afforded them shelter, and they subsisted
on the charity of their countrymen.

On that day, a terrific scene terminated this melancholy drama. This,
the last day of Moscow, having arrived, Rostopchin collected together
all whom he had been able to retain and arm. The prisons were thrown
open. A squalid and disgusting crew tumultuously issued from them. These
wretches rushed into the streets with a ferocious joy. Two men, a
Russian and a Frenchman, the one accused of treason, the other of
political indiscretion, were selected from among this horde, and dragged
before Rostopchin, who reproached the Russian with his crime. The latter
was the son of a tradesman: he had been apprehended while exciting the
people to insurrection. A circumstance which occasioned alarm was the
discovery that he belonged to a sect of German illuminati, called
Martinists, a society of superstitious independents. His audacity had
never failed him in prison. It was imagined for a moment that the spirit
of equality had penetrated into Russia. At any rate he did not impeach
any accomplices.

At this crisis his father arrived. It was expected that he would
intercede for his son: on the contrary, he insisted on his death. The
governor granted him a few moments, that he might once more speak to and
bless him. "What, I! I bless a traitor:" exclaimed the enraged
Russian, and turning to his son, he, with a horrid voice and gesture,
pronounced a curse upon him.

This was the signal for his execution. The poor wretch was struck down
by an ill-directed blow of a sabre. He fell, but wounded only, and
perhaps the arrival of the French might have saved him, had not the
people perceived that he was yet alive. They forced the barriers, fell
upon him, and tore him to pieces.

The Frenchman during this scene was petrified with terror. "As for
thee," said Rostopchin, turning towards him, "being a Frenchman, thou
canst not but wish for the arrival of the French army: be free, then,
but go and tell thy countrymen, that Russia had but a single traitor,
and that he is punished." Then addressing himself to the wretches who
surrounded him, he called them sons of Russia, and exhorted them to make
atonement for their crimes by serving their country. He was the last to
quit that unfortunate city, and he then rejoined the Russian army.

From that moment the mighty Moscow belonged neither to the Russians nor
to the French, but to that guilty horde, whose fury was directed