Across town, a young boy searching for some sustenance for a starving girl was surprised to see a ‘half-shaved red head’ popping up out of a hole in the ground. The weird-looking man asked what the boy was looking for and, upon hearing his predicament, invited him to join him underground. The youngster was surprised to find ‘a large cellar illuminated by thick church candles. Along one wall there was a long line of vats with numerous provisions, while several jars with jams and numerous bottles of wine were arranged on the other side of the room. In the middle there was a large pile of clothing, both male and female, various rags, and pieces of velvet, satin and brocade; carpets were covered with gold and silver tableware and church utensils, decorated with gems.’ The youngster was greeted by six men ‘casually sprawled around the room’ and armed with muskets, sabres, daggers and other weapons; judging from the appearance of one of the men, who had torn nostrils and had been branded, these were escaped or former convicts. Upon hearing about the boy’s search for food, one of the men seems to have felt a twinge of conscience as he responded, ‘It is about time to think about our own souls. We cannot continue slaughtering our own Orthodox brethren like sheep – it is time for us to deal with our foreign guests as well.’ In the subsequent conversation the convicts spoke of their gangs of pickpockets targeting the Allied soldiers, whom they ‘at first thought to be cunning and nimble, in short, flawless thieves’, but were disappointed to find them ‘dim-wits and fools’.196
But Russian resistance extended even beyond the occasional murder. Some Russian officers had managed to infiltrate Moscow, where they deliberately targeted Allied troops. Alexander Figner, a young and ambitious artillery officer, was obsessed by the idea of ending the war by assassinating Napoleon. When the Russian army abandoned Moscow, Figner proposed the idea of ridding the world of this ‘enemy of the human race’. His fellow officers found his outrageous plan difficult to swallow. ‘Stunned’ by Figner’s proposal, General Yermolov ‘scrutinized this self-sacrificing man and asked various questions to see if he was of sound mind.’ Despite the poor weather, Yermolov then went personally to Kutuzov, who, upon hearing about Figner’s idea, also inquired if he was ‘insane’. With the glow of the Moscow fires clearly visible through the window, Kutuzov paced around the room conversing with Yermolov. ‘How can we justify it?’ he inquired. ‘In [ancient] Rome, during the war between Fabricius and Pyrrhus, the former was once offered the chance to end the war by poisoning the latter. But Fabricius responded instead by handing over to his enemy the physician who had suggested it.’197 ‘Yes, but that was in Rome and a long time ago,’ observed Yermolov. Kutuzov ignored this comment and, staring at the fiery glow illuminating the horizon, continued to reason aloud. ‘How can I allow this?! If you or I were to personally fight Napoleon, the decision would be obvious … But in this case, we talk about allowing a surreptitious act, in essence, shooting Napoleon from behind the corner. If Figner succeeds, people would say that it was not him but rather you or I who committed this murderous act.’ Kutuzov vacillated for some time until Yermolov insisted on having a direct answer. ‘Let him take a few Cossacks, and may Christ be with him.’198
Growing a short beard and cropping his hair into a circle like that of a Russian peasant, Figner sneaked back into Moscow. One of his closest friends later recounted that Figner ‘rallied people of various backgrounds who still remained in Moscow and organized armed detachments to kill enemy soldiers; he ambushed them amidst the flames in the streets and inside homes and commanded his men so efficiently that the French were killed everywhere, especially at night’. Fluent in several languages, including French and Italian, Figner was well suited for this clandestine war. In daylight, wearing plain peasant clothes, he walked around the city, mixed with the Allied soldiers and served them however he could in order to listen to their conversations. At night, he attacked them with his squads, leaving the streets littered with enemy corpses. He told a friend,
I wanted to get inside the Kremlin to assassinate Napoleon. But despite my peasant appearance, the damn sentry who stood on guard at the Spasskii Gate became suspicious and struck me in the chest violently with the butt of his musket. I was seized and interrogated on what my reason was for going inside the Kremlin. Though I did my best to pretend to be a fool and a simpleton, they kept interrogating and threatening me before releasing me with the warning that I should never ever dare to appear there again because peasants were forbidden to approach the sacred place of the imperial residence …199
