The Alhambra and the Kremlin: The South and the North of Europe

by Samuel Irenæus Prime

The Novo-Devichi Convent, with six churches and a romantic history, the Donskoi Monastery, and the Novospaski Monastery, are scattered through this region, and are all visible and accessible in the visit to the hill country around Moscow. But the roads are wretched and the weather hot; the sun is getting low in the west, and we are in haste to enjoy the glories that are to burst upon our sight when we come to stand where Napoleon stood at the head of his proud legions and first saw Moscow!

At the foot of the hill flows the river Moskva, and row-boats are plying back and forth to carry the many passengers, chiefly of the humbler classes of people, who are going to and from the hills, on this feast-day in the Church, and so a holiday for them all. Leaving the carriage, we were ferried across and then climbed the hills, where hundreds of the Muscovites were enjoying themselves on the green slopes, eating, drinking, and laughing gaily, playing tricks upon one another, and making themselves merry, as the same class of people do in every part of the world. And it is pleasant to think that other people have “a good time” as well as we, in what clime soever they chance to live, and however much they lack the things that we think indispensable to enjoyment. Some of them were playing cards on the ground, some were drinking quas, a strong spirit; and some who had already taken too much for their manners, called out saucily to us to come and take a drink of gin.

Before us, as we turned on reaching the brow of the hill, stood the holy city of Russia, its ancient capital, the border city between the Eastern and the Western worlds! The sun unclouded and intensely glowing is behind us, and shedding its golden radiance in floods upon the domes and pinnacles of three hundred and seventy churches, countless towers and roofs and walls, the Kremlin standing above the rest in its majesty, with its crown of cathedrals and palace, a constellation of splendor rarely equalled in the cities of the world. The river makes a circular sweep through the plain at our feet, and then flows through the city.

It was June, 1812, when Napoleon, at the head of the French army, crossed the Niemen and pushed on to Wilna, from which the Russian army retired, drawing him on in pursuit, and, with masterly foresight, involving their enemy in more and more hopeless difficulties. Napoleon would have been glad to meet the Russians in signal battle, but the leader of the Russians understood his ground too well to risk an engagement. The Emperor Alexander, however, had not the sagacity to perceive nor the patience to bear the policy of his general, and, displacing him, put another man in his place, who gave battle at Borodino on the first day of September, when 80,000 men were killed or wounded, and the Russians retired to Moscow. The French were sadly crippled by the losses in this battle, and their provisions were now nearly exhausted. They were hastening on to the capture of Moscow to save their own lives. On the 12th of September the Russian army silently marched out of the city, carrying with them every thing that could be removed. Of three hundred thousand inhabitants, only the convicts and a few others remained to take the chances of war.

On the very next day, the advance of the French army reached the brow of the hill where we were standing a few hours ago; and Napoleon, excited by the sight of the sunny domes and roofs of the golden city, cried out, “All this is yours.” The soldiers caught up the cry, “Moscow! Moscow!” and it ran like fire along the ranks till the whole army shouted in concert, “Moscow! Moscow!” An hour or two more and they made their triumphal entry into a city whose gates were open without a defender, and to the dismay of the conqueror the city was a desert without food or inhabitants. Through the deserted streets and up to the sacred gate of the Kremlin the conqueror took his silent and sullen way, and ascended the steps of the palace which was left ready for his reception. He had reached the end of his awful march of two thousand miles, but one was before him more terrible by far. His army was starving, and the city was empty. On the morning following his occupation, a fire broke out and defied all efforts to arrest it. Perhaps the wretched remnant of inhabitants were the incendiaries. This is not a settled question. But the soldiers sought to save the city, and could not. The hospitals, in which 20,000 wounded had been left, were consumed. The glorious churches were now shining in flames. The palaces and houses of the rich were given up to the soldiery, and the sacredness of temples and altars was no protection against the lawless rabble that rioted in the ruin and plunder of the town. The liberated convicts and ragged poor ravaged the homes of princes and the vestries of priests, and now roamed the streets in furs and robes. What the fire spared the battle-axe destroyed. Works of art and elegance and luxury, the vast accumulations of wealth and ages, all went down in the vortex of remorseless war.

