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CHAPTER XV

On the following morning Louise, busy over some service on Henri's behalf, heard herself hailed by a wounded man, lying in the larger room of the house now in use as a temporary hospital. This was a sergeant in her own regiment, a rough-tongued veteran, keen in war, strict for discipline, a terror to the young conscripts of the regiment.

"Hi, you, Prevost, what the devil do you here?" he cried. "You don't seem to be wounded? May the devil claim all shirkers; why are you not with the colours?"

"I was engaged last night in tending an officer who was sorely wounded," said Louise; "I am no shirker."

"To Hell with your tending; I know what that means: the desire to be out of the line of fire combined with the hope of a pourboire; away with you and report yourself to Sergeant Villeboeuf by midday."

"But the officer–" Louise hesitated.

"Bah—he is no excuse; Monsieur the under bone-sawer," continued the fellow, addressing the doctor's assistant busy operating at his elbow, "see to this officer this shirker speaks of."

"I have seen him," said the man; "he may come through or he may not, but in any case we desire no loafers in hospital, the space is too confined already."

"I am ordered to leave you, mon Capitaine," said Louise, entering Henri's room; "I pray God you may recover; farewell, Monsieur; I will remember your message."

"Yes—if I die, only!" said Henri; "not if I come through this and the rest of the war. I feel sick enough to-day—I wish they would leave you, mon ami, to look after me."

"They will not, they call me shirker for remaining only one night! Do not–" Louise was about to say "do not forget me," but she thought better of it and altered the sentence to "do not fail to get well".

"Not I—if it depends upon me—au revoir, mon ami, let us say, at Moscow!"

Louise left the little house with a heavy heart. "For God's sake keep an eye upon Monsieur le Capitaine," she said at parting to the little feldscher, or under-surgeon, who replied with a laugh:—

"Tiens, my friend, you are wonderfully anxious about the young man; one would think you were a woman!"

There was no arrière pensée about the remark, but poor Louise went away blushing terribly and very angry with herself for allowing herself to yield to so feminine a weakness.

Would the Baron survive? That was the question which throbbed for an answer with every beat of her heart. If he survived and remembered the love which he professed to have felt for the daughter of the old maître d'armes, oh! thought Louise, how heavenly a place the dull earth would become.

If he should not survive—well, let the first Russian bullet find its home in her heart, for all she would care to live on! And yet, Louise felt, even without Henri life was a thousand times more beautiful now that she had certain sweet memories to draw upon. "The most Holy Spirit," she reflected, "must have inspired him with that message—oh! to think that I, of all others, should have been chosen for its recipient: a message to myself, delivered into my keeping for my comfort—an inspiration in truth and indeed!"

Meanwhile the army of Napoleon, constantly dwindling, advanced daily farther and farther into the interior of Russia. Napoleon felt that he was being enticed forward, but there was no thought of retreating. On the contrary, successes were achieved daily, though great events were rare. The policy of the Russian commanders was still that of retreat, laying waste the country as they went. The faithful peasants aided and abetted them. Every man proved himself a patriot. "Only let us know the right moment," they declared, "and every hut in the village shall burn to the ground, every acre of corn shall be destroyed before the detested foreigner arrives to eat the fruit of our labours."

From the beginning of the campaign to the present time—two months and a half—Napoleon had lost by illness and battle 150,000 men; the Grand Army was melting away before his eyes. He now did all that was possible, by ordering up large reinforcements, to fill the voids.

But meanwhile the Russian troops, unaware that the continuous retreating movement was a part of the deliberate policy of their leaders, grew more and more discontented both with Bagration and Barclay de Tolly, generals who had, nevertheless, done passing well with the troops entrusted to them.

And seeing that the feeling of discontent was daily spreading, and the more quickly since the fall and destruction of Smolensk, the Tsar Alexander now united both his armies under the supreme command of Kootoozof.

