English Caricature and Satire on Napoleon I. Volume II (of 2)

CHAPTER XLVIII

FAILURE OF EXPEDITIONS TO SPAIN, PORTUGAL, AND HOLLAND – NAPOLEON’S WOOING OF, AND MARRIAGE WITH, MARIA LOUISA – BIRTH OF THE KING OF ROME – NAPOLEON IN THE NURSERY

In closing the record of this year, I cannot omit to mention the fact of the failures of the expeditions to Spain, Portugal, and Holland. The latter, or Walcheren expedition, as it was called, was just returning in a woful plight, fever having thoroughly done its work among the troops; and, in December, the City of London, through the Lord Mayor, memorialised the King on the subject of this latter expedition, and prayed ‘your Majesty will direct enquiry to be forthwith instituted, in order to ascertain the causes which have occasioned it.’

‘To which Address and Petition his Majesty was graciously pleased to return the following answer: —

‘“I thank you for your expressions of duty and attachment to me and to my Family.

‘“The recent Expedition to the Scheldt was directed to several objects of great importance in the interest of my Allies, and to the security of my dominions.

‘“I regret that, of these objects, a part only has been accomplished. I have not judged it necessary to direct any Military Inquiry into the conduct of my Commanders by sea or land, in this conjoint service.

‘“It will be for my Parliament, in their wisdom, to ask for such information, or to take such measures upon this subject as they shall judge most conducive to the public good.”’

This was the Royal, or Ministerial, snubbing to those men who were then giving of their blood, and treasure, without stint, and without grumble.

The ‘Times’ of December 21, 1809, is very wroth about it, and the sturdy citizens answered it by having a Common Hall on January 9, 1810, at which it was resolved that instructions be given to the representatives of the City, to move or support an address to his Majesty, praying an inquiry into the cause of the failures of the late expeditions to Spain, Portugal, and Holland; they also voted a similar address themselves; and asserted a right to deliver their addresses or petitions to the King upon his throne. But they got no redress.

The year 1810 is mostly noteworthy to the caricaturist by Napoleon’s second marriage. On February 1, 1810, a grand council was called together to help the Emperor in selecting another empress. But Napoleon had not been wasting his time since his divorce from Josephine. He had sent to the Emperor Alexander, proposing to marry his sister, the Grand Duchess Anna Paulovna; but the Russian Emperor, although he professed great friendship for Napoleon, hardly cared about a closer alliance with him, and the proposal was declined.

The Council, in their wisdom, thought of an Austrian princess, and a proposal was made to the Austrian ambassador for the hand of the Arch-Duchess Maria Louisa, the result of which should have been, if there is any truth in the old rhyme,

 
Happy’s the wooing
That’s not long a-doing,
 

the perfection of bliss to the principal parties concerned. It was all settled in four-and-twenty hours, and Berthier, as Napoleon’s proxy, married Maria Louisa at Vienna on March 11, and, two days afterwards, she started on her journey to France.

We are indebted to Madame Junot for an insight into her innocent and childlike character: ‘At length the day of departure arrived. The young Empress bade farewell to all the members of her family, and then retired to her apartment, where etiquette required that she should wait till Berthier came to conduct her to her carriage. When Berthier entered the cabinet, he found her bathed in tears. With a voice choked with sobs, she apologised for appearing so childish: “But,” says she, “my grief is excusable. See how I am surrounded here by a thousand things that are dear to me. These are my sister’s drawings; that tapestry was wrought by my mother; those paintings are by my uncle Charles.” In this manner she went through the inventory of her cabinet, and there was scarcely a thing, down to the carpet on the floor, which was not the work of some beloved hand.

‘There were her singing birds, her parrot, and, above all, the object which she seemed to value most, and most to regret – a little dog. It was of course known at the Court of Vienna how greatly the Emperor used to be annoyed by Josephine’s favourite pet dogs, with Fortuné at their head. Therefore, Francis II., like a prudent father, took care that his daughter should leave her pet dog at Vienna. Yet it was a cruel separation, and the princess and her favourite parted with a tender duo of complaint.’

