MOJAISK was nothing but a vast hospital. Generals, officers, privates, all arrived there seeking the help which none could give.
The army continued its movement until September 11. Marshal Ney, in command of the advance-guard, was five leagues from Mojaisk along the road to Moscow, and the King of Naples a little further on. This retreat resulted in only a few prisoners. The Emperor had halted to give the troops some rest, and to carry out the reorganization necessary in case there should be a second battle.
On the thirteenth, when the whole army was again on the move, the Emperor halted all the columns. Our cavalry were so exhausted that they could not push their reconnaissance to any distance, and at the moment we knew so little of the enemy’s movements that, doubtful as to the direction taken by Kutusof, of whom there was no news, the Emperor judged it advisable to pause. He had not received any reports from Prince Poniatowski on our right, and was for a moment uneasy about him, since he felt that the Russians might have taken advantage of our rest to fall upon us from that side and threaten our flank and rear in the hope of stopping, or at least delaying, our entry into Moscow until they had received replies from Petersburg. The Emperor still inferred that the enemy desired to propose a settlement whilst offering battle too.
Officers were sent out one after another in all directions. The King of Naples was ordered to make a strong reconnaissance along the Kaluga road. At last the Emperor was reassured, and the army resumed its march. He was delighted to learn that the enemy, encumbered with wounded and baggage, were taking the Moscow road, where, according to various reports, outworks had been thrown up in preparation for a second battle.... The Prince of Neuchâtel told me that the Emperor was amazed at the King of Naples’s receiving no proposal from the enemy, who, notwithstanding their reinforcement by the militia and recruits, had done nothing to put themselves in an attitude of defence. From that he inferred, and he repeated it more than once, that the Russian army had lost far more heavily at Borodino than had been supposed, and that it would be in no position to continue the campaign that year. Since the battle the Emperor had spoken to scarcely one of his entourage; he seemed to be in continual anxiety.
At ten o’clock in the morning of the fourteenth the Emperor was on the heights overlooking Moscow, called the Sparrow Hills, when he received a note from the King of Naples informing him that the enemy had evacuated the city and that a Russian staff officer had been sent with a flag of truce to ask for a suspension of hostilities while the troops were crossing the city. The Emperor agreed to this, but ordered the King to follow the Russians step by step—to force them as far away as possible, once they were outside the barriers. He likewise enjoined him not to enter the city, but to go round it if he could. He instructed the King to send him as soon as might be a deputation of the city authorities, who were to meet him at the city gate.
Shortly afterwards he ordered General Durosnel, whom he had appointed governor, to enter the city with as many picked gendarmes as he could muster, establish order there, and take possession of the public buildings. He urged him particularly to maintain order, to guard the Kremlin, and to keep him supplied with information. The general was especially enjoined to hasten the deputation of city authorities which the King of Naples was to collect. This, the Emperor said, would give the inhabitants of the town the best possible guarantee for their tranquillity.
Not imagining for a moment that this deputation would fail to appear, or that he would receive no news—a natural omission, considering the distance to be covered—the Emperor reached the barrier of the moat at noon and dismounted there. He grew impatient. He sent out fresh officers every minute, and kept calling for a deputation or some citizens of note. At last, one after the other, reports came from the King and General Durosnel. Far from having found any of the civic authorities, they had not discovered so much as a single prominent inhabitant. All had fled. Moscow was a deserted city, where one came across none but a few wretches of the lowest class.
Step by step the King of Naples followed the retreat of the enemy’s rear-guard,28 and the Russian officer in command could not speak highly enough of his courage, though he protested against His Majesty’s temerity. “Such is our admiration of you,” he said, “that our Cossacks have passed word round that no one is to fire a shot at so brave a Prince. However, one of these days,” he added, “you will meet with misfortune.” He urged the King to be sparing of courage so fine as his. A certain amount of time was gained in the exchange of such compliments, and they were dispensed all the more lavishly as the King seemed to welcome them. Wishing to make some gift to so courteous a foe, His Majesty asked his staff if one of them could not lend him some piece of jewellery. M. Gourgaud, the orderly officer who was attending him in order to carry out the Emperor’s scheme of liaison, offered his repeater which the King hastened to present to the Cossack officer.
