There was no time to be lost.  The roaring of the flames around us became every moment more violent.  A single narrow winding street completely on fire, appeared to be rather the entrance than the outlet to this hell.  The Emperor rushed on foot and without hesitation into this narrow passage.  He advanced amid the crackling of the flames, the crash of floors, and the fall of burning timbers, and of the red-hot iron roofs which tumbled around him.  These ruins impeded his progress.  The flames which, with impetuous roar, consumed the edifices between which we were proceeding spreading beyond the walls, were blown about by the wind, and formed an arch over our heads.  We walked on a ground of fire, beneath a fiery sky, and between two walls of fire.  The intense heat burned our eyes, which we were nevertheless obliged to keep open and fixed on the danger.  A consuming atmosphere, glowing ashes, detached flames, parched our throats, and rendered our respiration short and dry; and we were already almost suffocated by the smoke.  Our hands were burned, either in endeavouring to protect our faces from the insupportable heat, or in brushing off the sparks which every moment covered and penetrated our garments.

In this inexpressible distress, and when a rapid advance seemed to be our only mean of safety, our guide stopped in uncertainty and agitation.  Here would probably have terminated our adventurous career, had not some pillagers of the first corps recognised the Emperor amidst the whirling flames:  they ran up and guided him towards the smoking ruins of a quarter which had been reduced to ashes in the morning.

It was then that we met the Prince of Eckmuehl.  This marshal, who had been wounded at the Moskwa, had desired to be carried back among the flames to rescue Napoleon, or to perish with him.  He threw himself into his arms with transport; the emperor received him kindly, but with that composure which in danger he never lost for a moment.

To escape from this vast region of calamities, it was further necessary to pass a long convoy of powder, which was defiling amidst the fire.  This was not the least of his dangers, but it was the last, and by nightfall he arrived at Petrowsky.

Next morning, the 17th of September, Napoleon cast his first looks towards Moscow, hoping to see that the conflagration had subsided.  He beheld it again raging with the utmost violence:  the whole city appeared like a vast spout of fire rising in whirling eddies to the sky, which it deeply coloured.  Absorbed by this melancholy contemplation, he preserved a long and gloomy silence, which he broke only by the exclamation, “This forebodes great misfortunes to us!”