The Camp-fires of Napoleon

Kutusoff was still unconquered. He rallied for the third time, and resting his right on the great redoubt, formed a fresh line in front of Ney and Murat; but it was a last effort. General Caulaincourt, at the head of the fifth French cuirassiers, made a desperate charge on the rear of the redoubt, while Eugene maintained his ground in the front. The last words of Caulaincourt, as he left Murat to open the attack, had been, “You shall see me there immediately, dead or alive!” He charged at the head of his regiment, overthrew all opposition, and was the first man who penetrated into the redoubt, where, almost at the instant, he fell mortally wounded; but that decisive charge determined the victory. The troops of Prince Eugene were pressing onwards, and had nearly reached the mouth of the battery, when suddenly its fire was extinguished, its smoke dispersed, and above the now silent engines of destruction appeared the moveable and polished brass which covered the French cuirassiers. The Russians had been driven from their last entrenchment. They returned with one more desperate effort to retake this position, as if determined to die rather than endure defeat. Their column advanced to the very mouths of the cannon, but at the terrible discharge of thirty pieces of artillery, which were directed against them, they appeared to be whirled round by the shock, and retired without being able to deploy. Officers now came in from every part of the field. Poniatowski, supported by Sebastiani, had conquered on the left, after a desperate struggle. The sounds of firing became weaker and less frequent. The Russians had retreated to a new position, where they appeared to be intrenching themselves. The day was drawing to a close, and the battle was ended.

Napoleon had remained nearly on the same spot throughout the whole of the battle, seated on the edge of a trench, or walking backwards and forwards on an elevated platform. He now mounted his horse, and slowly passed amidst the heaps of dead and wounded till he reached the heights of Semenowska. He said little; but the few words he uttered implied that he felt his victory had cost him too dear. He then repaired to his tent to write the bulletin of the battle, and made a point of announcing to France that neither himself nor his reserve had been subject to the least danger,—thus manifesting the confidence he felt in the opinion entertained of him by the French; and, at the same time, informing Europe that notwithstanding his distance from France, and while surrounded by enemies in a hostile country, he was still safe and powerful.

“It has been frequently asserted,” says Count Mathieu Dumas, intendant general of the army, “that Napoleon did not display his customary activity on this day.

“His apparent indifference has excited astonishment; it has been intimated that he labored under bodily exhaustion; that he was not able to call into action all the resources of his genius; in short, that his star began to grow dim, even in the midst of victory. Napoleon certainly appeared to be indisposed; he had undergone excessive fatigue during the two preceding nights, which he had employed in person in reconnoitering the positions of the enemy, in placing the corps of the army, and in determining the point of attack. Having formed his plans to compel the enemy to abandon their strong position, he would not consent to make any change in the arrangements which he had resolved upon after profound consideration. He placed himself at a short distance from his right wing, against which it was probable that the Russian general would direct his principal effort, in order to take the attacking columns in the rear, while they should be stopped by the fire of the redoubts. The station which Napoleon had chosen, was, in fact, the best point of observation. It commanded a view of the whole field of battle, and if any manœuvre, any partial success of the enemy, had required new measures, the vigilance of Napoleon would not have failed to meet the urgency of the case. He would have gone to the spot in person, as he did at the battle of Wagram.

“About nine o’clock in the evening, Count Daru and myself were summoned to the Emperor. His bivouac was in the middle of the square battalion of his guard, a little behind the redoubt. His supper had just been served; he was alone, and made us sit down on his right and left hand. After having heard the account of the measures taken for the relief of the wounded, &c., he spoke to us of the issue of the battle; a moment afterwards he fell asleep for about twenty minutes; then, suddenly waking, he continued thus: ‘People will be astonished that I did not bring up my reserves to obtain more decisive results; but it was necessary to keep them, in order to strike a decisive blow in the great battle which the enemy will offer us before Moscow: the success of the day was secured; I had to think of the success of the campaign, and it is for that I keep my reserves.’”

The Emperor was mistaken in supposing that there would be another great battle before Moscow; but in all other particulars, his sagacity was admirably displayed. Still, Borodino was far from decisive. Before daybreak the next morning, there was an alarm among the French, which penetrated even to the tent of the Emperor, and the old guard was called to arms. This was mortifying after a victory, and carried with it an air of insult. As soon as morning dawned, the losses of the armies were ascertained by Napoleon.

Ten thousand men had been killed, and the wounded amounted to no less than twenty thousand. Forty-three generals had been killed or wounded. Among the Russians, there had been fifteen thousand killed, including the gallant Prince Bagration, and thirty thousand wounded. The French carried their wounded two leagues in the rear, to the large monastery of Kolotskoi. The chief surgeon, Larrey, had taken assistants from all the other regiments, and the hospital wagons had arrived—but all that could be done for the conveyance was insufficient. Larrey subsequently complained that not sufficient troops had been left to enable him to obtain the necessary articles from the surrounding villages.

When the Emperor inspected the field of battle, every thing concurred to increase its horrors. A gloomy sky, a cold rain, a violent wind, habitations in ashes, a plain absolutely torn up and covered with fragments and ruins, rendered the scene of carnage yet more appalling. The dark and funereal verdure of the north was seen all round the horizon. Soldiers were roaming like wild beasts among the bodies of their dead comrades, and emptying their knapsacks to procure subsistence for themselves. The wounds of the slain were of the most hideous description, occasioned by the large bullets used by the Russians. The bivouacs were mournful; no songs of triumph, no lively narrations,—all dreary and silent. Around the eagles were the rest of the officers and subalterns, and a few soldiers,—barely sufficient to guard the colours. Their uniforms were torn by the violence of the conflict, blackened with powder, and stained with blood; yet even amidst their rags, their misery, and destitution, they displayed a lofty bearing, and on the appearance of Napoleon welcomed him with acclamations.

Many wounded men were found in the bottom of ravines, where the French troops had been precipitated, or where they had dragged themselves for shelter from the enemy or the storm. Some of the younger soldiers in sighs and groans were calling upon the name of their country, or of their mother; but most of the veterans awaited death either with an impassive or a sardonic air, neither imploring or complaining. The anguish of some of the wounded made them beg of their comrades, as a mercy, to kill them instantly. Among the Russians, the enormous number of wounded presented on every side a spectacle of moving horrors. Many of these mutilated objects were seen dragging themselves with bloody trails along the ground, towards places where they might find shelter among a heap of dead bodies. Napoleon’s horse chancing to tread upon the body of one apparently dead, a cry of anguish startled him, and excited his compassion. Somebody remarked that “it was only a Russian;”—upon which Napoleon angrily reproved the speaker, and observed that, “after a battle, none were enemies,—but all were men.” The Emperor ordered the prisoners that had been taken, to be again numbered, and a few dismounted cannon to be collected. Between seven and eight hundred prisoners, and a score of unserviceable cannon, were the sole trophies of this most sanguinary and imperfect victory.

THE CAMP-FIRE AT MOSCOW

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.”

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.