While waiting for information the Emperor had spent his time in reconnoitring, in various directions, the hills which commanded Moscow on that side. When he returned to the gate of the city he ordered me to write to the Archchancellor in Paris and to the Duke of Bassano at Wilna, informing them that we were at Moscow, and dating my letter from that city. He placed pickets to prevent any soldier from entering the place, but there were so many gaps in the walls that this precaution was of little avail. In the town itself a few shots were exchanged with armed peasants, stragglers from the Russian army and Cossacks who were met with everywhere.
As was the case in most of the private palaces, nothing had been disturbed in the Kremlin; even the clocks were still going, as though the rightful owners were in occupation. A few Russian stragglers caused some disorder; men were constantly being caught, but the gendarmes at M. Durosnel’s disposal were quite insufficient to cope with them, so he confined his attention to the Kremlin and the Orphanage, which he kept intact. He asked the Emperor for more troops, informing him that all the houses were full of stragglers and deserters, and that, in view of the great size of the city, he must not think of making an entrance until a number of the houses had been searched and a proper system of patrols established in every quarter. The Emperor instructed him to apply to the Duke of Treviso, whose corps was to occupy the town. But the Duke’s forces were greatly reduced in strength, and, as he did not see the need of scattering his men so soon, and at nightfall besides, he sent only a meagre and insufficient number to Durosnel.
As I have already remarked, the well-to-do inhabitants had fled; all the authorities had left the place, which was entirely deserted. There was no possibility, even, of getting together any kind of administrative service. No one remained but a few outchitets (French tutors), a few foreign shopkeepers, the servants in some of the hotels, and for the rest, people of the lowest classes of society.
It would be difficult to describe the impression made on the Emperor by this news. Never have I seen him so deeply impressed. He was already greatly disturbed and impatient at having had to wait for two hours at the city gate; and this report undoubtedly plunged him into the gravest reflections. His face, normally so impassive, showed instantly and unmistakably the mark of his bitter disappointment.
Count Durosnel had kept sending information to the Emperor as fast as he gathered it, and this completely confirmed what had already come through. M. Rostopchin, the Governor of Moscow, had not left the city until eleven o’clock that same morning, after having sent off the officials, the whole administrative staff and the population. A very small number of householders and some thousand or so of people of the lowest classes had stayed behind, simply because they did not belong to overlords, and because their ignorance prevented them from knowing where to go. Most of the houses were as deserted as the streets. The Governor had kept from the inhabitants any news of the loss of the battle, and had not even said anything about the projected evacuation of the town until the last moment. Only a small portion of the archives and valuables could be taken away. Some arms remained in the arsenal and a few soldiers and militia were hidden in the houses; these men were armed and the militia were little better than savages. Durosnel accordingly urged the Emperor once again not to enter the city yet, especially as the difficulty of making oneself understood and even of finding guides or obtaining intelligent information involved the waste of considerable time. He stayed near the bridge all night, his headquarters being established in a mean tavern built of wood at the entrance to the suburb.
The King of Naples, who was in pursuit of the enemy, sent word to the Emperor that numerous stragglers were being caught, that they all said the army was being disbanded, that the Cossacks openly declared they would fight no more, and that the army was heading for Kazan. He confirmed what had been learned in the city; that Kutusof had kept silence as to the loss of the battle and the retreat on Moscow until the previous day, and that the authorities and inhabitants of the city had taken to flight that same evening, and even on the day of our arrival. He told us that the Governor, Rostopchin, had not heard of the loss of the battle until forty-eight hours before our entry into Moscow; that up to that moment Marshal Kutusof had talked of nothing but success, of his skilful manoeuvring and the damage he had done to the French. The King of Naples confidently expected to seize part of the enemy convoys, and felt certain of being able to break up their rear-guard, so completely disheartened did he believe the Russians to be. He repeated these particulars in all his despatches, and likewise insisted that the Cossacks were demoralized and were on the point of quitting the Russian army.
