The Maiden of Moscow A Poem, in Twenty-One Cantos. By the Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. | CANTO XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
 | The Maiden of Moscow |  |
703
CANTO XIX.
I.
Mortier had left pale Moscow's walls,Had left the old battled Kremlin's halls,
And marched with martial circumstance
On Vërreia,—there must he advance—
To form the rear-guard might of France!
But not, ere he had well obeyed,
The austere commands, upon him laid;—
And unto Ruin's worst consigned,
That stronghold proud, he left behind!
And undermined, that Kremlin now,
Was doomed—a blackened wreck to bow!—
II.
From Kraznoparchra's castle came,The last words to this Chief of Fame;—
The last words,—from that Master dread,
Who shaped the course, that all should tread;
And well were they, observed by him,
Whose loyalty, no stain might dim;
First, to defend that Citadel—
He stood, enjoined,—obeyed he well!
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Strictly did he such 'hest fulfil;—
When poured from Moscow's gates the Host,—
Late Russia's scourge,—and France's boast,
Fast o'er the suburbs' mournful tracks,
Rushed in, vast swarms of wild Cossacks;
Scouts of great Russia's powerful band—
Given to Winzingerode's command!—
III.
This foreign Chief with hate inflamed,'Gainst Earth's great Conqueror,—wreathed and famed!—
With proud Atchievement's hope inspired,
With thousand glowing passions fired,
With wild Expectancy ablaze,
Set foot in Moscow's frowning maze;
He sped before his warriors then,
He far outraced his legioned men!
Rushed on before his men apace—
Adventuring in that dangerous place!—
The Georgian colony in haste,
And Chinese town, he traversed fast,
And onwards journeyed,—hurrying past;
But near the endangered Kremlin met
With French advanced posts,—dubious yet,
Did he mistake them, till beset!
Fallen on an hostile ambuscade,—
Their prisoner, was the General made!
Then changed he, suddenly his part,
With subterfuge of cautious art,
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That waited on his ready will,
And hastened loudly to declare,—
A flag of truce, 'twas his, to bear!—
IV.
Conducted to Treviso straight,Complained he of unworthy fate,—
Forbore he not his wrongs to state;
“The Law of Nations,”—loud he cried,
“Hath in my person been defied!”—
Mortier replied, with phrases brief,
“When thus a General-in-Chief,
Doth strangely condescend to come,—
(Though sorrowing,—I pronounce such doom
And fain, would favouring grace accord,)
He must resign, at once, his Sword!”
Obeyed the Chieftain at the word.
V.
And now,—four days' resistance past,The French left Moscow's walls at last!—
Too long, in sooth, they there remained—
As though all dangers they disdained;—
On that volcano, dread and drear,
Pregnant with awful fate, and fear—
Might this have e'en exploded well,
'Neath some chance, Russian howitzer-shell!—
VI.
Deep in the palace vaults was stored,The ruthless powder's deadly hoard
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(From that fallen Empress of the North)
Their Engineers attached with care
Slow-matches long—which yet shall bear
Their maddening message of despair!
This well atchieved, then forth they fare;—
When the French columns' rear marched out,
With gallant semblance, strong and stout,
These lighted they!—then left, ere long,
Those fatal hidden mines among!
Lighted—then left them, there to do
Their work—too fairly carried through;—
Yet fast, the Russian troops poured in,
When ceased that wild, soul-deadening din!—
Well they, that fateful time employed—
And the unexploded mines destroyed!
Destroyed those unexploded mines,
And saved an hundred threatened shrines;
Extinguishing those fires withal—
That preyed on tower, and palaced hall!—
VII.
The French, on that wild awful day,Not far had marched upon their way,
Ere Heaven above them seemed to crack—
And all around reeled blind and black;—
With such tremendous crash of sound,
Shook all the air—the sky—the ground!
'Twas then,—an Empire's Boast and Pride,
Was shivered, rent, and scattered wide;
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That all was wrecked,—and all o'erpowered;
Hundreds and hundreds, then were hurled,
As though from the entrails of the world,
Far through the shaken, ghastly space—
Where scarce seemed left, a path or place!
There fluttered myriad shadows strange;—
Came o'er Creation's face, dark change,—
Was't Nature's anguished voice that spoke?
Hark!—to the deafening Chaos-stroke,
That fierce annihilating voice—
Bids Ruin rouse her, to rejoice!—
VIII.
Soon as the French, had left behind,The Kremlin,—doomed and undermined,
Poured in, full many a Cossack troop,
On booty bent, with eager hope!
