoined his
advanced guard. He mounted his horse a few leagues from Moscow. He
marched slowly and cautiously, sending scouts before him to examine the
woods and the ravines, and to ascend all the eminences to look out for
the enemy's army. A battle was expected: the ground favoured the
opinion: works were begun, but had all been abandoned, and we
experienced not the slightest resistance.

At length the last eminence only remained to be passed: it is contiguous
to Moscow, which it commands. It is called _the Hill of Salvation_,
because, on its summit, the inhabitants, at sight of their holy city,
cross and prostrate themselves. Our scouts had soon gained the top of
this hill. It was two o'clock: the sun caused this great city to glisten
with a thousand colours. Struck with astonishment at the sight, they
paused, exclaiming, "Moscow! Moscow!" Every one quickened his pace; the
troops hurried on in disorder; and the whole army, clapping their hands,
repeated with transport, "Moscow! Moscow!" just as sailors shout "Land!
land!" at the conclusion of a long and toilsome voyage.

At the sight of this gilded city, of this brilliant knot uniting Asia
and Europe, of this magnificent emporium of the luxury, the manners, and
the arts of the two fairest divisions of the globe, we stood still in
proud contemplation. What a glorious day had now arrived! It would
furnish the grandest, the most brilliant recollection of our whole
lives. We felt that at this moment all our actions would engage the
attention of the astonished universe; and that every one of our
movements, however trivial, would be recorded by history.

On this immense and imposing theatre we marched, accompanied, as it
were, by the acclamations of all nations: proud of exalting our grateful
age above all other ages, we already beheld it great from our greatness,
and completely irradiated by our glory.

At our return, already so ardently wished for, with what almost
respectful consideration, with what enthusiasm should we be received by
our wives, our countrymen, and even by our parents! We should form,
during the rest of our lives, a particular class of beings, at whom they
would not look but with astonishment, to whom they would not listen but
with mingled curiosity and admiration! Crowds would throng about us
wherever we passed; they would catch up our most unmeaning words. This
miraculous conquest would surround us with a halo of glory: henceforward
people would fancy that they breathed about us an air of prodigy and
wonder.

When these proud thoughts gave place to more moderate sentiments, we
said to ourselves, that this was the promised term of our labours; that
at length we should pause, since we could no longer be surpassed by
ourselves, after a noble expedition, the worthy parallel to that of
Egypt, and the successful rival of all the great and glorious wars of
antiquity.

At that moment, dangers, sufferings were all forgotten. Was it possible
to purchase too dearly the proud felicity of being able to say, during
the rest of life, "I belonged to the army of Moscow!"

Well, comrades, even now, amidst our abasement, and though it dates from
that fatal city, is not this reflexion of a noble exultation
sufficiently powerful to console us, and to make us proudly hold up our
heads, bowed down by misfortune?

Napoleon himself hastened up. He paused in transport: an exclamation of
joy escaped his lips. Ever since the great battle, the discontented
marshals had shunned him: but at the sight of captive Moscow, at the
intelligence of the arrival of a flag of truce, struck with so important
a result, and intoxicated with all the enthusiasm of glory, they forgot
their grievances. They pressed around the emperor, paying homage to his
good fortune, and already tempted to attribute to his genius the little
pains he had taken on the 7th to complete his victory.

But in Napoleon first emotions were of short duration. He had too much
to think of, to indulge his sensations for any length of time. His first
exclamation was: "There, at last, is that famous city!" and the second:
"It was high time!"

His eyes, fixed on that capital, already expressed nothing but
impatience: in it he beheld in imagination the whole Russian empire. Its
walls enclosed all his hopes,--peace, the expenses of the war, immortal
glory: his eager looks therefore intently watched all its outlets. When
will its gates at length open? When shall he see that deputation come
forth, which will place its wealth, its population, its senate, and the
principal of the Russian nobility at our disposal? Henceforth that
enterprise in which he had so rashly engaged, brought to a successful
termination by dint of boldness, will pass for the result of a high
combination; his imprudence for greatness: henceforth his victory at the
Moskwa, incomplete as it was, will be deemed his greatest achievement.
Thus all that might have turned to his ruin will contribute to his
glory: that day would begin to decide whether he was the greatest man in
the world, or the most rash; in short, whether he had raised himself an
altar, or dug himself a grave.

Anxiety, however, soon began to take possession of his mind. On his left
and right he already beheld Prince Eugene and Poniatowski approaching
the hostile city; Murat, with his scouts, had already reached the
entrance of the suburbs, and yet no deputation appeared: an officer,
sent by Miloradowitch, merely came to declare that his general would set
fire to the city, if his rear was not allowed time to evacuate it.

Napoleon granted every demand. The first troops of the two armies were,
for a short time, intermingled. Murat was recognized by the Cossacks,
who, familiar as the nomadic tribes, and expressive as the people of the
south, thronged around him: then, by their gestures and exclamations,
they extolled his valour and intoxicated him with their admiration. The
king took the watches of his officers, and distributed them among these
barbarous warriors. One of them called him his _hettman_.

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