This new appointment aroused enthusiasm. Kootoozof had no intention of altering the policy of his lieutenants. He knew, none better, that every step gained with much pain and difficulty, by the French armies, must presently be retraced with tenfold and hundredfold more difficulty, and pains unimaginable. The Don Cossacks were already being recruited in preparation for the French retreat; the militia, raised in response to the manifesto of the Tsar, would be ready for work in a month or two; great things were preparing for the discomfiture of the little Corporal and his men—the rod was in pickle—let them advance by all means toward Moscow!

But when old Kootoozof passed his troops in review, he repeated a hundred times for their edification words of encouragement and patriotic appreciation.

"Holy Mother!" he would ejaculate; "what soldiers! With troops such as these success is sure! We shall beat the French, my children—only wait and see!" And again, "With such soldiers we shall not retreat for long!"

Kootoozof halted his army at Borodino: 120,000 men, all told; and here, early in the morning of the 7th of September, the great Russian army confessed and communicated and were blessed by the priests with Holy Water. During the morning an eagle hovered for a few moments over the head of old Kootoozof, until frightened away by the shouts of enthusiasm by which the soldiers saluted the happy omen. The battle raged all day with varying success, the French capturing the redoubts, losing them again, and again recapturing these and other outworks. The Russians slowly retreated and were not pursued. Both sides claimed the victory, and both lost enormously; but whereas the losses of the French were at this stage irreparable, those of the Russian army were comparatively of small consequence.

Then Kootoozof held a great council of his generals, whereat some voted for a final battle in defence of Moscow, some argued that there were greater issues at stake than the safety of the ancient capital which, after all, was "only a city like another". Kootoozof, however, reserved the final decision for himself, having, probably, long since made up his mind as to what should be done. He marched his army through the suburbs of Moscow, and presently spent the month during which Napoleon's soldiers occupied the Holy City in so disposing his forces that not only was the road to St. Petersburg blocked by a constantly growing army, but access to the richer provinces of the Empire was also barred; while hordes of Cossacks lay in wait along the line of retreat which, so soon as Moscow should be found no longer tenable, would, Kootoozof calculated, inevitably present itself as the last resource for the invading forces. In a word, Napoleon should be practically blockaded in Moscow.

But meanwhile, on the 14th September, the advance guard of the French army entered the city. Through the streets of the White Town and of China Town (known, respectively, as Biélui Gorod and Kitai Gorod) they marched, singing joyful songs. Then pillage began and continued until Napoleon himself arrived within the city walls.

But the personal entry of Napoleon into Moscow had been delayed. The Emperor had remained at the barrier leading to the Smolensky Road, awaiting the usual ceremonies which, he was determined, should precede his triumphal entry into the city. His Majesty expected humble deputations, servile invitations, sham rejoicings. He was accustomed to see the authorities of the place arrive to lay at his feet the keys of the conquered city, but here no one came, nothing of the sort happened. All seemed commotion in Moscow, but the afternoon arrived and still no deputation was to be seen leaving the city. Napoleon grew angry and sent a Polish General of his staff to hurry the movements of the authorities. This gentleman returned at night with the astonishing information that no authorities were to be found. Moscow was practically deserted; there were a few private residents scattered here and there, but palaces, public offices, the house of the Governor-General were all empty; not a functionary remained in Moscow.

The Emperor was furious and perhaps a little dismayed. He slept that night without the walls, and on the following day entered the city in sullen silence—no beating of drums, no music, no church bells greeted his arrival. As a writer of the times expresses it: "His feelings when viewing the accomplishment of this long anticipated enterprise must have resembled those of Satan at the destruction of Paradise. The fiend was received with hisses by his damned crew."

It is said that as he rode up to the Borovitsky Gate one Russian, an old soldier, decrepit and tottering, barred the Emperor's passage, and was struck down by the Guards surrounding his Majesty. Then Napoleon proceeded to the Kremlin and took up his abode in the ancient habitation of the Tsars, a home which he was not destined to occupy for many days.

