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CHAPTER XXI
Vera now had leisure to examine her protectors more closely; one was a dapper little corporal who made eyes at her as she looked at him. She quickly withdrew her gaze and fixed it upon the other, a handsome, dark-eyed and eyelashed sergeant of a line regiment. This man had been the spokesman. Vera started slightly as she looked at him.
"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, "what an extraordinary likeness! I beg a thousand pardons, Monsieur; it is very rude of me; my first expression should have been one of grateful thanks. You have preserved me, Monsieur, from persecution, I am indeed grateful."
The young sergeant bowed.
"Mademoiselle does us too much honour," he replied. "Rochefort, mon cher, if you will excuse me, I will see this lady to her home, it is not right that you should walk alone in the city, Mademoiselle, at present." The little corporal made a grimace.
"Rascal!" he whispered, "you always come in for the good things!" He took his departure, however, after bestowing upon Vera his most fascinating smile together with a low bow and a ferocious wink of the left eye.
Vera gazed at her companion, examining him from head to foot as he watched his comrade depart. The sergeant turned when he had seen the other safely to the end of the street.
"I see," said Vera, "that it is to an old acquaintance that I am indebted for this great service. I thank you heartily. But is the French Emperor so badly off for men to march against our poor Russia that he must needs enrol women as soldiers, Mademoiselle Louise?"
The sergeant blushed scarlet. "For God's sake be careful of your words, Mademoiselle," he said. "Of course it is unknown that I am I. You are the first who has guessed it. I entreat you to keep my secret."
"That of course. In Heaven's name, why have you done it? May I know this?"
"It is easily told, Mademoiselle, to you, who I do not doubt will appreciate my motives and forgive me." Louise narrated to her companion the story of the conscription, of young Havet's trouble and her sister Marie's; "therefore I became his substitute," she ended, "et voilà tout!"
"Is it really all, Mademoiselle Louise?" said Vera. "I confess that I fancied there might be another motive for your conduct." Louise walked silently for a little while.
"It is true that I love him," she murmured at length; "yes, Mademoiselle, with all my heart of hearts. I could not bear to be so far from him."
Vera laughed. "Mon Dieu, Louise, you are a wonderful person! It is sad, however, that you should have staked your happiness upon my cousin, who is–"
"Not dead, Mademoiselle—for God's sake dare not to tell me he is dead?"
"Dead? Oh no, not that, I saw him but yesterday and spoke to him."
"You did, Mademoiselle—here, in Moscow? Oh, thank God—thank God! Mademoiselle, I have been in terror and tribulation about him; I left him near Smolensk, badly wounded in the shoulder, I was driven from him to join the colours and knew not whether he lived or died."
"Yes, he lives and is well, though he looks like a dead man or near it. So he knows you are with the army. Beware, Louise, you are playing a dangerous game. My cousin will not respect one who thus follows him and avows her love. Moreover, your conduct–"
"Mademoiselle—pardon—he does not know it. Thank God, I am more modest than you suppose! Also he has avowed his love for me—he did so before leaving Paris; still, I have not revealed myself, lest he should disapprove of my action. I am not—not the kind that Mademoiselle supposes."
"Forgive me, Louise; I meant my warning to be very friendly. I am rejoiced to hear what you have said. As to his vows of love, however, do not trust him too much. I know my cousin so well. He has loved many times."
"Mademoiselle, I also know this, and more besides. At Smolensk, as he lay tossing in fever, a wonderful thing happened; not knowing that I was I, the Baron narrated to me many of his past love affairs, declaring at the last that he remembered only one of those for whom he had felt affection, and that one was, said he, the daughter of Pierre Dupré, maître d'armes; imagine, Mademoiselle, my happiness to hear this from him, and to receive a message from his lips to be carried to this Louise Dupré in case of his death."
Louise was flushed and her eyes were bright with love-light. Vera looked at her companion and laughed merrily.
"I certainly think it the most promising of Henri's love affairs that I have yet heard of," she said; "if I see Henri again–"
"Oh, Mademoiselle, for Heaven's sake keep my secret; what would he think—he might say angry words—he might–"
"No, no, your secret is safe; I was going to say—I will ask him to tell me of his sickness at Smolensk; perhaps he will confide to me the tale you have just told me; that would prove that he did not suspect you to be yourself."
"Oh, Mademoiselle, I am sure he did not, or he would not have told me all that he did of—of other matters," Louise blushed; and Vera laughed and said that perhaps that was so.