Vast crowds of yelling Russians, too,
Half-wild for spoil—a squalid crew,—
Rushed hurrying, struggling, to the spot—
Foreboding not the approaching lot!
Strove they, on all they saw to seize,
The Population's dregs were these!—
They, shouting, climbed that Fortress fair,
Their hands outstretched, for plunder there;
When all grew vacancy and void—
Their prize—their place—themselves destroyed;—
Crushed—shattered—wrenched,—from human form,
Far were they flung in that huge storm!
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And Nothing,—was the Name of all!—
IX.
By Thousands,—stands of arms had there,Been left in careful order fair;
Thousands of piled-up arms were stored,
Within those holds—a mighty hoard;—
These, with all wealth—all spoils yet left,—
(Nor by the unpitying conquerors reft!)
Were straight, to wond'rous distance thrown,
And o'er expanse enormous strown!—
X.
Crashed down, as to Earth's centre sent,From Heaven,—full many a monument!
Buttress and bulwark—spire and shrine—
In dark destruction all combine!
All rose!—all fell!—in that stern hour—
An earth-spout, and a meteor shower!—
With thundering roar—all rose!—all fell;—
One moment,—and far Space was Hell!
Earth shook—its depths seemed tempest-tost,—
Beneath proud Gaul's retreating Host!
And ten leagues off, the sound of fear
Thrilled sternly on Napoleon's ear!
Next day, to all Earth of the event—
He made express advertisement;—
Glorying in proclamations proud—
O'er Russia's pride, despoiled and bowed!—
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Like thunder,—and the burst of flame!
XI.
“The old Kremlin's fort!—The Arsenal,Their magazines and treasures all,
Have sunk in ignominious fall!
That ancient Citadel of Fame—
To Russia, made a sacred name,—
Which raised its towery front o'er earth—
With her fair monarchy's first birth;
That palace of the Czars of yore,
Mixed with the dust—exists no more!—
Moscow is but a mouldering heap,
Which scarce a name may claim to keep,—
Which shame from Earth should blushing sweep!—
Abandoned are her Wrecks and Graves,
To plunderers,—beggars,—and to slaves!—
Meantime, the glorious powers of France,—
'Gainst Russia's Force,—with haste, advance,
To spread dismay amidst their ranks,
Then straight, to seek fair Dwina's banks;
There, fixed in quiet, to remain—
Through Winter's dark and frowning reign!”—
XII.
Then added he, triumphantly,Wilna and Petersburgh, would be,
Within some four-score leagues—when there,—
He paused,—to plan, and to prepare;
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Even thus, shall fall unto his share!—
And, sooth, full twenty marches clear,
Should he be thus, well placed, more near
His object, and resources, too,
This truth right well, the Conqueror knew!
And by these words, he thought beside,
('Twas soothing to his wounded pride,—)
To throw o'er his retreat an air,
Of haughty hope—and not despair!—
To make his flight, appear to be,
As an offensive March—and free!
At Vérreïa,—Mortier joined again
The Emperor, with his martial train,
With him, Winzingerode he brought,—
'Gainst whom Napoleon, harsh and haught,
Raged with distempered word and thought!—
XIII.
“Who art thou?”—fiercely loud he cried,In tones of savage wrath and pride,
“A man without a Country!—One,
Whom all who love their Land, should shun;—
Mine Enemy thou'st ever been!”—
Lowered more his brow,—and frowned his mien,
“When 'gainst the Austrians, war I made—
There did thine arm bestow its aid!
When Austria, mine Ally became,
Then straight, as with inveterate aim,
Thou sought'st a Russian post and name!—
711
Of Rhine's proud states, a native thou!
Thou art no fair and common foe,
A Rebel!—as the World shall know;—
To judgment, right have I to bring,
The traitor to his clime and king;
Full powers to charge, arraign, and try,
One,—black with such disloyalty;—
Guards!—Seize this man!”—he paused!—glanced round,—
Then other signal gave—and frowned!—
XIV.
Resumed he then—“Dost mark this Land,Sore spoiled by wasting fire and brand?—
See'st thou these desolated fields—
Where War, his deadliest truncheon wields?—
These myriad villages in flames?
Light on thy head ten thousand shames,—
'Tis thou, and such as thou, that cause
Strange breach of human, heavenly laws;—
Adventurers!—with nor name nor place,
A shameful—yet a shameless race;—
Who, fee'd by sordid states, are fain,
To call up War's worst, evil train!
The weight of such dire War shall fall
On these—on the Instigators all!
(Who thus from depths of Peace would bring!
And speed, on Discord's ravening wing!)
