Chapter X: Part 10

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.

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.

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CAMP-FIRE AT MALO-YAROSLAVETZ.

Napoleon had left the ruins of Moscow, like a funeral pyre, smouldering, behind him, and taken up the line of march for Kalouga. He had with him a hundred thousand effective men—troops in whom he still could place the deepest confidence. But the first snow had fallen! The ghostly terror of a Russian winter hovered over the army, and vexed the dreams of the Emperor. In a weaver’s hut, where he passed the night of the 24th of October, he heard that Kutusoff had anticipated him, and had taken up a position upon the road to Kalouga, which could not be assailed; that Prince Eugene, with only eighteen thousand troops had fought a bloody battle with fifty thousand Russians, and gained a dear but glorious victory. In the early part of the night, when the faithful troops were shivering round their fires, and the Emperor was seated in a comfortless hovel, divided into two apartments by a tattered cloth, came the intrepid Marshal Bessieres, with the terrible intelligence. The Emperor looked pale and worn with anxiety.

“Did you see rightly?” he exclaimed. “Are you sure? Will you vouch for what you say?”

“All that I have told you, sire, is truth,” replied the marshal, calmly.

Napoleon crossed his arms upon his breast, his head fell, and for a few moments he seemed lost in thought. Bessieres respectfully retired. The Emperor seemed greatly agitated, but nothing except restless actions betrayed his feverish state of mind. He lay down and arose incessantly, called for his attendants, and when they came, had nothing to say to them. About four o’clock in the morning, while the camp-fires were still burning, the Prince D’Aremberg came into the hovel, and informed him that a horde of Cossacks, under cover of the night, and the woods, were gliding between him and the advanced posts. The Emperor, however, seemed to pay no attention to the intelligence, and as soon as the sun was above the horizon, mounted his horse and proceeded towards Malo-Yaroslavetz.

In crossing the plain, a confused clamor startled the imperial party, and suddenly the Cossack Murat, Platoff, led his wild horsemen among the baggage and fires of the army, and overturning every thing in their course, they pressed onward with wild hourras. Rapp seized the Emperor’s bridle, and exclaimed,—

“It is they! turn back!”

Napoleon’s pride would not stoop to a retreat. His hand moved to his sword. Berthier and the grand equerry followed his example, and placing themselves on the left of the wood, the little party awaited the approach of the Cossacks. They came on rapidly, and were within forty paces of the Emperor. Rapp was wounded by one of their spears. About twenty horsemen and chasseurs then attacked the horde, and by their desperate bravery saved the Emperor. The cavalry of the guard then came up, and drove the Cossacks across the plain. The Emperor halted until the plain was cleared, and then rode forward to Malo-Yaroslavetz, in the neighborhood of which the main body of the army encamped. The Emperor occupied the afternoon in reconnoitering the position of Kutusoff, and as the shades of a sombre evening fell, returned to his head-quarters, the wretched hovel of an artisan. There he was joined by Murat, Berthier, Davoust, Bessieres, and the heroic Prince Eugene, who came to give Napoleon an account of the action of the day before. A cheerful fire was kindled on the hearth of the lowly hut, and an emperor, two kings, and three marshals sat down to the rough table. Without, the camp-fires of the soldiers were blazing; but the fierce wind was already blowing the requiem of the army. The Emperor sat, with his head resting in his hands, which concealed his features. Eugene was the first to speak.

“It is to be hoped that we shall not have many such conflicts as that of yesterday, sire, or however glorious the results, we shall only have a miserable remnant of the grand army to lead back to France.”

“But it was a glorious battle, Prince; was it not? Tell me of it yourself,” said the Emperor, without removing his hands from his face.

