Moscow: A Story of the French Invasion of 1812

Afterwards she sought an opportunity to add a word of warning.

"My cousin D'Estreville, to whom you suspected me of being engaged," she said, laughing, "is not one I would trust with my heart. He is the same to all women, implying much but meaning nothing. He is par excellence a soldier. Women are—for him—toys to be played with in time of peace. Henri is not one to bind himself; he takes his amusement where he finds it."

"All men that I have seen are like that," said Louise unexpectedly; "yet I believe that it comes to each man once in his life to take a woman seriously."

"Come, Louise," old Pierre called out at this point, "Monsieur has kindly consented to exhibit to us a second time his wonderful skill with the foils; you will find Louise a fair exponent, Monsieur, though she has never yet measured swords with one of your exceptional gifts."

"If she is as clever as her sister," said Paul gallantly, "she must be skilful indeed. I offer you my compliments upon your daughters, Monsieur Dupré, they are indeed a credit to their teacher."

"Ah, Monsieur, if they were but of the sex!" cried old Pierre; "but there—it is not their fault—I have bewailed it all their lives, but it is not their fault."

Paul, in his bout with Louise, was at first amused to find that he was getting the worst of it. Presently, as she added point to point, his amusement turned to disgust and presently he grew a little angry. When Paul reached this stage, in a fencing bout, he generally became invincible; and during the latter portion of the set-to his score rapidly improved. Nevertheless, when time was called it was found that Louise had won upon a point. Old Dupré clapped his hands in unfeigned delight, apologising immediately after for his rudeness.

"I also crave permission to applaud," said Paul; "Mademoiselle is magnificent. Several times she took me unawares in a manner that I thought impossible of any swordsman in Paris. If Mademoiselle is not tired, I should be grateful to try conclusions once more when she is rested; while she rests there are one or two points in our bout which I should like to think over."

"Oh—ah!" cried old Pierre delighted. "Monsieur refers I think to the feint flanconnade—the feint flanconnade Dupré we call it; it is a trick of my invention, Monsieur; twice I observed she scored by it! yes, it is subtle, Monsieur, and found by my daughters and by our pupils to be most exceptionally successful. It is a compliment that Monsieur takes notice of these little things."

"It is owing to these 'little things' that I find myself vanquished by Mademoiselle," Paul laughed good-naturedly. "I will consider these points for five minutes with Mademoiselle's permission."

During the interval old Dupré conversed with Vera Demidof, explaining to her how hard it had been for a parent longing for boys to find himself saddled with girls; how his daughters had, however, done their very best to atone for the "mischance" by growing up—as he had thought—superior to the weaknesses of their sex; and how he had been rudely brought up by the horrible discovery that Marie had fallen in love with his assistant and desired to marry him forthwith.

"Imagine my grief, Mademoiselle," old Pierre mourned; "so promising a swordswoman, so great a help and comfort to me, and pouff! she is married and her usefulness is gone! All that is man in her is gone also!"

Vera could not help laughing.

"You still have Louise!" she said, doing her best to say something comforting.

"Bah! she has seen her sister's deterioration and she will follow her example; it is infectious, like measles! already I perceive–"

What old Pierre was about to say remained uncertain, for at this moment Henri d'Estreville joined the group.

"There is war in the air, Dupré, have you heard?" he said. "The conscription papers are out. Young Havet had better be quick and get his wedding over or he may find himself in Moscow before he realises that he is a soldier."

"Ah—would to Heaven they had taken him before this foolery began!" said old Pierre. "Now I know not what is best; the evil is done; I do not approve of Marie's foolishness, yet I would not have her heart broken—for imagine, Monsieur le Baron, so false has become her estimate of the proportions that she would rather marry this young man than see him enrolled among the heroes of his country. Surely the object of love is the happiness and the well-being of the beloved? Compare then: to be a soldier of the Grande Armée, or to sit at home to lose manhood in the endearments of a foolish woman! Yet, knowing of the conscription, she would marry him to-morrow."

Old Pierre was almost in tears, so deeply did he feel the bitterness of the blow. That his daughters were women, was bad enough. That they should at length show a desire to behave as women was a grievance indeed!

"Be comforted, Monsieur," said Henri, smiling, "Havet is not yet chosen; if he should be so presently, allow me to suggest the very simplest solution of the difficulty. Let Mademoiselle Marie enlist also, thus no hearts shall be broken, and the Emperor gains a soldier better, I'll be bound, worth the having than half the six hundred thousand he intends to raise, if report speaks truly."

"Monsieur le Baron is pleased to jest," said Pierre; "yet it is true that Marie would make a good soldier; it is but three years, Monsieur, since my daughters exchanged the convenient garb of our sex for the foolish habiliments of that to which unfortunately they belong."

"So I have heard," said the Baron, "otherwise I should not have presumed, Monsieur, to make the suggestion which was not, be assured, altogether a jest."

"Was it not, Monsieur?" exclaimed Pierre, looking thoughtful. "Why then I will mention it to Marie; there is no knowing how the suggestion may strike her; assuredly she would pass as well for a man as the majority of the silly, half-grown youths that the conscription will catch. Splendeur des Cieux, Monsieur, it is a good idea. The glory of having, after all, a child of my own to serve with the colours! It is an ambition which I resigned with tears at the birth of my little Louise!"

"See, your little Louise, who is quite as big as our friend Paul," the Baron laughed, "is about to play her second bout with my redoubtable De Tourelle. Try again your feint flanconnade Dupré, Mademoiselle Louise; only be prepared this time for a subtle riposte! When Monsieur de Tourelle has devoted five minutes to the consideration of his play, be sure the time has not been wasted!"