CHAPTER XVI

Meanwhile Count Rostopchin, ex-Governor of Moscow, had had a difficult task to perform. General Kootoozof, making no secret of his intention of abandoning Moscow, unless the stand at Borodino should meet with unexpected success, had promised the Count three days notice before the French should be free to enter the city; but Rostopchin received warning only twenty-four hours before the arrival of the first batch of foreign soldiers. During those four and twenty hours much was done. The archives, with many treasures from churches and palaces were removed to a neighbouring city. The arsenals were thrown open in order that whosoever desired might arm himself. The prisons were also opened, the fire-engines were removed or destroyed; the greater part of the population crowded out of the city, taking with them—as far as possible—their possessions. Only a few enthusiasts remained, patriotic souls or religious fanatics who would not leave the Holy City of Russia to the licence of the invaders.

Thus Napoleon found a deserted Moscow, deserted by all but a grim remnant of resolute, desperate, Russia-loving, foreigner-hating patriots.

Among them was Vera Demidof, whose motives for remaining were, however, decidedly mixed.

During the months of anxiety preceding the arrival, first of the Russian army and afterwards of the French, Vera had shown herself one of the most patriotic of Russian women. She had been surprised by her own fierce patriotic passion. She had gone daily among the people, inflaming their minds against the foreigners, helping—like many of the ladies in Moscow—to enrol every man of fighting age and capacity among the drujina or militia, which had started into being in response to the manifesto of the Tsar. She remained behind when the great majority of the population left in the hope that she might even yet find work to do for Russia's sake. She was a member of a patriotic guild, formed at this time to watch and to protect the beloved city, given over into the hands of her enemies.

If any one had told Vera that she had remained in Moscow partly at least in the hope of seeing a Frenchman, one Paul de Tourelle; of assuring herself that he was alive and well and that he still loved her, perhaps she would have admitted the first portion of the indictment, but certainly not the last. Vera was, as a matter of fact, anxious to see Paul, if possible, but for a different reason. Whether he loved her or not was, at this moment of patriotic fervour, a matter of supreme indifference to her, for, indeed, she more than suspected that she had altogether lost that partiality for the young Frenchman which she had believed to be a preliminary to love; perhaps her patriotic hatred of the invaders of her country had scotched all private feelings for individual French persons; perhaps there were other reasons. At any rate Vera was anxious to see the man in order to make sure of herself; it was just as well, she thought, to know one's own heart. In any case she would be a patriot first. If she found that she still preserved some affection for this man, it might be a comfort to her wounded patriotic spirit to offer her private feelings a living sacrifice. At least she could do that much for Russia, if there was little else a woman could do.

On the day of the evacuation of Moscow Vera, sitting at her window and watching the turmoil and movement of the people in the streets below, heard the footsteps of someone running rapidly down the road. She recognised Sasha Maximof, who entered the house panting and excited.

"Vera, what is the meaning of this?" he said; Sasha was greatly agitated—"I hear you are determined to remain in Moscow—have you thought of the dangers from lawless French soldiers, the uselessness, the–"

Vera laughed. "Dear Sasha," she said, "give me time to say 'thank God you are alive and safe'; remember that I have not seen you since July and now it is September, and we have heard nothing of you!" Vera was, as a matter of fact, more relieved and grateful on this account than she quite realised; she had worried much on Sasha's behalf, chiefly—as she had assured herself—because of the anxiety of his mother, who had received no news of her son, but largely also on her own account, for at his last visit to Moscow she had learned, and made no secret of the fact, that young Maximof was an immensely improved person, and that she really quite liked and admired him.

"As for remaining in Moscow, I think I can take care of myself; I speak French so easily, you see, that I shall pass as a Frenchwoman in case of need; for the rest, I am not at all afraid, and I belong, moreover, to the patriotic guild and am bound to watch for opportunities to serve our beloved Russia."

"There can be none, Vera, believe me, that a woman can safely employ. For God's sake be persuaded to leave the city."

Vera shook her head.

