secret recesses of their houses. As the fire spread around, we saw them rushing in despair from their various asylums. They uttered no imprecation; they breathed no complaint: fear had rendered them dumb: and hastily snatching up their most precious effects, they fled before the flames.

Others, of greater sensibility, and actuated by the genuine feelings of nature, saved only their parents, or their infants, who were closely clasped in their arms. They were followed by their other children, running as fast as their little strength would permit, and, with all the wildness of childish terror, vociferating the beloved name of mother. The old people, borne down by grief more than by age, had not sufficient power to follow their families, and expired near the houses in which they were born. The streets, the public places, and particularly the churches, were filled with these unhappy people, who, lying on the remains of their property, suffered even without a murmur. No cry, no complaint was heard. Both the conqueror and the conquered were equally hardened; the one by excess of fortune, the other by excess of misery.

The fire, whose ravages could not be restrained, soon reached the finest parts of the city. Those palaces, which we had admired for the beauty of their architecture, and the elegance of their furniture, were enveloped in the flames. Their magnificent fronts, ornamented with bass-reliefs and statues, fell, with a dreadful crash, on the fragments of the pillars which had supported them. The churches, though covered with iron and lead, were likewise destroyed, and with them those beautiful steeples, which we had seen, the night before, resplendent with gold and silver. The hospitals, too, which contained more than twelve thousand wounded, soon began to burn. This offered a dreadful and harrowing spectacle. Almost all these poor wretches perished. A few, who still lingered, were seen crawling, half burnt, amongst the smoking ruins; and others, groaning under heaps of dead bodies, endeavored, in vain, to extricate themselves from the horrible destruction which surrounded them.

How shall I describe the confusion and tumult, when permission was granted to pillage this immense city! Soldiers, sutlers and galley-slaves eagerly ran through the streets,

penetrating into the deserted palaces, and carrying away every thing which could gratify their avarice. Some covered themselves with stuffs richly worked with gold and silks; some were enveloped in beautiful and costly furs; and even the galley-slaves concealed their rags under the most splendid habits of the court. The rest crowded into the cellars, and, forcing open the doors, drank to excess the most luscious wines, and carried off an immense booty.

This horrible pillage was not confined to the deserted houses alone, but extended to those which were inhabited; and soon the eagerness and wantonness of the plunderers caused devastations, which almost equalled those occasioned by the conflagration. Every asylum was violated by the licentious troops. They who had officers in their houses flattered themselves that they should escape the general ca lamity. Vain illusion! The advancing fire soon destroyed all their hopes.

Towards evening, when Napoleon no longer thought himself safe in the city, the ruin of which seemed inevitable, he left the Kremlin, and established himself with his suite in the castle of Peterskoë. When I saw him pass by, I could not behold without abhorrence the chief of a barbarous expedition, who evidently endeavored to escape the decided testimony of public indignation, by seeking the darkest road. He sought it, however, in vain. On every side, the flames seemed to pursue him; and their horrible and mournful glare, flashing on his guilty head, reminded me of the torches of Eumenides pursuing the destined victims of the Furies.

The generals, likewise, received orders to quit Moscow. Licentiousness then became unbounded. The soldiers, no longer restrained by the presence of their chiefs, committed every kind of excess. No retreat was safe, no place sufficiently sacred to afford protection against their rapacity. Nothing more fully excited their avarice than the church of St. Michael, the sepulchre of the Russian emperors. An erroneous tradition had propagated the belief that it contained immense riches. Some grenadiers presently entered it, and descended with torches into the vast subterranean vaults, to disturb the peace and silence of the tombs. But instead of treasures, they found only stone coffins, covered with pink

velvet, and bearing thin silver plates, on which were engraved the names of the czars, and the dates of their birth and decease.

With all the excesses of plunder, they mingled the most degrading and horrible debauchery. Neither nobility of blood, nor the innocence of youth, nor the tears of beauty, were respected. The licentiousness was cruel and boundless; but it was inevitable in a savage war, in which sixteen different nations, opposite in their manners and their language, thought themselves at liberty to commit every crime.

LESSON CIX.

The same,-concluded.