"At any rate I should keep your secret," she added, "even if I saw my cousin again, which is unlikely. I cannot associate, you see, with Russia's enemies, even though they be personal friends or near relations. There are those who would blame me much for walking with yourself in this way, if they were to see us together. We must not meet again in Moscow. I see you have had promotion; you wear a sergeant's stripes; doubtless for some service done to your Emperor at the expense of my poor country."
"At Borodino; the service was small enough and not worth narrating. I have learnt, Mademoiselle, that war is detestable, and the taking of life a most terrible thing; I shall shed no more blood, if I can help it."
"This is the most unjust and infernal of wars," said Vera; "all wars are abominable, but this is the worst and wickedest. Farewell, Louise, and thank you for your timely service; this is my street and that is my house. I hope that some day, if happier times should come, we may perhaps be cousins."
"Oh, Mademoiselle, may that day dawn indeed—and soon!" Louise raised Vera's hand to her lips and departed with a salute.
Unfortunately Sasha Maximof, looking out from a window for Vera's return, saw this little demonstration, and the sight depressed and angered him.
"I see," he said, as Vera entered, "that you have discovered another acquaintance among the French, and, as it seems, another admirer."
"Ah, in this case the admiration is truly mutual," Vera replied gravely, though with a twinkle in her eye. "Do you know, Sasha, mon ami, that though, speaking generally, I hate all French soldiers, at this time, I am so greatly indebted to this one and love him so well–"
"Love him?" Sasha echoed miserably. "Oh! then this is the one."
"Yes, this is the one; our friendship is great, but perhaps one day it will be greater; he has this day avowed to me–" Vera paused. Sasha continued her sentence—"His passion, I suppose. You have not accepted him, Vera—a Frenchman? Did you not tell me you would only marry a Russian?"
"Did I? I had forgotten. Well, we shall see. What was I saying?—Oh, this dear, adorable soldier. He has avowed to me, mon ami, that he hopes one day to become a near relation."
"Vera!" gasped Sasha, "are you mocking me?"
"On the contrary, I am confiding to you a great secret which I forbid you to disclose to any living soul. This dear Frenchman, who has this day done me a great service of which I will tell you presently and for which I should like to show my gratitude in a fervent kiss–"
"Vera!" Sasha gasped.
"Do not interrupt me, mon ami; this dear Frenchman is, in fact, not a Frenchman nor a Russian; he is not, indeed, a man of any nationality whatever—but a woman masquerading as a man, and all for love of my cousin Henri d'Estreville. Think of it!"
Vera exploded in a fit of merry laughter, to which the expression in Sasha's face soon added an extra note of mirth. The laughing did her good, for indeed there had been little of late to promote mirth in this unhappy city of Moscow.
Afterwards there were explanations and apologies, and if Sasha Maximof contrived to gather another grain of encouragement for his hopes, this was not more, perhaps, than was intended.
CHAPTER XXII
Destiny soon made it impossible that Vera Demidof should meet again either her cousin D'Estreville or Louise Dupré, for both presently left Moscow with their regiments in order to engage the armies of Kootoozof without the city walls, for the doings of the Russian Commander-in-Chief rendered Napoleon anxious and disquieted.
Moscow was becoming uninhabitable, for food was scarce and the Russian forces were so strategically disposed as to cut off the city from communication with the grain- and meat-producing provinces. Moreover, though the weather was still moderately warm, the frost would begin in a month or so, and under wintry conditions life in this latitude would become unpleasant if not impossible.
Napoleon's state of mind at this time, as evidenced by his appearance and conduct, has been described by a Russian eye-witness as unnerved and anxious. He walked with a quick, uneven tread, having abandoned his usual calm and regular movements. He looked constantly about him, fidgetted continually, frowned, tweaked his nose and stood to think, dragged his gloves on and off again, or took one out of his pocket and rolled it into a ball and, still in deep thought, put it into the other pocket, repeating the process many times. Meanwhile the generals standing behind him stood like statues, not daring to move. He grew irritable and performed many acts of needless and wanton cruelty. He issued numerous "bulletins" to his army, full of elusive promises and rose-coloured announcements of his "intentions". He made foolish speeches upon the subject of Peter the Great, courted the Tartars, but failed to convince them, issued proclamations to the Russian people, pointing out the advantages of rebellion, to all of which the sturdy Russians remained blind, and up to the last moment concealed his intention of abandoning Moscow.
This abandonment of the old city took place, as all the world knows, in October, and was preceded by an abortive attempt to blow up the Kremlin. The attempt was entrusted to Marshal Mortier, who—whether designedly or by miscalculation—entirely failed in his object, though he used nearly one hundred tons of explosives in mining the palaces and cathedrals and outer walls of the historic fortress.