But the surprises in store for her on her journey soon made her forget her dog and parrot. She was met at Braunau by Caroline Bonaparte, Queen of Naples, and sister of the Emperor. At this place, on the frontier of Austria and Bavaria (the latter of which was then part of the French empire), a wooden building had been erected for the use of the French and Austrian suites. Napoleon could play many parts, and he played the rôle of devoted lover to perfection. At Munich an officer met the new Empress with a letter from her husband. At Strasburg a page was waiting for her with another letter, some choice flowers, and some pheasants shot by the imperial gun; and every morning brought a page with a letter, which the young bride immediately answered.

Every detail of her progress had been settled with rigid ceremonial, and at one place (Compiègne) it was appointed that he was to meet her, when ‘the Empress should prepare to kneel, and the Emperor should raise her, embrace, and seat her beside him.’ But the imperial bridegroom was far too impatient for that. Accompanied by the King of Naples (Murat), he left the palace privately, and pushed on to the village of Courcelles, where he anxiously awaited her arrival. When the carriage stopped, he ran towards it, opened the door himself, and jumped in without any announcement, the bride being only advised of his advent a moment before by the startled exclamation of the Queen of Spain: ‘It is the Emperor!’

Two days afterwards they made their state entry into Paris, where Napoleon, from a balcony at the Tuileries, presented his young bride to the assembled multitude.

Once more to quote Madame Junot: ‘On returning from the balcony, he said to her, “Well, Louise, I must give you some little reward for the happiness you have conferred on me,” and, leading her into one of the narrow corridors of the palace, lighted only by one lamp, he hurried on with his beloved Empress, who exclaimed, “Where are we going?” – “Come, Louise, are you afraid to follow me?” replied the Emperor, who now pressed to his bosom, with much affectionate tenderness, his young bride.

‘Suddenly they stopped at a closed door, within which they heard a dog that was endeavouring to escape from the apparent prison. The Emperor opened this private door, and desired Louise to enter. She found herself in a room magnificently lighted; the glare of the lamps prevented her for some moments from distinguishing any object. Imagine her surprise when she found her favourite dog from Vienna was there to greet her; the apartment was furnished with the same chairs, carpet, the paintings of her sisters, her birds – in short, every object was there, and placed in the same manner as she had left them on quitting her paternal roof.

‘The Empress, in joy and gratitude, threw herself in Napoleon’s arms, and the moment of a great victory would not have been to the conqueror of the world so sweet as this instant of ecstasy was to the infatuated heart of the adoring bridegroom. After a few minutes had been spent in examining the apartment, the Emperor opened a small door; he beckoned to Berthier, who entered. Napoleon then said, “Louise, it is to him you are indebted for this unexpected joy: I desire you will embrace him, as a just recompense.” Berthier took the hand of the Empress; but the Emperor added, “No, no, you must kiss my old and faithful friend.”’

The civil marriage was celebrated on April 1 at St. Cloud, and the religious marriage on the 2nd in the Chapel of the Louvre; Napoleon’s uncle, Cardinal Fesch, officiating.

We have just read the real story of the wooing and home-coming; I will not spoil it by repeating the caricaturist’s version, quoting only a few lines: —

 
Louisa off for Paris set,
And by her anxious swain was met.
To see the lady, what a throng!
The road with flow’rs they strew’d along.
No sooner Nap beheld her charms
Than round the maid he threw his arms,
And gave her a true lover’s kiss,
As prelude to his greater bliss.
 

* * * * *

 
Oh what rejoicings and what fêtes!
What hurly-burly in the streets!
The marriage, as it was advised,
Now publicly was solemnized;
The first of April, as they say,
Was chosen for the happy day,
When children, in and out of school,
Are trying to make each a fool.
 

