The Burning of Moscow

by Alexander Mikaberidze

  In the first day and a half of its occupation of Moscow the Grande Armée found itself in a position where many of its soldiers were actively looting, while others, especially the Young Guard around the Kremlin, had to deal with the consequences. But as the fires spread, Allied officers and soldiers encamped outside the city became convinced that the city was being plundered, and believed they should replenish their nearly empty supplies while they could. This sparked a new wave of looting that could have only worsened the situation in the city and doubtless contributed to the outbreak of new fires. There are a number of testimonies that directly acknowledge the Grande Armée’s culpability in this respect. On 27 September Philibert Poulachard of the 21st Line told his wife, ‘we burned every region we have marched through. On arriving in Moscow, we burned this ancient capital as well.’128 Pion des Loches did not doubt that ‘on the night between the 14th and 15th, as the soldiers, torch in hand, entered into the houses, they may have set them on fire unintentionally’.129 Similarly, Castellane wrote in his diary on 15 September that ‘our soldiers may well have set fires in some places, but not everywhere’.130 Johannes von Horn witnessed how, almost immediately upon the Grande Armée’s arrival in Moscow, bands of looters infiltrated into the city. ‘Soldiers bundled together several wax candles, which they found in large quantities in candle stores, and used them to light their way.’ As a result, some stores caught on fire and ‘French officers later confessed that it was their troops who caused it because of carelessness’. Horn later saw Polish troops setting a bakery on fire because it had no bread left. The Poles then proceeded, with torches in hand, to enter nearby houses, which later caught fire.131 Soltyk explains that some troops may have been misled by the appearance of wooden houses that were covered with white lime and appeared to be built of stone. Writing on 19 September, Friedrich Wilhelm von Lossberg complained that ‘many houses fell to the flames because soldiers used ovens to bake their bread inside them, notwithstanding the strictest prohibitions’.132

  * * *

  In respect of the origin of the fire, it may be regarded as certain that it was not a deliberate action by Napoleon, who had every motive for preserving the city for his own convenience. But nor was it the outcome of long-term Russian planning. The fire had already begun while the Russian army was still withdrawing through the city, and no Russian leader would have deliberately sanctioned such a potentially catastrophic action. Had there been any settled plan of destruction, surely the major buildings and magazines would have been fired first to ignite the city. Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, was right to marvel that ‘in a town abandoned by its inhabitants, doomed by its native governor to be destroyed by fire, surely the object to which [the Russians] would first have turned [their] attention, that in which [they] would most willingly have tried [their] infernal machines, would have been the magazines of arms, cannon, etc. and above all the powder magazine’.133

  The conflagration itself seems to have been caused by a combination of factors. The general evacuation of Moscow was an unprecedented move on the part of the Russian authorities, since no major European city – not Milan, Venice, Vienna, Rome, Berlin nor Madrid – had been completely evacuated in the face of the arrival of the French army. The French had never had to deal with such a situation and this may explain their underestimation of the challenges they faced. Rostopchin did play an important role in the conflagration and, although he did not ‘personally execute or order it, [the fire] was still desired and facilitated by him’.134 That he left men to destroy supplies and ammunition is undeniable – but so did the Russian generals, including Field Marshal Kutuzov himself, and thus they too should be held responsible for the fire that their actions might have caused. Rostopchin’s broadsheets had a powerful impact on the popular psyche, encouraging people to destroy their property rather than see it despoiled by the enemy. His orders to remove the police and fire brigades effectively left the city vulnerable to the fire hazard that is inherent in any city built of wood – a fact Rostopchin was well aware of. Removal of the municipal authority also encouraged the disreputable elements in the Muscovite population, who had stayed behind during the evacuation and were willing to take their chance of making a profit out of the fall of the city. And we cannot discount the actions of those patriotic citizens of Moscow who, whether under the influence of Rostopchin’s broadsheets or through their own convictions, chose to set their property on fire. Plundering on the part of the invaders commenced almost immediately after their entry into Moscow; with the soldiers, and a supporting cast of camp-followers, beggars, criminals and prostitutes, all looting indiscriminately, there was every opportunity for fire to break out. And once it had started, the spell of dry weather, plus the strong winds, which were further strengthened as the conflagration intensified, helped to spread the flames, which found plenty of fuel in the thousands of wooden buildings.