All these details delighted the Emperor and restored his cheerfulness. He had not received any proposals at the gates of Moscow, but the actual state of the Russian army, its discouragement, the discontent of the Cossacks, the impression certain to be caused in Petersburg by the news of the occupation of the second capital of Russia, all the happenings which Kutusof had doubtless concealed from the Tsar just as he had kept them from Rostopchin,—all these things, said the Emperor, must surely lead to peace proposals. He made no comment on Kutusof’s march on Kazan.
About eleven o’clock in the evening news came that the Bazaar was on fire. The Duke of Treviso and Count Durosnel went to the spot, but in the darkness it was impossible to cope with this conflagration, for there was nothing at hand and no one knew where to find pumps and hoses. The inhabitants and soldiers pillaged such shops as they had time to enter.
During the night there were two small outbreaks of fire in the suburbs also, at some distance from that where the Emperor was quartered; but they were attributed to carelessness in lighting camp fires, and orders were given to redouble vigilance. These accidents having no immediate sequel, little importance was attached to them. The Guard was ordered to furnish sentry-posts for the various points. The Duke of Treviso and M. Durosnel, who were constantly in the saddle, did all they could to ensure the tranquillity of the vast city.
Finding himself without sufficient means to maintain order, Durosnel came in person to report to the Emperor in the morning, and suggested that the command of the city should be entrusted to the Duke of Treviso. Mortier’s troops [the Young Guard] were occupying the place, and he could therefore take the situation in hand. The Emperor approved this proposal; and Count Durosnel himself delivered to the Duke the order to assume responsibility for the government of Moscow.
The Emperor went to the Kremlin at noon [September 15]. A gloomy silence reigned throughout the deserted city. During the whole of our long progress we met not a single person. The army took up its positions round the town, and some corps were billeted in the barracks. At three o’clock the Emperor mounted his horse, made a tour of the Kremlin and the Orphanage, went to see the two principal bridges, and then returned to the Kremlin, where he had installed himself in the apartments of Tsar Alexander.
Various reports said that Kutusof and Rostopchin had met to discuss affairs on the day before the evacuation. Rostopchin, was said to have proposed the destruction of the city, but Kutusof had been opposed to this step, and had been so indignant at the suggestion and at the other measures desired by the Governor that he had gone away in a rage. From other details it seemed that these two personages, who disliked each other, rarely met; that Kutusof had left Rostopchin as ignorant as he had left the Tsar up to the very last moment: for in Moscow as in Petersburg a Te Deum had been sung for the supposed victory of the Russian arms. We heard that the first convoy of wounded arrived on the twelfth [from Borodino]; that on the thirteenth rumours of a defeat began to spread, though they were discounted; that even on that and the following day some of the city militia were sent out to join the main army. In short, even persons in authority were totally in the dark as to what had happened until the day before our entry.
Much of the information we received was contradictory, and proved that those who had left the city had not confided their intentions to those who remained, even at the very last. An aged French actress repeated so often a conversation she was supposed to have had with a certain General Borozdine, that the Emperor expressed a wish to see her. According to the general—or according to this actress—disaffection towards the Tsar and the popular dislike of this war over Poland had reached such extreme lengths that the Russian nobility, threatened with the loss of their property and the greater part of their fortunes, were anxious for peace at any price and would force the Emperor Alexander to come to terms. Kutusof had deceived the court at Petersburg even as he had deceived the public and the Governor of Moscow. Everyone imagined that he had been victorious. The precipitate evacuation of the city would ruin the Russian nobility and force the government to sue for peace. The nobles were enraged with Kutusof and Rostopchin for having lulled them into a false sense of security.
