“It is impossible,” remarks Perovski, “to imagine the state of Moscow. The streets are encumbered with furniture and other wares; on all sides one hears the songs of drunken soldiers and the shouts of the pillagers fighting among themselves. Here a bearded grenadier is to be seen clothed in priestly vestments, with the three-cornered hat on his head. Another is wearing a woman’s tippet, with a stole round his neck. A third appears in a mantilla, wide trousers, and a helmet; while a fourth is decked out in a white cloak and wears red _kakochniks_ as a head-dress. An elderly warrior, again, is strutting about in the surplice of a deacon; a cavalryman is masquerading as a monk, with his shako adorned with a red plume; a soldier of the line is promenading in a woman’s skirt. When the soldiers returned into camp in their various disguises, they could only be identified by their side-arms. To make matters worse, many of the officers, following the example of their men, went looting from house to house. The less bold among them contented themselves with pillaging houses in which they were quartered. Even the generals, under pretence of investigation, made house to house visits, and ordered any objects that pleased them to be laid aside.” Madame Fusi has left an interesting account of these lugubrious days. “In my house,” she relates, “were two officers of the Gendarmerie of the Guard. Everything was upside down; my papers were scattered over the floor. I returned by the light of the burning houses; the glare was horrible, and the fire was spreading with inconceivable rapidity. A violent wind was blowing, and everything seemed to have conspired to assist the destruction of the doomed city.... Grandly horrible was the sight. For four nights we did not require a lamp, the light was more brilliant than at mid-day.... On one occasion we wished to take the usual road to the boulevards, but we found it impossible to pass, the way being blocked by a sheet of flame. We stood in the middle of the street, and the flames, fanned by the wind, formed an arch of fire over the thoroughfare. This may seem to be an exaggeration, but it is literally true. We could neither advance nor make a _détour_. Putting our horses to the gallop, we managed to regain the boulevard.... The house to which we intended to return was burning. We went from street to street, from house to house. All bore the marks of devastation.... We had scarcely eaten anything since the previous day. A table and some chairs were still intact. These were carried down into the street, and a sort of dinner was prepared and dished up in the middle of the road. Imagine a table in the middle of the street, houses in flames or smoking ruins on all sides, the wind driving dust and smoke into our faces, incendiaries shot down near us, drunken soldiers carrying away the booty which they had just pillaged.”