“Sire, it was briefly thus,” replied Eugene. “On the night of the 23d, Delzons and his division were in possession of this place. At four in the morning, his bivouacs were surprised by Kutusoff. I heard the firing at three leagues distance, and hastened to his relief. As I drew near, a vast amphitheatre rose before me. The river Lonja marked its foot; from the opposite height, a cloud of Russian sharp-shooters and their artillery poured down their fire on Delzons. On the plain beyond, Kutusoff’s whole army advanced rapidly by the Lectazowo road. A severe and desperate conflict ensued. Delzons and his brother were killed. We were enabled to maintain our ground by the wise manœuvres of Guilleminot, who threw a hundred grenadiers into a churchyard, in the walls of which they made holes for their muskets. Five times the Russians attempted to pass, and five times they were thrown into disorder and repulsed by a well-directed and murderous fire. The whole day the struggle wavered, and many times, I thought our troops could not be kept to the ground. But the fourteenth and fifteenth divisions held the Russians at bay, and maintained the bridge which was our road to retreat, against all assault. At length, being reduced to my last reserve, I came into battle myself, and by exerting myself to the utmost, rallied the troops and once more carried them up the heights. The Russians, wearied out, fell back, and concentrated themselves on the Kalouga road, between the woods and this place. We gained the victory, but we have lost many brave men, whom, in our present situation, we cannot with safety spare.”

During this recital, Napoleon’s eyes kindled with enthusiasm, and when Eugene had finished, he exclaimed,—

“Then you, Prince, with eighteen thousand men, huddled together in the bottom of a ravine, defeated fifty thousand Russians, posted above your heads, and seconded by every advantage which a town built on a steep acclivity could present! I have been over the ground, and know your difficulties, and appreciate the nature of your triumphs. Prince, the glory of this victory belongs entirely to you.”

The Prince shook his head,—

“Sire, the French troops are brave—courage alone won this field. But leaving that affair, the question is, whether we shall march upon Smolensk by way of Kalouga, Medyn or Mojaisk.”

“That is easily settled,” said Murat, quickly. “The Russians are nothing. Let us pursue the route to Kalouga, and cut our way through them.”

“Tut—tut! King of Naples, you speak rashly!” said Napoleon, quickly. “The course you counsel is the violent impulse of your heart.”

“Entirely unwise!” said Bessieres. “The King of Naples is governed by his all-daring temper.”

“With deference, Sire,” said the stern Davoust, “I would recommend that we proceed to Medwysick. We can reach that point without loss; and permit me to remark, sire, that our present circumstances, every man is of almost indispensable value.”

“But,” interrupted Murat, “it is certain that we shall have to lose men; and it is better to lose them now, in beating the Russians, than to drop them upon a march, without having effected any thing. Marshal Davoust is ever recommending timid, half-way measures.”

A quarrel between Murat and Davoust had occurred some time previous, and it was only by the interposition of the Emperor himself, that bloodshed had been prevented. They were always ready to renew the contest.

“Timid and half-way measures!” exclaimed the harsh voice of Davoust. “I recommend the measures of a general who cares for the safety of his army, as well as victory. The King of Naples counsels like a mere hot-headed, inexperienced conscript.”

Here Napoleon, raising his head, extinguished all this fire by saying that “we had exhibited temerity enough, already; that we had done but too much for glory, and it was now high time to give up thinking of any thing but how to save the rest of the army.”

Bessieres, either because his pride revolted at the idea of being put under the command of the King of Naples, or from a desire to preserve uninjured the cavalry of the guard, which he had formed, and for which he was answerable to Napoleon, and which he exclusively commanded, then ventured to add, that “neither the army nor even the guard had sufficient spirit left for such efforts. It was already said in both, that, as the means of conveyance were wholly inadequate, henceforth the victor, if overtaken, would fall a prey to the vanquished; that of course every wound would be mortal. Murat would therefore be but feebly seconded. And in what a position! its strength had just been but too well demonstrated. Against what enemies! had they not remarked the field of the previous day’s battle, and with what fury the Russian recruits, only just armed and clothed, there fought and fell!” The marshal concluded by giving his opinion in favor of retreat, which the Emperor approved by his silence.

The Prince of Eckmuhl then immediately said that, “as a retreat had been decided upon, he proposed that it should be by Medyn and Smolensk.” But Murat here interrupted him; and, whether from enmity, or from that discouragement which usually succeeds the rejection of a rash measure, he declared himself astonished “that any one should dare propose so imprudent a step to the Emperor. Had Davoust sworn the destruction of the army? Would he have so long and so heavy a column trail along in utter uncertainty, without guides, and on an unknown track, within reach of Kutusoff, presenting its flank to all the attacks of the enemy? Would he, Davoust, defend it? When in our rear Borowsk and Vereria would lead us without danger to Mojaisk, why reject that safe route? There provisions must have been already collected, there everything was known to us, and we could not be misled by any _traitor_.”