Figner was not the only person who tried (or at least claimed to have tried) to assassinate Napoleon in Moscow. Another was a Russian postal official, who had fought the French during General Alexander Suvorov’s famous campaign in Italy in 1799, and was now eager to settle scores with his old enemies. Upon learning that Napoleon intended to visit the post office, the Russian decided to take advantage of this opportunity to assassinate the emperor. Unable to procure any firearms, he decided to hide in the attic and try to kill Napoleon by throwing a wooden log at him. For three days this ‘starving and trembling’ would-be assassin waited for the moment. Finally he heard a commotion in the yard and saw a group of mounted men arriving at the post office’s entrance. The Russian carefully observed the crowd gathered in front of the building and, upon seeing a person whom he took to be Napoleon, he threw his log just as the man was ascending the stairs. The ‘deadly’ projectile, however, missed its target and only aroused suspicion among the French, who searched the building but could not find the perpetrator. The Russian spent another two days hiding in the building before he managed to escape unnoticed but starving. After the war the poor man found himself teased and ridiculed for his exploit, with many assuring him that Napoleon never visited the post office. But he angrily rejected these assertions and continued to insist that he came very close to assassinating the French emperor, repeating that it was a ‘miracle’ that the log did not hit its intended target.200
‘I spent the evening with the emperor yesterday,’ wrote Prince Eugène to his wife. ‘We played vingt-et-un to pass the time but I foresee that we will find the evenings very long as there is not the slightest distraction, not even a billiard table.’201 The three weeks Napoleon passed in Moscow were among the busiest but also the dreariest days of his career. He had once again taken up residence in the imperial apartments of the Kremlin palace, where a large bedroom and several spacious salons provided him with sufficient space to work and rest. As usual, he slept on the iron camp-bed that he always used on campaign and had the portrait of the King of Rome hung on the wall so he could admire the sweet face of his toddler son. Napoleon instructed his valet to place two lit candles near the window every night so that the soldiers in the Kremlin yard could see that he was still working on their behalf. With the communication system already established, he eagerly awaited the arrival of couriers, who covered the vast distance between Paris and Moscow in just 14–15 days. ‘He was always impatient for his couriers’ arrival,’ noted Caulaincourt. ‘He noticed the delay of a few hours, and even grew anxious, though this service did not ever break down. The Paris portfolio, the packets from Warsaw and Vilna, were the barometer of the emperor’s good or bad humour.’ These communications were vital for the maintenance of the empire since the emperor dealt with a myriad issues, ranging from overseeing tens of thousands of troops in the Russian theatre of war and ordering new levies of men and horses across France and Germany, to discussing the extent of censorship in France,202 perpetuating a cattle and food fair at Donzac in rural western France, and granting the right to exploit the La Voulte mine in southern France. He also regularly wrote to his wife inquiring about her health and asking about his infant son, who turned a year and a half in late September.203 It was probably this longing to see his son that made Napoleon take notice of the misery of two Russian orphans who were delivered to the Foundlings Home and given the last name ‘Napoleonov’.204
‘So here we are,’ Césare de Laugier wrote in his diary on 25 September, ‘a
midst smoking ruins, walls that threaten to collapse at any moment, and half-burnt trees. The numerous sign-posts marking the limits of the various districts produce the effect of isolated columns or cenotaphs in a vast cemetery. The mass of ashes gives off a foetid stench that impregnates our clothes.’205 Although a large part of the city had been destroyed, there were still enough buildings remaining to allow the troops of the Grande Armée stationed in Moscow to make themselves quite comfortable. ‘In spite of the disasters, the fire and the flight of the inhabitants, the army is quite comfortable here,’ General Charles Morand wrote to his wife. ‘My division is quartered in a very large building, and I have a very fine and very comfortable house nearby on a large square.’206 Similarly, Paul de Bourgoing was billeted in Rostopchin’s house, where he loved browsing through the governor’s magnificent library.207 Dezydery Chlapowski and his comrades from the chevau-légers of the Guard found quarters in the palace of Prince Lobanov, while General Krasinski lived in the house of the merchant Barishnikov. ‘Both houses were very well appointed, everything was in order, both upstairs and down there were very comfortable wide beds with morocco-covered mattresses.’208 Across the city Duverger, the paymaster in General Compans’ division, and eleven of his comrades were lodged in the German Sloboda in eastern Moscow, where they lived quite happily ‘rich in furs and paintings, cases of figs, in coffee and liqueurs, macaroons, smoked fish and meats. Alas, [we] had no white bread, fresh meat and ordinary wine.’209