This year is so unproductive of Napoleonic caricatures, that I can only find one worth mentioning, and this is apropos of the marriage: it is called ‘Three Weeks after Marriage, or the Great little Emperor playing at Bo-peep,’ and is by Rowlandson (May 15, 1810). It shows the conjugal relations of Napoleon and his Empress, as they were supposed to be. She is in a violent rage, and, having knocked down Talleyrand, she hits him over the head with a sceptre; he, meanwhile, making moan: ‘Begar she will give us all de finishing stroke. I shall never rise again.’ She has plucked off her crown, and is about to throw it at the Emperor, who dodges behind an armchair, calling out, ‘Oh Tally, Tally, rise and rally.’ She fiercely declaims, ‘By the head of Jove, I hate him worse than Famine or Disease. Perish his Family; let inveterate Hate commence between our Houses from this Moment, and, meeting, never let them bloodless part.’ Somebody, probably one of the marshals, has got behind the curtains for safety, calling out, ‘Marblue. Vat a Crown Cracker she be.’

At the time of the marriage the English newspapers were much taken up with Sir Francis Burdett, and consequently Napoleon’s marriage did not receive the attention it otherwise might have claimed. In a notice of the religious ceremony, however, the ‘Times’ breaks out with a little bit of spite, ‘The Imperial Ruffian, and his spouse, again knelt at the “Ite, missa est.”’

The only other great event during this year, connected with Napoleon, was the abdication of the crown of Holland by his brother Louis, and the absorption of his kingdom into the French empire.

The birth of the King of Rome (on March 20, 1811) at last gave Napoleon the hope of founding a dynasty. He was very anxious about the welfare of Maria Louisa, hardly bestowing a thought upon his son, until assured of her safety.

‘As²¹ soon as the King of Rome was born, the event was announced by telegraph to all the principal towns of the empire. At four o’clock the same afternoon, the marks of rejoicing in the provinces equalled those in Paris. The Emperor’s couriers, pages, and officers, were despatched to the different foreign Courts, with intelligence of the happy event. The Senate of Italy, and the municipal bodies of Rome and Milan, had immediate notice of it. The different fortresses received orders to fire salutes; the seaports were enlivened by the display of colours from the vessels; and everywhere the people voluntarily illuminated their houses. Those who regard these popular demonstrations as expressions of the secret sentiments of a people might have remarked that in all the faubourgs, as well as the lowest and poorest quarters of Paris, the houses were illuminated to the very uttermost stories. A fête was got up on the occasion by the watermen of the Seine, which was prolonged until a late hour of the night. Much of all this was not ordered: it came spontaneously from the hearts of the people. That same people, who, for thirty-five years previously, had experienced so many emotions, had wept over so many reverses, and had rejoiced for so many victories, still showed, by their enthusiasm on this occasion, that they retained affections as warm and vivid as in the morning of their greatness.

‘The King of Rome was baptized on the very day of his birth (March 20, 1811). The ceremony was performed, at nine in the evening, in the chapel of the Tuileries. The whole of the imperial family attended, and the Emperor witnessed the ceremony with the deepest emotion. Napoleon proceeded to the chapel, followed by the members of the household, those of the Empress, of Madame Mère, the princesses, his sisters, and of the kings, his brothers. He took his station under a canopy in the centre of the chapel, having before him a stool to kneel on. A socle of granite had been placed on a carpet of white velvet embroidered with gold bees, and on the socle stood a gold vase destined for the baptismal font. When the Emperor approached the font bearing the King of Rome in his arms, the most profound silence pervaded. It was a religious silence, unaccompanied by the parade which might have been expected on such an occasion. This stillness formed a striking contrast with the joyous acclamations of the people outside.’

The news was announced to the British public in the ‘Times’ of March 25; and in the ‘Morning Herald’ of March 26 is an amusing

Impromptu

On the French General Victor’s Defeat before Cadiz

 
His Victor vanquish’d, and his Eagle taken,
Boney will stay at home to save his bacon;
Sip Caudle with his wife, and for young Nap,
Make with parental daddle, sugar’d pap;
Content to see the Nurs’ry colours fly,
By holding out his bantling’s clouts to dry.
 