At these words, Davoust, burning with a rage which he could scarcely repress, replied that “he proposed a retreat through a fertile country, by an untouched, plentiful, and well-supplied route, where the villages were still standing, and by the shortest road, that the enemy might not be able to cut us off, as on the route by Mojaisk to Smolensk, recommended by Murat. And what a route! a desert of sand and ashes, where convoys of wounded would increase our embarrassment, where we should meet with nothing but ruins, traces of blood, skeletons, and famine!

“Moreover, though he deemed it his duty to give his opinion when it was asked, he was ready to obey orders contrary to it, with the same zeal as if they were consonant with his suggestions; but that the Emperor alone had a right to impose silence on him, and not Murat, who was not his sovereign, and never should be!”

The quarrel growing warm, Bessieres and Berthier interposed. As for the Emperor, still absorbed and in the same attitude, he appeared insensible to what was passing. At length he broke up the council with the words, “Well, gentlemen, I will decide.”

“Enough, it is well, sirs. I will decide,” said Napoleon calmly, and the King of Naples resumed his seat, biting his lips from the effects of passion. “Sirs,” continued the Emperor, “I decide to retreat.” Here he paused, as if such a decision was costing him a dreadful effort. “I decide to retreat by way of Mojaisk. We cannot afford to fight, and that is the road which will lead us most speedily from the enemy.” This decision was extremely distasteful to Murat; but not more so than it was to the Emperor, who, after he had announced it, looked as though he wished that it had not been uttered. However, the resolution, fatal as it proved, was taken, and nothing could induce the Emperor to revoke it. Had he but known, that at the moment when this decision was made, Kutusoff, stunned by the defeat at Malo-Yaroslavetz, was retiring with his forces by the bridge over the Oka, offering a fair mark for the French, he might have changed his design, and delivered such a crushing blow to the enemy, as would have secured his retreat unmolested. But this knowledge came not to the Emperor’s mind; and as he stretched himself for repose amid his faithful generals, and by the side of the blazing fire, he had nothing to relieve the prospect of a disastrous retreat.

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THE CAMP-FIRE IN THE SNOW.

The pen has no colors to depict the horrors of the grand army’s retreat amid the fierce storms of a Russian winter. Though “horrors upon horror’s head” accumulate, there is always lacking something which shall picture to the heart the full truth of that disastrous march.

The Emperor reached Wiazma in two days’ march from Gjatz. Here he halted for the arrival of Prince Eugene and Davoust; and to reconnoitre the road from Medyn and Juknof. Hearing no tidings of the Russians, he set off after thirty-six hours’ stay, leaving Ney at Wiazma to relieve Davoust, who was accused of dilatoriness; but he said that the artillery and wagons were constantly precipitated into deep ravines which crossed the road, and that it was nearly impossible to drag them up the opposite icy slope, the horses’ shoes not having been turned. Nevertheless, both he and the Viceroy arrived within two leagues of Wiazma on the 2d of November, and might have passed through it; but neglecting to do so, the Russian advanced-guard under Miloradowich (called the Russian Murat) turned their bivouacs in the night, and posted themselves along the left bank of the road, between the French generals and Wiazma. On the 3d of November, Prince Eugene was preparing to take the road to that town, when the first dawn of day showed him his situation, his rear-guard cut off, and Ney, who was to have come to his assistance, fighting in his own defence in the direction of Wiazma. He immediately took his resolution. He stopped, faced about, formed in line along the main-road, and kept the foremost of the enemy’s troops in check, till Ney marched up one of his regiments, and attacking them in the rear, compelled them to retire. At the same time, Compans, one of Davoust’s generals, joined his division to the Italian guard; and while they fought together, Davoust passed, and got between Wiazma and the Russians. The battle was not over, but begun. The French amounted to thirty thousand, but were in great disorder. The Russian artillery, superior in number, advanced at a gallop, and mowed down their lines. Davoust and his generals were still surrounded with many of their bravest men. Several of the officers who had been wounded at the Mosqua were still seen, one with his arm in a sling, another with his head covered with bandages, encouraging the soldiers, keeping them together, throwing themselves upon the enemy’s field-pieces and seizing them, and thus preventing the effects of bad example by good. Miloradowich saw that his prey would escape him, and sent the Englishman Wilson to summon Kutusoff to his aid; but the old general laughed at him. The fight had already lasted seven hours; when night approached, the French began to retire. This retrogade movement encouraged the enemy; and had it not been for a signal effort of the 25th, 57th, and 85th regiments, Davoust’s corps would have been turned, broken, and destroyed. Prince Eugene made good his retreat to Wiazma; Davoust followed, but Morand’s division, which entered first, found a number of Russians there before them, and had to cut their way through them. Compans, who brought up the rear, put an end to the affair by facing about, and making a furious assault upon Miloradowich. The bivouacs were set up by the light of the burning of Wiazma, and amidst repeated discharges of artillery. During the night the alarm continued. Several times the troops thought they were attacked, and groped about for their arms. On the following morning, when they returned to their ranks, they were astonished at the smallness of their numbers.