What Duverger fails to mention is that after weeks of campaigning, and surrounded by dirt, soot and ashes, the men of the Grande Armée bemoaned the filth of their own clothing and sought out baths210 and washerwomen. ‘Of all the hardships of this campaign,’ wrote one officer, ‘having to do our own laundry was one of the most humiliating.’211 So upon settling in Moscow, many Allied soldiers and officers sought to recruit local women as laundresses. But there were not many of them remaining in the city. Bourgogne remembered how he stumbled across two Muscovite women willing to do laundry. Returning to his quarters, he found there a non-commissioned officer of his company, who had been waiting for him a long time. ‘When I related my adventures, he seemed delighted as he could find no one to wash his clothes.’ Wishing to keep it a secret, the two men waited till everyone fell asleep before going to meet the washerwomen. ‘We found a small room at liberty, which we made over to them, furnishing it with whatever we could find – all kinds of pretty things which the noble Muscovite ladies had not been able to carry away. Although our friends had had the appearance of common servants, they were thus transformed into elegant ladies – ladies, however, who had to wash and mend for us.’212
Despite the devastation that the conflagration had wrought on the city, many Allied troops sought to enjoy the pleasures of Moscow. They indulged in sightseeing, visiting the Kremlin’s palaces and churches, and strolling along the city’s newly built boulevards. Some, like Boulart, admired the architecture, while others, especially the Poles, visited historic locations that they had read about in books.213 To restore some normality to the city, and to soothe in some degree the anxieties of his troops, Napoleon reopened the theatre and took a personal interest in its activities. The famous Italian tenor Tarquinio and the son of Jean-Paul-Égide Martini (composer of the popular romance Plaisir d’Amour) were twice summoned to the Kremlin to perform for Napoleon, who was an admirer of Italian music. Bausset then took the opportunity to mention the existence of a French troupe in the city. The troupe’s director214 had been forcibly removed by Rostopchin, but most of the troupe had stayed behind and now led a wretched existence. Having distributed some immediate relief to the actors, the emperor appointed Bausset to superintend them and ordered him to find out whether, given their present composition, it would be possible to stage a few performances and some light entertainment for the army. The troupe agreed and put on a number of short plays and vaudeville pieces.215 Napoleon’s valet Constant recalled that ‘these actors had a series of performances of light comedies staged in the private court of General Pozniakov’s townhouse, where in the intervals between the acts the grenadiers of the Imperial Guard served refreshments’.216
It is often stated that during the second week of October 1812 Napoleon spent several evenings reviewing and modifying the statute intended for the Comédie Française.217 This matter is quite well known and is usually cited as an example of Napoleon’s ability to handle diverse issues in difficult circumstances. ‘Culture remained on the mind of the emperor,’ observed his valet, who nevertheless found it difficult to comprehend this attention to such administrative trifles when the future was so burdened. He argued that ‘it was generally believed, and probably not without reason, that the emperor was acting with a political end in view, and that these regulations concerning the Comédie Française, at a time when no bulletin had yet given a complete notion of the disastrous position of the army, were intended to impress the Parisians, who would not fail to say: “Things cannot be going so very badly if the emperor has time to occupy himself with theatres.”’ Yet the so-called ‘decree of Moscow’, which reorganized the troupe and the theatre and established the guidelines on structure, administration and accounting that still largely underpin the Comédie Française,218 was, most probably, not approved in Moscow. The decree was initially adopted by the Council of State in Paris back in early August and Napoleon did not receive the portfolio of documents from the Council of State’s session until late September. He reviewed them over the course of three days after returning to the Kremlin, and the documents carry his signatures dated 20, 21 and 22 September. Remarkably the original document of the ‘decree of Moscow’ is not in this portfolio but is instead in a separate dossier of documents labelled ‘documents of October 15, 1812’. Unusually, it features two signatures of Napoleon, one stating ‘Approved. Napoleon’ and the second affirming ‘Approved in Moscow, October 15, 1812. Napoleon.’ Most interestingly, however, the document is accompanied by a note stating that ‘the intention of the emperor is that the decree be dated in Moscow’. The French historian Tony Sauvel, whose study on this topic appeared almost forty years ago but has been largely ignored, justly argued that the decree reorganizing the Comédie Française ‘was neither signed before Moscow, nor in the city, and could not have been so until after the [Allied] departure; either during the retreat, or in Paris once the emperor had returned. Even so, the idea of him signing the decree during the retreat is rather difficult to accept, not only because of all the circumstances of the retreat, but also because it would have been the only administrative measure made during the retreat.’ Thus the only option remaining is that the decree, which was published in the official Bulletin of Laws on 26 January 1813, was most probably signed by Napoleon after his return to Paris in December 1812 and then backdated – possibly to shape public opinion – to his stay in Moscow.219
