ry soldiers with the
suddenness of a mirage in the desert. Throughout that day an
interminable outreach of level country had seemed to spread before them,
dreary, uninviting, disheartening. Now, from the summit of a hill, their
triumphant eyes gazed suddenly upon the roofs and spires of a mighty
city, splendid, far-reaching, stretching far across the plain that lay
revealed before their eyes. It seemed to them truly as if the hand of a
magician had touched the desert, and caused this city to spring up
across their path.

It was a remarkable spectacle that met their gaze. Here were visible
what seemed hundreds of gilded domes and shining spires, thousands of
habitations rich with varied colors, a strange compound of palaces and
cottages, churches and bell-towers, woods and lakes, Western and
Oriental architecture, the Gothic arches and spires of Europe mingled
with the strange forms of Byzantine and Asiatic edifices. Outwardly, a
line of monasteries flanked with towers appeared to encircle the city.
Centrally, crowning an eminence, rose a great citadel, from whose towers
one could look down on columned temples and imperial palaces, embattled
walls crowned with majestic domes, from whose summits, above the
reversed crescent, rose the cross, Russia's emblem of conquest over the
fanatical sectaries of the East. It was the Kremlin which they here
beheld, the sacred centre of the Russian empire, the ancient
dwelling-place and citadel of the czars.

A wild cry of wonder and triumph burst from the soldiers who had first
reached the summit of the hill. "Moscow! Moscow!" they shouted, their
imaginations strongly excited by the magnificent spectacle. This cry
lent wings to those behind them. In crowding hosts the eager soldiers
rushed up the long slope, all ranks mingling in their burning desire to
gaze upon that great city which was the goal of their far-extended
march. Deep were the emotions, intense the joy, with which they gazed on
this dazzling vision, with all its domes and spires burning in the warm
rays of the sun. Napoleon himself, who hastened to the spot, was struck
with admiration, and new dreams of glory doubtless sprang up in his soul
as he stood gazing with deep emotion on what must have seemed to him the
key of the East, the gateway to conquests never yet surpassed by man.
Little did he dream that it was ruin upon which he gazed, the fatal
turning-point in his long career of victory. Still certain of his
genius,