  On a final note, it is interesting to look at another incident from this period – the Great Fire of New York of 1776 – as it bears close resemblance to events in Moscow. After early setbacks at Lexington and Concord during the American Revolutionary War, the British managed to capture New York in mid-September 1776, when General William Howe’s troops landed on Manhattan. The British were still celebrating their victory when, on 21 September 1776, fire erupted in the city. Some eyewitnesses claimed that it began in the Fighting Cocks Tavern near Whitehall Slip, and, abetted by dry weather and strong winds, it then spread rapidly north and west as the few fire engines available proved useless and there were too few buckets and not enough water at hand. Dozens of houses were torn down in advance of the flames that ultimately consumed as much as a quarter of the city before being contained both by changes in the wind and by the actions of citizens and British marines sent to help them.135 As in Moscow, each side accused the other of deliberately starting the fire. General Howe’s report claimed that the fire was deliberately set in ‘a most horrid attempt … by a number of wretches’.136 The British Royal Governor William Tryon suspected that General George Washington was responsible for it, asserting ‘many circumstances lead to conjecture that Mr Washington was privy to this villainous act’. Washington was accused of sending ‘all the bells of the churches out of town, under pretence of casting them into cannon, whereas it is much more probable to prevent the alarm being given by ringing of the Bells before the fire should get ahead beyond the reach of Engines and Buckets’. In addition, ‘some officers of his army were found concealed in the city’.137 Even some colonists believed that the fire was the work of Patriot arsonists. John Joseph Henry recorded accounts of marines returning to HMS Pearl after fighting the fire, in which men were ‘caught in the act of firing the houses’. On the other hand, many American colonists held the British responsible for setting the fire so that the city might be plundered. One Hessian officer noted that some who fought the blaze managed to ‘pay themselves well by plundering other houses nearby that were not on fire’. George Washington denied any knowledge of the fire’s cause and claimed that ‘Providence – or some good honest Fellow – has done more for us than we were disposed to do for ourselves’.138 It was never determined, then or later, that the fire was anything other than accidental. But unlike New York, the Moscow fire was the result of both Providence and some fellows, though few of them could be described as ‘good and honest’.

  Chapter 9

  In Search of Peace

  Napoleon spent thirty-five days in Moscow and, as one Russian historian aptly commented, his sojourn here represented ‘the complete opposite to his stay at Dresden [in May 1812], where he felt at the height of his powers, the conqueror of Europe, surrounded by servile rulers and high court officials’.1 There he was at the centre of a carefully choreographed display of power. One eyewitness observed that anyone who wished to give themselves a true idea of the commanding power that Napoleon exercised in Europe ‘should transport themselves in imagination to Dresden so as to behold him at the period of his greatest glory … His levée
was, as usual, at nine o’clock, and only by being there could one possibly imagine the cringing submission with which a crowd of princes, confounded with the courtiers, who for the most part paid them but the slightest heed, awaited the moment of his appearance … In effect, Napoleon was the God of Dresden, the ruler of all those rulers who appeared before him, the king of kings … It was, without doubt, the highest point of his glory.’2 Now, just four months later, this ‘ruler of rulers’ found himself stuck amidst the ruins of Moscow, presiding over an increasingly chaotic force and anxiously trying to find a way to end the war and get out of Russia. ‘It is impossible to explain Napoleon’s pertinacity in prolonging the stay of the army in the centre of Russia, amidst the smoking ruins of the ancient capital, except by supposing that he was nearly certain of the speedy conclusion of peace,’ recalled a French general.3 Simply abandoning Moscow and retreating was not an option since, in Napoleon’s opinion, this would be tantamount to acknowledging defeat. Yet staying in the burnt-out city offered only bleak prospects for ending the war. Signing a peace treaty, on the other hand, offered a way out of this complicated situation. Napoleon was convinced that, in the wake of the battle of Borodino and the burning of Moscow, Emperor Alexander would not hesitate to accept if he received a letter offering peace.