At eight o’clock in the evening flames broke out in one of the suburbs. Assistance was sent, without more attention being paid to the matter, for it was still attributed to the carelessness of the troops.
The Emperor retired early; everyone was fatigued and as anxious to rest as he was. At half-past ten my valet, an energetic fellow who had been in my service during my embassy to Petersburg, woke me up with the news that for three-quarters of an hour the city had been in flames. I had only to open my eyes to realize that this was so, for the fire was giving off so much light that it was bright enough to read in the middle of my room. I sprang from bed and sent by valet to wake the Grand Marshal [Duroc], while I dressed. As the fire was spreading in the quarters farthest away from the Kremlin, we decided to send word to Mortier, to put the Guard under arms, and to let the Emperor sleep a little longer, as he had been extremely tired during the past few days.
I mounted my horse hurriedly to go and see what was happening, to gather what assistance I could muster, and to make sure that everyone connected with my own department, scattered throughout the city as they were, were running no unnecessary hazards. A stiff wind was blowing from the north, from the direction of the two points of conflagration that we could see, and was driving the flames towards the centre, which made the blaze extraordinarily powerful: About half-past twelve [September 16] a third fire broke out a little to the west, and shortly afterwards a fourth, in another quarter—in each case in the direction of the wind, which had veered slightly towards the west. About four o’clock in the morning the conflagration was so widespread that we judged it necessary to wake the Emperor, who at once sent more officers to find out how things really stood and discover whence these fires could be starting.
The troops were under arms; the few remaining inhabitants were fleeing their houses and gathering in the churches; there was nothing to be heard but lamentation. Search had been made for the fire-engines since the previous day, but some of them had been taken away and the rest put out of action. From different houses officers and soldiers brought boutechnicks (policemen on point duty) and moujiks, who had been taken in the act of setting fire to inflammable material which had been laid in houses for the purpose of burning them down. The Poles reported that they had already caught some incendiaries and shot them; and they added, moreover, that from these men and from other inhabitants they had extracted the information that orders had been given by the Governor of the city and the police that the whole city should be burned during the night. These reports seemed incredible. The arrested men were put under guard, and fresh search and increased watchfulness were enforced. Pickets had already been sent to those quarters of the town which were not already in flames; and the further particulars which continued to arrive confirmed our gravest suspicions.
The Emperor was deeply concerned. Towards half-past nine he left the courtyard of the Kremlin on foot, just when two more incendiaries, caught in the act, were being brought in. They were in police uniform. When interrogated in the presence of the Emperor they repeated their declarations: their commanding officer had ordered them to burn everything. Houses had been designated to this end. In the different quarters everything had been prepared for starting the fire—in accordance with orders from Governor Rostopchin, so they had been told. The police officers had spread their men in small detachments in various quarters, and the order to carry out their instructions had been given in the evening of the previous day and confirmed by one of their officers on the following morning. They were relucant to tell the name of this official, but one of them did so at last: he was a mere underling. They could not or would not indicate where he was at the moment, nor how he might be found. Their replies were translated to the Emperor in the presence of his suite. Many other depositions confirmed unmistakably what they said. All the incendiaries were kept under observation; some were brought to judgment and eight or ten executed.