Louise blushed and lowered her eyes when spoken to by the Baron, a circumstance which more than one pair of eyes observed.

"Louise has several subtle tricks with which Monsieur may not yet be acquainted," said old Pierre, flushed now and excited with the prospect of a second exhibition of his daughter's splendid skill. "Though I am the first to admit that she has found more than her match, for once, in Monsieur de Tourelle."

Paul's five minutes had not been wasted, as he quickly showed. For though Louise made a great bid for victory and was, indeed, never more than a point or two behind, De Tourelle was a trifle the better, and ending with a beautifully executed "time in octave" finished the leader by two points.

"I shall consider seriously your suggestion, Monsieur," said old Pierre at parting with Henri d'Estreville; "the more I think of it the more I perceive that if only Marie would think well of the matter there is much to commend it."

"But you would lose two capable assistants, Monsieur le Major, as well as the comfort of a daughter's presence," said Henri, somewhat ashamed of having set the old man yelping upon so foolish a scent.

"Bah! all the world will be at the war, there will be few to take fencing lessons for the while. Louise and the other younker will suffice for all the pupils we shall get in war-time! Monsieur le Baron will himself be absent among the rest, I doubt not?"

"Mon Dieu, let us hope so!" Henri laughed. "Where else? Eh bien, au revoir, Monsieur, and au revoir, maybe, to Mademoiselle Marie in Moscow." Henri departed, laughing merrily. Louise had turned away with her flushed face a shade or two the paler for Henri's last speech, therefore she did not catch the amorous look which the Baron thought fit to send in her direction as he quitted the arena.

CHAPTER X

During the next few weeks Paris and all France pursued but one topic of conversation. The Emperor's anger with Russia: would it end in war? Napoleon's threat—he had made it several times—that he would march into Moscow, was it spoken in seriousness or in bombast? For this was an undertaking before which even the heart of Napoleon might quail.

Apparently the Emperor Alexander of Russia felt little fear that the menacing attitude of his great rival must be regarded seriously, for he budged not an inch from the position he had taken up in the several matters at issue between them.

Alexander had several legitimate grievances against the French Dictator. In the matter of his sister, the Grand Duchess Anna Pavlovna, he considered that he had been slighted; for Napoleon had displayed too obvious a readiness to end the negotiations for his marriage with the Russian Princess, and this savoured of a lack of respect towards her Imperial brother's Throne and person.

In the matter of Oldenburg, too, Napoleon had grievously offended. The Grand Duchy of Oldenburg, though not precisely a portion of the Russian Empire, dwelt under the protection of the Tsar; his own sister Catherine was married to the reigning Duke, yet France had lately annexed the little State, whose sovereign, with his Imperial wife, had been forced to take shelter in St. Petersburg. In addition to these semi-personal matters, there was an open sore in Poland; and again, the arbitrary demands of the Dictator that trade with England should be boycotted by the Continent generally, stuck obstinately in the gullet of the sturdy Russian Tsar, whose merchants knew where lay the best market for their hemp, their hides, their tallow and wheat.

There was stir and excitement at the Embassies. Kurakin, the Ambassador in Paris, and Demidof, Vera's father, his principal secretary, were busy from morning to night, interviewing, explaining, bargaining, smoothing and glossing the sturdy obstinacy of their own sovereign, which, while they pretended professionally to deplore it, they secretly admired and applauded.

Tchernishef, the Ambassador Extraordinary of the Tsar, arrived and was received in private audience by Napoleon. He brought with him the offer of certain concessions with regard to Oldenburg in exchange for counter-concessions in Poland. But the Dictator was obdurate; he would have surrender, not traffic.

"Not a mill, not a village of Poland will I give your master," said he; "tell him so; it is my last word."

It was Alexander's last word also, and seeing that his great opponent intended war, the Tsar began to make his preparations for defence.

The ambassadors in Paris and their secretaries and attachés packed up their traps and held themselves ready for departure.

To Vera the whole matter was a source of unmitigated grief. In common with every patriotic Russian of the day, her soul revolted against the wanton injustice of Napoleon, and swelled in a suddenly awakened passion of patriotic love and enthusiasm for her own country. Napoleon and his Grand Army were of course invincible; Russia must suffer defeat, ruin maybe; the lives of her sons must go out in rivers of innocent blood.

"It is cruel and horrible," Vera cried, speaking of all this with her cousins the D'Estrevilles; "horrible because utterly useless and unjust. Does your Emperor think he will reach Moscow?"

"Our Emperor goes just as far as his word, Vera," said Henri. "Do not deceive yourself. If Napoleon has said that he will march to Moscow, to Moscow he will march, and neither man nor devil shall prevent him."

"You leave God out of the question," Vera raved; "but He, too, must be reckoned with, even by a Napoleon. Be sure, Henri, that this wicked campaign will not be permitted to prosper. You shall see."

"Au revoir, ma belle," laughed Henri. "We shall meet in Moscow."

"I would rather never see you again, cousin, than meet you there," cried Vera; "and that is truth!"

"What, and the same of Paul de Tourelle?" said Henri, still laughing; "fie, Vera, you show yourself in new colours to-day!"

Vera flushed crimson and turned away. She took no notice of the allusion to Paul, but a moment later she answered the latter part of Henri's banter.

"If I show myself in new colours it is the more shame for me. These are the colours I should always have worn; to-day, at least, if never before, I am all a Russian; I am none the less so because I happen to have French cousins. Henceforth, I shall be ashamed to own that there are folks of my flesh and blood who are content to serve this tyrant."