"No, Sasha, I am not to be persuaded. I shall be safe. I am well armed, and these two faithful old servants who have chosen to stay with me are armed also; we shall have soft answers for any who may come to pillage, but—as you know—this street is too far from the centre of the city to be in much danger of pillaging parties. However this is foolish talk. Even if there were danger, ten times more than you suppose, I should still remain in Moscow."

"I do not like to think, and yet it has been suggested to me," said Sasha, flushing, "that though you are known to be both patriotic and fearless, there may be other reasons for your desire to remain in town. You have many friends among the French; possibly you are anxious to see or hear of them, to know that all is well with them."

"Yes, that may be true," said Vera, looking Sasha full in the eyes. "One may feel an interest in personal friends even though they fight in the ranks of the enemy."

"Of course," Sasha hesitated, "you will understand, Vera, that in saying this I had no arrière pensée; I mean, I was not hinting that you should tell me anything that is—is not my business."

"Yes, I understand," said Vera. "There is nothing to tell. I am interested to know whether—certain people—are alive; but that is not my only reason for remaining in Moscow. Where are you quartered?"

"With Barclay de Tolly's command. I shall not be far away—send for me, Vera, if you should need advice or assistance; I wish to God I could stay, but of course I cannot leave the colours."

"We have horses in the stables and arms in the house and—and God will protect His people, Sasha; the taking of Moscow is not the end of the campaign; we shall see what we shall see. Yes, I wish also that you were with us; but you are doing your duty as I believe I am doing mine. No one can do more than that!"

"No; well, I must go, Vera. I wonder whether we shall ever meet again; there are many dangers still in store for both of us; our fate lies in God's keeping. Before I go I will say that whether we live or whether we die, I know now that you are the only woman in the world for me. I shall pray daily for your welfare, and that your love, wherever it may be given, may in the end make for your lasting happiness. May I kiss your hand?"

Vera gave her hand and Sasha bowed over it; she kissed his forehead, Russian fashion, and he her hand.

"We will—we will think only of Russia now, Sasha," she said; "there will be time to talk of other things when her trouble is over."

Afterwards Vera went into the city to watch, from a safe corner, the entrance of the French soldiers. She saw Paul de Tourelle march in with his regiment, and she recognised also Henri d'Estreville, her own cousin, who rode in with his troop of lancers, looking very pale and ill. Paul seemed well and sound and rode with all that air of aristocratic hauteur which was natural to this undoubtedly splendid-looking youth. Vera made a close examination of her feelings as she watched him and found that the dominating sentiment seemed to be one of anger that he, too, should be among these detested ranks of the successful enemies of her country and of indignation that he should assume so swaggering an air. Still, she was glad that he was alive and well, and admitted to herself that he looked handsome enough.

When she safely reached her house, late in the afternoon, a great surprise was in store for her.

Sasha Maximof met her in the entrance hall, having opened the door for her. He was in plain clothes; the first time since her childhood that she had ever seen him out of uniform. Sasha smiled radiantly.

"Thank God you are safe!" he exclaimed. "Vera, what a risk you have run in going out into the streets!"

Vera flushed with joy to see him and even laughed aloud in pure relief and contentment, though she made a show of attributing her mirth to his appearance.

"Sasha!" she cried—"you in plain clothes—oh, how funny!—explain, what is the meaning of this metamorphosis?"

"I have got leave of absence," he replied, "on the plea of protecting ladies of my family; I can stay a while; I shall be in the house if you will permit me, Vera, and I will join your patriotic league. Look—is that some of your work?" He led Vera to a window and pointed towards the commercial portion of the city; a thick smoke rose from the quarter indicated. "Our friends have begun early!" Sasha laughed exultingly. "Is it Rostopchin's agents, think you, or the patriots?"

"The patriots," Vera replied. "We shall burn all Moscow, Sasha, it is the principal part of our programme. I told you the campaign is not yet over. How long will the troops occupy a burning city? A week? Two weeks? And then comes Kootoozof's opportunity; Platof and his Cossacks; the Drujina of Moscow, and all you good regulars; you shall fall upon them like terriers upon the rats. Now do you understand why we of the league must remain in Moscow?"