The conflagration continued to spread from the borders of the boroughs where it had started. It had already reached the houses around the Kremlin. The wind, which had veered slightly to the west, fanned the flames to a terrifying extent and carried enormous sparks to a distance, where they fell like a fiery deluge hundreds of yards away, setting fire to more houses and preventing the most intrepid from remaining in the neighbourhood with safety. The air was so hot, and the pine-wood sparks were so numerous, that the beams supporting the iron plates which formed the roof of the arsenal all caught fire. The roof of the Kremlin kitchen was only saved by men being placed there with brooms and buckets to gather up the glowing fragments and moisten the beams. Only by superhuman efforts was the fire in the arsenal extinguished. The Emperor was there himself; his presence inspired the Guard to every exertion.29
I hastened to the Court stables, where some of the Emperor’s horses were stabled and the coronation coaches of the Tsar were kept. The utmost zeal, and, I may add, the greatest courage on the part of the coachmen and grooms, were necessary to save the place; they clambered on to the roof and knocked off the cinders that fell there, whilst others worked two fire-engines which I had had put in order during the night. (They had been totally dismantled.) I may say without exaggeration that we were working beneath a vault of fire. With these men’s help I was able to save the beautiful Galitzin Palace and the two adjoining houses, which were already in flames. The Emperor’s men were ably assisted by Prince Galitzin’s servants, who displayed the utmost devotion to their master’s interests. Everyone did his best to further the measures we took to check this devouring torrent of flame, but the air was charged with fire; we breathed nothing but smoke, and the stoutest lungs felt the strain after a time. The bridge to the south of the Kremlin was so heated by the fire and the sparks falling on it that it kept bursting into flames, although the Guard, and the sappers in particular, made it a point of honour to preserve it. I stayed with some generals of the Guard and aides-de-camp of the Emperor, and we were forced to lend a hand and remain in the midst of this deluge of fire in order to spur on these half-roasted men. It was impossible to stand more than a moment in one spot; the fur on the grenadiers’ caps was singed.
The fire made such progress that the whole of the northern and the greater part of the western quarter, by which we had entered, was burned, together with the splendid playhouse and all the larger buildings. One drew breath in a sea of fire—and the westerly wind continued to blow. The flames spread continuously; it was impossible to predict where or when they would stop, as there was no means of staying them. The conflagration passed beyond the Kremlin; it seemed that the river would surely save all the district lying to the east.
About four o’clock in the afternoon, while the fire was still raging, the Emperor began to think that this great catastrophe might be connected with some movement of the enemy, even though frequent reports from the King of Naples assured him that the Russians were still retreating along the Kazan road. The Emperor therefore gave orders to leave the city, and forbade anything to be left within its walls.
Headquarters were established at the Petrowskoïe Palace, on the Petersburg road, a country mansion where the Tsars were accustomed to take up residence before making their solemn entries into Moscow for their coronations. It was impossible to proceed thither by the direct road on account of the fire and the wind; one had to cross the western part of the town as best one could, through ruins, cinders, flames even, if one wanted to reach the outskirts. Night had already fallen when we got there; and we spent the following day in the palace. Meanwhile the fire continued with renewed violence, but a part of the quarter between the Kremlin and Petrowskoïe, where headquarters and the Guard were billeted, was saved. The Emperor was deep in thought; he spoke to no one.
The existence of inflammable fuses, all made in the same fashion and placed in different public and private buildings, is a fact of which I, as well as many others, had personal evidence. I saw these fuses on the spot, and several were taken to the Emperor. They were also found in the quarter by which he entered the city, and even in the Imperial bedroom in the Kremlin. M. Durosnel, the Duke of Treviso, Count Dumas, and many others observed them on their entrance, but paid no further attention, for they were far from thinking that the Governor and the government had any ambition, as the Emperor said, to go down to posterity as a modern Erostratus.
The examination of the police rank-and-file, and further admissions by the police officer who was caught on the day we entered the city, all proved that the fire had been prepared and executed by order of Count Rostopchin. This police officer, whom Baron Lelorgne had discovered in the city while looking for the deputation His Majesty had expected, was a simpleton who knew all that was afoot and was very candid in all his avowals, as was proved by many reports. He supplied details about the preparation for that fire which left no further doubt as to the Governor’s orders, and in time shed the fullest light on the matter. Of the various incendiaries who were brought to judgment some were executed and others left in prison, hapless victims of their obedience to their superiors and the orders of a madman, as the Emperor said.