Nevertheless, the example of the chiefs and the hope of finding rest at Smolensk kept up the men’s spirits. Besides, so far they had been cheered by the sight of the sun; but on the 6th of November, the snow came on, and every thing underwent a total change. The consequences were most disastrous. The troops marched on without knowing where, and without distinguishing any object; and while they strove to force their way through the whirlwinds of sleet, the snow drifted in the cavities where they fell, and the weakest rose no more. The wind drove in their faces not only the falling snow, but that which it raised in furious eddies from the earth. The Muscovite winter attacked them in every part, penetrated through their thin dress and ragged shoes. Their wet clothes froze upon them; this covering of ice chilled their bodies, and stiffened all their limbs. A cutting and violent wind stopped their breath or seized upon it as it was exhaled, and converted it into icicles, which hung from their beards. The unhappy men crawled on with trembling limbs and chattering teeth till the snow, collecting round their feet in hard lumps, like stones, some scattered fragment, a branch of a tree, or the body of one of their companions, made them stagger and fall. Their cries and groans were vain; soon the snow covered them, and small hillocks marked where they lay. Such was their sepulture. The road was filled with these undulations, like a burying-place. A number of them froze as they stood still, and looked like posts, covered with snow. The most intrepid or obdurate were affected; they hurried past with averted eyes. But before them, around them, all was snow; the horizon seemed one vast winding-sheet, in which nature was enveloping the whole army. The only objects which came out from the bleak expanse were a few gloomy pines skirting the plain, and adding to the horror of the scene with their funeral green and the motionless erectness of their black trunks! Even the weapons of the soldiers were a weight almost insupportable to their benumbed limbs. In their frequent falls they slipped out of their hands and were broken or lost in the snow. Many others had their fingers frozen on the musket they still grasped. Some broke up into parties; others wandered on alone. If they dispersed themselves in the fields, or by the cross-paths, in search of bread or a shelter for the night, they met nothing but Cossacks and an armed population, who surrounded, wounded, and stripped them, and left them with ferocious laughter to expire naked upon the snow. Then came the night of sixteen hours. But on this universal covering of snow, they knew not where to stop, where to sit, where to lie, where to find a few roots for food, or dry sticks to light their fires. At length fatigue, darkness, and repeated orders induced a pause, and they tried to establish themselves for the night; but the storm scattered the preparations for the bivouacs, and the branches of the pines covered with ice and snow only melted away, and resisted the attempts of the soldiers to kindle them into a blaze. When at length the fire got the better, officers and soldiers gathered round it, to cook their wretched meal of horse-flesh, and a few spoonfuls of rye mixed with snow-water. Next morning, circles of stiffened corpses marked the situation of the bivouacs, and the carcasses of thousands of horses were strewed round them. From this time disorder and distrust began to prevail. A few resisted the strong contagion of insubordination and despondency. These were the officers, the subalterns, and some of the soldiers, whom nothing could detach from their duty. They kept up each other’s spirits by repeating the name of Smolensk, which they were approaching, and looked forward to as the end of their sufferings.