"I see—I see!" said Sasha, trembling with excitement. "Yes! there is work to be done in the city, you are right, Vera; but it is not woman's work; it is work for desperate men, Vera, not for fair girls."

"My friend, the men are occupied in sharpening their swords, in drilling, in preparing for the running of the rats when the haystack is burned. We have no men in Moscow, excepting the old and the infirm."

"Oh, I am glad I came, I am glad I came!" said Sasha, his teeth chattering with the agitation of the moment.

CHAPTER XVII

Late that same evening Vera had cause to reiterate Sasha's exclamation that it was well he had come to Moscow.

At ten o'clock there came a loud knocking at the door, and Sasha, peeping out of an upper window, descried a group of three or four persons, French officers as he judged from their talk.

Maximof armed himself with pistol and dagger and placed the two old servants in the entrance hall with orders to keep the visitors covered with their muskets, but not to fire unless specially told to do so. Vera awaited developments in a room adjoining the hall, armed and perfectly composed.

Then Maximof opened the barred door. Three young French officers entered and closed the door behind them. They laughed to see the two old men standing with musket to shoulder.

"Tell them to lower their weapons," said the spokesman in French, addressing Sasha; "I do not speak your infernal language; we mean no harm but only seek information."

"Let me first understand your errand," said Sasha in his best French. "The men will not hurt you except at a word from me."

"Well, then, is this the quarter of Moscow known as the Sloboda?" said the officer. "We are in search of the ladies of the French Theatrical Company, old friends of ours in Paris, who, we are told, dwell in this quarter of the city. Maybe you can direct us. You are, I conclude, a foreigner, or you would be with the army—what we have left of it."

"This is the Sloboda, but I know nothing about your actresses," began Sasha, but to his horror Vera suddenly made her appearance in the hall, coming to the door of the room in which she had stationed herself. The hall was lighted with but a single oil lamp hung over the front door, so that faces were seen but indistinctly.

"It may be that I can enlighten Monsieur," said Vera; "I overheard his request for information. The Governor-General caused the removal of the entire French company three days ago, considering this advisable with a view to their safety. They are not in Moscow."

"Sapristi!" exclaimed the young French officer, who had acted as spokesman; "that is a voice that I know, though it is too dark to distinguish faces. Is it possible that I address Mademoiselle Vera Demidof?" He took a step forward. Sasha instantly barred the way.

"Back, Monsieur," he said. "There is no admittance excepting at Mademoiselle's orders."

Vera had started at the sound of the officer's voice. "Sasha, it is Paul de Tourelle," she said; "there is nothing to fear, let him enter."

"What, and these others also?" asked Sasha.

"I will answer for their good behaviour, Monsieur," said Paul. "Perhaps Mademoiselle will accord me the honour of a few moments conversation while these gentlemen rest themselves in the hall."

"Yes, I will speak with you—come in here!" Vera indicated the room which she had quitted a moment before. Maximof took his stand at the door. He waved his hand to the two old servants. "Rebyáta," he said, "you can lower your muskets but remain here." The two young Frenchmen stood at the stove to warm themselves. Sasha heard their conversation, which they took no pains to conceal from his ears.

"Our little Paul has found a friend it seems," said one, laughing; "he is indeed a wonderful man for the ladies. This will console him for Clotilde's absence."

"Curses upon the Governor-General, he might at least have left us the ladies of the Comédie Française!" said the other. "I had looked forward to seeing my little Jeanne. Maybe the Russian wench was lying, for reasons of her own."

"Beware what you say here, Monsieur," said Sasha angrily, "or your friend may find you no longer waiting when he comes forth."

"Pardon, a thousand pardons, Monsieur; I forgot that you spoke our language," said the officer politely; "do me the favour to regard my foolish words as unsaid."

The conversation was conducted in whispers from this point and Sasha heard no more of it.