Rowlandson caricatures the birth of the King of Rome (April 9, 1811) in ‘Boney the Second, or the little Babboon created to devour French Monkies.’ The young Napoleon, naked, with the exception of a cocked hat, but with the cloven hoofs, and tail, of a devil, is being presented on a cushion to his father by a very buxom nurse. The cushion rests on a cradle, on which is inscribed ‘Devil’s Darling.’ Napoleon is looking after the nursery arrangements, and is cooking a caudle of ‘French blood,’ which is to be drunk out of a ‘Bitter Cup.’ He turns his face towards his little son, and exclaims: ‘Rejoice O ye Frenchmen, the Fruits of my Labour has produced a little image of myself. I shall, for the love I owe to your country, instill in my Noble Offspring the same principles of Lying, Thieving, Treachery, Letchery, Murder, and all other foul deeds for which I am now worshipped and adored.’ The Pope is on his knees pronouncing a benediction, which, however, is of rather doubtful character.

 
The Owl shrieked at thy Birth, an evil Sight,²²
The Night Crow cry’d foreboding luckless time,
Dogs howl’d, and hideous Tempests shook down Trees,
The Raven rook’d her on the Chimney Top,
And Chattering Pies in dismal discord sung.
 

Napoleon was very fond of his little boy, and the caricaturist represents him in the nursery, thus —

 
But in his babe he found relief,
This was a cure for all his grief,
For his delightful dulcet squall
Wou’d not allow a tear to fall.
What wondrous splendor was devised
When the dear Infant was baptized;
For Emperors, Kings, Queens, and Dukes
Assembled with their smiling looks,
Bestowing their congratulations,
And making curious observations.
With curiosity they eyed
The King of Rome – the father’s pride,
And some old gossips cried ‘Oh la!
How he resembles his papa.’
 

Madame Junot gives some interesting details of Napoleon as a father: – ‘On my return to France, I found the Emperor much altered in appearance. His features had acquired a paternal character. What a beautiful child was the young King of Rome! How lovely he appeared as he rode through the gardens of the Tuileries in his shell-shaped calèche, drawn by two young deer, which had been trained by Franconi, and which were given him by his aunt, the Queen of Naples. He resembled one of those figures of Cupid which have been discovered in the ruins of Herculaneum. One day I had been visiting the young King, the Emperor was also there, and he was playing with the child – as he always played with those he loved – that is to say, he was tormenting him. The Emperor had been riding, and held in his hand a whip, which attracted the child’s notice. He stretched out his little hand, and when he seized the whip, burst into a fit of laughter, at the same time embracing his father. “Is he not a fine boy, Madame Junot?” said the Emperor; “you must confess that he is.” I could say so without flattery, for he certainly was a lovely boy. “You were not at Paris,” continued the Emperor, “when my son was born. It was on that day I learned how much the Parisians love me… What did the army say on the birth of the child?” I told him the soldiers were enthusiastic during many days; he had already heard so, but was happy to receive a confirmation of their joy. He then pinched his son’s cheek and his nose; the child cried. “Come, come, sir,” said the Emperor, “do you suppose you are never to be thwarted, and do kings cry?”… He used to take the King of Rome in his arms, and toss him up in the air. The child would then laugh, until the tears stood in his eyes. Sometimes the Emperor would take him before a looking-glass, and work his face into all sorts of grimaces; and, if the child was frightened and shed tears, Napoleon would say: “What, Sire, do you cry? A King, and cry? Shame, Shame!”

‘The hours at which the young King was taken to the Emperor were not precisely fixed, nor could they be, but his visits were most frequently at the time of déjeûner. On these occasions the Emperor would give the child a little claret, by dipping his finger in the glass, and making him suck it. Sometimes he would daub the young Prince’s face with gravy. The child would laugh heartily at seeing his father as much a child as he was himself, and only loved him the more for it. Children invariably love those who play with them. I recollect that once when Napoleon had daubed the young King’s face, the child was highly amused, and asked the Emperor to do the same to Maman Quiou, for so he called his governess, Madame de Montesquiou.’