At the lake of Semlewo, it was found necessary to sacrifice the spoils of Moscow. Cannon, armor, the ornaments of the Kremlin, and the cross of the Great Iwan, all sunk at once in the waters of the lake. On the 6th of November, just as the snow was beginning to fall, Napoleon had reached Mikalewska. There he took up his quarters in a palisaded house. He had scarcely arrived, before news of Mallet’s conspiracy in Paris reached him, and added new trouble to his already perturbed spirit. Under all the gloomy circumstances of the time, when the fabric of his power, which he had reared with so much skill, and maintained with such vast energy, seemed to “totter to its fall,” the fortitude of the Emperor was remarkable. He preserved a firm countenance, and strove to induce those around him to believe that his star had not yet begun to decline.

As the Emperor sat in his cheerless hut, with the white storm howling far around, he was aroused by the entrance of Dalbignac, one of Ney’s aid-de-camps.

From Wiazma that general had commenced protecting the retreat, which, though fatal to so many others, conferred immortal renown upon him. As far as Dorogobouje, he had been molested only by some bands of Cossacks, troublesome insects, attracted by the dying, and the forsaken carriages, flying away the moment a hand was lifted against them, but still annoying from their continual return.

It was not these that were the subject of Ney’s message. On approaching Dorogobouje, he was shocked at the traces of disorder left behind them by the corps which had preceded him, and which it was not in his power to efface. He had made up his mind to leave the baggage to the enemy; but he blushed with shame at the sight of the first pieces of cannon abandoned before Dorogobouje.

The marshal had halted there. After a dreadful night, during which snow, wind, and famine had driven most of his men from the fires, the dawn, which is always waited for with so much impatience in a bivouac, brought with it at once a tempest, the enemy, and the spectacle of an almost general defection. In vain he fought in person at the head of what men and officers he had left; he had been obliged to retreat precipitately behind the Dnieper; and of this he now sent to apprise the Emperor.

He wished him to know the worst. His aid-de-camp, Colonel Dalbignac, was instructed to say that “the first movement of retreat from Malo-Yaroslawetz, for soldiers who had never yet fallen back, had greatly dispirited the army; that the affair at Wiazma had shaken its firmness; that the deluge of snow, and the increased cold which it had brought with it, had completed its disorganization; and that a multitude of officers, having lost everything, their platoons, battalions, regiments, and even divisions, had joined the roving masses; so that generals, colonels, and officers of all ranks were seen mingled with the privates, and marching at random, sometimes with one column, sometimes with another; that, as order could not exist in the midst of disorder, this example was seducing even the veteran regiments, which had served through all the wars of the revolution; and that, accordingly, the best soldiers were heard asking one another why they alone were required to fight to secure the escape of the rest; and how it could be expected that they should keep up their courage, when they heard the cries of despair issuing from the neighboring woods, in which the large convoys of them wounded, who had been dragged to no purpose all the way from Moscow, had just been abandoned? Such, no doubt, was the fate which awaited themselves; what had they, then, to gain by remaining with their colors? Incessant toils and combats by day, and famine at night, with shelterless bivouacs, still more destructive than battle; hunger and cold effectually drove sleep from their eyes; or if, perchance, fatigue got the better of these for a moment, the repose which should refresh them put a period to their lives. In short, the eagles had ceased to protect them—they only destroyed. Why, then, remain around them to perish by battalions, by masses? It would be better to disperse; and, since there was no other course than flight, to try who could run the fastest. It would not then be the bravest and best that would fall; the poltroons behind them would no longer have a chance to eat up the relics of the high road.” Lastly, the aid-de-camp was commissioned to explain to the Emperor all the horrors of the marshal’s situation, the responsibility of which that commander absolutely refused to assume.

But Napoleon saw enough around himself to judge of the rest. The fugitives were that moment passing by him; he was sensible that nothing could now be done but to sacrifice the army successively, part by part, beginning at the extremities, in order to save the head. When, therefore, the aid-de-camp was beginning to state farther particulars, he sharply interrupted him with these words: “Colonel, I do not ask you for these details.” The colonel said no more; aware that, in the midst of these terrible disasters, now irremediable, and in which every one had occasion for all his energies, the Emperor was afraid of complaints, which could have no other effect than to discourage as well those who indulged in them as those who listened to them.

