The Russians themselves kindled Napoleon’s campfire at Moscow. They lighted his bivouacs with the flames of their ancient capital, and thus gave him an awful proof of their invincible opposition to the invader.

After the battle of Borodino, Napoleon found the road to Moscow open, and advanced rapidly towards the conquest he had so long desired. The city of his hopes has been thus described:

“Moscow was an immense and singular assemblage of two hundred and ninety-five churches, and fifteen hundred splendid habitations, together with their gardens and offices. These palaces, built of brick, with the grounds attached to them, intermingled with handsome wooden houses, and even with cottages, were scattered over several square leagues of unequal surface, and were grouped around a lofty, triangular palace, whose vast and double inclosure, comprising two divisions, and about half a league in circumference, included—one of them—several palaces and churches, and a quantity of uncultivated and stony ground; the other, a vast bazaar—a city of merchants—exhibiting the opulence of the four quarters of the world. These buildings, shops as well as palaces, were all covered with polished and colored plates of iron. The churches, which were each of them surmounted by a terrace, and by several steeples terminating in gilded globes, the crescent, and finally the cross, recalled to mind the history of the people. They represented Asia and her religion, first triumphant, then subdued; and finally the crescent of Mahomet under the dominion of the cross of Christ. A single sunbeam made this superb city glitter with a thousand varied colors; and the enchanted traveller halted in ecstacy at the sight. It recalled to his mind the dazzling prodigies with which oriental poets had amused his infancy.”

Count Rostopchin had been appointed governor of Moscow.

As the French army approached the capital, terror began to prevail among the inhabitants; and, after the taking of Smolensko, many of the wealthy classes removed their most valuable effects, and left the city. The governor secretly encouraged this gradual emigration, though he ostensibly maintained a complete confidence of success in the Russian cause, and kept up the spirits of the people by false reports and loyal declarations. Among other contrivances, he employed a number of females in the construction of an immense balloon, out of which, as he made the people believe, he would pour down a shower of fire upon the French army. Under this pretence, he is said to have collected a quantity of combustibles destined for a purpose widely different from this aeronautic fiction. The panic at Moscow at length became general, and not only the nobility and higher classes in general, but tradesmen, mechanics, and even the poor, left it by thousands. The public archives and treasures were removed; the magazines emptied, as far as time permitted. The roads, especially those to the south, were covered with a long train of carriages of every description, and with successive crowds of fugitives on foot, the priests leading the way laden with the symbols of their religion, and singing mournful hymns of lamentation.

Kutusoff, with his retreating army, now appeared without the walls, and intrenched himself strongly in the position of Fili. He had ninety thousand men under his command, of whom six thousand were Cossacks, large numbers of recruits having been added to his ranks since the great battle; and it appears certain that he still entertained some intention of defending the capital. This purpose, however, was speedily relinquished. On the 14th of September, he broke up his camp, and his army continued its retreat, passing through Moscow, which was to be abandoned to its fate. The troops marched along the deserted streets with furled banners and silent drums; and passed out at the Kalomna gate. Some of the officers were observed to shed tears of rage and shame. With an army of ninety thousand men, in their own country, and with the constant power of retreating upon their resources, it is no wonder that all the braver spirits among the Russians felt this humiliating policy most deeply.

The long columns of retreat were followed by the garrison and all the remaining population, with the exception of one class, left there for a special purpose. Before his own departure, Rostopchin opened the prisons, and let loose their miserable and degraded inmates, to the number of three or four hundred, having given them a secret task to perform. The pumps of the city had all been removed or destroyed, and torches and combustibles in great quantities collected. Rostopchin then left the city.

Napoleon subsequently made the calculation that a hundred thousand of the inhabitants, thus abandoned and forced to fly from Moscow, perished in the woods of the neighborhood for want of food and shelter. In the midst of their despair at the very last, the multitude had been roused to an excitement of hope and confidence by the sight of a vulture caught in the chains which supported the cross of the principal church. This, they hailed as an omen that God was about to deliver Napoleon into their hands. “What,” says Hazlitt, “can subdue a nation who can be thus easily deluded by the grossest appearances; and whose whole physical strength, to inflict or to endure, can be wielded mechanically, and in mass, in proportion to their want of understanding? Certainly, ignorance is power.”