Rowlandson’s idea of the royal infant is given in a caricature (published April 14, 1811) called, ‘Nursing the Spawn of a Tyrant, or Frenchmen Sick of the Brood.’²³ Maria Louisa is aghast at her offspring, who, screaming, threatens her with a dagger. She thus pours out her woes: ‘There’s no condition sure, so curst as mine! Day and night to dandle such a dragon – the little angry cur snarls while it feeds; see how the blood is settled in its scarecrow face; what brutal mischief sits upon his brow. Rage and vengeance sparkle in his cheeks; the very spawn and spit of its tyrant father. Nay, now I look again, he is the very picture of his grandfather, the Devil!’ This must have been pleasant for Napoleon to hear, which he evidently does, as he is but partially concealed behind a curtain.

Some one (name unknown, August 20, 1811) has given us, ‘The Deputeys apointed by the Legislative Body, doing Homage to the King of Rome in the Nursery at St. Cloud.’ His gouvernante, Madame de Montesquiou, presents him to the Deputies, who kneel and kiss him, saying: ‘Madam Governess – not one of us can behold without a most lively interest, that August Infant – on whom rest so many Destinies, and whose Age and Charming Qualities inspire the most tender sentiments in the French and surrounding Nations.’ The lady replies: ‘Monsieurs – I thank you for the polite and flattering encomiums you are pleased to bestow on me – I thank you in the name of the young prince, whose Charms are inexpressible, and regret that he cannot add his personal sentiments to those which I entertain, to the Legislative Body.’ In another portion of the picture the foul linen of the precious child is being washed and hung to dry.

CHAPTER XLIX

A NAVAL ENGAGEMENT – NAPOLEON’S TOUR IN GERMANY – DECLARATION OF WAR WITH RUSSIA – ENTRY INTO WILNA – SMOLENSKO – BORODINO – ENTRY INTO MOSCOW – BURNING OF THE CITY – NAPOLEON’S RETREAT

The next caricature requires some little explanation. We find in the ‘Courier’ of September 20, 1811, the following paragraph: – ‘Dover, September 19. Early this morning we heard a heavy firing on the opposite shore; it continued at times all the morning, and was very hot about one o’clock; the wind is to the southward, and eastward, which makes us hear very plain; no news has arrived as to the cause; by some it is conjectured that Buonaparte is at Boulogne, and by others, that the flotilla is out, and some of our cruisers firing at them. It still continues, though not so heavy as in the early part of the day.’

Details did not arrive till the 22nd, and then the ‘Courier’ published an account of the naval engagement off Boulogne, on which the caricature is evidently grounded: ‘The cause of the incessant firing on the French Coast, is now ascertained to be an engagement between the Naiad, 3 sloops, and a cutter, and 7 large French praams, each as large as a frigate, 11 gun brigs, and other small craft, 27 in all. The following letter gives an account of the engagement: – We took the Port Admiral in his praam, but afterwards ran off – However we took another, and brought her away – Buonaparte saw the engagement – he was in a boat with Marshall Ney.’

All accounts, though they do not agree in the number of French vessels engaged, are singularly unanimous as to the presence of Napoleon and Ney.

‘The first glorious exploit of the Invincible Flotilla. Devils among the Flats, or Boney getting into Hot Water’ (unknown artist, September 20, 1811), represents one of the Flotilla returning much damaged, and full of corpses, only the captain and a steersman alive on board. Napoleon, who is in another boat, is in a fearful rage, tries to get at him, and is restrained by one of his marshals (Ney) – who remarks, ‘Ma foi, take care, your Majesty will be in hot water up to the chin’ – from throwing himself into the boiling water. ‘You scoundrel,’ says he, ‘how dare you run away when you were 27 to 5. I’ll order the guns of the batteries to sink every one of you.’ But the captain excuses himself, ‘Eh bien, mais, mon Empereur, you tell us de Jack Anglais be men, mais, by Gar, we find dem Devils.’ To which a man in Napoleon’s boat replies, ‘Very true Monsieur Ney, de devils Jack Bulls make hot water all over de Vorld.’ The spirit of Nelson appears, like a comet in the sky, darting lightning at the Flotilla.