  On his return to Moscow, Napoleon persuaded Ivan Tutolmin, the director of the Foundlings House, to carry a letter to Alexander. Tutolmin had first encountered the French authorities in Moscow on 14 September when, amidst the spreading disorder, he personally went to the Kremlin and asked General Durosnel to provide protection for the orphans at the Foundlings Home. Durosnel immediately ordered a safeguarding picket of twelve gendarmes and an officer to be posted at the Home.4 When the fires broke out, Tutolmin and the gendarmes, assisted by the Foundlings Home’s remaining officials and even some of the children, fought to protect the building from the flames throughout the night of 15 September and the subsequent days. Upon returning from the Petrovskii Palace on 18 September, Napoleon passed by the Foundlings Home; seeing the massive building towering over the nearby ruins, he inquired about it. Informed about the institution, he dispatched Intendant-Général Mathieu Dumas5 to see what had become of all those unfortunate children. It was early afternoon when Dumas knocked on the doors of the Foundlings Home and was greeted by its director Ivan Tutolmin; the two men had already met three days earlier when Dumas inspected the ‘magazines which line the quay between the Kremlin and the Foundlings Home’ and had ‘ovens set up to bake biscuits’.6 Dumas declared that he was sent to convey Napoleon’s gratitude for Tutolmin’s efforts in saving his institution from the flames, and his desire to meet him in person.

  The following day, at noon, Napoleon sent his interpreter Lelorgne to bring the Russian to the palace.7 Tutolmin found the emperor a thoughtful and considerate person, and thanked him ‘on behalf of all the unfortunates who had been saved at the Foundlings Home’.8 Napoleon responded that he had desired to do the same for the entire city, which he had ‘intended on treating in the same way as I did Vienna and Berlin that are still standing unharmed’, and lamented that the Russians had chosen to abandon and ‘burn their capital and, in trying to cause me harm, they in fact destroyed what has been created over centuries’. He complained that ‘I have never adopted this method of warfare; my troops can fight, but not burn. All the way from Smolensk I have seen nothing but ashes.’ Napoleon then quizzed Tutolmin about the Russian arrangements on the eve of the Grande Armée’s entry into Moscow and repeated his accusations that Rostopchin had intentionally set fire to the city. ‘Maybe the Russians initially set fire to it and the French then contributed to it,’ Tutolmin countered. ‘That’s untrue,’ replied Napoleon. He then inquired about the children housed at the Foundlings Home and, after reviewing a roster,9 teasingly told Tutolmin, ‘I see that you have evacuated all the young women.’ After further quizzing Tutolmin, Napoleon ended their meeting and advised the Russian to write a letter to Emperor Alexander describing what had transpired in the city.10 Although it was casually mentioned, this was in fact Napoleon’s first attempt to open direct communications with the Russian sovereign and he certainly hoped that it would lead eventually to peace. He did not want to make an open appeal for peace and thus sought a more indirect approach.

  As promised, Tutolmin wrote a short letter in the evening of 19 September, describing his meeting with Napoleon and mentioning his request to contact the Russian sovereign.11 The following day he instructed College Secretary Phillip Rukhin to carry the letter to St Petersburg for him; he was to go first to Marshal Murat’s chancellery, where he would receive a passport and the necessary paperwork.12 Rukhin was guided by French dragoons as far as the village of Chernaya Gryaz’, where he was detained by a Cossack outpost from Count Wintzingerode’s flying detachment. Despite his explanations, the unfortunate Rukhin was accused of being a French spy and was arrested; happily for his mission, he was then dispatched under escort to the Russian capital, where he was finally able to explain his mission and deliver Tutolmin’s letter to Emperor Alexander.13