On the same day that the Russian army retreated through Moscow, and even before their rear-guard had cleared the city, Murat penetrated the suburbs, and Eugene and Poniatowski opened an attack at the gates. Napoleon himself with his guard gained the summit of the “Mount of Salvation,” the last height which hid his long desired conquest from his view, about two o’clock in the afternoon, and saw the immense city glittering with a thousand colors in the sun,—a strange and magnificent sight in the midst of the desert. The troops halted involuntarily, struck with admiration, and loudly exclaimed,—“Moscow! Moscow!” in a transport of joy. The marshals crowded with congratulations around the Emperor. He, also, had suddenly paused, in evident exultation. His first exclamation was,—“There at last, then, is that famous city!”—presently adding,—“It was high time!”

A flag of truce from Miloradowitch, who commanded the Russian rear-guard, met the Emperor at this point. He came to announce that his guard would set fire to Moscow if he were not allowed time to evacuate it. An armistice of two hours were granted him immediately. Napoleon’s eager eye was fixed on the city, as on a vision he was just about to realise. He expected every moment to see a deputation issue from the gates to lay its wealth, its population, its senate, and its nobility at his feet. The troops of the two nations were intermingled for a few minutes. Murat was soon surrounded by a crowd of Cossacks, extolling his personal prowess by signs and gesticulations, and intoxicating him with their admiration. He distributed the watches of his officers among these barbarian warriors, one of whom denominated him his “Hetman.” It began to look like an almost immediate peace; and Napoleon indulged in dreams of success and glory for two hours. In the mean time, the day was drawing to a close, and Moscow remained sad, silent, and death-like. Napoleon became anxious; the soldiers almost uncontrollably impatient. A few officers penetrated into the city, and a rumor began to spread that “Moscow was deserted!” Napoleon repelled the intelligence with irritation; he, however, descended the hill, and advanced towards the Dorogomilow gate. Here he again halted, but in vain; all remained motionless as before. Murat urged him to penetrate into the city; he refused for some time, shrinking perhaps from having the truth forced upon his conviction. At last he gave the order, “Enter then, since they will have it so!”—recommending, at the same time, the strictest discipline. Calling Daru to his side, he said aloud, “Moscow deserted! a most unlikely event! We must enter it, and ascertain the fact. Go and bring the boyars (landed proprietors) before me.” Daru went, and returned. Not a single Muscovite was to be found:—“No smoke,” says Segur, “was seen ascending from the meanest hearth; nor was the slightest noise to be heard throughout that populous and extensive city, its three hundred thousand inhabitants seeming all dumb and motionless as by enchantment. There was the silence of the desert.”desert.”

After Daru, another officer, earnest to accomplish whatever the Emperor desired, appeared, driving before him five or six of those miserable beings who had been freed from prison, and left in Moscow for an important purpose. Then it was that Napoleon ceased to doubt the truth. Murat, with his long and close column of cavalry, had entered Moscow upwards of an hour since. They found it as yet uninjured, but without signs of life. Awed by the silence of this immense solitude, the troops passed onwards without uttering a word, listening to the hollow sound of their horses’ feet re-echoed from the walls of these deserted palaces. They never appeared even to think of plundering. Suddenly the report of small arms was heard. The column halted. The discharge had been made from the walls of the Kremlin, the gates of which were closed. It was defended by a squalid rout of men and women of most disgusting and villanous aspect, who were in a state of bestial drunkenness, uttering savage yells and the most horrible imprecations. As they would listen to no terms, the gates were forced, and these ferocious miscreants were immediately driven away. Five hundred recruits, who had been forgotten, were left behind in the Kremlin, but they offered no resistance, and dispersed at the first summons. Several thousand stragglers and deserters also surrendered themselves voluntarily to the advanced guard. Murat scarcely bestowed a minute’s delay on the Kremlin. After marching over so many leagues, and fighting so many battles to reach Moscow, he passed through that magnificent city without once halting to notice it; and, ardent in his pursuit of the Russians, dashed forwards into the road to Voladimir and Asia. Several thousand Cossacks were retreating in that direction; and upon these Murat ordered a discharge of carbines.