The year 1812 was not fruitful in caricature of Napoleon. In May, accompanied by Maria Louisa, he visited the eastern part of France, met the King and Queen of Saxony at Freyburg, and entered Dresden in state. There he met the Emperor and Empress of Austria, the King of Prussia, and the Kings of Saxony, Naples, Würtemberg, Westphalia, and Bavaria, besides a heap of smaller potentates. The Emperor of Russia was not present; he had concluded an alliance with Sweden against France, an alliance which was afterwards, during this year, joined by Great Britain. In June, Napoleon visited Dantzig, and left it on the 11th. As a final measure, Count Lauriston was sent to Alexander, to see if the difference could be patched up, but the breach was made inevitable by the refusal of that monarch, or his ministers, to see him.

This decided Napoleon, and, from his head-quarters at Wilkowisky, he issued the following proclamation: ‘Soldiers! the second war of Poland has commenced. The first was terminated at Friedland and Tilsit. At Tilsit, Russia swore eternal alliance with France, and war against England. She has openly violated her oath; and refuses to render any explanation of her strange conduct, till the French eagles shall have repassed the Rhine, and, consequently, left their Allies at her discretion. Russia is impelled onward by fatality. Her destiny is about to be accomplished. Does she believe that we have degenerated? that we are no longer the soldiers of Austerlitz? She has placed us between dishonour and war: the choice cannot for a moment be doubtful. Let us march forward then, and, crossing the Niemen, carry the war into her territories! The second war of Poland will be to the French arms as glorious as the first; but our next peace must carry with it its own guarantee, and put an end to that arrogant influence which, for the last fifty years, Russia has exercised over the affairs of Europe.’

In No. 1 of a series of caricatures on the Russian campaign, published in April 1813, and seemingly by G. Cruikshank, is represented, ‘The Parting of Hector-Nap, and Andromache, or Russia threatened.’ Napoleon’s horse is waiting for him, the windows are crowded with ladies to see the departure. Napoleon is ecstatic at the sight of his little son, who is held aloft by Maria Louisa. The young King of Rome flourishes a sword, and says, ‘I will kill the people, as my Papa does.’ His mother wishes him to ‘Kiss him, then, my dear! and he will bring you some of the naughty Russians to kill.’ Napoleon bids ‘Farewell! I go, I’ll see, I’ll conquer. On my return I’ll greet our Son with a new Title.

 
That’s right, my boy, cause war to rage
And rise the Tyrant of a future age.’
 

Napoleon started on this disastrous campaign, which was the prelude to his downfall, with an army of about four hundred and twenty thousand men, most of them doomed to perish in the snows of Russia. The river Niemen was crossed, and, on June 28, Napoleon made his public entry into Wilna, which had not long since, and very hurriedly, been evacuated by the Emperor Alexander.

But even the commencement of this campaign was marked by disaster. Napoleon had arranged all the details; but the incompetence, or worse, of his subordinates failed to carry them out. After the Niemen had been crossed, not a third of the provisions necessary for the army had arrived, and at Wilna it was found that some hundreds of men had perished from want and fatigue. The mortality was worse among the horses, having lost about ten thousand. Before a battle was fought, and scarcely a month from the commencement of the campaign, there were twenty-five thousand sick men in the hospitals at Wilna.

Napoleon waited a fortnight at Wilna; but the Russians were driven back from Ostrovno, by Murat, and more time was consumed at Witepsk. Then came the attack on Smolensko, on August 16 and 17, when the French lost 15,000, and the Russians 10,000 men, and the Russians still kept the city. But next day, when the French again advanced against it, they found it deserted. For this the Russian general, Barclay de Tolly, was deprived of his command, forasmuch as he had given up a holy city to the enemy without fighting a pitched battle for its preservation.