Meanwhile Paul de Tourelle, so soon as the door was closed behind him, had made as though he would take Vera's hand and draw her to him, but she waved him away.

"Do not touch me, Monsieur," she said. "I have admitted you only for the purpose of making it clear to you that there can at present be no communication between us. I must regard you as an enemy."

"But, Mademoiselle!" exclaimed Paul, "what is this you say? In Paris we spoke of love; I hasten to Moscow, whither you have gone before me; I find you unexpectedly, and you tell me that I have come in vain. Did I not say that I would meet you in Moscow?"

"And did not I reply that I would rather never see you again than meet you in Moscow? No, Monsieur. I have no heart for love, no thought to spare for such matters, for my whole being is at present absorbed in the sorrows of my dear country. I am glad that I have seen you, since I am now assured of your safety but–

"Come, let me be thankful for the smallest of mercies!" Paul laughed bitterly. "At any rate Mademoiselle is relieved to hear that I am not yet buried beneath the soil of her dear country. We are very far from the point, however, which we discussed, Mademoiselle, in Paris. At that time we spoke of love; now it is sufficient for you that I am alive—parbleu! you are liberal with your favours."

"Monsieur, I will wish you good-night. This conversation can serve no good end. It is true that in Paris you spoke of love; as for me, I spoke of a liking which one day might ripen into love; that day has not yet arrived, Monsieur; at this moment I am inclined to think that it can never dawn; I unsay all that I said in Paris, which you will remember was not much."

Paul burst into loud laughter which had, however, no merriment in it. "I think I understand, Mademoiselle," he said; "the young gentleman who prefers to act as your doorkeeper rather than take his share in withstanding the enemies of your country: he is perhaps the fiancé of whom we once spoke, or maybe a nearer friend–"

"Monsieur, I have wished you good-night."

"Oh, but pardon, Mademoiselle, I have not yet finished that which I have to say; perhaps Mademoiselle would prefer if I continued and finished with Monsieur her friend. The matter may be settled without many words."

Vera's face paled a little, but she spoke resolutely. "If Monsieur is wise," she said, "he will not quarrel with Monsieur le Comte Maximof, who is at present acting as my protector in this city of many perils; the servants would not wait to fire their muskets if voices were raised or threats used. Be wise, Monsieur de Tourelle, and take your departure in peace. You have no quarrel with my friend, and none, I trust, with myself."

"Oh, as to yourself, Mademoiselle, I am not deceived; I shall hope to find compensation elsewhere for Mademoiselle's unkindness. But for the other matter, that, with your kind permission, shall be as I choose to decide." Paul bowed and made his exit.

Apparently the decision was for peace. He called to his companions to come away.

"Au revoir, Monsieur," he said to Maximof, at whom he now gazed very fixedly, as though he would make a note of his features; "I have no doubt we shall meet again shortly."

"With all my heart," said Sasha, bowing; "for I shall then request Monsieur to repeat certain words he thought proper to address to me, but now–"

"Monsieur shall have the words repeated," replied Paul, laughing; "come, my friends."

"You did not tell us, Paul, that Moscow contained other objects of familiar interest to you besides Clotilde," his companions observed as the door closed behind the trio and was fastened by Maximof. "She seemed gentile; may we be introduced perhaps?"

"Bah—you would not thank me. They are sour, these Russian women. This one has been in Paris, and is, at least, civilised; but she would visit upon each of you the sin of his Majesty who has declared war upon her country."

"Patriotism is a virtue, I do not dislike that in her; when the war is over you shall make us known to this lady of spirit, Paul," said the other.

"When the war is over," replied Paul, shrugging his shoulders and laughing, "I may want her myself. Remember, both of you, the face of that Russian in plain clothes, and if you should see him about the streets, inform me of it; I have a little bill to settle with my gentleman."

"What, a case of poaching upon preserved ground?" One of Paul's friends laughed, and the other remarked: "Poor little Russian if it comes to accounts with our little Paul de Tourelle! He had better have remained with the army!"