  Just hours after meeting Tutolmin, Napoleon made a second attempt to establish communications with the Russian sovereign. This time it was through Ivan Yakovlev, a retired Guard captain and former dashing courtier during the reign of Empress Catherine II.14 Yakovlev had failed to convince some of his family of the need to leave Moscow before Napoleon’s army arrived,15 and it was only on 14 September that they finally departed. But it was too late and Yakovlev’s family was caught by French troops who robbed it clean, taking away even their clothing and shoes.16 Thus, Yakovlev, who had rubbed shoulders with members of the imperial family, was reduced to begging as he roamed the streets of Moscow in search of provisions. It was during one such outing that he accidentally encountered a colonel who served in the headquarters of the Young Guard. Yakovlev asked him for help in getting his family out of the city but was advised to appeal to Marshal Morthier. Yakovlev actually knew Mortier from his earlier visit to Paris and pleaded with him for a laissez-passer to leave the city. Mortier agreed to help and sought permission from Napoleon, who quickly realized that here was another opportunity to contact the Russian court. Napoleon was already aware of the Yakovlev family since Ivan’s brother, Lev Yakovlev, had served as a Russian plenipotentiary envoy to Cassel (Westphalia). On 21 September he sent Lelorgne to bring Yakovlev to the palace.

  Unlike Tutolmin, who was received in the emperor’s study, Napoleon greeted Yakovlev in the throne hall at the Kremlin palace. After the usual pleasantries, Napoleon subjected Yakovev to a tirade of self-justification and complaints. He accused the Russians of acting like barbarians in despoiling their own country and deplored the conflagration that had claimed the larger part of Moscow. ‘We, of course, are not responsible for this since I have occupied almost all the capitals of Europe but not a single one of them has been burned.’17 There had never been any reason for war between Russia and France, he claimed, and if there had been one, the war should have been fought in Lithuania, not in the heartland of Russia. ‘I have no reason to be in Russia,’ Napoleon stated. ‘I do not want anything from her, as long as the Treaty of Tilsit is respected. I want to leave here, as my only quarrel is with England. Ah, if only I could take London! I would not leave that. Yes, I wish to go home. If the emperor Alexander wants peace, he only has to let me know.’18 Yet Napoleon’s tone kept veering from the cajoling to the bullying.19 ‘If Alexander wants to continue the war, I will keep on fighting as well. My soldiers impatiently demand to march on St Petersburg. So if the war continues, we will indeed march northwards and St Petersburg will share Moscow’s fate!’20 After a few more complaints and reproaches, Napoleon, adopting a much gentler tone, asked if Yakovlev would agree to deliver a message to Emperor Alexander. Yakovlev initially declined, explaining that he had ‘neither the right nor the appropriate status’ to be introduced to the Russian sovereign and so could not guarantee the success of such an undertaking. But Napoleon persisted in his demand
s until Yakovlev agreed.

  Later that night Napoleon dictated his letter to Alexander. He began by informing the tsar that ‘the beautiful and superb city of Moscow no longer exists. Rostopchin had it burnt.’ Napoleon described this conduct as ‘atrocious and pointless’, a genuine act of barbarism. ‘Is it intended to deprive me of a few supplies? But these supplies were in the cellars that the fire could not reach. Besides, why destroy one of the most beautiful cities in the world – the work of centuries – to achieve such a feeble end?’ He reminded Alexander that no other European capital or city had suffered such a fate. ‘Humanity, the interests of Your Majesty and this great city required that it be put into my hands on trust, since the Russian army left it exposed. Administrators, magistrates and civil guards should have been left there. That was what was done at Vienna, twice at Berlin and at Madrid. That was how we ourselves acted in Milan at the time of [Alexander] Suvorov’s entry [in 1799].’ He expressed his conviction that Rostopchin had acted on his own, in contravention to Alexander’s wishes or orders. In conclusion, Napoleon assured Alexander: ‘I have waged war on Your Majesty without animosity: a letter from you before or after the last battle would have halted my advance and I would have liked to be in a position to sacrifice the advantage of entering Moscow in return for it. If Your Majesty still retains some remnant of your former feelings for me, you will take this letter in good part. In any case, you cannot but be grateful for my having informed you about what is happening in Moscow.’21 In the morning of 20 September22 Lelorgne delivered this letter to Yakovlev, who used his laissez-passer23 to lead many other people out of the city. By evening he was already at Chernaya Gryaz’, where, like Rukhin before him, he encountered the Cossacks. Unlike his predecessor, who was a minor official, Yakovlev was treated well by Wintzingerode, who immediately made arrangements to transport him to St Petersburg.24