But, to proceed somewhat chronologically, we must remember that, on July 22, Wellington gained a great victory at Salamanca, where the French lost eleven pieces of cannon, two eagles, and six colours, one general, 136 other officers, and 7,000 prisoners. The general public did not know this news till the 4th of August, and the illuminations in its honour did not take place till the 17th, 18th, and 19th of August. It is to this event, doubtless, that the following refers.

In September 1812 was published a caricature of ‘British Welcome or a Visit from the Bantam to the Lion.

 
Though Bantam Boney claps his wings,
Yet this we may rely on:
He’ll turn his tail and run away
Whene’er he meets the Lion.’
 

And that is precisely as he is represented in the caricature. The pursuing lion says, ‘So, my little Bantam, you are come to pay me a visit – Well lets have a shake of your claw.’ But the bantam, with a very terrified expression of countenance, declines: ‘Excusé moi, Monsr le Lion, you gripe too hard.’

The battle of Borodino (or, as the French call it, Moskowa) was fought on September 7, and was, probably, the bloodiest of all Napoleon’s battles, but it laid Moscow open to the conqueror.

 
But soon the cloudless sun was gone,
And a thick fog arose thereon —
Nap prais’d the fog – indeed he did,
Because his movements would be hid —
And to the army, in array,
This was the order of the day —
‘Brave soldiers! fight for endless glory,
The wish’d-for field now lies before ye,
You’ll with abundance be supplied,
Good winter quarters, too, beside —
A quick return home – that is more;
Then fight, my lads, as heretofore;
Posterity will say —There’s one
Who was at Moscow when ’twas won.’
The French and Russians now engaged,
And furiously the battle raged;
In great confusion, and dismay,
Poor Boney’s scatter’d troops gave way;
Our hero his assaults repeated,
And still the wounded French retreated.
‘This battle,’ Nap exclaim’d, ‘has been,
The greatest that was ever seen.’
And true enough, our hero said,
For eighty thousand men lay dead.
 

The French entered Moscow on September 14, a day that Napoleon must have bitterly rued. I do not think the burning of this city could be better told than by Napoleon’s own words²⁴: ‘Had it not been for that fire at Moscow, I should have succeeded. I would have wintered there. There were in that city about forty thousand citizens, who were, in a manner, slaves. For you must know that the Russian nobility keep their vassals in a sort of slavery. I would have proclaimed liberty to all the slaves in Russia, and abolished vassalage and nobility. This would have procured me the union of an immense and powerful party. I would either have made a peace at Moscow, or else I would have marched the next year to Petersburg.

‘Alexander was assured of it, and sent his diamonds, valuables, and ships to England. Had it not been for that fire, I should have succeeded in everything. I beat them, two days before, in a great action at Moskowa; I attacked the Russian army of two hundred and fifty thousand strong, entrenched up to their necks, with ninety thousand, and totally defeated them. Seventy thousand Russians lay upon the field. They had the impudence to say that they had gained the battle, though two days after, I marched into Moscow. I was in the midst of a fine city, provisioned for a year, for in Russia they always lay in provisions for several months before the frost sets in. Stores of all kinds were in plenty. The houses of the inhabitants were well provided, and many had left their servants to attend upon us. In most of them there was a note left by the proprietor, begging the French officers who took possession to take care of their furniture and other things: that they had left every article necessary for our wants, and hoped to return in a few days, when the Emperor Alexander had accommodated matters, at which time they would be happy to see us. Many ladies remained behind. They knew that I had been in Berlin and Vienna with my armies, and that no injury had been done to the inhabitants; and, moreover, they expected a speedy peace. We were in hopes of enjoying ourselves in winter quarters, with every prospect of success in the spring. Two days after our arrival, a fire was discovered, which, at first, was not supposed to be alarming, but to have been caused by the soldiers kindling their fires too near the houses, which were chiefly of wood. I was angry at this, and issued very strict orders on the subject to the commandants of regiments and others.