Sept. 30, 1812
Moscow, French Russia
As you probably know, we are ensconced in Moscow, or what is left of it. The city of domes sits in a sooty wet pile of ash and destruction. I am still stunned at the results of the campaign and can only dream of seeing you again.
I pass the days avoiding disturbances and fending for my health and safety along with Maurice who continues to surprise me with his quick mind even more than his capable skills. People of all kinds are attracted to him and he seems to possess a natural ability towards leadership and decision making. He listens and makes choices that seem to please everyone without ever compromising his own judgement or ethics. He appears rough and his first comments upon meeting are usually terse and offhand – even insulting – yet somehow he draws people in. They want to know him. For me, he is a fortune. He gives me much needed grounding and a touchstone for the realities of this ordeal. He indulges my conversation – despite my lofty ideals or the idealistic chatter – and challenges my thinking with his point of view, the voice of the ‘common man.’ For one to think he can understand a social quandary in solitary state is foolish assumption. M’s conversation helps me understand a contrary viewpoint – and to better collect my own reasoning so to express myself clearly.
But the most remarkable feature about Maurice is his refusal to take advantage of his skills & erstwhile power or influence, or at least in my presence. In this campaign I have seen so many drunk on power – earned or assumed – and wallowing in self-importance. The privileges of ranks and class, while abolished by the civil code, seem to live on in this military realm like some glue holding the masses together.
The men gravitate towards the natural leaders – not the assigned ones – the brave lead, the appointed give orders and pontificate as to who distinguished himself the most, or best. But I do wonder if any are immune from the majestic influence of power to corrupt as I see even the most earnest submit to the easy treachery of opportunity. Is any man so uncommon that they can resist the temptation to manipulate? To wield their sword of power so often that at last they expose their great weakness? To go to the well one more time only to come up dry at the moment of greatest need? At what point does every man surrender himself into decadence? Succumb to injustice – turning pettiness into grounds for war? At what point does one move from liberator to tyrant?
I hesitate to say what I see happening here as such admittance will steal my last hopes.