On the 20th, the flames being at length subdued or exhausted, Napoleon returned to the Kremlin, well aware how mighty a calamity had befallen him, but still flattering himself that the resolution of the enemy would give way on learning the destruction of their ancient and sacred metropolis.  The poor remains of the enormous city still furnished tolerable lodgings for his army:  of provisions there was as yet abundance; and the invaders, like true Frenchmen, fitted up a theatre, and witnessed plays acted by performers sent from France; while the Emperor himself exhibited his equanimity by dating a decree, regulating the affairs of the Theatre Francais at Paris, from “the imperial headquarters in the Kremlin.”  His anxiety to show the French that, even during his hottest campaigns, his mind continued to be occupied with them and their domestic administration has already been alluded to.  There was audacious quackery in a stage rescript from Moscow.

Day passed after day and still there came no answer from Alexander:  Buonaparte’s situation was becoming hourly more difficult.  The news of the great battle of Salamanca had already reached him:  the rumour of some distant disaster could not be prevented from spreading among the soldiery.  Nearer him, the two flanks of his mighty host had been alike unsuccessful.  The united army of Tormazoff and Tchichagoff, on the south, and that of Witgenstein, on the north, had obtained decided advantages over the French generals respectively opposed to them, and now threatened to close in between Napoleon’s central columns and the magazines in Poland.  Witzingerode was at the head of a formidable force on the road to St. Petersburg; and to the south-west of Moscow lay Kutusoff, on a very strong position, with an army to which every hour brought whole bands of enthusiastic recruits.  On every side there was danger; the whole forces of Russia appeared to be gathering around him.  Meantime the season was far advanced; the stern winter of the north was at hand; and the determined hostility of the peasantry prevented the smallest supplies of provision from being introduced into the capital.  Had the citizens remained there, the means of subsistence would of course have continued to be forwarded in the usual methods from the provinces; but neither boat nor sledge was put in motion after it was known that Moscow contained no population but the French.  The stores, at first sight so ample, within the city itself, had already begun to fail:  the common soldiers had rich wines and liqueurs in abundance, but no meat except horse-flesh, and no bread.  Daru gave the Emperor what the latter called “a lion’s counsel”; to draw in all his detachments, convert Moscow into an intrenched camp, kill and salt every horse, and trust to foraging parties for the rest—­in a word, to lay aside all thoughts of keeping up communication with France, or Germany, or even Poland; and issue forth from Moscow, with his army entire and refreshed,