He remarked the attitude of Napoleon, the same as he retained throughout the whole of this dismal retreat. It was grave, silent, and resigned; suffering much less in body than others, but far more in mind, and brooding with speechless agony over his misfortunes. At that moment General Carpentier sent him from Smolensk a convoy of provisions. Bessieres wished to take possession of them; but the Emperor instantly ordered them to be forwarded to the Prince of Moskwa, saying that “those who were fighting ought to eat before the rest.” At the same time, he sent word to Ney to “defend himself long enough to allow him some stay at Smolensk, where the army should eat, rest, and be reorganized.”

But if this hope kept some still to their duty, many others abandoned every thing to hasten towards that promised goal of their sufferings. As for Ney, he saw that a sacrifice was required, and that he was marked out as the victim; he nobly resigned himself, therefore, prepared to meet the whole of a danger great as his courage; and thenceforward he neither attached his honor to baggage, nor to cannon, which the winter alone wrested from him. An elbow of the Borysthenes stopped and kept back part of his guns at the foot of its icy slopes: he sacrificed them without hesitation, passed that obstacle, faced about, and made the hostile river, which crossed his route, serve him as the means of defence.

The Russians, however, advanced under favor of a wood and of the forsaken carriages, whence they kept up a fire of musketry on Ney’s troops. Half of the latter, whose icy arms froze their stiffened fingers, became discouraged; they gave way, excusing themselves by their want of firmness on the preceding day; and fleeing because they had before fled, which, but for this, they would have considered as impossible. But Ney, rushing in among them, seized one of their muskets, and led them back to action, which he was himself the first to renew; exposing his life like a private soldier, with a firelock in his hand, the same as though he had been neither possessed of wealth, nor power, nor consideration; in short, as if he had still every thing to gain, when in fact he had every thing to lose. But, though he had again turned soldier, he ceased not to be general: he took advantage of the ground, supported himself against a height, and covered his approach by occupying a palisaded house. His generals and colonels, among whom he particularly remarked Fezenzac, strenuously seconded him; and the enemy, who had expected to pursue, was obliged to retreat.

By this action Ney afforded the army a respite of twenty-four hours; and it profited by it to proceed towards Smolensk. The next day, and every succeeding day, he displayed the same heroism. Between Wiazma and Smolensk he fought ten whole days.

On the 13th of November, Ney was approaching that city, which he was not to enter till the ensuing day, and had faced about to beat off the enemy, when all at once the hills upon which he intended to support his left were seen covered with a multitude of fugitives. In their terror, these unfortunate wretches fell, and rolled down to where he was, upon the frozen snow, which they stained with their blood. A band of Cossacks, which was soon perceived in the midst of them, sufficiently accounted for this disorder. The astonished marshal, having caused this horde of enemies to be dispersed, discovered behind it the army of Italy, returning completely stripped, without baggage and without cannon.

Platoff had kept it besieged, as it were, all the way from Dorogobouje. Near that town Prince Eugene had quitted the high road, and, in order to proceed towards Witepsk, had taken that which, two months before, had brought him from Smolensk; but the Wop, which, when he had crossed it before, was a mere brook and had scarcely been noticed, he now found swollen into a river. It ran over a muddy bed, and was bounded by two steep banks. It was found necessary to cut a passage in these precipitous and frozen banks, and to give orders for the demolition of the neighboring houses during the night, for the purpose of building a bridge with the materials. But those who had taken shelter in them opposed their being destroyed; and, as the viceroy was more beloved than feared, his instructions were not obeyed. The _pontonniers_ became disheartened, and when daylight, with the Cossacks, appeared, the bridge, after being twice broken down, was at last abandoned.

Five or six thousand soldiers still in order, twice the number of disbanded men, the sick and wounded, upward of a hundred pieces of cannon, ammunition wagons, and a multitude of vehicles of every kind, lined the bank and covered a league of ground. An attempt was made to ford the river, through the floating ice which was carried along by its current. The first guns that were attempted to be got over reached the opposite bank; but the water kept rising every moment, while at the same time the bed of the stream at the place of passage was continually deepened by the wheels and by the efforts of the horses, and at length the stoppage became general.

