Book Eleven: 1812 - Chapter XIX

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Kutuzov's order to retreat through Moscow to the Ryazan road wasissued at night on the first of September.

　　The first troops started at once, and during the night theymarched slowly and steadily without hurry. At daybreak, however, thosenearing the town at the Dorogomilov bridge saw ahead of them masses ofsoldiers crowding and hurrying across the bridge, ascending on theopposite side and blocking the streets and alleys, while endlessmasses of troops were bearing down on them from behind, and anunreasoning hurry and alarm overcame them. They all rushed forwardto the bridge, onto it, and to the fords and the boats. Kutuzovhimself had driven round by side streets to the other side of Moscow.

　　By ten o'clock in the morning of the second of September, only therear guard remained in the Dorogomilov suburb, where they had ampleroom. The main army was on the other side of Moscow or beyond it.

　　At that very time, at ten in the morning of the second of September,Napoleon was standing among his troops on the Poklonny Hill looking atthe panorama spread out before him. From the twenty-sixth of August tothe second of September, that is from the battle of Borodino to theentry of the French into Moscow, during the whole of that agitating,memorable week, there had been the extraordinary autumn weather thatalways comes as a surprise, when the sun hangs low and gives more heatthan in spring, when everything shines so brightly in the rare clearatmosphere that the eyes smart, when the lungs are strengthened andrefreshed by inhaling the aromatic autumn air, when even the nightsare warm, and when in those dark warm nights, golden stars startle anddelight us continually by falling from the sky.

　　At ten in the morning of the second of September this weatherstill held.

　　The brightness of the morning was magical. Moscow seen from thePoklonny Hill lay spaciously spread out with her river, her gardens,and her churches, and she seemed to be living her usual life, hercupolas glittering like stars in the sunlight.

　　The view of the strange city with its peculiar architecture, such ashe had never seen before, filled Napoleon with the rather enviousand uneasy curiosity men feel when they see an alien form of life thathas no knowledge of them. This city was evidently living with the fullforce of its own life. By the indefinite signs which, even at adistance, distinguish a living body from a dead one, Napoleon from thePoklonny Hill perceived the throb of life in the town and felt, asit were, the breathing of that great and beautiful body.

　　Every Russian looking at Moscow feels her to be a mother; everyforeigner who sees her, even if ignorant of her significance as themother city, must feel her feminine character, and Napoleon felt it.

　　"Cette ville asiatique aux innombrables eglises, Moscou la sainte.La voila done enfin, cette fameuse ville! Il etait temps,"* said he,and dismounting he ordered a plan of Moscow to be spread out beforehim, and summoned Lelorgne d'Ideville, the interpreter.

　　*"That Asiatic city of the innumerable churches, holy Moscow! Hereit is then at last, that famous city. It was high time."

　　"A town captured by the enemy is like a maid who has lost herhonor," thought he (he had said so to Tuchkov at Smolensk). Fromthat point of view he gazed at the Oriental beauty he had not seenbefore. It seemed strange to him that his long-felt wish, which hadseemed unattainable, had at last been realized. In the clear morninglight he gazed now at the city and now at the plan, considering itsdetails, and the assurance of possessing it agitated and awed him.

　　"But could it be otherwise?" he thought. "Here is this capital at myfeet. Where is Alexander now, and of what is he thinking? A strange,beautiful, and majestic city; and a strange and majestic moment! Inwhat light must I appear to them!" thought he, thinking of his troops."Here she is, the reward for all those fainthearted men," hereflected, glancing at those near him and at the troops who wereapproaching and forming up. "One word from me, one movement of myhand, and that ancient capital of the Tsars would perish. But myclemency is always ready to descend upon the vanquished. I must bemagnanimous and truly great. But no, it can't be true that I am inMoscow," he suddenly thought. "Yet here she is lying at my feet,with her golden domes and crosses scintillating and twinkling in thesunshine. But I shall spare her. On the ancient monuments of barbarismand despotism I will inscribe great words of justice and mercy....It is just this which Alexander will feel most painfully, I know him."(It seemed to Napoleon that the chief import of what was takingplace lay in the personal struggle between himself and Alexander.)"From the height of the Kremlin- yes, there is the Kremlin, yes- Iwill give them just laws; I will teach them the meaning of truecivilization, I will make generations of boyars remember theirconqueror with love. I will tell the deputation that I did not, and donot, desire war, that I have waged war only against the false policyof their court; that I love and respect Alexander and that in Moscow Iwill accept terms of peace worthy of myself and of my people. I do notwish to utilize the fortunes of war to humiliate an honored monarch.'Boyars,' I will say to them, 'I do not desire war, I desire the peaceand welfare of all my subjects.' However, I know their presence willinspire me, and I shall speak to them as I always do: clearly,impressively, and majestically. But can it be true that I am inMoscow? Yes, there she lies."