Napoleon did not enter Moscow before night. He appointed Mortier governor of the city. “Above all,” said he, “no pillage.” During the night, many reports were brought him of the intended burning of the capital, but he would not credit the statements. He was, however, unable to sleep, and continually called his attendants to repeat to him what they had heard. About two o’clock in the morning he was apprised that the flames had broken out at the merchants’ palace, or exchange, which was in the centre of the city. He gave orders, and dispatched messages with the greatest rapidity. At daylight, he hurried to Mortier, who showed him houses covered with iron roofs, and closely shut up, from which a black smoke was already issuing. They had not been broken into, but were evidently fired from the inside. Napoleon entered the Kremlin thoughtful and melancholy; yet when beholding this stupendous palace of the ancestral sovereigns of Russia, his ambition was gratified by the conquest, and he murmured after a pause—“I am at length then in Moscow!—in the ancient City of the Czars!—in the Kremlin!” In this brief moment of satisfaction, he wrote a pacific overture to the Emperor Alexander, and dispatched it by a Russian officer who had been discovered in the great hospital.

The flames had been checked by the exertions of the Duke of Treviso. Meantime, the incendiaries kept themselves so well concealed that their existence was much doubted. Regulations were now issued; order established; and officers and men proceeded to take possession of some convenient house, or sumptuous palace, wherein to rest and recruit themselves after so many hardships, dangers, and privations. Two officers, however, having taken up their quarters in one of the buildings of the Kremlin, were awoke about midnight by an overpowering glare of light in the room. Starting up, they looked out and saw palaces in flames. The wind was driving the flames directly towards the Kremlin. Presently the wind changed, and the devouring element was carried in an opposite direction. Observing this, the officers, rendered selfish by long fatigue and privation, fell asleep again. But they were once more aroused by a new burst of still fiercer light. They observed flames rising in a totally different quarter, which the changed wind was now urging directly towards the Kremlin. Three times the wind changed, and three times did new flames burst out from different quarters of the city, and blaze onwards towards the Kremlin.

The Kremlin contained a magazine of powder, of which the French were not aware, and the guards, overpowered by wine and fatigue, had left a whole park of artillery under the Emperor’s windows. Soon the flames licked the palace from all sides, and the air was filled with flakes of fire. Mortier and his brother officers, exhausted by their efforts to subdue the conflagration, returned to the Kremlin, and fell down in despair. The real cause of the fire was soon placed beyond all doubt. The reports agreed that a globe of fire had been lowered upon the palace of one of the Russian princes, which had consumed it, on the first night of their entrance, and that this was a signal to the incendiaries.

Men of atrocious look and tattered garments, and frantic women, had been seen roaming amidst the flames, and thus completing a hideous resemblance of the infernal world. They were the malefactors whom Rostopchin had let loose from the prisons, and commissioned to execute this tremendous deed as the price of their liberation and pardon. Most thoroughly did they fulfil their trust: and, becoming delirious with intoxication, with excitement, and entire success, they no longer concealed themselves, but ran to and fro with diabolical yells, like furies, waving lighted brands round their heads. The French could not make them drop their torches, except by slashing at their naked arms with sabres. Orders were instantly given to shoot every incendiary on the spot. The army was drawn out. The old guard, which had been quartered in the Kremlin, took arms, and their horses and baggage quickly filled the courts. Masters of Moscow, they were obliged to seek their bivouac outside its gates.

Napoleon was awoke by the blaze and uproar of the conflagration. It was impossible for him any longer to fortify himself with incredulity and scorn. On perceiving that the city was really on fire, in almost every quarter, he gave way to his first feelings of rage, and a passionate resolve to master the devouring element; but he presently recovered himself, and silently yielded to what he saw was inevitable. His inward agitation, however, was excessive. He seemed parched by the flames as he gazed at their fury. He continually sat down, and then abruptly started up, and traversed his apartments with rapidity. Again he seated himself, and began to transact most urgent business; yet every now and then he started up, and ran to the windows, uttering short and broken exclamations as he traced the progress of the flames: “What a frightful spectacle! To have done it themselves! Such a number of palaces! What extraordinary resolution!” There is something extremely fine in this power of standing apart from the scene, even while in the midst of such an excitement and danger, and admiring the forces brought into action, even though to his own utter destruction.

