第 二百六十六 章 · 第266章

Nine days after the abandonment of Moscow, a messenger from Kutúzov

reached Petersburg with the official announcement of that event. This

messenger was Michaud, a Frenchman who did not know Russian, but who was

quoique étranger, russe de cœur et d’âme, * as he said of himself.

* Though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul.

The Emperor at once received this messenger in his study at the palace

on Stone Island. Michaud, who had never seen Moscow before the campaign

and who did not know Russian, yet felt deeply moved (as he wrote) when

he appeared before notre très gracieux souverain * with the news of the

burning of Moscow, dont les flammes éclairaient sa route. *(2)

* Our most gracious sovereign.

* (2) Whose flames illumined his route.

Though the source of M. Michaud’s chagrin must have been different from

that which caused Russians to grieve, he had such a sad face when shown

into the Emperor’s study that the latter at once asked:

“Have you brought me sad news, Colonel?”

“Very sad, sire,” replied Michaud, lowering his eyes with a sigh. “The

abandonment of Moscow.”

“Have they surrendered my ancient capital without a battle?” asked the

Emperor quickly, his face suddenly flushing.

Michaud respectfully delivered the message Kutúzov had entrusted to him,

which was that it had been impossible to fight before Moscow, and that

as the only remaining choice was between losing the army as well as

Moscow, or losing Moscow alone, the field marshal had to choose the

latter.

The Emperor listened in silence, not looking at Michaud.

“Has the enemy entered the city?” he asked.

“Yes, sire, and Moscow is now in ashes. I left it all in flames,”

replied Michaud in a decided tone, but glancing at the Emperor he was

frightened by what he had done.

The Emperor began to breathe heavily and rapidly, his lower lip

trembled, and tears instantly appeared in his fine blue eyes.

But this lasted only a moment. He suddenly frowned, as if blaming

himself for his weakness, and raising his head addressed Michaud in a

firm voice:

“I see, Colonel, from all that is happening, that Providence requires

great sacrifices of us... I am ready to submit myself in all things to

His will; but tell me, Michaud, how did you leave the army when it

saw my ancient capital abandoned without a battle? Did you not notice

discouragement?...”

Seeing that his most gracious ruler was calm once more, Michaud also

grew calm, but was not immediately ready to reply to the Emperor’s

direct and relevant question which required a direct answer.

“Sire, will you allow me to speak frankly as befits a loyal soldier?” he

asked to gain time.

“Colonel, I always require it,” replied the Emperor. “Conceal nothing

from me, I wish to know absolutely how things are.”

“Sire!” said Michaud with a subtle, scarcely perceptible smile on his

lips, having now prepared a well-phrased reply, “sire, I left the

whole army, from its chiefs to the lowest soldier, without exception in

desperate and agonized terror...”

“How is that?” the Emperor interrupted him, frowning sternly. “Would

misfortune make my Russians lose heart?... Never!”

Michaud had only waited for this to bring out the phrase he had

prepared.

“Sire,” he said, with respectful playfulness, “they are only afraid lest

Your Majesty, in the goodness of your heart, should allow yourself to be

persuaded to make peace. They are burning for the combat,” declared this

representative of the Russian nation, “and to prove to Your Majesty by

the sacrifice of their lives how devoted they are....”

“Ah!” said the Emperor reassured, and with a kindly gleam in his eyes,

he patted Michaud on the shoulder. “You set me at ease, Colonel.”

He bent his head and was silent for some time.

“Well, then, go back to the army,” he said, drawing himself up to his

full height and addressing Michaud with a gracious and majestic gesture,

“and tell our brave men and all my good subjects wherever you go that

when I have not a soldier left I shall put myself at the head of my

beloved nobility and my good peasants and so use the last resources of

my empire. It still offers me more than my enemies suppose,” said the

Emperor growing more and more animated; “but should it ever be ordained

by Divine Providence,” he continued, raising to heaven his fine eyes

shining with emotion, “that my dynasty should cease to reign on the

throne of my ancestors, then after exhausting all the means at my

command, I shall let my beard grow to here” (he pointed halfway down his

chest) “and go and eat potatoes with the meanest of my peasants, rather

than sign the disgrace of my country and of my beloved people whose

sacrifices I know how to appreciate.”

Having uttered these words in an agitated voice the Emperor suddenly

turned away as if to hide from Michaud the tears that rose to his eyes,

and went to the further end of his study. Having stood there a few

moments, he strode back to Michaud and pressed his arm below the elbow

with a vigorous movement. The Emperor’s mild and handsome face was

flushed and his eyes gleamed with resolution and anger.

“Colonel Michaud, do not forget what I say to you here, perhaps we may

recall it with pleasure someday... Napoleon or I,” said the Emperor,

touching his breast. “We can no longer both reign together. I have

learned to know him, and he will not deceive me any more....”

And the Emperor paused, with a frown.

When he heard these words and saw the expression of firm resolution in

the Emperor’s eyes, Michaud—quoique étranger, russe de cœur et d’âme,—at

that solemn moment felt himself enraptured by all that he had heard (as

he used afterwards to say), and gave expression to his own feelings and

those of the Russian people whose representative he considered himself

to be, in the following words:

“Sire!” said he, “Your Majesty is at this moment signing the glory of

the nation and the salvation of Europe!”

With an inclination of the head the Emperor dismissed him.