Baron Lelorgne’s police officer—from whom at first, for lack of a better, he had drawn a thousand bits of information—was so terrified at the outset that he appeared to be slightly deranged. Such at least was the impression left by his statements. His revelations seemed to be the delusions of a demented man, and at the time no heed was paid to them. This unfortunate fellow kicked his heels for some time in the custody of the guard where he was left when he was no longer needed. After the outbreak of the fire his first statements were recalled. It was also remembered that when he had seen the first small fire break out, which was attributed to some camp fires having been lit too near the wooden houses of the quarter, he had announced that before long there would be many other outbreaks; and when the main conflagration started he exclaimed that the whole city would be burned, orders having been issued to that effect. In fact, all that we had imputed to a disordered mind actually came to pass; so he was questioned anew.
To what he had already told us he now added, in confirmation of what several other incendiaries had informed us, that on the day before Governor Rostopchin’s departure several police officers were summoned to a particular locality which he designated (other depositions confirmed this), where they received orders to prepare for burning the city; that they had been instructed to be ready to carry out this order as soon as the signal was given; and that subsequently, after every meeting, the chiefs of police named a new rendezvous where their subordinates were to make their reports. On the appointed day each senior officer had received the order at a time decided on by the Governor and had transmitted it to the subordinates in his district, for them to carry out. The fire-engines had been taken away by the firemen, and those that they had not been able to harness up had been deliberately made unfit for action and hidden away.
Before entering Moscow, the Emperor had intended not to take up his residence in the city. The fire, and the consequent destruction of part of the supplies, seemed likely to make him follow this first impulse. In fact everything was ready for a withdrawal, and for a time the Prince of Neuchatel imagined that this would be carried out. But the successive reports from the King of Naples as to the breakdown of the Russian army, and despatches in which he drew pictures of the results which he hoped for and promised because of it, soon made the Emperor modify these arrangements.
The King always saw the Russian army in flight along the Kazan road, the men deserting, disbanding in troops, the Cossacks ready to leave the army, some even disposed to make common cause with the victorious French. The Cossack chieftains overwhelmed the King of Naples with continual flattery, and he never ceased to give them tokens of his munificence. The vanguard had no need to fight; the Cossack officers took instructions from the King as to the direction in which he wished to march, and where he desired to establish his headquarters. From the moment his outposts arrived they were practically taken care of, to see that nothing went amiss. Out-and-out blandishments were resorted to, to gratify the King, and those marks of deference delighted him greatly.
Accordingly the Emperor put small faith in his despatches; those marks of deference looked suspicious to him. He saw that the King was being made a fool of, and he told him to distrust Kutusof’s pretended march on Kazan. The Emperor could not fathom this movement of the enemy. This affectation of regard for the King—these exaggerated accounts of the enemy’s breakdown and the discontent of the Cossacks— appeared to him as proofs of underhand work. Although such circumstances—if true—would have delighted him, he saw them for what they were: blinds to deceive the King as to what was really afoot, or baits to draw him into some trap.
On September 18 the Emperor returned to the Kremlin. His departure from Moscow had been the signal for outbreaks of the gravest disorder. Such houses as had been saved from the fire were pillaged. Such unfortunate inhabitants as had remained were ill-treated. Shops and wine-cellars were forced open; and thence flowed every excess, every crime that can result from the drunkenness of soldiers who have got out of their superiors’ control. The city rabble, taking advantage of this disorder, began pillaging, too, and led the troops to the cellars and vaults and anywhere else that they thought might have been used to conceal property, in the hope of sharing the pillage. Those army corps not actually in the city sent in detachments to secure their portion of the victuals and booty. The result of this systematic search can be guessed. All kinds of supplies were found, and plenty of wine and brandy. The grain and fodder warehouses along the quays had escaped the fire. The army horses had been so short of provender between Smolensk and Ghjat, and from the battle until we reached Moscow, that everyone hastened to forage for them and got enough hay, during the two days of the fifteenth and sixteenth, to last several months. Part of these provisions were consumed in the houses as they were found; and it was thanks to the surplus that we were able to live in abundance until our departure from the city, and even to keep the men and horses alive during part of the retreat.30
As soon as he returned to Moscow the Emperor began to busy himself with clearing the French army, in the eyes of Petersburg, from the odium of having caused the fire, which they had done their utmost to extinguish and from which self-interest alone was sufficient to exonerate them.