Many soldiers and officers preferred to spend their evenings drinking and gambling, and a few organized impromptu celebrations filled with dancing and music. In late September the fusiliers-grenadiers of the Young Guard held a ‘real carnival’, where everyone wore masks and costumes. ‘First of all we dressed up the Russian women as French Marquises,’ recalled Bourgogne. ‘Our two Russian tailors were dressed as Chinese, I as a Russian boyar, Flament as a Marquis – each of us in different costume, even our cantiniere, Mother Dubois, who wore a beautiful Russian national dress. As we had no wigs for our Marquises, the regimental perruquier dressed their hair. For grease he used suet, and flour for powder. They looked splendid, and when everyone was ready we began to dance.’ For music, they had a flute played by a sergeant-major, accompanied by the drum to keep time. ‘We went on drinking and dancing until four o’clock in the morning.’220 But not everyone was so cheerful. The hearts of many soldiers and officers were filled with sadness at being away from their loved ones, and they were despondent over what lay ahead. ‘Enough said about the war,’ wrote General Andoche Junot to his mistress. ‘I now want to tell you that I love you m
ore every day, that I am bored to death, that I desire nothing in the whole world as much as to see you again [and] that I am stuck in the most unworthy country in the world …’221 Soldiers felt much the same. ‘I am very tired of this campaign and I do not know when God will give us peace,’ grumbled Marchal, while Captain Frederic List wrote his wife, ‘Another winter will go by without the happiness of being able to press you in my arms, for it is said that we are going to take winter quarters here.’222
Many of the letters, which were intercepted by the Russians, speak of the increasing hardship and the lack of provisions. ‘Sicknesses, particularly dysentery, appeared ever more violently,’ recalled one German officer. ‘Few of our men were spared, and even among the officers only the youngest and strongest escaped this torment.’223 By October Napoleon had tried to procure the necessities by deploying his advanced posts up to 30 miles from Moscow, and thus covering an area sufficiently vast to provide provisions and forage in the requisite quantities. He thanked his minister of war for sending hundreds of small portable mills that left France in mid-September and were expected to arrive in Moscow during the first two weeks of October. ‘They will be of great utility to us,’ Napoleon observed. ‘I intend to give one such mill to each company in the army.’224 He also tried to encourage the remaining local peasants to supply his forces in exchange for good pay. On the eve of the invasion Napoleon had secretly manufactured millions of counterfeit rubles and the army chest still contained a large quantity of them.225 In late September he instructed the intendancy to use this counterfeit money to pay the army and cover all the expenses incurred by the authorities in Moscow and Smolensk.226 The French authorities assured peasants in the environs of Moscow that all provisions, but especially forage, delivered to the city would be paid for and that the peasants’ security during transportation would be guaranteed. The counterfeit paper money, however, was not of high quality and the Muscovites recognized it at once, especially since the banknotes were in high denominations. The Allied troops were paid both in paper banknotes and in copper money that was found in large quantities at the Moscow Mint. Neither option was particularly appealing for the soldiers. The paper money ‘had one-quarter of its nominal value as one Russian ruble was being exchanged at 20 sous,’ recalled one officer. ‘Although pay was set at twice the usual rate, it still meant that the unfortunate officer would find himself paid at half of his usual salary … Napoleon broadcast loudly that he was paying the army double when, in fact, he had reduced its earning by half.’227 As for the copper money, large bags containing 25 rubles’ worth of coins were used to pay all arrears due to the soldiers, who naturally found them rather unmanageable on account of their weight. Domergues noted that these bags weighed about 100lb! Thus, many Allied soldiers chose to sell this copper money to the locals, who gathered at the specially established exchanges at Nikolskaya street, the Kamennyi bridge and other locations. Russian contemporaries noted that the Muscovites could buy 25 rubles’ worth of bags of copper coins for as little as one silver ruble, which naturally enticed many to barter and trade with the French.
The Burning of Moscow Page 30