　　"Qu'on m'amene les boyars,"* said he to his suite.

　　*"Bring the boyars to me."

　　A general with a brilliant suite galloped off at once to fetch theboyars.

　　Two hours passed. Napoleon had lunched and was again standing in thesame place on the Poklonny Hill awaiting the deputation. His speech tothe boyars had already taken definite shape in his imagination. Thatspeech was full of dignity and greatness as Napoleon understood it.

　　He was himself carried away by the tone of magnanimity he intendedto adopt toward Moscow. In his imagination he appointed days forassemblies at the palace of the Tsars, at which Russian notables andhis own would mingle. He mentally appointed a governor, one whowould win the hearts of the people. Having learned that there weremany charitable institutions in Moscow he mentally decided that hewould shower favors on them all. He thought that, as in Africa hehad to put on a burnoose and sit in a mosque, so in Moscow he mustbe beneficent like the Tsars. And in order finally to touch the heartsof the Russians- and being like all Frenchmen unable to imagineanything sentimental without a reference to ma chere, ma tendre, mapauvre mere* - he decided that he would place an inscription on allthese establishments in large letters: "This establishment isdedicated to my dear mother." Or no, it should be simply: Maison de maMere,*[2] he concluded. "But am I really in Moscow? Yes, here itlies before me, but why is the deputation from the city so long inappearing?" he wondered.

　　*"My dear, my tender, my poor mother."

　　*[2] "House of my Mother."

　　Meanwhile an agitated consultation was being carried on inwhispers among his generals and marshals at the rear of his suite.Those sent to fetch the deputation had returned with the news thatMoscow was empty, that everyone had left it. The faces of those whowere not conferring together were pale and perturbed. They were notalarmed by the fact that Moscow had been abandoned by itsinhabitants (grave as that fact seemed), but by the question how totell the Emperor- without putting him in the terrible position ofappearing ridiculous- that he had been awaiting the boyars so longin vain: that there were drunken mobs left in Moscow but no oneelse. Some said that a deputation of some sort must be scrapedtogether, others disputed that opinion and maintained that the Emperorshould first be carefully and skillfully prepared, and then told thetruth.

　　"He will have to be told, all the same," said some gentlemen ofthe suite. "But, gentlemen..."

　　The position was the more awkward because the Emperor, meditatingupon his magnanimous plans, was pacing patiently up and down beforethe outspread map, occasionally glancing along the road to Moscow fromunder his lifted hand with a bright and proud smile.

　　"But it's impossible..." declared the gentlemen of the suite,shrugging their shoulders but not venturing to utter the implied word-le ridicule...

　　At last the Emperor, tired of futile expectation, his actor'sinstinct suggesting to him that the sublime moment having been toolong drawn out was beginning to lose its sublimity, gave a sign withhis hand. A single report of a signaling gun followed, and the troops,who were already spread out on different sides of Moscow, moved intothe city through Tver, Kaluga, and Dorogomilov gates. Faster andfaster, vying with one another, they moved at the double or at a trot,vanishing amid the clouds of dust they raised and making the airring with a deafening roar of mingling shouts.

　　Drawn on by the movement of his troops Napoleon rode with them asfar as the Dorogomilov gate, but there again stopped and,dismounting from his horse, paced for a long time by theKammer-Kollezski rampart, awaiting the deputation.