He instructed M. Lelorgne to find some Russian to whom all the details of the affair could be confided and who would relay what he was told to the proper quarters. M. Toutolmine, head of the Orphanage, had stayed courageously, like a good father, at the head of that establishment, although most of the foundlings had been evacuated; and he seemed eminently suited to fill the part. His position as head of one of the dowager Empress’s institutions would lend authority to his report in the eyes both of the upper and lower classes in Petersburg. He appeared before Napoleon, and M. Lelorgne undertook the duties of interpreter.
The Russian was profuse in his gratitude for the help and protection accorded to his establishment. The Emperor assured him that he had undertaken this war from purely political motives and from no spirit of animosity. Peace was his primary aim, as he had explained on more than one occasion. He added that he had been forced to come to Moscow in spite of himself; that he had done everything at Moscow, as elsewhere, to protect property and to suppress the incendiarism started by the Russians themselves.
As soon as M. Toutolmine’s letters were ready he was given a passport and every other facility to enable one of his employees to act as courier to Petersburg.
With the exception of the King of Naples’s corps, the entire army was in the town or quartered close at hand. Fugitives from the fire had sought shelter in churches, cemeteries, or wherever they felt secure from annoyance by the troops. The churches, which for the most part stood in the clear on public squares, had offered also greater security from the ravages of the flames. Many of these unfortunate refugees had made their way out to Petrowskoïe. We did what we could for them. I housed some two dozen of them in the Galitzin mansion, and among the number was M. Zagriaski, Master of Horse to the Tsar, who had hoped, by remaining in Moscow, to save his house, the object of his lifelong care. There was also a major-general, German by birth, who had gone into retirement in Moscow after long service with the Empress Catherine. These unhappy men had lost everything; nothing remained to them but the greatcoats which they wore.
Our return to Moscow was no less gloomy than our departure. I cannot relate all that I had suffered since the death of my brother. The sense of these recent events was the last straw; the horror of all that was going on around us added to my grief at his loss. True, one cannot nurse one’s personal troubles exclusively in the midst of so many public disasters—but one is only the more wretched on that account. I was overwhelmed. Happy are they who never saw that dire spectacle, that picture of destruction!
A greater portion of the city was reduced to ashes; the northern district, nearest the Kremlin, had been saved by the wind shifting to the west; some isolated districts to windward had not suffered at all. The splendid mansions all round the city had escaped the plans for their destruction; only that of M. Rostopchin, the Governor, had been burned to the ground by its proprietor. He had posted up a notice of his intention, unquestionably very patriotic in his eyes, on the signpost that marked the road into his estate at Wornzowo, a short distance from Moscow. This notice was brought to the Emperor, who turned the whole thing to ridicule. He joked a lot about it and sent it to Paris, where doubtless it produced, as it had in the army, an impression quite contrary to what His Majesty expected. It had a profound effect on every thinking man, and won the Governor more admirers than critics—though only, of course, for the patriotism he had shown in sacrificing his house. This is how the notice was worded:
For eight years I have improved this land, and I have lived happily here in the bosom of my family. To the number of one thousand seven hundred and twenty the dwellers on my estate are leaving it at your approach, while, for my part, I am setting fire to my mansion rather than let it be sullied by your presence. Frenchmen!—in Moscow I have abandoned to you my two residences, with furniture worth half-a-million roubles. Here you will find only ashes.