A report was now circulated that the Kremlin was undermined. Several Russian prisoners had affirmed this; certain writings attested it. Some of the attendants lost their senses with terror; the military awaited with firmness whatever Napoleon and their destiny should decide; but he noticed the alarm only by a smile of incredulity. Meantime, the conflagration raged with increasing violence, and they all began to inhale the smoke and ashes. Still Napoleon would not depart. He walked to and fro with convulsive energy.

Night was again approaching. The glare of the flames became more brilliant as the shades closed round, and he saw the devouring element seizing upon all the bridges, and all the accesses to the fortress which inclosed him, while the wind blew with redoubled violence. At this crisis, Prince Eugene and Murat arrived in breathless haste, most earnestly, and even on their knees, beseeching Napoleon to leave the palace. All their efforts, however, were in vain. Suddenly, a cry was heard,—“The Kremlin is on fire!” The words were echoed from every part of the building. The Emperor left his apartment that he might himself judge of the danger. A Russian soldier of police had been detected in the act. He had received a signal, and given the watchword. The exasperated grenadiers put an end to him with their bayonets. It was evident that there had been an organized plan to burn even the Kremlin. This incident decided Napoleon, and he rapidly descended the northern staircase.

A guide had been called to conduct Napoleon and his attendants through the Kremlin and out of the city. Segur has given a terrific description of the dangers which they had to encounter on their way. According to him, they were besieged in the midst of an ocean of flames, which enveloped all the gates of the citadel.

But the description is simply a piece of imagination. Napoleon proceeded slowly and calmly to the outer circuit of the city, and took up his quarters in the imperial castle of Petrowsky, situated about a league on the road to St. Petersburg. Count Dumas, who remained on duty within the walls until nightfall, says that he and Daru “left Moscow under a real rain of fire;” but he mentions nothing of such perils with regard to the Emperor.

On the following morning, September 17th, the Emperor directed his first glances towards Moscow, hoping to find the fire subdued. It continued with all the violence of the previous night. The whole city now seemed to him “one vast fire-spout, ascending in awful whirls towards the sky.” He was long absorbed in the contemplation of this scene of horror and ruin. Moscow had been the very centre of all his projects—the object of all his hopes in Russia. At length, he broke his melancholy silence merely by observing, “This forbodes us no common calamities.”

The fire raged throughout the 18th and 19th of September, when it slackened for want of fuel. The greater part of the Kremlin, a few palaces, and all the churches built of stone, remained standing. All else was laid in ruins. The destruction of property was enormous. The flight of the nobility had been so sudden, that the French officers on their entrance found even the jewels of the ladies left behind. But there are other consequences of the burning of Moscow which are too horrible to dwell upon. Dumas states, that he found six thousand wounded Russians in the hospitals, which he examined by order of Napoleon, when the French army entered. Their fate cannot be doubtful. Napoleon returned to the Kremlin on the 20th. He passed towards the city through the camps of his army, which exhibited a very singular appearance. “They were situated,” says Segur, “in the midst of fields, in a thick and cold mire; and contained immense camp-fires, fed by rich mahogany furniture, and gilded sashes and doors. Around these fires, with a litter of damp straw, sheltered only by a few miserable planks fastened together, his soldiers, with their officers, were to be seen, splashed with dirt, and stained with smoke, seated upon superb arm-chairs, or reclining on sofas covered with silk. At their feet, carelessly opened or thrown in heaps, lay Cashmere shawls, the finest furs of Siberia, the gold stuffs of Persia, and plates of solid silver, from which they had nothing to eat but a black dough baked in ashes, and half-broiled and bloody steaks of horse-flesh.” The ground between the camps and the city was covered with marauders laden with booty. On his way through the ruined streets, Napoleon had passed heaps of furniture piled up for removal, and stalls where soldiers were exchanging showy and valuable commodities for common necessaries; and the richest wines, liquors, and bales of costly merchandise, for a loaf of bread. He had permitted this license at first; but hearing that the excesses increased, and that the peasantry who had formerly brought provisions were now prevented by fear, he issued severe orders, and commanded his guard to keep close to their quarters. He was obeyed at the first word. The plundering continued, but was conducted regularly, and every effort made to protect the peasants; nevertheless few appeared, and at length not one was to be seen.