Meanwhile the day was advancing; the men were exhausting themselves in vain efforts; hunger, cold, and the Cossacks became pressing, and the viceroy finally found himself compelled to order his artillery and all his baggage to be left behind. A distressing spectacle ensued. The owners were allowed scarcely a moment to part from their effects; while they were selecting from them such articles as they most needed, and loading their horses with them, a multitude of soldiers came rushing up; they fell in preference upon the vehicles of luxury; these they broke in pieces and rummaged every part, avenging their poverty on the wealth, and their privations on the superfluities they here found, and snatching them from the Cossacks, who were in the meantime looking on at a distance.

But it was provisions of which most of them were in quest. They threw aside embroidered clothes, pictures, ornaments of every kind, and gilt bronzes for a few handfuls of flour. In the evening it was a strange sight to behold the mingled riches of Paris and of Moscow, the luxuries of two of the largest cities in the world, lying scattered and despised on the snow of the desert.

At the same time, most of the artillerymen spiked their guns in despair, and scattered their powder about. Others laid a train with it as far as some ammunition wagons, which had been left at a considerable distance behind the baggage. They waited till the most eager of the Cossacks had come up to them, and when a great number, greedy of plunder, had collected about them, they threw a brand from a bivouac upon the train. The fire ran, and in a moment reached its destination; the wagons were blown up, the shells exploded, and such of the Cossacks as were not killed on the spot, dispersed in dismay.

A few hundred men, who were still called the 14th division, were opposed to these hordes, and sufficed to keep them at a respectful distance till the next day. All the rest, soldiers, sutlers, women, and children, sick and wounded, driven by the enemy’s balls, crowded the bank of the river. But at the sight of its swollen current, of the sharp and massive fragments of ice floating down its stream, and the necessity of aggravating their already intolerable sufferings from cold by plunging into its chilling waves, they all started back.

Colonel Delfanti, an Italian, was obliged to set the example and cross first. The soldiers then moved, and the crowd followed. The weakest, the least resolute, and the most avaricious, stayed behind. Such as could not make up their minds to part from their booty, and to forsake fortune which was forsaking them, were surprised in the midst of their hesitation. The next day, amid all this wealth, the savage Cossacks were seen still covetous of the squalid and tattered garments of the unfortunate creatures who had become their prisoners: they stripped them, and then, collecting them in troops, drove them along over the snow, hurrying their steps by hard blows with the shafts of their lances.

The army of Italy, thus completely dismantled, soaked in the waters of the Wop, without food, without shelter, passed the night on the snow near a village where its officers expected to have found lodgings for themselves. Their soldiers, however, beset its wooden houses. They rushed like madmen, and in swarms, on every habitation, profiting by the darkness, which prevented them from recognising their officers or being known by them. They tore down every thing, doors, windows, and even the woodwork of the roofs, feeling but little compunction in compelling others, be they who they might, to bivouac like themselves.

Their generals attempted in vain to drive them off: they took their blows without a murmur or the least opposition, but without desisting—even the men of the royal and imperial guards; for, throughout the whole army, such were the scenes that occurred every night. The unfortunate fellows kept silently but actively at work on the wooden walls, which they pulled in pieces on every side at once, and which, after vain efforts, their officers were obliged to relinquish to them, for fear they would fall upon their own heads. It was an extraordinary mixture of perseverance in their design and of respect for the anger of their superiors.

Having kindled good fires, they spent the night in drying themselves, amid the shouts, imprecations, and groans of those who were still crossing the torrent, or who, slipping from its banks, were precipitated into it, and drowned.

It is a fact by no means creditable to the enemy, that during this disaster, and in sight of so rich a booty, a few hundred men, left at the distance of half a league from the viceroy, on the other side of the Wop, were sufficient to curb for twenty hours not only the courage, but even the cupidity of Platoff’s Cossacks.

It is possible, indeed, that the hetman made sure of destroying the viceroy on the following day. In fact, all his measures were so well planned, that at the moment when the army of Italy, after an unquiet and disorderly march, came in sight of Dukhowtchina, a town yet uninjured, and was joyfully hastening forward to shelter itself there, several thousand Cossacks sallied forth from it with cannon, and suddenly stopped its progress; while at the same time Platoff, with all his hordes, came up and attacked its rear guard and both flanks.