PENETRATED by so many calamities, I hoped that the shades of night would cast a veil over the dreadful scene; but they contributed, on the contrary, to render the confiagration more terrible. The violence of the flames, which extended from north to south, and were strangely agitated by the wind, produced the most awful appearance on a sky which was darkened by the thickest smoke. Frequently was seen the glare of the burning torches, which the incendiaries were hurling, from the tops of the highest towers, on those parts of the city which had yet escaped destruction, and which resembled, at a distance, so many passing meteors.

Nothing could equal the anguish which absorbed every feeling heart, and which was increased, in the dead of the night, by the cries of the miserable victims who were savagely murdered, or by the screams of the young females, who fled for protection to their weeping mothers. To these dreadful groans and heart-rending cries, which every moment broke upon the ear, were added the howlings of the dogs, which, chained to the doors of the palaces, according to the custom at Moscow, could not escape from the fire which surrounded them.

Overpowered with regret and with terror, I flattered myself that sleep would for a while release me from these

revolting scenes; but the most frightful recollections crowded upon me, and all the horrors of the day again passed in review. My wearied senses seemed, at last, sinking into repose, when the light of a near and dreadful conflagration, piercing into my room, suddenly awoke me. I thought that my chamber was a prey to the flames. It was no idle dream; for, when I approached the window, I saw that our quarters were on fire, and that the house in which I lodged was in the utmost danger. Sparks were thickly falling in our yard and on the wooden roofs of our stables.

I ran quickly to my landlord and his family. Perceiving their danger, they had already quitted their habitation, and had retired to a subterranean vault, which afforded them more security. I found them, with their servants, all assembled there; nor could I prevail on them to leave it, for they dreaded our soldiers more than the fire. The father was sitting on the threshold of the vault, and appeared desirous of first exposing himself to the calamities which threatened his family. Two of his daughters, pale, with dishevelled hair, and whose tears added to their beauty, disputed with him the honor of the sacrifice. It was not without violence that I could snatch them from the building, under which they would otherwise soon have been buried. When these unhappy creatures again saw the light, they contemplated with indifference the loss of all their property, and were only astonished that they were still alive.

Desirous of terminating the recital of this horrible catastrophe, for which history wants expressions, and poetry has no colors, I shall pass over in silence many circumstances revolting to humanity, and merely describe the dreadful confusion, which arose in our army when the fire had reached every part of Moscow, and the whole city was become one immense flame.

The different streets could no longer be distinguished, and the places, on which the houses had stood, were marked only by confused piles of stones, calcined and black. The wind, blowing with violence, howled mournfully, and overwhelmed us with ashes, with burning fragments, and evenwith the iron plates which covered the palace. On whatever side we turned, we saw only ruins and flame The

raged as if it were fanned by some invisible power.

The

most extensive ranges of buildings seemed to kindle, to burn, and to disappear in an instant.

As we again traversed the streets of Moscow, we experienced the most heart-rending sensations, at perceiving that no vestige remained of those noble hotels, at which we had formerly been established. They were entirely demolished, and their ruins, still smoking, exhaled a vapor which, filling the whole atmosphere, and forming the densest clouds, either totally obscured the sun, or gave to his disk a red and bloody appearance. The outline of the streets was no longer to be distinguished. The stone palaces were the only buildings which preserved any traces of their former magnificence. Standing alone amidst piles of ruins, and blackened with smoke, these wrecks of a city, so newly built, resembled some of the venerable remains of antiquity.

Each one endeavored to find quarters for himself; but rarely could we meet with houses which joined together · and, to shelter a few companies, we were obliged to occupy a vast tract of land, which only offered a few habitations, scattered here and there. Some of the churches, composed of less combustible materials than the other buildings, had their roofs entire, and were transformed into barracks and stables. The hymns and holy melodies, which had once resounded within these sacred walls, now gave place to the neighing of horses, and the horrible blasphemies of the soldiers.

Although the population of Moscow had almost disappeared, there still remained some of those unfortunate beings, whom misery had accustomed to look on all occurrences with indifference. Most of them had become the menial servants of their spoilers, and thought themselves most happy if they were permitted to share any loathsome food which the soldiers rejected.

Many of the Moscovites, who had been concealed in the neighboring forests, perceiving that the conflagration had ceased, and believing that they had nothing more to fear, had reëntered the city. Some of them sought in vain for their houses, the very sites of which could scarcely be discovered; others would fain have taken refuge in the sanctuary of their God; but it had been profaned. The public walks