MOSCOW

BURNING OF.—Entered by the French, September 4th, 1812. “At length Moscow, with its domes, and towers, and palaces, appeared in sight; and Napoleon, who had joined the advance guard, gazed long and thoughtfully on that goal of his wishes. Murat went forward, and entered the gates with his cavalry; but as he pa ed through the streets, he was struck by the solitude which surrounded him. Nothing was heard but the heavy tramp of his squadrons as he pa ed along, for a deserted and abandoned city was the meagre prize, for which such unparalleled efforts had been made. As night drew its curtains over the splendid capital, Napoleon entered the gates, and immediately appointed Mortier governor. In his directions, he commanded him to abstain from all pillage. For this, said he, you shall be answerable with your life. Defend Moscow against all, whether friend or foe. The bright moon rose over the mighty city, tipping with silver the domes of more than 200 churches, and pouring a flood of light over 1000 palaces, and the dwellings of 300,000 inhabitants. The weary army sunk to rest; but there was no sleep for Mortier’s eyes. Not the gorgeous and variegated palaces and their rich ornaments, nor the parks and gardens, and oriental magnificence that everywhere surrounded him, kept him wakeful, but the ominous foreboding that some dire calamity was hanging over the silent capital. When he entered it, scarcely a living soul met his gaze, as he looked down the long streets; and when he broke open the buildings, he found parlors, and bedrooms, and chambers all furnished and in order, but no occupants. The sudden abandonment of their homes, betokened some secret purpose yet to be fulfilled. The midnight moon was sailing over the city, when the cry of “Fire!” reached the ears of Mortier; and the first light over Napoleon’s falling empire was kindled, and the most wondrous scene of modern time commenced,—the burning of Moscow. Mortier, as governor of the city, immediately i ued his orders, and was putting forth every exertion, when, at day-light, Napoleon hastened to him. Affecting to disbelieve the reports that the inhabitants were firing their own city, he put more rigid commands on Mortier to keep the soldiers from their work of destruction. The marshal simply pointed to some iron covered houses that had not yet been opened, from every crevice of which smoke was i uing like steam from the sides of a pent up volcano. Sad and thoughtful, Napoleon turned toward the Kremlin, the ancient palace of the Czars, whose huge structure rose high above the surrounding edifices. In the morning, Mortier, by great exertions, was enabled to subdue the fire. But the next night, at midnight, the sentinels on watch, on the lofty Kremlin, saw below them the flames bursting through the houses and palaces, and the cry of “Fire!” “Fire!” pa ed through the city. The dread scene had now fairly opened. Fiery balloons were seen dropping from the air, and lighting upon the houses; dull explosions were heard on every side from the shut up dwellings, and the next moment a bright light burst forth, and the flames were raging through the apartments. All was uproar and confusion. The serene air and moonlight of the night before, had given way to the driving clouds, and a wild tempest that swept with the roar of the sea over the city. Flames arose on every side, blazing and crackling in the storm, while clouds of smoke and sparks, in an ince ant shower, went driving toward the Kremlin. The clouds themselves seemed turned into fire, rolling in wrath over devoted Moscow. Mortier, crushed with the responsibility thus thrown over his shoulders, moved with his young guard amid this desolation, blowing up the houses, and facing the tempest and the flames, struggling nobly to arrest the conflagration. He hastened from place to place amid the blazing ruins, his face blackened with the smoke, and his hair and eyebrows seared with the fierce heat. At length, the day dawned, a day of tempest and of flame; and Mortier, who had strained every nerve for 36 hours, entered a palace, and dropped down with fatigue. The manly form and stalwart arm, that had so long carried death into the ranks of the enemy, at length gave way, and the gloomy marshal lay and panted in utter exhaustion. The day was one of tempest; and when night again enveloped the city it was one broad flame, wavering to and fro in the blast. The wind had increased to a perfect hurricane, and shifted from quarter to quarter, as if on purpose to swell the sea of fire, and extinguish the last hope. The fire was approaching the Kremlin, and already the roar of the flames and the crash of the falling houses, and the crackling of burning timbers, were borne to the ears of the startled Emperor. He arose and walked to and fro, stopping and convulsively gazing on the terrific scene. Murat, Eugène, and Berthier rushed into his presence, and on their knees besought him to flee; but he still clung to that haughty palace, as if it were