The French soldiers indulged in a final and universal campaign of outrage and robbery just before quitting the city, and this time Vera was obliged to abandon her house, which was pillaged like the rest, and to fly for her life. Sasha Maximof had before this been recalled to his duties with his regiment, and had left Vera with a sore heart, having failed to persuade her to leave Moscow and go to St. Petersburg where she would find most of her friends and relatives.
"I shall wait to see the end of the drama," Vera said, "unless I am menaced with serious danger. So far, I have run but little risk."
The behaviour of the French troops at the end of their month in Moscow seems to have been almost more ruffianly than at the beginning. Houses and property of all sorts were ruthlessly destroyed, both within the city and in the suburbs. Occasionally they would come upon notices nailed to the outer gates of some boyar's residence, setting forth that rather than abandon his property to be desecrated by French hands the owner had himself destroyed every atom that he had been unable to remove. Here is an example: a letter affixed to the gate of his palace by no less a person than Rostopchin, Governor of Moscow, who thus addressed those who approached his home, intent upon looting and destruction:—
"For eight years I found my pleasure in embellishing this country retreat. I lived here in perfect happiness, within the bosom of my family; and those around me largely partook of my felicity. But you approach and lo! the peasantry of this domain, to the number of 1,720 human beings, have fled far away. As for my house, it is burnt to the ground! We abandon all, we consume all, that neither ourselves nor our habitations may be polluted by your presence.
"Frenchmen, I left at the mercy of your avarice two of my houses in Moscow full of furniture and valuables to the amount of half a million of roubles. Here, you will find nothing but ashes.
"(Signed) Fedor,Count Rostopchin."
No sooner did the news reach the Russian Commander-in-Chief, old Kootoozof, that Moscow had been abandoned by the invaders, than he issued the following address to his army and the Empire generally:—
"Order Issued to the Armies, 31st October
"The following Declaration is given for the Instruction of all the Troops under my Command:—
"At the moment in which the enemy entered Moscow he beheld the destruction of those preposterous hopes by which he had been flattered; he expected to find there Plenty and Peace, and on the contrary he saw himself devoid of every necessary of life. Harassed by the fatigue of continued marches; exhausted for want of provisions; wearied and tormented by ever active soldiers who intercept his slender reinforcements; losing, without the honour of battle, thousands of his troops, cut off by our provincial detachments, he found no prospect before him but the vengeance of an armed nation, threatening annihilation to the whole of his army. In every Russian he beheld a hero, equally disdainful and abhorrent of his deceitful promises; in every state of the empire he met an additional and insurmountable rampart opposed to his strongest efforts. After sustaining incalculable losses by the attacks of our brave troops, he recognised at last the madness of his expectations, that the foundations of the empire would be shaken by his occupation of Moscow. Nothing remained for him but a precipitate flight; the resolution was no sooner taken than it was executed; he has departed, abandoning nearly the whole of his sick to the mercy of an outraged people, and leaving Moscow on the 11th of this month completely evacuated.
"The horrible excesses which he committed while in that city are already well known, and have left an inexhaustible sentiment of vengeance in the depths of every Russian heart; but I have to add, that his impotent rage exercised itself in the savage attempt to destroy a part of the Kremlin, where, however, by a signal interposition of Divine Providence, the sacred temples and cathedrals have been saved.
"Let us then hasten to pursue this impious enemy, while other Russian armies, once more occupying Lithuania, act in concert with us for his destruction! Already do we behold him in full flight, abandoning his baggage, burning his war carriages, and reluctantly separating himself from those treasures, which his profane hands had torn from the very altars of God. Already starvation and famine threaten Napoleon with disaster; behind him arise the murmurs of his troops like the roar of threatening waters. While these appalling sounds attend the retreat of the French, in the ears of the Russians resounds the voice of their magnanimous monarch. Listen, soldiers! while he thus addresses you! 'Extinguish the flames of Moscow in the blood of our invaders!' Russians, let us obey this solemn command! Our outraged country, appeased by this just vengeance, will then retire satisfied from the field of war, and behind the line of her extensive frontiers, will take her august station between Peace and Glory!
"Russian warriors! God is our Leader!
(Signed) Marshal Prince Golenishcheff Kootoozof,"General-in-Chief of all the Armies."
CHAPTER XXIII
To give any kind of description of the horrors of the retreat of the Grande Armée is very far from the intention of the writer of this history; the theme is both unpleasant and threadbare. An incident or two will suffice.