712
As yet, all Earth shall know, and see,—
Ourself at Petersburgh will be;
As surely, as yon Sun doth shine,
Shall Petersburgh greet me, and mine!
Then look to it!—let all beware,
Who boast in this foul scheme, their share;—
For, called to dread account, they yet
Shall bear the doom—and pay the debt!”—
XV.
Though loud, in furious strain he spoke,His wrath was marked but thus, by look,
And word, like shattering thunderstroke!
No act of further harshness shewed,
His hate or scorn, to Winzingerode!
At length, in Lithuania's Land,
This Chief was freed from Foeman's hand,
By the efforts of a Cossack band;
Now, towards Mojaisk did straight advance,
Unchecked, the haughty Force of France!
The Town, they thus beheld again,
Was peopled with their wounded men!
XVI.
Soon marching from Mojaisk, the Host,Kalouga's murmuring river crossed;
713
And little checked, their forward road;
Some planks, and props, and trees secured,
With ease, their passage well ensured;
Straight on they passed,—each breast seemed fraught,
With hidden mines, of darkling thought!
XVII.
Still silent moved they, in their strength,—Mark!—some have raised their eyes at length!
Fell on their souls a deadening chill,
Their frames, confessed a shuddering thrill!
They muttered low, with smothered breath,—
“'Tis the Great Battle's Field of Death!”
Then gloomily they gazed around,
On that appalling waste of ground;
Not far, huge, craggy hills arose,
The hideous scenery to enclose;—
With deep-trenched sides, and crests of gloom,
Each towered, like some fallen giant's tomb!
The loftiest,—most misshapen, frowned,
(As scathed by Lightning's shafts profound,)
And flung the heaviest shadows round;
O'er that dark, monumental ground!
All gaspingly, they round them gazed,
As though, with wildering awe, amazed!
XVIII.
Lay like a ruffled sea, the Plain,Where Desolation joyed to reign;
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It seemed to frown, 'gainst sky and air!
Cut down by hundreds, were the trees,
That once played there, with sun and breeze!
And mouldering ruins—changed—defaced,—
Afar and near—were sadly traced;
And crumbling wrecks, lay scattered wide,
Of fosse and fort,—on every side;
But there were heavier sights and shows,
Than these, to blight the mind's repose;
Thousands of shroudless corses strewed,
That bleak, sepulchral Solitude;
Stripped—stained with gore—and half-devoured,-
The Bravest shrank,—a Moment's coward!—
From sights that torturingly o'erpowered!
Yet, while they scarce that scene, might brook,
Once more, they manned themselves, to look!
Seemed this all changed, and racked, and shorn,
As mountains, from their roots uptorn,
Had left it, desolately lorn;
So wild—so bare—so strange it spread,—
Peopled with Nations of the Dead!
XIX.
Or like some old Volcano drear,Destroyed—extinguished—might appear,
That place of death, and fate, and fear!
As if a Deluge-sweeping tide,
Had crushed out all its fiery pride;
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With shattered fragments, steeped in gore;—
Like wreck-spoils on a rocky shore!
XX.
Tatters and shreds of garbs were seen,With helmets plumed, and swords between!
There, broken drums, and breastplates soiled,
There, standards rent, with blood defiled!
That dark, ensanguined trace so deep,
Recolouring, these did tinge and steep,—
While weather-stains effaced their pride,
Till wore those shreds no hues beside;—
Those shreds might keep no other dyes,
Save that dread stain, that drear disguise;
Yet even that foul and fatal hue,
Was faded, and was clouded, too;
The bloody Roses of that field,
Their fresh, warm blushes, withering yield;
And part of their deep, deadly bloom—
Hath darkened to a shadowy gloom!—
The blood-bright Roses of the Sword,
In wild luxuriance shed abroad,
Flushed Roses of the Sword and Death,
With the cold grave-scent on their breath,
They, too, have lost their crimsoned light,
And suffered an eclipsing blight;
Even they have shed their richest leaves—
And drooped above, ten thousand graves,—
Even they have paled, their purple pride
O'er those bleak gardens, scattered wide!
716
XXI.
Fair France!—on these broad fields of gloom—These grave-grounds—yet without a tomb;—
What tribes of thy brave sons repose—
Thy distant breast, to wring with woes!
What widow-wailings of despair,
Must rise, to thrill thy sunny air!
What orphan agonies of grief,
Burst forth, to mock at vain relief!
There, Friends and Foes, together blent,
Form their own mouldering monument!
And Thirty Thousand ghastly dead,
With hideousness, the scene o'erspread!
XXII.
On yonder Hill's bleak crest of pride,Full well, from the outstretched Plain descried,—
Vast crowds of skeletons appear—
As though they held dominion drear,
O'er that broad scene, of ghastly fear!