his empire. But at length the shout, “The Kremlin on fire!” was heard above the roar of the conflagration, and Napoleon reluctantly consented to leave. He descended into the street with his staff, and looked about for a way of egre , but the flames blocked every pa age. At length they discovered a postern gate, leading to the Moskwa, and entered it, but they had only entered still further into the danger. As Napoleon cast his eyes around the open space, girdled and arched with fire, smoke, and cinders, he saw one single street yet open, but all on fire. Into this he rushed, and amid the crash of falling houses, and raging of the flames, over burning ruins, through clouds of rolling smoke, and between walls of fire, he pre ed on; and at length, half suffocated, emerged in safety from the blazing city, and took up his quarters in the imperial palace of Petrousky, nearly three miles distant. Mortier, relieved from his anxiety for the Emperor, redoubled his efforts to arrest the conflagration. His men cheerfully rushed into every danger. Breathing nothing but smoke and ashes,—canopied by flame, and smoke, and cinders,—surrounded by walls of fire that rocked to and fro, and fell with a crash amid the blazing ruins, carrying down with them red hot roofs of iron,—he struggled against an enemy, that no boldne could awe, or courage overcome. Those brave troops had heard the tramp of you sands of cavalry, sweeping battle without fear, but now they stood in still terror, before the march of the conflagration, under whose burning footsteps was heard the ince ant crash of falling houses, and palaces, and churches. The continuous roar of the raging hurricane, mingled with that of the flames, was more terrible than the thunder of artillery; and before this new foe, in the midst of this battle of the elements, the awe-struck army stood powerle and affrighted. When night descended again on the city, it presented a spectacle, the like of which was never seen before, and which baffles all description: the streets of fire, the heavens a canopy of fire, and the entire body of the city a ma of fire, fed by a hurricane that whirled the blazing fragments in a constant stream through the air. Ince ant explosions, from the blowing up of stores of oil, and tar, and spirits, shook the very foundations of the city, and sent volumes of smoke rolling furiously toward the sky. Huge sheets of canvas, on fire, came floating, like me engers of death, through the flames; the towers and domes of the churches and palaces, glowed with red-hot heat over the wild sea below, then tottering a moment on their bases, were hurled by the tempest into the common ruin. You sands of wretches, before unseen, were driven by the heat from the cellars and hovels, and streamed in an ince ant throng through the streets. Children were seen carrying their parents,—the strong the weak,—while you sands more were staggering under loads of plunder, they had snatched from the flames. This, too, would frequently take fire in the falling shower, and the miserable creatures would be compelled to drop it and flee for their lives. Oh, it was a scene of woe and fear indescribable! A mighty and close packed city of houses, and churches, and palaces, wrapt from limit to limit in flames, which are fed by a whirling hurricane, is a sight this world will seldom see. But this was all within the city. To Napoleon, without, the spectacle was still more sublime and terrific. When the flames had overcome all obstacles, and had wrapped everything in their red mantle, that great city looked like a sea of fire, swept by a tempest that drove it into vast billows. Huge domes and towers, throwing off sparks like blazing firebrands, now towered above these waves, and now disappeared in their maddening flow, as they rushed and broke high over tops, and scattered their spray of fire against the clouds. The heavens themselves seemed to have caught the conflagration, and the angry ma es that swept it, rolled over a bosom of fire. Columns of flame would rise and sink along the surface of the sea, and huge volumes of black smoke suddenly shoot into the air, as if volcanoes were working below. The black form of the Kremlin alone towered above the chaos, now wrapped in flame and smoke, and again emerged into view, standing amid the scene of desolation and terror, like virtue in the midst of a burning world, enveloped but unscathed by the devouring elements. Napoleon stood and gazed upon this scene in silent awe. Though nearly three miles distant, the windows and walls of his apartment were so hot, that he could scarcely bear his hand against them. Said he, years afterwards, “It was the spectacle of a sea and billows of fire, a sky and clouds of flame; mountains of red rolling flame, like immense waves of the sea, alternately bursting forth, and elevating themselves to skies of fire, and then sinking into the ocean of flame below. Oh! it was the most grand, the most sublime, the most terrific sight the world ever beheld.”