Louise, marching with her regiment, which formed a portion of Marshal Ney's command, walked with her companions into an ambush of desperate Cossacks, who rode tumultuously into the midst of the French ranks from the shelter of a belt of pine forest, freely dealing death and wounds before they were driven back by their spirited opponents. Louise was knocked down by a small Cossack pony and trodden upon by more than one of its companions, the great majority of which, however, adroitly avoided stepping upon her; for the little Cossack horse hates to plant his foot upon a recumbent human form and displays marvellous ingenuity in avoiding so sacrilegious an act.
Louise lay a while unconscious. When she recovered her senses and sat up her companions had already moved forward and were out of sight, all but the grim lines of dead men and a few wounded fellows who sat or lay and conversed.
"Sapristi!" said Louise, "I don't think I am very badly hurt. Can you stand and walk, any of you? I have a mind to move on."
Most of those about her replied that they preferred to remain and chance being picked up by the ambulances. "The Marshal himself is still behind," one said; "he will make dispositions for us."
One or two attempted to stand and move forward with Louise, but soon found that the exertion was too much for them. Louise hastened forward alone. Her head ached terribly and she felt pain in her breast, doubtless the result of being trodden upon or kicked by a passing horse. For the rest she was unwounded.
For a mile she trudged forward, hoping to catch sight of the regiment. This she presently did, but hurrying onward, in order to gain ground upon them, she suddenly became aware that her head swam; she reeled, went on a few paces and sat down.
"I cannot," she muttered; "I am fainting."
There was a deserted village close at hand, and Louise presently contrived to struggle onward as far as the nearest hut, which she entered. The single room was dirty and smoky, the air fœtid and horrible, but Louise felt that she had reached paradise; she was cold and ill and miserable; she sank upon the floor with her back to the stove, which was still warm, and prepared to sleep.
"It is a risk, I know," she told herself, "for the peasants may return at any moment, but I must sleep or die. Mercy of Heaven, what a pain is in my breast!" She tore open her military tunic and bared her bosom; it was badly bruised but not actually wounded. "It is nothing. Mon Dieu, I must sleep this moment," Louise murmured.
Automatically pulling together the clothes which she had torn apart the weary girl fell fast asleep with the task half accomplished.
Half an hour later a dozen peasants and some women crept back to the village, having hidden themselves at the approach of the French soldiers in the early afternoon. It was now dusk. A man and a woman entered the hut in which Louise lay, the man entering first.
He started back upon seeing the French soldier asleep, turning towards his wife with finger to lip.
"See," he whispered, "what lies at the stove! God is good to us—here is an accursed Frenchman delivered into our hands! He has a rifle, a sword, a uniform and possibly money in his pocket!" The fellow fumbled with the axe which hung at his girdle.
"He has touched none of our things—the village has not been destroyed or pillaged; spare the poor wretch, God will requite us," said the woman, who gazed not without admiration at the handsome sleeping face.
"Vzdor! nonsense! God will, on the contrary, punish us if we allow to escape one of the invaders of Holy Russia. How do we know this fellow has not helped to rob a church or to assault a woman, or to desecrate the Holy Place in one of God's own houses? He comes from Moscow, where, it is said, many such detestable acts were done!"
"Well, have your will, but let me first go out of sight," said the woman, "for I am afraid of bloodshed."
A moment later the moujik rushed out of the hut to his wife, who stood and shivered without in the cold rain which was half snow.
"Masha!" he cried, "come and see; it is a woman!"
"Vzdor—it cannot be; it is a soldier; you have not struck?"
"Not yet—I was startled and held my hand; there is some mystery here, it is certainly a woman."
Masha entered the hut and stole softly towards the stove. Louise lay breathing peacefully, her bosom, half bared, rising and falling in the measured cadence of quiet slumber.
"Yes, it is a woman. You shall not strike, Mishka; there is certainly mystery here; probably it is some poor soul who strives to escape more safely by donning the uniform of a French soldier of which she has robbed a dead man by the way. She may be a Russian maiden who has sought her wounded lover upon the battlefield."
"My God, it may be as you say. We will let her lie. Who knows she may be rich and will reward us. Here is her wallet, I will see if it contains money."
The wallet contained a few silver pieces, which Mishka quickly transferred to his own pocket. Then he added wood to the stove and the pair ate their supper. Louise slept peacefully through it. Presently both man and woman lay down to sleep.
"The warning bell will soon wake us if we must clear out again," Mishka had said; "or shall one of us watch a while and afterwards the other?"
"God forbid!" exclaimed Masha, yawning; "last night there was no sleep and the night before but an hour or two; I am tired to death."
Soon after midnight Louise awoke at the sound of running feet without. She started up and looked about, but could see nothing in the darkness. Some one came to the door and called out "Dmitry Vannkof—Mishka—awake and come to the door, I have news for you".