O'erlooking thus—spread round them far,
The region of the dead-cold War!
There, Death had fixed his Empire stern—
All eyes did there, deep-saddening turn!
For 'twas that dread Redoubt, which cost,
So dear, to Gaul's victorious Host!
'Twas the great Conquest, and the Grave,
Of laurelled Caulaincourt, the brave!
717
On that red Battle-Throne of Pride!
XXIII.
And still was heard, that smothered cry,Deep-drawn, as groans of agony!
Suiting that scene so desolate,—
“'Tis the great Battle's Field of Fate!”
Napoleon,—hurrying, passed along;—
None paused of that assembled throng;—
Cold,—Hunger,—the Enemy,—Distress,—
All bade them, onwards still, to press!
All urged them, on their gloomy way,—
Ah!—happier those doomed there to stay!
XXIV.
Had They—so vainly hastening on—Their future doom of misery known,—
How had they envied those that slept,
Though, where no watchful mourners wept!
They turned their faces, as they past,
To take one sorrowing look,—the last,—
At that pale Funeral Field, and vast;
Where lay, in dark and loathsome swarms,
Their loved companions brave in arms!
XXV.
On that most sad and solemn Field,—So sternly, to their eyes revealed,—
718
There Time in vain, shall spread his wings!
In history still, a blood-stained page,
'Twill claim and keep—age after age!
While thus in haste, they crossed the Plain,
A wretch crawled forth, from heaps of slain;—
As 'twere—forgotten there by Death,—
Still breathed he, agonizing breath!
With Horror's sickening pang, they saw,—
They marked his desperate plight, with awe;—
Then shuddering, heard his hideous tale,
Which well might make the stoutest quail!
A horse's carcase—where it fell,—
Hollowed by ruin-scattering shell,—
'Midst all this heart-appalling scene,
Had long, his foul asylum been!
His drink,—the near ravine supplied,—
Where scant, flowed down a muddy tide;
For food—the unhappiest wretch had grown,
'Gainst Nature's will, and 'gainst his own,—
In dire Necessity's harsh thrall,
A foul, self-loathing cannibal!
XXVI.
Groaning, his shattered limbs he trailed,Strange pity pierced through breasts, thrice-mailed;
'Tis said, they snatched him from the tomb—
Safe, bore him from that place of doom!
719
Thus, welcomed back to life again;
Thus welcomed back to that wild world
Of Life, whence he had far been hurled;
But Hush!—what dreadful cries arise—
Startling and thrilling to the skies?—
By old Kolotskoi's Abbey-wall,
Now passed those martial myriads all;
Thence issued maddening clamours loud—
For there was thronged, a suffering crowd;
Vast swarms of wounded wretches, there,
Were howling out their blind despair!
XXVII.
If Borodino's fatal Plain,In the awe-struck soul bid terror reign,—
Here, creeping Horror's wildest mood,
Fevered or froze, the blasted blood;—
There, Agony in sooth had been,
But Quiet, had usurped her scene!
Here, Agony was all in all,
Since Life confessed her withering thrall;
And but her thrall, tormenting, knew,
While pang by pang, too slowly slew!
Still seemed the Battle, raging loud,
'Midst that disordered Maniac crowd;
And when they saw Gaul's Host pass by,
Straight rose one fierce, heart-breaking cry!
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XXVIII.
Must they be left behind, indeed—In their worst woe, and bitterest need?
From the door's threshold, crawled and crept,
Whoe'er could summon strength,—and wept;—
The least infirm—least maimed—appeared;
Their bloodless, ghost-like, frames they reared,—
(For Ah!—even those, who suffered least,
Might wake keen pangs in pity's breast;)
The while, they trembling, lined the way,
And groaned the prayers, they could not say!
Outstretching piteously, their hands,
To those—their well-known brethren-bands!
XXIX.
Napoleon gives forth mandates straight—That car and wain—whate'er their freight,—
Should each, one helpless sufferer bear—
Delivering thus, from blank despair!
Then halted he, awhile to see,
These mandates followed rigidly!
Forsaken waggons formed, meanwhile,
Well-kindled now a blazing pile;
(Blown up,—they found their fragments strowed,
Confusedly scattered,—o'er the road;)
XXX.
The mighty Emperor,—shivering near,Was fain to seek, the warmth's glad cheer!—
721
Explosions loud, had oft proclaimed,
Such numerous sacrifices made,
In hopes, their onward route to aid;
At length, they forward fared once more,—
In Gloom and Silence as before!
| The Maiden of Moscow | |