And now Napoleon sought to make peace with the enemy whose chief city he had in his possession. But his enemy was his master, and refused to hear of peace. After a month of delay, and the dreadful winter of the North at hand, he set off with his shattered hosts to return. And the story of that return is frozen into the memory of man. Its horrors the pencil has sought to portray, and no pen can do it justice. The frost and snow made havoc with the miserable soldiers: they froze by thousands and died on the march. Wild disorder reigned, and death was the only commander whom officer or man obeyed. Napoleon, always true to himself, deserted his faithful army and fled to Paris. Of the half a million of men who composed his troops when he began the invasion of Russia, about 200,000 were made prisoners, 125,000 were slain in battles, and 130,000 perished by cold, hunger, and fatigue! A disaster without a parallel in the annals of the race.

And this was the beginning of the end. The powers of Europe combined against him, and the world knows the story.

Moscow is a city of so much historical interest, and it is so peculiar in its architecture, plan, and people, that we have lingered longer than perhaps has been agreeable to you. But the time was when Moscow was far more of a city than it is now. Two hundred and thirty years ago (it is written in history), Moscow had two thousand churches; but the statements of the former population of this city are so astounding as to be scarcely credible. In 1600 the plague made such ravages here that 127,000 persons were dead in the streets at one time, and 500,000 died in the city. All of these stories, including the number of the churches, must be greatly exaggerated, and yet they are some index to the former extent and power of this splendid capital. But all this greatness must have been when the people were only a little removed from barbarism. Dr. Collins, physician to the Czar, says in 1670, “the custom of tying up wives by the hair of the head and flogging them, begins to be left off.” It was certainly time, though it was two hundred years ago. No traces of that ancient custom remain. The doves that inhabit the streets, are held to be sacred birds, emblems of the Holy Spirit, and more of the spirit of love, than would be indicated by such rough treatment of wives, may be counted upon as prevailing within the houses where these peaceful birds are cherished. In no country that I have been in, is there more kissing done in public. At the railroad stations and in the market places, when a party of friends meet, they rush into each other’s embrace, and all kiss; the men the men, the women the women, and the men and women kiss each other. These are the peasants. I could not say that it is common among the more cultivated people.

Our host, M. Billot, sent us to the station with extra style; his wife was going into the country to see her children at school, and in her private carriage we were to ride to the depot with her, as a special mark of attention. During our stay in Moscow the family had done every thing in their power to make the visit agreeable, and it was crowned with this last act of attention, an escort to the station when we took our leave.

There is but one train in twenty-four hours from Moscow to St. Petersburg, and as it is to be a ride of twenty hours, it is important to have some accommodations for sleeping. Our experience in going to Moscow had been so unhappy that we sought to improve upon the matter on the return trip. We learned that the first-class cars were arranged in compartments for six persons, and that the seats at night were to be converted into berths, so that each passenger buying a ticket was also the holder of a berth for sleeping in. The compartments were elegantly fitted up, and we (two of us) found ourselves upon setting off, on one side, and two Russian ladies on the other. They spoke the French language, and being as innocent of English, as we of Russ, the conversation that soon sprang up, was in the only tongue we could use in common. The apartment was hot to the verge of suffocation. We put up a window, which in a bright June day would be considered pleasant in any country, but the ladies gave instant signs of apprehensions that they would take cold. Soon one of them shut the window with a decision that forbade appeal. We ventured to set the door open to admit the air from the open window across the passage, but this was too much for the sensitive women, and we had to close it. I found the same dread of cold in hot weather to be common to all the natives. An omnibus, the body of which was made of sheet iron, which I was riding in on a blazing summer-day, was heated literally like an oven. I was obliged to leave it, but the people evidently enjoyed the baking. They have it so cold in cold weather, that the brief hot season seems to be refreshing, and the hotter the better they like it. At four P.M. we stopped at Klin for dinner—thirty minutes—all seated at table, and dinner was decently served: soup, boiled chicken and rice, quails, vegetables, jelly: price one rouble (sixty-four cents), wines and fruit extra. The natives at table were well mannered, with just such exceptions as you meet with in all countries; one man left in disgust because there was too much confusion, and another refused to pay for his dinner until after he had eaten it. But the order, the dinner, the price of it, and the time to enjoy the meal, were all more agreeable to travellers than they would have been on most of the routes in our own beloved and well-regulated country.