"Mon Dieu!" thought Louise. "Perhaps I had better be substitute for Dmitry Vannkof, whoever he may be, and attend to this visitor; it is dark and I should not be seen." She was about to rise and go to the door, when the unseen visitor continued to shout and to knock impatiently with some hard object, probably an axe; Louise remembered that though she had picked up much Russian during the campaign, she was not a sufficiently good scholar to carry on a conversation without suspicion and discovery. She therefore lay still.
"Mishka, curse you, are you drunk or dead?" roared the unseen one.
To the horror and surprise of Louise some one shuffled close beside her on the floor, and a woman's voice said aloud: "Mishka, we are called—awake—séchasse idyóm, soodar! (we're just coming, sir!)".
Mishka grunted and awoke with imprecations. "What is it?" he shouted; "are we never to be allowed to sleep again? Who's there?"
"It is I, the Starost; the Hetman of the Mojaisk Cossacks is in the village; we are to assemble at four in Toozof's field, bringing pitchforks and pickaxes. There is to be an oblava (battue). It is said that the best general of all these accursed cut-throats is to pass at daybreak; he is sleeping at Biéloy; he is to be ambushed with all his guard; we shall not have lived in vain if we succeed in this; we shall be three thousand Cossacks and the moujiks of twelve villages; be ready at four and thank God meanwhile for all His mercies."
The man departed.
"By the Saints!" exclaimed Mishka, yawning; "if one were not so deadly sleepy that would be good news. See, Masha, what we will do. I will sleep until four, while you wake; when I have departed you shall sleep, if you will, for a score of hours!" Masha agreed to this arrangement, and within a minute his snoring was sonorous proof that her goodman had wasted none of his time.
Louise lay and listened to Masha's yawning and half-uttered exclamations of weariness. Why had these people not despatched her at sight? Had they entered in the dark and failed to detect her? The thing was a mystery. She felt refreshed and her head scarcely ached; Biéloy was, she remembered, but a league away, towards Moscow. So far as she had understood the Starost's words, it was Marshal Ney and his guards who were to be ambushed. "I shall warn them, of course," she reflected; "but there is no need to disturb them too soon, for Heaven knows every man of us requires all the sleep he can get."
Poor Masha gaped and muttered for an hour; then she snored at intervals in concert with her husband; then she fell asleep in earnest and this time very soundly.
"Poor soul!" thought Louise; "let her sleep! We shall have one pitchfork the less to contend with!"
Long before four o'clock she was afoot and on the way to Biéloy, having left the worthy moujik and his wife snoring in peaceful harmony.
She reached Biéloy, a large village or selo, which means the principal of a group of villages, containing the church and perhaps a shop or two. The place was occupied by French soldiers. A picket was placed upon the road half a mile from Biéloy and the soldiers sat and talked and laughed over their fire. They challenged Louise, who showed herself in the firelight and explained her errand.
"That is well," laughed a man. "I thought you must have fallen in love with some Russian wench in Moscow and were returning to her embraces. This we should have been obliged to prevent. Love is good when time and opportunity serve. Think of the women of Paris, mon brave, they wait for you and for me!" Louise laughed also.
"You will allow me to carry my news to the Marshal?" she said.
"Sapristi! While the Marshal sleeps? My friend, cannot this danger wait until we are all refreshed and fit to contend with it?"
"It will wait until marching time," said Louise; "especially if you will give me food meanwhile."
"There is food to-day, and you shall share it; also there is a drink called kvass, which I think the devil invented for the confusion of human stomachs; you shall taste it and suffer pain, as I have done; what matter! we are brought into the world to suffer and to enjoy. To-morrow we may starve; but one day we shall reach Paris!"
At daybreak the village was astir. Marshal Ney himself rode out in the midst of his guards and Louise was brought before him, for she had refused to tell her tale except to his ears.
"I may as well have the advantage of my luck, if any advantage there be!" she had told herself.
Ney listened, frowning.
"You are in luck, mon brave," he said. "What is your name?"
"Michel Prevost, Excellence."
"Good; you are a sergeant, I see; call yourself a lieutenant; do you know this place the fellow referred to—the place of ambush?"
"I was myself ambushed there yesterday with my regiment, Excellence; it is well adapted for a surprise."
"Good; you shall be guide; the surprise this time shall be to the Cossacks and your friends with the pitchforks. If you guide us cleverly you shall call yourself captain, though, entre nous, I think most of us are more likely to need our titles for paradise than for Paris!"
On this occasion the Cossacks were caught napping and Louise came out of her adventure with the epaulettes of a captain, which Ney bestowed upon her with his own hands.
